Marvel, Rebirth:

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

Go down to Mr. McGee's:

He hasn't had a thought since '43.

His brain is the portrait of atrophy.

He ain't using it, why not give it to me?

"No, sir, this is Lacey Marko," the intrepid secretary repeated for the fourteenth time since the phone call began. "Yes, Mr. Secretary, I'm well aware, but Mr. Carlisle is busy with..."

Brains, brains, I won't lie!

I'll eat their brains 'til they're zombified.

Sure they might think it's deranged,

But they won't give it a thought after I've eaten their brains.

Brains, brains, it's okay!

It's not a matter if it isn't gray--

"...other matters."

 

Alaric did this sometimes; after a job that her boss thought well done, he would retreat inside himself into a sort of 90s kid paradise and turn on an episode of one of his favorite cartoons. Lacey held the fort down with ease while the Black King was inside his little childhood mind palace, but the people he had appointments with (or people who wanted appointments) would never have understood her employer's quirks. There was a typical list of excuses, but Marko loved to change things up when she could. It made her job a little bit less suffering and a little more interesting. Not that she needed things to get more interesting; not that she disliked Ric. Or working for him. Or laughing at his antics. Or just being around him.

 

He's talking. The secretary. Lacey would have blushed if she were face to face, but instead kept her voice steady and a smirk off her face as she said, "Mr. Carlisle is incredibly busy, but I should be in touch with him in about..." let's see, the cartoons had been going for about an hour and a half, and this episode was mostly done, sooooo.. "within the hour. Thank you for your patience, Mr. Secretary." Or lack thereof, you grimy old windbag. "Yes. Yes. Goodbye." And good riddance. She was more tactful than her brother, though, at least she could say that much. Jake would have just smashed the phone in his hand and then screamed at the plastic. That did make her smile.

 

When the line was dead, she dropped the phone into a pocket on her shirt and then knocked softly on the door three times. "Sir? It's Lacey. May I desecrate your place of worship for a few minutes?"

 

"Grim Adventures is on!" yelled back Alaric Carlisle, as if that decided the matter entirely. Lacey rolled her eyes and stepped in anyway.

 

"Sorry to interrupt playtime," she teased, deadpan as ever. "That was the Secretary of Homeland Security on the phone. The intelligence community is talking about the Terrigen theft--'

 

"Why does the intelligence community care?"

 

"You're the billionaire. I was hoping you could tell me. The Secretary was practically spitting through the line. My entire jawline is moisturized. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was scared."

 

"Maybe he was. Romulus has troops on the ground in Africa. Ask him."

 

Brains, brains, I love 'em, I need 'em!

My tummy jumps for joy when I eat 'em!

Big ones, fat ones, short ones, tall ones!

They're so delectable especially the small ones!

 

"Most of Africa. There is one place he doesn't have boots on the ground...anymore." Lacey pulled a series of photos from one of the folders in her arms and slid them across Ric's kitchen counter. His hyperkinetic eyes pored over them for all of two seconds - something in them lit up, a spark of firework-bright light in his dark marine disinterested gaze. His finger moved out to the universal remote at his side and lowered the volume on his cartoons.

 

"This is Genosha," he said, voice soft. Lacey nodded wordlessly, though she left out the obvious addition: What's left of it, anyway. "One day, they were sending reports like any other Legionnaires. Scouring the island for some old device of Pietro Maximoff's. The next...disappeared. Poof. Not so much as a radio wave."

 

"Jinkies."

 

That made her smile, but she might as well have not even been there for all the attention her employer paid her. Alaric's eyes bored into Genosha as though he could burn it to the ground through the surveillance photos and then slid them back to her, taking the long way around the counter and walking into the living room of his quarters, through a long archway framed with a pair of enormous bronze doors that divided his kitchen from his living room: Rodin's Gates of HeII. Ric had bought himself a cast for his twenty fourth birthday.

 

The Gates were his only nod to the classics. Romulus kept everything tidy and businesslike, kept everything familiar; Lynae's quarters were prim and pretty and proper; Anberlyn just didn't care. Alaric was the wild card, though he preferred to let Annie carry that distinction for him. The door he used for visitors led directly into his kitchen, with a giant fridge marked RIC, a minifridge marked LYNAE, and a single bag of pistachios marked ANNIE. Each food supply was marked in Ric's own hand atop a bright yellow sticky note. His personal touch was everywhere - beyond the Gates he had painted over the walls so that they were either black or a heavy sapphire blue, with a few splashes of purple and green on the wall to make it look like there was constantly a black light shining from the ceiling. He had gotten into art - Warhols and Dadaist art and a huge green print of Jim Morrison done by Denny Dent. On the opposite wall from his television, visible through the little window to the rest of his quarters when you sat down by the counter, was a Banksy mural that Alaric had bought and had moved into his quarters. A bit contradictory, he later admitted with a sheepish grin, but it was too cool not to.

 

That was her boss. Contradictory, flamboyant, frivolous, but so freaking cool it was hard to fault him for any of it.

 

"I also passed your sister in the hallway, just a few minutes ago," she told Ric. "I don't think she really looked at me for too long, and I was distracted with the Secretary, but I definitely saw her. She was headed Lynae's way."

 

Ric Carlisle smiled wider.

 

-Tyler

Edited February 17, 2014 by Aegon Targaryen

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"Yes, I am a mutant." Jennifer said as her green eyes shifted to Maurader from behind her glasses. "Its not that I don't like to show my other form, it just unnerves most normal people." she shrugged.

[Makuta of Time]

IC: Marauder

"'Normal' being the word to describe some of the populas. I think you should feel free from looking as a 'normal' person. Your already normal the way you are."

 

He gets out a cig and lights it up.

 

*Pfft* "We all are normal in our own way. The question is whether you want to show it."

[JiMing]

OOC: Apologies for being gone. Did I miss anything again?

IC: TLAW-001 Vivus

Though he attempted to walk around and search for clues, he quickly became confused. He called up Maurader and Jennifer once more. "Uh, I know I should investigate, but what am I trying to find?"

[Makuta of Time]

IC: Marauder

He got a call from Vivus, who needed a question answered.

 

"We need to find out about the Archangel project and what is going on. We spoke to one not too long ago saying only those with Level 7 clearance can see. Fury's the only one in SHIELD to have that. We're gonna go talk to him, but in the mean time, gather as much information as you can."

 

OOC: Nothing happened really. Just interaction at Hellfire.

[25K Now!]

IC: Leon Wang

 

It was already dark in the sleepy, little American town of Stone Canyon. Many of the residents were closing up shop for the night, and were heading home for some debauchery, also known as the fine American tradition of playing Madden and arguing over baseball. Indeed, these great American citizens were going to enjoy the time they had before they slept for a good ten hours as recommended by scientists across the world, and as such there were few people roaming the streets.

 

Besides, they would instantly freeze to death, which was definitely a fault of the evil communist villain known as Glob Al. Warming, who was probably an evil clone of the righteous Al Gore created by the San Marino Communist Party after they were democratically elected to the leadership of the tiny backwards Italian republic.

 

However, there actually were people who braved the cold to stand outside, such as two suspicious-looking buff men standing outside a suspicious-looking warehouse. They were wearing mighty jumpers made from wool stolen from the homes of grandmas, capable of withstanding temperatures down to -273.15 degrees Celsius, which, for the barbarians who insist on using Fahrenheit despite the fact that rest of the world has joined the Celsius Master Race, is -459.67 degrees.

 

In the end though, it's really just zero Kelvin.

 

"So what's cooking," asked one of the suspicious men, addressing his partner in ... crime?

 

"Nothing much. Just wondering what to get my girlfriend for our anniversary."

 

"Okay. But seriously, what's cooking? I'm pretty sure I can smell Chinese food from here."

 

"Does our town even have a Chinese restaurant?"

 

A dramatic flutter alerted their eyes to a nearby flagpole, in which a caped crusader of justice dressed in red stood.

 

"IT DOES NOW!" declared the caped crusader of justice. "FOR I, FIREMAN, WILL BRING TO YOU THE FOOD OF MY PEOPLE!"

 

One of the suspicious guards would be clonked in the head by a Shanghainese soup dumpling, releasing the boiling hot juices of the treat into the man's eyes. Before the other could react, he too would be attacked by a dumpling, one that would fail to succeed in its goal, but would succeed in introducing him to the greatest food of all time.

 

"This is some seriously snazzy stuff," declared the man, even as his partner ran around screaming about how he couldn't see.

 

"Indeed," agreed Fireman. "However, as you are an enemy of AMERICA, I must punish you instead of talking to you about food."

 

And then the warehouse the guards were supposed to be guarding exploded. Because it was a drug warehouse, and as everybody who watches movies know, drugs explode violently.

 

Or something.

 

"Or I could do that instead," added the superhero. "Anyway, that was a job well-done for FIREMAN!"

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

The Dark Avengers, to be honest, were pretty tame as far as travel buddies went.

 

Nate Hawkins was lounging on a loveseat, sitting up cross-legged and flicking darts at a board. Each dart would pierce the back few inches of the dart previous, creating a long sort of tail that inched out from the bullseye. When the weight of the projectiles got too heavy, they would fall onto the couch, Nate would disassemble them and then begin anew. Between that and reading his magazine, he didn't feel the need to engage in anything more than a minute's worth of small talk per hour. Angela Dean was much louder - the precognitive teenager was quickly realizing that even the ability to see the future wasn't much good in a round of Flappy Bird, judging by her creative smashing together of various obscenities with words that were otherwise a normal, accepted part of the English dictionary.

 

Akihiro himself was kicked back, holding up his iPad with three fingers and reading the news. They had crossed the Mississippi about an hour ago; as the plane hurtled further into the grand, sweeping nothingness that was the American heartland, reading the New York Times helped remind him that there was a world out there beyond farmers and small towns. A single black earbud hung from his right ear, blaring music from his shuffled iTunes library through his head. His tablet had been on for all of fifteen minutes, and made more noise than all the Dark Avengers combined so far.

 

This city, this city is haunted

By ghosts from broken homes

Because this city, this city is haunted

There's no hope left for these souls

 

Asa Thurman, never one to spend a minute away from Daken if she could help it, was sprawled out on the seat, head resting against him. She had taken his left earbud before she could even settle into her new seating arrangement; he'd accepted it after his eyes did a couple rolling laps through his head and he'd gone back to his news. She'd whistled along with the music at first, but after Nate's darts had embedded itself in the wall beside Daken's head, she'd given it a rest and now moved her head softly in time with the music. Or so she insisted. A few of her positions in Daken's lap made it hard to tell.

 

Boredom had always come easily to Daken Akihiro, but nothing he could remember in his entire life had bored him more than this plane ride. He'd never had Johnny's knack for letting his claws have a little bit of a wardrobe malfunction now and again inside some passer-by's stomach, but something, anything would have helped right now. The music in his ears was screaming in his ears like a fire alarm at this point. A vein in his temple throbbed. He was no bruiser like his father, and he was no puppet like Osborn thought he was, and he was no loose cannon of testosterone and bloodlust like John. He had his own methods of entertainment, when the stars aligned. But they were trapped in Kansas. There were no stars. Finally, Asa quit rolling around on his lap and settled down, which he took to mean that she was asleep. Angela's curses wore down in tandem with her phone's battery; finally, when both girls were out cold, Daken and Nate were left each reading something on their given print medium, looking up each other every few minutes, and giving an awkward one finger salute.

 

Wasn't.

 

This.

 

Exhilarating.

 

Akihiro had been alive for almost seventy years. He'd seen wars come and go, had more women (and men) than even he could remember, killed just as many, and generally been a vital cog in some pretty big world events. If you had told him, at any point, that he would be glad to step foot on the soil of Wichita, Kansas, USA, he would have laughed in your face and sliced off your arm at the tricep. Never again. As soon as he took a breath of the non-recycled, non-cabin air, he actually leaped over the side of the railing to feel the ground faster. He landed on his feet, catlike as ever, and by the time the others had snapped out of it he was already ushering Asa down the stairs, half-asleep and muttering in that language that babies use when they want some food.

 

When all four of them were on the tarmac and as conscious as they were going to get, the team of trained thieves and killers paced in a formation (third-loosest use of the term ever) to a waiting group of lesser mooks, each of them carrying a chest in their hands. Daken made his way there first, dressed in black from head to toe - undone leather jacket, leather pants, black boots, black fingerless gloves. Angela had called him the half-Japanese Sodapop Curtis - "if Soda had taken a career as a stripper to pay for Ponyboy's schoolin'."

 

The jokes dried up when Daken flicked his wrist, and each chest opened up. All the weaponry they could ever want, with enough disguise material, aliases, and car keys to boot. And the cash. All the cold hard cash. Asa squeezed Daken's bicep out of habit. Nate whistled.

 

"Welcome to Oscorp," Daken snickered.

 

After that, he was the one making jokes.

 

-Tyler

[Relapse]

IC: (Leah)

 

As Nizhoni advanced, Leah backed away, simultaneously doing so and kicking the cop into her opponent. This gave her enough time to scan the field, noticing six police officers approaching, with one standing back with a gun drawn. She had two choices: shoot him and be done with it, or try to avoid giving him a clear shot. After some thought, she decided on the latter. While pointing a gun to a cop's head had likely already cost her an assault-with-deadly-weapon immunity, she figured shooting an honest man for doing his job was a little too sadistic for her tastes.

 

After all, she was about to give six of his brothers-in-arms a beatdown.

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"Well, in any case, Howardette here has generously decided to offer us Stark Tower as a treehouse again," Barton announced, clapping his head. "Natalie came here in her car, I came here in Tasha's, we can fit three to a car. James, you ride with me in the Lexus because it seems like single men in this day and age can never handle themselves around redheads. Sieg, you're with me, too - traffic on the freeway was a nightmare and maybe a lightning strike or two will scare off some tourists."

 

He winked at Natalie and looped his finger around Tasha's keys, flinging them up into the air and plucking them back into his grip.

 

"Tasha, you and Natalie should get acquainted. You're cute, she's cuter, play nice and try not to put a scratch on the whip. Erin's flaming gay, so you don't have to worry about him."

 

Erin turned, but Brando had already shoved James into shotgun and leaped over the hood and into the driver's side door. The locks clicked!

 

-Tyler

Edited February 19, 2014 by Aegon Targaryen

[otter]

IC:

 

"Brando, you're lucky you've got Sieg and James in there, or I'd pick you up and throw you right now," Erin growled, knowing that Brando could still hear him. After a moment, he turned to Natalie and Tasha, a somewhat annoyed expression on his face - obvious, to the two of them, that it was directed at Brando.

 

"Anyways, if either of you want me to head off I'll go."

[Snelly]

IC: Tasha

 

"Well, I will say this for the sharpshooter. He knows how to get a rise out of people." Tasha failed to hold back a smirk before turning to Natalie.

 

"So, what's it like living with him? If it was me I'd probably be driven insane."

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

"I agree entirely," Jennifer said as she looked at Marauder. "And that is why I dedicated my life to working on finding peace between homo-sapien and homo-superior relations. Even though I hate the term homo-superior, I feel like we are just like everyone else, just with extra responsability."

 

"That's why I worked for SWORD for so many years and now I work for SHIELD. I want to prove that mutants can be working and successful parts of our government."

 

"About finding out about the Archangels. I have a feeling we're going to meet nothing but a dead wall. I haven't known Fury long, but I have a pretty good read on people. I don't think we're going to get much more out of him. Unless SHIELD decides to brief its agents at some point on the new soldiers. Until then all we can do is guess and carry on with our job." she said a she glanced at Vivus.

 

IC:

 

John drained the last of his glass and set it down. "You want another?" the bar girl asked.

 

"No thanks," John said as he got up and opened his wallet before dropping a few bills onto the table. Bills Daken had given to him after he'd beaten John. that one's a little bloodstained, oh well.

 

"You have a good night." John nodded before he turned to leave. He was met with a large bald man with a red gotee on the lower part of his face and breath that smelt of alcohol.

 

"What's with the shades cool guy? You think you're some kinda rockstar or somethin'?" the man leered.

 

A tendon in John's jaw twitched and his hands instantly became fists. Visions of violence flashed through John's head. His claws shredding through flesh and bone, blood spraying. But his claws were gone. And more then that John didn't want to be the animal he'd been for so long.

 

"Why don't you take a look yourself?" John said as he lowered his sunglasses so the man could see into his white emotionless machine eyes.

 

"What the heII? You some kind of mutant?"

 

John walked past the man not answering; holding the black duffle bag in his hand.

 

"Hey I'm talking to you freak!"

 

John slipped open the door and stepped outside not looking back. The sun was up now and it glinted off John's shades as he approached his black harley. John climbed on before kicking the bike into gear and speeind down the road once again. He entered the city soon and weaved through the roads as he headed towards Oscorp tower. Towards the place that had trapped him on the roof for days. To the place Matt Summers had met his end.

 

John pulled up outside the building and stopped. He let his bike hum as he sat next to the curb looking for a guard or perhaps a valey service-man.

 

"Yo, anyone there? Its me John, I'm back."

[Light]

OOC: ON THIS NIGHT ON THIS VERY CHRISTMAS NIGHT

 

ahem.

 

Anyway.

 

IC: Nate blinked.

 

"Well, if this don't sure beat the stuffing out of making your own arrows."

 

IC: Natalie smiled and shook her head. "You get used to it. Compared to his son, who somehow manages to insult those around him without being able to speak, Brando is tame. Erin... If you want a ride we can take you."

 

IC: Betsy leaned her head on Warren's shoulder, squeezing his hand.

 

"Bah, safety is overrated."

 

NPC: "Can I help you?" A man in a suit stepped outside, eyes on John's face in perfect confusion.

 

NPC: Something stirred in a window above.

Edited February 19, 2014 by Shaquille O'Kaithas

[Snelly]

IC: Red Skull

 

The Leader of HYDRA tap his fingers again the armrest impatiently. Conrad's utter failure had made SHIELD quite aware of some of their more sensitive operations. Retrieving the two experiments was going to be a lot more difficult, nearly impossible.

 

Though HYDRA was known to do the impossible. Retrieving the escapees would still happen, it would just have to be done with a much more careful, and elaborate plan.

 

The massive doorways on the far end of the hall opened, HYDRA agents entered Red Skull's chambers, some of them were the most well known and elite members of HYDRA.

 

What was also notable was a certain Agent Reyson being brought along. As they approached Red Skull's dark blue eyes narrowed into him specifically.

 

Reyson's wounds had been cleaned up and mended as quickly as could be done before he'd been brought before the commander of HYDRA, Red Skull wanted Reyson to be able to answer his questions as clearly and coherently as possible.

 

"Agent Reyson...as I recall you were ordered to observe the escaped experiments. Care to explain how you managed to get locked up in a SHIELD safehouse?" Red Skull sounded surprisingly calm.

[Simulacrum]

-IC:-

 

The subdued reverberations of footfalls on concrete filled the otherwise still air of the stairwell, unwanted and bothersome interruptions of the serenity of auditory equilibrium. With each precise footfall, the stone seemed to murmur in complaint, quiet gasps of intoned sadness as the rubber soles gently pressed and then lifted, twenty, thirty, forty times. The stairs seemed endless, infinity arranged in a never-ending spiral, each floor marked with a neon number, content in its meaningless light.

 

At last, the strides slowed, a pause in the tedious ascent, and the man found himself staring at the number 16, in glowing emerald. A moment of silence, a neon wake and a vigil of fluorescence, and then he inspected the door. It proved to be locked, as he fully expected, though it was no challenge or impediment; he drew his modified captive bolt pistol from his within his jacket, inspecting it for a moment. After the moment of inspection, he pressed it against the base of the lock, and shattered the lock cylinder, rending it into fragments with the sound of snapping wood. He opened the door with his leather-gloved hand, taking care not to let the shards of steel make any more noise. He stepped into the hallway with an air of quiet, subtle wariness.

 

The hallway was composed of imitation stone and tiled floor; its singular window offering a few over the sprawl of Wichita, as only the Epic Center building could. He bequeathed a momentary glance as he passed, searching for law enforcement vehicles. The sun had just begun to set; its crimson and purple light setting the streets and rooftops of the city ablaze with the fire of coming darkness.

 

The door at the other end of the hall was an elegant mahogany, no knobs or locks, merely a doorhandle. The man drew a short, blunt revolver from his pocket, loaded the unmarked ammunition, and opened the door.

 

A lone man sat behind an imitation ebony table, his mobile phone in hand, fingers panickedly reaching for a number within the phone's memory. The first shot hit the man's hands, a hollow-point bullet that exploded through fingers and plastic alike. Blood stained the shadowy faux stone, and muscle fibers mixed with computer chip fragments drenched the front of the man's shirt.

It was then that the screaming started, a single, unmoving note in the upper octaves. It stopped when the gun fired again.

 

The man's back of the man's shirt, light blue, purchased from a private tailor, exploded outwards as the bullet fragments ripped into the back of the leather chair. Sternum sundered, lungs torn, and heart damaged, he moved his arms weakly, choking on his blood as he tried to speak incoherent syllables.

 

By this time, the man had crossed the room, and stood before him, the OTs-38 Stechkin silent revolver pointed at the man's forehead.

 

“Ronald Banton,” he said softly, cocking the gun. “Businessman and, unbeknownst to most, mutant. Healing factor, enhanced intelligence.”

The statement hovered in the air. Banton choked on his blood, eyes wide with panic, and yet misty with the coming of death. The gun-wielding man continued.

 

“My name is Khalid Nicéphore du Saint-Just; I am a professionnel. Fate has brought me here, ami. Your actions have determined this; it is no personal matter. You have twelve seconds. Make peace with your gods, even if they will not save you.”

 

Banton closed his eyes, trying to concentrate as the blood seeped from his lips, thick and crimson. His wet shirt stuck to him, dying his body red, revealing the fragmented remains of his sternum. His flesh was slowly closing, attempting fix itself despite the grevious state of his body.

The gun fired with a nigh-silent whisper. Banton crumpled, his healing process slowly coming to a halt.

 

Khalid drew a cloth from his pocket, cleaning the barrel of the gun with three deft movements. He turned, and strode out the way he came, crossing through the hallway without pausing to stare out of the window at the slowly darkening city, silhouetted by the last dying rays of sunlight. He descended the stairs in silence, mentally counting the seconds.

At the ground floor, he paused at the fire alarm, activating it, and then ran to the building's electrical room, removing a demolition charge from the inside of his jacket, and throwing it into the center of the floor from the threshold of the doorway.

He left the building through the back service entrance, where he had parked his utterly average automobile, its red paint worn with age. He activated the demolition charge as he got into the car, casually holding the trigger on the activator, and was already out of the parking lot as the first plumes of smoke began to rise.

As he drove into the approaching night, riding to his hotel at the outskirts of the town, he watched for law enforcement amid the neon and streetlights. He drove in silence and with dispassion, a specter of death hidden within the herd of automobiles, lost in the sea of glowing vacuum tubes and cheerful advertisements. When he reached his destination, the night sky was slowly filling with a host of stars, all of whom seemed to watch him with impassivity matching his own. He removed his equipment from his room, paid the receptionist for his stay, and drove into the approaching darkness of midnight, silent as he followed the endless trail of fellow travellers, moving beneath the cover of darkness.

 

The stars shone with a cruel light, illuminating both the death of Ronald Banton and the soundless, taciturn flight of the bloodstained Godslayer, Khalid Saint-Just, who drove endlessly through the heartland of America, as heartless as the desolate landscape he traversed. The moon, a sharp crescent, watched him with a taciturn gaze, and then sank into the storm of shadowed clouds, leaving him alone in the darkness of midnight. He drove confidently, with careful, precise movements of the wheel, striving through the dark Void of desolation, and the night sky bowed before him, Godslayer, the unbroken.

Edited February 19, 2014 by Lady Firebaugh

[Snelly]

IC: Tasha

 

"Hmmm...you should introduce me to 'Brando Jr.' sometime." Tasha said as she seated herself on the passenger's side of Natalie's car.

 

IC: Ashley

 

"Yeah! Who needs safety when you have friends right?"

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

John eyed the man in the suit behind his glasses. "I'm John Howlett, Daken's little brother. I've come back. Is Daken here by chance?"

[Constructelf]

IC Reyson

Standard procedure for talking to a possibly angry boss:

 

1. Stay calm

2. Don't try to suck up to him

3. Don't act high and mighty and get him even angrier

4. Answer the questions as thoroughly and truthfully as possible

 

"Sir, I had adopted the guise of an unaware layperson to observe the subjects. I was unexpectedly ambushed by a SHIELD agent, but in an effort to preserve my cover, I continued playing the part, not expecting that SHIELD would keep such sloppy protocols in regards to harming potential innocents. I was then escorted to the safe house along with the two subjects; there was an unexpected number of metahuman agents concentrated in the area, so I came to the conclusion that trying to escape by force would be a stupid maneuver, so I decided to wait for an opportunity for them to drop their guard not expecting them to suddenly depart."

 

Reyson reflected on the events that had transpired in Nebraska. He had definitely chosen a poor disguise, and in a poorly thought-out attempt to garner sympathy, he had revealed very sensitive details about his back story. All in all, the attempt had been an utter failure. Nevertheless, he could still salvage the situation; after all, obsfucating stupidity was a very common tactic, but after the Sleeper detonations, the world probably knew how strong HYDRA was.

 

"Sir, two things came to mind. Firstly, did we install a tracing device on either of the subjects? Secondly, what exactly was the purpose of creating these organisms? If we have the tech level and the resources required to manufacture the Sleepers, wouldn't we able to start our direct assault now?"

Edited February 19, 2014 by A Magus With Class

[Snelly]

IC: Red Skull

 

"They do indeed have tracking devices, however SHIELD is quite aware of the experiments thanks to the traitorous Agent Conrad, I am certain they will find measures of blocking them. We cannot rely on those devices."

 

"Furthermore, a direct assault would prove fruitless and waste of time and resources. SHIELD is in New York in force, as well as these new Archangels. No, I have a much better plan..." Red Skull stroked his chin.

 

"Despite the fact you got spotted, an error I'd take great care not to repeat, you managed keep your intentions unknown, something that our late and tratious Conrad failed to do. The only reason you're going to live is because I still have use for you. For all your blundering you managed to accomplish one thing. You revealed the location of the SHIELD safe house, which is uncomfortably close to our underground research facility. We have rigged the safehouse to explode the next time someone enters it. Thanks to the experiment's escape and Conrad's utter foolishness SHIELD is most likely preparing to assault the Nebraskan base. We have begun evacuating our top researchers and removing all traces of our research, they will gain nothing."

 

Red Skull pointed at Reyson. "I'm going to sent you and some of our best agents to Nebraska. The base is as good as lost, but it will still serve as an excellent trap for SHIELD. You and other agents will kill as many SHIELD as you can when they assault the base, and if they managed to break through your defenses and gain access, the facility will implode on itself." He smiled.

 

"Before you leave I do have a few more questions. What can you tell me about those who captured you? Give me every detail, insignificant or otherwise. I want to know everything. Tell me what the experiments were doing while you're at it."

Edited February 19, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"What? I don't even..."

Edited February 19, 2014 by Cupcake Killer

[Light]

NPC: "That's all you had to say." The man tapped his Bluetooth and smiled.

 

"Sir, we have found Mr. Howlett."

 

He turned his attention back to John. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt quite a bit."

 

The doors on either side of him started to open, but that faded- Was John's vision fading? Everything got very bright, and then the pain started.

 

Imagine sticking your hand in an outlet. Now imagine that raised a power of magnitude and applied directly to your optic nerve.

 

It hurts.

 

Luckily, John had no eyes to ruin.

 

"Just give in, and relax into sleep," an abnormally calm voice said. "Then, it will end."

 

IC: Rook

 

"If you're sure," Natalie responded, getting into the driver's seat.

Edited February 19, 2014 by Shaquille O'Kaithas

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"Nah, she's kind of not wrong, actually," Warren said, refusing to allow Betsy Braddock to hear the words "she's right" in her general direction. "The Blackbird is foolproof. Nobody can crash it. You guys got the hang of it pretty quick."

 

-Tyler

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

"Yeah the big red button labeled 'ALEX' was pretty useful. Took us right home!"

Edited February 19, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

John fought the pain for an few moments. What was pain to him now anyway? How much pain can a person feel before they no longer care?

 

"You could of just ****in blindfolded me..." Howlett muttered as his vision darkened.

 

"Don't scratch my bike..." John saw darkness now through his inorganic eyes and fell still as sleep took him.

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"What's ALEX supposed to stand for, anyway?"

[Flex Lord Splash]

IC:

 

His family name was Terrance. But that wasn't who he was. No he was Nightstalker. He was the man who crept across rooftops at night in search of people harming the innocents. So he could descend on them with wrath and justice. In his eyes he was the hand of justice. If he saw a man stealing then he would steal the stolen and return it to its rightful place. If he saw a man take another man's life for no reason then he would loose his own life. He tried to keep the peace, and end the violence. He hated violence. Even if he was forced to use it as a means to keep it from spreading.

 

He wasn't dressed like the Nightstalker now but the black Vibranium suit waited beneath his disguise: his civilian clothes. It was nearing dawn now as Terrance walked across the rooftop. It was a familiar building. An abandoned office. The building was tall enough, but still little life or activity was present. He liked to stand on the rooftop and see as far as he could see. Watch the city without speaking.

 

Terrance was also a man of little words. If he wasn't around anyone he hardly used them. The sunlight glinted across the rooftop as Terrance neared the edge. He looked down at the abyss and found that it stared back. The city was full of life. Cars hurrying down the roads towards work as people got up and began to go on with their lives. But this is my life. Terrance thought. The wind pulled at his dreads and tugged on black trench-coat. He wasn't really looking for anything particular. He'd already patrolled that night.

 

He liked the watch the sun rise upon the city and think. He'd seen the news that night. He knew of these new Archangels, but he did not know yet what their presence meant. He would wait and observe. The city had already been attacked by Hydra, but to Terrance it felt like things weren't over.

Edited February 19, 2014 by Flex Till Death

[Relapse]

IC: (Shaman - HYDRA Base)

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Reyson spotted a silver-haired young man, arms crossed and face blank. Almost brand new to HYDRA, none of his comrades knew very much about him, but all could sense that there was something very off about the way he carried himself. For instance, he was wearing an immaculate white suit, and as soon as Reyson began speaking, his lips had curled back to reveal glimmering teeth in what some would label a smile. One as nervous as Reyson would see it as the look of hunger, a bloodthirsty glare. And yet, he remained completely silent. Still. For now, he simply watched.

Edited February 20, 2014 by Douglas

[25K Now!]

IC: Gabriel

 

"Hey Jeff is it fine if I leave you here for a bit?" asked Gabriel hesitantly, peeking under her bed at her roommate. "I'm going to find a book that might help us, okay?"

[Snelly]

IC: Jeffery

 

For a moment, Jeff was silent, before working up the willpower to actually respond.

 

"Alright...I'll just be here...trying to...not think."

Edited February 20, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[25K Now!]

IC: Gabriel

 

Gabriel nodded, and began to make her way towards the library.

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"I personally prefer Automated Life Extending X-hibit, but Alex is, unfortunately, actually just a name," Warren deadpanned, giving Betsy's hand a meaningful squeeze. "Well, like I said, Christine just walked down the hall that-a-way. You should probably check up on her. I'm sure she could...well, I'm sure her time as a thingabob shook her deeply. If you'll excuse us both, I think Deputy Headmistress Braddock and I have something we need to check on real quick."

 

He beamed a hundred watts at the psychic ninja, then back to Ashley.

 

Ashley gave Warren a salute. "Yes sirrrrr!" She smiled. "She probably just needs a talk with the Great Deku Tree!" Aka the massive willow tree that stood outside the institute for as long as Ashley had been there.

 

And a heartbeat for her friend, he thought, but instead he tossed a salute back and pulled on Betsy's hand, leading her down the hallway. When Ashley and Sierra had looped back around and gone after Christine, Angel and Psylocke slipped outside, through the courtyard, and made their way to the graveyard.

 

***

 

"######."

 

Thirty minutes, four hundred pounds of lifting, and another four and a half feet of digging, and they had pulled Matt Summers - and his glass coffin, of course - out of the shallow muck and grime. The rain that had been hampering Westchester the last few days only made the process that much more filthy, though it served to keep Warren and Betsy cool. The moisture had permeated into his hair; damp blonde curls were plastered to his head, and Betsy's hair was largely the same. She hadn't had time for makeup today, so her face was largely unblemished. He could see the rain, washing down her cheeks, and the smudge of dirt on her chin and nose from where she'd wiped the water away from her eyes and mouth. She was angelic. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

 

True to form, she ruined it with one of her quips.

 

"Right here? In the kid's grave? That's naughty, even for you."

 

"Well," he sighed, shaking his head. "You ruined that couple's moment."

 

Betsy grinned ear to ear and wiped a smidge of dirt away from the corner of her mouth with a knuckle. "Would you say I soiled it? Come on. That's funnier than anything you've said all day."

 

Instead of dignifying that with a reply, Angel pulled himself out of the grave and picked up one end of Matt's coffin, muttering "I envy you, kid," under his breath.

 

-Tyler

Edited February 20, 2014 by young sinatra

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"It's sure shaken me." I muttered under my breath.

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley gave Sierra a quick side hug before running off toward Christine's dorm. When the arrived Ashley didn't hesitate to give the door a quick rap. Strangely there was no answer, but Ashley swore she could hear noises coming from inside. The door was unlocked so she opened it and peaked her head inside.

 

"Christine? Are you alri-" She then saw what Aleks and Christine were doing. "Oh!" Ashley pulled her head back and slammed the door shut. She quickly turned to look at Sierra and anyone else who was still following.

 

"I think she's busy." Ashley smiled, and then pulled out a small notebook from her purse, tearing it open. The first page had ASHLEY X DALLAS written all over it, with lots of hearts and flowers and all sorts of different colored ink. So did the next forty pages in fact. She stopped on the first blank page and quickly scribbled in small plain letters, Aleks x Christine.

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"They were only kissing, I hope." I commented, noticing Ashley's doodle.

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

"Yeah...." Ashley's eyes looked up toward the ceiling in a dreamy haze, as if her mind was elsewhere.

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"Are you thinking about Dallas?"

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

"Huh!? You see Dallas? Where!?" The mere mention of his name had snapped her out of her daze. Though Dallas for the moment was nowhere to be found.

 

"Fiddlesticks."

Edited February 21, 2014 by Yoko Littner

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"I knew it." I said with satisfaction. "You guys really must love each other."

[Snelly]

IC: Ashley

 

Ashley's cheeks became almost as red as her eyes for a moment.

 

"I didn't know it was that obvious."

[Blair the Cat]

IC:

 

"But that's a good thing!" I sighed. "This may sound strange coming from me, but visible affection is something that the world really needs."