Multiple Settings Heroes of the New Age: The New Wardens [CLOSED]

[Lady Moldoma]

from the shadows casted by Bruce, emerged Shadeling who was carrying some small tied up boxes in his hands. Avery looked at Shadeling and then at the seemingly normal customer sitting by the counter.

Mamimi quietly exhumed herself from the kitchen, having finished a few extra small things as the rest of the group spoke. It was only whenever the shadows in the room began to move erratically that her eyes traced around, jumping between the various spots of darkness.

Her eyes eventually centered on a specific shadow, just a few moments before Shadeling’s emergence at the exact spot.

“I see… that lines up then…” she mumbled. Implicating she had figured out something about how Shadeling chose to appear.

Mamimi proceeded to watch and listen to the conversation closely.

Her hands were together, still rough and covered in scars from her years of being in the woods or being abused.

Her outfit was something she had made for herself, learning to sew among other things, in the last month that she had been staying with Sentinel. It was a combination of her own drive to prove to people that she was worth something that she managed to learn things at such an accelerated rate despite the absurdity of such a proposal.

The outfit consisted of a flowing black dress of intricate patternwork ending in a red band. And a white maid’s apron with a white scarf punctuated with a bow.

Her hair was done up into a long, hanging ponytail that was held in a topnot by a ribbon and a candy-skull bead. Now that it came to light, there were in fact several skull designs and sometimes small candy skulls on her dress. Along with adornments of black flowers.

She recalled with nostalgia how Giana had taken a particular interest in Mamimi’s hair, saying that the hair itself almost seemed to guide her scissors towards something that Mamimi would like. In this case, Mamimi's hairstyle seemed to have guided giana to styling it into a long topknot ponytail that hung down to Mamimi's own knees, almost like some sort of weird tail on her head made of her own slick pink hair.

Mamimi had begun wearing incredibly dark eyeliner to cover up her tired, worn eyes. Only a stark and dark yet thin height wise shading of black on her lips.

The dress was somewhat extravangant. It was hard to believe she had made it out of cannibalizing various outfits from a thrift store.

"Oh yeah! Wish me luck!" Shadeling then said, disappearing into the shadow casted by Sentinel. He then looked at Mamimi and Avery and smiled: "You girls ready? Wait, first you should get to know one another!"

"Very well..." Mamimi approached Avery and leaned in to examine her like some sort of alien or machine probing and observing her.

“My name is Mamimi Lordgenome. I have been in residence by the generosity of Sentinel for about a month now.” Mamimi began, taking her dress in either hand on either side, and curtseying with a bow, her face a monotonous expression of passive unimpressive and hollowness.

“How do you do?” She asked, tilting her head slightly as she asked Avery.

That way of speaking was a form of mild-mannered, cleanliness, but one that was totally hollow, a hardened, impenetrable shell that hid suffering behind her own skull-shaped irises, the redness of which had dulled significantly into a maroon, not nearly the same striking ferocity she had whenever she felt every day would be a struggle to survive. It didn't even seem like an adaptation of the people around her.

It was a transitional state, someone who was trying to get better. And even now, the exhausted bags under her eyes from the mental taxation of learning to live among others again could be hidden with no makeup nor character facade.

It might've been creepy if...

Well It was creepy...

She didn't really understand how to talk to people, she was told to put her best foot forwards in that manner, but she didn't have one of those, so she had to imagine one. She assumed it was sort of between a maid and a living doll.

If she had decided to speak openly, hide nothing, she probably would've just greeted Avery with a "Yo... What's your deal?" but that never had even surfaced.

A month is a good amount of time to fix some things, but not all things. At least she wasn't swearing at the top of her lungs. Though forcibly and yet voluntarily neutering her own emotions wasn't much better.

That being said, near death experiences can change people pretty wildly, and she'd been going through one long near death experience for about the past 4 years up until meeting sentinel.

 

[joshuadim]

Avery had turned to meet Mamimi when Sentinel spoke on introducing one another, and was quiet as she spoke. It was hard to tell what her reaction was at first, with mouth slightly agape, before her expression softened and drew visible curiosity across it. It was obvious that whatever offputting factor that there would have been had been offset by the genuine excitement exhibited by Avery as she stood closer and observed Mamimi's features. "Whoa... are your powers tied to your looks? What are your powers?" she asked at first, before sprinting to her next line of questioning as she darted behind Mamimi and continued to observe. "Have you used your powers often? Do you like your powers?" She then barraged Mamimi with more innocuous questions as she circled her, seemingly getting lost in her own thoughts before realizing just how overbearing she had been and took a step back.

"Sorry... never met another supe before like this... or ever, really. Actually, I did meet Sentinel last week but that's a whole other story!" Avery looked back to the man before continuing, "It's just, so cool meeting people with powers! Y'know?" She extended a hand to Mamimi for a shake: "I'm Avery. I, uh... I got my powers last week. Almost blew up my city with it on accident, apparently. But I'm better now! I think... at least, Shadeling told me so."

"I trust his word." Tyrell chimed in, walking past the duo towards the kitchen to clean up one of the counters. "He's the one who did the science on you."

Avery's eyes followed Tyrell, and she rubbed the back of her head awkwardly: "Yeah..."

She then returned attention back to Mamimi with a stupid grin: "It's great to meet you, Mamimi!"

Lady Moldoma

 

[Lady Moldoma]

"Whoa... are your powers tied to your looks? What are your powers?"

"Have you used your powers often? Do you like your powers?"

"It's just, so cool meeting people with powers! Y'know?"

"1. Yes, my powers manifested in part through demonic bodily traits, unhealable scars and wounds, skull shaped irises, and gray skin." She begins. "They have done nothing but cause me dismay and made it hard for me to fit in. Unfortunately, they also make me too stubborn to give up on life. Even if I just wanted to lay down and starve myself, my body on its lonesome would start to move to find something to eat."

"I am grumpy when I wake up, it's best if we hope that doesn't happen to me, or someone trying to help me might end up on the receiving end of that grumpiness..."

"2. We assume they are some sort of infernal ancestry or cambion heritage alongside biological adaptation and evolutionary progression." She says. "Shadeling has taken a look, and we were also lucky enough to speak to an alumni of the Academy of Annwn, who stated that, while he could tell it was somewhat demonic, most of my powers would fall under some variety of 'inexplicable' or 'anomalous' as they are deeply ingrained into a foreign nature, albeit not extraterrestrial."

"3. Continuously for 4 years. If you consider having horns and being horribly ugly a power, then continuously for 18 years." She states

"4. No. But I wouldn't want to not have them either." She begins again, her tone becoming slightly more venomous. "I want a third option. I always want a third option."

Mamimi still spoke monotonously for most of this, but it was clear she was touchy about the subject, even just her words seemed like a defensive maneuver.

"5. In that alone, I suppose I am charmed to meet your acquaintance."

 

[simj26]

Kisara McDowellA trial. Probation period. A part time job, on top of the part time job. That was what she told America’s greatest hero. It interested her, this whole ‘being a hero’ thing, make no mistake. It was an honor, truly, to be handpicked by one of America’s greatest heroes to partake in this project. That said, however, she never quite enjoyed working in a team. As a pair with the detective, maybe, but not in a group of more than two. There was, after all, a huge difference in temperament and work ethic between chefs in a fancy Michelin star restaurant and cooking a nice meal at home. Too much coordination needed, too many hands about the kitchen. Her pace was her own, and she would rather like it if she could determine what medium-rare was for herself, rather than telling others or being told by others.

Worse, she probably wasn’t even being paid for this. She could probably hire herself on as a consultant, take in some pocket money per session. Something that the group couldn’t figure out racking their brains together. Something that needed her specific expertise.

Which wasn’t much. She didn’t offer too much to the table. Home-grown and home-cooked experiences as they were. She would be standing alongside people who have trained hard in many aspects. Combat experts, powerful superpowers, probably a rich philanthropist somewhere in the middle that owned a fully functional mech suit. Why they would pick a woman with dirt-caked boots, half-falling apart, to be part of this was beyond her. Perhaps they weren’t as competent as she initially assumed. Perhaps they were running out of actual heroes to rope into some hare-brained scheme, and she was an afterthought.

Puzzles were meant to be solved, and right now, she lacked the pieces to complete the full picture. The only option available was to pick up what the great American hero was leaving behind.

“So you pressed the button just like that?”

“I mean…” Her mind raced through the excuses she could give as she paced about the back alley she had only just materialised a few minutes ago. “Yeah?” She could not find one.

She could almost see the detective resting his head on his hands in exasperation over the phone. “You could have waited for me to arrive, just in case.”

“In this traffic?”

A scoff. “Fine. As long as you’re safe. At the very least, this’ll be a good story for the kids this weekend.”

He was getting them this week, huh? She should probably get them something, then. Much as she hated being called ‘auntie’ by them, she could only attribute that appellation to Carter. Maybe Sentinel had some merch lying around in his hideout. She stopped pacing and looked over at the diner. Hell of a hideout though. Maybe it had some secret basement. She couldn’t imagine hanging out in a hideout that smelled like food every day. It’d be too distracting. She could never work in the F&B sector.

“Right. See you later, detective.”

“You too, Demon Detective.”

“I told you to–” she started, before being stopped abruptly by a dead tone. “No one calls me that,” she muttered darkly under her breath as she shoved the phone into her jacket. “Whatever.”

In her pacing, she had concluded the scent was similar to Sentinel’s. What the shadow guest had left on her desk as she was dusting the place had been true on one front- it did take her to Sentinel. The thickness of the smell couldn’t be a temporary thing either, and besides, who would put so much thought into an ambush, if it were one? Especially for someone like her. If anything, they should have jumped her the moment she materialised in this alleyway.

If it sounded as if she couldn’t trust Sentinel, it was because it was exactly that. Heroes, villains, monsters, humans, she couldn’t trust anything or anyone. So many things were buried under the surface, no being could be perfect. It was a hard-earned privilege, and as much as Sentinel did good for the people, she didn’t know him.

That’s why she was here to pick up the puzzle pieces.

She rounded about the diner, out the alley and towards the front. There was life inside, despite the ‘CLOSED’ sign hanging out front. They didn’t look like employees just hanging out either. One was a remarkably normal-looking gal with short brown hair, and the other was…a fellow horned being with pink hair. Kisara reached up and tugged on her own mop of unruly locks, suddenly quite self-conscious. Someone probably had to go home and change out.



This sucks. She hadn’t even stepped in yet, and she was already clashing with any idea of team dynamics. In any hero team, everyone had their own unique colors and looks, and here she was, just messing it all up. What if she was mistaken as this other gal? Worse, what if the other gal was mistaken to be her? That’d screw up her life. At least with Carter, the only similarities between them was that both of them were going through it in life. Being mistaken for a middle-aged, bearded chain-smoking detective, and vice versa, was probably more flattering for either of them. This just sucks, this mega sucks.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Sentinel had to admit, he was a bit worried for Mamimi; ever since she had been working at the restaurant she'd been trying to fit in to the best of her ability. But, instead, she came off as a bit distant and blunt - though thankfully his family didn't mind and, in fact, seemed to be aware of Mamimi's efforts. They often tried to get her to relax and be herself, albeit with little success thus far. It was obvious that there was a ways to go on that front, and only time would tell. It appeared that Avery didn't mind Mamimi's bluntness and direct answers, and to that he was thankful as well. The two were completely different, but it seemed that didn't get in the way for the time being. He then noticed someone standing outside the restaurant, who was reluctant to enter. He squinted his eyes only to see Kisara, and he quickly walked over to the door and opened it for her. "Kisara! Come on in my friend!" he said with a big smile on his face.

 

[simj26]

Kisara McDowellWhy was he coming over here? Gods, this was terrible. Now she just looked like a weirdo just staring in. This sucked, this sucked so bad. Right, she could pretend to be fixing her hair. She could pretend that she wasn't actually supposed to be here, just happened by. As if any of that would work. Her hair was practically physically impossible to fix, and Sentinel already knew she was supposed to be here. Probably.

The door swung open, and she stifled a squeak, managing to compose herself in time. She straightened out her jacket, and put on her best idea of composure. "Glad to be here," she managed, shoving down all the emotions down into the pit of her stomach. She stepped through the threshold, and dropped herself onto one of the chairs. She folded her arms over her chest, leaning back against her seat, and leveled her gaze towards the other two. "I would hazard a guess that there would be more than just the three of us that you recruited."

She crossed one leg over the other. "Kisara McDowell. You may or may not have heard of me, some of which may or may not be true." She held her tongue past that introduction. This was the point where she figured that either of them would either call her out for being an ex-con, know her by her work, or neither. The best would be the middle option, the last would be just as good, but the first would probably start some fires.

EdwardDewey98 joshuadim Lady Moldoma

 

[Breadman]

They actually got an offer from Sentinel himself. The actual Sentinel. That night after the duo split and got home to rest might as well have bled into the morning as they just spend exchanging texts between each other. Dove was exited at the prospect, but Knight had understandably been more hype about it.

Fast forward to now when they were both meeting up before they dropped by where Sentinel asked them to. Samantha was waiting at their meeting point. She wasn't working that day so she could allow herself a more relaxed look rather than the stuffy bookstore look. A thin short coat over a yellow tank top, a pair of jeans and boots. Sun was beaming that day so a pair of sunglasses were in order.

'Where are you?'

'Almost there. Look to your left.' Samantha raised her head and looked in that direction and saw a few people walking around. One of them held a phone in his hand and waved at her. Tall guy, looked like he was Knight's build. Blondie with glasses, clean shaven and looks like he has no business doing what he was doing last night.

"Are you really wearing a green polo shirt?"

"What, its comfortable."

"I'd never picture you doing what you did last night if you get what I mean." She put her phone away and motioned for him to follow. "Come on. The place is nearby."

"Well, when we do what we do, making sure I don't draw attention while off-duty sounds like the right move." He quickened the pace to catch up with her.

"I'm not knocking that. I'm knocking your choice in incognito wear."

"Its not that bad....right?" She just gave him a smile as they continued to walk. It took a few minutes, but they finally reached the dinner. From where they were standing across the street, it looked like there were people inside while the CLOSED sign was in clear view. Either the staff was having their meeting or they were on time for their own. Only one way to find out.

"After you." Dove said as she held the door open for her partner. He gave her a look, but complied rather than make a big deal out of it. Once inside, they were greeted by those that have already assembled inside. Some the ratio of between those who looked like regular people and those that don't was a very even split. This was going to be interesting. "Hi...I'm sorry were the kitchen tryouts for later?" Dove tried to break the ice with a joke.

 

[dikdik]

Shifting, sorting, shifting down to the literal and actual fibers of a body and the dead, absent hole living in the center of it wasn’t something Otis expected to experience on such a glorious, sunshiny day. It felt like he was threaded through the needle of the space time continuum. Oh, better yet, he was a camel! Was he just imagining that? Was that what he was supposed to be feeling while teleporting? He didn’t know so he tried so hard to ignore the idea that all of his shades might be experiencing the exact same refraction. Would they? Weren’t they sort of just… shadows? Or did they feel things too and have their own lives? No, no, no he was just imagining things and making them up, he shouldn’t be getting too attached to them! He had hardly even thought of them, except for when they first appeared, and now he was obsessing over them? Surely, that was just the anxiety of the last… fucking… 28… years… getting to him…

Upon snapping into existence on the other side of his teleportation path, Otis was left on a sidewalk facing a building with De Barahona al Corazon in blocked letters above a door. Shock was riddled across his face, a knee tucked up while balancing on one foot, hands comically shielding his hands and face in a dramatic gesture fit for a cartoon. Otis’ breath caught in his throat and he attempted to keep from hyperventilating as he intentionally, and slowly, unraveled his ridiculous composure. He tugged at his plain gray t-shirt and straightened it out before twisting around to notice it was still tucked in his too-tight jeans and the black denim jacket was still a little too big on him. What? He had to look cutie. No other way to live. And, he looked significantly less pulled-through-the-fabric-of-reality-in-a-way-science-nor-magic-had-any-fucking-business-explaining than he felt. That was good! Hopefully good enough for Sentinel and the others lingering inside the building. Oh, goodness above and the nasty shit below, Sentinel, and with a pang of sweaty palms and the absence of words shuffling through his head, a burst of three shades materialized in front of Otis. One took off running and was promptly vaporized by a city bus carrying on its beautiful public transit sort of business. Another sprinted straight into the concrete wall of the building, landed in a puddle, and puffed into mist. The third? The third just sort of stood there drooling like an idiot until Odie walked through it, waving at it dismissively and pacing straight to the door.

Oh, fucking fuck he was horrified and intimidated and anxious and proud and so many other feelings as his shaking hand found the door and pressed it open, surveying those inside.

Oh, seriously, fucking fuck. Who were these people? A horned person? A teenager? A purple person? Shades exploded again but Otis tried desperately to ignore them as they smacked against walls, tried to shake unsuspecting strangers’ hands, dashed straight out of the building and other utterly ridiculous actions. Uh oh, uh oh…

Otis pressed a smile, his fear hiding just underneath it. The fear of not being good enough. Of this being some sort of mistake. Of these people hating him. Of Sentinel realizing Otis was actually a serious fuck up and that he was doomed to a life of open mics and pretending he could ever actually be good at anything.

“Um, hi, everyone!” Pip, pip, cheerio, my good sir. “I’m Otis!”

 

[Infab]

​

Hmm... Sentinel said the restaurant's name was 'De Barahona al Corazon'. Dominican. Located within the Bronx, New York City, New York... Ah, there it is.

Felicia had been circling New York City's various boroughs for a short while, getting used to flying over the vast city as she had Chicago in the early days of her residency there. All the while, she had been listening to one of the local radio stations as she flew. Apparently this one played nothing but classics. She liked the classics. It reminded her of an era long gone.

She darted down to the Bronx, using her thrusters to propel her metal body downwards towards the various structures and streets below. Lucky for her, the Air Force wasn't being nosy. Sometimes, she'd show up on radar and jets would do an occasional flyby to see if they could find her. It had happened a few times in Chicago. It'd probably happen here too at some point, but not today.

As she closed in, her enhanced optics picked up on a few others entering the building (which apparently was closed judging from the sign she spotted out front.) A woman with horns and pink/purple hair, a pair who looked like a couple or at least close friends, and a young man with short black hair. Perhaps other additions to the team?

Nearing the restaurant, she began to slow and orient herself for landing in front of the building. Legs met concrete, Felicia landing gently on sidewalk as her killed her thrusters. She straightened up, looking about at surprised onlookers. Pretty normal for her. She gently waved at them, before proceeding on.

She had to bend over to enter the restaurant, squatting slightly to push through the front door. As the door shut behind her, she looked around at those already inside. "Hallo!" she said, her German accent slipping through momentarily. "Felicia Roth, or Panzerfrau, reporting in as instructed."

 

[joshuadim]

Avery didn't even have time to process Mamimi's answers when new faces came through into the restaurant, drawing her attention away from her first subject of inquiry towards everyone else with wide eyes; there was another cool gal who had similar - albeit markedly differentiated - characteristics to Mamimi as she introduced herself to be Kisara, and was immediately eye catching in both demeanour as well as outwardly appearance. She would be Avery's first victim to a torrent of questions, before her gaze trailed over to a duo of a man and woman who seemed rather close knit in Avery's perception. She had yet to introduce herself, and so her vision caught onto the figure of a ball of anxiety that waltzed on in with apprehension. She knew a few kids like that in school, who could barely string together a sentence without shaking in their sneakers. Then came the giant friggin ROBOT that walked in through the door - where did Sentinel find these people!?

And more importantly, who where they? And so, Avery quickly bounded over to Kisara - practically shoving herself to be face to face out of excitement - and began her barrage: "Hi Kisara! What's your powers? Is it like Mamimi where its tied to your looks? Whoa, are you two related?" Avery's gaze darted between the two of them quickly on that last question with a dramatic gasp before moving on without a care of the flow of the conversation at hand, "Whaddaya mean heard of you? Are you already a hero? Oh gosh that's so cool! Ohcrapdamnit I'm rambling and I didn't even say my name - I'm Avery! That was so rude of me-"

She quickly then bounded over to Dove and Knight and shook their hands without their initiative: "I'm Avery, before I forget to say! Are you two a team? How long have you been fighting crime together?" And like a gerbil, her attention then turned to Otis as she practically leaped over to him with excitement: "Do you control shadows? I kinda saw something outside before you walked in, are you like Shadeling? That's so friggin' cool!" She then turned to Panzerfrau unable to properly vocalize her thoughts as the height difference made her look on at first before speaking again: "Do you have a big laser cannon on you?" Avery asked with an ignorant wonder filling her head.

It was exciting, meeting actual supes like this, but Avery quickly realized just how annoying she probably seemed up front as a result of all this and let out a nervous chuckle while rubbing the back of her head. "Sorryyy... I just... think... supes are so cool..."

 

[Breadman]

"She's just like you." Dove commented as Avery went around the room to meet and talk to everyone.

"Excuse me?" Knight tried to protest, but as soon as he saw the look she gave him, he capitulated "I guess."

"Right, hero names." Dove turned to the others in the room "I'm Black Dove, he's Knight. Yes, I am related to the original one, she's my mom. I've been patrolling the streets for a couple of years now and he's new-ish to the whole hero deal, so we're partnered up. As for real names, call me Sam."

"I'm Kevin. Kev will do fine." Knight added while awkwardly placing his hand in the back pocket. He looked around again to see the others in the room to see just what he was getting himself into. Dove seemed pretty calm despite being in the same boat as him. He looked at Panzerfrau again and managed to state the obvious. "Wow. You're big."

 

[Infab]

There were quite a few people already gathered here. Certainly enough to make the team that Sentinel wanted, that was for sure. Felicia moved in a little closer, making sure to remain out of the way for those entering or exiting, or even just moving about. Eventually, she found a spot to simply kneel down. Of course, one of the others decided to speak to her after looking up at her for a few moments.

"Do you have a big laser cannon on you?"

Felicia gave her a smile. "In a way." she responded, reaching up and lightly tapping on her chest plate. "Its a last resort weapon, as it drains a lot of power."

She then showed Avery her palms, revealing the lenses built into them. "Smaller scale cannons, which I use far more often to simply disarm opponents... I prefer non-lethal fighting over lethal." she explains, looking between her palms and Avery as she spoke.

Then, one of the males that had entered just before her spoke up.

"Wow. You're big."

"Eight feet tall, or two hundred and forty-three point eighty-four centimeters, to be exact." she responded, "I weigh around one thousand pounds, or about four hundred and fifty-four kilograms."

 

[simj26]

KisaraShe was suddenly overcome by a wave of lethargy when the brunette started speaking. She hadn't even had the opportunity to answer before she disappeared to interact with another. It wasn't the lass’ energy that drained her of hers, though. It was the questions. It was the people. It was enough that with every new arrival, she was beginning to feel more and more out of place. If the sounds of her landing weren't enough, what detritus on the most recent arrival’s thighs and shoulders implied that she had flight capabilities. And the questions the hyperactive ball of energy asked. Cut too deep, some of them did. She wasn't just ‘not a hero’, but she was also just some unknown. Even after all her work, she was just some nobody. There was some solace to be found in that, at least. She didn't know about her past, exposed for all to see on social media.

Her shoulders slumped, and she, very slowly, began to sink in hers seat. This definitely wasn't her scene. They had an AI. If they had that, what else did they have? Her eyes drifted over the rest of the group. There was no way they weren't close to the same level as the robots capabilities. In any case, she was practically useless. What's an upstart P.I. with nothing to her name going to achieve here?

Again, she wasn't getting paid. It would be a net loss for her to participate in the shenanigans.

She pushed herself back up her chair. This wasn't time to be playing nice. “Pardon me for cutting in, but, what’s the dance here?” She leaned forwards, steepling her fingers. “I know you're looking for heroes, but,” she nodded towards the robot, “you've got Inspector Gadget over here, so it's apparent to me that the others aren't that far behind in terms of utility and powers, and all that jazz. All I'm asking is ‘why me?’. I can't do cool stuff like them. Probably.” An unfounded theory, but, for some reason, she felt like she had to gamble on it.

What's the point? She wanted to add, but held that back. A rumination for another time, for when she was alone again, splayed across the couch like discarded trash. She was no saviour, she was a destroyer, playing at detective, because she knew, in her deepest parts of her heart, that her powers could never truly save anyone. At least, on the streets, pretending to be someone else, she could do more.

“It just seems almost like you're fully staffed on all fronts, s'all.” She levelled her gaze at Sentinel.

She respected the man, truly, for all that he had done for the people, but that did not mean she was about to mince her words with him. At the very least, that was the best way to give him the respect he deserved.

 

[Infab]

Felicia glanced up when one of the pinkish-purple haired women spoke, referring to Felicia as 'Inspector Gadget' as she spoke to Sentinel. Felicia raised an eyebrow as she listened. I understood that reference!

Once she finished, Felicia spoke. "...I am actually a rather outdated artificial intelligence, made purely for combat purposes. A few simple routines were programmed into my core for other things, but nothing even remotely on the same level as more modern systems. My last firmware and software update was on September 21st, 1989." she explained.

"...I attack what needs to be attacked, defend what needs to be defended, and protect those who need protection. I was built to fight... not investigate and think. That falls to you all. A machine that relies too much on cold logic isn't the best when it comes to some situations. I would love to... well, become 'more human'. If that makes sense. Or at least understand human concepts better."

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

[HECTOR PROLOGUE]​

Red West, Jacksonville, Florida​

Red West neared capacity by this point in the night, as it did every night it was open. The stream of people trying to gain entry never stopped but had slowed to the point Hector could lean back against the wall and listen to the conversation of the regulars who had to take frequent smoke breaks. It had taken him time to get to the point where he was acknowledged beyond grunts, but now he had gained enough trust where they occasionally offered him a cigarette.

The club had an interesting reputation. Founded in the 90s after its owners saw potential in a dilapidated factory, it had become a hub of trashiness and debauchery. Most of its reputation came from the high-crime neighbourhood it stood in, not helped by the clientele it enticed by having the cheapest drinks in the city. Anyone with money or sense to go somewhere better usually did. Up until recently, they also had very lenient security. If you went to Red West, you knew the risks, and that anyone giving you trouble would be allowed back in next week.

Hector was hired as a bouncer shortly after arriving in the city. He lacked qualifications and experience, but the guy who owned the couch he had been sleeping on dragged him there on a wild night neither of them remembered. He woke up with a new uniform and a text of his starting date, so they must’ve been desperate. On his first day, he attended a meeting about all the changes to come. Red West was going to rehabilitate its image, and suddenly the job seemed a lot more serious.

The gossip wasn’t too interesting tonight, but it took Hector’s attention away from working. Lit cigarette between his lips, he glanced at each patron, cross-checking IDs with little scrutiny. The only time he took a little longer was if a woman was particularly good-looking, which they often were, but he knew if he ogled for too long he’d be creating too many problems for himself. He had already endured a year’s worth of drama in his first month, after the regulars outside found out he was single and attempted to aid him on his quest.

As he waved one group inside, a truck slithered into a gap on the pavement, not far from the line, and five men stepped out. Their night had already begun hours prior, as they all displayed an unnatural confidence one could only gain from drugs. One who was obviously the leader of the group walked ahead, and the others trailed behind, more like bodyguards than friends.

”That who I think it is?”

One of the regulars looked up and stood up straight.

”Stop staring. What do you care?”

As another regular replied, the first realised his mistake and looked down at the ground.

”He got banned last week is all. I’m glad I’m not the guy lettin’ people in.”

Hector was oblivious to the danger approaching until the bouncer on duty with him tapped him on the shoulder.

”Gotta go piss. Back in a few. Good luck.”

”Aight-” Hector responded, but he was already on his own. The regulars had backed away from what might soon be the splash zone as the group approached the entrance. Finally, Hector noticed as 8 feet of trouble stared him down.

”I ain’t see you queue.” Hector looked up with no sign of fear. ”Starts over there.” He nodded to the queuing patrons behind him, one of which shook their head rapidly. There was a sudden stillness in the air, except for the hot breath Hector felt snorting down at his forehead.

”Funny.” One of the lackeys behind the leader prompted the group to progress forward, shoving Hector aside. The push finally kicked the gears in Hector’s brain to motion, and he realised what was going on. Against all instincts of self-preservation, he positioned himself back in front of the group, slamming the entrance shut.

”Yeah, no. You’ll need to find another place to spend your night.”

He hadn’t been on duty the night they were banned, but he had been briefed, which was a shame for Hector as he paid little attention to these briefings. Trevor and his men were drug dealers, and probable murderers, but stuff that happened outside the premises was not the concern. The concern came after Trevor threatened to murder a waitress during his last visit after she refused to serve his table anymore. He was inebriated enough then to be pried from his table without him fighting back at full force, but now he had a week to mull things over, and unfortunately for Hector, he was the only one in his way.

In an instant, Hector felt his feet lift off the ground as he was grabbed by the throat. He wanted to continue speaking but found himself unable to take in any air, and he scratched against the grip. At this point, a few opportunists had their phones out. A beating like this was sure to go viral.

Focus, Hector.

He looked Trevor in the face. His foe’s sclera darkened and reddened, seeming to change as he became more fuelled with anger. He looked downward at his stubble, and his sharp teeth, and further down to his fat neck, on which was a thick golden chain. Up to this point, Hector had refrained from using his abilities. As much as it could’ve helped him on many occasions, he was hesitant to show everyone his cards the second he landed in a new city. That’s why it was surprising to onlookers when Trevor’s grip loosened as he became occupied with something else.

The chain around his neck was pulled back by an unseen force, and the tables were turned. With his spare hand he tried to readjust it, but then the rings on his fingers fought against him with enough force to snap one finger back altogether. The ring freed itself and went flying to the floor. Hector hadn’t intended to break his finger, but it was a time-sensitive situation, so the only thing he certainly wanted was to get this guy off of him. The man threw him to the ground, and Hector tumbled a few metres before landing in a heap against a streetlight. The rough pavement had grazed his limbs enough to draw blood, and his head swam from its collision with the ground.

He looked up after a moment of disorientation, to see Trevor point a gun down to him. The crowd at this point hadn’t comprehended Hector’s actions, but they all knew the sight of a gun. It was time to get out of here. The ones who foolishly kept looking would suddenly see Trevor struggle to keep his aim. It was as though someone invisible was trying to disarm him until the weapon was pointed at himself. He struggled to regain control, but then the gun fired and was dropped to the floor. The bullet had gone straight through the man's shoulder which now spurted dark red blood. He let out an inhuman roar that shook the ground as leathery skin grew over the wound, tearing away the fabric of his clothes.

”...Boss?”

His lackeys kept their distance as the man- no, monster? Continued to roar in pain and fury. This didn’t seem to be part of the plan. The monster charged forward as his sharp teeth grew in size proportional to his also growing jaw. Hector pushed back against the ground, hitting the post he was backed up against. Manoeuvring out of the way, he had barely a second before he would be attacked again.

Thunk!

Maybe you’ve once walked through a forested area and found your path blocked by branches. You’ve pulled one out of the way to get past but had to be careful letting go as it would easily hurt someone as it swung back to its natural shape. As the monster charged, his face met the streetlight which suddenly swung across his path, taking out a fang. The bulb in the light went out, dimming the area to only the neon lights emanating from the entrance. Hector continued to scurry backwards, panting. It wouldn’t buy much time.

The monster was deterred for only a moment. With his able hand, he grabbed the streetlight, tearing it from its foundation. With as much ease as though he were swinging a bat, he launched the post down at Hector. With Hector’s likely concussion doing him no favours, moving the post again seemed like too tiring a task this time, but still, the autopilot keeping him from being crushed to a pulp sent the post’s trajectory askew, and it cracked the pavement inches from his face, breaking apart at the top to expose a jagged end. Trevor dropped the pole and smiled.

”You messed with the wrong man.” Despite his failure to strike the bouncer dead so far, the monster felt assured enough in his victory to start gloating, spitting on Hector’s face before continuing. ”Should’ve minded your damn business. I mighta left the rest of you alone, but now…” Hector glanced at the few people who were still gawking at the fight, including the dumbfounded lackeys. Man. I promised I’d stay outta this shit. ”I’m gonna burn this whole place to the-” There was a brief pause. ”-Ground.”

The monster stumbled back, but he couldn’t move far on account of the pole suddenly embedded in his abdomen. He pulled it out and fell to his knees, and then flat on his face as his innate healing abilities kicked in again. He would be fine, but it seemed like the injury was severe enough to prevent any more retaliation as the monster went into some sort of recovery mode. The fight was over... for now.

Hector rubbed his bloody forehead, getting back to his feet to assess the damage. It began and ended so quickly, but he felt like he had been fighting for an hour.

”I’m gonna get fired, aren’t I? This is complete bullshit.” He mumbled to no one in particular as he looked at what he had done. Time to get out of here… Not yet. A familiar sound rang out, another gunshot. One of the lackeys ran at Hector, feeling bold enough to finish this himself. The first shot missed, and without thinking, Hector raised his arm in defence. A sudden pain nearly collapsed him, but he stood strong. It wasn’t from a gunshot, but rather from the metal erupting from his arm, creating a barrier a few inches in thickness, which protected him from a second bullet.

The lackey who felt confident in finishing the weakened bouncer realised his mistake and tried to slow his momentum before reaching Hector, but as he came to a stop, Hector swung the metal, knocking him unconscious only a few metres from his boss. The remaining three lackeys had already fled to the truck they arrived in but found that they didn’t have the keys, thus initiating a retreat on foot.

At this point the bouncer who was supposed to be on duty with Hector returned with some of the security guards within the club, fearing the worst had happened. Inside, the party had stopped and the lights were turned on. The patrons within knew little about the situation and didn’t know whether to be scared for their lives or annoyed at the interruption.

Hector leaned against the wall, confident that this time the fight was definitely over. He looked at the metal attached to his arm. He’d never done that before. Taking a few steps forward, he realised it was probably time for him to leave while his coworkers assessed the damage.

 

[Lady Moldoma]

Avery didn't even have time to process Mamimi's answers when new faces came through into the restaurant, drawing her attention away from her first subject of inquiry towards everyone else with wide eyes; there was another cool gal who had similar - albeit markedly differentiated - characteristics to Mamimi as she introduced herself to be Kisara, and was immediately eye catching in both demeanour as well as outwardly appearance. She would be Avery's first victim to a torrent of questions, before her gaze trailed over to a duo of a man and woman who seemed rather close knit in Avery's perception. She had yet to introduce herself, and so her vision caught onto the figure of a ball of anxiety that waltzed on in with apprehension. She knew a few kids like that in school, who could barely string together a sentence without shaking in their sneakers. Then came the giant friggin ROBOT that walked in through the door - where did Sentinel find these people!?

And more importantly, who where they? And so, Avery quickly bounded over to Kisara - practically shoving herself to be face to face out of excitement - and began her barrage: "Hi Kisara! What's your powers? Is it like Mamimi where its tied to your looks? Whoa, are you two related?" Avery's gaze darted between the two of them quickly on that last question with a dramatic gasp before moving on without a care of the flow of the conversation at hand, "Whaddaya mean heard of you? Are you already a hero? Oh gosh that's so cool! Ohcrapdamnit I'm rambling and I didn't even say my name - I'm Avery! That was so rude of me-"

Avery's energy was something very hazardous for mamimi, who began scratching at her own neck, drawing blood within only moments.

"C-Can you quiet down" She tried to be polite at first.

Mamimi was that type of person who's own social inadequacies were tied to a deep violent paranoia.

The mention of blood relations, the fact that she had looked into Kisara's face for only a brief moment and wondered why they looked so much like her even though they had never met and had no relation at all, and the fact that Avery had more or less jumped from topic to topic so fast as to fully ignore anything that Mamimi said, caused Mamimi to start spiralling picking her own skin off of her neck where one of the scar-fissures existed on her body.

 

[dikdik]

It felt like a million eyes were staring through a body that had just been undone and reknit while hurled through the Passages of Space-Time, but it simultaneously felt as though Otis was perhaps too normal and boring to be worthy of anyone greeting him back. A short and quiet sigh of defeat laced its way through and out his lungs, but that sigh quickly redacted its action and sucked right back in with a gasp as surprised hands shot to cover his mouth and a behemoth of a being landed on the fucking sidewalk. The person-robot-creature was so tall that it had to bend over to fit through the door of the restaurant. In response to the giant arriving, someone who looked distinctly younger than the others in attendance began to bounce around the room and spout question after question after question at the others, until, finally, it was Otis’ turn to be bombarded by her.

She said her name was Avery? Ok, Avery. Hi, how’re you, Avery. Weird day we’re all having, Avery. Nope. None of that. None of that, because this teenager saw one of Otis’ shades and his stomach all but buried itself in the floor and descended through the earth until it found a sewer main and flowed to the ocean, never to be seen again. Otis was utterly dumbfounded and a rising panic threatened to turn his voice into a sad little squeak, and so he cleared his throat and crossed his arms and tried to play it cool. “O-oh. Oh, so you?” Well, fuck. It still squeaked a little. “You saw that? What did you see? How did you see that, I’m the only one that can see those? I mean… No one else has ever seen those.”

After their conversation, the girl, Avery bounded away as quickly as she had arrived to the giant in the room. Supes are cool? Supes like superheroes? Oh, did she think Otis was a fucking superhero? Nope! Nosiree! He just had little outbursts of shadows and mist that were more of a bother than anything, but occasionally helped him pick out the better outfit choice in the morning.

The Dove lady and the Knight guy introduced themselves to the class. She was the daughter of a superhero? And had actively been a hero for a few years? Oh, hell-to-the-fucking-no. This was absolutely a mistake. All Otis had done was save some guy from a car accident. And who knows if he even saved him! There were intergenerational superheroes present in this restaurant and the only thing Otis could think of was how fucking sweaty his armpits were threatening to be if he didn’t leave immediately. So, he slipped out of his black denim jacket and flung it over his shoulder. Maybe that would help?

It didn’t help. And that robot lady was as heavy as six Otises and that was mortifying. What if she accidentally backed into him or stepped on his foot? What would happen then, hmm? Maybe, hopefully, she wasn’t as clumsy as he would be if he was that tall, or as clumsy as he already was. Oh! Oh! But one of the other people in here just said out loud what he had been thinking the entire time! Why her! Why him! What’s the play! Otis really did want to say something to her, or in general, about how he’d like to escape whatever this was while he still could. But he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Sentinel, like the real life, incredibly, amazing Sentinel believed him able to help people. And that’s what all this was for right? He was guaranteed to float through the universe as a glimmer of nothingness after this life. He needed to do something with it. That’s where all of this started. Right?

A shade attempted to escape, peeling out of his body in the vague form of his reflection made of black mists only he, and apparently Avery, could see. And the horror that gripped his in-the-ocean stomach was enough for him to convince it to stay inside. Had he just done that? Successfully? He’d never been able to hold a shade inside before! They always just sort of exploded out of him! Well, he didn’t quite convince it to stay hidden. He sort of willed it? Maybe he was capable? Certainly not a superhero, but maybe capable? Otis took a deep breath again, as someone with horns seemed to be upset with the energy radiating out of Avery. Her distress snapped Otis’ concentration and the shade slipped out of him, slinking away with a guilty little grin like a child who snatched an extra cookie out of the jar might look back at their parent while they stuff it in their mouth. The shade bounded away, puffing through the door, and once again being hit by a city bus.

“Fuck.” Otis quietly sighed in disappointment, his posture sinking slightly. He really thought he had something going there.

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[Roda the Red]

A steady pace moved Derby through the streets of the Bronx, each step subconsciously avoiding the thin gaps between the varied tiles adorning the sidewalk. One arm swung enthusiastically back and forth, while the other gently cradled a paper back against his lemon-padded chest. The boy's face was stiff, a his brows heavily furrowed, and his leeps deeply pursed into a wide, thin line. While his intense expression may lead you to believe he'd been holding in a big shit (a thought conjured by more than one passerby by now), the delinquent's mind was actually drowned by a specific scenario, one that replayed over and over, with slightly variations everytime. It was a sight most shameful, Sentinel's teeth sparkling as he welcomed crudely-drawn and slouched Derby with a smile, his arm guiding the boy's sight towards a league of similarly muscular and tightly-clothed superheroes, all of with neat combed hair down to the cowlick. Their smiles progressively disappearing as they became aware of the grape-head's prescense, staring down in reject and disgust in equal measures.

He stopped on his tracks, his mid-step leg held ninety-degrees upwards in the air. A quick twist of his ankle rotated his entire body the opposite way, "Ah screw it, nope, I'm outta here." And thus he spoke, but his legs refused to follow up on his inverted decision. A second twist brought him back to his original position. "Oh come on, ain't no harm in checking out!" But thus, he remained still once more, the sole of his shoe silently weeped as it was rubbed against the coarse concrete of the sidewalk for a third time. "Fuck that, got better things to do, so long, losers!" So he spoke, but you might take a guess as to what he did immediately after, especially after catching a glance of passing onlookers. Having lost the fight with himself, Derby sighed deeply.

Pale fingers gently wrapped around the handle of the familiar door, eyes too focused on shamefully looking at the ground to propely take a peek as to wait lied beyond these walls. Taking in a deep breath of low-quality New York air, he opened the door and stepped inside. Within his many mental rehearsals, Derby pondered upon several ways to make a dramatic entrance, first impressions can be vital, after all! But when it finally came the time to act, he walked forward with the confident gait of a liberal arts student in a frat house.

The forced smile he had shaped before entering slowly morphed out of existence, his tiny pupils bouncing from side to side like a pair of matching games of Pong as he scanned the people inside. He had to do a double take, thinking for a moment that perhaps he chose the wrong building, maybe he had stumbled into a lair of criminals by mistake? They would've certainly fit the criteria a lot better that way. However, Tyrell's unmistakable frame was in view, and if he wasn't beating them all to a pulp, then this must've been the right place after all.

Huh, they're just a buncha freaks? Lotta chicks too, and here I was thinking this was gonna be a sausage party.

"...'Sup?" He spoke drily, the shopkeeper's bell having brought more attention towards him than he would've liked. "...Brought some snacks." He declared with marginally higher energy, thrusting his arms forward, holding the bag with a couple cans of half-priced Prongles (not like the needed to know that.) All the while he maintained a cautious distance with the bulk of the group, just a couple steps away from hugging a corner.

 

[Lady Moldoma]

That response in her hand suddenly stopped as she exhaled, it transitioned to a method she had started doing to keep herself out of her own harm's way. Biting down gently onto her knuckle, as she removed her hand from the scratches on her neck, the tissues warping and twisting back into their previous scarred visage at a speed visible to the human eye.

“...Tyrell” She finally pressed her fingertips together. “I am not good with talking to large groups of people. But if any of them are willing, I do find discussing things over a game of Shogi to be rather stimulating… It is in fact true that I have trouble talking whenever I can’t focus on things other than people's faces…”

She went over to a small case on a wall shelf. Aside from books, and her own body, this was the only thing that she would argue ownership over. A folding shogi set, composed out of recycled hardwood, and a bag of polymer playing pieces. The board and bag having been created on her offtime using recycled and upcycled materials.

“My record is 10 - 1. I needed a game to learn from experience…” She began setting up the board on one of the tables that had yet to have its chairs raised for the day. “If you prefer larger variants or multiplayer variants, the board has convenient hinges for extension, and I have a surplus of pieces.”

“The slim majority of my matches with the board were against Jerquis, he showed me a digital version on a computer and I was smitten with the game’s complexities. I have run 5 matches against Roy, who made the offer to play me and discuss his perspective over a game of Shogi the first time, as an apology for tensions in our first impressions. He has lost every single game. I reason 2-5 were just wanting to make sure he genuinely had lost to someone who’s been living away from any civilization for 4 years.”

“I have tutored under a girl who I share some interests with online. We met on a discussion forum. Counting online matches, I have more losses than wins, 12 - 230 to be exact as sometimes I forget to sleep and we play long swaths of fast-games in quick succession. And we still have a game of Taikyoku Shogi going but I don't reason it will be completed until well into next month. she says it’s ‘not good to keep practice on the record’ and that ‘the fact I can keep up and hold a conversation is more than anyone else in her home.’ and on that merit she has 'no intention of keeping track of wins or losses when playing against me.' I am unfamiliar of the exact implications of either turns of phrase.”

“She sent the physical pieces to me by way of a private courier service… they were a gift.”

"I am uncertain why the game comes so naturally to me. Please do not ask me about my strategies." Mamimi finished her diatribe-length explanation, her head resting on her clasped and intertwined fingers after she had finished setting up the game board for a standard match of the original game.