Search the Community

September 16, 2016 With the summer months come and gone sundown was coming earlier to Freedom City with each passing day. Even in the dim dusk the lamps flanking the monorail track cast stark shadows on the cement ravine below, the pillars that held the track aloft creating even bars of light and darkness. Marring that pattern came a pair of headlights, accompanied by screeching tires and unmistakable bursts of gunfire. The rust red sedan crashed through the steel link fence, hanging in the air briefly before slamming down onto the sloped cement with a great crash and screech of protesting metal. Almost lost in that cacophony was the whisper quiet purr of the inky black motorcycle in pursuit. Clad similarly in black its rider practically melted into the bike's silhouette in the dim light, a crimson wing pattern up its sides the only detail separating it from a black brushstroke across the scene. It easily followed through the path opened in the fence and sped after the sedan, wearing back and forth to avoid the increasingly panicked fire from the car's occupants.

June 8th, 2015 The citizens of Freedom City tended to be a politically active sort, as keen to hold protests as rallies, to throw parades and circulate petitions. There was something about taking to the streets to make a spectacular demonstration that was simply baked into the city's core. Even so, there was only so much of the specific mechanics of actual government that the average citizen was honestly willing to wrap their head around so it would be understandable if the name Stewart Bench didn't ring any immediate bells. If he'd emerged with surprising speed as the front runner to be the new city councilman for one of the western wards in the next election, well, who had really heard of any of the candidates before the campaign signs started going up? If his poll numbers indicated a noticeably higher voter turnout rate than previous terms, well, it was just nice to see the youth of today exercising their democratic rights. It had only taken Ellie Stein a little bit of digging to realize that those numbers simply didn't add up and while creative use of statistics might have been a way of life for politicians it was enough to convince her to investigate further. The more she looked into Bench, the less she like what she found. Eventually it was the blue and silver clad heroine Echo who peered down at his campaign offices, the lights still on at this late hour, ready for some more hands-on research...

July 12, 2015 "Bequeath all of thy paltry trinkets unto my satchel or face the wrath my master!" the armored figure shouted at the terrified sales clerk from behind a gold and sapphire hued helmet styled to be reminiscent of a baboon. The plasma cannons built into his gauntlets, used moments before to blast sizable holes in the lavish skylights of the jewelry store, said that the armor was cutting edge while the style and decoration were obviously nods to a much older aesthetic. Behind him another five brigands in similarly ancient Egyptian themed power armor were busying themselves smashing into glass displays and cowing patrons and employees alike into silence. One stood at the doorway, wielding a massive spear that on a second glance was tipped with an intimidating barrel rather than a pointed blade and making it clear to mall security and good samaritans alike that they would do better to simply wait for the robbery to be over. Already the normally busy walkway of the shopping center's second floor had been deserted by civilians. Licking his lips, the shop's manager, a well dressed man with a shaved head and impeccable goatee, looked at the sack being held in front of him and nodded jerkily. "O-of course. Let me just--" Left hand inches from the silent alarm trigger below the display he abruptly found his field of view dominated by that same wrist mounted blaster, the heat from its first discharge still radiating from it like the hot breath of a predator. "Test not the patience of a servant to the gods, mortal!" the thief snarled, towering almost a full head over his victim. "The jewels! Now!"

April 4th, 2015 The door to the convenience store swung open with a chime from the bells hung above it and the resounding impact of the boot smashing into it. "Hey! I need a hand over here!" In her customary crimson and black, Jill O'Cure burst into the store in enough of a hurry to almost knock a rack of corn chips over, a boy of about ten or eleven unconscious in her arms. The heroine set the child down of the counter in front of the shocked cashier, unceremoniously sweeping a display of novelty butane lighters to the ground. "He got hit with some sort of fever," she explained, losing patience as the teenager behind the counter stared at her blankly, mouth agape. "Hey! Pay attention! I've got him stable and he shouldn't be contagious but he needs water and an ambulance, got it?" "Ah, r-right, I'll call for one right now, right," the cashier stammered, snapping her mouth shut over braces and reaching for the yellowing corded phone with chipped nails. She took a second look at Jill and worked up the courage to blurt, "Is this, like... a super thing?" The masked EMT-B paused for a moment, her shoulders dropping slightly in her dark red jacket. "...not sure. Maybe. This is the fifth case I've run into tonight and the symptoms are getting worse." She looked down at the unconscious boy for a moment before heading back for the door. "I need to get back out there. Take care of him, alright?" The teenager nodded more resolutely this time and Jill was out the door again in a sprint.

May 25, 2015 "...thanks to the selfless commitment and bravery all those who..." It wasn't that the sentiment wasn't heartfelt but the halting, uneven delivery by teenaged grandson of one of the veterans in gathered in the small park next to the VFW building did nothing to breathe new life into the paint-by-numbers speech and after growing up on military base after military base it was nothing Vicki Adams couldn't have recited even without the cue cards the kid was relying upon. As Memorial Day ceremonies went it was on the more solemn side, attended mainly by aging veterans and their family members but the promise of bingo and a raffle with an ArcheTech tablet as the grand prize robbed it of a little of it gravitas. More than anything it was a welcome opportunity to gather generations together and consider how lucky they were to be there together. The small cemetery on the other side of the park, its ornate fence lying just past the folding table holding the punch bowl and bingo hopper, was a sobering reminder of that. Looking serene as the bright sunlight shone over neat, well maintained rows of gravestones it was a quiet oasis next to the sounds of squeaking metal chairs, buzz from an inexpertly deployed sound system and intermittent coughing.