Realistic or Modern A Second Genesis

[Vudukudu]

In 1943, the world changed forever. Jeremy Pendrew, an 18 year old American soldier, deployed to the Pacific front. Through his first battle, he was just like any other child sent to wage war; afraid but reckless, tired yet longing to be a hero. His dreams were soon to come true.


In the battle of Kala Gulf, Jeremy had found himself helpless in what was a mixed naval and air battle. Spraying his BAR into the air in the vain hope of killing an enemy pilot, he was suddenly overcome by an intense pain from his spine. Fearing he had been hit, he threw himself to the deck. The ensuing spectacle, witnessed by three other members of his company, is unbelievable. Wings, ten feet wide at full extension, sprouted from the Corporal's back, and he took flight. Though he struggled to get used to flight for some time, Pendrew eventually gained the highest confirmed kill count of any air combatant in World War 2. In what became a massive mobilization and propaganda campaign towards the end of the war, he took on the name "Patriot."


Following the end of WW2, some fifty men and women around the world with superpowers came to light. Until 1964, most superhumans were left alone. Many became legal vigilantes, and, unfortunately, some wreaked havoc with their newfound abilities, but these were always stopped by another empowered human. After the Chicago Incident, which left 300,000 dead at the hands of a battle between nearly all American superhumans, there was a call for order. NATO, in an attempt to maintain control over a world that was quickly changing, created the Global Security Department (GSD), a "global CIA" of sorts. Many of the newly discovered superhumans were either recruited or put under heavy surveillance by the GSD, and in 2015, it is unknown just how much the every day citizen owes to the GSD for fending off threats both mundane and supernatural.


Today, with the GSD capable of keeping an eye on nearly the whole world, its grip on superhumans has become less direct. Most heroes are left to live their own lives; many choose not to use their powers at all. Those with a more criminal tendency are captured or eliminated to preserve the peace. Many superheroes are practically celebrities, though few choose to go public with their identity. Under the watchful eye of the GSD and its affiliated superhumans, the world appears as safe as ever, but something new bubbles beneath the surface..

The Lists are classified files maintained by the GSD to keep track of all known superhumans. It contains excruciatingly detailed files on hundreds of people worldwide, including everything from copies of their birth certificates to credit card records. Some Lists (such as Red and Blue) may have overlapping membership.


White List: Known superhumans with no "public identity." These people merely live their lives as anyone else would, though each has an agent assigned to keep a close eye on them.


Blue List: Known superhumans who are affiliated with the GSD. Often serve as agents in the field or research departments, depending on their capabilities.


Red List: Known superhumans with a past criminal record related to their powers who are now "reformed". Subject to heavy surveillance, but many serve in the GSD as a plea bargain of sorts. Red Listers serving in the GSD are fitted with thirty sub-dermal GPS locators, to make removal difficult.


Black List: Known superhumans with a past and continuing criminal record related to their powers. Considered highly dangerous and are being hunted down by GSD teams 24/7. Considered "super villains" in common parlance.


Green List: Known superhumans operating as independent vigilantes, unaffiliated with GSD. Kept under heavy surveillance and considered potential Blue List recruits.

Related pages:
Character Sheet:
https://www.rpnation.com/threads/a-second-genesis-characters.317170/

OOC:
https://www.rpnation.com/threads/a-second-genesis-ooc.317172/

 

[Vudukudu]

July 6th, 2017
8:32 AM
Downtown Chicago​

Ryan had been in a downward spiral for the last two weeks, or twenty years, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, these last two weeks had been disastrous. Two people on his case load, both White listers and good people, had been found dead in their homes. The whole thing was kept quiet and comfortably out of the news cycle. There were no signs of forced entry or a struggle. Each had been found dead in their homes, having suffered severe blunt trauma. All they had so far was that someone, wearing gloves, had killed the two of them with his or her bare hands. Whoever had done this wasn't content to just kill them. Conservative estimates suggested they spent several minutes just mutilating the corpse. Ryan had nearly vomited when he saw the second body.

That's all the had. They were the goddamn GSD, and all they could determine was that someone had gotten in without trouble and killed his people. They'd checked phone GPS records, public transportation, taxis, satellite images, everything. The full power of the surveillance machine was aimed at this problem, and they couldn't find a damn thing. This was their home turf, and somebody was making a mess of it.

"Oliver to Basecamp. Second dove is down. Advise." Ryan mutters, tapping the left side of his throat. The GSD had discovered some time ago that, were an agent to be captured, having their one communications device be a cell phone that could simply be taken was not the best idea. After a certain point, they'd started offering voluntary surgical implants to agents. Now, his throat was chipped, and he was both a walking GPS beacon and radio. He tried not to think about that too much.

A few moments passed before he got an answer. It was immensely distressing to have someone else talking into your head, at least for the first few weeks, but he'd gotten somewhat used to it by now.
"Basecamp to Oliver. Gather your caseload and relocate to the Villa."

Ryan had wandered out to the porch of the crime scene by now, where he could see traffic whiz by and the masses of pedestrians meander about. "I understand we've lost two, but.. is that really necessary?"

"Two is reason to suspect your files have been compromised."

Ryan sighs and lights a cigarette, holding it between his fingers delicately before raising it to his lips. "Well shit."

"We can still hear you, Oliver."

Forty Minutes Later​

Identical messages had been sent out to his entire caseload. "Pack your things. We're going on vacation."

Hopefully, everyone had at least a vague recollection of their first meeting, when he'd explained the numerous signals he may give them throughout their time together. Most of them weren't that subtle. This one in particular just meant that they needed to drop whatever they were doing, retrieve the go-bag they had hopefully made according to his instructions, and meet up at a particular coffee shop run as a GSD front where he would pick them up and they could leave.

That left one problem. His name was Shane Doyle, and he lived nearby. Shane was only a problem because they'd never actually met before, and Ryan had no idea how the kid would respond to a man flashing a GSD badge demanding he get into the car. Probably not well, in Ryan's experience, but if he resisted, at least Ryan couldn't be convicted of kidnapping under the circumstances. He was on his way to the kid's house now, GPS guiding the black sedan to its destination.

 

[Shireling]

Chinatown, Chicago
July 6th, Roughly 9:30 AM
​

The weight of heavy blows fell against the face and chest of the sturdy, black boxer that stood before Noble, getting the crap kicked out of him by some nimble shrimp from the Bronx and losing him two hundred bucks in the process.

The private detective had his coat laying on the counter behind him, his shirt rolled up to the elbows, tie dangling in the still air of the Chinatown backroom crowded with bookies, boxing afficianados, and gamblers who gathered religiously for such spectacles as this illegal fight club. A portly Chinese man ran around within the enclosed circle, acting as a referee but clearly did not know the rules of boxing as he had allowed several illegal hits to go unchallenged so far. Eh, street rules, baby!

Drink in hand, unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth, Noble patted the dark-skinned heavyweight on the back, promptly wiping a disturbing amount of sweat off on his trouser leg.

"C'mon, Stinson. You gotta let this shrimp pummel you? He ain't even in your weight class!"

"I can't land a punch." Was the boxer's furitive reply. Noble sighed.

"Look, focus on blocking the face. He doesn't have the power to really hurt you anywhere else. Look for an opening: one good hook and he's done."

Someone rang a gong and the fighting once again ensued. The smaller fighter danced in circles around Stinson, jabbing and getting in body shots at a blistering speed. Stinson blocked and retreated, counterpunching seldom. Finally, after several minutes an opening presented itself. The powerful heavyweight's right hook found it's mark on his opponent's temple, and the Bronx stringbean dropped like a sack of potatoes. The fight was over.

Downing his third drink of the morning, Noble lit his cigarette finally and gathered his coat, picking his hat up just long enough to slick his hair back before placing the black bowler down on his hat again.

"Pay up, Mr. Chung," the PI demanded as he approached the betting stand. The balding Chinese counted out two hundred dollars and handed them over reluctantly.

"Pleasure doing business." He said with a sarcastic smile and a tip of the hat. Up the stairs and through a mostly-empty Chinese buffet, Noble emerged on the street and even though it was about eighty degrees, he threw his coat on. He fished in his pocket and retrieved his cellphone: a flipphone he had bought at a local Wal-Mart because it was cheap and he as wasn't all that into smartphones. At least after his casual run-ins with the GSD and his knowledge of their pervasive surveillance powers. He didn't want something he wouldn't be reluctant to chuck in the river at a moment's notice.

At first it was work related texts, but as he scrolled further a familiar number caught his eye with the short message that read: "Pack your things. We're going on vacation."

Son of a bitch! The Landau case was going so well, hell, he was milking Mr. Landau good for all the extra expenses that had arisen as he investigated purported infidelities by his wife. Turns out, his wife likes to take trips to Palm Beach, and so does Noble. It was to be arranged that he follow her on one such an excursion, but it would appear the GSD has something too bloody important to wait. Noble sighed. "This better be good."

He stepped into his 1999 Chevy Blazer and shut the door with a resounding creak. Jeez he needed a new car. The engine coughed to life and he looked to the back of the cab. Yep, bug out bag is still there. Good thinking putting it in the truck. He tried to recall where the meeting place was, and wheeled off about ten miles above the posted speed limit to get there.

 

[Doctor Nope]

Ethan Besnik, more commonly known as Voidwalker, silently entered the warehouse. It was dark, dusty and the perfect place for thugs to store their stuff...more specifically thugs who had a possible superhuman in their ranks.

He took another step forwards, and several armed thugs came out, aiming their weapons. As they fired, he created a portal directly in front of him and another pointed up at the ceiling. All of their bullets went directly into the portal and were instead sent up through the roof.

"I think you may have missed"

After the thugs realised that their bullets were being redirected, they exchanged worried looks before looking back at Ethan who had already shifted one of the portal's positions to allow him to appear next to one of them. He used a fairly powerful palm pulse to send them flying backwards into another thug before rolling behind a crate for cover.

This wasn't the best position for him. He'd have to take out the rest as soon as possible. If there was indeed a superhuman in their ranks, they weren't here. Otherwise it would be known by now.
He created a vertical portal pair and pulsed another crate into it, sending it in an infinite loop to constantly gain momentum. Once it was falling as fast as it could, he rotated the top portal to send the crate flying at another group of thugs at high speeds. The immense momentum it carried allowed it to knock thugs into each other in a domino effect so forceful they were quite injured as a result.

"Well, that sucked..." He hadn't really found a criminal superhuman, but at least he busted a few thugs.

He walked back through the portal pair he had made earlier to get to the entrance since he forgot to close it, then took out his phone to alert authorities. As he began on his way back to the GSD base, he closed all portal pairs he had made.