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GM December 24th, 9.30PM, 2024, Christmas Eve Emerald City, OR, Emerald Tower, Christmas Complex As it had for many thousands of years, a gentle, steady rain fell onto the mist-shrouded shore. Where once it had fallen only on rocks and trees, then glorious techno-sorcerous towers, then rocks and trees again with some humble wooden longhouses and skin tents, it now fell on two vast and dazzling cities. In those cities was a celebration that had demanded a new structure, one linking the downtown Emerald Tower of MarsTech with the nearby headquarters of Grant Conglomerates, KessKorp, Atlas Mountain Sports and Nova Communications. The so-called Christmas Complex, a flattened red-glass dome supported by spiderwebs of metal struts and columns at key points, had flown up and been completed at a pace even supporters called "unsettling." Its span was in the thousands of feet and it soared high above the city below. And inside was the biggest party in the world, the All-Heroes Christmas Bash. Music thudded through the floor, though only people actually in the various mini-venues would have heard the various acts performing. Automated food carts prowled the seething crowds, wearing friendly robotic faces and greeting guests in their preferred tongues with unerring accuracy. A tree of lights like a nebula come to Earth floated in the centre of the Complex, brightening up a vast stage dominated by a big red present marked "From: Max To: Everyone." People from across the world milled through the central hub, or gathered in smaller nooks, all invited because of some conspicuous act of heroism. Standing almost a head above everyone there walked the flying phaser Wyt Sky, Singapore's greatest hero since the third Merlion perished fighting the Katanarchists in 2008. Laughing awkwardly in a circle of adoring fans, Marie Dulent of Louisiana explained again how her rescue of an elderly couple in a flood was simply the will of La Sirena. Dr. Phil Pech, who'd been working on flu vaccinations his whole life and didn't entirely understand the point of the event, sat in a corner with some colleagues to quietly drink. Much more conspicuous and surprising were the guests of honour: the Gardner family. Both Raymond Sr., the Freedom League's former Captain Thunder, and Raymond Jr., the energy-being hero Thunderbolt, wore sky-blue suits, though of course the son "wore" his regular containment apparatus underneath. Much-reduced since his days as an active hero, the father still cut a commanding figure, and despite their advancing years he and his wife Nancy scoured the floor, warmly greeting old friends (or even just mildly-familiar faces) and eagerly hatching plans to connect again soon. Ray Jr. was occupied on an upper balcony, talking emphatically with a serious-looking spectacled blonde woman in a Christmas-y coloured dress patterned with interlocking Penrose triangles. The corporations that had funded and organized the event weren't left out in the cold. At each "corner" of the Complex, the company building it was attached to had their own entourage and proffered spectacles. At the southmost point, industrial giant KessKorp's newly-invigorated management had put together an expo on protective equipment for the discerning consumer, MC'd by a polished and professional gentleman whose nametag identified him as "Joe." After their automated car scare earlier in the year, it might have been in poor taste, but seeing what the portable (and affordable!) field-generators and near-super-tech armor weaves could stand up to was unquestionably impressive. Notable by his absence was the man of the hour, Max Mars. In fact, his company had no clearly-signposted presence at all. But the press and guests buzzed on excitedly over one thing Max had pledged shortly before the party began: he would be revealing the future of heroes.

GM August 4th, 2017 Outside the Eastern Seaboard Bank, Lincoln Branch Summer was fading away. It was still too hot for non-summer wear, but every Freedonian felt the chill coming off the bay a little stronger each day. They were cramming as much summer into their lives as they could. Including the criminals. With a shattering *SKREE* the bank's windows exploded outward, letting a dozen women in yellow and black, ski masks with welding glass on their heads and chunky electro-punk guns in their hands, into the streets of Freedom! At that moment, ensconced in a limousine that he had, on some unaccountable urge, called from its cubby hole back at the Transnational Building, Amir al-Misri had spent the last half hour with a voluable redheaded man with a thick beard, a $350 haircut streaked with a light dusting of grey, and a 12,000,000 watt smile. Max Mars, of MarsTech, who had somehow talked him into listening to a spiel about wave power generators. The explosion had, mercifully forced him to pause and politely wait until the crisis was resolved. Meanwhile, just down the street was a certain Carol, who unlike the rest of the running, shouting Freedonian, could do something about this.