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March 1, 2015 Dublin Circle This little cul-de-sac in the Fens has a little more character (or at least a little more prosperity) than the rest of the neighborhood - there's a mom-and-pop Vietnamese eatery in one corner and a few hair salons in another, and while the row housing is old it's very well-maintained. There's a reason for all that. Almost four years ago a gigantic alien limb smashed into a row of tract housing and old warehouses on this street, smashing them to rubble and leaving behind a rotting mass of hideous misshapen flesh. In the years since, Archetech has cleaned up the mess, rebuilt the area, and paid money to encourage new residents to move into the circle. Which meant that when a little boy named Andy Toth reported hearing voices, voices coming from his toys, that little Andy was Archetech's problem. Andy's caregiver, a single mom named Ruth Anne, had called Archetech first - after all, as she'd said on the phone, it was probably Archetech's fault her son was hearing voices! Who knew what had sunk into the water, or what had been picked up and built into the new house where they lived? Ruth Ann had also called her local free clinic for a second opinion - which meant that today (all unknowing), there were two superheroes headed for the small Toth house, Monkey Wrench there to investigate on behalf of her new employer, and Graft on his way to see a very unusual patient!

North Bay, Freedom City Saturday August 4, 2014; 3:51 PM "This is Nancy Norrington for Channel 3, WNTW, reporting from the North Bay Yacht Club where in a short while, the Fourth Annual Inspiration Celebration will be kicking off. Started four years ago by Topple Enterprises CEO Andrew Topple, the Inspiration Celebration recognizes several individuals who have made inspiring contributions in a wide variety of fields, from literature to the sciences to even just everyday heroics." "This year's event is being held on Topple's one hundred and forty foot luxury yacht, the Reble, which you can see behind me. It is being co-sponsored by multi-billionaire businessman and philanthropist Amir al-Misri and Knute Smith, the CEO of Forge Motors. Some of the recipients of awards this year include author Robert Cross, for his book 'Beyond Human;' Doctor Tyrone Mendoza, for his work in the Mendoza Free Clinic in the Fens; musician Warren Wilder, also known as the superhero Riff, for his recent album; and Sophia Nelson, the homeless teenager who saved a family of six from a house fire back in late June, despite suffering injuries in the process. Another recipient will be a hero who recently made his appearance in Freedom City, Titan." "And here we go, the first limousine is pulling up now, so we shall soon see who is arriving first...."

July 14, 2014 "I'm just saying it's hard to believe the initials were an accident," the figure perched atop the three-storey apartment complex insisted. Keeping to shadows deep enough to conceal his high collared, royal blue great coat and matching bandanna mask, the West End vigilante known as Jack of all Blades spoke in a low voice as he peered down at the community center across the street, noting the comings and goings through the back door. "Hey, don't look at me, fearless leader," the smoothly cheerful baritone in his ear protested. "When it comes to acronyms, well! Those who live on glass hard drives, et cetera, et cetera!" VINCE, the Interceptor's artificial intelligence and dispatcher usually preferred to appear with his avatar when communicating with the team but for covert surveillance and earpiece beat commandeering an ATM monitor. Grunting noncommittally, Jack noticed and ultimately ignored a trio of youths starting up a pickup game of basketball on the center's court. The Vibrant Community Reclamation project had been the driving influence behind a number of similar centers throughout the city, focusing on the West End and Lincoln while making inroads into the Fens, repurposing unused buildings in what were diplomatically referred to as 'at risk neighbourhoods'. If the organization spent just as much time holding banquets and press events to pat its well heeled contributors on the back, well, the plus column still came out ahead. At least in theory. Jack had learned the hard way that looking a gift horse in the mouth was actually a pretty good habit to get into and the increased drug trafficking he and his team had been encountering in the area since the center opened had started to make the hairs on the back of his neck itch. VINCE had explained something about correlation and causation that the swashbuckling swordsman hadn't entirely followed but had agreed that the rising crime bore looking into. Without much more than a hunch to go on, he'd decided to stake out the center itself to see if a lead presented itself.

Alright! Hit me up with some Gather Information, Knowledge [streetwise] and/or Investigate rolls! If you've got anything else that seems relevant, go for it!

Okay, we have our thread here. So, as is suggested, all the award recipients (Graft (in civilian ID); Riftfand Titan (in hero ID) have been offered limo transportation to the event. I assume Asad will arrive in his own ride. Also, for those that wish, some Kn: Business or Current Events or Gather Information rolls are likely appropriate, to determine what each of you might know/have uncovered regarding the event, the sponsors, etc. TA, I will be shooting you a PM, as Asad is in a unique position to know a fair bit about the other sponsors, and could know even more with a good roll!

Wednesday, February 19th, 2014 9:52 PM The shining towers of North Freedom weren't exactly Nick Cimitiere's usual digs. Give him the bohemian splendor of Riverside, the long shadows of Lantern Hill, even the ambient decay of an abandoned rail yard in Greenbank. But then again, his usual activities didn't bring him somewhere like this. But then there'd been the stories. A string of tech break-ins still wasn't in his wheelhouse, but the fact that they'd gotten into places that seemed on total lockdown certainly caught his attention. That didn't automatically imply ghosts, but it certainly pointed fingers in that direction. But then there'd been the attack on the security guard. He'd been sedated after his injuries, so the police weren't able to get a good account - but the wounds on his body took on the shape of claw marks. Nick wandered among the looming skyscrapers, drowned out in their shadows. So... werewolves? Demons? Particularly feral ghosts? He reeled through the possibilities in his head, feeling utterly off of his game. And what the hell do they want with tech firms?

OOC for this Ok we are going for a Casino Royale feel her. Lots of social conflict. Ocassional bouts of violence. And more importantly, feel free to use all your skills and powers in non-combat ways., To start off, you can make a knowledge (current events, business or streetwise) , or gather information skill roll, to see what the "Buzz" is. Feel free to narrate the particulars of what you know according to what skill you use and the particulars of your hook in. DC 20: The High Steaks is selling "the Grand Prize", nobody knows what it is, but the Mafia, some major coorperations, and other outfits are investing big in some players to win it for them. Word is, its illegal. DC 30: The Grand Prize is infact a massive Daka Crystal, smuggled illegally into the country and unsellable by conventional means. Hence, the poker game. Also, you can make a Knowledge (Civics) Roll DC 25 to see if you can disentangle the legal jargon around the invitation and rules, to realise this is a smuggled, illegal item. Then, please narrate your entrance! Narrative license is yours, so feel free to add what you want to the ambience.

GM Saturday night, 2nd August... The High Steaks was a sleek, upper crust joint, even amongst the casinos that it loitered in. It was not, technically, a casino. Its lower level was one of the finest eateries in Freedom City, new, fresh, modern with a classical twist. Or classic with a modern twist. Its steaks were the finest in the City, perhaps the country, Perhaps even the world. Expensive as that was, it was dwarfed by the real money. Overlooking the dining area was the top table, where the finest food was eaten, the finest wine drunk, and the most exclusive poker table in the City stood. Millions were lost, millions were won. Tears were cried, and joy was sung. The balcony of the top table stood over the high steaks, and had a view over the city. THe High Steaks was a tall glass building. A few years back, it had been home to a Vampire Attack although nobody really knew if this was a legend, a myth, or the truth. It seemed the myth had done business no harm, anyway. The High Steaks fed on anxiety and excitement. And tonight was the grand prize. Nobody knew what the prize was, for sure, although gossip flew this way and that. Whatever it was, some big guns had arrived for the game. The rules were simple: Winner takes the prize, and the seller took all the money that was brought to the table. The more money you brought, the more chance you had of winning. And some major organisations and wealthy individuals had brought a lot of money...

GM Vector November 28th, 2013, 12.04AM, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia Sounding like a gurgling throat, the black waves beat and crashed against the dock. Their motion and power kept the small ship constantly moving despite thick lines mooring it to the heavy concrete and steel. The crew aboard it were crouched against the gunwales, watching the narrow road that quickly vanished into darkness until the main dock lights glared in a cacophony of hellish orange, occasionally shining on a truck rumbling past. Each time one passed by, they visibly tensed, only to relax as it disappeared. Then one turned. It was unmarked, save for a simple, generic logo on the sides proclaiming that it worked for one of the smaller shipping companies out of Gold Coast. It rumbled to a halt before the pier, and the back door swung open to disgorge several heavily-built men who looked about as nervous as the men on the boat, who scrambled to assist with loading long, heavy boxes from the boat into the truck. The driver remained in the cabin, but Vector could see that his eyes were wide behind the balaclava, and his knuckles were white on the wheel. With a dull thud one of the boxes fell from hands that were slick with sweat, and every last man there froze. As one they turned to look at the crate, and sagged with relief. Then glared at the one who had dropped it. "S-sorry" mumbled the man, looking askance as he reshouldered his burden "I just...not used to this stuff, won't happen again" "It better not" snapped a man thinner and more terrified than the rest who seemed to be in charge "None of us wanna get turned into dog food 'cause ya got nervous!" The unloading hurried along, everyone there desperately hoping they could finish their work quickly enough not to be seen first... Graft November 27th, 2013, 8.04AM, Waterfront, Freedom City, USA Tyrone had started hearing about the shipments only a couple of days ago. It had seemed like a normal, generic kind of freight truck that bustled about the metropolis until some of his patients had opened it, and decided to try and steal one of the boxes. Luckily they had survived the strange explosion with his help. Their muddled memory of the event had been light on a lot of details, but their description of the truck meant Graft recognized it at once when he saw it. Or at least one eerily like it. There hadn't been any companies registered with the brand emblazoned on the side(a red circle with a lightning bolt through the center), and the warehouse it stopped at had obviously not been properly used in the last decade, at the least. Rust hung on the main door as it creaked open, and the windows were cracked. Sure were a lot of very fit, very edgy-looking young men though. And the elongated bulges in their winter coats did nothing to make them suspicious. Stormbreaker November 27th, 2013, 8.04AM, Skies above the Waterfront, Freedom City, USA "Captain, ladyship!" barked the voice of Age's Lost's science officer, their multi-faceted eyes gleaming in the light of several data readouts on the bridge "I've got some kind of unusual energy signature, from the hyplothadrooga scanners it appears to follow the main wavelength associated with...Terminus radiation. Odd. A significant cluster of the energy sources is directly inside this structure." spindly fingers brought up a crisp picture of one of the innumerable warehouses far below. A large red rectangle pulsed in the center. "Shall we investigate, captain Silvia? I believe this is very atypical for Earth technology." the science officer's face nearly shone with hopeful curiosity.

Greenbank, Freedom City Friday, January 10th, 8:00pm They'd all started getting whispers, but they came from different places. Shadowblade was still making her mark on the city, but she'd heard rumors on more than one patrol that someone was restarting the same sort of experiment she'd busted up at that school just a few weeks ago. Except, this sounded bigger. With even more planning and setup, and in an area few seemed to care about. Blodeuwedd's patrols had gotten her a lot of rumblings about...well, it wasn't so much a "gang war" as it was "outsiders gobbling up territory". Except these outsiders played things smart. One day, suddenly several of the not-quite-empty warehouses were no longer under their existing management. Some of the previous tenants had made it out with rumors of men (and a few women) in matte black uniforms moving like ghosts in the night. People in uniforms that sometimes had guns, sometimes nothing. Always scary. Not all of the tenants (a polite term for small and medium gangs squatting in warehouses and other buildings) made it out, though some were whispering they weren't dead, they just switched "sides". Graft had been hearing rumbles from many of his patients coming through the clinic. Most were homeless people who'd seen these strange people lurking about, or just barely missed their "grabs". But they didn't seem to be primarily targeting the random homeless and transients. Instead, the primary targets were gang members! The folks Graft talked to mentioned at one point seeing black-clothed figures nab a half-dozen gang-bangers without killing them. A couple nights later, it seemed like there were even more paramilitary folks running around... Comrade Frost, meanwhile, had gotten some disturbing rumors himself. Rumors of the mafiya being paid a pretty penny to help move a lot of very interesting things into a couple of warehouses right on the river. Things like lots of high-end scientific materials, loads and loads of wires and cables and pipes and ropes, prefabricated housing and other long-term residence supplies... And weapons. Nothing too big, all man-portable, and nothing incredibly advanced. But weapons nonetheless. But it wasn't a continuing operation; it was a one-and-done transport deal, conducted with some people who were so professional you could cut paper on it. Not a pretty picture, but he hadn't heard of anything major getting blown up. Yet. Now, what would they all be doing about it?

The thread where our heroes deal with some shady, shady things.

GM Friday 1st October, 15:07pm The Beginning of Rush Hour... A busy street... It happened in a flash. The truck was stuck in traffic, beeping its horn in frustration. But then, lots of people where stuck in traffic and beeping horns in frustration. This was Friday evening rush hour. Freedom City was the city of heroes, but for all its super powers, it was not immune to traffic congestion. The truck was marked full of hazardous chemicals. And then, it got hit. Three. No four. No five men, marching out a nearby van, in full orange jumpsuits, headphones, and gas masks, and wearing heavy rifles, fired - gas grenades it looked like. Knockout gas. Everyone fell asleep - pedestrians, drivers, the hot dog salesman at the corner, the street performer playing "The Ace of Spades" on a rubber band and a smoked kipper, and the preacher with a megaphone and a particularly individual interpretation of the old testament that did not hold him back from telling the world of his unique revelations. All of them hit the floor, snoring heavily. Cars swerved into one another, crashed. Alarms sounded, and injuries - from minor to more severe, peppered the streets. And one car crashed into the Truck. The chemicals started flowing freely into the street. An unpleasant smell to say the least, and from the warning signs on the truck, a toxic one too...

OOC for thread. Graft and Starchaser hit the ground running with some mad scientist driven by self preservation.

OOC for >this thread. No need for initiative during this portion. None of them are within view at the moment. And yes both the doctor and the free clinic are references to Dr. Mid-Nite.

GM Doctor Charles Cross Medical Center, Lincoln Thursday, December 12th, 2013 7:16 PM Lincoln had never been known as the most affluent neighborhood South of the Boardwalk. The hardworking residents who made up the majority of its population were often overlooked in favor of the contrasting number of gangbangers whom called the place home. In reality Lincoln was no more predisposed to crime than the rest of the of the district South of the river. Many business were dedicated to bettering life for the residents in the area. The Doctor Charles Cross Medical Center was just one of those facilities. A free clinic that had been operating since the 70's dedicated to providing health care to those whom couldn't otherwise afford it. Currently it was run by the thirty six year old Beth Cross, whom before inheriting the family practice served as a surgeon for the Kingston Community Medical Center. The facility especially saw the most use during the holiday season when people had the time to actually find out what the ailments they were ignoring for months meant. The run down looking clinic was covered head to toe with christmas lights in honor of the festive season. Unfortunately, for the past thirty minutes the christmas lights had been paling in comparison to the amount of headlights from the police cars. It had only been an hour since a group of six masked men had seized control of the clinic. Holding it hostage after their demands for medical supplies were met with a silent alarm being tripped. Foreshadow and Graft had arrived while the police where setting up their barricade and proceeded to sneak inside unseen. An impressive feat considering how much of Graft there was to see.

OOC stuff, TK can you roll Intimidate?

12:21 AM Carrie couldn't remember the last time she was sick, there was a good reason for that, clearly her memory had blocked out such a horrid experience. Her nose was running, her throat was sore from coughing, and her head was pounding. She couldn't sleep at all, not that she'd usually be asleep at this time, but she'd freaking tried, and so now here she was, pulling into the building known optimistically as the Fens Free Clinic. She said optimistic because you had to be plenty optimistic to run anything like a government funded building in the Fens. Still, it was convinent her willingness to go to a hospital was, lacking. She still had dreams about that other place. The smaller, more homely building was a welcome alternative. Really she might of self medicated, but she wasn't sure if this was a cold, or something worse and honestly it'd been a while since she was sick she wasn't one to tell the difference. That and her sister wouldn't answer her phone again. Walking to the pretty much abandoned building which had the the little sign that said 24 hours, she pushed the door open and walked into the reception area, well okay she hobbled. Her hand on her forehead as she moved to the desk and looked for the sheet to sign in.

GM Monday, October 28 12:30 PM Six patients. Addicts, junkies, casual users. Whatever they tried to say, they'd all done whatever it had been. Drugs were bad enough, tainted drugs were even worst. He had four patients who had a bad reaction. The symptoms were consistent; Intense vertigo, hallucinations, vomiting and tremors. They shook uncontrollably, could not walk, seemed barely lucid, and could keep nothing down. When questioned, all four of them pointed out to something they'd gotten their hands on. Some new, cheap source. Probably tainted, but he did not know by what. He knew better than to assume he could keep the streets completely clean. Tainted drugs, though, drugs that could potentially kill on one dose? That he could probably take care of. But not as Tyrone Mendoza, not as a doctor. No, he would need to do something a little more drastic. With that in mind, he suited up. ------Meanwhile------ Jackie. He was about sixteen maybe seventeen, a friendly kid who was probably destined to end up dead in an alleyway. It wasn't fair, though. He was smart, good looking, and had a ready smile. When asked where he came from, he always redirected the conversation. He couldn't keep himself clean. Now he was sixteen or seventeen and laying in a bed in the back of some free clinic. Shaking and vomiting, barely able to tell who anyone was. The rumor was someone had put tainted drugs on the street.

The OOC thread for >this thread

GM June 29th, 2013 Mayor Santo was a portly man with a bronzed face that was round and lined. He somehow carried off a magnificent smile and a handsome warmth, and had kept a magnificent lock of white hair on his head that made him look like a perfect mayor - approachable, experienced, warm but with authority. He smoked too many cigars. He drank too much port. He had a reputation with too many ladies. But he was not a corrupt man. That was a bonus. Yet politics was fierce, and he wanted to keep his job. And it so happened, that with the influx of several benefactors amongst the more successful upper class of RiO, and their businesses, he had the money to do it. Sure, every second float would have sponsorship's plastered all over it, but he had put together a city Carnival that would ignite the city this day. His younger - too young - some might say, and pretty - too pretty, some might say - wife, Sandra, came up to lean on his shoulder and comfort him from the stress he endured in the midday heat, as he coordinated with police, ambulances, and a thousand other details. The first signs of music, dancing, and costumes were already hitting the streets, and the smells of street food complimented the sounds and colours. It would be a long day, and a longer night. "My love my love" he said, patting Sandra affectionately, but - it should be said - patronisingly - "Leave me to my work. There will be time for fun later. Now! I must concentrate!" he said, with a smile. Something tickled the edge of his brain. He couldn't put the jigsaw together yet, but as he chomped on a cigar, he had the nagging feeling from various irritations and frustrations, and reports, that something wasn't going quite right...

The OOC Thread for when we'll need it.

GM Post Hanover Institute of Technology Today was a fine day to be one of the few who had the luxury of sporting a lab coat to work every day. Doctors, biologists and scientists all over made their way to the Hanover Institute of Technology. Today they were hosting the annual GBCE (Grant Biochemical Expo). This was started some 20 years ago by Grant Conglomerates to show off its newest hardware, but had since been expanded into an industry wide affair. Everything from microscopes, to MRI machines to DNA sequencers was on display. The expo was being held in HIT's largest gymnasium, and even spilled out into the nearby hallways, as well as having several outdoor booths. There were of course refreshments in the cafeteria. There were representatives from a multitude of think tanks, hospitals, police forces, government agencies, and investors looking to get in on the action. This was of course in addition to all of the students who were taking the opportunity to try to do some networking for their subsequent job hunting. A few lucky students even had a booth set up for some of their research that they've done at HIT over the past few months. Suffice to say, the place was packed. There was no telling who you might run into.