A New Chance

[dfpiii]

Paragon

An obviously stunned receptionist immediately puts you on hold. You listen to delightfully quaint elevator music for 17 seconds, until you are transferred to an important sounding person. The voice on the other end of the line says ”Professor Dark, are you still there? Good. I’m Theodore Wallace, I own the channel 4 news station, and we would be most honored to have a person of your stature appear on our program. Tell me, what times and conditions would be most convient for you, such as who the interviewer is?” He sounds like a reasonable man… who just got the story of the century thrown into his lap.

Professor Dark aka Paragon

"Good afternoon Mr Wallace," Dark replies. "My terms are very simple. The interview needs to be live to air and at least five minutes long. If you want to go longer that's up to you. The questions are up to you too. I can't answer anything about confidential work being performed at the Institute for obvious reasons and I won't go into detail about my own abilities or demonstrate them on camera. I should imagine you have hundreds of hours of footage of people shooting fire, flying through the air and so forth".

"Also a car to pick to pick me up from work and take me home would be nice," he adds as an afterthought. "If you can agree to that, I'd like to go as soon as you can be ready. Tonight. Now. Whatever your schedule allows".

Dark wondered if he still had the songs from Wicked! stored on his phone. Popular... it's all about pop-u-lar. He smiled as he listened to Wallace's reply and felt the world tremble gently under his fingers.

[Thrall_Of_Ao]

Draven/Oblivion
The Unsung Edition

Listening to Mozarts 18th symphony, broadcast on NPR as it played in the background, Draven sat behind the book stores heavy dark-oak counter, surrounded by books, writing notes and flipping pages.

Continuing his research into the afternoon, his body now freed from the mortal demands for fuel and relief, he worked with diligence and great relish compiling a sizable amount of notation and reference on the subjects upon which he focused his efforts.
Namely, notable and credible accounts of psychic occurence and abberant biology in the human animal throughout history and up to present day. While at the same time, working to uncover any ties that each might have to the other.

Surrounded by a variety of books ranging from occult tomes to modern medical journals, he pondered the possibilities.

It seems clear that psychic expression has been occuring since the beggining of recorded history, as well as biological aberration. These things I knew.

The difficult aspect to pin down is that the relation between the two is tenuous, at best. Although the "savant", or even Stephen Hawkins, in their respective and different expressions of genius, could be considered an example, there's no obvious relation to great ability and aberrant biology. If it were true, Nikola Tesla would have been bedridden and deformed beyond belief.
By what I've found and know to be true, genuine psychic expression seems to be held more often by those of sound body, which the principles of chi manipulation and control would generally support.
Additionally, aberrant physical expression rarely is found to be beneficial.

In addition, strong psychic capability has manifested when an individual is exposed to a violent or emotionally charged event...what all this means for me I don't yet know.
What I do know is that my abilities seem to not only correlate with historical examples of psychic expression, but also with both my conscious and unconscious desires...and fears.
I must keep this in mind when next I speak to one of the affected as this may well be the key to unlocking my full potential.

Flipping to a clean sheet of paper, after reviewing his other notes, he wrote down the following.

At this juncture, there seems to be only one plausible conclusion.

The "powers" demonstrated by these Neo-Sapiens (as adequate a term as any) is an entirely new expression of psychic ability never before seen in recorded history, somehow unlocking the psychic capabilites as well as, or possibly just, the full genetic possibilites of each individual exposed to the agent or agents carried, spread, or caused by the explosion.

He sat back in the comfortable office chair, deep in thought.

While Natasha seems to have had no physical changes, I have witnessed my own on two occasions. It seems that physical manifestation is not necessarily universal.
If not for the size altering individual at the Mayor's speech, I would surmise that the physical aspects were merely a phantasmal side effect of true paranormal activity, but seems not to be the case.

More research in the field is obviously imperitive.

On a whim, he swiveled the chair, pausing a moment to enjoy the genius of the composition some things never change, before flipping the radio to a local news channel, hoping to perhaps catch news as to the current "Reaper" situation.

He listened intently as the reporter described, using over dramatic terminology and in almost a cheery tone of voice, the morbid scene of a building on fire, and the horrific effects it was having on the residents inside.

Then, Draven's interest matching the reporters enthusiasm, the young reporter went on to describe the Neo-Sapiens arriving on the scene, demonstrating a range of super-human abilities.

It would seem that many have quickly grasped and mastered their abilities, a notable accomplishment.

Although a tempting opportunity, I would rather avoid testing my powers in such an unstable environment. Not to mention that the media is present, in all likelyhood broadcasting on a national level. I would rather avoid so much exposure at this juncture,

Perhaps when I have gained a satisfactory level of control over my powers, and devised a sufficient disguise. Until then, I will have to act with extreme caution, using my powers only when necessary and prudent if I wish to avoid excessive Government interference in my affairs.

Half listening to the report as the heroic goings on continued, he contemplated his next step.

So many steps to take, so little time. Hmmmm...ah yes, perhaps there would be best...

Gathering the books together, and neatly filing his notes, he made ready to leave, as several blocks away, the unthinkable occured.

The deafing "Waathooom" of explosion after explosion could be heard over the radio broadcast. As pandimonium errupted, the exact situation became difficult to determine.
Whipping around to look at the radio, he listened in shocked horror and facination as one of the worst possible senario's he had considered occured.

The glass windows of the store rattled for several seconds as the sound reached across several blocks to his location, punctuating the immediacy of the situation.

Another explosion? The same as the first, or different I wonder? If the former, what does that mean?
Regardless, I dearly hope that it is not as bad as it sounds, because if so, it's only a matter of time before the witch hunt begins.

Deciding that having the store open for business was no longer prudent, he began locking up, carefully considering his plan of action.

[PlasticSoldier]

Drill: 21+2/21 (5 Subdual) Guard: ? Orig: 42+2/42
((So how are you calcuating PP's for this?))
((Also, how does fast healing affect sub-dual damage?))
((I have the Low-Light Vision and Quick Reload Feats))

Drill after a few seconds of struggling in silence asks the guy that's grappling him
"Don't you guys have a much more complicated system for dealing with hostage takers, or is shoot first what your trained to do? Because them attacking Guard was a really reckless move."

Orig. stops when he hears the PA announcement and runs back to the door turning the lights off (again), reloading, and waiting to the left of the doorway to shoot whoever comes in the room.

Spoiler

Show

Move (Move Action), Turn lights off (? Action), Reload(Free action)w/Quick Reload, Ready attack (Standard Action) I assumed the lightswitch is right next to the door but if the architect is weird then assume I didn't turn off the lights.

I ready an attack against whoever comes in the door, and am spending 1 AP to boost it 1d6, so its a Natural 19 + My BAB (1).
1d20+1=14, 1d6=6, 2d6=9

Also here's a hide check in case I'm not the only one who can see in the dark.
(1d20-2)[15]

By the way if I don't use that attack will I have spent that AP or not?

[Wiz]

Excerpt from the research journal of Dr. Harold Smith...

So, perhaps we have one face of our researcher, protecting her experiment? Were Dr. Fritz's eyes the cold eyes of a murderer, as Reaper claims, or were they something similar that he's had little experience with... the cold, calculating eyes of a scientific zealot? One thing is certain, if Reaper's story holds any water, she has the power to teleport... or does she... perhaps, she rather has the power to move through time. I intuit that we have this grand experiment being conducted from a future date, but why would researchers risk their own time line against a possible change... unless they live outside of time, or unless all time lines can exist as parallel universes. There are some theories that multiple universes coexist and some forces may pass between them, hence the idea that dark matter is matter in an alternate universe exerting gravitational effects in ours. It is hard to fathom the purpose of this experiment though. To test the effects of the mutating nanomachine perhaps? To test the socio-dynamic effects of the introduction of super beings? As a bet to see how long it takes for us to tear ourselves apart, made between bored lab workers? It's hard to fathom... but if Fritz was one of them, why is it important to them that Reaper is free... and what will they do now to free him again, especially after he seems to have had a change of heart from what they expected or wanted him to be. Were they actually able to plan or calculate who would receive exactly what powers?

[Xerxes Shadow]

Joe wipes his bloodied swords on the man's shirt. "That was fun," he says, "even though I barely broke a sweat. Who are you?"

[blennus]

“The Man”

“Thank you my good man, you have been most helpful.” he declared as he paid the sum of money, along with a hefty tip. After he and Angie took a seat he took a big bite and gave an approving nod towards Bob. “Now that’s good eats. Your sammiches are as good as their reputation.” They took their time while eating lunch as they went over the things he wanted to say, both to the Doctor as well as potential investors. He knew that this first meeting with the Doctor could really further his cause. After finishing he made sure that he left the area clean as possible, as he had an image to protect. It was already getting close to 3:00, so they got in the limo and started to head over to the Hospital. Destiny awaits!

Summary: Eat lunch, go to Hospital. Note to DM: Hope you didn’t forget about the stink bomb in his trunk. Let me know when the smell starts to seep out.
PS. this will be my last post of the year, as I am about to pack up my computer.

[harmonictempest]

An excerpt from the thoroughly unscientific life chronicles of Robert Blain

A quiet afternoon, mused Gust as he wafted across the city towards his apartment. Well, aside from a building blowing up downtown. Arriving on his block, he paused momentarily before flying down the next street and landing on the top of a random building. Stepping inside the (mercifully unlocked) door from the roof, he changed back and marched down and across the street as naturally as he could manage. They always gloss over that sort of awkwardness in books - I guess I won't get the romantic treatment in real life.

Arriving in his apartment, Robert surveyed the somewhat messy scene left from his discoveries of the last few days. At least I won't have to worry about making a mess accidentally as Robert - I'm not sure I can access powers at all like this. Straining briefly, he found that although the wind still whispered in his ears and he seemed to be a little faster, he could not manage any control over the air. Oh well, can't have everything - and it's not a bad price for such a handy disguise, really. Now, time to put this place in order. One ominous rumble later, priorities had again shifted toward food. Robert got out a steak, then after consideration, put the whole package out to thaw, and started munching his way through a package of granola bars and a sack of apples while he cleaned.

As the apartment slowly grew more tidy, Robert realized in much subtler yet stronger ways how thoroughly different-and-will-never-be-the-same-again things were. It was easy to avoid such blunt realizations when you were FLYING - your mind dismissed it as if you were playing a video game, or dreaming. But when you were doing something as mundane as cleaning an apartment, and noted in just a moments glance that the pile of dirty socks under the dresser had fifteen socks, fourteen of which had a mate nearby, and in the next glance saw the runaway sixteenth peeking out from a back corner of the dark closet where he never would have noticed it a few days ago - then was the moment where that hard reality sat down on your couch and opened one of your beers, and you realized it was, for better or worse, a permanent house guest.

Robert tore his mind away from musing and his eyes away from the couch. If this is a way of life and not just a weekend adventure, then I'll have to take care of at least a few details. He sat down at his home computer and laboriously typed out a short email explaining that he had decided to use some vacation time, especially because of the recent weirdness in the city, and he'd be back next week. After hitting the send button, his stomach rumbled again, and he got up to check on the steaks. Finding them mostly thawed, he decided to get at least a little fancy (as small celebration for his first bit of hero work), and dredged up a simple recipe he could pull off - a soy sauce and ginger marinade for the steaks. Getting back to the computer with food still on his mind, he frowned briefly before entering a few Internet searches to see if there was any precedent for an appetite like this.
Computer Use (untrained) = 14

His first few Google searches, "always hungry" and "big appetite", turned up very little, but then he remembered the exuberant sensation of flight, and how immediately hungry he'd felt afterwards. After a few more searches, this time on birds, he started coming up with a little more.
The skeleton consists of very lightweight bones. They have large air-filled cavities (called pneumatic cavities) which connect with the respiratory system.[32] The skull bones are fused and do not show cranial sutures.[33] The orbits are large and separated by a bony septum. The spine has cervical, thoracic, lumbar and caudal-- what the heck is "caudal"? Neeeext, please. Still, that does sound pretty much like Gust-- gotta be light to fly, I guess. After a few more minutes, he finally came up with "Most birds are highly adapted for rapid digestion to aid with flight". Theeeere we go. *sigh* Oh well, comes with the fancy title and superpowers, I guess. Speaking of which...dinner!

He got up and put the steaks in the oven, then started another apple. While they cooked, he sat and looked around the apartment. Finally looks pretty decent again...y'know, until I have to change here 'cause some goon catches me off-guard. Hmm...I guess I should put some thought into that. After a little work, the spare robe and bolts were hidden in an easily accessible corner of the closet, and he'd gotten a good idea of which windows could be quickly opened and either entered or exited. Well, that went fast - hopefully I never get followed home. I'd rather somewhere that's not here be the battleground, anyway. In case I can't always rely on a convenient rooftop or stairwell, though, I should have somewhere to change here. Hmm....bathroom! Great. He went inside and made a quick check - all loose objects stowed in tightly closed cabinets, toilet lid down, etc. Satisfied, he walked back out into the apartment and looked around to make sure no neighboring apartments had straight views through his windows. With a reassured grunt, he spun on his heel and strode confidently into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. After a moment, there was a mighty tumult from within the bathroom, during which the the door hinges creaked ominously. The noise then stopped abruptly and was followed by vigorous cursing. The door swung open to reveal Gust fading back into Robert as he stepped out, entirely swathed in most of a roll of toilet paper.

After a few minutes of swear-filled effort, the toilet paper was in the trashcan, and a significantly subdued Robert was plowing his way through a few pounds of steak.
Deft adult fingers
clumsy on my five-year old hands
I didn't think I was supposed to grow up this fast
Smiling at the bit of unbidden poetry, Robert got up to put some music on, and sat back down to finish his steak.

Summary: Puttering about the apartment - going to get around to going out on patrol later, but as I've gotten through a few hours by now, I figure I should see what happens before getting too far ahead.

Also, he's definitely listening to Simon & Garfunkel (and wondering why he forgot some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme for these steaks).

[dfpiii]

Professor Dark aka Paragon

Spoiler

Show

(Possibly Geez3r wants this to run differently, but I'm basically posting with the assumption that Dark gets what he wants. Just letting you know this post might not happen).

Spoiler

Show

I'm calling this the "I have a nightmare" speech

There was no business like show business... except for politics. Dark sat under the fierce studio lights and read the sense of quiet anticipation and power on his interviewer's face. Gordon Baumann was the silver fox of early evening news. Dark was a rube, a fool to be exploited, a quarry to be hunted - a fish to be landed. There were innumerable metaphors.

But Lachlan Dark did not sweat. Literally or figuratively.

He was as smooth and polished as marble and his skin drank in the artificial light so that he seemed to glow. Dark was handsome by any standard, with that special touch that might be described as beautiful; masculine but with well-defined, elegant features. And under strong artificial lighting he seemed even radiant, to have qualities unobserved since the introduction of colour film.

He was wearing a light grey suit he had purchased only that day and a wristwatch which had been a present for his 21st birthday. No-one would ever know how carefully he had selected everything, no-one would believe he was exercising such precise control over his posture and movements. Dark looked relaxed, with only a twinkle in his eyes disclosing his own sense of imminence; his own anticipation.

He looked like he might be a European Prince, some long lost descendant of the fallen house of Romanov. Or an underworld spy - a man who knew people. Or maybe the director of some multi-billion dollar technology company.

He looked like a Kennedy.

He looked absolutely right.

This was the first image the world would see of Professor Lachlan Dark. An image that would be seen by a billion people in this ultra-connected world before the sun rose on the Eastern seaboard tomorrow morning.

Purpose was all that mattered. Drive and ambition were magnetic: gravitational: tidal. They pulled oceans and set the spheres of heaven in motion. And Dark was as certain as a laser.

"We'll go live in thirty seconds, professor," said a young woman who had been identified earlier as the floor manager.

"Thank you, Yvonne," he replied.

People would misunderstand his motivation when they came much later, as they certainly would, to analyse what he would say next. They would call him a Machiavelli. They would say he was an opportunist. But they would not understand the necessity of it as Dark did.

A storm was coming that threatened to sweep away a hundred generations of civilization. The forces building on either side could not be dissipated, so they had to be channelled and Dark would make himself a lightning rod.

His destruction - and such it would have to be; a seismic event that shamed the word death - was almost assured. Men dare not grapple lightning or with bare affront challenge gods. Dark's only hope was that he was indeed something more than man. And though they did not know it yet, this was the hope of all mankind.

Yvonne counted down and the music started.

"Good evening, I'm Gordon Baumann and this is the news..." There were updates from the fallen building and the on site reporter passed on wild speculation purporting to be news. The number confirmed dead was surprisingly high - probably because so many had come to watch the super heroes rescue others. Eventually a camera swung around to focus on Dark.

"I'm joined this evening by Professor Lachlan Dark from the Rainport Institute of Technology. Professor Dark, received his PhD in atomic metallurgy from MIT where he was also an associate professor before being named as the new head RIT's department of Applied Mechanics. Professor Dark is also - and forgive me if this is the wrong word - a mutant".

"Good evening Gordon. I've heard that word used a lot. Mutant, or mutate, applies to something which is genetically different. It is by no means clear that the changes we have observed are entirely, or even partially, genetic in nature. It's important to note that no single word will define us, any more than a single word defines all people who are black, Jewish or even American. That is true in this case more than any other".

"But don't worry about it Gordon, we're all finding our feet here. Let's do without the catchall label for the moment and simply say that I have been significantly empowered".

"Very well, Professor. You contacted the station and requested to be interviewed, but you have so far refused to sign the register set up to monitor your people".

"I'm glad you mentioned that. The list is entirely voluntary - and if it wasn't it would be entirely unconstitutional. My right to speak to a journalist on television is protected by the constitution and that right is not compromised by any other action I take or do not take. There are, as you have seen, a number of men and women who have powers and are choosing to employ them in defence of this city. But there are many more who will wish to remain private citizens, and that is an essential freedom. The government does not have the right to invade the privacy of any citizen, providing they are not engaged in criminal behaviour".

"You mention protecting the city of Rainport - what are your views on the events of today?"

"Be afraid," Dark said flatly and let it hang there for a heartbeat. "Be afraid of the way your leaders will package this and present it to you as something simple and horrible with a simple and efficient solution. Neither of these are true. The planning involved and the intelligence required to bring that building down at the right moment were not acts of random violence but precise calculations. And our response to that cannot be ill-considered, it cannot be rash; we cannot react as if provoked - we must act with purpose".

"Professor--"

"No, let me go on... I was there this afternoon in central Rainport and I had the opportunity to speak to the person responsible for the bombs that brought the building down... He was there; watching, awaiting, predicting our reactions. You will have a lot of questions now which I cannot answer."

"I imagine you would like to know why I have not spoken to the police about this. The police cannot touch him; he is beyond the abilities of any normal human and involving them would only lead to their deaths. This is the challenge of our lifetime, this act today was aimed at us, at my people. We are the only ones who can respond to it and it will require all of our abilities to do so."

"It would not be an underestimation to say that the fate of the entire human race will be decided by what happens here in Rainport and those you call mutants are the only line of defence".

Dark turns and looks directly into the camera, his face perfectly symmetrical, his eyes confident, strong. When he spoke it was as if he read words from a holy book, from Shakespeare, etched in stone by alchemists and put to music by Willie Nelson. He spoke, perhaps as no man had done in a generation, to the part of the soul that still knows how to fly.

"I have always believed that each of us has a responsibility - to our community, to our family and most of all to ourselves. A responsibility to excel. To reach beyond what we thought we were capable of. To confound expectation and achieve greater things".

"For some of those watching, your excellence will be a college degree, for some a high school diploma. For some it will be half a second faster, those last ten yards or just making it through the next year after losing someone you love".

"There are men and women who risk their lives every day because they believe in right. You may know one of these people. You may be one of these people. There are those who struggle against their past and themselves, through the long dark night, to stay on that straight and narrow path".

"There are those who fall into dust. And who lift themselves".

"We do not set the height of the bar, but nevertheless we must clear it".

"That is why I call upon all of you, at the beginning of this remarkable age, to be true to the talents given each of you. I call for excellence when it has never been more needed".

"I call for heroes".

Dark had been watching the counter for time remaining and had spun it out until there was none.

The floor was silent.

"We're clear," said Yvonne in a tiny voice.

And someone started to applaud and the applause grew. TV people were very dramatic. They were lost in the moment and only Dark, smiling benignly - and signing an autograph? me? really? what a surprise - was already thinking on to the next step. And the next.

[evisiron]

Nosferatu

Nosferatu had been wandering around the cage for quite a while, while Reaper and Pulse had gone silent. The collected army staff seemed to be pretty focused on their task, and striking up a conversation with them was likely a lost cause. Eventually, Nosferatu perks his head up, and announces that he is going for a little wander around the area, see if anyone needs any help. Pausing in case one of the army personel has an objection (in which case he will stop), Nosferatu heads out of the large doors.

It appears the other mutants on the base have moved their work a bit further out, so their are probably still pretty busy. So much for talking to them. Wandering about, Nosferatu looks into the relative bustle of a fast growing base. With a smirk of amusement, it appears even here there is some people who are relaxed. Nosferatu has spotted a uniformed individual who is out of the way, relaxing on the top of a barrel and watching a portable TV. But as if to reverse Nosferatu's musings, the man is called away almost immediately, and he drops the TV on the barrel. With no one around, Nosferatu walks over and scoops up the TV. A few minutes are spent channel surfing, until a name catches his attention. Dark. Its an ad for some talk show where Dark will be interviewed about the mutate situation! It will be on after the break.

Hitting 'Live Pause' on the set and scribbling a 'BRB' message on the dust on the barrel, Nosferatu rushes back to the prison-hanger.

"Hey Pulse, Reaper. A mutate called Prof Dark is going on this talk show to talk about the superpower incidents. Thought you would want to see."

Setting up the screen so that everyone can see, Nosferatu hits 'Play' on the Mobile Tivo panel and listens in.

As the interview goes on, Nosferatu's face seems to fall as it looks like little important information will be mentioned. However, his attention is held as it is said that Dark had met this person who planned the bombings... that the bombing appears to have been planned... and that the Altered where the only line of defense.

As the interview cuts to commercial, Nosferatu lets out a small whistle.

"Whew. No pressure, right?"

[Wiz]

Pulse

Pulse nods slowly. "It only confirms what I've been suspecting. This is all some kind of scenario being created, for some unknown purpose." He watches Dark carefully, "He's seen one of them... the writers of the scenario... I think Dr. Fritz may have been one..." He frowns, "Unless Dark is one himself... he's awfully polished in his performance, don't you think?"

[BloodyAngel]

Natasha

Part One: Turning Point

This is insane.

Natasha Verraine sat back on her bed, having excused herself from the commons and the commotion there to her dorm room for a touch of privacy. Her roommate Heather had gone with her... and now the two sat on her undersized bed, watching in rapt attention as story after story flashed by on the news about the explosion, or the mutant issue. The two girls watched as every man and woman who could get in front of a camera gave their opinion about the matter to news reporters who all but cackled in glee as they played up the media frenzy.

Heather sat wide-eyed behind her, and Tasha didn't even need to read her mind to know that she was scared. She could feel it rolling off of her as they watched the newswoman at the scene interviewing everyone she could find. Then, just as suddenly as the explosion itself, the reporter looked aside, cutting off the man she was speaking to mid-sentence.

I'm sorry. I've just been told that we have an important feed coming through. Back to you in the station Tom.

We have another development in this incident. A man professing to be a mutant himself has come out about the matter, and is now speaking to a reporter in an exclusive interview. We take you now to this interview, with a man by the name of Lachlan Dark.

The girls watched as the camera focused in on a handsome blonde man of the type not seen outside of young girl's fantasies of the handsome prince who would sweep her away to happiness and luxury.

Why does he look so familiar? She thought to herself as she listened...

*one speech later*

The professor's words were potent. He seemed determined and intent. Dignified, but concerned... and his plea to other mutants dragged up a lot of fears that she had been afraid to consider. She had hoped that she could lay low and just be a normal person with a abnormal trick she could exploit to make her way in the world. But he was right... people had died. People would keep dying... and the only ones who could even hope to understand and do anything about it were other mutants.

But what can I do? I'm not stronger or tougher. What kind of hero needs help opening jars and has to sit down and curse for five minutes after stubbing her toe? She thought to herself, Plus... there's still no way I'm going public. No one can attack me if they don't know who I am. That's the only defense I have!

Tasha barely payed attention to the men who came on after Dark, as her mind rolled over how to best approach this. She was scared... but she couldn't let that stop her anymore. She was hardly the most moral person around, but whomever had taken down that building had no regard for the lives of anyone... The next place he brought down could be the school... or the homes of people she cared about. She could really make a difference, provided she was smart about it.

I can do this! I'm smart enough... People have told me it my whole life. I just need to find a way that doesn't expose me as a mutant. That's going to be the hard part.

Tasha's mind reeled over the first truly important thing she had ever contemplated in her life... but in the end, she was resolved. If she played it right, and didn't mess up... She might just be able to pull it off. If not, well.... she would make sure it didn't come to that. As the news station rambled about the professor's speech, she formed a plan...

(DUN DUN DUN!)

---------------------

Part Two: Crow


Tasha got up from the bed and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge by her desk, as well as her purse.

Holy @#$%. Heather! I have to go out and meet Draven. She exclaimed, noticing the time on her desk-clock. We were going to get something to eat together before we came back here for the night.

With all this happening, you're going out on a date? Heather said in shock.

I'm not letting a bunch of freaks on the news ruin my sex-life! That's how the terrorists win, you know. She said with a smile so well feigned, it may well have been genuine.

Ok well.... If that's your plan, I'm going to crash over at Jen's tonight. I don't really want to walk in on something like that... again... Heather said with a sigh and roll of her eyes.

Tasha faked another smile and a soft laugh, Alright, prude. Then I'll see you in class tomorrow.

Tasha grabbed her coat and headed out the door, heading straight for her car. It was going to be a busy night.

Tasha hopped into her car and shut the door behind her. Putting in her earphones, she turned her music on and up... The opening of Evanescence's "My Tourniquet" blaring into her ears. The music made her feel more focused... More brave... Like a mini adrenalin rush.

She picked up her phone and scanned for Draven's number. Rather than taking the chance that he would pick up and she would have to explain to him what was going on... she sent him a text message instead.

Hey. Be back at 9 tonight all alone. Please come by. -Tasha

With that hopefully ensuring that Draven didn't show while she was away, she started her car and headed out. It would be a bit trickier to get in touch with the next person she needed to.

Driving a ways into the city, she parked in the lot of a diner and got out to wander on foot a bit. The first place she wandered into was a radio-shack... To pick up a disposable cellphone... The untraceable kind. Several blocks down, at a Best Buy, she purchased a small hand-held voice changer with a record function. Sure, it was meant for novelty purposes... it would do well enough. Her mom would probably be pissed that she'd charged it on her credit card... but she could deal with that later. Now was time for the hard part.

With her hands in her pockets, she walked down the street, lost in thought... paying attention to little, save the music playing in her earphones and her musings over what to do next.

The report said that this Professor Lachlan Dark teaches at RIT... That big technical school in the city that mom wanted me to go to. After his coming out... he's probably swamped with calls... so I need to find a better way to get in touch with him. I doubt they'd give out his personal number to someone they didn't know over the phone. Ok ok... Think! You're a relative who wants to... no. That's crap. No one would buy that... Wait! I've got it!

With new purpose, Tasha walked back to her car... calling information along the way to get the number of the RIT faculty offices. She sat down in her car, making sure there were no prying eyes about, took out her headphones, tested the voice changer twice... It made her voice sound slightly mechanical, and best of all, masculine. With any luck, no one would suspect that the real voice could come from a woman. Content in that, she took a deep breath, shook off a bit of nervousness, and called. The girl answering the phone barely got through a "Hello" before she spoke up.

I am calling to deliver a message to a Professor Lachlan Dark. She said into the voice-changer... Her voice coming out oddly mechanical sounding and best of all, masculine-sounding. Can you get in touch with him, immediately?

Who is this? The woman on the other end sounded fearful.

My name does not matter. I am a mutant who wishes to get in touch with the Professor in regards to his speech today. Can you reach him, or not?

We have contact information for all of our faculty members... She said hesitantly, But I can't give any of it out... I'm sor...

That is fine, she interrupted, I would be offended if you did. I am going to ask you to deliver a message to him... and you must do so the moment you put down this phone from speaking with me. Agreed?

A-alright. The woman said softly, now very obviously frightened.

Alright. Inform the professor that I am, as I said, a mutant. I do not wish to give my real name... so he may call me Crow. I wish to speak with him personally, but I also require that my identity remain a secret. I will call this number again at 8 pm tonight. That gives you some time to ensure that it is the professor who will answer. If anyone BUT Professor Lachlan Dark answers this phone, I will be very... disappointed. If you contact anyone BUT Lachlan Dark with this information, I will be very disappointed. Am I understood?

Yes. The woman's voice was just a squeek at the other end.

Very well. 8 pm. Do not disappoint me.

Tasha hung up the phone and slumped back into her seat with a long, deep breath. That had been tense... and she may have laid it on a little thick, but by making the woman afraid something horrible might happen, she was all but assured that Dark would receive the message. If worst came to pass, she tossed the phone and voice-changer in the river and went back to the way things were. Now it was just a matter of killing time until 8. Tonight was going to be... interesting.

(With that, Tasha will stow her new electronics, turn off her new cell-phone... and head into the city for something to eat, and possibly take in a movie if she has time while she's waiting for 8pm to roll around. Then, the real fun begins! )

[Raven T.]

Alex

These events take place after his meeting with The Man and are in response to viewing Prof. Dark's speech.

Home again. The last sanctuary on earth just for him. A place where he could be who he really was; an amalgamation of every mask he put on for the world. Both the extent of his lust for power...and his caring side...came out and battled each other. The computer had shown him nothing new had happened among the companies he watched now, hoping for an opening, so he turned on the news.

Prof. Dark's speech was being broadcast across the nation on CNN and MSNBC (Foxnews, oddly enough, was too busy talking about the impact of these heroes on Mr. and Mrs. Middle America to cover it) over and over again, complete with "expert" analysis over it. Alex, though, had his own ideas...

Who is this Dark and what is his angle? He's putting out a call for heroes to rise up and...oh, dear gods...that BITER! I see. He's attempting to raise a hero army, one he can wrap around his finger and use for international domination. I must STOP HIM before this gets out of control! If he succeeds, everything I have planned will be for naught...

But wait. Let him champion mutate's rights. I'll play the opposite angle and we'll see who comes out on top. Perhaps he will be receptive to a mutual arrangement between us. We both have our fields of expertise; together, we can be more than individually. Only time will tell.

But if he's not receptive...well, he MUST be removed before he becomes a greater threat. I will find him, I will pay him a visit, and we will go from there. Tonight sounds good; I have naught to do.

[dfpiii]

Professor Dark aka Paragon

Apparently he needed an agent. Or so everyone was telling him. Television was the fuzzy end of reality. Cataclysms were something they filmed, edited and voiced-over; they were not things that actually existed any more than the zany characters in the sitcoms that followed the news. Could this nuclear winter be any colder?

A costume designer had approached him excitedly with colour swatches. All the fabrics had some percentage of lyrca in them. Dark did not bother to point out that you didn't wear a costume if everyone knew who you were; he did however excuse himself from the conversation.

Producers pounced. A coherent mutant, one with some kind of vision - it was exciting, inspiring and frightening. It was the kind of thing that got ratings.

Professor Dark had noticed one thing about the media, before he became a super hero, back when he was in a co-ed dorm as an MIT undergraduate and the TV in the common room was always on MTV. Fact was - you either commented on the news, or you were the news. Though of course "the news" in that case was Britney Spears shaving her head. But the principle was true everywhere.

Politicians know never to answer a question about somebody else. Talk about the issues. Everything else makes the other guy the story.

Whatever happened to Britney Spears?

...That was enough. Wondering what happened to Britney Spears was a bridge too far. He'd had enough of TV for one night.

Dark parted the crowd around him and glided through like a cruise liner; all smiles and waves. He absently signed several further autographs outside the studio and shook some excited hands. A young man in the crowd shouted emphatically, "You rock! You rock!"

Dark was pretty sure that he had never rocked. Certainly not to the degree that required positive citation. He smiled, but inside Dark wanted to tell him to get a hair cut, go home and seriously consider enrolling in some adult education classes. And the hair cut could wait until tomorrow.

The journey home was mercifully anonymous. The driver of his car was not listening to the news - apparently you needed to hire a Mercedes before you could avoid hearing the news in a car in this city - and so had no idea who Dark was.

Back at the house called Apollo, Dark pressed the play button on answer machine and lay back on his Chesterfield in front of the fire. Maybe he would order take out. He was pretty sure he could get shot in the chest and keep going, cholesterol was the least of his worries.

The first voice he heard was his own, then the voice of the Vanishing Man. Hearing it again was disquieting, especially here. Not of course that Dark needed the safety of four walls - or that these walls were safe - but psychology was psychology.

There was a message from Professor Turpin at MIT. The old man sounded concerned. Of course Dark had not had time to explain the circumstances of his departure. It was before the evening broadcast - not that Turpin watched news anyway - but he'd find out more tomorrow.

Was it really so difficult to reach back into the so-recent past? He was not the boy Turpin had known. Paragon was a terrible giant. A murderer. But somehow he knew he would not have been able to make the call anyway. Because Lachlan Dark had done something worse. He'd stood back and done nothing in the face of brutal injustice, and profited enormously by his cowardice.

He might stare down the devil before he could face Turpin.

A third and a fourth message were administrative. The second floor toilets were working. And then they were not. Maybe this could be some sort of a student project? Was there any way he could make the plumbing system part of a graded test without breaking labour laws?

The fifth message prompted Dark to sit up. He picked up the phone and dialled the main building where a telephone operator explained.

"I see," he said. "Of course, I switched my mobile off when I was in the studio. Did they leave a number? Well, if a call comes through with a withheld number at 8pm then put it through to me here. I don't think we need to bother the police yet... Margaret was it? Margaret, don't worry, I'll be fine... Thank you... Did you think so? No, I've never done TV before... Yes, well, interestingly enough I haven't had any messages from the staff so far. I think they're possibly a little nervous. In future, if anyone calls claiming to be a mutant, you can put them through to my voicemail here. Thank you again, Margaret. Good night".

Dark hung up, paused and dialled again. "...Margaret, who does good Chinese food in this city?"

[Raven T.]

Alex

Note: These events are occurring later, after my meeting with The Man, considering he has no internet access. If need be, I will be in two timelines at once.

It was time to pay the good doctor a visit. Grabbing a mask he had worn in high school as part of a production of The Phantom of the Opera (he had a passable singing voice,) he headed out into the night. Flaw 1: he made himself too public. It's too easy to track him...almost TOO easy. Thinking twice, he grabbed his kukri, placing them in his coat, and wrapped the length of chain he often used for a defensive weapon around his waist, doing his level best to keep them hidden.

An hour later, he was on campus and staring at the Apollo, breathing evenly to steady himself. Pulling the cowl of his cloak down to further hide his face and give him that creepy aura, he gave himself one last pep talk...

Ok, old boy. We know he must be powerful, otherwise his hubris would have spelled his doom long before now. Underestimation will prove to be fatal. We also know he's intelligent and a charismatic force, judging both by his profession and his speech on TV earlier today.

Whatever his motivations, we must make him see things our way and educate him on the natural order of things. It will be tough...but I like a challenge. After all, I wouldn't be where I am today if I had let fear get a hold on me. Time to let it all hang out.

One last breath and he strode up the porch, knocking firmly on the door. As he waited, his personality began to change. The dark, cruel, ambitious part of him rose to the surface again, ready to take on anything that the professor could throw at him...literally and figuratively.

[The_Lonely_d12]

Joe wipes his bloodied swords on the man's shirt. "That was fun," he says, "even though I barely broke a sweat. Who are you?"

Davan

"Someone looking for a bit of a challenge, who happened across what looked a nice little brawl-I don't have much in the way of a name yet, so lets just call me Zhang...by the way, you didn't need to kill them, I had one of them down for the count already. When I heard the one mention "bringing you in" along with the costume, it wasn't exactly a big mental leap to think they might've come after me if i was in your shoes...it've been nice to find out why. Interesting style by the way...I get the whole "death from above" bit, but I realy don't see the need for ashotgun myself, if you're handy with those blades. Too messy, no style to it. To each their own, I guess, but I've never liked guns.

So, was this just a chance mugging gone bad, or do...did these guys actually have something against you?"

[harmonictempest]

Robert Blain/Gust

"I call for heroes".

Click. Well, that didn't take as long as it should have. Figures. Wonder if there's anything else on?
((This section is waiting for a reply from geez3r))

An hour of channel-surfing later, the steaks and apples long gone, normal life had officially become boring (but then, watching TV by yourself always was). Stretching, Robert realized he'd outgrown evenings like this as a child outgrows a shoe. The more he reflected on the events of the day and the interview he'd just seen, the less organized and more turbulent his thoughts became. I need to go for a walk. Though...why walk when you can fly? With a little extra care in securing the bathroom, the change went more smoothly this time. He switched out the white robe for a black one, and headed for the roof. Entering the roof through the stairwell, he did a few backflips and rolls to loosen up while heading for the edge, though his face, unlike most people's would, showed little sign of the exhilaration these acrobatics produced. Reaching the edge of the roof, he plunged off without hesitation, leveling out and heading off into the night sky with a few twists and turns. Time to see what this guy's capable of...

A hour later, having exhausted himself with flying practice and fruitless attempts to figure out the events of the day, Gust flew along slowly, thoughts spinning out of their tangled coil at last.

Life is strange, isn't it? My worries of today make everything else in my life look petty. It's a strange concert of personalities and choices, with unbearable potential for heaven or hell. And a bunch of us just got promoted to a new orchestra, one that gets to play the tune the whole world will dance to. Some will get drunk on that power and abuse it, others will have the strangely opposite reaction of clamping down and trying to protect and control as much as possible. It's...beautiful, really. Every participant is their own string of clashing or complementing colors, and together we'll have to figure out how to weave. And yet, is it sad that it's so easy to see where it will go? Some will plan a beautiful blanket, a symphony of classical structure and great beauty. Others will reject it, some because it does not have a solo movement for them, some because they reject the possibility of such an idealistic goal, never realizing that their lack of confidence will help it to fail.

I can imagine all too clearly the spectrum of reactions, both seen and unseen, that this will and has caused. The participants of that meeting, though enthusiastic, may not realize how small a segment they represent. There will be the classic heros and villains, who will happily duke it out, but there will also be those who keep their gifts secret and use them only for small personal gain, and those who reject open activism in favor of covert use of their powers - we'll see their names in the news, and few if any will realize the cause of their success. Even the tiny fragment I've encountered so far is fascinating, like a bouquet of flowers or selection of wines - wonder-full in their differences, and creating a strange alchemy in their coalition. Our powers are apt to our essences. The headstrong teenager, full of the black-and-white vision that his age affords so readily - he's a flame, flickering and sparking. If he's careful, he'll be able to wind up as more than a tool whose spark is directed by others. The man on the glider - a machine, moving metal parts in perfect concert, sharp blades on either end and hard to fool. Hard to fool, but slower to act than more ambitious sorts. The vampire, despite his supposedly dark nature - a tough sunflower, turning to the light with a friendly smile. Let's hope the grittier side of life doesn't disillusion his hopes and optimistic plans. And Professor Dark - well, that's another sort entirely. He'll have an army at his disposal, and soon. It remains to be seen what he will do with it. ((again, waiting for clarification on this last bit from geez3r))

Too many cooks spoil the soup. Let's hope we have a forgiving recipe.

Where does that leave me? Am I a bird, a breeze? I'm not a leader - I couldn't even begin an inspiring speech without trying too hard and getting stuck, no matter how comfortable I am now. But I couldn't be a follower, either - I see too much, and I can already envision the lies some super-politician will tell to those who follow him. I guess I'm somewhere in the middle, then - best not to push it, I'll figure it out, eventually. He floats, having mastered a sort of drifting hover, lying on his back with his hands behind his head, flying along slowly and letting nearby winds determine his course. Staring up at the stars whose constellations he had never learned, he was aware of a feeling of complete contentment.
Growing older
dreams of superpowers fading into adulthood
where did the stars go?
perhaps wishing was too hard
and learning to pay taxes became easier.
what if we gave up too soon?
Savoring the unplanned poetry that seemed to be ever-more-constant visitor these days, Gust decided he was happy. This is who I've been wanting to be since I've been mature enough to know what I wanted. I know this feeling, and sometime soon I'm sure I'll decide that this was unneeded euphoria, but I want to hold on to this. I'm closer these last few days to finding that peace that comes with doing what you're supposed to - I've seen it often enough on other people's faces to recognize it now. Now's the time to stay the course, and find out what part this instrument, this thread, can play. I'm confident enough now to say that my part will be worthwhile, but it remains to be seen what it will be. One thing is sure, though - I've practiced for long enough. This afternoon was nice, but I was never in any actual danger. I've learned as much as I can by doing cartwheels and flying corkscrews. I've been sharpening this blade long enough.

He falls gracefully out of his hover into a swooping dive, as if, lying on his back on a diving board, he had slid headfirst off the end of the board.

Gust is on patrol.

Summary: Reflection and self-discovery. Going on patrol over a relatively undetermined part of the city (he's been flying for a while, so he could be anywhere).

[BloodyAngel]

Natasha

The movie may have been more interesting if she had been able to pay attention. As it was, she spent two thirds of it trying to come up with what she was going to say at 8 when she made her little phone call. Once the credits rolled, she wandered back to the diner she had parked beside, and had something to eat.. hoping it would calm the butterflies in her stomach. She stared out the window idly, her music turned up high, checking the time on her cell phone every minute and a half or so. The closer the time became to 8, the more she considered backing out... and the louder she made the music.

7:55 found her back in her car... where she spent the remaining 5 minutes staring at her new cell phone and voice changer as if she could make them make the call themselves if she watched them intently enough. Finally, the time struck 8, and she turned off her music, cutting Jonathan Davis of mid-song. She took a deep breath and relaxed a bit.... or tried to.

Alright, alright... I can do this. Be calm. I can't act nervous over the phone if I'm going to pull this off. She thought as she turned on her new cell phone, Ok... Here goes.

The phone rang... for a needlessly long time in fact.

Crap! Did I scare the stupid secretary so much she won't answer the phone?

-----------------

Elsewhere, Margaret Del'Gado looked nervously at the phone. Just a few hours ago, she had received a call from a very disturbing man who had claimed to be a mutant. What is more, she was fairly certain he had threatened her. Her hands shook as she reached for the phone... Not certain if she should pick it up. The caller had asked for Professor Dark and only Professor Dark. She had barely time to cope with someone she had known for months coming out as a mutant... and now there were threatening calls coming for him? She had caught the professor speaking about the man who blew up a building downtown... Maybe that man was angry at him for it? Images of the phone somehow exploding filled her head. Sure it was absurd, but with all the things that these mutants could do, was it really so impossible?

Rather than risk answering, she pushed the button to transfer the call straight to the professor, just as he had requested. Then she stared at the now silent phone for a minute, before deciding that now was a very, very good time to head across the street for coffee and a bagel.

-------------------------

Just before Natasha hung up her phone in irritation, she heard the click of it responding, followed by what sounded like a recorded voice-mail message. (I'm mildly curious what kind of message Dark would have, actually) Either the professor was too busy to take the call, he hadn't been told about it, or he was just choosing not to answer for whatever reason. No matter the case, she let out a sigh of relief. It was almost better to not have to speak to him in person. Now she just had to make sure that she didn't put anything on the message that would be bad if anyone got their hands on it. She turned on the voice-changer and waited for the beep.

Hello Professor. I saw your speech today, and felt the need to contact you. I do not wish to reveal my name... but you may refer to me as "Crow". I am an unregistered mutant, and if you spoke honestly on television, I think we share a lot of the same views. I would like to speak to you personally, provided my true identity can be protected. I simply do not trust people, I'm afraid.

There was a very slight pause in the message, before the voice spoke up again.

I do not wish to threaten or harm anyone. I am merely concerned for my well-being. I hope you will understand. If you do wish to contact me, use this number *insert new cell's number here*, and give me a more reliable way to reach you. Otherwise, I will assume that you do not wish to speak to me, and I will not trouble you again.

*Click*

Tasha slumped back into her seat with a long exhale of breath.

That could have gone worse. There's no way he can trace the phone to me, and the voice thing makes me sound like a guy with one of those smoker's voiceboxes.... I think I'm safe. She assured herself, as she started her car. Alright... I guess I'll leave it on until Draven comes by, just in case he was screening his calls or something.

Proud of her own plan, Tasha began the drive home, keeping her phone in view so she would see if it rang, and putting her headphones back in. Pulling out of the parking lot, she smiled and cued up her current favorite song.

This secret informant thing isn't so hard. In your face Deep Throat!

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

That should take care of things... Now Dark can reply, wait, or ignore... his choice.

Also, fun fact for those who do not know... Jonathan Davis is the lead singer of Korn. Unlike SOME other masterminds... this little girl doesn't listen to classical music while scheming and sipping wine. I speak of no one in particular, but I could easily see both Dark AND Alex doing that.

[Tar Palantir]

The Reaper

The Reaper is silent for a while, processing this new information. He then says, "Whatever the purposes of this Dark, he makes a point. I can testify from my own experience that ordinary men will be unable to stop the vast majority of the superpowered beings. If I had not turned myself in, the police would have had no chance of capturing me, and if I was still what I was before, the death toll would be in the hundreds already. It is the mutants who will tip the balance, though for good or evil I cannot say. I can only say that as for me, my weight will be on the side of good. As for Dark...if I am released, I may pay him a visit tonight and try to discern his intentions. I do not trust him, but I may be wrong. Only time will tell." He closed his eyes, his face becoming a blank wall of shadow. If only good and evil were shown plainly on a man's face, but alas, all was dark with shadows even the Reaper's keen eyes could not pierce. He said, in a melancholy voice, "All great change is like death. It cannot be seen until you're on the other side."

[Wiz]

Pulse

Pulse turns to Reaper and nods, "We can never see the results of a paradigm shift till we are on the other side of it... and there is no paradigm shift more dramatic than death." He pauses, looking at the television, "Perhaps Dark means well, perhaps not. If he wants to act in some supervisory capacity over the significantly empowered, he is going to have to play it straight with all of us... he will have constituents who can engage in immediate and personal impeachment."

[dfpiii]

Professor Dark aka Paragon

Spoiler

Show

I had actually planned to answer, but this gives Dark a chance to look much cleverer. Also, Margaret had never spoken to Dark before that night - Dark's still on his first day in the job, technically

In a car near a diner a phone rings and is answered.

The voice on the other side is melifluous, and has the peculiar quality of sounding very close by. It is instantly recognisable as Professor Dark.

"At the top of the stairs is a locked room," he says. "My secret chamber that no outsider views, for entry is forbidden".

"Siouxsie and the Banshees. I take it the reference isn't lost on anyone who would call themselves Crow?" The mind is the key that fits every lock - and Tasha gets the impression she's being jiggled. Dark sounds friendly, even warm, and perhaps curious. But definitely amused. Almost as if you weren't the first person to call him secretively or leap through his office window today.

"Forgive me for not picking up when you rang, I was at the door and the man who brought my Chinese food must think I live a very interesting life... Which I suppose I do, come to think of it. Of late, anyway".

"Thank you for contacting me, Crow. I'd certainly like to meet. In fact there is a group meeting tomorrow at noon, at the old quarry. If you want to meet before then, or elsewhere, a place of your choosing might make you feel more comfortable".

"Will you permit me, first, to give you a little advice? And having heard it, you should feel free to ignore it if you wish."

"You should be more confident. There's no such thing as an untraceable cell-phone. You should always lock the doors of your car when you're inside, especially when you're alone and parked. This is my cell number - store it. Your voice changer was probably not money well spent".

[BloodyAngel]

Natasha

Tasha had barely made it out of the parking lot when the call came in. Momentarily panicking, she fumbled for the voice-changer... not about to make the mistake of answering the phone with her normal voice. Plucking the headphones from her ears, and turning her music off, she shut off her car and picked up the phone.

Then her face went pale as the Professor spoke.

He can't know! Her thoughts raced, It's a bluff! It has to be. There's no @#$%ing way he knows who I am after calling him ONCE! Did he trace the call somehow? That.... doesn't make any sense.

There is a moment of audible silence before a voice will finally come over the other end... The changer making it sound oddly calm and dry despite her panic.

You're a smart man Professor... And you're hoping I give something about myself away. Or you DO know who I am... in which case, you've already acted against my wishes to keep who I am a secret. Nither shows a lot of trust Professor... so which is it?

She all but held her breath waiting for the reply.

[Xerxes Shadow]

"The style I just came up with now; I was annoyingly wounded in my last battle, and these morons were actually a bit tougher than the other punks around.

"As for the vendetta against me, I'm currently involved in a plot to take down the gang leader, and I feel it would be easier with less resistance at the hangout. I can give you the details if you'd like to strike a blow against organized crime..."

He looked at "Zhang", obviously expecting the man to want to help. He seems like a hero type, Joe thought to himself. He didn't want those thugs to get killed, but he doesn't seem particularly averse to it... he seems to be in a moral gray area. I suppose he'll do for my purposes... I do need more of a minion base than just Reaper. If I have these powers, I might as well gather followers. It wouldn't hurt to have a few bodyguards, and I could probably eventually convince some other mutants to assist me. Mwa ha ha and such.

[dfpiii]

Professor Dark aka Paragon

The smile was audible.

"Merely observations and a little guesswork. I give myself away much more than I learn, but I enjoy puzzles and the crossword just doesn't do it for me anymore. I have no interest in your true identity, per se".

"If you do wish to contact me, use this number... Otherwise, I will assume that you do not wish to speak to me, and I will not trouble you again... How meek. And when you spoke to Margaret - that was her name, by the way - you were quite blunt. Almost threatening. Both make the assumption that I wouldn't want to talk to you, and since I've just said quite the opposite on television then it must be yourself you doubt rather than me".

Dark has no great appreciation of art, and never had. He was always bored by great masters and found modern art quite ridiculous. But he does have a certain fondness for portraiture. The impression of the artist of the impression the subject tried to convey - the whole thing was smoke and mirrors. It was a game of capture and display and those were the best kind.

"You made it clear how secretive you were - so the pre-packaged cell was a safe bet. The voice changer is reasonably obvious - unless you've been transfromed into some kind of robot - but that would be very unsual. If you were using both of those, chances are you wouldn't call from your house or a public area".

"I'd be willing to bet all the money in my pocket that you've got dark hair," he adds with a chuckle. "Though that is only about two dollars in change".

"However, while I enjoyed it, I observed to make a point". There is a leathery creak as Dark adjusts his seating position on some large item of furniture.

"We leak information," he continues. "Everything we do discloses our hidden nature. The song I mentioned is about Dorian Gray; whose portrait does not simply age - as people who haven't read the book believe - but takes on the appearance of the actions of the owner, becomes a picture of their soul. It is not a photograph - though Wilde could have made it so - it is a portrait. So when you speak to me of the desire to be hidden, that tells me a great deal - because it was not a disclosure made by Crow, it was an expression of desire from your original identity".

"The portrait in your attic nursery speaks to me," he says, with playful archness. "And what have I told you? Can I reverse my focus? I think you're clever, but not as clever as I am. I understand duplicity, which almost certainly means that I am in some ways false. I must believe that I can still win you round, even though I cross the boundaries of your assumed privacy. Perhaps it's an act of dominance - men are very accustomed to that. We would certainly not openly disclose our weaknesses - our fears of discovery - to another man we were meeting... or calling, for the first time".

"But I think you can trust me. Because if I was anything other than a potential friend, I would never have told you any of this. I would have called you back and been exceptionally charming. I would have put you entirely at ease and then, at a time of my choosing, I would have used my position to take advantage and play you as a pawn in some much larger game. And I could have done all of this without you suspecting, I assure you. The things we can do, but from which we refrain, are as significant as the actions we take".

"There are bad times ahead, Crow. You're right to be frightened. You're right to try to keep your secrets. Simply by contacting me you have opened yourself to new dangers. But I have sacrificed my anonymity, I have become visible and public, to protect people like us. People like you".

"I can help you, and with me, you can help the world".

"And I think that's what you really wanted to hear, isn't it? Not someone you've never met promise everything will be fine; because you would know, surely, that promise would be hollow. There comes a time when birds must leap from the nest - and in an instant fly or die. The choice you have is not between saftey and danger, for danger seeks us all and safety is an illusion. The choice you have is whether, when the time comes, you matter or not".

Even the silence following him seemed richer and more distinguished by association. You could knit cable sweaters out of the yarn Dark could weave with words. It was almost a spell, a trick. He juggled knives and turned them into doves.

But then the doves flew off and it was just him. Staring at you better than a mirror could. Demanding that you answer all the questions you've asked yourself.

[BloodyAngel]

Natasha

You're arrogant professor... And I'm not certain which of us you are trying to impress.... but I didn't call to play games. Tasha said through her little voice-changer... her panic had slowly faded into something closer to anger as the professor spoke. I called hoping that the man speaking for mutants was something more than another double-talking politician or glory-hound in need of attention. Be serious and stop playing games with me. You said you spoke to a man who may have been responsible for the explosion downtown today. You must suspect there is more to this than just a random pyromaniac. The chemical spill... The mutants... the explosion. It's too much to be coincidence.

There was a moment of silence over the phone, as she thought for a moment if she really wanted to do what she was thinking of doing.

I have ways of getting information that are probably not available to you... But without going public, I can do very little with it. That is where you come in. Or would you rather keep playing games?

[geez3r]

Alright, I've got like 34 IC posts to respond to so I'm going to do this a little differently than I normally do. I'll do this piece by piece, starting with the character who is the furthest behind in the time line (by my reckoning) and then work my way up to the "present" editing in the new bits as I go along. However, even that will have to wait because I seriously need to eat something.

Legion

{You have a net power point expenditure of 26 so far, fast healing heals the same amount of lethal and non-lethal damage, but heals non lethal before lethal. Your guard clone is currently at -8HP, and recovering steadily. You do not officially spend AP until your action officially occurs, if it doesn't happen, you don't spend the AP. }

The guard pinning the Dupe responds "Firstly, they wouldn't open fire unless your buddy there did something even more reckless. Secondly, they didn't know about any hostage situation, for all they knew he was the only robber, at least until your other buddy opened fire on them as opposed to - I don't know, holding a gun to a hostage's head like you would expect in a normal hostage situation. So because your buddy opened fire up there they know 1 of 3 things: 1) the other guards are already dead 2) the other guards aren't your hostages or 3) you have no idea what the hell you're doing. So yeah, my buds opening fire was a dumb idea, but your guy firing back was an even dumber idea, which is only surpassed by the group effort of no one coming up with the idea to restrain any of us while you had the chance."

Back to the original, as you ready yourself for the coming fight, you heart pounds in your chest. In between the hear beats, you can hear the guards getting closer as they come down the hallway. Just as they start getting close enough to worry about, you hear a voice over the PA system cry out "Careful, he's still in the room. He never went out." The guards in the hallway stop dead in their tracks.

==============================
{If you want, you could open the door and potentially blast one of them, but you would leave yourself open to a potential counter attack, or you could just hang back for now. Choice is yours/}

[dfpiii]

Professor Dark aka Paragon

"I appologise, Crow. I sometimes forget that people don't see the same benefit in games as I do. The cause is such that I cannot afford to turn away help".

"What is it, exactly, that you can do?"

[PlasticSoldier]

{I never shut the door, but either way it's open after my turn]


Drill thinks for a moment before replying "I had not yet done anything I would have opened fire for. Also, a hostage crisis would only end up in a larger shootout against people who are probably better people than the ones that shot me, which is bad. This shootout only results in me avenging myself and fleeing ASAP, which isn't as bad."

Orig. though it's probably not the smartest idea steps out of the door and looks around for the "Open Fire" guy and will promptly shoot him.

Spoiler

Show

Once again spending an AP.
1d20+1,1d6,2d6=[19, 1], [5], [5, 2] So I think that's either Nat 19+5+1= 25 or the Action Point boosts the Nat 19 to a Nat 20. Therefore, 1d20 1,1d6,2d6=[2, 1], [3], [4, 1] I'm spending an AP again.

[Thrall_Of_Ao]

Draven/Oblivion

Leaving the store, his mind swam with the influx of new information as he drove as calmly as he could.

How much longer will I posess my privacy I wonder? If I've learned anything, it's that times may change, but people very rarely do. I don't even want to think of what the "suits" are thinking up as a "solution" to this "problem".

All this explosion will do is accelerate the entire response process, even if it wasn't caused by a mutant in the first place!

Taking a deep breath, he focused on his next objective, after only a moment more of consideration, heading towards the hospital.

Since I haven't given myself away yet, I expect that I'll still have at least twenty-four more hours of anonymity left before I'll need to seriously consider relocation and potential...extermination risks. In the mean time, I have to find out more. But how.....?

He continued to drive, growing more and more certain that being seen at the hospital would be too much exposure too soon, the risk of which seemed to vastly outweigh the gain, when an idea occured to him.

I am a student...what better way to cover up my true intentions than to cover them up with the truth?

From behind the wheel of a black BMW, a rather pleased smile spread across the full lips of the man known as Draven Knight.

As the hospital in which those affected by the blast were being treated came into view, his plan formed itself like a monolith of black stone and blood-red mortar, slowly twisting it's way into the stormy sky of his mental landscape.
Though still primal and incomplete, it had the potental to grow into something great, if only given sufficient opportunity.

This will be a critical time. I must stay focused. As Sifu always said, be ready for anything.

Now if I could just find some decent parking...

*******

The Hospital

Finally finding a decent parking space near enough to the entry for his tastes and liking, but secluded enough that he probably wouldn't be observed getting in and out of it, he shut the engine off and got out.
Taking a moment to remove a dark scarf, a pad of paper and pen, and his old reading glasses from the glovebox, he then closed and locked his car, musing as he did.

Ironic that the "glasses as a disguise" convention is still tried and true. I'm just hoping it'll be enough. At this point though, it has to be. I can no longer afford to be ignorant about the nature of the situation, and this is the fastest and, I hope, the safest way of rectifying that particular issue.
I'm just thankful that it's just cool enough to justify gloves and a scarf.

Donning his new accouterments, he walked across the parking lot briskly, knowing that the traffic was likely to become much heavier as the injured from the building explosion would soon arrive, approaching the lobby entrance confidently, pad and pen in hand, he strode inside.

[BloodyAngel]

Natasha

Tasha calmed a bit, and paused to let out a long held-in breath. The professor seemed concerned that he would lose her as a contact if he kept testing her. Rightly so, at that. She settled down a bit.

Maybe I can trust him... and maybe I can't... He's still human, and he probably hasn't always been as smart as he is now. I'd probably show off too if I was him. Even smart people can make mistakes... She thought to herself, Or maybe he's used to people just agreeing with him... like that mutant who gave that rediculious speech... and his power doesn't work over the phone. Regardless.... he's all I've got right now, and he does SEEM trustworthy.

Thank you for your understanding Professor. I don't see good things on the horizon, and I am adamant about keeping my status as a mutant a secret. She spoke into her little electronic device. Since you chose not to reveal your abilities in your interview, I trust you will understand why I choose to show the same caution. Let me just say that I can go places that people do not want me to be, and ferret out information that people wish to stay hidden. Proof... is harder to come by. But I think in that regard, you may be able to do what I cannot. You have influence I do not. Also, you asked for other mutants to join you. Together... I am hoping we can figure out what it going on before it is too late.

[geez3r]

Legion

The guard pinning your dupe pauses for a moment before saying "Just - shut up." Obviously annoyed at you, and how poor executed the rescue mission has been.

The Original comes out of the door, finds his target and fires. In a panicked effort, the guard attempts to hurriedly get out of harms way, but fails. Your shot buries itself deep into his right shoulder and after the resounding echo of the rifle shot, you swear you hear bone break. The guard cries out and falls to the ground. One of the other guards, in one fluid motion grabs the scruff of the downed guard's neck and barrels through one of the office doors, bringing the both of them to safety. The last remaining gaurd then dives through the now open door (the one the other guard just opened) firing off a shot as he goes, but misses you by at least a foot. From inside you here one of the guards say "Let him go, we're out gunned and there's no space to manuever here."

Andrew/ Vox Populi

There is silence in the conference room for a moment before the Mayor says "I believe we have done all we can for now. We've gotten everyone on the same page and that is the most we can hope for at the current time. You members of the federal government need to report this information to your superiors, but only those with class 7 security clearence or higher. Report to them in person, no documentation of this meeting is allowed. I believe that we can all agree that a new organization needs to set up to aid us in this time, but at the same time, the handful of us here don't have the right or authority for such action. Keep in touch, and good luck. Meeting adjurned unless there are other queries..."

If you don't have anything else to add, everyone gets up, shakes a few hands and then exits the room in silence, and exits City Hall in an obvious hurry.

Pulse/Nos/Reaper

After waiting for a bit, there is a bit of sudden activity. You quickly discover that the Lt. General has just returned with the Mayor, and both are on their way here. The door to the hangar opens and the Mayor, Titan, Inferno and obviously the Lt. General enter the hangar, with the stationed guards saluting them as they enter. The new arrivals shake hands (after INferno extinguishes his) and exchange pleasentries with Pulse and Nos, introducing themselves, thanking them for all you've done, etc. before they turn their attention to Reaper.

The atmosphere gets a little more tense as the Mayor approaches the cage and looks at Reaper, a man who had preevious tried to assassinate him (for all he knows anyways). "Well Mr. Reaper, we meet again. I honestly did not expect this meeting to be so soon, nor did I expect you to bring yourself into custody willingly, but here we are. So let us start off with what we know, we know that you are a murderer and you have been granted powers, which you used to kill. You then attempted to attack me, and where quickly apprehended, and hospitalized. Upon your recovery, we sent Dr. Fritz over to evaluate your mental stability. We have her notes from that event..." hold up a clip board with some notes on it, much like the one Dr. Fritz had, except for one detail: you distinctly remember there being no writing what so ever on Fritz's clipboard. "What happened next we don't know, so before we go any further, would you please reaccount the details of that event."

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Alright, I'm out of free time, I'll be back later.