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WORM (IC - Superhero - Open)

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Lunas Legion
Post Czar
 
Posts: 30357
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

WORM (IC - Superhero - Open)

Postby Lunas Legion » Fri Feb 23, 2018 7:13 am

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'I never asked for powers. Never wanted them in the first place. But powers don't ask, they just happen. Then, well, what you do with them, that's all up to you. Plenty of options, most of them bad, all with messy ends. After all, there's no such thing as a retired cape.'




March 1st, 2011
Protectorate Department N Headquarters
Toronto, ON, Canada


If there was ever a time that Narwhal regretted her line of work, it was now. Half-seven in the morning, and here she was in her office, finishing off the final mound of paperwork.

Her office was a spartan thing; walls plain but for a pair of flags, the first Canada's, the second the Guild's, a white G on a pale blue background. A desk, the monitor atop it lit up, a small raised tinkertech hologram projector off to one side, and of course, the last few sheets of paperwork. Situation reports, threat evaluations, threat re-evaluations, both for Department N and the Guild as a whole. The staff did their best to condense the information, but she'd had a backlog of six days to catch up on.

Damn Simurgh Protocols.

"Awake so early, Narwhal?"

She hadn't even noticed the projector turn on as Dragon's slightly distorted but distinctly Newfoundlander voice spoke. She glanced at the hologram of Dragon's face, nodding, before setting back to work.

"I tried to sleep, but the jet lag was too much, so I figured I might as well be productive." She shrugged. "How're you doing?"

"Better than you. The prediction system is coming along quite nicely, I think. No notable developments in the Birdcage, the trans-Continental S-class threats are behaving as usual, and Department NW is handling itself just fine."

"I don't know where you get the time to do all of it." Narwhal said, scribbling down another recommendation on how to address the issue of the Suez Canal and safeguards against African warlords.

"Properly regulated sleep schedules." Dragon's avatar smiled. "Not quite as rigorous as Armsmaster's, but I keep to them religiously."

"Ah. Might have to ask you to make one for me. Seems like I spend half my time in this office checking reports and intel analysis."

"Such is the life of our glorious leader."

"Ha. Hmm." She stared down intently at the report.

"Anything interesting?" Dragon asked.

"Arrows says we've got two of Heartbreaker's lot in town, thinks they're trying to hunt down some of his other missing children."

"Which two?"

"Watchdog and Panic, he thinks they're tracking Cherish, or less likely, Hijack, given the former is believed to have passed through Toronto a week or two ago while we've heard nothing about the latter for at least a year, if not longer." While she was in Australia, funnily enough. Convenient for Cherish. "Saint give you any trouble recently?"

"Not for a while. I think he's been strapped for cash recently."

"Good to know, good to know."

She settled back into the steady rhythm of paperwork, talking to Dragon in the background. Ah, Toronto. Home.



March 1st, 2011
Queen Elizabeth Highway
ON, Canada


It was always a dicey thing trying to cross the US-Canadian border. Either you went north, to the border in Vermont, New Hampshire or Maine and tried to cross that illegally, which was easy enough given how long it was and how undermanned the border service on both sides of the border was or you bribed your way across the Niagara River.

She wasn't too fond of either option, so they'd crossed the Niagra River illegally at 3 AM in the morning over the old Michigan Central Railway Bridge. Yes, it had some walls topped with barbed wire, but it wasn't like walls had ever stopped her. Border security was no match for powers.

Then it was just a matter of finding a car big enough to fit them all in with blacked-out windows, renting it and they were on their way to Toronto.

Gregor and Newter sat in the seats in the boot, snoozing away, while Elle and Emily were in the middle, the former sleeping happily with her head on the latter's lap, who was humming along quietly to whatever music was playing in her headphones.

She didn't like dragging them on long road trips, but it wasn't every day you heard of a potential unmutated Case 53 so close to home, and if they found nothing, well, there was always that one over in Las Vegas.
Last edited by William Slim Wed Dec 14 1970 10:35 pm, edited 35 times in total.

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Faal Lot Himdah
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 20081
Founded: Jun 12, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Fri Feb 23, 2018 9:13 am

Sic Vita Est
Roof of the Leslie Dan Faulty of Pharmacy
Toronto, ON, Canada
Taji Chayse
Kagenotsuki




Today was the day. A week or so ago, she was hired for a job. Who hired her, well, it didn't matter. A disgruntaled voter, a rival, a lover, a spouse, no matter who it was, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she had a job to do. A fairly high profile one at that. Which was why she was suited up, with Longinus, looking down on the entrance to the Legislative Assembly of Ontario, waiting for her target.

She spent the past week, watching her target, getting to know her target's daily schedule. It helped that her target this time around was increbibly predictable, as her target kept to a strict schedule. Every building her target entered, she had either watched from a distance, or entered as well. While she could have planned to take out her target while they were at home, her client requested that the death be public.

Thirty seconds she thought to herself as she repositioned herself into a slightly more comfortable position. Chayse watched the signature heat profile of her target approach slowly approach the door.

Twenty seconds she thought as she steadied her breath. The target was nearly to the door.

Ten. Her finger was on the trigger, ready to fire.

Five. Time seemed to slow down sufficiently as the target stepped out.

"One." She whispered and pulled the trigger. She watched as the bullet flew true, and made contact with her target. There would be no way to say that the bullet made a clean shot through the head, simply because there was no head. Well, there was a head, but it was all over the area around where the freshly deceased MPP's body hit the ground. "Sic vita est."

With that she stood up, and disappeared. The killing of a MPP definitely would not go unnoticed.



Ad Hoc
Doctor Slaine's Office/Home
Toronto, ON, Canada
Doctor Moira Slaine
Mirage




"I'll see you next week." Moira said as she waved off her last appointment for the day. As soon as they were gone, she re-entered her home, closing the door behind her. The smile she had was now gone as she sighed and walked back into her office. "Another day... another load of bloody issues... And not interesting. Always the same thing. Over and over again."

"Boring. Boring. Boring... actually that one was a wee bit interesting... at the time. Now its like all the rest, boring. When am I going to see something interesting..." She said as she grabbed a few files and started flipping through them, thowing them back on the desk as she did so. Sighing, she left the office, and left for her room. "Guess, I'll just have to work doubly hard and find something interesting in town..."

And with that, Moira was no more for the day, a Mirage had woke, and left the house via the open window, and into the city.



Morior Invictus
Protectorate Department N Headquarters
Toronto, ON, Canada
Thaddeus Ryker
Inviticus




Paper work. There was so much paper work. That's all Thaddeus could think as he sat at his desk, doing such work. Now, he was used to this amount of paper work, since after all he was a nightmare for the PR department. But even though he was used to the amount of paper work, it didn't mean he like doing it.

"How many times have we had this talk?" Thaddeus muttered, mimiking the PR department, "Like it matters. They didn't give me a choice. It was my life or theirs.... and personally I enjoy living. Why can't people understand that? Well, then again, I probably could have solved it without tearing them limb from limb...."
#BlameVoid
Currently: Something is rising...
A VeryProudCanadian
Charlia wrote:Faal Lot Himdah - A wizard. Possibly evil. Seen associating with Charlia, who baas at him a lot when he doesn't feed her enough. #BlameVoid

Kuhlfros wrote:Fall Lot Himdah=Alakazam (May or May not have to do with Merlin)

Spindle wrote:I swear, you two are pretty much the font of all evil in this world...

Spindle wrote:Aaaaaand, the font of all sass.

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Segral
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1647
Founded: Sep 06, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Segral » Fri Feb 23, 2018 7:44 pm

Michael "Mustle" Westing


It was an alleyway running between the crowded, cramped stores, a pizza parlor and convenience store to be exact. To the average eye, it was nothing but your regular path connecting street to street on a crowded area of Toronto. Nothing special. Nothing seedy. Cars passed by it, people walked by, sun shined on it, rain splattered on it. It was like any other alley in any corner of the world, from Toronto to Tokyo, Calgary to Calcutta. Except for one thing.

And that thing was the Gore.

The Gore, as hilariously named as they were, had actually been responsible for some gore. Mostly minor gang fights, firing off a few guns, stealing some stuff and being dicks. Like most gangs. But they were getting a little bigger and a little more violent. Some assault, some stabbing was happening. It was getting bad. And guess who had caught wind of it and decided to sort the whole mess out, since the police seemed basically incapable of doing so, the inept idiots they were? Why, your friendly neighborhood Muscle, of course! If...you live in East York, that is.




Muscle was currently hiding. Where does a guy as big and bulky and handsome as him hide? In plain sight, of course. He simply leaned against a car, hoodie obscuring his face. It looked as if he was waiting for something while he smoked a single cigarette down to the last puffs. The black smoke drifted in the air, illuminated by the various street lights dotting the road. There were lights all around him, but he stayed immobile, unblinking. He was waiting, waiting for the dicks known as the Gore to show up at their favorite place, sandwiched between a crowded store and a crappy parlor. Didn't even have good pizza, believe him, he had tried. It was the perfect place to hide. Still, he had eaten the whole pizza, and a box of wings. He needed the calories for what was coming up. Not only that, he was pretty damn hungry.

Eventually, his patience payed off. Soon, the sounds of rustling and low voices reached Muscle's ears. Small movements, a glimmer off a shiny bald head, a hand dragged across the brick wall. It was the Gore, in all of their goriness and lack of glory or luster to speak of. It was time. Time for them to meet some true muscle.

Instantly, his armor formed around him. His armor was decently thick and strong, could definitely resist fists and knives, and it would take quite a few bullets to pierce. He wasn't sure how long it would last, but long enough to take them out with some fat left to spare. Shouldering his pack, moving as silently as possible, armor only making small clunks as he moved towards them. It was time to duel.

"Heeeeelllooo, booooyyyys!" he said cheerfully as the small group of maybe a dozen people, about ten men and two women, all clustered in the tight alley. "And girls!" he said, winking underneath his armor. They all turned towards him, guns pointed to him, yells and cries escaping their mouths, growly and low from years of smoking and drugs, a loose bullet emitting. It stuck in his armor, but didn't pierce. "Hey, hey, heeey, don't shoot, you'll ruin the good vibes!" he continued, cheerfully putting his hands up. "Listen, man, the police are coming for me, man, you know they don't like boys like me. Soooo...let's say we crack a deal. I get you some goods. Some weapons, some coke, some shit." he said, moving slightly closer to them, close enough to backhand at least two of them.

"C'mon man, I've got power. I've got muscle. You want that, don't you? Someone like that to help your rise up, right?" he said moving even closer. Some of them were now lowering their guards, as he moved closer and closer. They were all in one clump, perfect for quick elimination. "Aaaand, the deal...starts right now." he reached into his pack, as if pulling out a firearm.

It wasn't really. It was a crowbar.

As fast as he could with his armor on, he yanked the crowbar out of the pack, and smashed across the guy directly in front of him's face. It let out a resounding, dull, crack as it slammed into his face, slamming into his temple. His eyes rolled up into his head, whites showing, as crimson liquid spilled out of the cracks in his skin and bone, and fell with a resounding thud. The 11 remaining had almost all already holstered their guns, and the few that hadn't were in the process of dropping them before the sudden crowbar homerun. With a sudden charge forward, he jumped and tackled the next two in front of him, causing them to get sent a great distance back, at least a dozen feet, also knocking over the whole clump of gangs, sending guns spilling to the ground, in a storm of loose bullets. Kneeling down on the ground where the rest were on their knees or fallen, he picked up two, one man and one young woman by the scruffs of their necks, like kittens, and flung them both behind him, before roundhousing another one that was groggily getting to his feet, sending both his head and body spinning.

He then gave a hard elbow to the jaw to a girl fumbling for her gun, before kneeing her in the stomach and flinging her into the brick wall, another loud thud ringing out. There were five left, and all were getting up with their guns, and mayhem was ensuing. Gunshots were ringing through the air, loud cracks filling the echoing walls of the brick alley, ringing into the night. So loud, so loud.
Muscle smirked as he felt gunshots enter his armor. Again, they stuck hard, embedding themselves, but they didn't break through. Most just flashed by him, missing. "Tsk, tsk, boys," he said in an overly Prince-ish tone, "you gotta get the job done right." Crowbar still in his metallic hands, or gauntlets, or whatever, he let out on a charge, diving to avoid the weaponry rain above. Skidding to the ground, he then swung his crowbar up, slamming one in the chin and knocking his head back hard, enough to make him feel some serious pain in the morning, and knock him out for now. He then reached up and grabbed two others, before slamming their heads together, a la Three Stooges, feeling them go limp in his arms before tossing them aside.

It looked like the last three decided to make a break for it. With yells and panicked cries, they ran out of the alley and onto the street, sprinting across the asphalt for their bikes, parked in a cheap public lot. Cursing, he picked up a pistol off the ground and charged after them, into the street to gasps and oohs and awes of the few that were out walking. If he was a sight before, he was even more so now, with his gray armor and hulking form, steps shaking the pavement. They had a good lead on him, but his long strides allowed him to catch up. He was running out of time though, his armor becoming weaker and strength slowly depleting, the slight gnawing of hunger beginning to chew through his stomach. He had to act now. They were all in the lot by now, trying to hop on their motorcycles, engines sputtering and roaring like the little steel and diesel beasts they were.

Muscle lifted his pistol and let off three rounds aimed directly at the slowest of the three, just now beginning to hop on the leather seat. The first missed by a hair, but the second and third made contact with him. He had been aiming for his shoulder and arm, and while the second shot had hit it in a burst of blood and pain, the final had been...a little too high. Blood spurting out of his neck, he toppled sideways off the bike, blood staining the clean metal. Dropping the gun, he surmounted his final dash, final sprint. He was starting to pant, his breath coming in gasps, his heart pumping hard. Hunger continued to gnaw away, his armor feeling looser. This was it. Do or die.

Flying into the lot, he charged towards one of the two, engine still revving. He didn't have the energy left to toss the bike, so he instead flipped it over, upending it like a house of cards, pinning the man underneath, much to his ear-splitting protest. It was on his legs, so he wouldn't die, but it would be hard to wiggle free. He then heard the sound of the motor gunning to life, the sounds of screeching tires on asphalt, that sound...one was escaping! "Not so fast, baby." he crooned in a bad Sinatra impression, before running forward and tackling the man off his bike, letting it roll down the lot before running up a curb and toppling to its side on the dry grass. "Nighty night." he whispered, holding the man in a tight bearhug, before slamming the butt of the pistol in the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

Then, reality warped back. People's cries, stomping feet as they fled the scene. And...what sounded like cars coming. "Crap," he thought angrily to himself. "What have I done?". Desperately searching for an exit, almost like a man in a burning building, he dived into some trees near the lot. It was mostly scrub and wooded area behind the lot, making the perfect cover. He had to move before anyone saw him.

A Couple Hours Later...

A man in a dark hoodie walked out of an alleyway, between a convenience store and a carpet store. Two doors down as a pizza parlor. The police were already milling around, sirens flashing blue and red with their whooping noises. Honestly, they were extremely irritating, but it wouldn't exactly look intelligent to jump on a car and smash the siren. And it would hurt. The police were busy with their walkie-talkies and examinations, so busy they didn't notice the man walk out to his car, and drive away, ACDC booming behind him. Once inside the warm metal shell of his car, staring at the rearview mirror, that man smiled to himself, because he had just had the thrill of his life. And who was he?

Michael "Muscle" Westing.
yea bro idk

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The Knockout Gun Gals
Senator
 
Posts: 4846
Founded: Aug 06, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Knockout Gun Gals » Fri Feb 23, 2018 9:48 pm

Joseph Hariba
Parahuman Independent Service
Old Toronto


The office is small. Two-floor. The fact that the office seems empty is not a coincidence. It is just really that empty. There are rarely employees inside, and even if there are, they are mainly under the assumption that this is just another normal law firm, Parahumans-only services. Joseph sat down in his office, working on his own laptop. Working for connections, employment offers. But barely any. The fact that this firm was abolished and that most of its assets are merely military-grade hardware for encrypted network, communications, and weapons didn't do good on him. Canada is a much stricter place for those who provide services for protections, especially the ones who working illegally, under-table, paid in cash.

"AH!" he was frustrated. This firm's failed, bad idea. He took a sip on his beer, a good Canadian beer. He went out for a walk, the firm's already close for today. He, of course, put security gates first on the office. Bad idea if someone thought he did illegal work here. Protectorate, the Guild, oh, they are bad. He went to the road, with his blending-able suit and most of his arsenal except for the sniper rifle. He walked down the streets. East York seems to be a fine place for a walk, but that's too far.

He'd rather stay here in Old Toronto rather than trying to cause attentions.
The Knockout Gun Gals wrote:
TriStates wrote:Covenant declare a crusade, and wage jihad against the UNSC and Insurrectionists for 30 years.

So Covenant declare a crusade and then wage jihad? :p

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Rhodevus
Negotiator
 
Posts: 7228
Founded: Apr 19, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Rhodevus » Sat Feb 24, 2018 1:20 am

Zaira Dubfeld
Wards
Luxe


Zaira sat at her desk in her room at the Wards Headquarters. It was a mess, with papers of half-finished drawings all over it. Post-It notes hung with words and pieces of code along the wall as well as around the computer screen which took up the majority of the desk space. Zaira’s mind was embroiled in a problem which had been nagging at her for two weeks. A way to shrink the number of lines in her code from ten thousand to a much more reasonable five thousand. It was an impossible task for her. She hit her forehead on the desk between each word. “I. Am. Not. This. Kind. Of. Tinker.”

She grumbled and placed her cheek in the crux of her elbow. While Zaira ‘s mind flickered between the current task given to her by her psychiatrist, designing a brand new facial recognition software and trying not to burst into tears over the pointlessness of it all, a new thought erupted. “I need to hit something.” Zaira stood up. “I really need to hit something.”
“Hey Scald?” She called from her room, not leaving her chair. “Can I take the next patrol?”

“Alone? I don’t think so.” He replied. Zaira rolled her eyes and got up, slamming her hands on the desk s she did, sending a pile of papers flying. She ventured over to her wardrobe and opened it, revealing her forest green costume, black boots and a small metal cylinder containing her ‘mask’. It was all skin tight, which did wonders to show off her body; a trait which stuck from her days as a villainess. As was the ‘mask’ she wore, but this one was much more advanced. Two contact lenses which changed her eye colour from its usual deep ocean blue to a bright green which matched her costume. Her contacts also contained huge amounts of facial and speech recognition software, designed and written by her during a fit of rage one afternoon when she had first been forced to join the Wards. It took some time to get used to having so much information reflected directly in front of her eyes, but it ended up working beautifully. Much better than she had originally expected. Changing into her costume, she left her room to see Scalder, her Protectorate nanny of the day sitting on the couch.

“I’m ready. I’ll be back.”
“Didn’t I say no?”

She took a few steps closer to him, swaying her hips as she moved closer, her hands riding along her waist. “Yes, but I thought, with it being a special occasion and all. That we could make some. Other arrangements?” Her voice was low and husky. Scalder did not even move from his seated position. “Touch me and I will burn you.” He said nonchalantly.

Zaira stomped her foot and rolled her whole body along with her eyes. “Ugh. Come on. You can’t keep me locked up in here for another night. Just give me an hour or two to try being solo for a bit. Yes, I know I’m on probation but you need to trust me eventually. You guys already all know my secret identity, just track me down or blackmail me or something if I run. It’s not like it’ll be that hard for you lot. I’ll even tell you where I’m gonna go.”

Scalder remained silent, his head facing in the other direction. Zaira’s program was giving her no information. She huffed again, her cheeks turning red and anger starting to boil over. She closed her eyes tightly and counted to three. “Between Casa Loma and U of T, if you wanted to know. If I spot any trouble I promise I’ll let you all know,” she finally said in a much calmer voice.
“Doubtful. But fine. You better call in at twenty minute intervals. Ah, make it thirty. Simpsons marathon.”
“Thank you!” She squealed in happiness, running out the door.




The night sky was covered by dull grey clouds, yet Zaira, now in her Luxe costume was enjoying the cold air. Thank god for insulated latex. Casa Loma loomed overhead. It was large and brightly lit, shining the stone walls in splashes of changing purple, red, green and a helping of others. She loved this spot, sitting on the park bench across the street from it, watching the lights flicker and cars pass by. Parents made note to drive faster by her, sitting alone. Teenagers or university students passed by, but few did more than look at her and talk with their friends. It had been nearly four months since she had been caught by the Protectorate and PRT and forced to join the Wards, yet many still remembered her from her old days. It had been a purple costume back then. The green was mean to reflect a change away from evil, or something. Luxe did not understand it either.

She remembered the old days, when she would use her power on anyone she saw. Just a small touch, brush of lips against a neck, or fingers on an elbow. And they were powerless to stop her. Rage, grief, terror, ecstasy. The base emotions were always easiest to play off of. More natural, engrained into every living thing on the planet.

Now she had to try that much harder. To comply with whatever annoying new rule PR thrusted upon her. Only happy emotions. No flirting with the bad guys. No using bullets, only their stupid rubber pellets. All hassles. It would be so much easier to just go back to villaining. It was what she was good at. Was used to. Yet, something was gnawing on her from the inside. She refused to even consider what it might be.

Luxe’s train of thought was quickly broken as she saw two shady looking men follow a girl, no older than her into a dark alleyway.
“Could they have not been more cliché?”

She tapped her ear-piece. “Hey Scal, I’m going after some no-goodnicks. No capes. Just your average idiots.”
She didn’t wait for a response before leaping up and jogging across the road to follow the group. She hid in the shadows, listening to the conversation. Waiting for one of the men to take a step backward. Just one little step. Another half-step- The men screamed in terror as she touched him. He collapsed onto the ground, cradling himself in a ball, eye’s wide and mouth slightly ajar. Every nerve impulse in his body was screaming run and panic as the same time. His whole body shook with fear.

“Heya boys. Don’t you want to hang out with someone a bit easier on the eyes? Trust me, I’m a much better lay. Can make it much more… pleasurable.” She gave a wink. She looked at the second man’s face. Hi expression was a mixture of bewilderment, surprise, fear and dread. Among a combination of others in various percentages. The girl was all fear. Well, fear and amazement. A bit of lust? Directed at… her. Awesome, the girl she was saving thought she was hot. Always nice to save a damsel in distress.
“Okay, I promise not to touch you like I did him,” she gestured to his fallen compatriot. “Let’s settle this like men, then?” She raised her fists and smiled, brushing her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. The man did exactly what she expected, and fled farther into the corridor.

“Hey babe! Not so fast!” In an instant a small throwing knife was out and spinning towards the fleeing man. He cried out in pain as it hit his arm. Luxe walked up to him and knelt down beside him, taking no time to retrieve the blade from his flesh and wipe the blood down on his shirt. “You’re lucky I’m going for the straight and narrow. You’re kinda cute.”

“Luxury, please.”

“It’s Luxe now. Not a huge difference, I know. But I had to do something when I became a goodie-two shoes.” She smiled and laughed happily at her own joke. “Now babe, run along. I hope I don’t see you again. Wouldn’t want to make you literally regret everything you’ve done. Okay?” He voice remained cheerful, not a hint of anger in it.

Damn, I really did need to hit something. She thought. She helped the man to his feet, giving him a healthy dose of remorse, her powers tingling through her fingertips, and let him go on his way. No point in taking him in. He would learn his lesson. Hopefully.
Luxe turned back to where she had left her damsel, only to see nobody there. “Huh,” she let out. She checked her watch. She still had some time. Maybe some more trouble could be found on such a night…
Last edited by Rhodevus on Mon Jul 16, 2018 8:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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The V O I D
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 16088
Founded: Apr 13, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby The V O I D » Sat Feb 24, 2018 8:58 am

National Bank of Canada
Etobicoke, Toronto
Canada


Micah Wellington || Agony






Micah was in costume, driving a car he'd... acquired a few weeks prior. It was an interesting experience. He pulled up in front of the National Bank. It wasn't the largest facility, but he was certain they kept some cash on site. Of course, he'd need to be careful. No telling what threats could present themselves. With a deep breath, he got out of the car and moved in stride to head inside the front entrance of the building. His boots were loud when they clattered against the floor of the bank, causing many to look at him. There was a small crowd, and numerous employees; all within line of sight.


With a raise of his hand, he aimed at one of the guards who was going for their weapons and fired an orange beam. The beam slammed into the guard, who began screaming in pain and crumpled to the floor. The guard was seizing, screaming as if under a huge amount of pain.


“This is a robbery.” Agony spoke, simply. “Begin collecting cash and putting it in bags. As much cash on site as you have. No tricks, no bullshit, or I will use my powers on more of you.”


He paused for a beat, even as he saw the crowd wavering in fear. “Huddle up. Bring that guard with you. Sit in the center of the bank. Employees, begin collecting the cash. Take too long and one of the hostages might get really hurt.”


For added emphasis, Agony fired another blast into the same guard, intensifying the pain. The guard's vocal chords must be straining to scream so loud. Everyone began moving at once; the crowd condensed, moving to sit in a large huddle at the center of the bank. The employees began moving to the back, one of them presumably hitting a silent alarm. But he'd planned for that; that's why the hostages were moving in an easy-to-hit huddle that'd remain within his sight.


Agony moved, positioning himself so he was behind the crowd and facing the front entrance. The guard had stopped screaming, but on his way, he'd taken the guard's weapons. The other guards tossed theirs away at his pointed look. Employees began moving into the back and then coming back with a bag full of cash; he checked each bag, for a moment, before turning his attention towards the crowd.


He was expecting the heroes. He had a plan in mind; he always did.

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Auphelia
Minister
 
Posts: 2853
Founded: Jan 05, 2017
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Auphelia » Sat Feb 24, 2018 9:42 am

White Rabbit

The breeze ruffles her cloak, twenty stories above the streets. She studies the streets below, searching for her target. Her fingers tense and loosen in rhythm. Fist, relax, fist, relax. This was her least favourite part of her job, the waiting. Especially during the day. But how could she ignore the message from her self-proclaimed "arch-nemesis", Soap Opera? That woman was a menace, practically useless, but just dangerous enough to warrant her attention. Then she saw it, the bright pink robes and crown, moving through the streets, exuding a glittering mist. In her wake people fell into comas while other monologued over their bodies, women began to fight over men, several people admitted that it was them who had killed their father, and a pair of twins began to fight. White Rabbit ignored them and her eyes followed Soap Opera as she made her way to the end of the street: the Toronto Mutual Bank. What was Soap Opera going to do in there? She could cause drama wherever she went, but she had no way to get through a safe. Either way, White Rabbit would have to stop her. She stood up and was about to go after Soap Opera when the woman turned abruptly into a sandwich shop. A few minutes later she ran out with a bad filled with sandwiches. Sighing, White Rabbit jumped off of the roof and plummeted to the ground.

Keeping herself upright, a second before she touched down she dissipated and reappeared a metre away, running towards the figure in bright pink. The woman saw her and began to run, her own costume billowing behind her, but White Rabbit was too fast. Using a combination of leaping a few metres in the air and teleporting around and over people, she quickly closed the distance between them. The glitter around Soap Opera was thickening, but White Rabbit emitted a high pitched scream that caused much of the glitter to fade away. Still left with the vague sense that she should be revealing that she wasn't Valerie, but her twin sister Veronica, White Rabbit dodged the weak throw Soap Opera and teleported behind her, slammed her gloves on the woman's temples and activated her taser gloves. Soap Opera dropped to the ground, unconscious. Flicking her wrist and covering the woman in a thin white net, White Rabbit made her way back to the rooftops. Jumping straight up, she began to jerkily climb using her teleportation. Up two metres, down a metre, up two metres, down a metre until she got to the top of the nearest building. Whipping out her phone, she called the police.

"Hello, this is the Toronto Police Department, how can I help you?"

"Hi. This is White Rabbit. I have apprehended the "villain" Soap Opera stealing a dozen sandwiches from a sandwich shop. She's near the Worm Bookstore, whenever you get the chance."

"Oh, White Rabbit? This is Janice, you've called me a few times before. Sorry to hear you still deal with those low level villains. You deserve so much better. In fact, I hereby name you a member of the Protectorate and here is a check for one billion dollars made out to Penelope Westing! We love you Penelope!"

The crowd goes wild and the press takes dozens of photos. Suddenly The Butcher comes up to her, weeping.

"Would you please take all of my money and lead my gang? You are so much better than I am and you deserve to be rich."

"Of course I will!"

"Thank you so BEEP!! BEEP BEEP!"

"What?"

"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - -"

Penelope's hand hits the off button on her alarm as she gets up and groans. Stupid dreams. She lived in and patrolled one of the safest neighbourhoods in Toronto. No one but the most minor of villains ever came here. Soap Opera. Cliche. Monkey. Dr. Bubbles. Losers, one and all. And that made her a loser. She had powers, pretty good ones at that. But she would never get the recognition she deserved. With a sigh, she gets up to get ready to go to the office. After all, being a hero doesn't pay the bills.
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Nachfolgia
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Postby Nachfolgia » Sat Feb 24, 2018 3:01 pm

Fate has an interesting way of changing directions in a moment's notice. What you thought was the path you were destined to follow, a path of a good and happy life, can suddenly fork into a new path, one of hardship and trepidation. It makes you think that maybe this new path was your Fate all along. Fate is fickle that way, pushing many a righteous person towards disaster.


Fate was no less cruel to the young Vanessa Hopkins, daughter of the late Attorney, Anthony Hopkins. If you had asked Vanessa what her destiny was six years ago, she would have said she'd become a successful singer and musician. Her optimism and dedication were unwavering when it came to her passion. It was her destiny, but Fate is fickle. That path of " righteousness" is long dead, died with her father as well as her hearing. That path was replaced by one of hatred and death.

Vanessa was full of hated now, hatred for those who drove her down this path, the men who killed her father and destroyed her hearing forever. That hatred fueled her personal brand of Justice. She didn't care for the law that her father held others accountable for. As far she was concerned, it was law and justice that did nothing to prevent the worse days of her life. Vanessa also cared not for the order and rules that the various parahuman groups made for themselves. At this point in her life, Vanessa was going to do things her way, even if it put her in prison or worse.

The black clad Vanessa walked down the busy streets of downtown Toronto. She bared no resemblance to the sweet girl that loved singing. Her blonde hair was now black as the void. Her once bright blue eyes were now a sickly yellow, thanks to color contacts. To her and the world, Vanessa is dead, nothing but Quiet remains.

As she walked through the crowd, Quiet kept an eye on a mixed man walking 50 yards ahead of her. This was not some random person, this man knew something that she wanted to know. From what she gathered, that man knew where to find the person who ruined her life. This was just another step in a vendetta with a thousand steps. The previous target let her to this one and the guy before that led her to that guy. This was a never ending game of cat and mouse that Quiet was determined to win.

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Lunas Legion
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Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Lunas Legion » Sat Feb 24, 2018 5:14 pm

Legislative Assembly of Ontario,
Downtown, Toronto,
Canada


Normally a shooting, especially a political shooting, would not fall under PRT jurisdiction. People simply didn't trust a primarily American agency like the PRT to handle mundane, day-to-day crimes, since that fell under the purview of the local police and Protectorate.

The building immediately went on lockdown, no one in, no one out. No one to present a target near any windows or doors. The small garrison of police, and even smaller group of PRT who served as the Legislative Assembly Building's security force moved around slowly inside, careful to remain out of the way as best as they could of open external windows or doors, orders being barked into radioes as they assumed positions as best as they could inside the building.

The first reinforcements arrived in bare minutes, a mixed force of police and PRT troopers in their cars and armoured vans, accompanied by three members of the Protectorate, Bulwark, Arrows, and Impel. The Department N Protectorate typically operated in threes, unlike the normal pairs, simply because their numbers permitted it. The police had swiftly cordoned off the park, before moving on to surrounding areas and buildings.

Bulwark and Arrows both took up positions next to the rather grisly remains of the Assemblyman, Bulwark simply standing there, armed crossed, while Arrows circled the corpse, muttering to himself and occasionally glancing at one building or another. Impel, meanwhile, moved off into the surrounding area on a more roaming patrol, attempting to see if he could catch any obvious perpetrators. If they knew what they were doing, they'd likely be long gone by now, but you never knew.




Department N HQ,
Command/Control Room


"What do you mean you let our resident probationary ward out on patrol alone?" Narhwal glared at the back of Scalder's head from across the room. The Command/Control Room was exactly what one would expect; a single large table in the middle, primarily for Arrows' use whenever he wasn't on active duty. Narwhal leaned off to one side of the door, doing her best to burn a hole in the back of Scalder's head with her glare.

Scalder sat in one of the five chairs in the room, two on each of the side walls, one on the wall opposite the door. Each chair faced a mass of monitors, displaying a loose mix of CCTV camera feeds, body camera feeds from PRT troops and capes that wore them, maps of the city overlaid with rough territory outlines for gangs and where vigilantes operated. The Wards and most of the Protectorate called sitting in this room console duty; she called it command and control, and insisted on having a tiny number of PRT personal specifically trained for it, although most of the time one cape or another would handle it. Wasn't like they needed all hands on deck all the time.

"She was eager, and it's only in Downtown." Scalder replied, not turning. Good, that. Not taking his eye off the ball, even to look at a superior. Some would take it as disrespect; she took it as focusing on the job as ordered.

"Well, in case you didn't hear, we've just had a shooting of an Assemblyman there a few minutes ago. Have you informed her?"

"Uhhh...." Scalder trailed off.

"Well get on it then, Scalder." Narwhal stood, stretching. "And get Saurian in here, I need her to run console duty for our second team of the day."

Scalder gave her a thumbs-up as she left the room.

He shook his head. "Damn military types." He summoned Saurian to the C/C Room first, and then finally he talked to Luxe over comms.

"Yo, Luxe. We've got a shooting down in Queen's Park, near where you're on patrol. Bulwark, Impel and Arrows will either be en route or present by the time you're there, I'll let Bulwark brief you further. Console out."

A minute or so passed before the door opened and the large, green lizard-esque form of Saurian, Department N's resident Case 53, limped into the room and slouched into one of the seats. With a few switch flicks and a single password, the console burst into life and she spoke.

"Invictus, Setana, meet Narwhal in the vehicle bay. I repeat, Invictus, Setana to the vehicle bay." She flicked over to the camera feeds of the PRT troopers at the National Bank.




National Bank of Canada
Etobicoke, Toronto
Canada


Robbing a bank in broad daylight was always bound to catch the Protectorate's attention. Robbing a bank and then taking hostages was certain to get the Protectorate's attention. With most of the Wards in school, Scalder and Saurian on console duty, and Bulwark, Impel and Arrows at the Legislative Building, that left only a few of them able to respond to the robbery.

Unfortunately for whomever the robber was, that meant most of what was left of the Protectorate was committed. A PRT Quick Response Team had already arrived, and had begun preparing for a siege-esque situation, but more PRT troopers and heavier equipment would be arriving by the minute.

Snowflake had been on the scene first, having diverted from her original patrol route to assist. Her costume was simple, a ice blue bodysuit with grey and white snowflake patterns across it, a winged helmet that covered all her face but for her mouth hiding most of her face. Others would be arriving in due time, she merely needed to stage a holding action along with the PRT troopers and wait for them.
Last edited by Lunas Legion on Sat Feb 24, 2018 5:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Last edited by William Slim Wed Dec 14 1970 10:35 pm, edited 35 times in total.

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Faal Lot Himdah
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Founded: Jun 12, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Sat Feb 24, 2018 5:34 pm

Morior Invictus
Protectorate Department N Headquarters
Toronto, ON, Canada
Thaddeus Ryker
Invictus




As soon as he heard his summons to the vehicle bay, Thaddeus was up and running to the bay. Being called down to the vehicle bay only meant one thing, an assignment, and one that wasn't planned. Which meant something happened. Which meant he had a reason to put off paper work. As for why he was running, it wasn't because he was excited, it was a force of habit.

Not long after being called, he arrived in the vehicle bay, and came to a complete stop in front of Narwhal, and since being ex-military himself, he always felt the need to salute her. And thus he saluted her before speaking and maintaining a neutral face.

"Ma'am." He said, and remained standing at attention, "Invictus reporting for duty."
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Mundeo
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Ex-Nation

Postby Mundeo » Sat Feb 24, 2018 7:33 pm

Location: Unknown
Time: Unknown

Where I want to be, who I want to be


Nothing ruffles the feathers of the Protectorate quite like a politcal assassination. And one of a member of Parliament? Supposedly executed by a parahuman? Oh, those capes with their masks and technicolor costumes and bizarre aliases and, well, capes were going to be up and about for weeks trying to find the culprit. And imagine what the media response will be! Oh, it was the perfect storm! If only the Bratva could have at least had the honor of taking responsibility... but that was unfortunately not the case.

It was fortunate, however, since this provided the perfect distraction for the three biggest branches to come to meeting, them being York, North York, and Scarborough. It really was the most opportune time for the PRT was distracted, since this meeting was of upmost importance to the Bratva's interests. There was supposedly a very important guest arriving soon. A parahuman, in fact, one that went by the name Faultline. Apparently this individual had quite the crew, and the Bratva is always welcome to making new friends.

And the potential formation of an alliances is what Anatoly was hoping for. In recent months, he had been trying to improve relations with some of the other gangs that are based in his district - the Dragonslayers and the Hearbroken - but they have not been quite as collaborative in negotiations. Anatoly didn't quite understand why. The terms were simple: submit to the full authority of the Bratva and it'll be smooth sailing from there! People are just so stubborn these days.

So Anatoly and his entourage entered the meeting place - or as he was called, Grandmaster. He was opposed to the idea of taking on something as puerile as an alias, but after some amount of constant and bothersome insistance from his fellow parahuman cohorts, he decided to go by a name that was simple, easy to understand, and fitting for who he was and what he does. He was the master of puppets, pulling the strings, twisting minds and smashing dreams. He was the one playing this great game of chess - and he was the Grandmaster.
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Forest State
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Founded: Aug 23, 2016
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Forest State » Sat Feb 24, 2018 9:42 pm

Amanda Dimitrijevic
White Eagle


Home. Before, it had been Banja Luka, in the Republika Srpska section of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Now, it was the streets of Toronto, Ontario. Amanda couldn’t help but think of the difference between the two when she walked the streets on patrol, waiting for situations to deal with. She wasn’t exactly a fan of tasks like these, because it seemed like it was just for PR to make the Protectorate look better in the eyes of the public, and she considered herself above dealing with small tasks and petty crime. But there were times when patrols like this gave her a moment to stop and reflect, on the neighborhoods that she protected and on the journey she’d made since leaving home. Her original home, that was.

She looked around at the others that were on the street right now, and it reminded her that she was the first one in awhile to come from their position and make it to the spot she was in now. That is, she was one of the few ex-Yugoslavs to emigrate to somewhere else and become a cape. That was why she had been assigned to patrol these neighborhoods out of all of the ones in the city. She was in the part of Toronto where the Serbs and the Croatians could be found, although only one of those groups looked on her favorably. For the Croats, it wasn’t so great to have someone patrolling their neighborhood while wearing the flag of Republika Srpska.

Amanda glanced at them out of the corner of her eye but didn’t dare make direct eye contact, avoiding confrontation with the boys that were gathered on a front porch. They looked at her with mistrust, but she would protect them all the same if it came down to it. Not that she necessarily liked them, though, with her upbringing where she partially blamed their nation for what had happened to hers. But if that had never happened, would she be here right now as a hero? Would she have had her trigger event if she didn’t come to Canada because of the war? She didn’t have time to think of the questions for now, and she looked away from the group of young Croats and checked her watch. It was time to head back to the base, and Amanda nodded towards them before turning to start to leave.

She was lost in her contemplations and thought of that as she returned, only shifting her focus to the next task when she had arrived.
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Rhodevus
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Founded: Apr 19, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Rhodevus » Sat Feb 24, 2018 9:58 pm

Lunas Legion wrote:"Yo, Luxe. We've got a shooting down in Queen's Park, near where you're on patrol. Bulwark, Impel and Arrows will either be en route or present by the time you're there, I'll let Bulwark brief you further. Console out."


Zaira Dubfeld
Wards
Luxe
On Route to Queen's Park


Zaira tapped on her ear piece. "I got it. Heading over now." Luxe checked her clip filled with 20 rubber bullets, then re-pocketed the weapon in it's holster on her lower left thigh. With a light breath, she surged forward into a fast, yet persistent jog towards the park. She knew it did not look very hero-y to be running down the street in full costume, instead of on a motorcycle or car or something.

"Hey console, -erm- What do you need me to do? Guard duty or something before the big capes reach?" She took a sharp left across a two lane street and into the park. Nobody had showed up yet, so she did what she could.

"Any witnesses?" Luxe called out, "need everyone who saw the shooting over here so the Protectorate can ask you some question. Anybody injured or shaken up, I'm here to help."
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Faal Lot Himdah
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Founded: Jun 12, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Sun Feb 25, 2018 6:48 am

Ad Hoc
Back seat of Mustle's car
Toronto, ON, Canada
Doctor Moira Slaine
Mirage




"Ugh..." Mirage moaned as she was woken up by the sound of ACDC, and the sound of tires on pavement. It seemed that the vehicle that she decided was a good place for a nap, was now mobile, which meant its owner had returned. She slowly sat up, "Jezz, can't a girl get a bloody nap without being rudely awaken by someone's shite taste in music? Oh, don't freak out else you drive us into a building, or on coming traffic. Anyways.... where are we going?"
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New Minahasa
Diplomat
 
Posts: 797
Founded: Sep 05, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby New Minahasa » Sun Feb 25, 2018 9:06 am

Old Toronto
East Toronto

The neighbourhoods that encompass East Toronto, specifically Upper Beaches, was always known to be infested by neo-nazi skinhead gangs. These gangs were mostly comprised of troubled teenagers ranging from as young as fourteen years old, to as old as nineteen years old. It was once thought that most of these teens came from low-income families, but reports from the local police department suggested that kids that came from middle-class families had been known to hang with these gangs as well. Numerous ways of recruitment were used to persuade local kids and teenagers, their targets known to be kids who came from a troubled family, punk and rock communities, and "latchkey kids" or kids who were always left alone in their home.

One of these gangs who went by the name the "East Toronto Death Squad" (E.T.D.S for short) was the most influential gang within the neighbourhood. Their members range from youths to adults who were reportedly in their early 30s. These "veteran gang-bangers" were, in actuality, a part of a network of criminals (mostly comprised of neo-nazis as well) known only as the "Enigma Network", and the ETDS was just a front used as a way to embrace local youths into adapting their mindset before being incorporated into the organization after proving their worth. The Enigma Network had been working underground for the past few years until the 2010 robbery of the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, where they were allegedly by their supposed leader, a parahuman nicknamed "Cipher".

Local police were unable to apprehend these criminals, nor did the PRT and the Protectorate, due to an "error" from the bank's video surveillance as well as insufficient evidence. It had been months since the incident happened, and there had been no traces of the organization ever since. A lot of people thought that it was broken and disbanded, and conspiratorialists even suggested that the whole organization was made-up, although the few people that were not a part of the organization and were aware of its existence suspected that something would happen very soon...

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Segral
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1647
Founded: Sep 06, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Segral » Sun Feb 25, 2018 12:34 pm

Michael Westing
"Muscle"


Dude, driving at night was friggin' awesome!

When it was the day, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and everything was boring, sticky, and hot. You could literally count the specks of dust on the dashboard, everybody was driving carefully, there were no lights or action. Traffic was always a mess, and it was always hot traffic jams in crappy seats with bad songs on the radio.

Flip to night, however, things are awesome. Now it's dark out, all the headlights are shining, the storefronts are gleaming, you could blast music at max volume and no one would care. It had this suave, action-packed feel to it that just made driving at night the best thing in the world. It felt like the best thing in the world right now. He had absolutely trashed a local gang, the screeches and riproars of the dynamic duo of Johnson and Young were booming through the rolled down window, the lights and shines of everything around him. Letting out a whoop of celebration, Michael felt a large grin carve itself across his face.

What could go wrong?

He hadn't heard the girl in the backseat get up, nor seen her. He wasn't paying attention, and was focused solely on the road ahead. So, needless to say, it was pretty damn shocking when she suddenly began to loudly complain about the sweet melody of "Hells' Bells", before proceeding to caution him and ask where they were going. Needless to say, he almost jumped right out of the seat. Yelping an extremely loud string of cursing, his hands jerking the steering wheel out of proportion, causing him to swerve hard to the right. Thankfully, the road was almost empty, but he still managed to get quite a few loud honks from some drivers, along with some spat curses behind their rolled up windows. Michael quickly tilted the wheel back to the left to avoid mounting the curb and running over a group of babbling teenagers who looked like they had seen a ghost. After a little coaxing on the part of the steering wheel, he managed to get back in the lane and keep driving, eventually braking hard at a red light. Flushed and angry, he twisted around in his seat to face the girl, looking like he was about to rip her to shreds.

"Ok, so two questions. What the fuck do you have against ACDC and why the fuck are you in my car? And you better answer quick, I'm ten seconds away from turning you into roadkill."
yea bro idk

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Faal Lot Himdah
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 20081
Founded: Jun 12, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Sun Feb 25, 2018 2:10 pm

Ad Hoc
Back seat of Mustle's car
Toronto, ON, Canada
Doctor Moira Slaine
Mirage




"Oh, if looks could kill." Mirage said, and smirked underneath her veil, "You still wouldn't be able to harm me, or a cat, or a dog, or a mouse, or a house, or an old lady, or a fly, or an old lady that swallowed a fly. Or even a pie. Wait, you can harm pies right? No? Oh... awkward, silly me. Point is, you may think you can hurt this, but in reality you can't. Unless you are the person with the power of super strength within one kilometre of this car.... then maybe you could hurt me, or maybe not. Anyways, my ten seconds are almost up, so I should probably answer the questions... Or maybe not. I really am interested in seeing how you'll try and turn me into roadkill considering the fact I am back here, and you are up there with your hands on the wheel. Are you really going to run the risk of killing yourself in a possibly futile effort to kill me? I'll give you a moment to think about that...."

After a short moment, she started speaking again, "Okay, moments over. I guess I'll answer those questions of yours that you worded ever so elegantly. First, I don't know. I just don't like them, do I need a reason not to like something? As for why I'm here... I was taking a nap didn't I say that, or at least hint to it? Now, normally people would ask how I got in. And to that I say, I don't remember. So, now that those are dealt with, how about you answer my question now? Where are we going? Oh, and do you mind if I join you in the front?"
Last edited by Faal Lot Himdah on Sun Feb 25, 2018 2:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Charlia wrote:Faal Lot Himdah - A wizard. Possibly evil. Seen associating with Charlia, who baas at him a lot when he doesn't feed her enough. #BlameVoid

Kuhlfros wrote:Fall Lot Himdah=Alakazam (May or May not have to do with Merlin)

Spindle wrote:I swear, you two are pretty much the font of all evil in this world...

Spindle wrote:Aaaaaand, the font of all sass.

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Segral
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1647
Founded: Sep 06, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Segral » Sun Feb 25, 2018 3:12 pm

Michael Westing
"Muscle"


Michael was now practically infuriated. First she literally took a nap in the backseat of his car, drooling all over the seats, almost caused him to crash his car and possibly kill several people, including himself, and then tell him he couldn't even hurt a fly. He was right about ready to burst, when she mentioned super-strength.

She had said there was someone with super strength within a one kilometer radius. Unless there was some other guy with super strength somewhere around here, he was pretty sure that was him. But that lead to a whole other question: How did she know there was a parahuman around here? Was she also one? Never mind the fact she was an obnoxious bitch, that she broke into his car and took a nap, and that she didn't like ACDC, this was serious. Ok, except for that last question, that was also pretty serious.

Eyes narrowing slightly, he stared at her through the rearview, face now much paler. He would get his answers, but he would have to be as patient as the damn pope. "...Alright, fine. If you wanna know where exactly where we're going, I was planning to go back to my house until you decided to make yourself welcome to my car. I'm not even gonna ask where you live, probably in the back of someone else's car. And yes, you can get in the front, but," he said, with an air of suspense as he pulled his Beretta out of his glove compartment, bullet clicking into place as his arm gracefully arced over to point the barrel at her. "Make any false moves and the chamber's emptied. Got it?" It was at this time when the light turned green, flooding the car with its sheen. Traffic once again flowed through the intersection, including the 2004 Lexus SE as it drove through, before pulling over at the side of the road to allow the girl in the back to move up.
yea bro idk

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Faal Lot Himdah
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 20081
Founded: Jun 12, 2014
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Faal Lot Himdah » Sun Feb 25, 2018 7:54 pm

Ad Hoc
Back seat of Mustle's car
Toronto, ON, Canada
Doctor Moira Slaine
Mirage




"Didn't your mother ever tell you that pointing a gun at someone is rude?" Mirage said and stared at Muscle, a slight glint of a mischievous hunger. However it faded as quickly as it appeared, and Mirage got into the front seat. After buckling up, she adjusted the seat and put her feet up on the console before looking back at Muscle. "Seriously, put the gun away. If I wanted to kill you, or harm you, I would have done it already. Besides, is there a guarantee that firing that will kill me? The thought of me being a parahuman has likely crossed your mind already, with my saying that I can feel a certain power within one kilometre still. So, how do you know that the bullet in that gun would kill me? If you fire, and it doesn't kill me, what's stopping me from taking your life? Is it really worth the risk? Personally, I wouldn't take the risk... unless there was chocolate or whiskey. Then maybe if I was in your shoes I would be willing to take the risk."

She sighed, "But unfortunately there isn't. The only thing you'll get if that bullet does kill me, is blood in your car, and a body. Now, is that something you really want to deal with? Blood is difficult to get out of anything. No matter how hard you scrub, it never fully goes away. A simple black light would still show it... along with other bodily fluids. But then again, that's assuming that a bullet can kill me."

With that she looked out the front window, "Oh, by the way, the names Mirage. And yes, I am a parahuman."
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The Grene Knyght
Minister
 
Posts: 3016
Founded: May 07, 2016
Left-wing Utopia

Setanta

Postby The Grene Knyght » Mon Feb 26, 2018 1:15 pm

T o r o n t o, O n e Y e a r P r i o r

Jay wasn't sure what his power was. Was barely aware he had one. There was only a drive. A drive to do something. Like a voice inside his head. Compelling his actions. His hands worked of their own accord. He sat in his apartment - barely more than a bedroom with a sink, and a kitchen and bathroom he shared with ten or so others - and he built. Between shifts at his job, with whatever parts he could scrounge up, a strange device was taking shape. He would spend hours on end, in an almost trance-like state, typing on the computer. Every moment, he felt like he was on the edge of some great understanding. Veering closer, getting better, but still needing something more.

fiThen, in a single moment, he knew the program, and the device were complete. Everything clicked together. It was as if he had been viewing some strange pontillist painting through a magnifying glass, seeing only every dot in solitary, and now he had drawn back, and he could see the whole thing.

It was a camera, or a series of cameras. Jay was disappointed. He had heard of tinkers, that strange subset of parahumans who built devices strange and wonderful. Compared to what he had seen on tv and online. Jetpacks and rayguns, nanotech and wetware. The device he had built - a pair of black oblong cameras, which hooked around his head and recorded in 360 degrees - while cool, didn't have any practical application that he could see. Still, he uploaded the computer program onto it, hoping at least that would do something.

Jay took to wearing the device, around his head like a pair of headphones. He had only a vague notion of what the thing was for - it wasn't for recording things, it wasn't saving the data in any form he could access, but every day, recording vast amounts of information, the program on it had generated a little bit more code. Just a tiny amount. Then, one day, on his way home from work, he witnessed a fight. Just a small one. A tiny scuffle. But when he got home, the code on his camera had almost tripled in length. It was learning.

T h r e e M o n t h s L a t e r

Oh, I haven't eaten today, Jay realised. Actually, he hadn't eaten in two days. But since he was counting the days by his sleep cycle, and he often forgot to sleep as well as to eat, he thought it had only bee one day. He had grown increasingly obsessed with his tinkering. Once he realised what his power was, he dove into it with reckless abandon. Combat-driven machine learning. He stretched, wincing at the bruises that covered his body. Jay's AI learnt best when he himself was directly involved in the fight.

Jay didn't keep any copies of the code. It was too dangerous. Who knew what could happen if it got into the wrong hands. He had thought about destroying it entirely. But it was like the powered part of him was a whole separate entity. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. Maybe it was just a resistance to destroy his own work, or the knowledge that one day he could use his AI to help people. Or maybe it was something more.

Putting such thoughts aside, Jay ambled down to his kitchen, and made himself a haphazard sandwich. Tonight, he would be testing his latest piece of equipment. He had added a pair of goggles, so that the AI could now give him feedback. He would be getting into more fights tonight, but now, his AI would finally be helping him. He grinned.

On his return, he plugged his now battered camera apparatus into his goggles and put them on. The world was changed. He looked out the window, at a woman walking down the street. The world was overlaid with calculations, showing him her exact path. Her speed, velocity, momentum. The goggles showed him where to strike to disable her, to stop her, to redirect her momentum. It showed him the steps he needed to dodge.

It wasn't perfect. The amount of information he would need to process in the heat of the moment in any fight would be too much. But it was a start. Already, a new mental blueprint was forming.

O n e D a y A g o

Jay was watching the live footage of the attack on Canberra. I should be there. Was it cowardice that stopped him from going, he wondered, or was he right in thinking that he would be no help? If he had joined the protectorate as soon as he got his powers, maybe we would've had enough resources to make his tinkering useful enough to help. If he hadn't entertained such petty ideas about being a vigilante, and put his ego aside.

He had been busy the past few months. It was surprisingly hard to source materials for even minor upgrades to his equipment. He had built an exoskeleton for his left arm, and had plans to extend it to the rest of his body, maybe to one day build a full suit of power armour. But parts for things like that couldn't be bought. He didn't have the know-how nor the apparatus to manufacture them, and it was prohibitively expensive to have them custom made. Even so, over the months, he had manage to scrounge together the parts.

He plugged himself in to his partial exoskeleton and put on his new goggles - the old ones had been broken in a fight not long after he had made them. He winced as the tiny needles all along his arm bit in. In a fight, the needles would pulse his arm with electricity, twitching it and moving it beyond his control. The AI would take over. By now, the the program that now in fights controlled his left arm was millions of lines long, several orders of magnitude longer than it had originally been. And he had barely been in anything more strenuous than a bar fight.

But Jay wasn't fighting today. Today, he was joining the protectorate. He finished armouring up, and set off.

P r e s e n t D a y

Narwhal wrote:"Invictus, Setana, meet Narwhal in the vehicle bay. I repeat, Invictus, Setana to the vehicle bay."

Yesterday had been busy. Signing release forms. Attending seminars on PRT-approved conduct. The whole process was expedited by his clean record of conduct, the fact that he had already been invited several times to join the protectorate, and, he suspected, a shortage of tinkertech.

Jay, or Setanta as he was calling himself now, dutifully reported to the vehicle bay, as ordered. Invictus was there already, and Setanta sheepishly mimicked his salute, not sure if it was standard procedure, or just a quirk of Invictus'. Setanta was suited up, his left arm encased in metal and his AI ready to take control at the slightest hint of danger. His first Protectorate assignment: he was ready.
Last edited by The Grene Knyght on Mon Feb 26, 2018 4:32 pm, edited 3 times in total.
     
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2016 - x=-8.88, y=-9.54
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The V O I D
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 16088
Founded: Apr 13, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby The V O I D » Mon Feb 26, 2018 8:41 pm

Lunas Legion wrote:National Bank of Canada
Etobicoke, Toronto
Canada


Robbing a bank in broad daylight was always bound to catch the Protectorate's attention. Robbing a bank and then taking hostages was certain to get the Protectorate's attention. With most of the Wards in school, Scalder and Saurian on console duty, and Bulwark, Impel and Arrows at the Legislative Building, that left only a few of them able to respond to the robbery.

Unfortunately for whomever the robber was, that meant most of what was left of the Protectorate was committed. A PRT Quick Response Team had already arrived, and had begun preparing for a siege-esque situation, but more PRT troopers and heavier equipment would be arriving by the minute.

Snowflake had been on the scene first, having diverted from her original patrol route to assist. Her costume was simple, a ice blue bodysuit with grey and white snowflake patterns across it, a winged helmet that covered all her face but for her mouth hiding most of her face. Others would be arriving in due time, she merely needed to stage a holding action along with the PRT troopers and wait for them.


National Bank of Canada
Etobicoke, Toronto
Canada


Micah Wellington || Agony






Micah scowled as the last bag was brought out in front of him. He motioned for the employees to stand in front of him. “That everything?”


“...no, but it's all the bags we have.” He stared at the woman who answered him for a long, hard moment. He did not trust this woman. Micah could hear the PRT vehicles out front. Or maybe police vehicles. Regardless, the PRT or police were here; no doubt that heroes would be soon to follow.


He turned towards the security guard who'd pulled a gun on him, who was now one of the huddled hostages. “You. Walk out the front door. Tell them that Agony says to back the fuck up, or people will get hurt.”


When the security guard made no move, Micah charged a blast in his hand. “Now.”


The security guard's eyes widened, and he moved, quickly. The guard walked to the front door of the bank, taking a step outside. The guard would repeat Micah's words, and to emphasize them, he shot the guard in the back with a blast. The guard crumpled to the ground, screaming in utter pain at the top of his lungs. Micah had moved to a position where the guard/front door and the crowd were all within his sight to a variable degree. More blasts charged up in his hands as he prepared for the possibility of a fight.

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Lunas Legion
Post Czar
 
Posts: 30357
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Lunas Legion » Tue Feb 27, 2018 11:35 am

Department N Headquarters Vehicle Bay,
Downtown, Toronto
Canada


Narwhal game a simple nod of acknowledgement to the salutes; they were hardly standard Protectorate procedure, but as a sign of discipline and an acknowledgement of one's superiority they were nonetheless a good thing, especially from the newbie.

"Invictus, Setana. Follow me, I'll brief you once we're en route." Silently, Narwhal led the pair into the vehicle bay, the sound of idling engines audible in the otherwise silent bay. Their source was soon revealed; an idling PRT van. Narwhal opened the rear doors and motioned for Invictus and Setana to take one of the few empty seats in the back, the rest being filled with PRT troopers.

After they took their seats, Narwhal taking one right at the back, the van sped off.

"Current situation is that Agony is holding an unknown number of civilians hostage at the scene." Narwhal spoke of the roar of the engine. "We've got troopers and police already on scene forming a cordon around the bank, along with Snowflake, who'll be stalling until we arrive. Our priority is to rescue the civilians first, apprehending Agony second. He's a Blaster 6, so standard anti-Blaster tactics are in effect. Any questions?"




National Bank of Canada
Etobicoke, Toronto
Canada


Snowflake watched, arms crossed, as a single guard walked out the front door before stopping. Seemingly hesitant, he raised his voice.

"Agony says to back the fuck up, or people will get hurt.”

She rolled her eyes. Villains were all the same. Threaten people for your own selfish gain.

The man crumpled to the ground, screaming briefly before they faded to a wimper, Agony presumably moving his power away from him.

She heard footsteps behind her. "Before you ask, Sergeant, no, I'm not taking away your command on this one. My orders, and those of the PRT, are to stall here for as long as possible and wait for backup."

"He's got a bank full of hostages." The police sergeant growled from behind her. "And you want me to do nothing?"

"Time is on our side, not his, sergeant. Just wait. And that is advice, not an order. If you want to go in, feel free."

She heard the sergeant mutter something under his breath before turning around.

Well, at least he wasn't doing anything stupid like ordering an all-out assault.

"Saurian, ETA on our reinforcements?" She whispered into her wrist-mounted radio.

"Twenty five minutes or so."

"Shit." She swore. That was probably too damn long to stall for. Fighting, however, well. She'd see how all that went.




Big Jim's
York, Toronto
Canada


Big Jim's was not a big place. A small family-run restaurant, run by the eponymous 'Jim'. The only reason it stayed open was it did good food, and it served as a neutral ground for whenever multiple villain groups wished to meet, and for new arrivals to the city to meet the established groups.

Only the three heads of the Bratva were there; Virago sat at the head of the table, face concealed under a long, bird-like mask, her costume a long black jacket with a metal-tipped black mantle on her back. Lavr's costume didn't even look like a costume; a balaclava, no pattern, and military fatigues. He looked like a common thug.

There were others there too; Saint, further down the table, clad in his power armour, his face, dominated by a strange animated tattoo of circuits and his shaved head visible. None of the Heartbroken were present; not surprising, since they weren't going to be in the city for long. Supposedly.

The two other members of the little meeting, Faultline, wearing her costume of grey body armour, a long skirt and a welding mask-esque face cover, along with Spitfire in her gas mask and a red firefighter's suit, arrived in silence and took their own seats at the table.

"I'll be brief." Faultline broke the silence. "I'm here for a specific reason, unrelated to anyone in this room; I can't disclose what because, well, I'm a professional. Once that's done, we'll be remaining in Toronto for up to a month at most provided no contracts require us to remain for a longer time before leaving the city. Provided you're willing-" She nodded towards Virago. "We'll set up our base of operations within York for the duration of our stay, and we'll notify you when we leave. Otherwise normal rules on mercenaries apply. Is that alright with everyone present?"




Legislative Assembly of Ontario,
Downtown, Toronto,
Canada


By the time Luxe arrived, the small security team at the Legislative Assembly had found the courage to move out from cover due to the lack of continuing sniper fire of any form. Although barely fifteen people in total, both PRT and police had done their best to form a loose perimeter around the building, weapons readied, binoculars scanning the rooftops of surrounding buildings and a pair of troopers, barely visible, prone on the roof, watching the overlooking buildings with sniper rifles.

"Just see what the guys already there want you to do, Luxe. They've got a far better idea of what the hell is going on down there than I do up here. Console out."

The police and PRT tensed up noticeably when they saw a costumed figure approaching, but relaxed when they realised it was one of the good guys.

"Not me, maybe some of the others." One of the policemen shook his head. "I'd all just arrived from the day, were going over patrol routes and the like when I heard the barest hint of a gunshot. Thought it was nothing, then the screaming started." He glanced behind him before calling out. "Hey, corporal, you were out front?"

"Lobby, but close enough." The PRT corporal wandered over, giving Luxe a nod of acknowledgement. "One moment Assemblyman Olyndall is leaving from a long night going over budget reports, the next he's hit in the head and it explodes. No more shots, so I'm guessing it's a hitman. We have any more reinforcements coming?"
Last edited by Lunas Legion on Tue Feb 27, 2018 1:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Last edited by William Slim Wed Dec 14 1970 10:35 pm, edited 35 times in total.

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Segral
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1647
Founded: Sep 06, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Segral » Tue Feb 27, 2018 1:48 pm

Michael "Muscle" Westing

Michael sighed with obvious annoyance. It seemed this ride home would not be one of peace and quiet (aside from the riproars of Angus and Malcolm) and instead be one of extreme frustration and general anger. He barely cared she was a parahuman, he had seen a lot of them, he was more upset with other things. "Why, why, God, why on your green earth did she have to sleep in my car?!" he asked whatever God above was listening. He was gonna need a few if he hoped to not chuck himself out of this car and onto the waiting arms of the freeway.

Snorting, he dropped the gun, unloading it quietly before sliding it back into the glove compartment, still staring suspiciously at the girl. "Get your damn feet off my console, this isn't your damn living room or trunk or wherever you live." he said, pulling back onto the road and beginning the drive back to his apartment. "Seriously, put your feet down, Mirage, or whatever your name is, you'll scuff the console. And you're a parahuman? How nice, I might not chuck you out after all."
yea bro idk

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Mundeo
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10355
Founded: Jan 04, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Mundeo » Tue Feb 27, 2018 2:30 pm

[align=]Big Jim's
York
[/align]


Anatoly took brief glances at each of the parahumans present as they entered the claustraphobia-inducing restaurant. He was somewhat surprised to see that the dive was graced with Saint's presence; he was not expecting the Dragonslayers to be present. Out of everyone that sat at the table, Anatoly was the only one that any sort of costume or a means of face concealment. He had no concern of his identity being known - his own face was his mask. His countenence was eerily still and emotionless as Faultline provided her demands, and asked for approval with those present.

'I never quite understood the necessity for masks and costumes' Anatoly thought to himself. 'Such an uncessary means of drawing attention to yourself. And why hide your identity? Who in their right mind would dare to confront a parahuman regardless?'

As Faultline gave her demands, Anatoly shook the thoughts aside so that he may answer to her request for approval.

"We are more than willing to accomodate, as long as you and your compatriots do not interfere with our own business" He stated curtly, gesturing to Faultline and Spitfire. Only his lips moved, the rest of his countenence remaining in their statuesque stillness. "Otherwise, we welcome you to Toronto"
What is a sig? A miserable little pile of words! But enough talk!
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Auphelia
Minister
 
Posts: 2853
Founded: Jan 05, 2017
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Auphelia » Tue Feb 27, 2018 4:05 pm

White Rabbit

This was just great. Stuck in a bank while a crazy villain held everyone inside hostage.

She had gone for her daily run, showered and eaten her breakfast. Everything was normal, but she was slightly ahead of schedule and had an awkward amount of time between when she needed to be at work and when she finished eating. So, because she was a responsible and mature adult, she decided to head to the bank and doodle on deposit forms. It had been five minutes before she needed to leave the bank when, in the middle of creating a pretty accurate caricature of the fat security guard, she had been hit with the need to . . . dispose of her breakfast. Cut to two minutes later, she had been washing her hands when the screams started. She could hear yelling and eventually discerned that some sort of powered individual was robbing the bank. Thankfully her costume had been with her in her handbag, but she was trapped in a less than ideal location while a villain rampaged. Once in her costume, she had gotten close to the far wall, which placed her in the tourist shop right next to the bank. She had placed her civilian belongings in the isle behind a rack of hideous "I HEART TORONTO" clothing and teleported back into the bank.

Now she was in the vents above the villain. It appeared that he shot some sort of energy beam that caused the people it hit to collapse in agony. She watched as he apparently baited the police, PRT officers, and capes that were outside of the bank.

He has hostages, and is surrounded. But can his power actually hurt people?

From what she could see it didn't seem so, but she would have to be careful around those beams if she tried to attack him. Her suit might block it, and her scream might cause it to be little more than a sting, but he was still an unknown variable. She considered her options.

I could drop a flash bang and a smoke bomb, scream, teleport out of this vent, land on top of him, and taser him. But what if the flash bang hurts the hostages? Or what if he begins to shoot wildly? No. Just cause some distraction. The capes outside are obviously not doing anything.

Then he sent the guard she had been drawing outside, probably to spew the usual "Don't come in or he'll attack us" nonsense. He shot another beam, presumably at the guard based on the scream, and moved away from the vent White Rabbit was in and towards an odd place by the teller windows where he probably had a better vantage point. She had to act now.

Quickly teleporting out of the vents, she set off two of her smoke bombs, one aimed at the villain and one aimed at the hostages. At least he would be shooting blind if he tried to shoot them. She then unleashed her scream and heard some of the hostages and the man grunt with discomfort. She saw his beams nearly go out before regaining their power, though it did seem dimmer than it had been. Before the villain could regain his bearings she teleported quickly until she was withing arms reach, swinging one of her taser gloves towards him.

Please let this work.
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