Avenger Assembled

"There's a difference between real and real," said Sharl, adjusting a moment when he realized what he'd said didn't make much sense at first. "Sure, all this talk about alien gods from other dimensions is just primitive nonsense, but that doesn't mean the stuff in the tanks is fake, or that the people here aren't using it to hurt kids. Hell, maybe there _is_ a Shub-Niggurath, some kind of extra-dimensional alien that's passing itself off as real the way those other 'gods' do. Just because these people are superstitious doesn't mean they're not true believers, or that they can't hurt us. I've fought their kind before." He thought for a minute. "We've got to tell Mr. Summers and get out of here. The last thing we need to be fighting is a school full of kids who are high on super-alien steroids."

Caradoc walked out into the middle of the small square by the pier, his face hidden by the metal that surrounded his body. His metal shoulders tense, he bent down to study the place where a body had lain, now being circled in chalk. After several long seconds, he rose to walk back to the others. Quietly, so only the two heroes could hear, and heedless of the strange face (who, after all, had Fleur's backing), he said in a flat, pained voice "...I am not surprised to hear of Devil Ray's deeds. The piscine humanoids are not recognized as sentients by many on the surface, much less murderous criminals...that is why I released them into the bay during the invasion. I had hoped they would swim deeper into the ocean to reunite with their kin, but that seems to not have happened. This is my fault."

At the sight of the faulty computer, Citizen took a chance and stopped monkeywrenching the school's power grid, instead focusing on the primitive Earth machine and what secrets it had for him. He found those out by shoving his hand directly into the computer's access port, ignoring the terrestrial keyboard for Tronik speed and efficiency programmed into his emulator by Miss Americana. "Computer is monitoring the vats, brewing something called 'Mother's Milk.' Pretty hardy stuff, whatever it is. I could control the whole complex here." He pushed deeper, his hand sinking into the computer's hard drive as he did so, the pupils of his eyes shifting to a rapidly-shifting green color as he delved further and further into the system. "There's stuff here dating back almost ten years, to before they changed up the school to take kids with superpowers. Something about the Great Mother, her Dark Young...and that's where they're getting the 'Mother's Milk.' Yeah, it's some kind of mutagenic drug that warps people's flesh, makes their powers stronger...it's real detailed, too. They've been doing this for a while." His eyes focused on the computer, Sharl muttered a word in Lor that Indira recognized as a suggestion that the makers enjoyed sexual congress with their maternal parents. "They're some kind of alien cultists, dosing kids with this stuff to give them powers. Bet you anything she's selling them off to mercenaries, or pulling them into the cult. There's something deeper...I don't understand it," he said, calling up the Dark_Young.pdf on the screens so everyone could see it. "I guess this is their weird religious text or something? Maybe you guys will get it."

30 Nice! Lemme know what Sharl finds, and I'll get an IC post up.

"OH, I AM ONLY HALF AZ BIG AS I WILL BEE," said the giant bee, bobbling embarrassedly in the air at the thought, oddly emotive despite being a thirty-foot insect. "BUT IF I WAZ ZO BIG ALREADY, I WOULD NOT BEE ABLE TO VIZIT CLAREMONT AT ALL, ZO IT IZ ALL OKAY." She made a noise that might have been a cough. "I AM ZORRY WE WILL NOT BEE ABLE TO ZHARE ZPAZE IN THIZ PLAZE," boomed the giant bee. "MAYBEE YOU WILL BE ABLE TO VIZIT ON MY HOME PLANET ON A FIELD TRIP, AND I WILL ZHOW YOU HOW A BEE LIVES!" With a few more kind words, the bee parted company with Glow, freeing her to explore the new campus that would be her home away from home.

Of course, before they could solve that problem, they had to trace the mysterious teleporter who had escaped them already that day. Once the body was in the capable hands of Dr. Atom, with Midnight providing the GPS coordinates, Edge's teleportation transported them to the abandoned oil rig where hopefully they would run their prey to ground! Midnight's teleport sensors tinged as soon as they arrived; not only was their prey from the fight at the concert here, but he or she hadn't gone very far. It was cold on the rig, the November winds rising off the sea chilly for those in the small group not accustomed to the weather. For half a moment, Mark remembered their battle in the future of that other timeline, working alongside the descendants of another Young Freedom to keep Omega from destroying the multiverse, but shook off that memory as they dealt with this new threat. "All right, team," murmured Edge, his costume adopting light brown and grey with a thought to match the colors of the rig where they were working. "Let's fan out and see what we can see..." Despite Mark's words, there came from inside the rig, where the crew quarters had once been but was now a corridor into darkness, the hard, unmistakable sound of blows! Peering down the corridor, the sharp-eyed Midnight could see evidence of reconstruction, where the abandoned supervillain apartments had been refurbished for human occupation; the fight, if that was what it was, was close, behind just the front door of the nearest room inside the rig proper. They were on a naked catwalk where they were, shielded from the door but not from the elements outside.

Calling into the Freedom League for advice was helpful, at least in some respects. Deep Ones raised in their undersea colonies and exposed to the ancient sorcery there were potentially serious problems, corrupted from an early age and more vassals for their dark gods than people. Deep Ones raised away from their people, though, and particularly distant from their undersea kingdoms, were potentially independent thinkers. "Atlanteans have adopted orphan Deep Ones before," reported Nereid from the Lighthouse. "It's tough work, but they can be raised to think for themselves. I imagine they could survive on the surface with supervision, as much as any Atlantean child could." It was about that time that a shining beacon of silvery light came roaring down from the sky; Caradoc the flying knight, his magic sword gleaming and dragonshead jetpack roaring, as he landed alongside Fleur de Joie, Pyre, and Officer Carlton. As ever, the man inside the suit sounded faintly uneasy, despite a false air of bravado. "What ho! I..." He fell silent at the sight of the dead ones, their bodies still being photographed by STAR Squad. "What happened here?" The bravado was gone, the voice of the man in the suit going flat.

That didn't really satisfy the slimy reporter in question, his freckled face wrinkling in dismay at being so caught out, but it seemed to satisfy the crowd as a whole: in any event, Mara seemed to be getting positive coverage from what she'd said. After a few more questions, and lots of flashing pictures, it soon became obvious they weren't going to just leave: Mara herself would have to leave the stage if she didn't want to keep answering questions about her views on the new generation of Freedom League members, the role that young people had to play in millennial super-science, and in one bold question: "Do you have a secret identity? Are you a science-hero on the side?"

That's enough for Weaver to see and recognize Fleur and Rene out through the dome; they are established heroes, the sort of people he may want to signal to get help given the powerful supervillain in the dome. Madame Zero is within range of an attack from Fleur de Joie (since she has Indirect and her attack isn't impeded by physical barriers), but that's only going to slow her down, not stop her: MZ is very powerful and has a lot of both genius and scientific gadgets available. Fleur and Rene are going to have to get inside the dome if they want to handle her.

Those words were music to Mark's ears and he put the phone down, giving Erin-Prime an animated (if somewhat edited) account of Young Freedom's adventures. He certainly couldn't tell her anything that would disclose anyone's secret identity, or talk about some of the protected stuff like that fight with Omega over Graduation Day. But he could discuss fights in baseball stadiums and battles against Nazi overlords, as well as trips to jungle utopias and voyages to other dimensions. Mark was a really good storyteller, especially about something he cared about so passionately, and there were few things he cared about more than the memories he had of Young Freedom. "Young Freedom was the finest team of our generation in the world," said Mark, and only politeness kept him from saying he thought they were better than the Freedom League. "It's up to Sage, Cobalt Templar, and the kids to carry on our legacy now."

He wrapped his arm around hers, enjoying the chance to show Paris off to a pretty girl. "Hey, it's sunset," he said with a little smile. "I didn't think about that. Lucky timing." He walked with her down the street towards the cafe, window-shopping at the glamorous French stores they passed. It was just the beginning of the Christmas shopping season in Paris, there were some decorations out but not many, and the crowd was big enough to be warming without actually overwhelming. It really was a lovely evening, and they stopped to watch a mime perform and listen to a flutist before they found their seats. "I know you just had breakfast, but you've got to try the coffee and croissants here, just so you can say you've had Parisian cafe food." He guided her to a table and ordered for two, then hmmed, "Hey, I should call Erin and Trevor, see if they want to come over here after they're done. I took them some place without warning earlier," he said apologetically as he took out his phone. "But they don't have theirs...hey, what's your home number?" he asked Erin.

Ghul PL: 10 (150) Abilities: 8 pp STR 30/20/12 (+10/+5+1) DEX 20 (+5) CON - (-) INT 10 (+0) WIS 14 (+2) CHA 10 (+0) Combat: 32 pp ATK: +8 (+10 melee, +10/+12 Owl) DEF: +10 (+4 flat-footed, +12 Owl) Init: +5 Grapple: +15/+20 Hyena/+5 Owl Saves: 7 pp TOU +10 (+10 Protection [+5 Impervious, +5 vs. blessed/fire/silver], +8 Owl) FORT - (-) REF +7 (+5 Dex, +2) WILL +7 (+2 Wis, +5) Skills: 56 r=14 pp Acrobatics 5 (+10) Bluff 6 (+6) Climb 5 (+10) Disguise 0 (+20 voices, +30 animal forms) Handle Animal 10 (+10) Intimidate 10 (+10/+6) Knowledge (Arcane Lore) 5 (+5) Language 1 (English; Base: Arabic) Notice 3 (+5) Sense Motive 3 (+5) Stealth 5 (+10/+18) Survival 3 (+5) Feats: 10 pp Animal Empathy, Attack Focus: Melee 2, Dodge Focus 2, Evasion, Power Attack, Startle, Takedown Attack, Uncanny Dodge (auditory) Powers: 82 pp Comprehend 2 (speak to and understand animals) [4 pp] Ghul Array 10 (PFs: Alternate Powers 2) [20+2=22 pp] BE: Hyena Form Drawback (no hands) [-4] Enhanced Skill 4 (Bluff 4 (to Bluff 10 (+10)) Enhanced STR 10 (to STR 30/+10) [10] Morph 6 (to Hyena, +30 Disguise; PFs: Cover Scent, Precise) [8] Super-Senses 5 (Olfactory [Accurate 2, tracking 3]) [5] AP: Owl Form Drawback (no hands) [-4] Flight 2 (25 MPH) [4] Morph 6 (to Owl, +30 Disguise; PFs: Cover Scent, Precise) [8] Shrinking 8 (Tiny; -8 Str, -2 Toughness, +2 Combat, -8 Grapple, +8 Stealth, -4 intimidate) [8] Super-Senses 4 (Extended Hearing [all, 2] and Vision [all, 2] [4] AP: Ghul Form Flight 2 (25 MPH) (Extra: Linked [insubstantial] [4] + Insubstantial 2 (sirocco, Extra: Linked [Flight]) [10] + Strike 5 (PF: Mighty) [6] Immunity 30 (Fortitude Saves) [30 pp] Protection 5 [5 pp] Protection 5 (Extra: Impervious, Flaw: Not Vs. Blessed/Fire/Iron) [5 pp] Morph 4 (humanoids, +20 Disguise) (Flaw: Voices Only) [4 pp] Regeneration 6 (Recovery Bonus +0, Resurrection 1/week) (Flaw: Source [blood]) [3 pp] Super-Senses 4 (Acute Scent, Darkvision, Ultrahearing) [4 pp] Undead Movement Array [3+1+1+5 pp] Super-Movement 3 (Permeate [full speed]) (Flaw: Earth/Sand Only) AP: Leaping 3 (x10) AP: Speed 3 (50 MPH) Drawbacks: 3 pp Vulnerable (Iron; uncommon, major) [-3 pp] costs abilities 8 + combat 32 + saves 7 + skills 14/56 + feats 10+ powers 82 -drawbacks 3= 150 pts ------------- Design Notes: He grew up in the Arabian peninsula, the son of an Irish mining engineer and a Saudi mother, and found himself not really comfortable in either world. His mixed heritage and some poor early choices meant that back in Europe he was likely to be accused of committing petty crimes or even outright terrorism, while among his deeply religious Arab relatives he felt sometimes like a detached clinical researcher from an alien species. He eventually found work as a soldier of fortune and mercenary, rescuing kidnap victims, acting as a bodyguard for famous scientists visiting the area, and even heading his own team of mercenaries. It all came to an end one hot Arabian summer day, though, when a brutal ambush in the Empty Quarter by a group of undead monsters killed most of his team. He was left for dead, his throat torn out, alongside the burnt-out ruins of the medieval fort the monsters had once occupied, buried by the Arabian sands. He awoke three nights later, clawing his way out of the sand, to find himself transformed into a ghul, an undead creature from Arabian folklore. He lived alone in the desert for months mastering his new condition; transforming into a hyena or desert owl to hunt the animals whose blood he needed to survive, digging in the sand to evade detection whenever he got too close to a human settlement, sometimes transforming into a mini-sandstorm to escape attacks by the other creatures of the desert. At least now the pitiless heat and sun of the desert wasn't a problem for him thanks to his tireless undead state; good thing he wasn't a European-style vampire better suited to the murky skies of the Balkans. Finally, though, he couldn't hold back any longer: he hunted down and slew the last of the ghuls who had killed his team, then decided to head back to civilization: somewhere like America where he wouldn't be recognized, a place where he could use his new abilities for good, to finally be the hero he'd always wanted to be. Okay, based on Doc's Vampire Shapeshifter build, as well as the ghul from Arabian folklore, here's a new build. (The use of Liam Neeson as the picture is something of a pun based on his Batman Begins role). He's a scary guy, especially for people expecting him to have the traditional weaknesses of European vampires: he has no problem with sunlight, and even holy symbols are no threat. Instead I gave him an allergy to weaponized iron (not to the iron in blood, of course) given that meteoric iron swords were much prized in ancient Arabia, and carrying such a mighty weapon might have been a good way to fight ghuls. He's PL 7.5 offensively with just his fists (as befits the concept), and he can grow massive claws to fight in melee without turning into a hyena. He's got the vocal Morph (and the Enhanced Bluff) to represent the traditional folkloric role of hyenas (and ghuls!) as monsters that hid just outside the light of the campfire and lured men to their deaths by imitating the voices of loved ones...

DC 10: Madame Zero is bad news. She's been around since the 1960s. She's a killer, though she's served her time for those particular crimes, and has been on the lam for a year since escaping during the Grue invasion.

The answer was evidently the right one from Joan's look of hard satisfaction, and her follow-up questions which seemed to design to elicit good responses from Mara. No one could say the famously sharp-tongued reporter didn't treat some figures with respect. When another reporter stepped up to ask "How do you answer your critics who say that a woman of your age has no business running a supertech company in Freedom City's volatile market?", for a moment it looked as if Collier was about to punch him. But journalistic ethics were respected, and she stepped back to give the other reporter a turn.

Citizen is bloody-minded enough to stick his hand through the door and see what happens. What does happen?

"I could have you strolling down the Champs-Élysées in seconds," said Mark with a grin. "Here, get your shoes on." He'd learned, especially after that morning, that people preferred teleporting while fully-dressed. When she agreed, Mark took the time to write a short note for the others: "TOOK ERIN TO PARIS. BE BACK SOON." What the heck, what better way was there to make sure neither of them were in the way that morning. "All right, let's go!" he added, setting the note down and taking her hand. When she did, they both disappeared! Seconds later, in a little swirl of black dots, they formed again on a footpath of the Champs-Élysées outside a lovely, picturesque French cafe Mark had discovered on a previous visit to the City of Light. "Welcome to Paris!"

Not many people had taken to the streets inside the dome; the frosty cold that Weaver could feel through his window was cold enough that no one without an urgent reason was going to risk breaching the dome from the inside. What few hardy souls, out in heavy coats and hacking at the ice themselves, who had gone outside were the first to see the arrival of new players on the scene: in a swirl of red and black dots instantly recognizable as Crime League teleporters, a large group of heavily-dressed people flared to life on the sidewalk. In identical white arctic suits, faces hidden by cold weather masks and hoods, the thugs worked as a team to grab the people on the street, parting ways to reveal the armored figure in the middle of the crowd. No one had heard much from Madame Zero recently; she'd gone to prison two years earlier after being busted by Claremont students, and busted out during the attack on Blackstone during the Grue invasion a year later. Clad in her familiar blue and white armor, the icy mad scientist seemed to be shouting something at the people on the street: evidently she got her answer, because while her thugs began breaking up to hit each individual building, she headed herself with half a dozen goons towards the building next to Weaver's. She evidently had a purpose in mind. Seconds later, Fleur de Joie and Rene got the answer for what she was looking for as Fleur's League communicator beeped frantically to life. "Fleur de Joie, this is Lady Liberty," said the patriotic paragon urgently. "We've tracking you by satellite, but we're dealing with a Class 2 solar event in orbit right now so we can't get down there to help you. I've got news." Her voice tightened. "When Victoria Leonard escaped from prison last year, she was in the Blackstone Infirmary after giving birth. Her son was adopted out to John and Elizabeth Carlton, two retired vigilantes. The Carltons live in that block in the West End. They've got powers, but not enough to take Madame Zero alone without backup."

Weaver is familiar with the sort of magical creatures that can control ice and cold like this. This doesn't seem to be their work, though: this is too quiet, too unshowy for an ice demon or mountain spirit. This is cold, professional, scientific: on closer inspection, the bubble around the block is a perfect hemisphere. He can see outside the ice-bubble from his apartment; it's a DC 15 Notice check to see and recognize Fleur and Rene out his apartment window. Fleur, on closer inspection, you can teleport through the dome, it doesn't seem to go deep enough to cut whatever media she uses. It's Gather Info or History to recognize Madame Zero, and easy rolls at that. She was quite famous back in the day.

"Most of the places I work aren't very exotic," admitted Mark, "and it doesn't seem fair for me to sight-see when I'm there helping people." He grinned, the serious moment gone quickly. "But I have an apartment in Switzerland near the lakes, and I can go almost anywhere in the world I want with my powers. I've been to Paris, Socotra, Munich, Tokyo, Atlantis..." He ticked the exotic destinations off on his fingers. "My powers work by warping reality, so I can just go places without any muss for fuss." He hmmed. "Hey, do you think your folks would mind if I took you somewhere? We can be there and back in five minutes."

"You are a victim of mutation by Terminus radiation," replied Murdock, having learned some diplomacy in his time on Earth-Prime. "You are of this world, not of the Terminus. You are not guilty of the crimes of the Terminus, or of Omegadrones, or anything else." He looked around for a moment, as if casting about for an example. "If I struck you with my fist," he said, balling one up for emphasis, "you would be no more guilty of my crimes than you are now, even if the blow gave you superpowers." Somewhat awkwardly, he patted the young man on the shoulder. "You are a young man in a beautiful world, in a beautiful city. Enjoy your life, and bear no guilt for the crimes of others."

"Yes." The former Omegadrone's voice was flat and nearly a monotone as he looked up at Brian, extending a hand to shake before gesturing for the boy to join him on the bench. Murdock's hand was cold to the touch, and his skin hung oddly on the bones when you felt it, as if it wasn't quite attached properly. "I have spoken to those living in this dimension mutated by Terminus radiation before. I believe Fulcrum has visited this campus in the past." He turned to look at Brian. "What do you want to know?"

Fleur, Weaver, Rene, and our mystery guest!

Early December, 2011 Claremont Academy The true nature of Claremont Academy was one of the few secrets about Freedom City's superheroes that Harrier was privy to, a legacy of the year before when he'd come onto the school's campus to help counsel Prometheus, the former Omegadrone who had now graduated. This year, though, he was on campus to meet with a new student, one with his own problems with the legacy and influence of the Terminus on his life. Alone on a cold, quiet quad in the middle of the school day, the sky grey with clouds overhead, Murdock sat beneath a tree denuded of leaves, his breath steaming before him in the cold. Big, muscular, and scarred, the former drone looked out of place here, as he did most other places. A little uncomfortably, he rested his hands on his knees and waited for Glowstar's arrival.

Early December, 2011 Coastal New Jersey doesn't get particularly cold, not even in the winter. But the fourth of December dawned especially cold and dark, a rain having fallen the previous night and immediately frozen over, covering much of the neighborhood in a coating of ice. Between the grim grey sky and the ice everywhere, it was no day to go outside if you could help it. Of course, some people couldn't: alongside the border of Greenbank and the West End, as a chilly morning dawned, an entire block of apartments awoke to find their buildings encased in a solid globe of ice! This was no natural effect of the storm the night before, it was as if someone had come along and glazed the block into a snow globe, one hard enough to resist the policemen with icepicks and crowbars below.

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