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Spring, 1987 "Alright. We'll each go our separate ways until the heat goes off." Melter said, as the vault closed. Each member of the cadre of criminals put in one fifth of the code on the keypad. Then the door closed, and a hissing of steam locked the vault entirely. "When everything's cooled down, we'll get back together and split the profits." The team split, leaving the vault in the Arizona desert, hidden in the foothills of the Sierra Madre Mountains. Spring, 2024 It's been a quiet life ever since Supercrimes! ended. There's been a few magazine or talking head spots in various documentaries or special editions, but nothing permanent. Which isn't that bad of a thing, given that Richard and Paige are now approaching- or are in- their 60s. They're almost ready to take Social Security, even if they don't look quite as old. It was probably a nice life; if rather boring. That is, until one day. When Richard and Paige receive a phone call from Meadowbrook Nursing Home, located in Freedom City. "...Hello." The voice is old and worn by the years, but distinct. It conjures up memories from almost 40 years ago. Mark Mettle, alias The Melter; a Costumed Criminal from the 1980s. He had never been in Freedom City proper; he was a bit too out there for the Freedom City of the Moore Act, with his blow-torch like flamethrower gauntlets and propensity for bombastic speeches, but he'd had a brain on him. He'd been the one who put the plan together. "Fast Forward, Hologram. I need to see you. It's about the Sierra Madre job. Can you come by Meadowbrook? I'm here under my own name. I think we should talk about it in person."

A thread, as requested, for Fast-Forward and Hologram! please let me know if I am messing something up here.

Summer 2021 Discovery Channel "So that was the secret of the Day of Wrath," said Fast-Forward into the camera, looking rather more serious than his usual mien, a cloud of black smoke rising from the still-smoldering building behind him. "Robot conspiracies, evil dopplegangers, and a plan for Earth that went much deeper than anybody expected it. When we picked this story for our finale, we never imagined we'd find anything like this - perhaps the most shocking moment in the history of...Supercrime!" - A day earlier....

One of the perks of having a show on the Discovery Channel was a generally cordial working relationship with public broadcasting systems all around the world. It was especially nice in cases like this, where instead of doing interviews on the street or in a rented conference room, they were able to line up a cozy little interview space at the FCTV studios right downtown. The SuperCrime crew had piled all their outdoor gear in an unobtrusive corner and taken an hour's break to thaw out, eat lunch and back up footage of the morning's work. Now Paige was redoing her makeup in front of a mirror in the corner, covering up a slight case of windburn with concealer while the crew did light tests and their waited for their guest to arrive. The studio was not very large, a living-room themed stage area big enough for perhaps four or five people maximum. It was set up with two comfortable chairs cheated towards the camera with a low table between them for coffee cups and looked very much like a thousand different news program sets. The crew already had all the cameras set up and ready to go, and the smell of coffee floated invitingly through the warm air.

It was another morning in Freedom City, and the SuperCrime! crew were back at the TV studio. Yesterday's cold, clear weather had turned into miserable, sleety drizzle today, enough that Paige had needed to change her clothes and redo her hair and makeup as soon as she arrived. Since the studio space they'd borrowed didn't include a dressing room, she wound up hiding behind the blue scrim pretending to be the set's side wall while wriggling into a dry SuperCrime jumpsuit. "Okay, I know we've got a bunch of these to run through, remind me who's up first today," she called. "First up this morning is Jill o' Cure," Fred reminded her from the other side of the curtain. "Healer type, local to Freedom City, was on the Interceptors during the infiltration." "Ah, right." Paige paused in her dressing a moment. This interview would be a little bit tricky, just by the nature of secret identities and the super community. Paige Cline knew Ellie Espadas through a score of Nicholson family nights and Saturday field trips over the years, but that was an entirely different thing from Paige Cline the television personality or Hologram knowing Jill o' Cure. That family guarded their identities well enough that Paige only knew because Richard and Will had gone to a party at Fleur de Joie's place once and met Ellie's brother Erik, who was Jack of all Blades. Secret identities could get very confusing but Paige did her best to respect them absolutely, even to the point of concealing them from her crew. Paige stepped out from behind the scrim and finished toweling her hair before going for a quick makeup retouch. "I'm going to keep this interview loose and see what she wants to say, then maybe prompt her a little," she explained to Fred. "Be ready if I call for a break, I don't know if we'll need one, but this stuff can be difficult. We all ready to go?" "Sure, just don't make us go outside again," Dave called from his camera. "We're ready to go whenever."

A few weeks after the events of Everything They're Asking For And More It had been an eventful few weeks of show prep, interrupted by chaperoning Holly's very first trip to Sanctuary with the rest of her Claremont class and Bryant waking up with one of those high fevers that goes and comes quickly in small children. But Richard and Paige had gotten a lot done despite all of that. They'd talked a little bit about their respective interviews, but they had been too busy to do their usual repeated comparing of notes. Some of what Richard had heard and seen had stuck with him, hanging like a dark cloud around his head as he sat at the dining room table, coffee in one hand and yellow legal pad with giveaway ballpoint pens in the other, writing names and question marks, a frown on his face.

January 2021 The same message had gone out both electronically and mentally to the whole family - Hi, everybody. We need everyone who can make it home tonight for a family announcement. This is important; not a drill, 616. In other words, by words and the numeric code at the end, this wasn't a life-or-death immediate emergency -but it was certainly something serious. Downstairs in the living room, Holly Cline focused on the act of psionic creation while watching her stepbrother watch Daniel Tiger while sending a message out to her brother. I don't know what it is either; they're both locked down tight. But it must be something. Nana is here. Her eyes flicked over to her father, who with his eyebrows set and his arms folded across his chest, had that look that meant he wasn't talking about anything more serious than the weather. In the kitchen, Anna Cline was honestly looking better than Paige had seen her in years - she'd found a shade of blonde for her hair that wasn't quite so obviously a dye job, and her complexion had improved now that she was living somewhere that she didn't get quite so much sun. She had arrived not long after her summoning and had proceeded to pop a tater tot casserole in the oven freshly after walking in the door. It was - well, it was more grandmotherly than she usually acted.

Under the circumstances, it was a beautiful day. The circumstances being Freedom City in early February, that meant clear skies and biting cold air that kept the SuperCrime crew of five huddled around their portable heater whenever they could get a break from setting up the outside shoot. It definitely wasn't the weirdest or most uncomfortable circumstances they'd shot in over the past fifteen years, but they were none of them as young as they used to be, not even Paige herself. They'd set up a small working area in a quiet park, a couple of portable chairs, several cameras, and a little canopy over a knot of equipment and monitors. "All right," Paige began, checking things off on her tablet as she spoke. "This looks like a standard two-camera interview, over the shoulder and with the overhead boom plus lavs. Is that all set to go, Fred?" The second unit director nodded, barely looking up from his own tablet. "I'm going to be doubling Kelsey on sound to try and kill some of this wind noise, but we'll have to handle it in post. It's too bad there aren't fifty thousand buildings in this city we could've gone inside for this..." Paige laughed. "His first suggestion was on a rooftop of one of those buildings; this was a compromise. Speaking of which, what's the hot dog situation?" "I sent Vivi to the cart," Fred confirmed, "they'll be back any minute. We'll have to keep this tight," he reminded her, "we still have that other one this afternoon." "No problem," Paige assured him blithely. "We've done this a million times."

(Shortly after "The Old Girl is Dying on Her Feet") Later that night, with all the dinner dishes done and the guests settled and the kids long asleep, Paige settled herself at the vanity table in the master bedroom. Richard's powers may have kept them both young, but that didn't mean she could afford to skimp on the moisturizing routine. "So," she began, looking at Richard in the mirror as she began unscrewing jars, "we've reassured everybody that the world's not ending. We've told the kids and your mom that nothing's going to change, we've told the crew we're not laying anybody off. I guess it's time for us to figure out what we're actually going to do."

GM August 20, 2019 A barrier island off the coast of Freedom City 6:00 AM This was it, the fateful hour. The morning fog rolled over the barrier island, the waves calm. Rising up from the island’s rocky surface was the vessel that would take the fateful group up to the Moon: The Peregrine. Standing tall as a building, it looked like a rocket ship out of Buck Rogers, tall and thin and cast in chrome. An extendable stairway lead into its interior, inviting the people on the surface to step inside. In front, a crowd of heroes had gathered, dressed in space-suits. Rachel stood out front of the Peregrine, dressed in a labcoat and holding a datapad that she was going over intently. She paced, occasionally looking at the heroes, then at the rocketship. She sighed sharply through her nose, then nodded to herself. Stowing the datapad, she clapped her hands together. “Alright! So, I’ve quintuple checked everything, and it looks like we’re cleared to go. Just some things to cover. Flight up to orbit is going to take 3 hours, then making it to the Moon will take another hour You won’t have to do anything for the first bit, I’ve installed a guidance system. One reinforced against psychic interference, this time. However, our pilot,” she said, looking over to Black Mamba, “will have to guide it down to the surface. I’ve deliberately made the controls easy and familiar, so you shouldn’t have any problems. If you’re attacked, I’ve installed Photon Cannons. However, I would be careful, if you fire them in our atmosphere you could cause a fireball. The firing mechanism is very clearly labeled.” She gestured at their space-suits, red ones that were similarly retro. “Your space-suits are state-of-the-art and tailored to what I know about your powers so you can use them. For example, Fast-Forward’s suit has been implanted with a reactive graviton array that will allow him to use his speed powers as though he was in normal gravity. Similarly, I’ve developed a field generator that should allow Archer to use his bow and arrows effectively. The same goes for the rest of you. I’ve tried to account for everything. More than that, your suits have a nano-array that should allow them to quickly seal if you’re hit, so no worries about suffocation. There are limits, though. Take too much damage and the nano-array won’t have enough material to repair. Life support is good for 72 hours, so if for some reason you get blown away into space, we have time to retrieve you,” she said. “I will not be joining you up there, sadly. But I have an FTL-communication device set up that should mean I will be able to communicate with you instantaneously with you wherever you are, as long as you don’t all decide to like… visit Mars or something. Please don’t do that.” She paused, and then tilted her head. “Alright. Any questions?”

GM Bayview, Freedom City, USA July 27th, 10:00am Rachel Morgan would be a star employee at almost any other organization, but at ASTRO Labs, she was surrounded by all sorts of super-geniuses and was thus just one of many scientists. She had no personal workshop there, so when she wanted to tinker, she had to work at the one in her home. Which worked fine for her, she had many ideas she had no intention of monetizing. She had been kicked out of a few places thanks to problems with Home Owners Associations and late-night noise, so she had finally given up on attached homes and splurged on a solitary property in Bayview, where she could work in peace. She had the home specially built with sound-proofing in the basement so that she wouldn’t be bothered by any further noise complaints. Now, the most the Home Owners Associations mostly just bothered her about neglecting her lawn, which she promised herself she would fix the robot that mowed it for her soon. The house itself was unassuming, a fairly standard one-story building, built wide with a green tiled roof and with a cherry red electric car sitting out front. On a flag pole sat an American flag, and beneath it a pride flag. There was a porch, painted white, its front partially obscured by grass growing ever higher in front of it. The front door was protected by a screen in front of it, and a charming little welcome mat declared “I can see your underwear”. Yet in the place of a doorbell, there was a strange, HAL-looking piece of machinery. As the group approached, it chirped. “Hello there, I’m Garvey. Welcome to Ms. Morgan’s home. What’s your names, and what’s your reason for visiting?” Those with pop-culture affinities might have noticed it sounded quite a lot like Michael Caine. @Heritage @Electra @Tiffany Korta @Exaccus

Content Warning: Cussing June 18, 2017 5:35AM Bedlam City, Wisconsin Fast-Forward skidded to a halt in the middle of Hardwick Park. Not bothering to take off his helmet, he looked around wildly before declaring "...what the hell?!" 5:37AM Chicago, Illinois Millennium Park Fast-Forward stared up at the statue of the Barnstormers, ignoring the few flatscans in the park this early. "WHAT THE HELL!?" This time he did take off his helmet, never mind the risk when he was away from home, and cast out with his psychic connection to his wife - finding her in Freedom City of all places? She'd probably felt that but she was just waking up - and he didn't have time for her to catch up with him. "Come on, man, wakeupwakeupwakeup-" He ran in a little circle, hitting himself on the side of the head, using the psychic feedback Paige had taught him to break out of an illusion. Nothing. Motherfucker! Finally deciding it was worth the risk, he put his helmet back on and girded his loins for the run into Freedom City. 5:38AM Freedom City In front of the Cline household Staring up at flatscan suburban hell for a long moment, Richard Cline took off his helmet in honest bafflement - and decided to leave it off since whatever was happening had evidently happened right through the helmet's psionic bafflers. He tried the door, found it locked, and banged on it - surprised when what looked like mundane wood didn't immediately shatter under his fist. "Hey!" he called, both out loud and psychically, hot anger and bafflement turning to fear loud in both voices, a second before winding up for a blow that would have knocked a regular door out of his hinges entirely. "What the hell is going on!?"

GM 12:45 PM. April 4th Judge Harold (call me Harry) Steinman, was walking amongst the throngs of people that were making their way across the street. It was lunch, and currently he was without a security detail, while a lower circuit federal court judge, he dealt mostly with white collar crime. Though a couple years ago he had been involved as an ADA out of Boston involved with investigations of several organized crime families. As of right now that wasn't what he was working over, he was debating whether he should be trying to vy for a position further up the judicial latter. However, those previous affairs were the things that were not forgotten, they cast a shadow over his way that he didn't know was there. He stopped still in his step midway through the street. And he started to say something, or tried to, words failed, they came out wrong, a hand reaching out and groping towards people. Before he fell forward, his head hitting the broad white walk lane, as his body twisted and spasmed. Before he lost coherence there was a small confirmation amidst the fading synapses as to why this was happening, and who was behind it. Onlookers rushed towards him, assuming correctly that something was wrong. When the ambulance arrived Judge Harold Steinman was dead. It would be labelled a stroke. 1:37 AM April 8th The scream would wake them, four people across town, and immediately recognize it for what it was. Either from an earlier scream, or weeks that bled to what felt like months of people inside other's heads. It was a personal sound of pain that was still raw to Paige. They all could identify it. It gave a location. A currently unused section of a high rise building in the city center. Not terribly far from the Federal building. The worst part was the sense of the presence of the mind trailing off into digitized incoherence like white noise and static when a signal goes out. A feeling some might recognize as the sublimation of identity. Possibly even the death of personality.

OOC for here.

April 30, 2016 It had started small - a hemokinetic terrorist attacking Ocean Heights Amusement Park one day, a strange Deep One migration in New England. Then the situation had seemed to grow more serious - a misguided fly monster in Nuevo Laredo who spoke of a day of vengeance and a divine appointment, followed by a diseased specter in the West End bearing horrific diseases where she went. By the time a shambling monster in Sicily had come bringing boils and pain wherever he went, followed by flaming thunderstorms in Washington - the heroes of Earth knew the crisis they faced. By the time locusts blotted out the skies over London, and darkness did the same over Claremont Academy the very next day, they knew who was behind it - August Roman, the once-Emperor of Crime, infused with the powers of the Devil. But where would he strike? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Freedom City Port Regal Fast-Forward was doing magic in the backyard. World-ending threats were one thing to Richard Cline but the idea of something happening, something targeting Freedom City and probably the world, that targeted first-born sons, was his little boy in his arms, spinning him around so fast that they tunneled through the earth was something that he needed to do everything in his power to prevent. The first time Will had tripped and fallen, holding his bloody knees and crying inconsolably. The broken bodies of the victims of the Terminus Invasion, scattered at his feet. Outside in the yard, Richard ran faster and faster, tracing out the patterns of the stars at his feet, trying to find the unholy disturbance in the starry patterns that would mean a fallen angel come to Earth. Across the world, others were watching too, and waiting - ready to defend it.

August 1, 2016 Port Regal The Cline Residence Waiting had been the hardest part. The cancer, slowly eating away at the elderly Bryant Haliday, occasional moments of lucidity amid pain and fatigue. For the decades they'd spent apart, this last gasp of mortality had swept all the Clines together for the last few months of Bryant Haliday's life. Even Anna Cline, who'd spent fifty years angry at the man who had impregnated her, abandoned her, and then escaped into madness, had reconciled with Bryant at the end. She was with him on the last night, a night when Richard, Paige, and Will were home in bed with their memories. When the house phone rang, Richard and Paige woke up almost simultaneously. Richard rolled over and picked it up, guessing correctly who was on the line - and why she was calling. He reached over and squeezed Paige's hand as he heard his mother's voice - but she felt confusion from him like a backwash of the growing wave of grief, the two emotions mixing together. "He...what? Ma, you're not making sense, what-" He hung up the phone, blinking back sleep, and rolled out of bed for his clothes. "Something happened there, with Bryant. I gotta go."

Okay, here we go. Fast-Forward: 45 Angel of Death: 39

Tögöl aj Akhui, Mongolia, Edge of the Gobi Desert The town was a small place one where people would normally just travel through on the way to somewhere else, but today the town was home to a variable army of trucks. Not by choice though the various convoys should be well on there way to one of the larger cities of Mongolia or even China, but the spooked drivers refused to travel any further, even for the silly money the Westerners were offering. The day had started well until the region they’d travelled into was hit by a number of small, but disturbing, number of earthquakes. A rumble went through the various local drivers and hand that the Olgoi-khorkhoi were angry for some transgression, the famed Death Worms. This was really quite good for the SuperCrime! crowd who had been trying to track down the elusive creature, and the apparently always frazzled producer was trying to get more information from a rather Grizzled Mongolian who seemed to know more about the creature. Wayward’s crew however were talking about the possibility of hiring an helicopter to get to the next scheduled concert.

For here. And FF has done a take 20 on his Search check for the whole city. Popping him out of the thread for about ten minutes in game.

April 1st, 1:45 PM. "The Cline's huh? I watch their show." Came the cheery sounding tones of Det. Kirkendahl. A small smile on his face as he pulled up the rather nice house of the famous super powered couple in the unmarked sedan. He combed his hair back as he looked up at it. The partner, Det. Boyle, was checking his phone and frowning. "You would watch their show. You want to take the lead? I mean, these people aren't precisely the type we can buffalo easily, and they are going to be hiding things." The more severe looking dark haired detective frowned, and squinted as he looked up from his phone at their house, the unseasonably warm and clear day had him lifting his arm to blow the glare. "God, it is too sunny." "Probably not, so I guess we be as honest as possible, and hope they actually have something. It isn't like these types keep tabs on each other extensively." Rubbing at his chin Kirkendahl looked to Boyle, and then nodded. "Let's give it a go." He reached back to grab at the tablet, and he moved out of the car and up to the front door of the Cline's place. Boyle followed after him, a bit slower, having to get his jacket from the backseat as well. Moving after Kirkendahl, a bit of a quickened pace to make sure they made it to the door together, and he made a gruff sound. "Try not to be a starry eyed fan boy, eh?" And he hit the doorbell, before stepping back and shaking his head as he regarded Kirkendahl. "I will keep my gushing to a minimum, if you can stop being a cynical bastard." A smirk on his face as he glancing at Boyle, while waiting for the door to be opened.

Thanksgiving 2015 Freedom City Things were changing in the Cline household. Will was dating a nice girl out in California, a very pretty UCLA cheerleader and aspiring athletic trainer named Stormy Allen. The Clines had met the Allens, a lovely couple who worked in the back office of the Los Angeles Clippers, a few weeks earlier and it had been a very pleasant conversation. Stormy came from a big family, with three older brothers and two younger sisters, and so she'd invited Will to her traditional family Thanksgiving. He'd said yes - a big moment for Will and his relationship with this girl! This meant it was the first Thanksgiving for the Clines without the company of their oldest son. It was hard - but one thing about having a lot of hero friends was that they never had to be entirely without company. Richard was up first, as usual, especially thanks to all the work Paige had been doing the night before. His morning run took him around eastern New Jersey and almost to Baltimore before he came jogging back with coffee and doughnuts, about the time he saw the light coming on in Holly's room from outside. Holly had been getting up earlier too lately - just like her dad.

April 18, 2015 Southside Hologram was on her way to visit the Howards, a young couple in their mid-twenties with a little daughter named Emma. Emma is five and a little scrapper; a soon-to-be kindergartener who has started manifesting low-level flight and telekinesis. The Howards, young parents with no reported superhuman activity in the family, are nervous about sending their little girl off to Nicholson, even though they were the ones who contacted Nicholson in the first place. The school has a team of counselors and volunteer staff to help with this kind of thing, but one thing that has a proven track record is sending out a parent volunteer to talk to the parents so they do the right thing and get their little kid the education they need. The Howards' home was a small bungalow in the Southside, a neighborhood that has begun to decline in the years since Paige first lived in Freedom City. But this little cul-de-sac is still doing well, a comfortable community of middle-class young families right at the beginning of their lives. Stepping outside, the most ominous thing Paige could see as she looked up at the little red house was a LOST DOG picture stapled to the nearest utility pole. - It had been the Scarab's last case. Well, second-to-last. In the summer of 1978, violent dreams of bloody carnage had woken Alexander Rhodes night after night, scenes of gore far too real to be imagined but with no real way to trace them to a source. He'd been in the process of developing a psionic resonator that would have allowed him to find the source of the mysterious visions, but then the Scions of Sobek had come to Freedom City, and Alexander Rhodes had never done anything else. The Scarab started seeing the visions again last week. Not the same visions; these were scenes of nature, red in tooth and claw, the brutal killing of animals by something fast and predatory - but the psychic 'color' of the visions was just the same. This time the technology does exist to help the Scarab's powers, though, and so it is that within a few days she's been able to trace the source of the visions to one particular neighborhood in the Southside, a middle-class cul-de-sac that's avoided the rising poverty in the neighborhood. - Wail's phone rang yesterday, going straight to the machine with Keith busy in class. The voice on the other end was rough and male, nobody he immediately recognized. "Wail. Come to the Southside tomorrow morning." He rattled off an address. "We need help." Click - and from a cell line that didn't pick up again when Lamar called it back.

Freedom College, Harbridge Dorm Common Room Monday, December 1, 2014 3:59 AM Thanksgiving had come and gone, finals season was on the horizon, and no one was forgiving. There weren't many finals coming Eliza's way - half her classes were working on the idea of term papers and final presentations. But the other half did have some sort of exam component to the home stretch, and she wanted to be ready. And something about the encounter with the muggers on the night's patrol had left her wired and unable to get to sleep. With little else to do, she decamped to the common room and assembled flash cards from her textbooks, the TV blaring on in front of her. "Feeling restless?" Eliza looked up - it was Samantha, one of the RAs. She was clad in a bathrobe and clutching a mug of cocoa. "Your first finals season. It happens to all of us. Don't worry, you'll survive mostly intact." "Yeah, well," she said, "helps to make sure." Samantha plopped down on the couch behind her as she kept assembling cards on early playwrights and their works. "You usually watch TV when you can't sleep?" "Helps to lull. Always been hypnotic, since I was young. Never seen this one before, though..." Temperance looked up at the screen. A cheery yellow font advertised Five by Five!, backed up by a jaunty riff with trumpets. Going by the opening credits, it was a sitcom about a military family of five growing up in somewhat cramped on-base housing. "Maybe it's one of the short-lived ones," she said, as two of the family's kids flinched after a chance encounter with the gunnery sergeant descended into wordless shouting. "Sometimes they do that. Package all the forgotten classics of yesteryear --" 'Yeah, well, it looks interesting," said Samantha. "Looks like it would've been early Eighties, so while 'Nam was still hanging over everyone's head. Trying to normalize and lighten up the military while the shadow of a bloody conflict still hung in the popular consciousness, not unlike that Enlisted show last season - sorry, Media Studies student. This just comes naturally." Eliza smiled, then turned back to the screen. The credits didn't seem to be ending yet, even though the opening montage had now segued to the father in a live fire exercise. Something seemed to flicker on the screen, a motion out of the corner of the frame. "Wait. Did you see that?" "See what? I didn't --" And then, to that same jaunty Eighties soundtrack, the soldier right next to the father went down in a blaze of bullets, blood gushing from the wounds. The father turned in panic, only to take a round right in the temple. "Oh, Jesus!" As the music played on, the base was attacked by unseen foes, dressed in regalia Temperance didn't recognize. In that same montage style, the base was sacked, the soldiers and their families taken out one by one... and Eliza swore she could see something flickering through the static, lurking behind the scenery... "Change the channel!" Samantha reached for the remote, just as the wife's hand touched the camera, leaving a bloody handprint as she slid out of view. The channel flipped... to an episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force, already in progress. As if testing the waters, Samantha flipped back to find a rerun of Friends where Five by Five! had been. "...the **** was that?" "Probably some sort of prank. Like that creepypasta stuff that goes around the Internet." But Eliza couldn't shake the sensation that she had seen something in the broadcast. Something guiding the imagery...

Wherein Temperance, Fast Forward, Hologram, Asad, and Miss Grue learn that it takes a lot to make a stew... Feel free to describe your character encountering a television program in the wee hours of the morning that descends into utter madness and bloodshed.

Thursday April 16, 2015 The Cline House Port Regal Don't make it sound like a creepy sex thing - don't make it sound like a creepy sex thing. Fast-Forward reminded himself as he finished tapping in the number for Starlight's drop phone, having exchanged contact information with the heroine after they'd finished their unpleasant encounter with the city's drug trade. Normally he was much more confident about phone conversations, but he'd picked up on some hints in conversing with the young woman that her situation was pretty dire - and he was familiar enough with poverty and desperation to know how the 'optics' (to use a phrase their PR guy Tony liked to use) might look shady to someone who didn't know him well. With his kids playing on the Wii U downstairs and his wife 'listening' to the phone call while she read a book on her iPad across the bedroom, it was easy to forget just how far up he'd come. Until he thought about the look in the eyes of kids like Starlight - and remembered it on his own face. When Starlight picked up, Richard said in a friendly voice, "Hello, Starlight - it's Richard Cline. Are you busy?"