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IC:

 

"I don't need it. Besides, I think my body fat percentage might be too high for your liking in the first place."

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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IC:

 

"I have survived five years longer than anyone expected me to, based purely off of the claim that I am physical beauty and perfection incarnate. It has to be a universal constant. Everyone has to believe it, Bekah. And if I can sway you, then my survival all along has been well-merited."

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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IC:

 

"Dallas, relax. My standards are literally designed for people with superhuman strength and speed. For an unenhanced human, you are great."


fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

Dallas' eyes narrowed in an imitation as good as anyone without oddly-colored heterochromia could muster of the girl whose lap he sat in.

 

"Uh huh. A'ight. I'll relax."

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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IC:

The former Weapon hummed her assent, tightened her grip, and sank back a little further into her chair. She didn't feel any particular need to stand, or to let Dallas stand, and she didn't see any reason to get out of the chair. Nothing she needed to get done, no objectives to complete, Dallas wasn't doing anything stupid he needed rescuing from. All was, for the moment, in order.

 

In short, she felt peaceful.


fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

Dallas really did want some ice cream. But it wasn't worth worrying about for the moment.

 

I can't believe she's actually into me.

 

What could his charm not do?

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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IC:

 

Dallas rolled his eyes and rested his chin atop Rebekah's collarbone again, creating a single odd shape of pale skin and black hair where there had been two Ultimates a second before. One hand found its way up into the longer stream of hair and twirled it softly around its fingers.

 

"You going back up to the vents tonight?"

 

-Tyler


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IC (Leon)

 

"Good to, uh, meet you sir. Leon Kane. Formerly with the US Army. Then MACE. Good to meet you....?" The last part of the introduction came out more like a question, as the fact that however sane this man appeared, he still shared a bloodline with his self-appointed mentor hit Leon like a metric ton of bricks. 

 

Was he going to make him learn a bunch of new languages and then drag him to Antarctica to dig up antediluvian ruins?

 

....

 

Was he going to steal his new phone!?


I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people. You are wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.

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IC: Ohen-NYC(Ferry from NJ)

 

Ohen Znaka stepped off the rocking boat, tasting the salt in the air from the bay. He turned and looked back in the direction the ferry had come, smiling as he saw Lady Liberty, torch held high. He and his family had decided that now was as good a time as any to embark on his new career, and after stopping to visit some extended family across the bay, the young man had finally arrived. New York City, the land of opportunity. A hubbub of noise and lights, and apparently cold winds as well. Not to mention home to seemingly countless superheroes. Ohen had always thought the comics were a exaggeration at best, but the more attention he paid to the news, the more he realized that there was a disproportionate number of NYC superheroes. Not that he minded, that meant plenty of chances to find a foothold, and maybe some others like him.

 

The tall man set off, consulting his phone for directions to his new apartment before hearing a cry of panic. He looked up, just in time to see a masked man running from a crying woman, holding a purse that obviously didn't belong to him. Ohen grinned, not five minutes in the big apple and already there were chances to prove himself. He took off running, passing the crying woman in the blink of an eye, and starting to gain on the purse-snatcher. His long legs carried him farther than the shorter criminals with each step, and Ohen saw the panic in his eyes before the thief turned down an alley. Ohen followed without missing a beat, eyes widening as he saw the trap around the corner. He just barely managed to teleport behind the thief before the baseball bat cracked against the brick wall where Ohen's head would have been. Electricity crackled as Ohen's hands lit up with power, drawing the attention of the now confused lowlife. "O-oh no... You're one of them, ain't you?" He managed to sputter out, before turning to try and make a break for it. Ohen was faster though, and teleported in front of the smaller man. 

 

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Ohen asked as in his painstakingly practiced American accent, hiding any hint of the nation of his birth. "You steal a purse, I give chase. You try to kill me, and now look at us. My patience is running thin, you can hand over the stolen goods, or I can take them..."

 

-----------------------------------------

 

A few moments later, Ohen found the weeping woman again, sitting on a bus bench counting out change she must have taken from her pockets. She looked up in surprise as her own purse hit the bench beside her, and caught the warm smile of a country boy before his face turned away and he began to receed. Grabbing her purse and hugging it close, she stood up and cried out. "How did you find it?! How'd you get him to give it back?!"

 

The farm boy turned slightly, and smiled at her again. "I only asked nicely. I hope your day gets better, ma'am."

  • Upvote 1

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodies? Your grace."


"I know that one. 'Who watches the Watchmen?' Me, Mr. Pessimal."


"Ah, but who watches you, your grace?"


"I do that too. All the time."


 


If anyone would be interested in co-hosting a Discworld-themed RPG for OTC, please PM me!

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IC:

The thing about being on the run, between you and me, is that you don’t have anywhere to go. You also don’t get any recognition which kinda sucks if you’re the egotistical type. Like, I helped hold off Hydra in the second Battle of New York. Took out a ton of foot soldiers and armors all by myself. And you know what? No media coverage (all that went to the X-Men and private military contractors, lucky s), no hospital visits, and a of a time patching myself up.

 

Could be worse, though. I’m still labeled as “wanted for MACE’s crimes”, so it’s actually a good thing that no one noticed me. Does make things really, really boring though. This is NYC. Rogue powers usually get handled by the local cops, who are downright unflappable, or one vigilante or another. Don’t ask me why but this place is a magnet for them.

 

I’m still here because I need to wait until I have a plan, and my ribs still hurt before I go. Plus, I found Mike. Can’t really leave until I’ve gotten to actually hang out with my fellow fugitive, y’know?

 

So here I am. Wandering around, looking for something to do, without even Tank Girl to snark at.

 

Truly mine is a suffering life.

 

IC:

“I hadn’t given it any thought yet.” The former Weapon said with a tone that vaguely implied a shrug. “I suppose I’ll need to sort that out.”

 

IC:

 

In the past year, a Rogers was curbstomped four times. Three of them, as James was intimately familiar, were the same person. Two of them brought that person close to death. But of the two, getting beaten down by an undead cyborg Nazi former ally was probably the more painful. Turns out that James was faster, but metal cyborg fists hit harder. Good life lesson. Maybe a little specific.

 

Unlike the last time, though, recovery in a SHIELD facility didn’t take too long. He was back on his feet in a week and a half, even though the docs recommended two more weeks bed rest and some light exercise to make sure he was A-OK. Naturally a week later he was back in the Stark Tower gym, good as new and ignoring their complaints.

Some things had to stay the same, right?

Not like he’d bothered announcing he was back. He had a key. Tasha was off doing Stark Industries PR work, Brando was probably off being a Dad (lame, by the way), and God knows where Sieg or Erin were. Which… Pretty much meant Stark Tower was empty. Free gym use, all the cable channels he wanted, and a Stark-Industries-grade, fully-outfitted fridge and cupboard.

It was close enough to rest.

  • Upvote 1

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

"Could always crash here for the night. Sleep in. Get a hot shower. Catch a quick breakfast. The American Dream."

 

IC:

 

"Swear to God you're worse than my baby when it comes to finding where you're supposed to sleep." The elevator closed silently behind Brando Barton, and he paced around the penthouse of Stark Tower for a few seconds before walking over to one of the chairs. His fingers brushed reverently over the top of the Galaga machine while he did.

 

"Jesus, are those footprints on the couch? Lucky you ain't laying low in the Barton apartment, brother." The marksman plopped down on the opposite sofa and spared a conspiratorial glance at the elevator before kicking his own feet up on the armrest. "Nat would hang us both from the fire escape. Hey, pass me those chips, dickhead. Didn't eat lunch on the way here."

 

-Tyler

  • Upvote 1

whats up doc

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IC:

 

Ohen finally arrived about an hour later at his new apartment. It was small, as it had to be in New York to be affordable, but it was enough for him. He dropped his suitcase in the bedroom and looked around, sighing as he stretched his arms over his head. A new start, a new life. Maybe he could do some good, make a difference. The young man stepped out onto the fire escape and looked down at the street, many stories below. He looked up at what little sky he could see between the building. Clear, mostly. Some wispy clouds maybe, but clear. Ohen smiled as he took off his jacket and tossed it back through the open fire exit. He stepped back and got a running start, springing off the escape railing and igniting his body, a great trail of fire roaring up out of the alley and into the skyline of the city. Ohen kept low, assuming any air traffic controllers wouldn't want any disruptions, and kept to just above the rooftops. He felt free up here, like he wasn't just the son of some immigrants, a boy who'd been tested on. He was a Superhero, and up here, he could do anything.

 

Over the next few minutes, Ohen edged higher and higher into the sky, making wide circles over his new neighborhood. He needed to familiarize himself with the area around his home first, then figure out the layout of the city from up here. He flew higher up again, grinning and laughing as he felt the winds buffet his flame-consumed form. People could probably see him now, if they bothered to look, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to hide in the shadows, his fight, his very destiny was to be bathed with light. He flew straight up into the air another hundred feet, stretching out his arms before snuffing his flaming form. He fell through the sky, laughing as he twisted and turned before re-igniting himself and soaring over the rooftops again...


"Quis custodiet ipsos custodies? Your grace."


"I know that one. 'Who watches the Watchmen?' Me, Mr. Pessimal."


"Ah, but who watches you, your grace?"


"I do that too. All the time."


 


If anyone would be interested in co-hosting a Discworld-themed RPG for OTC, please PM me!

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IC:

"I feel as though that isn't the definition of the American Dream."

IC:

The bag of chips made an impromptu spiral through the air, not unlike a football, towards Brando's position on the couch. The man behind the throw followed a few moments later, leaning on the back of the couch.

 

"Then he's already learning from Uncle Rogers."


fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

Brando took a couple chips out of the bag and chewed over his next joke. The marksman held out the snacks by the bottom for James to take another handful and then redirected it in front of him.

 

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. You here to enjoy our little enclave's last few days before despoilment, too?"

 

IC:

 

"Maybe you're just not having the right dreams. I hear my bed fixes that."

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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IC:

"Needed to think. You know me, I don't think well cooped up in a hospital. Figured this'd be the quietest place."

 

IC:

The arch that Rebekah's eyebrows took on would have made Greek architecture jealous.


fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

"I've always wanted to try that line. Thanks for the setup."

 

IC:

 

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can. Stark Industries is officially on the military-industrial list. No idea how much of this stuff is being repossessed for traces of Howard soon." Brando took a room around the second iteration of the penthouse they'd all intermittently called home over the years and let out a long, mournful sigh. "Been begging Nat to help me find room for some of these old retro games. She says they're Tasha's. Says I gotta, like, buy 'em or something. ."

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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IC:

"I'm sure it's only one crossed off a list numbering hundreds."

IC:

"Not surprised, honestly." The super soldier looked around himself, and started walking the perimeter of the room before long. Easy, idle strides, but there was a sense of purpose in spite of it. "We all knew it was coming, second he was on TV. Stark Industries is gonna need a lot of good press to make up for it."

"I've got a whole apartment I barely use. Maybe Tasha'll let us stow some of this stuff there."


fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

"You know me so well."

 

IC:

 

"Haven't seen her since the fight. I wouldn't blame her. If you ever showed up selling some Skynet like that on all the airwaves, I probably wouldn't leave the apartment either. Just bunker down with a few twelve-packs of Heineken and live Pats game to Pats game."

 

-Tyler


whats up doc

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