New Hope City - Main IC

[DJDeMiko]

Welcome to the main IC thread for New Hope City

Please do not post in here yet.


New Hope City is on the verge of disaster. This once safe city, protected by a man in a metal suit, has seen its crime rates spike. The NHCP (New Hope City Police), while dedicated, have become used to a city with little crime and little violence.

Rumors circulate on the streets, that an old enemy who once held their hearts in a grip of fear, has risen from the dead.

Whether the people know it or not, New Hope City's troubles are only just starting.






The following is an excerpt from an article in the New Hope Herald

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“ . . and the people of our city have spent the last four years afraid that Captain Hope was in fact dead. As most readers know, Captain Hope was last seen fighting known super-criminal The Boss on top of the Tompson building on March 9th, 2004. During the fight, the two crashed down into the upper floors of the tower and shortly after the top 10 stories exploded. No bodies or sign of Captain Hope’s suit were found.

While the people held their breath, hoping for a sign that Captain Hope survived, we are beginning to see the first signs that our savior may truly be gone. While the crime rates remained low for the first three years of his absence, we began to see a crime rate increase in February of 2008. More recently, we have seen large spikes in our cities crime rates . . . . .”

The following is an excerpt from a broadcast by Ronnie the Rabid Rat Ricardo on WPNH

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“Are they kidding us? Do they think we are fools? March 9, 2004, Captain Hope’s in a death grip with The Boss on the top of the Tompson building. The Tompson building people! The corporate headquarters of one of the largest military tech science industries in the country. Suddenly the building goes up in flames, no bodies are found, but we find ourselves sans three of the most important people in the city.

We are missing one creepy crime lord. We are missing the “hope” of New Hope, the man in the giant metal outfit! And we are missing one CEO and heir of Tompson Tech. Do the people at Tompson Tech think we wouldn’t put two and two together and get secret identity! Oh, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that The billionaire military weapons expert happens to go missing at the exact same moment as a man wearing a giant military weapon!
But what really pisses me off people is that those *BLEEP* at Tompson Tech must be hiding the Hope Suit Technology, which could be used by our government to fight the *bleep* terrorists and that our police could use to deal with this new crime wave!”

The following is an excerpt from a Memo from Deputy Police Chief Walter Windle to Police Commissioner Peter Tarfin.

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“No, in fact I disagree with your above point. In fact I feel that we are lucky that the crime rate has only just begun to rise, in fact there are still other cities in this country with worse crime rates than ours has risen too. No the spike in crime might only be attributed to our city reaching a more normal level.

What worries me, is that it reeks of The Boss. The public seems to have forgotten that he disappeared as well, but I was around when he first became active in the city. To many of the gangs that have become more active used to work for him. In fact, we now believe that one of these gangs was responsible for the prisoner escapes at Tooth Prison and you may remember that one of the escapees Freddie Fisker was believed to be The Boss’s second in command. I’m worried that we may be seeing The Boss coming back to power and that we won’t have Captain Hope to pull our asses out of the fire this time."

The following is an excerpt from an article that appeared in The New Hope City Business Review

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“After weeks of interviewing potential candidates and secret meetings, the Tompson Technology board of directors have named Maxwell Braden to take the reins of CEO. Until Tompson was declared legally dead in August, the position was held by “Acting CEO” Robert Foley. While Braden’s name had been floated as early as September, many industry experts cited his lack of experience and lack of familiarity with the East Coast as reasons that he would not be chosen . . . . .”

[DJDeMiko]

Clarabell's new painting

Clara stood in front of the easel and examined her newest painting. Her graying curls shook lightly as she turned her head back and forth, scanning the canvas as if seeing it for the first time.

“Oh dearie, dearie me,” she says softly to the painting. She takes one more look at it, then turns her soft grey eyes, lined with wrinkles towards a spot on the ground, were paint has fallen and splattered across a tarp.

She squints at the spot for a moment, then reaches her paint encrusted fingers to the glasses handing from her neck by a beaded glasses holder. She puts the glasses on and stares at the splattered paint . . . looking at the spot with the intensity of a person trying to decipher a map and after a moment sighs.

“Dearie me,” she says again, “that’s what I thought.” She takes off her glasses, letting them fall onto their chain and rubs her brow tiredly. She picks up the canvas and carries it over to another, covered by a cloth. She pulls the cloth off the second painting and then lies the new drying one down next it on the left. She looks at them next to each other for a moment and then nods her head.

Clara walks back to her easel, picks up a brush and black paint and returns to the two paintings. She dips the brush into the paint and paints a faint but huge question mark onto the canvases, so that half of the question mark lies on each panting. What’s most interesting about the mark is that it fits seamlessly into the pictures and even takes a moment to recognize the existence. In fact it was almost like a child’s magic eye picture, where the question mark does not become obvious until you realize it is there.

Clara dips the brush back into the paint and then writes the word “The future” on her newest panting and the words “of Hope” onto the older one.

She looks at them both and sees that they work perfectly together, that they could never be separate and once again mutters, “dearie me,” to herself and leaves her studio, looking to make a hot tea with a generous amount of alcohol in it.

Back in the studio, there are roughly 20 paintings lying around and all but the two covered.

The older painting, now entitled “oh Hope” depicts cloaked figure, wrapped in a twisting darkness of what might be smoke . . . except that a suggestion of screaming faces can be seen within it. Despite the absence of the cloaked figures face, the viewer gets the feeling that the hooded figure is shocked and angry. Surrounding the figure is a sickening looking red ball of energy and on the outside of the bubble of energy are shadows. All but one of the things creating the shadows cannot be seen, but the sight of them fills the viewer with a sense of relief, something about the shadows suggest that they are there to stop the man with the red energy and dark swirling mass. Between the shadows and the dark figure, stands a teenage boy in a green hat. He is facing the dark figure, at the very edge of the red energy, but it’s impossible to tell why. The cloaked figure stands on the left of the panting and his red aura blends seamlessly into her newer picture.

The newer painting, “The future”, shows a skyline that many would recognize as that of New Hope City. From within the cities a sickeningly red wave of energy seems to be spreading through it. While nothing within the energy can be seen, the viewer will notice upon close inspection what looks like people huddling in fear as the energy approaches them.

[DJDeMiko]

The alley, the green hat and wings

*Note – Woff or West of First is a section of town known for poverty and violence.

There are many allies in New Hope City, but few are as dangerous as those located in the heart of Woff. In one particular ally, a young man named Zack crouches inside a broken section of wall, hidden by a rolling dumpster, that made his home. He crouched and listened to the woman crying as he had for what felt like hours.

He bent his head down to the ground, his green hat falling off, so that he could peek out through the space between the dumpster and the ground. He could only see her legs, but even that was enough for him to tell that she was naked.

Zack had become aware of her when he heard her screaming. He had peaked out from his hiding place and seen her bare feet moving back and forth as she screamed. What she had been yelling was hard to tell, but he was pretty sure that some of it had been “what did I do?” and “anything but this.” He figured it was a crazy drunk person, barefoot in winter and yelling. He curled up in his blankets and coats and tried to go back to sleep.

It was later that he heard her crying and when he peaked out he had seen the edge of body and realized that she was curled up hidden in a group of trashcans. He saw her and for the first time in a long time felt sorry for someone else. The poor woman was sobbing and naked in a back ally in this neighborhood in the middle of winter.

He was afraid though. Life had been so much harder before he found this hiding home and he was very afraid that if he left something bad could happen. The police might try to take him to a foster home, a bad person might try to hurt him, any number of bad things. So he sat listening to her cry and tried to make up his mind.

Then he heard the men coming. He knew their type as soon as he heard their voices, loud and drunk. The kind of men who would think nothing of beating the **** out of him just for the fun of it, then go home and hit their own kids. “Please lady,” Zack said quietly, “shut up before they see you.” It was too late though.

“Hey, did ya hear that,” one of the men said.

“Look . . . she’s naked,” the other said and then released a loud and dangerous laugh, “I bet she’s out here waiting for us, bet she wants to have some fun.”

He saw their feet pass by his dumpster, heading for the woman.

“Hey there baby,” one of the men said, “looks like you got all dressed up for me.”

The woman stopped crying long enough to say “do not try to hurt me, please, go away.”

The men laughed a laugh Zack had learned to recognize well living on the streets. It was the laugh of the men about to take your food, the laugh of a bigger kid about to punch you to show off and it was a laugh that meant bad things for the crying woman.

“Oh, we’re gonna leave you alone,” one of the men said, “When we’re done with you . . .”

Zack heard he start to say no and the trashcans being knocked over. Without thinking he slammed his cap onto his head and burst out of his hiding place. It didn’t even register to him that the two men would most likely be able to fight a teenage boy and a naked woman. All he could think was that he couldn’t let them hurt her.

“You ****ers stay away from her or I’ll kill you,” the boy screams as he pushes the dumpster away with enough force to send it rolling against the far wall. He rushes towards the two men and suddenly stops short as he seems them both stumbling backwards to them. Then he sees what they see. The woman was lit, that was the only thing he could think, she was as bright as a light bulb, from every inch of her light was radiating outward so bright that he could only make out a suggestion of her form. That was only part of it though, rising above her were two bright white feathered wings.

The men turned and ran, buffeting past Zack who could only stare in awe. The woman or thing or whatever turns to look at him. “You could not have stopped them,” she said to him.

Zack opened his mouth to reply but nothing would come out, he shrugged shyly and she nodded. The light emanating from her began to fade and within moments she stood before him, a beautiful nude Asian woman, the same height as him, with feathered wings. Zack looked away shyly and after a moment took off his outermost coat and handed it to her.

“You . . . you must be cold,” he managed to say.

“No,” she said taking the jacket, “but thank you.” She put the coat on, pulling it over the wings and leaving her looking like a hunch back and closed it.

He shyly turned back to her and held out his thrice mittened hand and said “I’m Zack.”

She studied his hand looking slightly confused then reached out and shook it. “I’m Gabriell . . . . I think.”

[DJDeMiko]

Who says convicts can't find a job

Charles Craton, the once notorious second-in-command under The Boss sat patiently on an expensive couch watching the man with the . . . arm who was guarding the door. Charles watched the man with eyes well trained by his years spent in the criminal underworld and with a face so calm that the man with the strange arm thought he must be bored.

Charles also watched the man because of his arm. The door-guards right arm was quite literally three times the size of his left and the skin looked thick, like an elephant’s hide, and had a red tint. He glanced across the room to the secretary who was busily typing away at a computer and looked back to the man with the arm.

His trained reflexes kept him from letting out a sigh of relief when he heard the secretary’s intercom buzz “Shirley, have Fist show Mr. Craton in.”

Shirley looks up from her computer towards the man with the arm . . . Fist and says “Uhhh . . . Mr. Fist please let Mr. Craton in to see him.”

Fist looked confused for a moment and Charles thought to himself “big and dumb, just who The Boss would have used for his muscle.” Fist opened the door and let Charles in to the office.

It was plush, to say the least. The décor was white with subtle reds and a large panoramic window showed a nice view of Hope Park. A large mahogany desk took up the back and right walls with a peninsula branching off into the middle of the room. Sitting with his back facing Charles was a person, staring at a computer screen with stocks ticking past it, and wearing a very familiar black cloak.

Charles’ trained demeanor failed him as he gasped “Boss . . . is that you, I heard you were dead but I . . ."

The person raised a hand interrupting Charles and a voice spoke up “Mr. Craton, I’m sorry you spent so long in jail but it took me a few years to get the necessary man power together to get you and the others out.”

Charles frowned, the voice was wrong. “You aren’t the boss.”

The man turned and faced Charles, who saw a pasty white face deep within the cowls of the his cloak. “Mr. Craton, you have been incredibly loyal to The Organization. From what I understand you attempted to keep it together after the Thompson building . . . incident and even while in jail you kept the correct men active. Sit down.”

Charles sat down, confused, the face was the same but the voice was different, “Uh . . . of course, I always believed in the vision of The Organization, Boss is that you?”

The man in the cloak ignored the question and said “I can not tell you how pleased I am that even when faced with such adversity you kept your allegiance. Mister Craton, I have decided to reward you for your loyalty.”

The man in the cloak’s hand shot out and grabbed Cratons wrist. Craton tried to pry the cold white fingers off his arm but they held like a vice.

“What the H,” he started to say until his body began to shake with convulsions. They didn’t hurt, but the strange tingling sensation running through his body was not pleasant. After a few moments the man in the cloak released his arm and the feeling left . . . replaced by a new one . . . a strange one . . . a good one. He felt . . . powerful.”

“Mr. Craton,” the man said, “As you can see, I am getting The Organization back into order and it will take a lot of work. I need a man like you, a man I know I can trust, to help me.”

Craton could only nod, staring at the spot on his wrist where a bruise was starting to rise.

“First,” the man continued, “I would like you to approach the old associates and inform them that The Boss is back in town. Second,” The Boss reached over to his printer and grabbed a sheet of paper with a list of names on it, “I need you to find me these people . . . I would like them to work for me.”

Craton looked at the list, he didn’t recognize most of the names, but the few that he did know where all metas.

[WhiteKnight777]

Location: The Doctor's Mansion

It just wasn't working. The doctor sighed in frustration - he'd been laboring over this particular formula still refused to resolve. He stared at the chalkboard - covering it were a series of runes, sigils and signs in several languages, archaic forms that only a relatively few people on the planet could read. Combined, they formed a private lexicon that had evolved over the years of work, a combination of engineering formulae and magical arcana, and one of the most esoteric forms of notations ever devised.

Giving another sigh, he turned away from the wall holding the chalkboard. Directly behind him stood a double-circle, a traditional etheric design that he'd converted to his own use. The band between the two was filled with sigils and runes, glowing with a soft light that shifted from violet to azure and back again in a slow, rythmic pulse like the beat of a heart. Within the circle, a device hung, half assembled, each part suspended in midair to provide the best possible view. It was clearly a weapon -a cylindrical device perhaps six feet long, tapering to a thin protuberance at one end, capped with a ball. Each piece had been painstakingly hand-forged in this very workshop, or else carefully machined in the same. But it was still missing the heart of it - the magnetosphere generator, the essential piece. He'd tried every material he could think of, but nothing solved the formula correctly.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps he was looking at it wrong. He'd been looking for a power source to drive the magnetosphere engine - but perhaps... yes. He smiled as he went back the board, working through the etheric equations again, changing certain assumptions, erasing different bits and re-writing them. His eyes gleamed - this was heaven. He'd read that some pyschologists call it a 'flow state', and the term was fitting -a place of mind where time passed by like a river, where moment flowed to moment and things simply came to one. It was a beautiful thing.

And yes... yes, it was coming together now. He smiled, dusting the chalk from his fingers as he strode to the manufactory bay, where his tools lay in neat, orderly rows or hung on racks, awaiting his need. Taking several instruments, he set them in their appropriate positions before retrieving the necessary raw materials for his work. And then he set to his task - cutting, carving, shaping, working metal - sometimes by magic, but for the most part by craft of hand, though at certain critical junctures he would apply daubs of oil with a rune-scribed brush, chanting tongue-twisting syllables with perfect precision as he did so.

After several hours work, a the finish product began to emerge - a sphere it seemed, made up of different planes of dark metal - magically hardened and treated lodestone - and criss-crossed with bands of silver. Returning to the runic circle whence he had begun his labors, he once more spoke several syllables and pushed the metal orb into the circle - as the hand containing it crossed the borders, light flared around hand and orb alike, and it was as if he were pushing it into thick molasses. After a moment, However, the orb floated free and moved to its appointed place within the device. He smiled, stood back, and began to chant once more - this time was more insistent and much more involved that at any time previous, and was accompanied by powerful, dramatic sweeps of his arms and delicate twists of his finger. The parts began to move, fitting together and locking in their appointed positions, as firmly as if they'd been machined into place - and perhaps moreso.

The device assembled, and with one final click, it was done. The doctor stepped in as the light of the circle began to fade, spent, and shouldered the device with a grunt - the thing was heavy, even for the doctor, who kept himself in good condition. He moved with it to a wall mount he had prepared, and set it on the proper brackets. He'd have to wait until this afternoon to test it. For now it was lunch, and then his daily fitess regime...

Later, as he ate in the dining room, Worthington informed him that there was someone hear to see him. The Doctor smiled... he had been anticipating this...

[0SpinBoson]

Fortune cookie

John Bale wakes up at 3pm in his 15th floor apartment in Midcity. He feels refreshed, he'd needed the sleep. He "worked" yesterday, which consists of spending enough time at one of the casinos to afford his rather affluent lifestyle for the week. Rent, food, and the like do have to be paid after all. Working does come with late nights and drinking though, and that does take its toll.

After "breakfast" and reading the newspaper, he decides he should do some of his other work. He fires up his laptop and logs into the secured Cline website to look for something he could handle.

"Let's see here..."

Scanning past the list of regular items (gang fights, The Organization rumours, etc) something catches his eye. A report of a glowing woman somewhere in the city, and a request for more information.

"Well, that's different. Don't think I can do anything about it though... Ah, here we go!"

John had finds something his "size," a request to pick up a low-ish member of the Tian Xia, named Xiang He and bring him in for questioning. He's hard to find, apparently.

"Well, let's go see if he's at one of their normal hangouts."

John prints out a list of the Tian Xia's known places and a picture of the man he was looking for, and goes on his way.


First on the list: the Golden Panda. It's supposed to be a run of the mill Chinese restaurant, just outside the Woff. A closer look will tell you, actually scratch that. It's a front, and all that's missing is a sign that says so. But, with the situation in the city the way it is, this is down on the importance list, so no one really does anything about it. John goes in, gets a table and orders an appetizer. He's wise enough NOT to do the movie thing and ask for the guy. So he bides his time.

After a little while, a few gang-types head into the back room. Luckily enough, John overhears some conversation about a meeting later on, that the guy talking is pissed about because he's not elite enough to attend. Looking at him, John isn't surprised -- he's wearing the getup of the lowest ranks -- and he's blabbering about it loudly on the phone. If John's any judge, he's not getting anywhere at all. But still, good info. And the name of the place is on his list, so he knows where to look next. Satisfied, he pays his bill and leaves.

As he gets outside, he notices a few street punks in the middle of removing the tires from his Audi.

"Hey *******s, leave my damn car alone!"

"Yeah, says who?" says one of the punks, as they turn their attention from the car to John.

"Says me. Oh, and the cop that just turned the corner over there as well," John responds, as a cop indeed turns into the street.

"**** man, 5-0. This aint worth it," one of the punks says. They look at each other and decide to go for cover. "You got lucky, bro."

John shakes his head and makes sure his tires are okay. "Lucky. My piece is in the car, I should have brought that out," he mumbles under his breath. "Ah well, lesson learned."

Satisfied with the turnout, he gets into his car and heads out. He's got a few hours until the supposed gang meet, he's got some time to see to some other things.

[DeafnotDumb]

With a curse, clatter and a cry, Jonas drops noisily from the roof and startles a nearby cat.

Shaking his sore legs, Jonas lifted himself up and slowly went into his hideout, ignoring the twinges from his complaining body. So, his first fight here in New Hope. Not bad. But Jonas hoped that the firemen would come in time before he started a major problem.

Note to self: start researching ways of controlling fire spells. Don't want repeat of fireplace incident.

Jonas's hideout was dank and in ill repair, and was actually fixed to be demolished to make way for some sort of hotel in a months time. Not up to him to tell people how to waste their money. Still, at least he had running water for a week or two, and extensive runes along with a pile of wood and a very burnt patch in the middle of the living room told of Jonas's efforts to create a everlasting magical fire. The bottles of water spread around the house, each in their own runic circles, were safeguards that would activate should the fire's runes ever break.

Shivering from the cold, Jonas got out his lighter and lit himself a cigarette. Taking a couple of relived drags from it, Jonas then flicked it so it landed in the middle of the Runic circle and muttered a word under his breath.

"Incarum"

Jonas took an inadvertent step back as the runic circle drew all the magical energy he'd infused it with together and sent it to the tip of the cigarette, creating a massive fireball that burned the ceiling and set the piled wood alight. Jonas grinned as he groped for the coal in the darkness: It was nice to know that he could do something else that blow things up, or people thereof. Now, he just had to find a way to have less collateral damage from the fireball, and, hey, instant firelighter!

Jonas lumped several pieces of his purloined coal onto the fire, and went to sit down on the least damaged piece of furniture he could find. Lighting up another cigarette, he pulled out the items he managed to steal out of that drug house before he'd got all of the criminals out and set the place aflame a bit harder than he'd meant to. He'd got about three hundred dollars- looked like crime did pay for some people- and he'd also been very careful to get a small stash of their drugs.

Jonas carefully took out a pinch of the white powder and walked up to the fire, and dropped it on the flames and watched what happened. Jonas looked on in mild surprise, and then turned his gaze towards the package he was holding. He'd have to do more experiments with it. Finally setting his shotgun down, Jonas went over to a section of the floor all covered with various runes. He didn't have the scientific equipment to distill the packet, but who cared when he could use magic to emulate it?

This stash I got be strong cocaine, very pure. Which is odd, 'cause whoever sells this stuff could've stomped on it a couple more times, cut it with some chopped up whatever. Maybe the gang who make this stuff aren't trying to expand with economics- could be they gonna use force. Gang war wouldn't be good, to say the least. Gonna have to find out more.

Damn. Looks like my first all-nighter. Wish me luck. People here be different, tight-liped to me, an' their slang be confusing. Gonna be hard ta get the information I need out of them, but I gotta try. If it be a omen of an upcoming conflict, that's gonna have consequences.

[Tichrondrius]

Hard out here for a Hero
Legacy
Just After The Bio, Putting on the Suit

A scream of terror, a feeling of helplessness, innocent people getting the shaft from those that would do wrong. For a long time, people didn't have to feel that way because of a single hero and the superstitious and cowardly criminals fear of him. Out here in Easton, however, things were getting real bad, real fast.

It was the first time he had put on this suit. Benjamin Grayson wasn't a hero, he was just some kid who found a power suit. But its not what powers you have that make you a hero, its what you do with them. And he was about to do something crazy, something insane, that people with a decent grasp of human sanity would only dream of. Fly outside in this broken-ass suit and fight crime.

It started subtlety, the pressure points in the palm activating jets that, luckily, didn't burn his apartment down. He was hovering now, but wasn't moving very fast. He had opened his window earlier for this. He leaned forward ever so slightly and... he zoomed out the window at an extremely high speed. "Whooo!" He screamed in joy then, "Ohhh!" He screamed in fear, as he realized he didn't know how to stop. With a sigh of desperation, he pressed another button... and found himself plummeting five hundred feet.

"Oh ****, oh ****, oh ****, oh ****!" Benjamin said, highly agitated, as he pressed button after button to re-activate his jets. With scant 50 feet to spare, his jets came on and broke his fall. Unfortunately, they didn't make him stop in enough time and he smacked the ground in a trash can. "Oh... ****..." He muttered again, crawling out of. "Now, thats just a cliche." He complained, glaring at the trashcan that seemed to mock him.

And there it was. A scream of terror and of helplessness. Legacy had found crime.

"Come on girlie, we just wanna play." A burly bearded man said, grabbing at a girl these thugs had surrounded.

"Yeah, play. Hehe." A thinner one said, his grin twisted up maniacly.

"Please- please just leave me alone, please! I'll give you whatever you want!" The girl pleaded.

"Oh, I know you will." The bearded man said, laughing and grabbed at her shirt, ripping it.

"Stop where you are. All of you are coming with me. I'm... uhh... er.. Captain Hope!" He shouted out, striking as heroic pose as he could in his pieces of suit.

"Holy ****, Captain Hope!" Two of weaker looking thugs said, and took off running. They still left two pissed off men, and the bearded man.

"Captain Hope is dead." The bearded man said, pulling out a knife and advancing towards Legacy. "And I don't know who this guy thinks he is, but he'll be an obituary tomorrow too."

"You get him boss." The two other snickered, one holding the woman, and the other coming forward to fight as well. The woman struggled and watched with a tear-streamed face.

"Okay, okay..." Ben said to himself, trying to get siked up for this battle. The skinner guy pulled out a chain and swung it around to hit Legacy, and the hero grabbed it with his armored hand and pulled it hard, launching the skinny one right at him. Legacy extended his arm and the guy collided with it, knocking him out. "Yes! That was easy!" Legacy cheered.

"He was an idiot." The bearded man said, jumping Legacy from the back and punching at him, most of them being absorbed at the kinetic shield, but then the bearded man plunged a knife into his back and grabbed him around the throat. "After you get done bleeding for me, I'm gonna have a little fun with you too." He said lewdly, laughing.

"No... no!" Legacy yelled, elbowing him and lurching away, bent over and bleeding, then launched himself at the bearded man. They struggled for a while, but it seemed clear the bearded man had the advantage and soon Benjamin was pinned against the dumpster, a knife at his throat.

"I don't know you think you are, but I'm not going to get beat by some punk who thinks he's Captain Hope!" He yelled.

"I AM Captain Hope!" Legacy yelled back, his eyes narrowing as his armored hand charged with power and a blast of energy sent the bearded man hurdling back toward the wall.

"Holy... you-.. you really are...." The remaining thug stammered, and ran off after releasing the girl. Legacy walked over to her.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Wow... wow, I can't thank you enough. My apartments nearby... wow, I can't believe I got saved by... Captain Hope?" She said, looking at him uncertainly. "If theres anything I can ever do to repay you..."

"Just- Just doing my job, ma'am." Legacy said, uneasily in responses and tossed her the large jacket off the bearded man's unconscious form. Now, I'm supposed to... say something, he thought. "Stay safe." He said, cursing at himself for how lame that sounded and grabbing up the bearded man and the other thug he knocked out and floating into the sky. He kept an eye on her till her place, then jetted off to the police station.

"Stay easy, stay easy..." Ben repeated to himself, knowing if he failed at his jets these criminal scum types would die. He dropped them in front of the police station, and waited, but no one came out. "They always come out when heroes do this stuff in movies..." He muttered, before nudging the criminals closer and knocking on the door. As soon as he did, a uniformed officer opened the door. Legacy stammered something unintelligible and flew off.

Back at his place, he took off his uniform and tried to look at his wound in the mirror. "Oh, boy, oh man... going to have to get used to this." He winced, and tried to treat it as best he could. "Oh jeeze, it's gonna be hard out here for a hero. Those were street gang punks." The young hero cursed at himself.

[Sicarius]

Trudging Through the Ashes

Ashley Nall felt that today, all signs pointed to it being a very bad day. Nothing overt, like a slashed tire or something. No, it was really little things. A draft always picked up when she was trying to light up a smoke. Which was a shame, because the last thing she needed today while looking for a job was a string of bad luck. The job market was bad enough as it was, but she had spent her last years as a church lady, which had no prospects when you no longer believed. She sighed.

She was on file with five temp agencies, looking for work, and getting desperate. She had some money, and she knew she could borrow some from her folks, but damnit, she really needed to start working soon. She'd take any stupid menial job that got her mind off her terrible conditions. She had sold much of her clothes to afford a crap apartment. Not in a slum or a ghetto, but a crap apartment all the same. Small, cramped, no furniture. No TV, not like she cared about watching the news and seeing fifteen other reasons why the world was screwed up.

Maybe she should get a nursing license. Maybe she should have herself committed and get three squares while they figure out what was wrong with her. It was at times when she looked at her checkbook that she had this bizarre thoughts.

Her phone started playing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." One of these days she was going to remember to change the stupid ringtone. "Hello."

"Ms. Nall. This is Jeanne with Star Staffing, I think we have a job for you."

"Great...when's my interview."

"As soon as you can come in. This client seemed like they were very interested in your resume."

"Kay..." Why would they be interested in her resume? It had nothing at all on it. Didn't matter. It might have been a break. Ashley hopped on the metro to get to Star Staffing as soon as she could.

[DJDeMiko]

A dirty deed done

Carlos steps over the body of the man he has just finished killing and takes a moment to check his hair before approaching the wall safe. He looks at it for a moment, then looks at the scrap of paper in his hands, shrugs and punches both hands through the wall on either side of the safe.

He grabs on to the edge of the safe and yanks the entire unit out of the wall, he doesn’t even seem to be straining at the obvious weight of the thing. He puts it onto the ground, steps on one edge and grabs the other edge with both hands and begins to pull. He grunts with effort but within moments the metal is bending and tearing off. Once it opens enough he reaches in with both hands and pulls it apart some more and then turns it upside down and shakes it like a piggy bank.

A number of wrapped stacks of cash, a large bag of white powder and a cd in a jewel case fall out.

He picks up the CD, puts it into his jacket pocket and says “one for you.”
Then picks up the cash and drugs, puts them into other pockets and says “and two for me.” With that finished he walks back over the body, climbs out a window and deftly spider walks across the ledge to the fire escape. He climbs up it and the deftly climbs up onto the roof.

Carlos pulls out a cell phone and dials.

“Craven, its Carlos,” he says. “Jobs done.”

“Good, you got the cd?” A voice on the other end says.

“Yeah, I said jobs done didn’t I?”

“Did you do it to our specifications?”

“There was a slight problem when I got in, but I handled it.”

“Carlos, you know it pisses me off when you play these games. What happened?”

“Oh nothing much,” Carlos says smiling and clearly enjoying pissing Craven off. “I just got hungry.”

“Damn it, Carlos,” Craven says, “You were specifically instructed not to kill him. This will come out of your cut.”

[DJDeMiko]

Mr. Arkle signs a contract

Mr. Arkle flinched nervously as he was led into The Boss’s office at the Park Building. He stared openly at the dark shadowy void that filled The Boss’s hood, hiding his face from view. He was too busy staring at the man’s face to notice the grand view of the park or any of the expensive works of art in the room. Nothing could pull his eyes away from the impossibly dark shadows, nothing.

The Boss gives Arkle a moment to stare and then says softly, “I understand you wish my help with a business venture? I understand that you are embroiled in a patent lawsuit?”

Mr. Arkle looks uncomfortable and says “We may have inadvertently been . . . . well you see, it’s one of those things where you here about something and think it’s not useful, but then years later you forget about it and suddenly get a product idea that’s quite similar . . .”

The Boss raises his hand interrupting Arkle, “Mr. Arkle, I’m on your side here. You saw a weak competitor and an opportunity to make money and went for it. It was pure bad luck that that crackpot Choquan was able to convince a good law firm that he had showed your company the designs for his receiver and its what you used to make the Arcorp receiver. You did the right thing.”

Mr. Arkle smiles slightly despite himself. It’s good to find someone that understands and it increases his confidence. “The problem is that despite the money we paid our law firm, they tell us that when the jury comes in, they are going to find against us . . . it won’t just hurt business, it will actually ruin us. We put all of our resources into that receiver . . . I was told you could make sure that the jury . . . . finds for us?”

“That would not be a problem,” The Boss replies, “but you are aware of the price?”

Arkle pales at this but nods his head.

“Good,” The Boss says and reaches into his drawer. He pulls out a thick contract that oddly enough is written by hand and an old fashioned ink pen and lays them in front of Arkle. “Let me show you where to sign.”

[DJDeMiko]

A selection of news items


From the Hope Tribune

“ . . . police suspect that the recent gang-fire and Chinatown gang shootings that left one dead and two men in critical condition may be linked to the same source. Sources say that while the department is officially claiming gang violence, they are also considering a meta-vigilante could be at work. (A composite photo follows that thankfully for Jonas looks nothing at all like him)”


From the Hope Tribune

“ . . . the officer who received baby Tommy, now identified as Dillan Roberts, said that he was given the baby by ‘some loon in a haloween costume.’ After baby Dillan’s father was located he commented that he believed the man who found his child was a hero."


The following is an excerpt from a broadcast by Ronnie the Rabid Rat Ricardo on WPNH

“So when they quarantined Our Sacred Lady of Hope, I said ‘Good.’ Keep the illness with the ill people I say. Don’t let it out with the rest of us schmucks. But now we are getting reports that the CDC has stopped all communication with those inside the building. They are only letting information pass through them. What is this? Russia? I smell a conspiracy . . .”


The following is an excerpt from an article that appeared in The New Hope City Business Review

“New CEO of Tompson Tech Maxwell Braden will be hosting a press conference next week. While the exact nature of the speech is uncertain, speculation on wall street is that he will be announcing his plans for Tompson Tech and possibly unveiling a secret project. Stocks rose . . . .”


The following is an excerpt from an article that appeared in The New Hope City Business Review

“In a surprising victory, Arcorp has defeated Choquan Inc. in its patent lawsuit. Choquan claimed that the Arkcorp receiver, a revolutionary piece of cell phone technology that almost doubles reception, was based on a design he showed the firm four years ago.

Industry experts had claimed Choquan’s lawyers (names). . . . had managed to find enough documentation during discovery to make this case a slam dunk. In fact, noted legal expert . . . name . . . had opined just last week that the jury’s lengthy deliberation would be over damages.

Coquan’s lawyers stated that they were stunned to hear the verdict and would be appealing the decision.”