The Dark (Closed due to player disinterest)
New York ... New York.
Always awake. Always moving. From space, alien travelers can see the city from thousands of miles distant. They can feel the city's pulse over the hum of extraterrestrial electro-mechanics. The defiant spires of the city stand as monument to human achievement. Skyscrapers designed and constructed by a past generation of visionaries sired from street-level aspirations. If you could fly over New York City, streets eclipsed in half-shadow shout a protesting sort of welcome that's never been for the casual tourist.
Light. Sound. Action. New York speaks to the world with the full force of its 400+ years of history - each of the five Burroughs communicating in its own distinct fashion.
Sidewalks boast a constant company of footfall from civilian occupation. The streets bark the loud cries of every automotive concern, with taxicabs, trucks, bikers and privately-owned-vehicles grappling for the way to right. The Way of the City. Never take to this city with apprehension or concern for safety. Anything happens here. Just stay prepared.
Rooftops sport their own traffic, citizens watching the towers and helicopters rise and fall amidst the sound of the endless stream of mecha. There's a real song to the city - the resonant ballad of Metropolis that forces you to reflect on the greater purpose of activity.
Overwhelmed by the scent of exhaust, fine restaurants, trash and technology, New York City has its own unique fragrance. Not like Paris, or England, or Moscow, or Hong Kong. New York was an invitation to engaging imagination - American-style.
Downtown, 9:54 p.m.
City Hall's wide, rounded steel-reinforced shoulders sagged at the end of a long day. Sunlight cut across the stone eagle atop the building's zenith, maybe to signal something. The rest of the structure below the shine was mild shadow, downtown preparing for night. Lights illuminated windows inside the building at the highest level, someone busy. A plan. Always a plan. At street-level, Gen. Nicholas Fury watched the foot traffic. Habit. Two blocks down the guy in the green hoodie was selling drugs to a prostitute. A cabbie across from him was discussing how the U.S. overspends on defense, sacrificing the school systems. Two very attractive women pass debating the veracity of man one of them met on the internet.
Fury drew a cigar infused with Louis XIII cognac to his lips and fired his Zippo at it. While he leaned against the nearby doorway, the man he was waiting for stepped out. Eldain Owlheart. When the President and Congress came to the rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. for a plan to revamp NYC's emergency-management protocols, Fury dropped 1,000 names in a hat. The computer spit out the very-best of the best.
Owlheart was Number One.
In terms of statistical logistics, no one had come close to what the young tactician had produced. Uncanny. Revised the Army's Pacific readiness program. Restructured the UN's Middle East response from "hack & slash" to something 21 Century. And, advised Fury's reboot of S.H.I.E.L.D. All very quiet. "Under the radar". That was Owlheart's trick: he never showed his face or stood in conference rooms. He told you how to do it, from across the world. But now, "under the radar" was over.
Fury found, cajoled, coerced and brought him in. This project, AEGIS, needed a face. A face that demanded respect. That was Eldain Owlheart. What a name. Fury turned his head to gaze at the man exiting City Hall alone,
"Doctor Owlheart, I presume. Have you eaten today? Or are we just having coffee?"
Astrid had met the X-men by pure accident, on a city street. Now, they were all gathered for an outing at Central Park. Wolverine insisted. The blaze from the (illegal) BBQ grill illuminated the area for yards as Nightcrawler, Rogue, Colossus, Storm, Shadowcat and Logan talked about their travels. They laughed and comforted Astrid with soft contact to make her feel wanted. They all knew what it was to be a mutant. To be alone and unwanted and feared. They knew what it was to be ALONE. And they meant to make sure Astrid didn't have to experience it.
Kurt (Nightcrawler) splashed ice-cold water from a cooler at Astrid, smiled and teleported away. Teleporters. Everyone smiled and chatted wildly, except Logan, who took a cold beer from a cooler and cracked it open with a wet splash. He eyed Astrid and winked before downing his brew. It was wonderful. Finding her lost family across dimensions. Finding a home.
Better still, Astrid had found Franklin Richards. Her erstwhile savior from across the realm, Franklin, a young teen, had become her good friend. He shared his experiences as the child of Earth's greatest adventurers and in exchange, Astrid shared herself. He was so unbelievably powerful - a power that ignored dimensional barriers. And yet. Franklin was so approachable. Almost ..... human. He always had a smile for Astrid and there was a strong connection between them. She just wasn't sure of the exact point.
Then, the grill fire whipped out, attacked by an unusual breeze. The area went dark and the wind picked-up around the group. Viciously. Storm fell to the ground, trying to gather herself, along with the others. Quickly, all the mutants were overwhelmed by the sudden, wretched typhoon that left them defenseless as babes. Astrid blinked at the forceful wind as it lashed into her face. The entire park had become nothing but darkness. Vile, unholy dark.
From the center of Central Park, a hundred feet in front of Astrid, a light flashed. Flashed and grew. The light became flame that lashed and crawled at lightning-speed across the area. In an eyeblink, everything was on fire. Even the darkness burned. Astrid was hot. Her skin - no - her psyche sweat against this wild heat. It wasn't ----
--- from the center of the blazing light source, "he" walked. Both slo-motion and at the speed of thought. Beyond movement. Beyond action. Beyond reality, a humanoid form composed of pure mental energy paced towards Astrid. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
The incandescent form walked up to her and stopped, two yards distant. Astrid could feel him watching her. She could now feel his mind running over her soul - tracing her consciousness. And she couldn't stop him. Whoever he was, his power nearly rivaled Franklin's. It was ....... mind-bending.
Then, a soft hand touched her shoulder. Franklin leaned in and whispered,
"Don't be afraid of him. He can't hurt you. Just remember, to remember."
The energy-being was suddenly upon Astrid, in her face, the force of his psyche melting away her own essence with its intensity! He reached for her face and spoke, directly into her mind,
" ..... Ariel .... Astrid ....... sister ....."
Brooklyn, St. Jude's Womens and Childrens Shelter:
Astrid awoke with a snap, her heart pounding loud against her skin. Her room at the shelter was cold. 10'x10'x10', the plain, cracked-white paint room offered the young mutant a warm bed in replace of luxury. It was night and Astrid was still struggling with sleeping. She could hear the city outside her small window, relentless.
Astrid had many gifts. And they showered her with long nights of terrifying images. She had never met the X-men of this dimension. She hadn't met any of the mutants she knew, to include Franklin. What was this new dream? The future? Just a dream?
Astrid felt the worried thoughts of Emelie Hansford. Emelie was the shelter matron and served as defacto mother for the the 20+ females living there. Caucasian, 60+, gray-haired and possessing a gentle charisma, Hansford had left a promising psychiatric practice to help troubled women get their lives back. Astrid was her "special project". Emelie felt she was, well ... special.
So, the matron stood over Astrid, pensive,
"I heard your voice - it sounded ..... are you okay?"
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Okay, so. went heavy on the intros. Post any notes or roll request in a spoiler text.