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The Viscountess Lady Samantha Sudbury (1752-1836) History describes British Governor Strype as a capable but overmatched commander eventually driven out of Freedom by the wilier Joseph Clark. This version of events omits how Strype quickly realized he was losing the intelligence battle and turned to help from a most unexpected source. Formally, she was Lady Samantha Sudbury, descendant of a line that had served the British monarchy since the Restoration of King Charles. The only child of the Fifth Viscount Bayning (the last of the Baynings, after an unfortunate incident during the Rising of '15), she had been taught to shoot, hunt, and ride as well as any man, and had full expectations of following her father William into the service of King George. Until, a few days after her seventeenth birthday, she learned the wonderful news that her father's pretty young second wife had given him the male heir he'd wanted for so long – and that Samantha herself could have the excellent marriage to a well-connected man that so many Bayning women had had over the years, just as William was sure she'd always wanted. She and her husband had been married five grim, tedious years amid his tedious friends in London before he took a command in the Americas and they left London for the miserable hellhole of the colonies – where they served not even in Philadelphia or New York, but among “the devils of New Jerfey”. If she drank, if she took lovers, in Britain and in the colonies, was it any wonder? Her husband Richard was a tiresome fool who tried to turn his friendly relations with the young King George III into a military command in the colonies – only to find himself assigned to a post as Strype's chief of staff when it became clear that he was fit to command nothing more than the dinner table. Given a new purpose in life after being approached by Strype as the 'real' head of intelligence in the colony (his father having known her father in the Rising meant that he knew full well her native abilities), the Viscountess donned a black leather outfit of her own design and used her husband's money to purchase Satan, a magnificent black stallion that could “ride faster than the Devil”, and adopted for her masked nomme de guerre the title that should have been hers, that could have been hers – Viscountess. No one who ever met the striking, raven-haired, voluptuous Viscountess ever forgot her, especially the countless men who she defeated in hand-to-hand combat, becoming among the most feared agents of the Crown in the 13 Colonies during the War. Perhaps she couldn't fight oddities like Minuteman and Lady Liberty in hand-to-hand combat without an escape route and preparation in advance – but few could match her stealth, her speed, and her unmatched abilities in espionage. During the war, she developed a special hatred for Joseph Clark – strange freaks like Minuteman and myths like Lady Liberty were one thing, but losing to a man with no strange gifts, no bizarre blessings, and no talents of his own was a constant source of ire for her. A woman of the Enlightenment, she found the blessings placed on Lady Liberty to be a source of tremendous frustration. She waged a continuing war of secrets with Lady Liberty, with neither gaining the upper hand. Their conflict carried on throughout the colonies until Lady Liberty’s demise in an ambush orchestrated by the Viscountess – a shame it had to be that way, but that was war. Her victory was short-lived however, as soon after, the “contemptible traitors” in the colonies won their independence. But there were other kinds of victories to be had. Shortly after their return to Great Britain, her husband Richard, who had recently suffered a fall from his horse that had left him with a permanent limp, chose to devote himself to maintaining and organizing their estate in Suffolk, leaving his lady wife to manage the family's affairs in London. Wife of a famous war hero and from a respected family of the genry, through hard work and ruthless dealings, Lady Samantha became one of the reigning queens of London Society at the dawn of the Regency, center of a network of influence and spies that would last long past her death in 1836. Her three daughters Charlotte (1785-1865), Elizabeth (1791-1823), and Victoria (1797-1867) would all play their own role in the history of Great Britain and its empire... Author's Note: This is an alternate version of the canon NPC created by Christopher McGlothin in Worlds of Freedom
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Initiative time!
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"Oh, well, if it's war you two want, it's war you shall have" declared the thick-necked man, flames beginning to crackle down his arms and into his hands. He shifted into Japanese again at this point, a language that only Phantom could understand. "First you, then your wretched Emperor, you foul piece of Green Dragon filth! And your little friend too!" He made sure to punctuate that point by pointing a meaty finger Hellbinder's way before taking off into the air, flames now washing over his body and uniform. "Face the burning power of the White Knight, Aryan Supreme!"
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Woodsman: 26
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Initiative time! Eight Ferals (all PL 5 minions) 1 23 2 19 3 18 4 18 5 9 6 8 7 8 8 6 1 Feral Victoria Atom, who is not a minion 11 Woodsman http://orokos.com/roll/366880 = 16
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"No...no." Riley had tensed at Robin's words, staring down at the bloody corpse with a brief look of real horror, but he shook his head, reassuring her as much as himself as he spoke. "Look 't him, he's got full beard, tanned skin - he mus'ta been Feral since '99. And you gotta say something before you pop out like that!" he hissed at Shrike, his eyes like a startled cat's as he flickered to her, then back at Robin, pain in his eyes. "Oh God, I did it. I let them here. They musta opened the door back to my homeworld and the Goodman pack was waiting for 'em, they-" "That can't be right, Mr. Smith," came Dr. Drummond's voice, all business, just audible over the loudspeaker from inside the Isolation suite where the three civilians had removed themselves. "Dimensional sciences isn't running any field tests today - they would never open a gateway without a full crew." "I don't-" Woodsman shook his head, pulling his hood up as he rose to his feet, reloading his steel-tipped bolt with one smooth motion into his crossbow's magazine. As the sounds from around the bend turned from celebrating hoots and grunts into low growls and predatory sniffs, Woodsman whispered, turning his head so the others could see his face. "They're gonna kill and eatcha if you don' do it to them first. They may look like people but they're _not_ - they're Ferals." Only Robin caught his "I'm sorry." The group from down the hall finally turned the corner, giving the group of heroes assembled a look at a Feral pack. There were nine of them in all; parodies of humanity turned into savage cannibals - bloody jaws snapping, filthy bodies and tattered clothes stained red with what had once been the building's security guard, crowding the corridor to snap and snarl like rabid dogs. The worst of all was their leader. Morphic molecules had stood against the test of time. Green and blue were covered in filth and fresh gore, rents in her costume shown where things had torn away over the years and never been repaired, the filthy hair that hung halfway down her back, adorned with ornaments of bloody bone. At the sight of the heroes, she gave a monstrous growl that made her mouth fall open wide like a shark's, impossibly wide on a human face, exposing a mouth full of sharp, jagged, filthy teeth beneath eyes that burned bright yellow, raising hands whose fingers were twisted into long, jagged, lethal-looking claws. This was all that was left of Victoria Atom. RAWRRRLLLLL! And with that, they charged.
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Monsoon leaped into the air, her blade drawn and singing in her hand, and kicked off the ceiling, landing behind her ice-wrapped brother before he could turn around. "It did not have to be this way!" she spat before she raised her free hand and blasted him off his feet with a swirling vortex of hydrokinetic power, sending Farida, Alththalj, spinning across the room and landing near the entrance where she'd come. The looming face of their father illuminated her as she faced her brother down, knowing that a moment's hesitation would bring him down on her. "How can you be like this, Alththalj?" she demanded of him, using his warrior's name as she tried again, this time missing his ice covered form as he rolled away. "Why me, of all of us?" "Because..." said Alththalj as he pulled himself to his feet. "Better you than anyone else. Especially Father." - Midnight and Iyar, who seemed comfortable enough with the blaster pistol she'd retrieved, made their way down the shaft to the heavily guarded prison level - the Socotran woman proving nimble enough despite what turned out to be almost-too-mundane prison orange under her traditional Socotran dress. When the shaft doors opened with Iyar's hand on the emergency lever, they found two armored guards waiting for them - but the two men didn't stop to fight at the sight of the oncoming superhero, instead turning to flee down the opposite corridors towards another set of security doors some ten yards away! Iyar drew the pistol she'd taken from one of the guards above and opened fire, holding the weapon with both hands and falling into a practiced firing stance. But despite her best efforts, the heavy slugs skittered off the ceiling and richocheted away, leaving their targets still retreating down the metal corridor.
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ic Beautiful poetry of the Earth (IC)
Avenger Assembled replied to Tiffany Korta's topic in Elsewhere
"Hey, big man, no worries," said Richard, giving a wink to Hank before turning to Val. "Sure thing, honey," he told the young woman with reassurance, "talk to our producers all about it." He zipped over to help gather supplies, his blurs of motion making it abundantly clear that Wayward wasn't the only metahuman about - not that Hologram and Fast-Forward weren't instantly recognizable to most superpeople who owned a television! Frank Devil, the big, balding first unit director for Supercrime!, took charge of the business negotiations with Wayward's people, the soft-spoken man proving to drive a hard bargain with his fellow audiovisual professionals. After all, this was potentially some valuable stuff! With him doing the negotiating, Richard and Paige used telepathic signals and good old-fashioned running to reach their scattered crew, making sure everyone was heading back now that the situation had just gotten more interesting. Returning with clip mics, Fast-Forward made sure everyone had one; and that his wife had her favorite vanilla water from the cooler in the back of the big van. He turned to the ladies, then suddenly blinked as he looked up at Warrior Woman. "Hey, I know you! You used to work out of London, right? You probably don't remember me, it was about forty years ago and I was with my ma, and, ha-hah, old times, right?" he asked with a grin. The Big Ben caper was long in the past.- 31 replies
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January 25, 2016 The beach at Lonely Point The dimensional incursion caught Taylor's senses like the whiff of brimstone - not Hell, exactly, but maybe worse. She knew the stink of the Erdes well enough and this one was particularly foul. As far as she could tell it was a one-off, somewhere just at the shoreline of Lonely Point; away from the base, near the small sheltered park in the area. An annoying way to start the week - but if she was honest, not an unusual one. - Sarah had been sent to the beach that morning with an assignment to meditate by the sea and then write a 250 word paper on her feelings about the dichotomy between land and sea embodied by her own 'chakra-sense'. Combining magic and secondary education sometimes didn't work very well. She had just found herself in a lotus position when suddenly the air opened up before her and a man leaped backwards through an invisible door. A big, beefy man in a brown uniform with a black hat, black tie, and the sort of pale skin that flushed ruddy red at the slightest provocation, it was easy to guess his politics. The swastika on his armband, jacket, and tie, all told that story. "Fools, you'll-hah, it worked!" He slapped himself on the thigh in triumph and turned around before fixing his gaze on Sarah. A suspicious look in his frankly quite piggy eyes, he said something in an Asian language that Sarah understood not at all. When she didn't understand, he tried again once, then again in English. "Me White Knight," he explained in a pidgin that would have sounded insulting to someone born at the time of Sarah's grandparents, much less now. "Me big cheese in skyboat," he said, pointing to the Heavens above, "You take me to chief, savvy?"
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Early December 2015 Wolf 359 Aquaria didn't know much about space - but she could tell the space-house (or space station, as Ruby called it) orbiting the tiny young star was old and busted. The metal plates that made up the walls and the ceiling were obviously corroded, turning green like copper instead of orange like steel around their dark grey edges and the air had the smell of something alien and old burnt away in the ducts, long ago. The humanoids in the station were exotic and strange, even stranger and more exotic than the Surfacers of Freedom City, their hair, clothes, and skin all strange colors and textures - but at least they ate good food, including a delicious flying insect as big as her fist that both she and Bliss had developed a taste for. She spent most of her time in the station's small garden, taking advantage of the high humidity (and even small pond!) to bask in the comforting wetness without her suit. She earned her keep by tending the plants, a skill she'd learned at the home of Jessie's sister and her mate, and did her best to get Jessie to come by and help her. It was less stressful than being on the ship. There had been some sort of dispute over repairs to the Voidrunner (she hadn't really followed the conversation) - and it was a high-stress time on-board for everyone. We just have to make it home, Aquaria assured herself as she ducked down to the bottom of the pond (which was just deep enough for her to completely immerse herself in), the ever-present hum of machinery reminding her that this was no ordinary body of water. And they will have all the gold the ship can carry! Reaching down, she cut a few fronds of pondweed with a knife - the stuff was vile to her, but some of the local people on the station loved it in their stews. In just a day, or less, she'd been assured, the repairs would be done and they'd all go home - but now, everybody pulled their weight, Luckily, she and Jessie were both very strong indeed. - It had been a tough few weeks for the Horizon crew and their Star Knight companion. They'd tracked the fugitives to a remote swampy world, and even found the ion trail of the vessel that had picked them up there, but they'd found no clues about the identity of the vessel they were chasing. Whoever they were, they were fast and good, sticking to high-traffic lanes to blend in (but not the ones still regularly patrolled by the Lor), running their engines so fast they must be risking needing to scrub out their coils, and not staying in any one place long enough to be positively identified by eyewitnesses. If not for the unique energy emitted by Aquaria Innsmouth's suit, which noticeably warped extradimensional space while in hyperdrive, and if not for the further n-dimensional changes caused by the fact that the other passenger was from some other dimension entirely, they'd have lost the scent long ago. But now they'd caught the scent. Station K-7 was old and tired, a collection of habitat domes welded together centuries earlier, with a mostly transient population in the hundreds. It was widely known to be a den of smugglers making the potentially profitable run to Terra now that Lor border patrols weren't what they used to be - or even there at all, most of the time. As the ship approached the station, their sensors jangled with news - their two fugitives were _on that very station_.
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Monsoon frowned, her eyes following al-Rabadi as he left, but said nothing as Edge replied to Rivera. "Yes, let's meet with her. Maybe she can give us a better idea of who exactly might want to kill her. What's her next assignment?" he asked, taking a guess. "Maybe it's a case of people trying to stop her from doing something more, rather than what she's already done." "Agent," said Monsoon as she smartly walked along between the two men, "are you certain of the operational security of your own organization? Someone must surely have penetrated UNISON to know this much information about your movements." She frowned, then added, "And they must have penetrated it at the beginning of her assignment in Asia if the chase has lasted so long. Where was she deployed last?" she asked in suspicious inquiry.
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And she missed! Shaken by the unspeakable, almost blasphemous mockery of a man before her, Shrike's blast zipped past the Feral's ear, singing flesh and burning a hole in the floor past his head, but doing no more damage than that. An instant later, the door by her side shrieked to pieces, flying to fragments that left it like torn paper hanging on its hinges. Woodsman saw the Feral and fired a single shot from the hip, a steel-tipped bolt that struck the creature in the throat. It fell, gagging and pulling at the bolt, but unable to call out. His dark face expressionless but for a burning intensity in his eyes, Woodsman followed up by stepping into the corridor with his hatchet in his hand. With a single blow to the weak bones between the eyes, the creature was dead. Pulling the blade free, he turned on his heel and pointed at the civilian scientists. "Y'need t'getta 'solation right nah," he said, pointing to the heavy door to what had ironically been his only shelter the first time he'd come here. "Lil' ones can't get through da door and we're gonna stop da big ones." With his accent, his costume, and the dripping corpse at his feet, Woodsman looked far away from the Claremont student he usually was. When his ears caught the sound of the unholy feast down the hall, a sound now shifting to satisfied grunts and cackling, like men playacting at hyenas, he knelt, his eyes wide but his pulse regular, and pulled the bolt he'd fired free to load it again.
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That's a 1, so it misses. Woodsman shoots the thing. http://orokos.com/roll/366060 = 21 hits http://orokos.com/roll/366064 = 18 This one's just a minion, so it goes down OK. (in general the big advantage of Riley's homeworld have over Ferals is that they are post-apocalyptic survivors and thus not subject to the minion rules, while the Ferals are)
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Steve immediately backed Miss Americana's suggestion, a look of relief crossing his face as he helped gather up the desserts. "Yes, a feast," he promised the children warmly. "Come, let us dine on what you love the most." At the table he took charge, with Yolanda as his right hand, seating the children together, Eden with her booster and Mia in her high chair, then letting the adults sit where they pleased. Yolanda's good work earned her the prize she wanted; the very first truffle off the tower, and a great fat slice of pumpkin pie loaded down with whipped cream from the refrigerator. Yolanda led a healthy lifestyle full of intensive exercise and training - a high-calorie diet was good for her. For himself he took nothing, but volunteered with blade and silverware in hand to make sure all were fed and more. Regrettably the kitchen door could not be closed, but - "Mara," he suggested to his boss with a subordinate's discretion (he only used her first name by request), "might you play something on your suit radio? The children do love their music." "I got that one, buddy!" said the laptop, which sprang to life with VINCE behind the screen. The Cyberceptor wasn't in Pilgrim garb this year, or for that matter Native (he wasn't one to repeat a look) instead he wore an oddly old-fashioned suit and tie and was sitting behind a Victorian oak table laden with a full turkey dinner. "Who likes, uh, the Frozen soundtrack, kids?" he declared, earning a slightly muffled "Me!" from the young people at the table. And the strains of Disney's new staple filled the air.
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The baying crowd, with the anger and lust for violence in their eyes, made Riley tense with remembered stress and pain - but he was under instruction to be on his best behavior here. So instead he did his best to impose his 5'6" frame between Raina, Fred, and the crowd, pacing like a caged tiger as he glared at the crowd from under his hood. He paused a moment, like a dog scenting prey, and then said clearly, "Hey Fred, gonna yella...hey!" he did yell, pointing to a group moving with some purpose through the mob, like wolves moving through so many wild dogs. "Hey, I see you over there! Whaddya think yer doin?" As usual, his voice went up when he shouted, though even that contralto had been deepening in the last several months of hormone therapy. Warning off smaller predators by showing them just how big he was had been an early lesson in the woods of Freedom City. It worked most of the time - except with Ferals, of course. But then, the monsters that looked like people were always the worst kind. "You gonna start something with all these cops here?!"
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"We believe the Soviets have deployed a contingent of the Peoples's Heroes to Cuba," said McNamara, sounding deeply skeptical of the name the Soviets used for their superteam. "Under the leadership of their ice controller, Dimitri Peshkov. But Peshkov's forces have been deployed to the island's exterior to guard against a Marine invasion - which is one reason we think the Soviets are vulnerable to a quick superhuman strike." Riley stroked his chin thoughtfully, offering, "Army's just made up of normal people, even some supers don't see too well. We could prolly sneak in and take the site out before anybody knows we're there." "We believe that the use of, er, unconventional forces will be less likely to provoke a reaction than conventional ones. Besides, the Soviets know we have the advantage. With our forces in Western Europe and, er, other installations, they have more to lose from a war than we do. As long as American troops don't directly engage Soviet troops in combat, we believe we can avoid all-out wah."
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With the group from reconstructive surgery now joining the group in Isolation, Drummond got on the phone again to Eismann across the hall. "He has another metahuman there," he said, hand on the receiver as he spoke to Woodsman, Nighthawk, and Waverider, Dr. Hawkins doing quick signing for Waverider's benefit. "She's trying to override the lock...and she's through." On both ends, the doctors put the conversation on speaker - letting everyone hear everyone else. "Here, take this," said Eismann, giving Shrike a small magnetic circle from his pocket. "It has a lightning spirit inside that will connect with telephone, and let them hear you out there." Outside, something unsettling was going on. Steel security shutters had come down on all the windows, blocking what had previously been a lovely view of the snow and ice outside. The sterile corridor's red emergency lightning cast an ominous glow in the hallway, especially when heard against the strange sound of grunting and ripping and crashing coming from around the bend in the corridor, where the elevators and security guard's pavilion had been. As she stepped out into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind her, the sound changed and there came the sound of something loping towards her from down that way. What stepped into the corridor then was like...nothing Shrike had ever seen before. It was humanoid, with Caucasian skin cast in a deep pink from sun exposure, and nude except for a tattered labcoat. Coat, man, and man's gigantic beard and head hair, were matted and filthy, dirtier than any human being Shrike had seen save disaster victims in Japan, and stinking to high heaven of filth and blood and other things. This man didn't look like a victim, though - not with yellow, featureless eyes that scanned the corridor with predatory intent, fingers warped like sharp claws, and fresh, bright red blood around his mouth and caking his beard. The man sniffed the air and walked down the corridor, turning its head from left to right as if trying to spot whatever it was that had made the noise, growling and grumbling wordlessly to itself. When it reached the door that had actually opened, it suddenly smiled, exposing a mouth of filthy, bloodstained teeth, and laughed. It was an eerie laugh because it was fundamentally inhuman - a predatory chuckle like nothing any human heart had ever made, but the high, cracked sound was nonetheless coming from a real throat, and real lips. Heheheheh! As the sound reached the people on the other side of the door, Robin caught a look of terror and grief flash across Riley's face. Woodsman tried to think tactically, tried to think responsibly, but for a moment was in his nightmares as he asked Robin in an agonized whisper, unsure of his very sanity- "Do you hear it? Do you hear it laughing?"
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Dr. Hawkins will probably object to Waverider melting open the door until they know what's on the other side, and will suggest they go through the interior door on the opposite wall - the one that leads to Woodsman and Nighthawk and the medical isolation bay.
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The simulation paused, briefly. When Relentless spoke, there was a definite note of approval in her voice. "Good question, Ouroboros. You should assume that you are members of the Freedom League native to October 1962." Though he was completely lost (for all that he vaguely recognized President Kennedy and had heard of the island of Cuba), Riley took a seat. It occurred to him, from what little he knew of history, that the real Kennedy probably wouldn't have liked someone like Riley Smith-Quinn in his office. That idea made him smile. "We're all good Americans here, Mr. President," he said with a wink at Robin. "100%. What can we do forya today?" Kennedy and McNamara, evidently the Secretary of Defense, gave a short presentation to the heroes using an easel and set of painted maps of the island of Cuba. The situation sounded grim. "As you know, we have hard evidence that the Soviet Union has begun the construction of short and medium-range ballistic missiles on the island of Cuba, carrying nuclear weapons that could be used to target the, er, East Coast in the event of all-out war." "We've put a blockade around the island and we're currently eyeball-to-eyeball with the other fellow in the waters around Cuba - we can keep the Reds from bringing more supplies to the island. But we can't do anything about the nuclear weapons already there; where at least twenty nuclear missiles are already partially constructed." When he talked, standing up and changing posters to show the heroes first the aerial photographs of the missiles, then the images of the blockade, McNamara sounded more like an academic than a military specialist. "Right now we don't have any way short of getting rid of those missiles without persuading the Reds to withdraw them - or military intervention." "But that's what I wanted to talk to you about," said Kennedy, looking from one to the other. "I don't want to send American boys to Cuba unless there's no, er, other choice in the matteh. That'll just get people killed on both sides, and it might move the Soviets to a war footing. We've already had some near-misses." "What we want to know is," said McNamara with a glance at the President, "in the name of protecting our nation, and the world, would the Freedom League be willing to intervene on the island of Cuba and seize control of the Soviet missiles?"
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Suddenly, across the sixteenth floor, the lights flickered and died. The moment of darkness was just fast enough to make everyone start, pulses racing and hearts pounding, before the emergency lights flickered on in their usual shade of warm red, casting an eerie glow across the various suites occupied by the superheroes. The snow outside was still piled high, but surely snow on the lines wouldn't take down the power in the Goodman Building of all places? "Hm. Dr. Atom, what's the situation?" asked Dr. Eismann, cocking his head and addressing the air. "Hello?" In the other suites, the Goodman regulars were equally helpless to contact the building's sentient supercomputer. More ominously, the doors were sealed - the heavy sound of security bolts clamping shut having sealed the steel doors tight. We'll be fine, signed Dr. Hawkins to Waverider, the look on his face suggesting he didn't entirely believe his own words. Something must have triggered the building's automatic security systems - probably the same malfunction that shut down Dr. Atom's systems. Riley remembered running through the corridors, powerless, as the Goodman pack chased down the Woodsmen, laughing as they tore apart flesh and bone of the all-too-human interlopers who had dared come to their territory. He closed his eyes, his lips moving slightly as he murmured, "It's okay, it's okay..." Meanwhile, Dr. Drummond had gotten on an old handset phone on the wall, where the hardwired emergency systems had let him reach the rest of the staff. Or had it? "There's someone in the reconstructive surgery bay next to us," he indicated, pointing to an interior connecting door, and Eismann's in his office, but I can't reach Kurt or anyone else in dimensional sciences. And the line to the guard's podium by the elevator is busy."
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January 31, 2016 Goodman Building Floor 16 It's Sunday in the Goodman Building. The Atoms are out of town, some at school, some visiting family on the Moon, some in other dimensions. Most of the building's staff have the day off, but given the sheer size of the scientific operations in the facility, as well as the necessary work that went on here, several hundred people were still in the building. "So yeah, here's where I stayed for two weeks," Riley Smith-Quinn was telling Robin, the two of them walking together through the now-empty isolation quarters under the eye of Dr. Matt Drummond, Riley's original physician upon his arrival on Earth-Prime. The silver-haired old physician watched as one teen showed his girlfriend the cot, the small bookshelf "Hey, they've still got all those weird Andi comics!", and the tablet computer that had been all he owned upon his arrival. "Well, all I owned that ya let me have, anyway," he said with a smile the doctor's way. He hadn't talked much about his time here, but oddly enough he was more relaxed than Robin had seen him in a while. Maybe because this place wasn't home - but then it had never tried to be, either. "I think you remember why we kept your hatchet and quiver, Mr. Smith," said the doctor with a paternal twinkle in his eye. "Still, you were an easier patient than the young person who tried to punch her way through the security door," he said, making a gesture towards the transparent steel that made up the outside door of the small suite, now open since no extradimensional visitors were staying here. "Yeah, well.,,." Riley shrugged and scratched the back of his head. "Thanks for lettin' me show Robin 'round. You the only one on the floor today?" "No," said Drummond, shaking his head. "There's the skeleton staff in the dimensional sciences office, two colleagues of mine in the reconstructive surgery bay, and one dealing with a magical crisis. You know how it is here - we never really shut down."
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"Heh, still think you look good in green," said Riley in a soft whisper to Robin, evidently a private joke from the rather saucy grin he shot her. He watched Sarah's transformation with interest, checking out the abilities of his new teammate, but he was focused on his friends, the mission, and shooting a glare at the back of Raina's head (several inches above his own) as they headed down the sterile steel corridor towards a set of sliding metal doors that swooshed open as they entered like something out of Star Trek. Relentless gave the heroes time to change and put away their non-essentials - but everyone's focus was on the simulator. The walls were a different design than the last time the more experienced heroes had been there, cast in a grid of white and black squares like a too-perfectly-polished chessboard, but one that didn't scuff as they walked their way onto the center of the room. Relentless took her place in the control booth, keeping the screen rolled back so she could talk to the heroes. "Okay, let's get you set up." She pressed a few buttons around them and the empty room slowly rippled before being replaced by something entirely new. - The heroes were now standing in a lushly appointed corridor, the carpet thick under their feet, patriotic images depicting scenes from American history on the walls. Men in old-fashioned suits were frozen in a hurried attitude around them, one just about to open the double doors in front of them. "Welcome to October 20, 1962." came Relentless's voice from above, her figure in the control booth visible when they looked up. "President Kennedy has just asked to meet with the Freedom League." A moment later, the people around them unfroze. Two uniformed Marines opened the door for them, and a man in barely-rimmed glasses with a thick part in his hair walked them into the Oval Office, where a figure familiar to any American schoolchild was waiting for them. "Greetings," said John F. Kennedy. The handsome President looked tired and care-worn, without the attention given to his appearance he must have given before his usual TV appearances or photo ops. "Won't you, ah, gentlemen and ladies have a seat? Secretary McNamara and I want to talk with you about the situation developing in Cuba."
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Riley used a sterile wipe to clean the wound, and put a small bandage on it. Superpowered or not, Robin was still human - and human beings got sick if they got infected through their cuts. "OK, we've got a map, we can do this," he said to the others, checking to make sure he'd reharnessed his weapons and gear. He realized he wasn't entirely sure how the big man had gotten to the Fens; it seemed pretty clear he wasn't a native, and he hadn't yet shown an ability to fly, but that was about it. "We gotta bike for the trip. Kingsnake - you gotta way a'gettin' around?"
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"It is destroyed," replied Caradoc, his mechanical voice flat as he moved his blade from hand to hand, the glowing blue blade seeming to weighted oddly in his big hands, his eyeless steel face never stopping its scan of the room. In the aftermath of the fight, the armored knight was standing tall and erect, as if all his cybernetic muscles had been pulled tight. "I will see that a report is made to Archetech, the Freedom League, and other relevant agencies. No incursion from the Terminus must be allowed to go unfought." He fell silent and still, like a mechanical statue next to Oracle and Cannonade. "Thank you for what you have done here today. You have served your home dimension well."
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