Wolfram

Even on his rooftop perch, the Portent staggered as the strange pod's earsplitting keening flooded his audio-receptors. His sound filters held off the worst of the deafening noise, but his ears were still ringing as he regained his footing and looked down at the scene, to see the assembled heroes shrouded in a dense green fog.

Was this an attack? The readings he'd obtained from the events so far meant nothing to him. All he could do was try to ensure that the situation was contained.

He set his helmet's transmitter to the Militia frequency. "Portent to anyone inside the Dugout. Seal all access points immediately. Do not attempt to exit into Kings Row."

As the echoes of the crashing impact faded away, the helmeted figure of the Portent rose from behind the rooftop water tank he'd used for cover, and moved to the edge of the roof to get a better view of where the falling object had embedded itself in the concrete. He'd miscalculated the point of impact by quite some distance, but the place where it had chosen to come to rest was... interesting, nevertheless.

Are they attacking us again? Not consistent with their previous methods or tactics... but no sense in taking chances.

He crouched on the roof-ledge to reduce his visible profile and began a sensor scan of the object, not certain what he was expecting to be able to see. Was this anything other than a stray piece of rock? What would it mean if it was?

I'm much in favour of all kinds of IC missioning. Not sure if I'll be available this evening, though.

Jennifer landed beside the other two, turning off her bow and returning it to her belt. "You guys ok? That looked... rough." She picked a fragment of a shattered bullet out of her shoulder. "Can't see how that could have gone any worse. Either of you know who that van was transporting?"

"But - ok, got it." Jennifer dived closer to the melee, focusing her power as Ryan had asked, shaping her field's energy into a fixed barrier surrounding him and his assailant. You better know what you're doing...

Jennifer hovered in the sudden calm, a blunt-tipped baton arrow drawn and ready to shoot. Where the hell did...? [censored]! What had started as a bad situation had turned into a disaster, and the perpetrators were rapidly disappearing in plain sight. All except...

Jennifer swooped toward the one place where the battle seemed to be being fought, or at least where blasts of fire and radiation were still lighting up the area. As she got closer, she could see Cindersnap and his friend facing off against... someone... who had just started to charge toward Ryan.

Jennifer dived to get closer to the battle, focusing her power into a cage around the flying woman. She didn't know if she could stop someone going that fast, but trying had to be better than the alternative.

Jennifer cursed as the air filled with gunfire from the gang leader's backup posse. Her disruption field flared up in visible ripples of energy as it sapped the momentum from the incoming projectiles, turning a deadly wall of lead into an almost-as-deadly obstacle course. She ducked and weaved between bullets, cursing again as stray rounds bounced off her body armour, and reached for her bow, which activated in a flare of light.

Around the truck below her, the world was a mess of fire and ice. She couldn't afford to stop dodging long enough to figure out what was happening; hopefully Ryan's friend could keep things under control a little while longer.

She drew a riot arrow from her quiver, took aim, and launched the concussive warhead into the midst of the massed thugs. She turned weightlessly in the air to gain a better angle of ascent, just in time to let a burst of bullets hiss past her face. She swooped ahead, scanning for where the ringleader had fled.

((Late arrival by permission of the Doc))

Wavekite skimmed low over the city rooftops, zeroing in on the source of the police call. Even from a distance, she could smell burning in the air and a faint stink of spilled fuel; things had obviously gone very bad. But she was still surprised when she arrived just in time to see what looked like a giant Shivan diving into a manhole that had been smashed wide open.

She quickly took stock of the situation. She recognised Cindersnap on the ground, and if Jay Reynolds said he was one of the good guys, he was one of the good guys. The woman who was rapidly turning into a juggernaut of ice and flame seemed to be with him. The man with two dangerous-looking guns who was sprinting away from the scene, on the other hand...

Jennifer slowed to a hover and concentrated, trying to form a sonic barrier to seal the doorway the running man was making for.

The Starlit Spirit watched the restaurant from a safe distance, seeing the Indian woman disappear through its doors. There was most certainly something of note here. The attendant who had opened the car door for the woman should not have been there, for a start. There was no life within the body that her eyes had seen; if she had been observing incorporeally, she would not have known anyone was there.

That was certainly an abberation, but such undead creatures had no mind, no independent will. He would need to be dealt with, but first, the Spirit would investigate his apparent mistress. There was something about her, too, a shadowy veil - something the Spirit could sense the edges of, but not see within.

She walked into the alleyway behind the restaurant, sifting the spirit world for fragments of insight. Finally, a picture formed in her mind, and she became it, her clothes shifting back into pure light before reforming as the uniform of the restaurant's waitresses. She approached one of the building's back doors, shifted between dimensions, and stepped inside.

Liberty City

Dusk was falling over the isles of Liberty as the Starlit Spirit entered the capital city. Even to one as dulled to the feelings and emotions of the living as she was, a sense of unease seemed to hang over the metropolis, which the open military presence served only to accent. Patrols of men supported by armoured vehicles were to be seen on most streets, and helicopters and other aircraft frequently passed overhead, maintaining a constant alert. The soldiers' green-and-black uniforms, marked with the emblem of a gold eagle, meant nothing to the spirit; mortal nations and disputes were beyond her purview, now.

Her obviously foreign appearance drew some strange looks, but the soldiers seemed preoccupied with a different threat, and she passed through the city streets unhindered. Tense as the situation was, it seemed little more than a mundane state of near-war; she wondered if perhaps the island spirits had been right, if there was no actual spiritual violation to be found. But here, too, she could sense a nagging presence - something hidden or subdued, just beyond her awareness. Searching every inch of the city would be a slow process, but time was not something the Starlit Spirit was short of.

She began a systematic exploration of Liberty City's streets, watching for signs of the spiritual abnormality she had sensed from the people and places she passed.

[ QUOTE ]
Is she heading to Liberty City?

[/ QUOTE ]
That's right, coming from the direction of the volcano. Thanks.

That's a no, I take it?

I don't mind having to wait, just seems like there's a lot of IC time passing and Starlit is still flying to the city. Let me know if there's something I'm supposed to be doing.

Seeing as several days seem to have passed IC, it's probably about time I got Starlit's investigation back on track...

Is there anything I need to know about the city, its people, the level of security etc. before I write up Starlit's arrival?

WarpLocke
Prison Yard, the Zig - Nine minutes to the Cadre Breakout

Running against the flow of the riot wasn't easy, but the mass of prisoners learned quickly enough that anyone who got in Hank's way didn't stay there long. He broke away from the rioting mass in the yard, following the directions Mr. Weaver had given him at their meeting.

The guards and occasional Longbow troops were far more occupied at the far end of the yard keeping people inside the prison than stopping them from going the other way. WarpLocke dropped one of the two guards in his way with an energy blast to the throat, and grabbed the other to use as a battering ram on the door. It held up to a couple of solid hits, and then WarpLocke and his whimpering blunt instrument were inside the medical wing.

Mr. Mason had apparently come through on his promise. Someone had turned the radiation emitters in Hank's cell up to full the night before, giving him a near-full charge. His heart pounded triumphantly, filling him with its terrible strength. There was only one thing left to do.

He made his way through the corridors, ignoring the guards and occasional prisoners being carried in from the fighting outside. Up one flight of stairs, second on the right, and...

He bashed the door open with his now-unconscious hostage. The room's one occupant, a lab-coated doctor with a bloodied bandage around one arm, went pale as he advanced. He was close enough for Hank's enhanced vision to make out his nametag.

"Howdy, Doctor Langton," he grinned. "Little bird told me you might have implanted something or other in my chest when I came in here? I want it out."

"Y-you're crazy." Langton shook his head. "I won't help you."

"And you're callin' me crazy?" Hank laughed. "Have it your way. I got eight minutes before I need to be gone. You and your pal here got two arms and two legs each." He grabbed the arm of the man in his grip and twisted it to near breaking point. "You're the doctor, do the math."

Langton hesitated only a moment before some combination of terror and compassion overrode his other principles. He turned the desk behind him, unlocked one of the desk drawers, and pulled out a sheet with an x-ray. "There. It's in your chest, just above the ribcage. B-but eight minutes - we don't have time for surgery, or - "

"I always was more a fan of traditional medicine." Hank tossed the guard aside and smashed open one of the cabinets on the wall. He picked out of the biggest, sharpest scalpel of the lot, braced himself, and plunged it into his chest.

Langton stared in horror as WarpLocke rooted around under his own skin, oily black blood oozing from a widening wound. Finally, the blade met the right sort of resistance, and he prized the tiny sphere of metal out of his body and onto the floor. He stamped on it, hard.

"Now, Doc," he muttered through clenched teeth as he grabbed a roll of bandage and began to bind up the gaping wound he'd made. "Seems there's just one thing left to do." He could feel the change already; the constraining field that had kept him from feeding all this time was gone, and an old hunger, almost forgotten, started to surge back.

He grabbed the cowering Langton by the sides of his head and lifted him up to eye level. He waited until the man was utterly in the grip of mortal terror, until the hunger was at its peak. Then he kissed him on both cheeks, and released him.

"Much obliged, Doc," he called out as he made his way toward the door, leaving Langton in a trembling heap on the floor. "Keep up the good work."

The hunger gnawed at him like some caged beast. He laughed. He'd been through too much to let this thing control him. Being a slave to power was its own special kind of weakness. He charged ahead, forcing his way through the press of rioters to catch up with the rest of his Cadre.

I keep missing these. Weekends are tricky and Mondays are booked with the Militia. I'll try and make it next weekend if there's another meetup.

WarpLocke
The Zig - Now

The door provided little resistance. It led to little more than a large maintenance closet. Out of sight, out of the way, containing nothing of sufficient interest to warrant much security; there was no alarm, and the lock wasn't acid-proofed. WarpLocke stepped inside and leaned heavily against the wall, looking down, his breathing laboured.

He heard the footsteps as they filed in from the corridor, and turned to face them: six familiar faces, wearing smug smiles of triumph.

"Thought you'd find yourself a place to hide, hero?" the leader asked, closing the door behind him. "Too bad you got yourself cornered again. You ain't got that mutant freak to back you up this time."

Hank shook his head. "Ain't me that's got trouble learnin'. You really think if I was hiding, I'd be so easy to find?"

The gang leader laughed. "Nice bluff. Feel like backing it up?"

Hank had thought about elaborate ways to kill all six of them, but quite apart from the pointless waste of effort - one or two would do just fine - he just didn't have the power. This was all going to hang on one chance, to play the ace he had up his sleeve and hope it kept him alive until the guards showed up.

The leader advanced. Hank noticed he'd tied thick strips of cloth around his hands and wrists; apparently he was smart enough to learn one lesson.

Hank straightened up, still feigning weakness; he reached out to his right, as if to steady himself, and flicked the lightswitch off. The room plunged into darkness.

The ex-Skulls froze, blinded. Hank smiled, and removed his shades. His super-sensitive vision wasn't perfect, but he could easily see well enough to grab the gang leader, and pull him close. He gripped the sides of the man's head, holding it steady despite his struggles as he stared into the man's eyes.

Twin beams of sickly green light shone from WarpLocke's eyes into his victim's. The room filled with an acrid, burned smell. The other gang members stared the green-lit tableau, horrified, as their leader's struggles slowly ceased. WarpLocke held the pose until the man went limp in his grip, then dropped him to the floor.

The impact broke the spell. The remaining gang members began to scream for help, scrambling for a door they could no longer see. It would only a matter of moments before the guards arrived.

WarpLocke grabbed one of the exposed water pipes on the wall beside him, and wrenched it free of its housing. His strength was fading, but he was in the dark with five terrified men holding the closest thing any of them had to a weapon.

By the time the guards burst in, only WarpLocke was left standing. The baton-wielding guards stared at the scene in disbelief, then closed in. WarpLocke managed to get one or two solid hits in before the rain of blows began to fall, and the world began to fade.

"Holy [censored], what did he do to this guy...?"

"...think one or two of them might still be breathing..."

"...this psycho to D Block!..."

And here we go...

Hank Delacroix's cell
The Zig - Now

Hank sat on the bed in his cell after lights-out, studying the pair of protective shades held in his hands. He'd spent his life moving from place to place, knowing that each new home, each new job was just a step on a long path. The same had to be true of what was coming, but he knew it might be a long time before he was free of this "Mason" character. Just not as long as he'd be stuck in this cage if he hadn't been made an offer he couldn't refuse.

Tomorrow, it would be time. He'd asked a few questions of the right people, and picked out a place; only one locked door to contend with, and it was nothing special. Tomorrow, he'd make his leap of faith. Until then...

He carefully prised the housing of the dark glasses until he was able to slip the left eyepiece out of its frame. He'd idly wondered, when he realised the lenses were actual glass, whether the doctor who'd provided them was an ally of some sort; an early token of Mason's generosity? Or perhaps the Ziggurat's regular clientéle just weren't quite this creative, not the ones used to crushing skulls with their bare hands. Either way, it was time to leave his mark.

He slid the sharpened edge of the glass across his fingertip, moving it away quickly before it could be stained. Black blood dripped from the wound, splashing in tiny smoking puddles on the floor as he rose and walked over toward the exposed concrete wall where past occupants had scratched or carved or chiselled their names over the years.

The name of Hank Delacroix would not remain in this cell, though, any more than it had remained in any of a hundred other places across the States. He needed people to forget it, not immortalise it. For as long as his stay in the Rogue Isles was going to last, his legend would grow under a different name.

He traced out the letters with his bleeding fingertip, etching out tiny indentations as his blood stained the concrete:
"WarpLocke".

He liked the way it sounded.

For me, names, obscure details, minor powers, special senses, anything that my character has been told or should be able to see. No more hastily double-checking the Union Wiki for me.

WarpLocke
The Zig - Now

The daily routine of prison life kept Hank from being conspicuous while he planned. The more he subtly asked around about the mythical depths of D Block, the more he wondered how he would make sure of his transfer. This was a place where monsters were caged - there were stories of immortal serial killers, men made from living sand, those who just couldn't be held by steel and concrete and power dampeners. From the details of the plan that Mr Weaver had explained to him, he didn't have time to form his own personal legend; all he could do was show them it was too dangerous not to lock him away in their deepest, darkest dungeon. Ordinary insubordination wasn't going to do that.

He was pondering the problem in the laundry room, taking his time with the task in hand, when he realised he was no longer alone. A group of six prisoners were circling around him, closing off his routes of escape. Hank stood, slowly, eyeing the men from behind his protective shades. "You lookin' for something?"

"Yeah," one of the men replied. "We're lookin' for a hero who was dumb enough to get himself locked away in here with us."

Thought one or two of these guys looked familiar. Hank nodded slightly. "And?"

"And word is, you used to go around in spandex calling yourself the Shining Shield. But you wouldn't know anything about that, right?"

Hank shrugged. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"Dumb [censored]!" The leader of the gang stepped forward. "You put us in here, all of us." He held up his arm; a badly-rendered tattoo of a skull adorned his forearm. "And now you fall right in here with us." He flashed an evil smile. "Guess karma gotta work in my favour once in while, huh?"

Hank shook his head. "Ain't no way this is in your favour, pal. Just walk away."

"We got a debt to settle up first." The gang leader reached out toward Hank. "For starters, I like the look of them shades - "

Hank caught his hand. "Don't. Touch."

The gang leader slammed his free hand into Hank's chest. Hank almost doubled over as the impact jarred his injuries, coughing violently. He could taste blood in his mouth. The gang leader laughed. "You sayin' something there, hero?"

Hank straightened up slightly, and spat a gobbet of black blood onto the gang leader's skull tattoo. The thug's disgust turned to horror and pain as the corrosive ichor started to burn his tattooed skin. "Holy - Jesus! What the hell are you?"

Hank stood to his full height, with effort; his vision was still a little blurry, but he couldn't show weakness. "You [censored] wanna dance, let's get it over with."

The attackers paused. They'd lost their momentum, no longer sure they had the upper hand. Their leader glanced back at them. "Well? C'mon! Kill this freak!"

A shrill noise sounded over the leader’s command. The whistle descended, then rose in a pleasant tune as its owner rounded the corner. Striding into view was a tall black man, carrying one of the large laundry bags casually over his shoulder. He spotted the crowd and walked towards them, towering over the majority of the group.

“I’m in a very good mood,” he announced to anyone who cared. “I slept well, breakfast was edible for a change and I even managed to coax a smile out of the guards on A Block. I feel good! In fact, I feel so good that if anyone dared to ruin my mood, I might just have to ruin them. That would be only fair, don’t you think gentlemen?”

He smiled at them, a big, broad grin that both expressed extreme happiness and extreme violence for anyone who dared annoy him. The group, having briefly forgotten their prey knew exactly who the man was and what he’d probably do to them if they decided to fight. Picking on a burning giant rather than a wounded vigilante was a slightly more worrying proposition. They began to drift away, along with mutters of ‘whatever’ and ‘laters’.

As the last of them wandered back to work, he looked at the wounded man, the smile dropping off his face in an instant.

“Don’t get cornered again,” he stated before hefting the laundry bag back onto his shoulder and walking away.

Hank wiped a smear of blood from his lips, smiling slightly as he watched his unexpected benefactor depart. "Don't you worry," he murmured to himself. "I already know there ain't no percentage in being prey."

WarpLocke
Then and Now

The world pulsed to Hank's heartbeat. Raw, primal energy filled His veins. Every nerve, every cell, was alive with power. He tossed the lifeless form of LeVine aside, and moved forward.

Soldiers came - His former comrades, no more reluctant to kill Him than anyone else they might have been set upon. It didn't matter. Right now, He was invincible. Bullets glanced off His glowing skin, and His punches connected with explosive power.

His escape passed in a blur of exultant violence. Whatever device had replaced His heart thundered triumphantly as it savoured the lifeforce that had been Levine's, lending its dark strength to its host. When He grew bored of destroying all in His path, He tore through an access hatch into the Perez park tunnel network, collapsing the path behind Him with a single punch. By the time the Council recovered from the onslaught enough to mount a search, He was long gone - freed into the city, a God among mere mortals...

The dream faded. Hank lay awake in his stark cell, bathed in the sickly glow of the gamma field, charging him with just enough power to keep his heart beating for one more day. The prison guards couldn't turn his powers off completely, not without killing him, but they'd put... something in him, to stop him from feeding on his fellow prisoners. And this was just high security. What they might do to him if he was moved to D Block...

The leap of faith. All or nothing. If Weaver had been lying, he was pretty much guaranteed of spending the rest of his days in this cage.

But the memory of that second file burned in his mind. Whatever Weaver was really up to, that hadn't been faked. That was the reason he was going to throw himself into the lion's jaws.

Leaving the custodian to his domain, the Starlit Spirit took flight and soared in the direction of Liberty City, skimming low over the landscape as she watched the spirit plane for signs of disturbance. A half-remembered instinct prompted her to land before drawing too close to the city itself; it would not help to alarm the local people by flying into their midst.

[ QUOTE ]
Then lets start the show. Shall we have it as a charity-sponsored sparing match? Which characters will be represented? Are we free to start this night?

[/ QUOTE ]
Afraid I can't make it tonight. Hope it goes well, looks like there's a few people interested anyway.

"You have perceived nothing out of the ordinary?" The Spirit paused. It was true, there seemed to be no anguish in this cemetary, no outrage - the mood was more curious, perhaps a little apprehensive. "If you are certain... then as you say, I will satisfy my curiosity and then leave you in peace." Perhaps I will find what I am looking for further from the sight of these custodians... closer to where the living are gathered.

She took one last look up at the volcano, before turning to face the direction of what she sensed to be the nearest city and... something else? It was incredibly faint, almost imperceptible, but something had changed since her arrival.

Bah, the character I really want to volunteer for this is still level 1 and stuck in the Zig until I12 is released...

I could have one of my existing characters stand in for a generic challenger, if it would help get this thing started?

"As lost as we all are, upon the endless Path." The Spirit bowed humbly to the one that had manifested. "I dreamed of great wrongs performed upon this land, of innocents twisted from their Path, of parasites feeding an unnatural existence with the lifeblood of others.

"You must have heard the same cries that I did." She gestured toward the volcano. "I entreat your leave to walk this land and seek out the abominations. The balance must be preserved."