Masks: A New Generation of Heroes

Game Master Cwethan

Wingblade's heart sinks a bit as she shares Vick's realization that the rides are more special for the normal people who hadn't been genetically engineered for complex aerial maneuvers. She turns to face the tracks that fall out of sight to a sheer dropoff. There's a moment at the top, a tense quiet like when she climbs hard and then stalls, and she senses the other riders' excitement.

Then the train rockets down the hill to the screams of the people behind them. She tries to live vicariously through them, to imagine this being the fastest they've ever gone. Through the ups and downs of the coaster and the noisy clatter of the chains, she pretends this to be her first flight -- and is sorely disappointed.

All to soon, the coaster takes its last hill and she realizes she missed her opportunity. She hastily leans over and hugs at Vick as if she needed him to comfort her, but it was too late, and clearly too fake. She pulls back before he can react.

She's out of the car as soon as it's stopped and the safety bar disengaged, her cheeks burning hot.

"Look... I'm sorry." he says, trying to catch up to her. "I guess this place isn't as fun as I thought!" he exclaims, catching more than a few looks from others as he catches up to her.

He scowls, kicking a loose soda can and watching it disappear into the mass of fairgoers. "I kinda hoped this would be better too..."

It doesn't take a genius to see that he's disappointed. And it can take a perspective person to see that it's mostly (heh) disillusionment that's bugging him... Had he never been to a fair before either?"

"Well, I don't know if it's scary, but we could try the haunted house." he offered. "But... I think we both know that kind of stuff isn't really that bad when you've seen real supervillains throw cars at you and stuff."

He groans. "Ugh! This has all gone wrong!"

Wingblade fell into distress at Vick's frustration. She blamed herself; everyone else at the fair was having a great time. She was messing it all up. And now ruining Vick's fun as well.

She'd never been to a haunted house, but he was probably right. She wondered if the fake scares would be remotely scary. But she resolved to try, and do better than she did at the roller coaster. "No, Vick, it's not that bad. Let's try the haunted house. C'mon."

She grabs his hands and tugs him toward the entrance. She studies the excited fear and trepidation of the other people in line: the boys trying to look cool but smelling of fear, and the girls clinging to their boyfriends and trembling in anticipation. She tries to imitate the girlfriends by holding on to Vick's arm.

When they're allowed entry, Wingblade's heightened senses take over. Despite the dim lighting and the chemical smoke, she effortlessly detects every hidden prop and actor lurking and ready to jump out. The fake blood smells like paint, the running chainsaws clearly lack actual chains, and the killer clowns' knives were definitely rubber. At least the strobe lights were mildly disorienting.

She had to continually force herself to cling to Vick, but it wasn't real. She felt disingenuous doing it, and she sensed his growing frustration.

She looked around at the fake props and the actors stumbling about in the dark, barely more stable than the patrons themselves. Be scary, dammit! she thinks desperately at them. Then an idea strikes her.

She leans into Hashtag and whispers in his ear, "Can you do some illusions? Make it really scary?"

Hashtag scratches his head. "I mean, yeah... Its gonna be harder cause I cant see very well."
unleash your powers: 2d6 ⇒ (2, 6) = 8

He concentrates, and black murk swells out around the haunted house. The lights go out, allowing only the faint lighting from outside to trickle in through the cracks in the building. Massive fanged maws with burning eyes start to swim through the dark, and whispers tickle at just the edges of her hearing. A tickle of sulfur is on the air, and the smell of fear laces distressingly with it. A basso rumble of an otherworldly voice is accompanied with the heavy, labored breathing of something huge.

As impressive as it is, its not perfect. You cant feel any wind displaced by the breath, and true to his word the images you can see are not as 'sharp' as he could have made them. Did that one flicker?

"There. I think." he says. He looks a little stressed.

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Wingblade grins with delight. Even though she knows that it's all an illusion from Vick, and there's a few imperfections that register subconsciously that it's all not real, she thrills at the monstrous shapes that swim in and out of the murky darkness. When one rushes straight at her, she squeaks in joyous fright and ducks as it moans past her. She rises up into Vick's arms, wraps her own around his chest and genuinely squeezes him tight.

And then the screams begin.

Fair goers and actors freak out together at the unnatural illusions, and begin to panic. The screams of good-natured fright is replaced by those of the bloodcurdling variety, and the omnipresent scent of fear spikes to that of sheer terror.

"Oh, no," Wingblade realizes with a completely different form of horror. "Off! Shut it off!" she tells Hashtag, then starts grabbing people and guiding them to the emergency exits.

Soon, the lights come on and the patrons and actors all pour out of the haunted house. Wingblade tries to stay incognito among the crowd as various paramedics and emergency crews arrive to assist the people. A handful of injuries -- mainly from people pushing and shoving and swinging wildly at the phantom monsters and striking others -- are treated on the scene. Fire crews come out to test for gas leaks, trying to determine if the fairgoers were experiencing hallucinations of a chemical nature.

Wingblade's embarrassment was almost physically painful. "I'm so sorry," she whispers to Vick. "That was so stupid of me. I'm supposed to be smarter than that. I should have realized..." She buries her face in her hands as she sits down slightly away from the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles ringing the haunted house.

Vick panics when things start going awry. Unable to se, he ports out of the house to keep an eye on things.
How did i let things get out of hand? he thinks, struggling to keep his illusions intact. He had screwed up.

Some time later people started to calm down. No reason could be found, so the haunted house would be shut down to be inspected. With the sounds of the fair getting wound down, Vick sits down next to her.

"It's my fault." he says, staring at the side of her head. "I've been strengthening my illusions. Y'know, increasing the range and number of sensations I could copy." he sighs. "I even thought i was starting to get better at my concentration."

"But I wanted to impress you so i let my subconscious start to drive... I'm sorry."

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"No, don't. It was me. It was my idea." She shakes her head, not able to look at him. "I wanted you to have a good time, and I was messing it all up. I messed it all up."

She slowly turns her head, twisting a lock of hair nervously. Her almond-shaped eyes peek through the part in the curtain of black hair. She swallows, then starts to say something. "I--"

A shape passes over them. She tracks it as it lands among the police, and she gasps. "You should get out of here," she whispers when she recognizes Whippoorwill talking with the captain.

Hashtag shakes his head. "No. You go. Its my fault and she'll be able to tell. I'll be fine. I promise." he nudges her, giving her a smile for a bit before sending her right back to the tower with a Crack!.
She arrives in the kitchen, somewhat disoriented but sitting perched on the kitchen counter.

He did it again. Son of a-

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As far as sweeping romantic gestures go, I'll have to give the kid credit, Whippoorwill thinks as she soars over Halcyon's Old Town. She felt she might have come on a little strong, especially with the whole kidnapping threat. His biggest offense was trespassing, she had to admit. Sneaking into an amusement park to impress a girl ranked high on the "dumb kid" list of offenses, but she had to teach Ji-Wan a measure of respect for private property. And that wouldn't be necessarily easy, considering he's the child of a criminal teleporter.

When the clock tower came into view, her thoughts turned to how she was going to deal with Wingblade's latest indiscretion. She had to have been in on it, unless Ji-Wan's illusions were that good. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought. If they were, then she had a whole new level of concerns about him.

Whippoorwill flies through one of the aerial entrances and lands in the common area where Wingblade is pacing nervously. She immediately spins to face her, pointing her finger at her own breastbone. "It was my fault! What'd you do to Vick? Don't do anything to him because I put him up to it!!"

Whippoorwill forces her face to remain a mask, although she couldn't help but be surprised that Wingblade was taking credit for their whole fiasco. Was she covering for him? Or did she really put him up to it? She let a little of that skepticism show as she crossed her arms. "The whole thing was your idea?"

The teen hero slumps her shoulders and looks down. "Yeah. He only did it because I asked him to make it scarier. I forgot it would freak the other people out."

??? The Defender had to fight to keep the confusion off her face. Something wasn't matching up. She decided to use an old interrogation technique: acting like you know more than you do and let the subject talk. "You should have known better."

"I know!! But I just sort of forgot they were there! Vick was looking so stressed because I wasn't having a good time because the rides were lame, but even though the food was good he still clearly wasn't having a good time, so that part was all my fault too! And I wanted to do the girlfriend thing and hug him and act like I was scared but I'm not a really good actor, so when the haunted house was dumb too, I asked him to make it scarier! So it's my fault!"

Whoa. Whippoorwill blinked in near disbelief. The kid pulled it off. A whole fair, and fooling her the whole time.

At the silence from her mentor, Wingblade pushed on. "I'm to blame. It was all me. Was-- was anyone hurt?"

Whippoorwill rubbed her face. She weighed the options of telling her protege about Ji-Wan's illusionary fair, of giving him the dignity of keeping his romantic gesture intact.

She came to a decision. "No, no one was hurt," she says truthfully. "And Hashtag should have known better. Just like you. You asked him, but you didn't force him. I'm going to have him do some community service, to pay back the fair for the trouble he caused."

Wingblade seemed to accept that, though she still looked unhappy. And she clearly dreaded whatever was coming as her punishment. Whippoorwill wracked her brain, trying to decide what to do about this deadly weapon in her charge who was entering teenage girlhood. Teenaged relationships and drama was something of a blind spot for her; she had never had much of a true childhood. Briana had escaped an abusive home and foster care at age sixteen. She hadn't had the luxury of fretting about clothes and boys and cliques at school.

So she was in uncharted waters when trying to counsel Wingblade in the overly complicated arena of teen relationships. And with the power that Ji-Wan had just exhibited, she was dealing not only with a volatile living weapon but an extremely powerful illusion caster. She wished she knew what to think of their burgeoning relationship, but she had the feeling neither of the two teens did, either.

"All right," she said after some deliberation. "You screwed up, but you recognize it. You were trying to help Ji-- I mean Vick -- have a good time, because he went to all the trouble to get you to the fair so you both could have a good time. So I can understand it, even if I can't condone it.

"And some of this is my fault. You don't have a baseline for normal. You don't know anyone without special powers or abilities. You need to get to know some ordinary people, so you can recognize their limitations, but also their value."

Wingblade cocked her head in confusion. "So what's my punishment, then?"

"The worst I can think of. You're going to school," Whippoorwill says with a smirk.

Several weeks had passed since Whippoorwill had decreed that she would be going to school and she still hadn't gone. There was a longer process for enrolling her into Halcyon High than expected, and the business of assessment testing her to place her into the appropriate grade.

What wasn't shared with Wingblade was that Whippoorwill also needed to establish her actual identity. She'd been ID'd with various metahuman registries, but she hadn't been given an actual civilian identity. That took a while as well.

When all the paperwork and enrollment was finally completed, Whippoorwill showed up at the Clock Tower with several packages. "Happy day before school!" she announced with a rare smile. "Here you go."

Wingblade looked at the first small box covered in fake gold leaf that was being handed to her. She untied the simple bow and opened it, revealing a lanyard with a plastic card at the end. "It's your new school ID," her mentor explained.

"Shayera Kinney?" she asked, confused about the last name. 'Shayera' had been a name she chose a while back, liking the sound of it, when Whippoorwill had suggested she pick a name other than 'Wingblade.'

Whippoorwill shrugged. "Doctor Sara Kinney was one of the scientists in the lab where they had you. From the evidence we've gathered, she was the only one who ever regarded you as a person, as a child. I think she was the first person to have genuine affection for you. Maybe even love."

Shayera closed her eyes and thought back to those times, remembering a face tinged with concern rather than the usual clinical detachment. She smiled. "Thank you."

Another box revealed the high-tech tablet device that replaced all the old school textbooks that previous generations had been forced to lug between school and home.

The third box contained several school outfits, complete with fully intact backs. "HCHS has a dress code, and nothing you own is compliant. I had to order you some shirts with backs. No tank tops allowed."

"But how am I to get these on without shredding them?" Shayera asked helplessly.

Whippoorwill pointed to the last box, actually a crate, and unlatched it. She opened it to reveal a small harness with patterns of circuitry running along every inch of it. "Matrix designed and fashioned it. Try it on. It phase-shifts your wings so they are just slightly out of tune with the rest of this dimension."

Shayera looked dubious, but pulled the device out of its crate and snapped it around her torso, just beneath where her wings met her body. Whippoorwill looped some of the tightly coiled wiring over the shoulders of her wings and connected them to the rest of the harness. Once the device was fit snugly around her, the mentor activated it. The faintest of hums sounded from the device as Wingblade's wings faded from sight.

She looked over her shoulders, remembering the time when Vick had covered them up with his illusion. It felt very similar, because she still felt her wings and believed she could move them. However, their familiar weight on her back disappeared, and she couldn't feel any wind resistance when she flapped them. "Where'd they go? This doesn't feel right!" she asked with rising concern.

Whippoorwill put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I told you; they're out of phase with us. They can't affect anything right now, so that means you can wear a real shirt for once."

"I can't fly!!" Wingblade shouts in panic as she flaps her missing wings to no avail.

Her mentor steadies her with both hands on her shoulders, keeping down her rising distress. "No, not while the harness is active. But switch here," she flicks a recessed button on her torso and her wings reappear flailing wildly, requiring Whippoorwill to duck, "and they're back. They're back, okay?"

Shayera calms down a bit, but shakes her head. "No. I don't like it. I don't want this on." She starts tugging at the harness.

Whippoorwill grabs her hands and stops her. "No, I'm saying that it's on, and it stays on while you're in school."

Shayera struggles with it some more, her heart racing due to barely-restrained panic. She tries to pull out from Whippoorwill's strong grip and her wings try to close up to slash at the offending harness.

"Hey! Hey!" Whippoorwill shouts at her to get her to focus. She lowers herself to her knees and holds her tight. Her voice softens. "Listen to me: I would never, never take your wings away from you. Your wings are as precious to me as my own are. Do you understand? This is only for school. Okay?"

Wingblade, looking sullen and deeply unhappy, slowly nods.

================

The next day, Shayera Kinney shows up at Halcyon High School for her first day at school.

And now Whippoorwhil has leverage on Vick. This pleases me. :)

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Bronwyn is always at school early. Ever since she started her 'extra-curriculars' she's had to ghost on the track team for after-school practices way more often than she'd like, so she makes a point of getting to the morning-makeups even when she's not in trouble as sort of a preemptive apology.

Even though they are at the Ass-Crack of dawn!

She always used to finish with the first pack, tired, but good tired. These days, she has to remember to act like she still needs the cooldown stretches.

Still, running a 5k is better than coffee for waking you up in the morning, and criminals are night owls far more often than they are early birds, so it has its advantages, and a little uninterrupted time with Marco is one of them.

Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, babe?

Just thinking about how sweet it is that you started coming to morning practices with me. I know you don't need the makeups. Anyways, I've gotta grab a shower. I'm supposed to meet a new girl at the guidance counselor's office, and I'd rather not smell like a wildebeest when I do.

She gives him a firm kiss, and then laughs, putting a finger to his lips before he can speak, And no I don't need 'help', or for you to 'make sure the shower's safe'. I'll see you in Chem.

Space.

Someone once called it the final frontier, but with the discovery of alternate dimensions and realms of existence, the...

The cosmonaut looked up from his book at the sound of the proximity alarm.

What is going on? he wondered. The supply shuttle shouldn't be here for several weeks. He began making his way to the command module, but paused at one of the windows nearby as a crack in space appeared like a rip in a shirt, and through it was flung...was that a girl? he pondered to himself as he continued his way to the command module.

turning on the stealth radio, he sent a narrow-band laser beam containing a warning to a certain roof of a certain building in Siberia, where the technician on watch was awakened by the sound of a recorded message. He put on his headset and began translating it. While he was doing so, an automated message was sent to a helicopter pilot to put her on standby. Shortly after she got the Hind warmed up and the ice knocked off, the technician on duty came running out with a small case, which he handcuffed to her wrist. She then took off towards Crimea.

Halcyon City
An early warning satellite system had warned of the impending impact from a celestial object travelling at a high velocity. A message was rushed to the defenders, who were all on assignment in other parts of the world and would not be able to intercept anyone. from Defender's tower, a call was placed to a being made of pure energy, asking him to stop the impact...

Tag.

Public transportation sucked. Shayera had to get up super early, activate her harness, and go through a much more laborious process to prepare for school than she ever had to do for crime fighting. She brushed her hair, added a bit of eye shadow and eyeliner, then dabbed a bit of gloss on her lips before pulling on a full T-shirt over her sports bra. She didn't like how the fabric felt on her shoulders, but the shirt hid her harness pretty well.

Once prepped, she had to walk to the rail station and take the elevated rail to the Mid-Town district, then change lines to reach Northside. She could have taken the subway from Old Town all the way to Northside, but it was seedy and a source of a lot of petty crime. Whippoorwill had strictly forbade her from taking that route, not so much out of concern for her safety as concern that she'll be late for school by busting some heads.

The elevated rail, unfortunately, was also packed by all the commuters heading into the Towers district where the skyscrapers that formed the image of Halcyon City in most people's minds. She barely made it to school in time for her appointment with the school counselor.

Not being able to fly was an indignity Shayera was unused to, and it soured her mood. She had had to run the two blocks between the rail station and the school, and took the steps two at a time to make it into the school before the first bell. Her harness had managed to set off the school metal detectors, but there was some message that apparently popped up on the resource officer's screen and she waved her through, pointing her in the direction of the guidance counselor's office.

"Ah, Miss Kinney, welcome to Halcyon High," said the rail-thin man with a beaked nose when she knocked on his door and showed him her ID. "I'm Mr. Luxard."

"Hello," she said, offering her hand.

He shook it. "I understand you'll be participating in our gifted program. That's wonderful. We take pride in being able to offer advanced classes in all manner of subjects. If ever you feel that something is not challenging you, please let us know and we'll make accommodations. Since your first period is free today, I've assigned a student to show you around the campus. Let you get your bearings. How does that sound?"

She nodded her head. "Fine, I guess." She had known from the others that Halcyon High had a gifted program that offered specialized curricula for those with "special" gifts. She hadn't really paid a whole lot of attention back when she thought she would always be home-schooled. She regretted it now.

Mr. Luxard gave her a reassuring smile. "Switching schools is always stressful. I understand. I'm here if you'd like to talk if you want. But I'll let you first get to know Miss Pascal, our star track and field athlete. She's going to give you the tour, as soon as she gets here."

Bronwyn shows up narrowly on time; she's in a simple flowy tunic and leggings, her hair put back in a high pony tail while its still wet from her shower, and a bright smile on her face.

Hi, Shayera right? I'm Bronwyn. I'm supposed to show you around? She holds out her hand for a quick shake, her cheerfulness not blunted by Shayera's more grudging greeting.

Well, lets get going. You've got a free period, right? So I'll show you around campus. Stop me if I'm going to fast. Is there anything you'd like to check out? Clubs, favorite classes, that kinda thing? Oh, were you on any sports teams at your old school? You sure look like you work out.

Shayera sticks to the story she and Whippoorwill worked out in advance. "No, I've been home schooled all my life. I haven't played sports, but my guardian's big into health and fitness."

She hustles to keep up with Bronwyn, pulling out her tablet as she walks and checking the schedule. "I've got Chemistry next period, then English Lit after that. Rooms 322 and Annex 12." She turns the corner of the hallway and matches the track and field star's pace.

"Just show me the highlights, I guess? I'm going to need to know where the cafeteria and gym is for later," she suggests.

Bronwyn keeps up a rapid pace on the tour and in her explanations, though she does occasionally try to give a pause long enough for Shayera to respond.

Well hey, if you haven't done any sports before, this could be a great time to start! I'm on the track & field team, but there's soccer and gymnastics; (Oh! That's room 322 for later), a few girls are trying to get some sort of intramural rugby thing going, but we'll see if that goes anywhere.

I'm sorry. You must be thinking I'm trying to recruit you like a crazy person. She smiles sheepishly, I swear I'm not. I just think teams bring out the best in people, you know? Everyone working together for something good?

Pluuus She flings open the doors and gestures, We've got a really kick ass gym. Crazy state of the art, no idea how a high school ended up with this thing, musta been some sort of grant to invest in the youth who will be tomorrow's blah blah blah.

She gives Shayera a moment to take it in, and then, speaking more gently, she asks, So a guardian. How long have you been living with them? Are they your grandmom or something?

Shayera remains noncommittal regarding sports, and grows briefly silent when Bronwyn touches upon the benefits of a team. She does ooh a bit at the size of the gym, but she mentally crosses that option off, doubting Whippoorwill would let her play any sports.

"It's really nice," she comments, then she puts her face in her palm. "Understatement of the year, I know."

As they move on to the next part of the tour, Shayera remains neutral about the question on her guardianship. "No, it's more like a foster thing. I got pulled out of a... situation a few years ago. But it's fine now. All in the past." Whippoorwill had suggested she be vague and blasé about her past. Some students might get curious if she acted like her past was a big mystery, so she tried to sound bored with it. "I lucked out, and my guardian was able to pull enough strings to get me enrolled here. But the commute sucks."

She takes a look at the sports fields and huge -- for a high school -- bleachers set behind the school as they pass them by. "Halcyon... Hornets, right?" she asks, pointing at the big mascot painted on the side of the building. "I don't know if I'll be able to play sports, at least for a while. But is there anything else to do? Other groups? Maybe something else that I could get involved in? I've been told to find some sort of extra-curricular activities if I can."

As Bronwyn and Shayera look out at the gym Bronwyn confides, Yeah, it's really something. I've even heard some kids talking about holograms and stuff like that. Obviously they were joking, but it sure didn't sound like it...

Bronwyn doesn't look entirely convinced by Shayera's explanation about her guardian. I thought she said she was homeschooled her whole life. Did her guardian just keep whatever the 'situation' was going? Clearly she doesn't want to talk about it though...
Public transportation can be the worst! Where're you coming from? Depending on what train you're catching that could limit your after-school stuff.

"I come from Old Town. I took the sky rail through Midtown this morning. Took forever. I'll probably try the subway after school and see if that's quicker."

When Bronwyn mentions holograms, her mouth turns down in a frown. She knew Vick occasionally went to Halcyon High; she wondered if he'd been caught with his illusions.

Thinking of Vick made her stomach twist in that now familiar feeling. He hadn't stopped by since their time at the fair, and she couldn't really blame him. He'd gotten into trouble because of her. She sent him a few text messages hoping to open up a line of communication so she could apologize, but he must be really mad at her since she didn't hear anything back.

She forced herself to stop brooding over Vick's silence. She wondered perhaps if the gym was modified as part of the Gifted program. If so, she wouldn't get to experience it immediately. Whippoorwill, interested in giving her the full experience of a regular student, hadn't signed her up for any of the "electives." She was only in the Gifted program to give the specialized teachers a heads up.

It didn't really matter to her. Without her wings, she didn't feel "gifted" anyway, even though she still had her other physical abilities.

She blinks and realizes that she was still brooding and ignoring Bronwyn. She tries to show interest in this person she just met. "So, track and field? If you'd like me to, I can try out for something. Just, you know, whatever you're not the best at." She offers her a smile.

Ha! There's too many events for anyone to be the best at all of them. Though if I didn't have to hold back so much that might not be true...
I'm mainly a thrower and a runner though - I'm especially training for sprinting and hurdles right now, since I used to focus on cross country, but I love the javelin, and if I'm gonna really compete as a heptathlete, I've gotta get some mad hops.

Gradually it dawns on her what coming from Old Town means for Shayera, and Bronwyn blanches, Old Town? Jeez, you aren't kidding about that taking forever. That's kind of a rough neighborhood though, right? Do you come in with anyone, or have some bear-mace or something? Wait, no, they wouldn't let you bring that to school...
She abruptly realizes that her anxiety probably isn't helping anything, and quickly smooths her face. I mean, you made it here after all, maybe it's not that bad.

And if it is, I bet my big buddy Bran can help out.

Shayera shrugs her shoulders. "Old Town's fine. I actually like the buildings better there; they're closer together so the alleys are real narrow, and they've all got gargoyles or slanted roofs, or stone block designs. If you've ever tried parkour, you'd love it. Waaay more interesting than all the glass and steel of Midtown."

She looks especially nonchalant about the perceived danger of living in Old Town. "Besides, the giant robots and alien menaces always seem to hit Central Halcyon and Midtown, right?" she smiles, hoping that sounded like a joke. She wasn't totally sure what ordinary people thought about the fact that their city had been ground zero to no fewer than fourteen invasions from various dimensions, aliens, and alternate realities over the years. She was actually rather interested to know.

Many months before.

Things had been going so well.

Elijah's first month at Halcyon had been great. Just what the doctor ordered, as they say. Franklin wasn't a bad school, but Eli never felt like he fit in there. Things between him and Pete hadn't been great since Eli discovered his powers, and they'd barely spoken since freshman year started. Pete was just jealous, and it's not like it was Eli's fault he was a genetic experiment gone just wrong enough and Pete was a normal human with a mom that was actually there. It was hard to make new friends at Franklin. His best friend since elementary school had ditched him for having super powers, so what kind of idiot would share that with total strangers? He was different from all the other kids, but he couldn't tell any of them about it, and things just never seemed to click. But all that had changed since starting spring semester at Halcyon High.

From day one, things at Halcyon were better in every way. The campus was bigger, the facilities were better, and maybe it was just Eli, but he was pretty sure the girls were hotter too. Plus, it was an open secret that a lot of kids had powers like him. And, to top it all off, there was Bronwyn. Eli had been expecting they would send some obnoxious preppy class president-type to show him around, but instead he got to spend his first hour at Halcyon with a totally chill track star with killer legs, an independent personality, AND a functioning brain. And judging by the adorable giggle when he casually asked if she had a boyfriend, he was pretty sure she was single. So far, so smooth.

He was strictly on observation-only status with the Gifted program for the first semester, so he wouldn't be enrolled in any special classes until sophomore year, but that was just fine with Eli. Classes were awesome - they must have had to adjust the curriculum to account for supergenius teen supers, because he actually had to crack a book once or twice before his first tests, and he felt like he was learning new material for the first time since middle school. And he must have made a good impression on Bronwyn (girls love it when you can guess what culture their names are from), because she'd actually deigned to hang out with him after their first meeting. She seemed really down to earth, and he felt like they had a real connection. He had met some of her other friends, too. Mary-Beth was a total nerd, especially about mythology, but in a cool way. She'd even taught him a thing or two - apparently the people of Melanesia had a myth about a magical eel that could make tidal waves with its tail. Elijah couldn't even find Melanesia on a map. He couldn't get much of a read on Marco. He never seemed to be around when Eli was with Bronwyn, but that didn't bother Eli much. He had a suspicion that Marco had a crush on Bronwyn, and any time he was around, Eli's adrenal gland started overreacting.

Things were going well enough that Eli was thinking about asking Bronwyn to be his date for the upcoming dance. He had the perfect ask all planned out - when school let out for the day he would just so happen to be on the side of the school where her last class was and offer to walk her to practice. The route to the track field conveniently took them past the giant banner announcing the dance, and he could ever so casually ask if she had plans to go with anyone. She'd say no and he'd make a joke about how dances were lame anyway, but hey, maybe going could be some ironic fun, and how would she like to go with him? Completely, totally, one-hundred-percent fool-proof.

His plan went off without a hitch. He'd had to come up with an excuse for getting out of class early and dump some epinephrine into his system so he could get to the other side of the school in time, but no big. And then he'd had to throw in some acetylcholine and a little serotonin to get his heart-rate to slow down, but no sweat. Actually, the acetylcholine did increase his his perspiration, so he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before giving the hair a once-over just as the bell rang. Aaaand there was Bronwyn, as expected. They were walking, they were talking, an extra little shot of some depressant cocktail to counteract those rising cortisol levels and calm his nerves, hey check out that sign for the dance, you thinking about going? "Yeah, me nei- oh. Marco asked you. Cool." Be cool, you're cool, play it off, keep that adrenaline under control, manage that corti - s#$& s@*@ s**% not a f#*+ing discharge!

He needed some time alone, so he'd called his dad and told him he was going to walk home instead. Sometimes he liked to run the three or so miles so he could practice with his powers - his best time so far was just under 13 minutes, and he was pretty sure he'd be able to get it lower. But today, he was taking it nice and slow, giving himself plenty of time to beat himself up. On the plus side, he didn't have to remember whatever meltdown he must have had after his discharge. On the downside, whatever it was, it was bad enough that he had erased his own memory of it afterward and it still tied his stomach in knots. Of course you'd have a discharge right then, they ALWAYS happen at the WORST possible moment! I mean really, you didn't see this one coming? F~+%ing Marco, OF COURSE he asked her. He was so mad, he just wanted to punch something, but the last time he punched a wall when he was angry he broke his thumb for a week. Where was a random alley mugging or purse-snatcher when you needed one?

Click click click. PSSSSSSSSSSHHHH. PSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH. Click click click. PSSSSSSHHHHH. What was that? It sounds like...spray paint?

Oh yes. There IS a G-d! "Nice paint-job, a@#+~@&! How'd you like a new face to go with it?

Vick was actually having a good day. He had made it through breakfast without getting yelled at, made it through most of his classes before he bailed. He even managed to get a free lunch after he stopped some jerk from robbing the local deli.

Now he was hanging by a single foot from a highway overpass, a can of spraypaint in each hand. Graffiti was his therapy. It was his jam.

And then some a@%&++! had to ruin it.

He didn't really notice the guy was talking about him until they said something about needing a new face.
He turned away from the mural he was working on; a costumed dude reaching out through a broken mirror. Remember Northstar was scrawled across the bottom.

"What? Me?" he says, still dangling. "Obviously you're mistaken. This face is perfect just as it is. Now get outta here: im working." he shakes his head and turns back to the mural.
"Punks these days... No respect for art!"

-Posted with Wayfinder

Wingblade's first day.

I haven't done any parkour, maybe we could go for a run some time.

If you want to hang out later, I usually take my lunch to the tables outside of the cafeteria. Either way, let me give you my number. She holds out her hand for Shayera's phone and smiles, Team or no team, you've gotta start off a new school with at least one friend.

My first day

Shayera smiles when Bronwyn offers her friendship. She passes her phone over to her, thinking, That was easy. She wasn't sure why she had thought making friends of normal people would be hard.

"Good. I mean, great. So, yeah, let's get to class." She reclaims her phone and starts walking to chem, checking her schedule once more. "It looks like I have Mr. Knight," she says somewhat disappointed that she wouldn't be in the same class with her new friend.

"Oh, well. I'll see you at lunch," She says as she veers off toward her classroom.

Shayera settled into chemistry fairly quickly, her earlier tutoring having hit the hard sciences fairly strong. She struggled a bit more in English Lit, the class being in the middle of Shakespeare's Hamlet. She would have to do a fair bit of reading to get to where the rest of the class was.

When that class broke for lunch, she followed the steady stream of students to the cafeteria where she fell in line to purchase her salad and grilled chicken breast.

She scans the throngs of students for sight of Vick, but he was either in another lunch period or skipping again that day. Then she tries to find Bronwyn, remembering that she liked to eat outside. She wanders around a bit until she picks up the scent of the shampoo the track and field star had used that morning.

"Hey," she says coming up to her, seeing that she's surrounded by other friends. Shayera suddenly slows up, wondering if she would be intruding on their animated conversation. She pauses before sitting down with them.

How am I the punk? Eli wonders to himself. "More like no respect for public property!" The guy wasn't even going to bother pulling himself up to do this properly. If he had wanted to apprehend the guy, that would be fine, but he was really just looking for an excuse to hit somebody. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to look at people who are talking to you?" Juicing up his adrenaline and testosterone, Elijah reaches down and jerks the guy up by the leg...hard. That's a low blow, right there. If this weren't PvP, I'd think this would be a Provoke Someone move, but I'm not sure what protocol is here.

Wingblade's First Day

Chemistry didn't really grab Bronwyn's attention today. It wasn't really her favorite subject to begin with, and ever since she and Marco had started dating, having him in her eye-line was definitely a distraction...

She shook herself back to paying attention to the teacher, No half-assing this. Focus! and resumed her notes. Sketches of Marco would not be a good substitute for having this down cold when she took the AP, no matter if she could get his eyes perfect.

Anyways, she had something more important than homework or a cute boy to take care of tonight, and if she couldn't spare the time for chem tonight, she needed to use this time well.

Later on at the lunch-tables

I'm starting to get a little sick of chicken salad. I'm switching my make-ahead to tuna. Marco made a face. Fine, fine, tuna salad with a side of breath mints! She put on an arch expression and a dreadful "British" accent, If that is pleasing to milord, before sticking out her tongue defiantly.

Oh, guys this is Shayera, the new girl I mentioned. Shayera, this is Mary-Beth, Kyle, Jacob, Ronnie (not Veronica, no matter what gets called in attendance), and my boyfriend Marco. Ronnie & Marco are track-brats too. The rest just wish they were!

How am I the punk? Eli wonders to himself. "More like no respect for public property!" The guy wasn't even going to bother pulling himself up to do this properly. If he had wanted to apprehend the guy, that would be fine, but he was really just looking for an excuse to hit somebody. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to look at people who are talking to you?" Juicing up his adrenaline and testosterone, Elijah reaches down and jerks the guy up by the leg...hard. That's a low blow, right there. If this weren't PvP, I'd think this would be a Provoke Someone move, but I'm not sure what protocol is here.

Hashtag is lifted up in the air easily (because, really, how much do you think a skinny asian kid weighs), and sighs as he looks at the guy again. He sighs, tossing the spraypaint cans aside with casual disdain.

"Alright. First thing's first. Its a public works project. Theyre crap. I was making it look pretty. Secondly, this is Halcyon city. You gotta be careful who you pick fights with, bruh."

Are you watching closely?: 2d6 + 3 ⇒ (2, 1) + 3 = 6
Well nothing happens.

For a moment he starts to squirm in Bioshock's grip, but then he stops. "Whoo... Headrush." he mutters.

-Posted with Wayfinder

First Day

Shayera smiles as she takes a seat, nodding at each of the other students as they're introduced. She mostly observes the interplay between the six friends, answering their questions politely but not offering much detail beyond what Bronwyn had already learned.

She wasn't trying to be distant, but she had no shared frame of reference in their shared experiences. She didn't know any of the names and situations that peppered their conversation. She couldn't even share a similar or tangential anecdote, because she didn't have anything to share that didn't involve super villains or secret science experiments.

Eventually, lunch ended, and Shayera parted from the group of friends wondering if she left any sort of positive impression with them.

She attended her remaining classes absorbing the knowledge being offered, though it began to dawn upon her that school was going to dominate her life for the foreseeable future.

============

Shayera was sitting on one of the stone benches, swiping absently through the pages of Hamlet on her tablet after the final bell rang. The students rushed past her in their quest to vacate the campus. She stared at the archaic language on the screen while she tugged on the harness beneath her shirt. She was going to have to read and understand those strange words. She was going to have to get used to not having wings. Something caught in her throat and she felt like crying.

An overwhelming urge pressed upon her to forget relying on the public transportation and just fly back home, but Whippoorwill had made her promise. Just for a while. To get the sense of what an ordinary student would have to endure.

She felt another urge to go to the fields behind the school to see if she could find Bronwyn and see about joining a sports team. But that could potentially take hours, especially if they wanted her to try out for something. And what she really wanted was to feel the weight of her wings on her back again. To fly.

She needed to fly.

She finally pushed herself to her feet and used them to walk down the street to the first stop of the public transport system. Even though Whippoorwill had advised her to take the sky-rail through Midtown, she decided to take the more direct subway straight to Old Town. She was already following her orders to stay grounded, that was the best she was going to get on her first day.

Wingblade's First Day

Bronwyn headed to the locker room after classes, but she couldn't bring herself to change into her track clothes.

I've gotta make sure she gets home okay.

Maybe I'm just being crazy.
Shayera didn't seem scared or worried by taking the train alone.
She probably knows what she's doing.
But maybe she's wrong.
She's just, she's like this wounded bird, or no, a bird that was hurt, and now it can finally fly, but it doesn't remember how.
What if something happened?
Even if she got away, even if she was okay, how would she feel about the world?
I don't know what her "situation" was, but I don't have to be a rocket surgeon to know she's not comfortable with people.
She has to know that it's okay out here.

Hey Ronnie, I uh... well...

You're skipping out on practice again? Coach is gonna be pi-issed.

I know. I know, but look I can't - It's important.

It better be. Talent's good, but if you don't put in the work, that's all you'll have.

I know. I... Sorry.

She jogged out to a train station, about as fast as she let herself run in practice. Should still be fast enough to catch the train.
I'll hang back, make sure she doesn't see me, but if there's any trouble... She grips the tiny charm that dangles from her bracelet.

I'll be ready.

The subway was initially crowded with Halcyon High students for the first few stops. Shayera settles into a seat and observes that most of her fellow students are tapping away on their cell phones, so she pulls out her tablet again to try to decipher Shakespeare.

From time to time, she catches a whiff of Bronwyn's shampoo, but she doesn't bother to investigate. Lots of people use that shampoo. You're being silly. She's off being a track star.

At the end of the Northside line, she gets off with the remaining students and changes tracks to wait for the Old Town line to show up. There's a distinct change in the atmosphere once the students flow out of the station. It becomes quieter, and the few people waiting to head to Old Town are silent and standoffish. Shayera picks an empty bench and continues to read her Shakespeare, trying to ignore that nagging scent of shampoo that she keeps detecting.

Finally the battered rail arrives and the passengers file on. The clean scent of shampoo is washed away in the stench of urine, sweat and garbage. Shayera picks the cleanest seat and again tries to focus on her schoolwork as the Old Town line makes its stops along the way.

Whippoorwill's training hadn't been forgotten, so when a group of individuals get on who are obviously acting like they were not together she notices. Further, she catches glimpses of tattoos of various suits of playing cards on their necks or wrists.

Great. It's the Busted Flush Mob. Well, maybe they're just here for a ride, she thinks. Even if they weren't, she couldn't just attack them without provocation or evidence they had just committed or were about to commit a crime.

The Busted Flush Mob was a gang that employed a playing card theme, and often worked as muscle for bigger fish. Sometimes they had schemes all on their own, but they were fairly innocuous, especially compared to some of the heavies that the Defenders had to deal with on a routine basis.

Shayera avoids eye contact just like the other passengers do. She keeps her eyes fixed upon her tablet and let her other senses work. There's that shampoo again.

Suddenly, the train begins slowing down rapidly, and in unison the Busted Flush Mob all put on masks. One of them stands up and produces a technical device that is roughly shaped like a club from the playing card. "Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, you won't feel a thing," he announces and pushes a button on the device.

A pulse of energy emanates from the club, and all the passengers are suddenly immobilized. "Excellent work, Mr. Club," says one.

"Thank you, Five-Spade. This will be easy. And they shouldn't remember anything. Let's get started."

As the gang members begin relieving the passengers of their belongings, Shayera fights to recover. Her enhanced physiology helped her resist the initial pulse, but whatever strange energy was still being emitted made her movement slow and painful.

One of them notices the movement. "Hey, Ten-Heart, this one's still awake."

"Then put her to sleep the old fashioned way."

Shayera stands up painfully, pulling her shirt over her head, exposing the harness around her torso.

"Sit down, girl, you can barely stand. You keep it up, you'll get really hurt," says a tall woman with a ten of hearts on her mask. "Wait, why are you taking your shirt off?"

"Iss new," she fights out through gritted teeth. "Don' wnt 't rrrpd."

Her trembling hand flips the switch on her harness, and despite the pain, Wingblade smiles.

See this is just bad luck. Even Coach wouldn't call this karma.

Bronwyn groaned as she strained to slowly lower herself to the ground, Good thing I was already trying to keep out of sight. I just need one moment more.

With fingers made fumbling by the strange energy, Bronwyn plucks at the tiny charm on her bracelet, and she changes once more.

It happens so quickly that she's never really been sure whether her body actually shifted and stretched, or it it was just put Somewhere Else while she was Bran. Maybe some time she'd do some experiments, but today she had a different duty to uphold.

Bran the Blessed had never failed in his duties.

The strange energy Mr. Club wielded still had some hold on Bran's body, but its influence ebbed now that Gae-Dearg was restored. His hauberk rustled and clinked softly as he drew himself to his full height, nearly scraping against the top of the train car.

It was no accident that in more storied days, Bran the Blessed had been termed a Giant.

What the hell is Shayera doing? How is she even moving? Doesn't matter, draw their attention, say something intimidating, something knighty.

Hold! Your villainy will not be permitted. Stand down, and you will be spared the pains of the defeat you have earned. Bran's voice boomed out, echoing strangely from his helm, large even on his mighty frame.
Gae-Dearg shone bright in his hands.

Provoke the Flushes to focus on Bran: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 5) + 1 = 8

Wait, does she have wings?!

I think we're in freeform storytelling; I doubt we really need to roll. Unless you want to see how well you did something, I suppose.

The booming, accented voice echoing from the other end of the car was just weird to Wingblade. It had no place in the squalid subway car, sounding clear and full of strength.

The masks of the Busted Flush Mob hide their faces, but their body language shows momentary confusion. Several turn to face the newcomer's challenge while Ten-Heart takes a step back when her wings flare into reality again.

One of them shouts, "Watch it! He's got a spear!"

"Wings? Forget this! We should get out of here," mutters Five-Spade.

Mr. Club calmly responds, "King D won't like it. The girl can barely stand. Deuces, help Heart. The rest of you, deal with this one. He may think he's a knight, but we're the kings and queens."

Unable to see past the Flushes to get an idea of who this 'knight' is, Wingblade focuses on the Ten of Hearts. She takes an unsteady step and keeps her wings flared out and fanned in a defensive formation. Suddenly, the train's brakes catch and everyone is pitched forward. Wingblade's foot slips and she has to spread her wings out to catch on the seats to avoid falling on her back.

Heart seizes the opening and sends a hard kick into her midsection. When she doubles over, the Flush pulls out a tonfa and brings it down hard over her head. Wingblade falls into a heap. "Told you to stay down," she says.

Heart turns to see how the other Flushes are doing against the knight, but the two Deuces, one a spade and one a club, point to the winged girl pushing herself up. A stream of blood from her scalp slows, then stops.

"Okay, you heal. Just means you're going to get hurt a lot," Heart says as she raises the tonfa up for another blow. Wingblade's metal feathers flash and deflect the blow, but the woman had already brought her foot up which connected with Wingblade's hip. Forcing her down on one knee, Heart steps forward inside the reach of the sharp tips of the blades and she strikes her shoulder hard with the blunt end of the tonfa.

Pain explodes again and again as Wingblade endures a savage beating. The pulsing energy that had knocked out the rest of the passengers had her woozy and sluggish. She couldn't deploy her wings without risking seriously hurting the Flushes, and she wasn't able to easily deflect Heart's attacks.

"If you keep getting up, I'm going to have to start breaking bones. Honestly, what are you trying to do here?"

Wingblade takes another blow across the face from the tonfa and spits out a mouthful of blood. "Tryin' not t' kill you," she mumbles, then lashes out with her wings that forces Heart to fall back. She steps forward again, wings slashing, and this time she catches the tonfa in between two blades and it falls into pieces. She grins fiercely through her bloodied face.

Then the two Deuces step up, flanking Heart, and each point a pair of semiautomatic pistols at her. "Let's see if you can heal from these," they say in unison.

Bran jabs with his spear in a threatening posture for a few long moments, stalling while he drains the power of Mr. Club's disabling field until the other passengers begin to stir.

Once he can see them moving, he jerks on the emergency brakes and kicks out the door.

He bellows, Move! Help those among you who cannot! and dives into a pile of Flushes sending them flying - and clearing his view of the Deuces.

Shayera, no!

Either she was getting used to the disabling field or it was losing power, she notices. The pain from the field had lessened, and she could deal with the pain from her injuries.

She hears her name called out as she stares down the four barrels. How does knight-guy know my name? she thinks briefly before she folds up her wings behind her.

She'd been shot before. In fact, she'd survived hails of bullets by using her wings as shields against the incoming fire. But Whippoorwill had cautioned her about ricochets and to be mindful of both bystanders and the shooters who may not be so bulletproof.

She sees passengers slowly getting up and evacuating, but they were still in danger. So trying to buy time, she steps back and holds her hands up. "Cheaters," she accuses.

All the while she tries not to look at the big man in armor who is coming up behind them.

Bioshock grins as he holds the other boy helplessly aloft. "Oh, you think that's a headrush? Try this on for size!" With his other hand, he pulls the kid's sock down enough to make skin-to-skin contact. Closing his eyes, Bioshock can feel his way along the punk's central nervous system, mapping it in an instant. "I call this one 'signal jamming'," he says. Targeting the sensory receptors, he sends a shock to the system, flooding the kid's brain with bogus signals. No specific constructs/illusions, just unpleasant yet painless sensory overload. Pins-and-needles, visual and audial disruption like TV static, etc.

With the kid incapacitated temporarily, Bioshock confiscates the spray paint, punching a hole in the cans with his thumb before tossing them away. After his clean-up work, he leans against the railing, waiting for the tagger to regain his senses. Eli still had some steam to blow off, and with luck, the other guy would be in the mood to take a few swings.

oooh. Nice move. A bad idea, but a nice move.

Vicks eyes close as the guy scrambles his senses. "Hurk!" he gags.

Gotta get out. he thinks. He tries to focus on a place to go, but just as he starts the 'port his focus slides.

Hashtag and Bioshock go for a Riiiiiiiiide. Not only is it a very nauseating first teleport for bioshock, but its also way bumpier and he spends "longer" in the space between than he should. Bioshock catches flashes of an alternate world that lies shattered into a kaleidoscope of potential pasts and futures. And then snap it's gone.

A moment passes. They pop into existence again, but the air is cold and incredibly thin here. Vick catches a glimpse of the curvature of the earth before he starts to vomit and they start falling.

From a long, long way up.

Lets escalate this a bit.

-Posted with Wayfinder

Is she crazy? God, I don't even know if I'm bulletproof. Am I crazy? Well, she's got them distracted for a moment, better use it.

Bran drives his spear into the floor of the car, then reaches out and tears a row of seats from the train and flings it into the Deuces before following with an eager leap!

Just gotta keep the shooters off balance!

Man, the juxtaposition between the two scenes is interesting. They could be at the opposite ends of the same fight, like different cars on a train or something.

Dual pistol wielding may look cool, but it's very inaccurate, Whippoorwill had taught her. Wingblade waited for her moment, and the knight had given it. The uprooted chairs crash into the Deuces just as she dives at their knees. They fire wildly at her. She actually takes a couple grazing shots but they hardly register as she flips on her back and extends her wings. The powerful metallic musculature powers her legs into a devastating kick that knocks one of the Deuces off his feet. The other, she notices, is lying beneath the mangled subway benches moaning.

That left Ten of Hearts, who looks back and forth between Wingblade and the knight. She blows a kiss at the armored man and dives out the window.

Wingblade clutches at a spot on her side where she can feel her ribs knitting back together. She slowly sits down on one of the intact benches. "Ow."

She smiles weakly at the knight. "Thanks for your help. Have we met before?"

Bran is very glad that his full-face helm helps to hide his discomfort at this question.

No. We have not. Why did I say her name?! I am Bran the Blessed. I was asked to watch over you by... an acquaintance of mine, who was concerned you might run into trouble on your way home today. It appears she was more... Ugh what sounds like a knight-y thing to say?! prophetic than I had imagined.

Should we go somewhere else? I do not know if you wish to be so... Half-naked? identifiable.

He begins to wrap some of the already damaged pieces of train around the dazed and battered Flushes.

I will see to it that they do not escape justice nonetheless.

Wingblade squints at Bran while he binds the captured Flushes. He had known she would be riding the subway rather than the sky rail, so that eliminated Whippoorwill -- to say nothing about the fact there would have been no need to be evasive over who the acquaintance was. So really that only left one other person.

She looks down at her blood-streaked sports bra, but pauses before she throws the switch on her harness. The knight seemed concerned about anyone recognizing her, but she wasn't sure why. "The only person here who knows me is you, Bran." She stands slowly, testing her arm movement. "But yeah, we should go. Cops are going to be here soon, so unless you want to spend all evening giving statements let's get moving."

She picks up her pack and slides her tablet inside, then does the same with her shirt, being careful not to get blood all over it. "I need to bring one of my tank tops next time, if this keeps happening."

She leans out the window and sees that a station was not far away. The passengers had been heading in that direction since escaping the train. She also sees a smaller surface access ladder. "You want to go topside? Or do you have any other place in mind?"

Eli's stomach starts doing flip-flops as the world around him becomes incomprehensible. If he had more time to process, he might have thought his powers had just been reflected back at him, but Bioshock's brain is overwhelmed as dozens of images coalesce into and out of focus. As his eyes pan across the non-Euclidean temporal landscape, he sees Egyptian kings being buried in vast catacombs, Charlegmane falling to the armies of Moorish Spain, Nazi Germany dropping nuclear weapons on London, and a grim world conquered by a man who looks strangely similar to the figure from the underpass graffiti.

Just as Eli begins to wrap his mind around his unfathomable new existence, everything his ever was or will be is shattered and thrust back into the cold of the real. The new sights and sounds - the alternating views of earth and sky, the deafening rush of wind passing by - are only barely easier to process. His rotation stabilizes and his body begins responding to the realization that he's hurtling toward the ground with sheer terror. Eli can feel his glands start pumping every kind of stimulating hormone and neurotransmitter into his bloodstream. Freaking out, he squeezes his eyes closed and tries to block out the sound of the wind while he attempts to counteracts his body's fear response.

When he opens his eyes again, the world has become still and the sound of the wind has dulled. He takes the scene in with new eyes, suddenly detached. He sees the punk - really a kid now that has a clear look, probably not much older than Eli himself - vomiting in slow-motion. Clearly, he's no more in control of the situation than Eli at the moment. So that's he what he meant about picking fights. It's obvious that they're somewhere high above the planet - judging by the temperature, probably near the bottom of the stratosphere. Whatever it was, it wasn't me. Dude must be a teleporter. Events continue to unfold in slow-motion, and even his physical body seems to respond sluggishly. Did he slow down time too? Or am I just... thinking faster? As he wastes valuable time pondering this question, the roaring in his ears slowly returns and his fingers wiggle again normally. Whipping his head around, he shouts inaudibly at the other guy. Unable to even hear himself, he throws his arm out to punch some sense into the kid, but can barely even make contact. As they continue falling, he tries to angle himself closer to grab hold. Something something desperate measures. Here goes everything! Making skin-to-skin contact with the kid, Bioshock tries something he's wondered about but never had the opportunity to try - hijacking somebody else's powers.

Unleash Your Powers: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 4) + 1 = 7 That's a hit, and I'll mark Afraid.

Bioshock's second trip is somehow even worse than his first. Pain wracks his body as though he were shattered like glass, and he's thrust into another pseudo-reality of warped causalities. As he's shattered apart, the images tesselate themselves together, as though he and the new images were made of the same pieces, and he's helpless to do anything but watch a grotesque scene out of his own nightmares. He sees something suspended in a glowing vat of electrolytic fluid, a shriveled husk of a human body that he implicitly understands to be himself, watched over by shadowy figures in lab coats, one of whom is undoubtedly his own mother. Perhaps the him in the vat is dead, but deep down he knows he can't be - death would be better than whatever the lab coats want to do with him. Doom is coming for him.

After too long, the scene fades shard by shard, and the pain begins to subside as if he's being put back together on the other side of it all. When they finally arrive back on terra firma, it's Eli's turn to vomit as his body re-establishes unconscious control of his nervous system. He collapses to the ground and begins shaking uncontrollably next to the puddle of his gastrointestinal fluids. "Ohmyg-d Ohmyg-d Ohmyg-d...!"

I normally just go transform in an alley. I don't know how to be inconspicuous as Bran!

Sure, Bran coughs, the ladder should be fine. Were the Busted Flush Mob seeking you out, or was this mere happenstance?

"I think it's just coincidence. They seemed to have a routine going: knock people out and rob them while they're unconscious. I wonder how long they'd been at it. I really don't think they knew who I was. I've never been allowed to fight them before -- too dangerous." She pauses as she's climbing up the ladder and looks down at Bran with a smile. "For them."

When she slices open the padlock to get the door open, the surface reveals them to be in Rustside, the faded industrial zone full of gutted out factories, foundries, and old rail yards. She pulls Bran down a broken access road toward a couple derelict plants as a number of police cruisers streak by.

She hops up on a loading dock and sits on a precarious rail with no fear of falling. Most of her cuts and abrasions were healed, and the bruises were already showing signs of fading. "So, 'Bran the Blessed,' huh? Blessed by who, exactly? I can't say that I've heard of you, but that's probably my fault. I haven't been paying a whole of attention to the super hero game lately. But you're fairly new, right?"

Hashtag drops to the ground upon arrival, thankful that they had not conserved momentum when they ported back down. It might have looked peaceful and still, but they had already reached terminal velocity.

He flops onto his back, his chest heaving. The other guy finally laying down too. From the look of it, he hadn't wanted to travel there either.

"See... Bad idea..." he manages to pant out. "You had to... Had to mess with my powers. Of course... Not fun, is it?"

He tries to roll on his side. The disorientation he feels is eventually overcome and he staggers to his feet. "Don't do that again... Ugh... We could have... Ended up splinched or in a wall or something... Oh jeez I gotta pee."

Bioshock hears him stagger to a nearby building and rather crudely handle his business. Though struck with fear, the absurdity of it all gives him enough mental room to clear his head. The fear lingers, but at least now he can think.

"I'm a regular around here. Wait, we are... Yeah, here too i guess." Vick explains. "I might take some liberty with the spraypaint, but I also keep the areas clear of dope pushers and small gang bangers. Miz Horowitz sometimes gives me her leftover casserole since her husband passed. Theres a pair of twins a few blocks away who had me decorate their room. This cruddier side of town isnt that bad."

It takes a moment, but now that he isnt upside down or flailing through space, and youre not pissed, you do remember of a teleporting, illusion-wielding hero that was seen working with other high school aged heroes. It was commonly known that this kid, moniker of "Hashtag", is the son of the hero-killing villain, Blink.

Vick looks down at you and hold out a hand. "You all right, dude? Need a hospital?"

-Posted with Wayfinder

Condition(s): None

Atoms was at school, with the rest of the supers in the Halcyon High program, when the call from Matrix came.

"Ms. Maharn?", says Atoms, getting up from his desk and signaling the teacher with a raise of his hand. "I'm checking out for the day."

Beverly Maharn nods at Atoms, waving him out the door, who doesn't 'fly out' the classroom as much as 'disappear in a flash'. As might be expected with a school full of superheroes, sometimes students were called away to help their teams or mentors. The school's 'check out' system allowed for quick departures without disrupting a class.

Within moments, Atoms was in space and moving towards an intercept point provided by calculations from the early warning satellite.

_____

"Do we have any idea what this object is?", asks Atoms, waiting at the point.

Except his mouth doesn't open, nor does he 'speak' in a traditional sense; there is no air in space for sound to travel through. Instead, Atoms creates vibrations with his body, which vibrate a sensor on his communicator–made by Whipporwill's tech guy, 'Whetstone', who was all too excited about making it after learning that Atoms had the ability to control his own molecules–and sent to Matrix, who can both translate it and send a vibration message back. It allowed for quick and silent communication between Atoms and Defender HQ, but a clear downside was that it was like talking in binary or rapidfire morse code, and only Atoms, Matrix, or a computer could make sense of the messages.

"Unclear," replies Matrix. "All we know is that it's small and moving very fast. Be ready for anything."

The object streaks past the point, but Atoms immediately catches up and matches speed with it, a perk of being an energy-infused being. Only... the object isn't a it, but rather a her. Atoms wondered how she got up here, but right now the important was finding out how to get her down safely, or whether she could do so on her own power. After all, there were plenty of fliers in Halcyon City who could fly out here, and it wasn't against a crime to head into space.

Atoms flies a bit faster, moving ahead of the girl, before turning to look back at her. "Is she conscious?"

Falling.

If there is one thing that unites most forces in the universe, super powered or not, it's that falling sucks.

Skuld blinked her eyes, trying to figure out where she was. She saw something...blue-ish approaching her exceptionally fast.

That's odd, she thought, Father never said anything about big blue orbs on Midgard.

As her head started to clear, she saw that there was a flying suit of armor standing in front of her. She tried to speak, but something in the...wait, why am I in the void? she thought, and then almost immediately panic started to set in. What has happened to Midgard? Have I failed even before I began?

Whatever her next thought was, it was interrupted by her crashing into the armored warrior. There was a tangling of limbs and by the time they were righted, both were in the upper atmosphere.

Finally able to draw a breath, Skuld asked