Ari

GM Sharl could feel the look that snapped between Ochre and Green faster than a normal human could have followed. "That is...most kind, Citizen." Ochre ventured at last, something like relief and a faint Core accent slipping into the English "After this long we had hoped our past allegiances had been overlooked, or our leader pardoned at the cost of abandoning his followers. When I learned your counterpart spoke Lor, we feared the worst." "We can't go back now." Green sounded as if he had finally woken up, and didn't like it "No matter if Th'emme or Frankan wins, we'd be killed if we revealed ourselves now." "Overstatement, of course!" Ochre laughed hastily "The Act of Oh-Seventy drastically shortened the timeline of prosecution for treason." Meanwhile, OtherShar's answer came more haltingly and probably even less helpfully. A flash of a dim circular room, whose walls slid back to reveal dozens of glowing pink eyes and the faces of Negators. A crisp, aristocratic voice saying "Lincoln. Now.". Unimaginable pain. A sudden blue flash. Walking down a long stairway covered in Lemurian murals like in the Smithsonian. A sewer littered with metal limbs. A woman who looked like Temperance taking off her head to reveal a modular socket beneath. Ochre and a roomful of Hermits shouting "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet!" at a man with pink eyes and a grotesquely-swelled brain, watching his body's central core wash out into the Pacific... On the same channel, OtherSharl asked fervently Do you know any of this? I dondondondondondondon- Meanwhile... There was a lot to see on the monitors. There were bodies being dissected, there were live bodies being examined, there were the smashed, spindled and mutilated remnants of countless examples of high-technology that didn't look at all like they came from Earth. There were other monitoring stations, too. All of them empty. On the screens Emerald Spider could also more normal-looking factory spaces, full of people in more rudimentary protection gear working with electronics, overseeing assembly lines, taking breathers in the spacious and homey break rooms, working in cubicles. Side by side they looked like views from alternate realities. The guard's attention was currently on the hallway where Citizen, another Citizen, and two Hermits were standing. The hatch led to directly behind the guard's chair, the ceiling vent built to push and pull air in a circle around the room. Wonder of wonders, it was on a convenient hinge. Suddenly the guard got up, moved to the centre of the room, and started doing push-ups, singing faintly to herself about killing dragons. Her Mandarin was a little old-fashioned, however, so Peri could have been mistaken.

OOC thread for this thread. You thought it was over eighty years ago but it wasn't. @Exaccus @Sailor

OOC thread for this thread. Best of the 80's meets ghost haps.

GM May 28th, Sunday, 2017, 5.51PM Maniac Park, Downtown Bedlam, Wisconsin The last set... It was finally here. The last step on a journey across America. The last song that would put an unquiet soul to rest. Val had met the shade named Jane Westerling months back, on a tour through LA. A cover of Michael Jackson's hit 'Billie Jean' had been interrupted by the lights shorting out, a spectral wail and the appearance of a translucent floating figure with every limb out of joint, her head twisted around and her enormous eyes on the back of her head. Thankfully, Jane had just been trying to cheer and her powers had gotten out of hand. After making her earnest apologies and providing her own illumination of shimmering ghostlight, she'd dropped backstage after the show to gush and make a very odd request. "The music makes me whole, Ms. Cain. If I could hear more like it...I could remember myself. Where I can rest. Will you carry me there?" All had become clear as the weeks went by, Val sharing her body with the bubbly, now-healed ghost. No longer monstrous, the music of her long-gone teenage years had formed her back into a flickering, tiny brunette with a small, catlike mouth and large green eyes. She couldn't go far from Val, not that she wanted to. After so long alone it had been a relief to meet someone who could talk to and see her all the time again. Most of the time, she stayed in Val's head and made occasional small talk or went on stream-of-consciousness rambles about this or that, occasionally hitting on a common interest. She had been a music fanatic as a kid growing in Woolverton back in 1983 and when she'd turned 15 in '84 had struck out into the world in a stolen Chevy, following the Star Gods, the greatest musicians of her time. Four years, many life lessons and one lost finger later, she'd finally come home. Then something had happened, she had died been shattered into pieces. A part of her in every place she'd heard the songs she'd loved so much. Right then, Val could feel Jane jittering with excitement as the first chords were struck. The crowd of tired-looking Bedlamites that had gathered in the sprawling, ill-kept park weren't nearly so enthusiastic, but they'd at least made signs. Val could see the less flattering ones at the back torn down, their holders the target of a perfunctory scrap. Everyone not involved kept their eyes front and ignored the shouts and curses drifting in the air. The people in suits around the stage weren't so relaxed. Valerie Cain's security detail were used to rough towns, but they'd been on edge since arriving in Bedlam, Wisconsin, almost paranoid thanks to the rundown city's enormous crime rate. But that couldn't stop the music or dampen the spirits of 'Sweet Child of Mine'

GM May 1st, Monday, 2017, 12.45AM Emerald City, Washington, United States, Fort Brewer Naval Base, Sub-level 2, briefing room "This is the only visual we have on your target, uh...Ms. Masterson" Admiral Henry "Hank" Finley was a fit, imposing man at 6'8", with his close-cut greying hair and constant frown softened little by a short spadehead beard. He also clearly had little experience dealing with superhumans. The darkened room he and the other, conspicuously silent, officers were gathered in had enough Cold War atmosphere to choke somebody from the bright and clear Forties. The lights were dimmed to help accentuate the ten-foot-wide picture humming softly in the air. With a slight cough and a swipe of his fingers, the projected image of a distant, misty lump of grey on a time-stamped horizon sharpened and jumped into focus. Hovering above the conference room table, the picture resolved into an island. An island with towering cliffs for shores, great tangles of hanging greenery and a liberal sprinkling of palm trees. "As you can guess, there's nothing like this on any of our charts. Satellite has nothing, even got Argus down here last weekend to scan. Nada." The Old Man of Fort Brewer folded his arms and looked down into the enigma that had brought Mary Masterson, the Torpedo Lass of World War 2, to far-off Emerald City, Washington. "Sent some scouts out, they got to the spot and swear up and down the thing just vanished. But I noticed something." "The sub crew I dispatched along with the other boats, they say it vanished just a little after the others lost track. Could mean nothing, but," Finley turned to Torpedo Lass, a gleam of cunning in his dark eyes "got me thinking somebody who can go faster than anything we've ever built and do it under the surface might stand a chance of clearing this up." "What we're asking is strictly recon, understand. Just get there, take a look around, come back and give us what you get. We give that to Citizen and he takes care of anything dangerous." the admiral shook his head resolutely, and his tone became one Mary was all too familiar with. "I'm not inclined to risk your safety, miss, no matter how bulletproof they tell me you are. I've got kids older than you." May 2nd, Tuesday, 2017, 8.45PM Liverpool, England, A very nice side-street The hero Dr. Deoxy had needs any human had. Being at the center of artistic life and on the crest of the glittering wave of imagination, for one. So strolling from one dazzling get-together had seemed like a good idea at the time. Just a little shortcut and he'd be back in the circle of greats... Dr. Nathaniel Anderson only knew he was being followed when he felt the sudden shock of lightning, fell spasming to the ground and heard somebody whisper "You. Have been. Thunderstruck!" There was a giddy giggle as the darkness closed comfortably around Nathan's head "Nothing? Aw geez, overjuiced..." A squalid room somewhere The darkness slid away to reveal a room that had once been stark and harrowing. A massive, altar-like table occupied the centre, letting the eye of the Sun in to bathe Nathan in cosmic fire. The rest was gloomy and indistinct, though clearly vast and of the Modernist school. Vines and tree roots reached in through the roof, turning the yellow light a gentle emerald. Other vegetation scrawled across the walls and floor. Somewhere birds chattered and sang. Of more immediate importance was the fact that Dr. Anderson was pinned to the stony bed by some invisible force, preventing movement of any kind. And he wasn't alone. Somewhere close, and getting closer, was the clopping sound of clumsy booted feet making their way towards him...

@olopi @Tiffany Korta I'm holding off on Salmon's reply until Spider and Sha'ir have had their say.

@Kolohehonu Could I have confirmation whether or nay you'd like to burn that HP to get back into the game, or else keep the Daze and chance it?

Given how much schlauging a lot of folks have been having piled on in the last few years/all time, what if all Vignettes are now two-month affairs? I feel that extra time would help with participation and, for THOSE PEOPLE for whom that is not a problem, with additional polishing time.

GM At the crime scene It was like most murder scenes in the Upper Emerald. Mere hours after its discovery everything had been scrubbed and painstakingly cleaned from the site for processing at the SECPD headquarters. City government had never believed in leaving messes lying around, which in this case meant doing what in almost any other city in the Union would have been a shocking breach of procedure. But thanks to the cutting-edge tech the city could afford to commission from its local companies, analyzing crime scenes was better done with sweep-n-scans in the SECPD basement than outdoors relying on fragile chemical matter. It also cut down on the crowds, potential traffic delays, chances of somebody hearing enough details to do a copycat killing and unfavourable media coverage. That and it made for incredible headaches in trying to do any kind of independent investigations. The street was clean, the sunlamp towered above in all its Modern splendour, the Columbia River rolled gently out to sea just a few meters from the road and rows of sterile warehouses running up and down the street. It was the kind of place that, even in Upper Emerald, looked out of place with any kind of high technology, like the automated railway carrying goods into the warehouses and the solar-powered streetlamps.

"Then we see one thing the same." Dotrae sounded relieved "We have...seen many, many deaths. Every occasion, every variety, every burst of sensation heralding the end." "It is hard to hold those and maintain our momentum. Worst in the Incursion. But if we did not move on, it would have been even harder for those forced to carry the burden. Afterwards we gathered and wondered if it would be better to forget some of them. We looked for some unimportant deaths to discard first." The alien paused, regarding the middle space before them. To any observers, the tableau was weirdly comical. "We could not do it. Not for lack of trying, or lack of desire, or lack of focus, but it was simply, physically, impossible. We had never tried before, but to find that was not even a choice..." "We say again, we do not value human life, except in the very abstract, but we can at least understand this common feeling." "You are set on this, then. We have a request." Dol-Druth extended a hand and met Errant's eyes "Will you let us carry your memories up to this time? We do not often meet loneminds so free of self-deception and we would treasure a fuller understanding of you."

Stepping in, the passengers felt akin to a stone in a whirpool, buffeted and dragged by unseen and massive forces hurtling them to they knew not where. Then they fell into a hospital room, empty of people save for a very wide-awake Maximilian Mars. With his hands folded on his lap and his eyes on the door, Max had evidently been expecting visitors. When the three heroes spilled out of a loophole in the laws of reality, he startd and blinked, but only for a moment. "Hello hello hello! Nice of you to stop by, kids!" He flashed a perfect grin at the trio, his face swollen and gashed by Faster Pussycat's claws and made worse by being swathed in bandages and gauze. His green eyes held the same fire, though, and even abed he bounced with energy. "Take a seat! I was hoping to get a word with you, first. I take it Wrath made the same quasi-veiled ultimatum he usually does? Show up and reveal yourselves as witnesses 'or else'?" Off of the Salmon's slightly-gaping mouthed stare he laughed uproariously "Oh, Wrath, never change! Actually, do change and make it fast, I-!" "M-maton!" Paris jumped to his feet and pointed at the bubbly billionaire "Same ultimatum? What do you mean? There haven't been any local heroes but us in decades, everyone knows that!" "There also haven't ever been smug bees in literal catsuits ever. But nontheless, somehow public perception doesn't equal reality," Mars' smile had vanished "which is why, before you start asking a lot of questions I have no answer for, I have an offer." Mars nodded to the table beside his bed, on which were sheets of paper and pens "Fastcat might be just the start. At the moment none of you have the backing or support you'll need if you start encountering more powerful criminals. Agree to work with me as employees of MarsTech and I can guarantee you infrastructure and information equal to anything on the eastern seaboard. You can decide your own salaries, hours and all the rest." His cats' eyes gleamed fiercely "If there's an arms race in the offing, I aim to win. I can make sure you do too. What do you say?"

@Blarghy @Exaccus Sorry guys, I really dropped the ball on this one. Do you want to let it go, or do you want to see it through?

GM Sharon pursed her lips, and Annie could feel the sideways glance. "No, that was cause of the UNISON event in St. Davids. Some sort of exotic energy surge and now I can invent new mathematics." "Really, this whole business of putting everyone who can make things under one label is simply disrespectful. You have people like Miss Americana or Daedalus who honed and developed natural talents until they could reinvent themselves, and then you have lumpen like me who lucked into a little brain-boost. It oughtn't to be allowed and I know just how to do it! Listen, first we separate all the natural talents from..." Sharon rambled on and on for the rest of the walk down to Bayview Mall, outlining with both her extensive imagination and extensive waving of the arms how she would revolutionize the classification of metahumans. "And that, Annie," Sharon concluded as the doors slid shut behind them and the mall's foyer opened up in front "is how we stop this linguistic chaos from perpetuating itself into the future!" She beamed happily "Now, about that ice cream. Got a favourite place?" her feet started leading the pair to the usual Ice Cliff Sweetery, but something else caught her eye and turned them in a very different direction. As ever, the mall was alive with customers, with stalls and kiosks and booths and sundry other temporary sales locations. One of them was brand new, advertising the "Shrinkaton", some kind of home appliance that apparently made your home items a more manageable size via "a revolutionary new technology out of Kwantum!!!" "You know, Annie," Sharon suggested mildly, her eyes alight "if the cones were smaller we could carry a lot more..."

GM The gunfire ground to a brief halt as the people at the other end of the hall digested the brightly-clad arrival. By contrast they were all in dark blue and grey, masked and helmeted with a circled white 'T' on their shoulders. A muffled, filtered-to-Hell voice barked "Finally!" One of them stepped forward, turning slightly to better show off the stark symbol "Hey, hero! Remember this, right? Thanks, ciao!" With that and a wave, the speaker and the shadows of their comrades turned and ran for an open window, anchor lines visible and leading down, the soldiers-apparent flashing and shimmering in the moonlight arcing through the glass walls. "H-hey!" A young man carrying a radio and a look flabbergasted fury stumbled from out of the crevice he'd been wedged in, waving his hands frantically at the gunners "You come in, start shooting at me, then just leave?! What the Hell kind of henchies are you?!" "The smart kind, junior!" With that, the gunmen leaped out the window, grabbed the lines and began racing for the ground. Except the leader, who paused, turned again, and tossed something at the Scarab's feet. Something round and compact, with a pin missing. "OH CHRIST ALMIGHTY A GRENADE!" Josh screamed, standing paralyzed with eyes as wide as saucers.

Yeah, that is the case. If you'd like, you can burn a Hero Point to remove the Daze. Order for round 2 is: Kid Kamehameha: Bruised(x1), Dazed, 1HP Salmon: Unharmed, 1HP Disque Joqueys(x9):Unharmed(x8), Bruised(x1)-GM

Knowledge(Galactic Lore): 26.

Neither man had time to move before it happened. One punch and a masked man was sent flying into the side of a truck, bouncing off and rolling in a boneless heap onto their reddened face, the shattered mask falling away in bone-white shards streaked with fresh blood that smoked in the light. The other lucked out, the punch clipping their mask and tearing a shallow cut in the temple behind it, giving them time and incentive to let go of the kid and reel back into the gang's ranks. The kid dropped to his knees, breathing shallowly and staring in muddy confusion at his glowing savior through a thin trickle of blood. Suddenly somebody yelled "He's one of the Academy kids! Drop him, he's gone rogue!" Then several things happened at once. The man Kid Kamehameha had drawn blood from drew out a heavy pistol, took shaky aim at Kimo and fired. The deafening CRAK and whizz of a bullet by his ear was the result. Two men broke from the pack, racing for the doors of the trucks and vaulting inside, yelling instructions to the others, of whom four roughly grabbed wriggling piles of humanity and hauled ass to the receiving truck, throwing their burdens inside without a care and slamming the door shut. Two others followed the bloodied man's lead, drawing pistols and firing. One of them rushed the shot, whipping the gun like he thought he could slash at Kimo with it, another CRAK and the feel of asphalt shrapnel bursting harmlessly against his legs the result of that. The other paused, just a second, and aimed right at Kimo's chest. Unlike the others, his eyes were calm and full of misery. He squeezed the trigger. CRAK And it was like an anvil had shrunk to a pencil-nub and slammed into Kimo's ribs. With a soft whump, Paris stopped at the edge of the scene, quickly taking stock. At the sight of the masks his blood froze. "The Disques," the Salmon breathed, embroidered eyes swimming with realization and horror "it's the slavers." Then anger took over, and he forgot all his fear, charging in with a roar.

Both of those hit, let's see how they take it: 21 and 3. That's versus DC24 and versus DC29. So That's #2 down, #1 is just bruised. The Disque Joqueys act: Four of them hustle the prisoners into the other truck, two of them run to get into the trucks' driver seats, the last three fire at Kid Kamehameha: 9, 26, 15. 2 misses, one critical hit. DC26 Toughness save for Kid Kame. Salmon comes onto the scene, Initiative roll is: 19. Next round he will go after Kid Kame.

Atraxia had frozen, shamefully, at the sight of something so like herself. 'You knew this was possible, the Morbians are not the only blood drinkers' she reminded herself, approaching the twitching pile of mockery with heron-like strides on her long legs. As she got closer, her head cocked to better examine the newly-revealed innards. The synthetic monster was reminiscent of some Lemurian creations, and had something else she'd seen before. 'Saw it while trying to understand why I am' "~Excuse me, I am Red Moon~" her thin, rasping voice hissed from her faceless helmet, echoing with other voices as it shaped into modern Galstandard "~I have some experience with systems such as these, may I?~" Stopping and creaking into a crouch like a bipedal spider, Atraxia's long arms reached out to ease open the remaining chassis "~What do you think of this, Sri Praetorian?~" she asked Traveler politely.

Red Moon has, with Skill Mastery, 22 on Physical Sciences. That get us anything about what in the world the synthozoid is doing with the blood?

Well Avenger, it's part of the broader m-yes. Sharl would absolutely figure that pretty quick.

GM May 4th, Thursday, 2017, 2.06AM Stronghold Security corporate offices, 476 Charles St. An empty hallway. From inside, the Stronghold Security building had almost nothing to remind one they were, in fact, inside the Stronghold Security building. A prominent skyscraper gracing the skyline of a major Atlantic metropolis in whose walls worked hundreds of people making sure that people from all(but preferably the better-heeled) walks of life could sleep safe and sound in the knowledge that Stronghold's technology would protect them. For Josh Kim, university freshman and part-time security guard on the tenth floor, it might as well have been any office building. So it was quite to his surprise when something was happening on his shift. Specifically, somebody was shooting at him. Several bodeys, all with very large guns. And he with none. But he did have a radio! One he was busy screaming into as loud as he could while wood splintered and porcelain shattered around him "OH GOD PLEASE ANYBODY HEEEEELLLP!"

GM The party halted. Besides OtherSharl, who staggered another step forward before managing to stop. "We found him, Citizen," Hermit Ochre spoke without looking around "someone had torn him apart and tried to hide the body by throwing it into the sea." "I-I was still conscious, even without the c-*ZZZZZRK*!" OtherSharl jerked his head so hard it looked likely to tear itself from its moorings. Head tilted nearly sideways, he went on casually "Couldn't remember much, though, just bits and <sea life is integral to the survival of this biosphere>." "Seawater got into the electronics. Despite our best efforts we could not repair that damage without causing more, the technology is very different from what we are used to here." Hermit Green mumbled a little, as if half-asleep. "As for what we do..." Ochre tapped one of the walls, and at once they became translucent. To the right, a dead Grue biobeast lay on a slab, surrounded by drones armed with slim blades and probes operated by other Hermits in an observing room above. To the left, the crisped and twisted armor that had once been the proud mantle of a Star Knight was being methodically taken apart by a small team of people in impressive protection gear. "Ming Xi Visions has government permission to study and reverse-engineer the product of alien science, so long as they are found within this nation's borders." Hermit Ochre had started walking again, a door opening at her touch. It revealed an elevator. "I would very much appreciate you hearing us out, Citizen. We are as lost and suspicious as you appear to be. We had hoped repairing your counterpart would be seen as a sign of good faith, clearly we misjudged the situation and our Board will be only too happy to respect whatever terms you or your associates demand." Meanwhile... With consummate skill and grace, Peri navigated the clanging, smashing shutters as they let through and blocked blasting gusts of air from deep within the tower. Finally, she found something useful as she followed the path of greatest power consumption: A security station with one single person watching hundreds of monitoring devices.

"I ssslice in and sssmasssh them!" Skirris' armored tail lashed out at a wall for emphasis, the rest of her stayed coiled around an exposed bit of piping on the ceiling. Without a helmet the cocky set of her eyes and her bared fangs were impossible to miss, something Barrier saw plenty of times before other hasaani kids got their heads kicked through a wall by someone the lizard hadn't taken seriously. When that kid could go across solar systems on a whim the baffling anecdote in her file, something about building of a power-sink on her homeworld, made a little more sense. "The piratesss have nothing I can't hhhandle, oncssse they're beaten I can get whatever data you need, releassse the crew and ssslice back to the PravaasssaH." The serpentine scrapper shrugged her square shoulders "Really, I don't sssee why you need more than me, Sssri Traveler. Sssri Barrier would take too long and can't infffiltrate the Indomitable like I can." Hyperslice glanced sideways at the zultasian "What was your plan, SsriTraveler?"

As he burst back onto the A-M Bridge, panting and struggling to keep his footing while his arms shook from the shock of punching super-tough Atlantean faces, the Salmon could only stare dumbfounded as the atrocious yellow brick on wheels churned into another car. "...I..." Suddenly it was caught by a swirling wave of twisting space, the very laws of reality itself calling it a day as what should have been there became here, the combined effect being to halt the juggernaut crushinator in its tracks. Snarling under his breath, the Salmon spun on his heel, hammered open the door of the T-bone'd car and hurtled head-first into another mindless wave of soldiers from the deep, who had gotten over the bridge's lip while he was screaming and thoroughly distracted. Dodging around their mechanical yet powerful swings, Paris grit his teeth and unleashed another barrage of superfast punches to where he'd gathered their exposed pressure points might probably be. He'd learned soon enough to not try and hit them in the jaw. Like punching a fifty-centimeter thick oak door. As one was sent off the bridge and into the waiting Columbia, the Salmon risked a look at still,silent Devlin, copper-rust green arms raised eternally above Council Island and the A-M. Above the Salmon. For an instant Paris wondered if this was what religious people felt seeing images of God right when they felt most foresaken. Then a steel-hard fist smashed into his back, throwing him, reeling and gasping for breath, to the asphalt while the silent warriors tried to hem him in and beat him to death, only prevented by the speedster lunging out of the circle and stagger back to his feet. He stared into their blank, eerily beautiful faces. I hope something kills them. I hope they all die.