The "From The Pages Of..." Comics Universe RPG

[UltimateRPGs]

GAMEMASTERS
wiegeabo - Game Master
Byrd Man - AGM
Carnage27 - AGM
Master Bruce - From the Pages Of... RPG Founder

SYPNOSIS

Long ago, there existed a world filled with strange and powerful beings. While some dedicated their lives to protecting and serving mankind, others sought to use their gifts to enslave the world. This was the metahuman race, and unbeknownst to the public at large, a war was brewing between good and evil. As the years went by, criminals became less tolerable and more vicious, prompting a darker breed of hero. Eventually, when public outcry was voiced in the 1980's, the two sides clashed, leading to what is today known as 'The Purge': The day that both superhero and supervillain alike seemingly died or disappeared into retirement.

It is now the year 2008, and a secreted society of new metahumans, mystics, and vigilantes await a time to resurface. Prompted by the fascist regime of England's governal party, Norsefire, many are pushed into action once more, be it by one set of circumstances or entirely different ones. And even as this phenomena occurs, some still live among human kind discreetly, waiting for when their unusual abilities will be exposed to the world. It is a time of great questioning and confusion for these individuals, as society looks on into a new age.

One thing is known for sure: The world will never be the same.

RULES

• You may choose anyone not applicable in any DC, Marvel, or Star Wars oriented RPG's. However, bear in mind that you must reinvent them according to the game's universe, as detailed above.
  
• Variations of other heroes (IE: Darkclaw, Spider-Girl, Red Son Superman) or custom characters will not be permitted. Neither will any character who has never appeared in a comic book. If they're not in a comic, they're not in this game.
  
• Applications must be approved by at least two game staffers before being considered truly accepted. If you post in this thread beforehand, your post is subject to deletion. Game staffers reserve the right to deny applications for any given reason.
  
• You must post once every two weeks, or your character is up for grabs to anyone else. If you know that you cannot post for two weeks or more, please specify in the OOC thread ahead of time.
  
• You are your character, so act like it. Remain consistent with their powers and personalities, unless otherwise stated. Freedom in writing is a key, but so is honoring the character you've chosen. Become your character.
  
• You can travel anywhere on Earth, or off-planet, provided it's within your character's means. Claire Bennet cannot go into space without explanation, but Space Ghost requires it.
  
• No random killing. All characters being played, non-playable characters being used, or major characters in general requires special permission to be killed from their players. Failure to comply with this will result in immediate termination of your character rights.
  
• Be serious. No slander, or impractical actions, such as never falling during battle, or enslaving the Earth. If confused, look to your fellow players for guidance on how to practically play the game.
  
• All regular Hype rules apply, needless to be said.
  
• And most important of all, have fun with it.

 

[Byrd Man]

"Central City's number one source for news, The Emergency Room with Penny Wolfgang."


"Welcome back into the Emergency Room, tonight's top story, NNN's own news reporter Ginger Coffee was kidnapped on live t.v. ninety minutes ago. Her show had been heavily promoting a report on renowned super criminal Cassanova Frankenstein that had concrete evidence of his crimes. We now go to footage of the brazen raid."

"And welcome back, in just a few minutes we'll show you a world exclusive, Cassanova Frankenstein, who was just paroled from a lengthy prison term two years ago, claims he's gone legit. But I have evidence and this will be shown here for the first tim- hey!"

"Oh my god, get down!"

Bratatatatatatata

"No!"

"Unbelieveable, while there is no proof that Frankenstein is involved, the Central City police are currently combing the North Side, where eyewitness reports have Ginger placed at. Eyewitness reports also have the masked vigilante The Spirit in the area."
​

**********

​

"Watch where you're going!" Ebony yells as he pulls the cab into oncoming traffic.

While Dolan and the cops check out the abandoned buildings on the North Side, I'm going straight to the source. Cassanova Frankenstein's mansion.

"How about slowing down, Eb? You're not Speed Racer."

"Shoot, I can't wait 'til the Central City 500, my uncle's hooking me up with tickets." He says casually as he avoids getting side swiped by an 18 wheeler.

Frankenstein's mansion gates loom in the distance as he punches the gas.

"Might want to buckle up."

KRUNCH!

The cab turns the gates into scrape metal. Ebony slams on the brakes and I leap out.

"You gonna need me?"

"Yeah, Eb. In case things get hairy."

"Keep the meter running."

​

Will Eisner's
The Spirit

In

Ice Ginger Coffee​

 

[Matt Murdock]

We Named the Dog "Indiana" - Part I
​

Henry Jones Jr. stood in his office, his hat pressed softly atop his head. Shelves full of relics, artifacts, and maps lined the small room, no bigger than a child's bedroom, each with a story to tell.

Jones ran his hands along his belt, staring out of the window onto the green lawn of the University. His round glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.

"Mr. Veidt." He said, gesturing to the dozens of collectibles around the small room. "I appologize for the state of my office."

In the small room, there was a sole chair for visitors, currently occupied by a man in an exquisetly tailored suit. The man's elbows rested on the chair's arms, and he held his hands in front of his face. His gaze was straight ahead, at the back wall of the office.

"No apologies are necessary, Mr. Jones." Adrian Veidt said, his Italian garmets making Jones' tweed suit look utterly cheap. "I understand a man's passion when I see it."

"Had Mr. Brody informed me that my 11 O'Clock would be the, uh... 'Smartest Man on the Globe,' I would have tidied up."

At this, Veidt shifted his gaze.

"On the Planet, Doctor. Smartest Man on the Planet." He corrected.

"Forgive me." Jones noted curtly, his eyeline lingerging on one of the top shelves in his office, where his whip lay dusty and unused since his journey to the Canyon of the Crescent Moon.

"I come to you today with something of a request." Veidt said, removing an envelope from his jacket. "You've seen each continent in detail, yet you have not investigated one of the most popular archaeological destinations in the world."

Jones leaned backwards against the window.

"Egypt."

The issue had grown more and more important when Jones was being interviewed by the media on the returns from his digs. Nothing worthy of the international spotlight, to be sure. Newsletters, government officials, and reporters alike all wanted to know why Jones hadn't travelled to Egypt yet.

"Egypt is a husk of its former glory. All the secrets it has to reveal have been either found by legitimate digs..." Jones paused and dipped his hand into his pocket. "Or stolen by grave robbers."

"All except for one, Doctor Jones." Veidt muttered, making his way to a bookshelf on one of Jones' walls. One of the books, covered in dust, bore Egyptian symbols on the cover.

Veidt scanned the pages and cracked the text open slowly.

Jones made his way to the table and glanced downwards.

For a moment, he couldn't believe what he saw. Legends were told of the image on the page, but none of them were believed to be true. The item in question was one of the last relics left in Egypt, one of the last things left to be uncovered in the forgotten pages of History.

Belloq would be jealous... if he was still alive.

"Forget it." Jones said, removing his glasses slowly.

"Surely you have heard the legends?" Veidt asked anxiously.

"Legends?" Jones asked, his tone bordering on a snarl. He glanced down at the old book once more, the old pages starting to fade. The selected passage, marked "Ankhesenamen," was brief, explaining the tales told of the Egyptian Queen that had been passed down through the oral tradition. "Legend says that Queen Ankhesenamen, the only wife of Tutankahmun, was heart broken after the death of her husband. Her woe and grief were so great that she sent a letter to a Hitite colony, begging for another man to take her hand in marriage. The Egyptians under her charge, so enraged by her eagerness to accept an inferior foreigner as a mate, killed her in the middle of the night. So skilled were the men who took her life that they were able to remove her heart as it beat inside of her chest."

Veidt sat down as Jones stole his proverbial thunder.

"They entombed her in a coffin made of solid sandstone, the same material used to construct the pyramids themselves. The story goes that they stopped the flow of the Nile for days, just to bury her in the sand beneath the currents of the water."

Jones' new client nodded slowly.

"What's your interest with her?"

"Legends in my own family, I suppose." Veidt muttered. "My ancestory traces back to the greatest kings of Egypt. The land's mysteries are my own."

Jones nodded.

"I haven't been out in years, Mr. Veidt. Not since my trip to the Temple of the Sun."

"Consider it a favor, Doctor Jones."

"A favor?" Asked Jones.

"Think of what you could do if the 'Smartest Man on the Planet' owed you one."

Jones nodded, and folded his arms across the red tie tied around his neck and draped over his chest. True enough, there were few men in the world with as many connections, influences, and friends as Adrian Veidt. Something made Jones a bit... uneasy, however. Surely, such an amount of power as Veidt had wasn't easy to come by. The intrepid professor had no doubt that shady dealings had taken place between the man in his office and various other entrepreneurs.

"I can imagine that it could come in handy." He replied smugly, after plenty consideration.

"Surely it could." Veidt said, rising to his feet. "Well, Doctor, I'm afraid I have another engagement I must attend to."

He eased an envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it gracefully on Indiana's desk.

"This is for your time and trouble." Adrian's voice had an air of confidence. "I know that you'll report any findings to me, should you grant my request."

"Of course." The archaeologist said, standing up straight and leading his guest to the door. "I'm sure you'll be keeping tabs on me anyway."

"Of course." Veidt said.

Jones felt his eyebrow arch. His remark, made primarily in jest, wasn't meant as anything but a joke... Veidt, it seemed, had other plans.

"Good day." He said, strolling down the University hallway, without waiting for so much as a reply.

Jones watched, half leaning out of the doorway to his office, and heard the voice of Marcus Brody from behind him.

"What was that about?" Brody asked, biting into an apple.

Jones paused and glanced at the ground.

"Guy named Adrian Veidt just hired me to go on a dig in Egypt. Wants me to look for Ankhesenamen's tomb."

"The same as the one beneath the Nile?" Jones' mentor asked, wiping the apple on his sleeve.

"The same one."

"An interesting assignment."

"To say the least." Jones said, ducking back into his office.

Marcus followed in toe, adjusting his suit as he went.

"Well? What are you going to do?"

"Dunno." Jones muttered, stroking his chin. "Something about him feels... off."

Brody bit into the apple once again, and, for the third time, wasn't please with it.

"Can't say I blame you, Indy." Brody said, tossing the apple in a nearby garbage bin. "Certain circles allege that Veidt's parents were Nazi sympathizers."

"What does he want with Ankhesenamen's tomb, then?" Jones wondered aloud.

"Who knows?" Brody replied. Then, added, "Man has always wanted to be special, hoping to find the 'un-findable.' Striving for the 'unreachable.'"

"He said he had Egyptian lineage." Jones said, sliding the keys to his office out of his blazer pocket. "Think you can dig anything up at the Museum's archives?"

The pair made their way into the hallway. Jones closed the door behind him, and slid the key into the handle. It locked with a "click."
"I'll certainly see what I can do." Marcus said, nodding. "Be warned, though, Indiana: Men like Adrian Veidt are not to be trusted. They'll do anything they can to scale the levels of power in society."

Jones smirked.

"I've tangled with the worst of 'em, Marcus."

Marcus stuffed his hands into his pockets, defeated by Jones' lightheartedness.

"Of course." Marcus said. "I'll bring what I find by your place this evening at, say, seven?"

Indiana nodded.

"I'll supply the sherry."

 

[Eddie Brock]

THREE YEARS AGO...

"There is no other way," I insist. My eyes burn from the bright light emanating from my body. It's taking all of my strength to remain in control. I remind myself that if I lose it, everyone dies. I can't be responsible for that.

Claire's hand trembles as she wraps her finger around the trigger. She's fighting back tears as she keeps the gun trained on me. She knows what she must do, but she can't bring herself to it. If Claire doesn't shoot me, millions of people will die.

Suddenly, Nathan swoops down from the skies. "Yes, there is, Claire," he states calmly. I step backwards, not wanting to harm Nathan with my radiation. Nathan gently puts a hand on the barrel of the gun and lowers it. "The future isn't written in stone," he explains.

"I took his power, Nathan," I announce, referring to Ted Sprague. Nathan turns and faces me. Shaking my head, I continue, "I can't control it. I can't do anything." I can't even teleport. If I could, I would get far, far away from here - somewhere where I could explode without damaging anything.

Nathan approaches me, and I recoil. "I'm not leaving you, Peter," he replies unwaveringly. "There's another way to end this, and you know it."

It's times like these when our brotherly connection speaks louder than words. I know exactly what he means. If he could pick me up, he could fly me out of range of the city. But if he did that...

"I can't let you die."

"And I can't let everyone else," he responds. Something's changed in Nathan. Long before any of this, he would have never been so selfless. Turning, he looks at the assembled crowd. Claire is crying by this point. Nathan turns back to me and says, "You saved the cheerleader so we could save the world."

The words strike me in a surprising way. In that moment, all apprehension is gone. I know now what we must do, and we must do it for them. It appears that Nathan is teaching me something about heroics now. "I love you, Nathan."

"I love you, too." He looks to the cloudy night sky. "You ready?"

Taking a deep breath, I nod. Nathan grabs me around the waist, and we take off. The crisp air whips around me as I try not to explode.

​

NOW...

"NATHAN!!!" I scream, awaking from a deep slumber. Breathing heavily, I look around at my cold, metallic imprisonment. The hard cot I was sleeping on is now covered in my own sweat. Every night, I dream of Nathan. Two years he's been gone, and not a day goes by that I don't think of him.

"Not sleeping well?"

Grimacing, I ignore her. I slide out of my bed and go over to the sink. Looking through the smeared glass, I splash cold water on my face. I haven't shaved in a while. I haven't done a lot of things in a while.

"Is that any way to treat your mother?"

"You're not my mother," I sneer. I glance angrily over my shoulder. "You killed Nathan."

"Noah Bennet killed Nathan," Mom explains calmly. I don't see how she can be so cavalier about the assassination of her own son. It speaks volumes about the kind of person she is. She's the kind of person who would imprison her other son - me.

"And you gave him the order," I hiss back.

Mom frowns. "What happened with Nathan was very unfortunate, Peter," she laments, sounding only slightly sincere. "But our generation has worked much harder than your generation seems to realize. If you know what we had sacrificed, you would understand why I couldn't simply let Nathan ruin it all." She sighs. "I always thought that it would be you behind that podium."

"You would have preferred it that way, huh?" I accuse. I know the answer in my heart.

"Don't ask questions of which you don't want to know the answer," she instructs emotionlessly. "Get some rest, now, Peter. There's no need to be so focused on the past."

TWO YEARS AGO...

"Good afternoon. Most of you have no idea who I am. My name is Nathan Petrelli and I was elected to Congress in the state of New York. It seems like a long time ago. I lost my position. I lost my brother. I lost my family. I'm sad to say that I lost my way. But while I was gone, I've had the chance to see the world through newly-humbled eyes. Witnessed amazing things, seen ordinary people among us trying their best each day to be heroes. These ordinary people... like you, like me, are capable of extraordinary things. You have no idea... how extraordinary. But there are other people; organizations who don't want you to know the truth. I myself kept secrets. But last year, something incredible happened to me... and it changed my life. At first, I was afraid. But I'm... I'm not afraid anymore. I'm here to tell you the truth. I have the abili--"

BANG! BANG!

NOW...

"No, not the past." I grimace. "The future. I'm focused on the future."
​

 

[absonic93]

NIKI AND JESSICA SANDERS
UNKNOWN LOCATION

2 YEARS AGO
​

“Open your eyes Niki”

The women slowly opened her eyes, squinting as she adjusted to the light. She found herself sitting on the floor of a small room, slumped upon the only door.

She rubbed her eyes as she stood up, examining her surroundings.

Looking down at her body, she shrieked at the sights. Her flesh was burnt, and dried blood covered her arm. Placing her hands on her face, she could feel it charred.

How had this happened? She wondered before recalling the deadly fire.

Explosions were all around her, as timbers flashed, and pieces of the structure fell all around her. Then everything was blank. She had no memory whatsoever of what happened after that.

“What are you doing?”

Niki suddenly turned around to come face to face with…..herself.

“You...this isn’t happening….I...I…I got rid of you, this can’t be happening”

The other women smiled, as she crossed her arms.

“Oh it’s happening Niki.” The woman was identical to Niki, even with the same injuries she currently had.

“But…I’m hurt” Niki cried “What’s happening! Where’s Micah!”

The women gave out a sinister laugh.

“Micah? Niki your ignorance is entertaining. Don’t you remember? You couldn’t save Micah. He died in the explosion. You would be there too if not for me. You owe me Niki, and you and I have a little business to attend to.”

“What? Micah…no! I…I…I remember though, He got out, he got Monica and ran.”

“Apparently not fast enough. Now shut up and listen to me. Micah’s gone. D.L. is gone. I’m the only one you have.”

Niki slowly backed away only to be met with walls.
“No…this isn’t happening. You’re not real, I got rid of you. What more do you want from me Jessica?”

Jessica slowly leaned forward and whispered into Niki’s ear.

“Oh I’m definitely real Niki, and right now you and me have to go find your pal Suresh and cure us. Then I have bigger plans…much bigger plans.”

She gave a final smile as Niki closed her eyes tight, crawling into the corner to escape from her nightmare.

She opened them to find herself alone.

 

[Carnage27]

Land of the Green Sun-Part 1

​

The sky fades to black above New York City, as I meditate below the city streets. For seventeen years I have lived below the streets. Training, preparing, and waiting. For seventeen years my master…no…my father, Splinter, has taught me the ways of the ninja. How to fight, how to lead my brothers into battle, and even how to kill. I have longed to bring retribution to those who spit in the face of justice.

But I wait no more.

Tonight will be the night that my brothers and I announce our presence to the world, to show the people of this city that not all will stand by and let scum take hold of their lives. Tonight will be death knell of the darkness that covers our planet.

I rise to my feet and walk into the room where my brothers are preparing, all trying to shake off the nerves we all have.

Raphael pounds away at a punching bag hanging on the dojo area of our sewer home.

​

Michelangelo is lounging on an old recliner in front of an ancient television playing an original Nintendo we found in the dump.

Donatello, the tech geek of the group, is fiddling with a police scanner he has been attempting to fix for days now.

As I open the door, they drop what they are doing and look up at me, Leonardo. I am to be the leader of this group. For years master Splinter has pounded the ideals of leadership into me, but I still don't know if I'm ready.

But that doesn't matter now. The world needs people like us. People willing to put aside they're worries in order to take the burden of the world upon their shoulders, and usher it through the darkness.
​

"It's time.”

Together as one we head towards the surface in order to send a message to those that prey on the innocent…

[FONT=&quot]The time of the heroes has returned.[/FONT]

 

[Keyser Soze]

The dark man strode purposefully along US 51, rundown bootheels clocking against the hot tarmac. He walked at night, following the path of the road, striding right down its middle as if he owned it. And, in truth, he did. He owned the roads. He owned the night. This was his country. In his time of endless walking, he had set foot in every last corner of the United States. From New Orleans to Bedford, from Omaha, Nebraska to Las Vegas, Nevada, from Portland, Maine to Sin City, the dark man knew and loved this nation better than anyone. And so he walked on, walked on, bootheels clocking, never pausing, never slowing, the night alive with possibility.

His sharp-toed cowboy boots were accompanied by faded jeans and a battered denim jacket, the right breast of which was adorned with a yellow smiley-face button. His features were much harder to define. He had long raven hair, yes, that much was clear. But his face was ageless, its features always seeming to be dimmed by shade, even in a well-lit room. Different people perceived it differently. But the one constant, the one that was seared forever into the nightmares of whoever saw it, was his grin.

Teeth shining a brilliant, savage white, and eyes gleaming with dark hilarity, it was the kind of grin that turned hair white, made birds fall stone-dead out of tree branches, and triggered fatally-premature labour pains in young pregnant women. He smiled at someone a certain way, and their insides went bad, and cancerous cells started to slowly multiply, a death sentence that would be carried out several years down the road. He walked into a bar with that burning grin, and petty disputes turned into bloody brawls, and adolescent romances turned into intentions of violent rape. When he stopped by at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, as he was often prone to do when seeking amusement, all would fall silent, as if all hope and life had been sucked out of the room. The group would all instinctively turn to face the new arrival, then just as instinctively turn away. Even the most hardened of individuals could only look at the dark man’s face in fleeting glimpses. The speaker up front would find that his voice had abandoned him, his personal battle suddenly seeming pointless and insubstantial. And as the dark man took his seat in the back, monstrous grin unflinching, all the moisture in the room seemed to burn up and evaporate, and everyone’s mouths all of a sudden felt awfully dry. They could use a drink, no, they needed a drink…

The dark man did not know how long he had been walking the roads. It could very well be that he had always been out there on the roads, always on the outside. But in his time, he had met many people, and he had taken many names. In New York in the 1970s he had been known as Robert Franq, and had been a member of a black militant group, personally involved in the murder of several policemen, crimes someone else went to the chair for. Despite the fact that his skin was in fact very pale, his claim that he was a black man had never been disputed. Twenty years earlier, in Georgia, he had gone by the name of Ramsay Forrest, distant descendant of Nathan Bedford Forrest, and prominent member of the Ku Klux Klan. In those days he’d burned many a colored man and raped many a colored woman, all in the name of white power. To this day, he kept the Kode of the Klan folded up in his pocket right up next to a pamphlet for Blacks for Militant Equality. He found that kinda funny.

In 1962, Remy Fubois drifted into New Orleans, where he encountered a troubled young man by the name of Lee Harvey Oswald, who had been handing out anti-American pamphlets. He still had a couple crumpled in one of his pockets today. 43 years later but not a day older, Remy Fubois returned to New Orleans, one hurricane following in the wake of another, to engage heartily in rioting and looting.

Rudy Fowler made regular visits to the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, where he cheerfully proposed new causes for Fred Phelps and his repugnant little clan to rally against. With a charming smile and a hand on the shoulder, he had gently whispered into Phelps’ ear that the world needed to know that God hated f*gs, that God hated Jews, that God hated soldiers fighting in Iraq, that God hated America, that God hated pretty much everyone. He had written many speeches for the hate-group over the years, but never spoke them himself, for if he did the microphones would scream with hysterical feedback and the circuits would blow, and television sets across the country would go blank with static. Instead he let various members of the family speak for him, and these speeches were routinely met with outpourings of rage and violent counter-demonstrations. He cared little about their message – and he was sure the so-called “Church” couldn’t care less about the God whose opinions they spoke for – but it never ceased to fascinate him, the way they wore their bottomless hatred on their faces like a harelip, and spread their hate like a virus into the children they indoctrinated, and even into the normal, decent folk whose buttons they pushed. Virulent hate, round and round in circles, and the dark man dined on it like fine cuisine.

Yes, his rundown bootheels had walked him through many places, from the corridors of power to the scummiest of back-alleys, but he never stayed in the one place along. He appeared in a place suddenly, and held the absolute attention of all he made contact with while there, and just as suddenly he was gone, and no one could quite remember who he was, where he had came from, or just how he had managed to burrow his way into their lives. All that remained were vague memories of a Walkin’ Dude, and of course, the destruction and agony he left behind. That was the one thing that followed, wherever he went. He had a skill for seeking out conflict, big and small, picking at that thread, and making it into something catastrophic, resulting in widespread chaos or – just as satisfying to him – the utter destruction of one individual. Everywhere he went, everyone he encountered, was worse off after the dark man than before him. He was a clot looking for a place to happen, a splinter of bone hunting a soft organ to puncture, a lonely lunatic cell looking for a mate – they would set up housekeeping and raise themselves a cozy little malignant tumor.

He was the dark man, the ageless stranger, the Walkin’ Dude. And for now, his name was Randall Flagg. And, now as always, he was walking, walking purposefully, walking towards his latest destination. And this… this was a big one. Because somewhere out there, a clock was ticking. It kept a time nobody could comprehend but him. Even from here, he could hear its tick-tick-ticking in the back of his head, to the point where he was walking in time to it, to this ticking clock counting down to midnight. That’s where he was walking to now. The ticking clock was calling him, calling him to the epicentre of the coming darkness. Nobody knew what would happen when this clock that kept its own seemingly irregular time finally reached midnight. Except Flagg. Randall Flagg knew exactly what would happen when that tick-tick-ticking clock struck midnight.

“Doomsday.”

 

[SuperFerret]

I look up at the grey clouds in the sky and run that poem through my head again.

"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."

I’ve had to memorize that damned poem, and I must’ve gone over it in my head about a dozen and a third times, just to try and figure it out. The Jabberwock, I can’t believe it. I mean, I’ve faced down the cream of the mythological crop in my day, but this damn thing isn’t even supposed to exist, and here I am, in the middle of the English countryside, looking for a monster from a poem.

Gotta admit though, that movie Gilliam made was funny as hell.

“So, what do you think of all this crap, Kate?” I say, barely turning towards her while I speak, “Is there any solid evidence that this thing is what killed those farmers, or is it as much nonsense as I think it is?”

Kate looks up from her laptop, “Not as of yet, but you know these things take time. You’re just impatient because you know start your vacation once we’re debriefed on this mission by the Bureau.” I grunt in agreement, tapping my hoof on the ground impatiently. “Wait..” Kate starts, sudden realization in her voice. Oh crap.

“You’re going to see Anastacia, aren’t you?” I slump my shoulders and mutter a quick response that she doesn’t quite here. “What was that?”

“It’s her birthday next week.” I repeat, louder, “And, as it stands now, if we find the punks that’re pulling this damn hoax today, we’ll go and get debriefed tomorrow, and that leaves me with only four days to fly to New York to pick her up a gift and then to go and meet her down in India for her birthday.”

“India?”

“Yeah, she’s researching a newly found ancient temple thing or some crap like that. Doesn’t matter to me, so long as I don’t run into any werewolves.”

“Please, no mention of the “w” word. I still have nightmares.” She says, shoving her nose back into her laptop. Jeez, I always forget that lycanthropes are a touchy subject with her.

Suddenly, I hear it, the “jabberwock”. Sounds like someone trying to gargle through a trumpet.

“Sounds like someone trying to gargle through a trumpet.”

“Yeah.” Kate says, but I’m already hoofing it, no pun intended, towards the source of the noise, and I nearly fall over laughing when I get sight of the damned thing. I was right, this is complete ridiculousness, a hoax. The thing I spot looks like the northern English farmboy’s version of one of those dragons from a Chinese New Years parade, and a cheaply made one at that.

But, these bozos did commit at least three horrible murders, and despite their normalness compared to what I was called in to take out, I’m the only lawman in the area and I can get out my frustrations by scaring the crap outta these kids.

Slipping off my trenchcoat and tossing my gun down to the ground with it, I charge the “jabberwock” boys, screaming at the top of my lungs. That should scare these punks good, or at least enough to let me arrest them without trouble.

It doesn’t work. Sonofa*****.

“HEY!” I yell as they walk by me, “Where do you think you’re going? School’s in session boys!” I grab onto the shoddy cloth “skin” of the “beast” and yank it off.

“Oh crap.” There’s no psycho farm kids, no loser drunk frat boys, nothing I expected, ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t expect something that looks like a giant skinless caterpillar with batwings. It rears up and lets out that gargle trumper noise again. I hear Kate gasp on the hill behind me.


I really should’ve kept my gun with me.

 

[absonic93]

JESSICA SANDERS
NEW YORK CITY

A man opens the door as I walk past him. I see him staring at me, but I've never been ashamed of myself. In fact, I have come to realize the exact opposite. I'm better than everyone else.

I turn and give him a warm smile. He blushes and returns to his duty. He however couldn't see me rolling my eyes from behind my sunglasses. Moron!

Quickly walking to the counter, my heels tap on the marble floor, as I carry my purse in my folded arm. Nobody would ever suspect a simple blonde.

I smile at the small old lady at the counter.

"Can I help you today Miss?" She sweetly says. I bet she goes home and bakes cookies all day after work. God, I hate people.

" Yeah, actually you can sort of help me out. This is a hold up." I smiley sweetly as I pull my gun out of my purse. Nobody would ever suspect a blonde.

Security rushes from all corners of the bank and point their guns towards me. I laugh as their stern faces gaze at me, ready to shoot a women. Don't they know better?

I grab the nearest guard, latching my hand upon his wrist. With ease, I twist it with a loud crack resonating through the hall. I follow by throwing the shrieking man against the hard wall behind him. He falls as the other guards ready faces turn into fear.

"Who else wants a turn?"

 

[Gallagher]

Revolver Ocelot


"I know how my predecessor ran things Ocelot and frankly I think he got sloppy." Bob sat at his new desk a look of almost disdain for the man stood in front of him.

"I understand Sir." Ocelot said absent-mindedly. "Say what you will about Mr Thompson, he knew how to deal with insubordination."

Bob laughed, a short sarcastic laugh, more of an exclamation than anything.

"If that was the case Mr Ivan, he would've left you out to dry years ago."

Ocelot glared at Bob, meeting him eye to eye for the first time since the meeting began. "I've been nothing but loyal to this company from the very beginning." He rasped, his voice determined yet calm.

"Oh yes, I've read the file on you... Quite a thick one isn't it? You were the first weren't you? A child soldier, taken from your home and thrust into our service... How does that make you feel?"

Ocelot stood up straight, eyeing the man sat infront of him with a small amount of confusion. "In all due respect sir I don't see where this line of questioning is going..."

"Answer the question Ocelot."

Revolver, as his partners had named him, paused for a moment.

"I feel nothing but admiration for the great work this company has been doing."

"Ah yes, the perfect answer, that's the thing about you isn't it Adam? So rebellious yet so loyal, you can't seem to make up your mind as to who your fighting or who your acting out against."

Ocelot chuckled.

"I'm far to old for teenage rebellion Mr Bishop."

The two grow quiet for a moment, Bob visibly collecting his thoughs before speaking once more.

"I have a job for you. Just got an urgent call from an agent on sight, says a superhuman is holding up a bank."

Ocelot runs his gloved hand over his chin.

"Someone we know?"

"Sanders."

Revolver grinned and let out a short chuckle.

"Ah yes, the darling Jessica, seems she's in need of money."

"Perhaps... or perhaps she's attempting to draw us out."

"A trap?"

Bob Bishop leaned back in his chair, his rotund physique visible beneath the desk.

"It's possible, she didn't leave us on the best of terms."

Ocelot nodded in agreement, taking a single action army from it's holster and spinning it around on his finger.

"Who's the agent on sight?" Adamska asked, out of mild curiosity, they both know he had never adhered to the 'One of us, One of them' rule, he'd always done things his own way.

"A relatively new recruit, goes by the name of Matt Parkman."

"Tell him I'm on my way... and that he should stay out of it."

****

JESSICA SANDERS
NEW YORK CITY

A man opens the door as I walk past him. I see him staring at me, but I've never been ashamed of myself. In fact, I have come to realize the exact opposite. I'm better than everyone else.

I turn and give him a warm smile. He blushes and returns to his duty. He however couldn't see me rolling my eyes from behind my sunglasses. Moron!

Quickly walking to the counter, my heels tap on the marble floor, as I carry my purse in my folded arm. Nobody would ever suspect a simple blonde.

I smile at the small old lady at the counter.

"Can I help you today Miss?" She sweetly says. I bet she goes home and bakes cookies all day after work. God, I hate people.

" Yeah, actually you can sort of help me out. This is a hold up." I smiley sweetly as I pull my gun out of my purse. Nobody would ever suspect a blonde.

Security rushes from all corners of the bank and point their guns towards me. I laugh as their stern faces gaze at me, ready to shoot a women. Don't they know better?

I grab the nearest guard, latching my hand upon his wrist. With ease, I twist it with a loud crack resonating through the hall. I follow by throwing the shrieking man against the hard wall behind him. He falls as the other guards ready faces turn into fear.

"Who else wants a turn?"

Arriving in a company car driven by somone Ocelot didn't care to recognize nor remember Adamska made his way to the bank. Drawing a revolver and idly twirling it around as he always did, he cooly walked through the main doors just in time to see a grown man flung against a wall next to him.

"Evidently that would be me my dear." He rasped, his voice withered with age yet still forcefull and filled with a distinct malice. The revolver in his hand ceased to twirl as it was brought up to point at the blonde haired beast in front of him.

"Come now, you don't want this to get out of hand girl."

 

[Catman_prb]

"The house has been abandoned for years. I say house, really it's a rundown mansion, boarded up windows and the like. There had been five suicides in and around the house, and the locals said they got a 'weird vibe' off of it. Recently a spectral figure has been seen walking from room to room each night, and watching the residents out of the window,"

"...And that's it?

The description of the house seemed to be accurate, but there was an extra air of spookiness caused by a heavy thunderstorm; the first rain LA had seen in weeks.

"We're getting paid to get rid of the ghost," Wesley said, disaproval coating his voice "The money we're getting from it, it's worth the boredom,"

"Still...demon attacks have been down for months, and now I have to exorcise a ghost? I'm the Champion of the Powers That Be not..." Angel protested.

"Money is money," the ex-watcher said with a shrug "You should be able to go in without an invitation,"

"Yipee," the vampire said coolly, stepping over the threshold of the building. He turned to beckon to Wesley, but the door slammed shut with a bang.

"Ah,"

Two hours later...

"What's the problem, English?" Charles Gunn asked, surveying the foreboding house as he parked the car.

"Angel has been stuck in that house with a ghost for over two hours now. God knows what he's up against,"

***
​

Angel was sat on an old couch with springs sticking out in awkward places.

"So I went back to Sunnydale and gave her this amulet that'd close the Hellmouth, and you know what? It turns out she was carrying on with Spike while I was gone. Can you believe that?"

"I honestly can't," the ghost said in a flat monotone.

"So I left pretty quickly, didn't even mention the whole Connor situation,"

"Right,"

"Now she's gone off the edge of the map. Rumours say she's leading some kind of Slayer Army,"

"You don't say,"

"Anyway, I should probably try and get this window open again," he said, standing up and walking over to the boarded up window.

"Would you?"

The wood splintered as Angel swung a hard punch at it. The remains fell out of place and clattered onto the ground. A ray of moonlight lit up the inside of the house.

"Thankyou," the ghost said, and walked out into the open world. Angel followed him, a small smile on his face as he saw Gunn and Wesley.

"Well that was easy. Back to the hotel?"

"We just got word," Wesley said, a frown on his face. Angel's smile dropped.

"About what?"

"They've found Connor,"​

 

[absonic93]

JESSICA SANDERS
NEW YORK CITY

I turn to the new man on the scene after chucking another guard into his friend, sending both men straight to the ground.

"And who would you be?" I pause, staring the man up and down, examining what he might be able to do. It doesn't matter anyway, I'm just going to tear him in half in a few minutes.

 

[SuperFerret]

Okay, where were we?

Oh yeah, that's right, I'm on top of the damned thing, doing my best impression of a rodeo cowboy as the jabberwock tries to buck me off. Too bad for him this cowboy has an indestructable stone right hand that's currently imbedded in it's ribcage, and I'm not letting go.

"Kate," I say as flatly as I can while bouncing around on the writhing monster's back, "toss me my gun, I can't reach it."

Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I can barely see Kate nod and make her way towards my stuff. The thing screeches again with that gargle trumpet roar it does and tries to lunge for her, a dozen mandibles opening up to grab at her.

"Oh no you DON'T!" With a sickening squish and a small gush of black oily blood, I yank my hand free and grab the jabberwock by the back of it's head, digging my stone fingers into it's skull. "Nevermind the gun, just get back!"

"Make up your mind!"

I have. I'm taking this thing out. Right now. King Kong style.

It turns it's head around completely, facing me while I straddle it's back. "Come on you ugly son of a *****, bite me. The red means I'm cherry-flavored."

It snaps it's jaws at me, but I catch it, grabbing the top and bottom jaws with both hands, and I start to open it wider.

It starts to shake and try to scream when I get my arms at about half of my full reach, trying harder to buck me off. I tighten my thighs and turn my head away from it, avoiding it's ass-breath, and I continue to pull it apart. Finally, a loud snap, and I feel it go limp beneath me, the rest of it collapsing like it's skull just did.

Sighing, I let go and slide off the corpse, ignoring Kate's look of disbelief as I grab up my gun and coat. I shrug the long coat over my shoulders, being careful not to get blood on it, then I walk back to the dead monster and put three bullets between where I think it's eyes were, before turning back to Kate.

"Who needs a vorpal sword?"

 

[Carnage27]

Land of the Green Sun-Part 2

A woman screams in the night as six thugs approach her in an alley way. They back her into a corner, and the leader reaches out towards the trembling body. As he is about to grab her, the light above them explodes into a rain of glass as a shuriken hits it.

I nod to my brothers and we drop down from the fire escapes above.

I land right in front of the leader of the pack, and deliver a swift kick to his chin, sending him flying into the goon behind him. At the same time Rapheal, Michelangelo, and Donatello engage their targets.

"Get out of here," I command the woman, and she happily complies.

The man under the boss pulls out a hand gun and ***** it, and fires a shot blindly in my direction. He misses, but barely.

Guns. I despise them.

Unhonorable weapons used by those who do not have the courage to stand up and fight man-to-turtle.

I swiftly roll to his side, while simultaneously unsheathing my katana. In one motion I stand and slice off his hand. He screams in pain and curls into the fetal position.

I pick him up by his collar and shove him against the wall.

"Tell everyone like you what happened tonight. Tell them how easily we dispatched you and your boys. Tell them how this city no longer belongs to scum like you."

He looks down at my reptilian arms, illuminated by the half moon above, "What the hell are you?"

"We're the Ninja Turtles," I rasp in the most menacing voice I can muster, and deliver a knock out blow to his temple.

Sirens blare down the street, and we scramble.

"Leo, it's time to get out of here!" Raph shouts as he opens up a man hole, and I follow him down.

It hurts me to run from those that could be our allies, but they would not understand us.

Besides, we are ninjas. We strike hard, and fade into the night.
​

 

[Gallagher]

JESSICA SANDERS
NEW YORK CITY

I turn to the new man on the scene after chucking another guard into his friend, sending both men straight to the ground.

"And who would you be?" I pause, staring the man up and down, examining what he might be able to do. It doesn't matter anyway, I'm just going to tear him in half in a few minutes.

Ocelot smiled. 'Kids today.' he thought to himself. 'No respect for their elders.'

"As you may have guessed I'm from a certain company that deals with people like you." With the last words Ocelot could barely hide the venom in his voice, he'd always been adverse to the idea of super-human's. 'Abominations to the human race.' He thought, often entertaining himself with the thought of how many he, a regular man, had captured or killed.

"My name is of no importance, you may call me Revolver Ocelot, most do." He drew another Single Action Army from his belt and spun it on his finger, bringing it up to meet the other one and pointing both guns at the super-strong vixen he'd been sent to detain.

"If you won't come quietly... then draw." He growled firing off two shots each Jessica dodged with a simple roll. Ocelot had anticipated such a move and, with an almost superhuman ability of his own, managed to control the bullet's ricochet, sending one of the speeding lead projectile scraping passed her shoulder.

She looked up at the old man in shock. He tapped the sides of his revolvers lovingly.

"Six shots. More than enough to kill anything that moves."

 

[Byrd Man]

Cassanova Frankenstein's Mansion

Central City

"God almighty, does she ever shut up?" One of Frankenstein's men grumbles to his buddy.

Cassanova Frankenstein's thugs are a bit more...creative than most.

They look like they've just come out of Club 54 and they call themselves the Disco Boys.

The one complaining to his pal has a gold plated uzi, while his pal is wielding a diamond encrusted pistol. They both look like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever with the high collars and god awful polyester clothes.

"I just went in to make sure she was tied good, and she was pretty much begging. 'I'll get you a t.v. deal. Say you were under orders, get you off with a misdemenor.' I just can't wait till the big man gets here, she'll set her straight."

"I don't think you losers ever got the memo." I say as I step out of the shadows and grab the men by their collars, disarming them and throwing them to the floor with a thud.

"Disco is dead." I say as I walk over their bodies and into the room the two of them were guarding.

"Mmmm!!" Ginger Coffee mumbles behind a gang, she's tied to a chair with her clothes ruffled.

"Ginger Coffee, I presume?"

"Mmmhmmm." She mumbles and struggles with her bonds as I walk up to her and free the ropes holding the reporter to the chair.

"So, you're The Spirit, huh?" She says as she takes out the gag.

"Yep, now lets hurry. Someone might be along soon."

She follows me out of the room and into the hallways of Frankenstein's mansion.

***************
​

"Still no updates on Ginger Coffee, we'll be back in The Emergency Room after this..."

Penny Wolfgang clears her throat and looks at the nearest stage hand.

"Get me a water, my throat is as dry as the damn sahara!"

"Penny!" The producer yells as he rushes up to his anchor with a phone.

"What is it?"

"Listen."

"This a story most journalist would kill for, I wish there was some way my producer could get it on the air."

"That's like, the third time you've said that. Now, be quiet!"

"Fine...you're The Spirit afer all."

"Oh my god." Penny says as she hands the phone back to her producer.

"We have to get this on now!"
​

*********
​

"Fine, you're The Spirit after all."

"And you keep on saying that too." I say quietly as we creep through the dark hallways of the mansion.

"How about paint a bullseye on my chest and hang a neon sign on my head?"

"Well, home many other goofy looking guys walk around wearing a blue hat and mask?"

"I...well...umm...you got me there..."

BLAM!

A bullet whizzes by Ginger and I, making us stoping in our tracks and turn to a figure standing in the shadows.

"Hands where I can see 'em."

Tony P. leader of the Disco Boys and Cassanova Frankenstein's right hand man steps out of the shadows with a gold plated gun pointed on me.

"I knew there was something fishy when Luke and Tony didn't respond."

"You know you won't get away with this. Dolan and his cops will be here soon."

"By the time they get here, you two will be long gone."

"You should just give yourselves up."

"Yeah, well. You should disco duck."

"What?"

THUNK!

A gold painted pipe cracks me in the back of the head, knocking my hat off and knocking me unconscious in the process.​

 

[absonic93]

Ocelot smiled. 'Kids today.' he thought to himself. 'No respect for their elders.'

"As you may have guessed I'm from a certain company that deals with people like you." With the last words Ocelot could barely hide the venom in his voice, he'd always been adverse to the idea of super-human's. 'Abominations to the human race.' He thought, often entertaining himself with the thought of how many he, a regular man, had captured or killed.

"My name is of no importance, you may call me Revolver Ocelot, most do." He drew another Single Action Army from his belt and spun it on his finger, bringing it up to meet the other one and pointing both guns at the super-strong vixen he'd been sent to detain.

"If you won't come quietly... then draw."He growled firing off two shots each Jessica dodged with a simple roll. Ocelot had anticipated such a move and, with an almost superhuman ability of his own, managed to control the bullet's ricochet, sending one of the speeding lead projectile scraping passed her shoulder.

She looked up at the old man in shock. He tapped the sides of his revolvers lovingly.

"Six shots. More than enough to kill anything that moves."

JESSICA SANDERS
NEW YORK CITY

I laugh at the man. Who does he think he is. Sure his bullet might have scratched my shoulder, but that's nothing that's gonna slow me down. I'm the strong one, not Niki.

He points his revolvers as me, as the cocky marksman taps the barrels. So he wants to play rough? I'll show him the meaning of that word.

"Yeah I heard about you. The Company is it? They were the ones who tried to get rid of me, the guys who helped Niki try to wipe me out."

I calmly walk towards Ocelot, as apparently most call him, and put my hands up.

"Now here's what's going to happen old timer. I'm going to walk out of here. You're going to watch. And then we're going to laugh about it later when I tear your head from your body."

He loads his two revolvers, readying himself.

I see the ground, where shards of broken glass lay around one of the unconscious guards.

I see myself, Niki fighting desperately to get out.

"Sorry Niki, your life is gonna need to be held on hold for a little while."

I throw myself at the man, grabbing the two barrels of the guns, and bending them downwards, before grabbing each of his arms, and push him back, watching him fly away. The easiness of it all is always the best part.

"Now where were we? Oh yeah, my favorite part. I'm getting the money and walking away."

I glance at the glass one last time, to see Niki banging as if she were trapped inside of it. She shakes her head and shrieks at me as if I'm ruining her life. I'm helping her. Why does she resist.

"Oh shut up b*tch"

 

[Saved]

The stars, an infinite mystery to the human mind. They glow brightly, beautiful dots on the night sky's back drop. Their glow is pretty to the eye, dazzling and serene. To some, their shimmer in the sky is a gleam of hope. To others, it is an omen of fortune. Some even use them as tools, guides for finding their way. Others look up into the sky and see a story, a tale of valor and heroes.

But they are not any of these things. In reality, they are merely hot, burning balls of gas and fire. No being can survive its power, the force emitted by them stronger than any other power in the solar system. To universes, stars are their gods, controlling who lives and who dies. Stars aren't the beauty and majesty humans percieve them to be. Not in reality.

Among these stars are planets, many spheres revolving daily in their own orbits, part of a much bigger picture then themselves. Among these many worlds in the universe, life waits to be found. Some believe it to exist, others feel it is an impossibility. But if anything has been proven it is there isn't the impossible. There is only the improbable.

On the cold and barren world of the fourth planet from the sun, Mars as it has been called, winds blow and kick up the red iron dust into the air. Clouds of red brush over the landscape, floating over the moutains and into the valleys. Among this deserted world, only one thing seems to be able to be seen; rocks, simple rocks that have formed over years and years. But there is something else here. A being. A god.

Against the crimson backdrop, there is something else to be seen. Its colors do not mix, its tones to not match, its appearance does not blend. It walks up right, bi-ped, moving along the surface quietly and calmly. The being stops, holding still among the dust and sand. It looks up to the sky, it's white eyes poking through the black dimond shapes surround its eyes, the pale blue color of its skin seeming to glow.

The being does not breath, he doesn't sigh, and he doesn't frown. He simply is, staring into the black background above him at something more than himself. Slowly, his eyes close, and they shut tightly. His lips suddenly raise, and for the first time in years, an expression forms on its face.

"Time..." it says, speaking low and bold to no one but itself. "Some one has altered time once more." The being's body begins to glow, the the sand around its feet raises off the ground. A force like a wind begins to emit from it as the light coming from its figure shines brighter and brighter. In a sudden flash, it disappears, leaving only a large wave of air to cascade across the surface of the planet.

As the ground settles, and the planet returns to its state, a trailing voice can be heard. It is the sound of the being, his tone and complextion. "I cannot stand by any longer," the whisper says. "I must intervene."

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Hey, Peter." Shifting my gaze slowly, I spot Elle closing the heavy metal door behind her. I display no emotion on my face. Instead, I continue bouncing a tennis ball off the far wall and catching it. Elle glides towards me, gently running her fingers along the cold wall. "What's wrong?" she pouts.

I scoff. "What's wrong?" I shoot back sarcastically, "I'm locked up - by my own mother, no less." I throw the ball especially hard, but this time I make no effort to catch it. Ricocheting off the walls, the ball eventually comes to a stop. I hang my head. "My brother's dead. I haven't seen the outside world in over three months now. I feel like I should be doing something, but I can't."

Elle strokes my shoulder affectionately, replying, "At least you have me." I look up at her, and she smiles weakly. I look down at the ground again, and Elle sits down on the cot next to me. Running her fingers along my back, Elle asks, "It's not that bad, is it?"

"I don't know how you take it," I state calmly, looking deep into Elle's eyes. I've been planning this for some time. I have to know that the timing is right. Otherwise, I may be stuck here forever. Elle is my only chance.

"Me?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're as much of a prisoner as I am," I explain. Shrugging, I continue, "I just can't imagine what it'd be like to know you're capable of such great things, but having someone keeping you from reaching your potential." Elle furrows her brow. It's working. "I'd lose my mind."

Elle offers no reply. Instead, she continues to furrow her brow, staring off into the distance. I've been talking to Elle for some time now, and I've started to pick up on little things that I can use. This is just one of them.

Looking at me in consternation, she asks, "You think I'm capable of great things?"

"Of course!" I reply supportively. "Elle, I've seen you. I've talked to you. You're so much more than the daughter of the Company's director." I pick up the tennis ball again and examine it as I explain, "I just think that now would be a good time to become your own person. But, then again, who I am to tell you how to live your life?"

I gaze deeply into Elle's eyes, and I can see that she's eating out of the palm of my hand. This is working excellently.

"I don't..." She sighs. "I don't think I have it in me to take such an independent step. I mean, I've relied on my father for so long that I doubt I could adjust to life without him."

"I believe in you, Elle."

After a moment of silence, Elle leans forward and begins to kiss me passionately. I place a hand on her hip, subtly searching for her ID badge. Once I find it, I gently unlatch it while Elle is concentrated on our moment of passion. Once I have what I need, I take my other hand and put it on the back of her neck. Moving it slowly downward, I eventually press down on the pressure point on her neck. She passes out instantaneously, and I lie her down on the bed.

Using Elle's ID badge, I open the only door entering and exiting my cell. Once I'm outside of the cell, I casually discard the ID badge. No longer under the restraint of the power-dampening technology used in my cell, I feel my power rushing back. I know now what I must do. I close my eyes, and in the next moment, I'm gone.

 

[RGDurant]

Puddles forming in the rain cleaned the dried blood and brain matter from his heels, dogs barked as he passed by, wanting a taste.

Darkman kept his head down, so his hat brim could keep both the rain and uneasy eyes away from his bandaged face, he pushed his shopping cart full of junk along quietly, like any derelict would. He'd only been in New York City a week, and it was hardly different from the other city, it was bigger, colder, but it smelled the same to him, it looked the same to him, dirty, bloody, and rancid like an untreated wound scabbed over with pus.

It had been a long walk, the backalleys were barely familiar to him, no shortcuts yet, but he'd have time to find some later, he was still getting settled into his new surroundings. He had fortunately found a good home, an abandoned car factory in Queens, it was quiet, spacious, and with a little work, he could get alot of energy out of it's generators. It wouldn't do him any good at the moment, he didn't have his equipment, he had to leave it behind, no equipment, no skin, no masks. It would have been so nice to have them now, just to slip on his face to go to a diner or a bar, to enjoy a meal as Peyton Westlake, without the musty smell of his home or rats crowded around him for scraps.

He had reached his factory just around ten, and found the gates had been chained and padlocked again. Darkman cleared his throat, the landlord must have noticed, thinking it was probualy kids and chained it closed again. No matter, Darkman took the padlock in his hand and crushed it between his fingers, as though it was made of cheap plastic. The length of chain clattered to the pavement and the gate swung open. Darkman pushed his cart onward into the old building.

Leaving his shopping cart at the door, Darkman walked across the factory floor, kicking empty Chinese take-out boxes and beer cans aside. He removed his soaking wet coat and hat to hang them up on a hook suspended from the ceiling by a chain, then pulled up a ratty old recliner he found and sat down, propping his feet up on a crate.

Dust settled on him, his scratchy throat cleared as he let out a slight cough from between his teeth. He took the switchblade he obtained that night and dropped it into a nearby shoebox containing quite a collection of butterfly knives, stilettos, straight razors, and blades of all sorts.

He felt weight in his lap, Darkman's tired eyes looked down on a tabby stray that settled there.

"Hello my friend."

His bony, bandaged fingers scratched behind the cat's ears, it purred and eased, falling to sleep, Darkman followed suit, his head lulling against the backrest.

 

[Catman_prb]

It was a shopping mall. Of all the places it could have been, he chose the one place, night or day, that would be public. Angel dodged the police line, sprinted up the steps towards the large glass doors, and booted them open. And there he was. Tall for his age, a mop of brown hair on his head. He could've been charming, cute to some perhaps, if it were not for the twisted expression of hate that marred his face.

"Connor," he said, a mere whisper in the night.

There were hostages; a group of trembling young men and women that had huddled together as far away from him as they were allowed.

"Father," he said, spite lining each syllable.

"It doesn't have to be this way. We can sort something out. Let me help you," he urged, desperation hinting in his voice.

"No," he spat, taking a step towards him. There was a stake in his hand.

"I know what it's like. You're confused, lost, lonely..."

"You don't know anything about me!" he screamed. Angel dropped his head.

"Let them go, Connor,"

"And what will you do if I don't?" he whispered, madness in his voice "Kill me like you killed Holtz?"

"If I have to," his voice had dropped a tone know, darkness clouding his face.

Without anymore talk, Connor leapt at him, the stake outstretched. Angel grabbed his wrist, wrenching it off of it's course and sending the small piece of wood scattering across the tiled floor. The son punched his father viciously in the stomach, doubling him over. He stepped over him, but the vampire rolled over, planting both feet on his shoulders and launching him up in the air. Connor landed hard on the ground, a tile cracking under the impact.

"Stop this," he pleaded.

Connor picked himself up and ran again, smashing his father into the wall, landing a hard punch across the face. He brought his fists together and brought them down over his head, making a nasty cracking sound.

"My whole life, I've been a tool for some other purpose. Do you think you can possibly understand that?"

"I'm the champion of the powers. They do what they want with me, toy with me, send me towards redemption before pulling me back again. I know," Angel said groggily.

"I'll kill you!" Connor screamed, slamming his head into the wall.

"Maybe. But let me ask you a question," he whispered "Will it make you happy?"

The boy stopped for a second, stunned. Angel noticed something move behind him.

"Connor!" he warned.

-BANG- -BANG- -BANG-

"Hostages secure, the target is down," the police officer shouted into his radio.

Connor slumped forwards onto his father, blood pouring from the three bullet holes in his chest. His eyes were wide and glassy, hair suddenly lank and lifeless. He pulled in a few more rasping breaths, while his father craddled him. A single tear fell onto his cheek.

"My boy," he whispered "My boy,"

Some hours later - LA Mortuary

"Connor? Hello? Time to wake up now,"

"...whuh?" the young man said, pushing himself up off of the table.

"You took three bullets to the chest, my young friend. You were quite dead. Go on, take a peek,"

Connor looked down at his own body, where three black holes were quite apparant next to the paleness of his skin.

"I...uh...I'm naked," he muttered.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, believe me," he said with a grin.

"What do you want?"

"I'm a representative of Wolfram and Hart. And boy do I have an offer for you,"

 

[Mr. Marko]

NOAH BENNETT
Company Man - Prologue

Eighteen Months Ago...

Noah walked into the Primatech Building in Odessa, Texas. It was a place that he had hoped he wouldn't need to enter again. It was a symbol of an old life to him, and he had been happy to leave it behind him.

"Good morning, Noah. I've been waiting for you." The Haitian, his long time trusted partner and ally, stood up from his chair in the lobby. "Mr. Bishop is waiting for you in your office."

Noah scoffed. "Bob? Who let him in?"

The Haitian's demeanor was cool and collected. "I did. He said he had your next mission's information, and that it was critical that he deliver it in person."

Noah rubbed his forehead. "Whatever. Let's get this over with."


Twenty Four Months Ago...

Bob sat at the entrance to Noah's cell. "I'll make you a deal, Noah. Keep your daughter quiet and we'll let you go home. She's becoming a liability."

Noah grunted. "I've got a better idea, Bob. Leave them the hell alone."

Bob stared at Noah, smiling. "Now, Noah, you know how the company works. Claire's blood could help countless people. Let her make the choice."

Noah's eyes narrowed. "She's too young to be faced with decisions like that."

"Then let's make a deal. Work for us again, and we will leave your family alone. As valuable as your daughter's blood is to our research, you are a much more valuable asset in the field."

Noah glared. "You son of a *****."

Bob smiled, turning to the door. "Think about it, Noah." With that, he slammed the door shut.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

My eyes snap open as someone shakes me into consciounsess. My mind starts to focus, I'm tied to a wooden chair, my hands are behind my back and I can feel someone else's hand with a rope around it. Ginger, she's tied to a chair as well and probably unconscious.

"Wakey, wakey." Tony P says as he keeps his gun on me.

"So, this is The Spirit?" Cassanova Frankenstein says as he steps out of the shadows. He was in jail for fifteen years, so this is our first meeting. His jet black hair looks wild and untamed, but something is off about him.

"I am not impressed. From the way people talk, I assumed you were something....more....it seems to me you're just a moron with an ugly blue hat."

"Heh. Talk about my fashion sense." I say as I look him up and down.

Frankenstein looks like he just stepped out of Studio 54, with his high collar shirt and platform shoes.

"With clothes like that, it's no wonder they declared you criminally insane."

Frankenstein's face loses all playfulness, as it becomes serious. He stifles a cough and then it hits me, the guy is sick. I mean, seriously sick.

"Enough of these games." He says as he snaps his fingers. The disco boys come into the room with gas cans in hand.

They start to soak everything in gasoline.

"It's a shame you have to die this way, I was looking forward to cutting you."

He turns to leave the room. Tony P follows close behind as they leave with the other disco boys in tow.

"I almost forgot." Tony P says as he pulls out a match and lights it.

"Burn, baby, burn. It's a disco inferno." He says as he tosses the match into the gasoline.

The room erupts into a beautiful mix of red and yellow flames. I'm almost in awe of it, but Ginger's screaming brings me back to Earth.

"Oh my god!"

"Glad to see you're awake."

"What do we do, Spirit? Fire surrounds us on every side! Has Cassanova Frankenstein succeded in his diabolical attempts to silence the spunky newscaster?"

"How about you stop talking like that and hop with me towards the window. We're going to make an exit."
​

**************​

​

"Oh my god!"

"Glad to see you're awake."

"What do we do, Spirit? Fire surrounds us on every side! Has Cassanova Frankenstein succeded in his diabolical attempts to silence the spunky newscaster?"

"How about you stop talking like that and hop with me towards the window? We're going to make an exit."
​

"Can The Spirit save Ginger Coffee and himself from untimely death? Or is it past the point of no return? Find out in a minute. You're in the Emergency Room with me Penny Wolfgang, we'll be back."
​

 

[Catman_prb]

"So he's just locked himself up in his room?" Fred asked, spinning on the chair behind the reception desk of the Hyperion Hotel.

"His kid just died, Fred," Gunn said, perching on the desk and leaning on the wall that it joined up with.

"Yes, I quite agree," Wesley said, looking up from the ancient tome he was leafing through "I think it's best we just give him some time,"

He gave Fred a small smile, and she blushed a little. Gunn rolled his eyes and looked away.

"But wouldn't it be better if we got him to talk about it?"

"Hey, angelcakes just likes to brood. It's his thing," Lorne butted in.

"What, you think he's just gonna sleep it off?"

"Hey, do vampires even sleep?" Gunn asked. All heads turned to Wesley, who lifted his.

"Actually that's a very good point. I should ask Angel at some point,"

***​

Angel rolled over in his bed, flicking his head as he did so, sheets rolled into a sweaty mass on the floor.

He was turning around in a circle in a crop field. The full moon shone down on his head, illuminating him in the pitch black. The air was still, and the only sound was the whistling of the crop, which he now saw to be corn. He took a step forwards, and then he heard it. A rustling from somewhere in the corn. He froze, instinct taking over. If his heart could beat he was sure it would be pounding against his chest, any blood frozen in his veins.

"Who's there?" he whispered.​

 

[Optikal]

Death Valley.

A rock lizard, small and inconspicuous crawling up the thick stalk of the cactus bobbed its head. Overhead, the sun was burning high in a clear blue sky. The reptile, warmed from basking in the heat was ready to go hunting for any tiny morsel unlucky enough to come across his path.

The air around the cactus upon which he was resting crackled, growing thick and heavy. The lizard, sensing something was amiss hunkered down between the plants thick spines. Electricity sparked from nowhere, a quick flash crackling and singing the top of the cactus. Then more. The air grew hot and began to vibrate. The lightening was heavy now, like a miniture thunderstorm in the middle of the desert.

Panicking, the lizard bolted for the ground, running as fast as it could. As it reached the ground, the air evaporated in a super-heated spherical explosion. The cactus, the lizard and the ground all around the explosion evaporated in a crisp.

The air settled, thick with smoke as a perfect circle in the sand glowed white-hot. As the smoke cleared, the silhouette of a well muscled man appeared. He was kneeling, head bowed, unmoving.

Slowly, his head lifted, eyes opening to take in the bright light of the high noon.

[BLACKOUT]Imports System
Imports System.Text
Imports System.IO
Imports System.Diagnostics
Imports System.Threading
Imports System.ComponentModel

ProcessAsyncStreamSamples
Class ProcessAsyncOutputRedirection

Private Shared sortOutput As StringBuilder = Nothing
Private Shared numOutputLines As Integer = 0
Public Shared Sub SortInputListText()
.
Dim sortProcess As New Process()
sortProcess.StartInfo.FileName = "Sort.exe"
sortProcess.StartInfo.UseShellExecute = False
sortProcess.StartInfo.RedirectStandardOutput = True
sortOutput = new StringBuilder()
AddHandler sortProcess.OutputDataReceived, _
AddressOf SortOutputHandler
sortProcess.StartInfo.RedirectStandardInput = True

sortProcess.Start()
Dim sortStreamWriter As = sortProcess.StandardInput
sortProcess.BeginOutputReadLine()
Dim inputText As String
Dim numInputLines As Integer = 0
Do
Console.WriteLine
inputText = Console.ReadLine()
If Not String.IsNullOrEmpty(inputText) Then
numInputLines += 1
sortStreamWriter.WriteLine(inputText)
End If
Loop While Not String.IsNullOrEmpty(inputText) AndAlso numInputLines < 50
Console.WriteLine("
Console.WriteLine()
.Close()
sortProcess.WaitForExit()
If Not String.IsNullOrEmpty(numOutputLines) Then
Console.WriteLine(" Sort results = {0} sorted text line(s) ", _
numOutputLines)
Console.WriteLine("----------")
Console.WriteLine(sortOutput)
Else
Console.WriteLine(" No input lines were sorted.")
End If
sortProcess.Close()
End Sub
ct, _
outLine As DataReceivedEventArgs)

numOutputLines += 1

sortOutput.Append(Environment.NewLine + "[" _
+ numOutputLines.ToString() + "] - " _
+ outLine.Data)[/BLACKOUT]
​

The figure blinked twice and rose up to his full height.

[BLACKOUT]Cyberdyne Systems Series 800 Model 101 Version 2.4... ONLINE.[/BLACKOUT]
​