Futuristic UTOPIA! ★°⭒𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕⭒°★

nova.the.alien · Sep 9, 2024

sentineltribune.com/news/2024/monolgue-time-bitches

Romera Bio- Technologies Celebrates 40yrs Anniversary

Rotech boasts several years of opening their industries up to citizens of Sentinel City, intention of many years to come.

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Since its establishment in 1957, Sentinel City has grown and flourished in ways that its original inhabitants never thought possible. What began as a beacon of hope—a shimmering sanctuary carved out of the sea—has evolved into a towering metropolis that defies gravity, reaching ever upwards in its unyielding ambition. With nowhere left to expand, the city grew skyward, its skyline now a labyrinth of gleaming skyscrapers, sky bridges, and neon-lit spires that stretch toward the heavens, tempting fate like Icarus reaching for the sun. This architectural marvel is a testament to the relentless drive and ingenuity of its citizens, built on the promise of safety and equality for all.

For mutants around the globe, Sentinel City offered something no other place could: a sanctuary from a world scarred by war, prejudice, and fear. Here, powers that were once seen as curses became celebrated gifts, and individuals who were once outcasts found a sense of belonging. Mutants and non-mutants alike work side by side, building a society that strives to rise above the failures of the past. Technology advanced at breakneck speeds, and with it, the dreams of an entire city grew. Cutting-edge innovations—many pioneered by mutant-led companies like RomeraTech—redefined what was possible, merging the extraordinary with the everyday. Bioengineered enhancements, nanotech-infused architecture, and AI-driven infrastructures are only a few examples of the city's ever-evolving landscape, all designed to support a harmonious coexistence.

Yet, beneath the city's gleaming facade lies a complex web of stories, each more unique than the next. It’s a place of stark contrasts: wealth and poverty, heroism and villainy, innovation and decay. For every soaring tower, there are dark alleyways where the shadows stretch long, and for every success story, there are those who fall through the cracks. In this city of infinite possibility, the line between savior and sinner often blurs, and ambition can be a double-edged sword.

Whether born amidst the glistening high-rises or drawn from far-off lands, each member of our cast has found their place within the ever-turning gears of Sentinel City’s grand machinery. They are the rebels, the dreamers, the warriors, and the wanderers. They each play a role in this sprawling urban symphony—some by choice, others by circumstance, and all driven by personal histories that shape their every move. What are their motives? What drives them forward, and what ghosts linger in their pasts? Are they architects of change, or simply players caught in the city's ever-evolving game?

Sentinel City is not just a backdrop but a living, breathing entity—dynamic, unpredictable, and brimming with potential. It's a place where dreams are born, and destinies are forged, but also where power struggles, hidden agendas, and deep-rooted tensions simmer just beneath the surface. Every citizen, from the lofty corporate magnate to the lowly street vendor, has their own narrative interwoven into the city’s complex tapestry. As we delve deeper into the lives of these inhabitants, we uncover a multitude of threads that define the city’s pulse. In the glittering skyline reflected in the bay or the hushed conversations in the underbelly of the city, countless stories are waiting to be told.

The question is, in this magnificent, ambitious city—what part will you play? Will you soar with the sun, or will you, too, find yourself plummeting as Icarus did, undone by the very dreams that once lifted you up? In Sentinel City, the possibilities are as limitless as the sky above, and every choice could tip the scales in a new direction.

sentinelsocial.com/utopia

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

-ferret- · Thursday at 5:06 PM

CW: Implications of blood and death, kinda creepy too

Nikodem Wrona

Twenty-one voices overlap each other, whispering in frantic echoes. In a trance-like state, the Bone Witch passes a blood dipped hand over the hand bones of their ancestor. Burnished with ancient metahuman runes and stained pink with countless coats of thick red. The Witch's hand stings suddenly and the bones begin to scream.

“This one! Here!” the bones shout in a cacophony of high pitched, warbling voices. Cold blue eyes, the shade of raw chalcedony, flutter open in narrowed slats.

“Hush,” the Witch commands. A blanket of silence settles abruptly over the bones. A slow hand reaches for the bone that shakes, leaning forward from his position outside the scrying circle. As crimson fingers make contact with the bone, the excited vibrations cease and images radiate up the Witch's arm and into his waiting mind.

“Look at the Viper,” the voices speak in unsettling unison. “The last thing he sees. The Viper's teeth.”

“I do not wish to see it,” He demands the bones to move along. “Show me what I want to know.”

“The Judas, show the Judas. Show the Judas!” The voices scream, the Witch grits their teeth against the onslaught of demands. The bone his fingers touch begins to shake.

“Enough! Show me the Judas,” the witch demands softly of the bone. It relents, sending more images up the arm and to the brain.

He sees through the man's eyes. It is a vision of who his accomplice is. What the witch sees makes him sigh. They know him. They were acquainted with him. They suspected but now they know. They will remember.

“Show me the contract,” the witch says, watching through Judas’ eyes as he looks on at a simple set of papers. What a measly contract for someone who works at a law firm.

“No,” the one voice says quickly before the cacophony of screaming sounds again.

“Feed us,” the bones are wailing in their whispering high pitched screams. “FEED US.”

Their demands are met, viscous red slipping from a small glass jar. The bones are greedy, demanding. They caterwaul like cats in their otherworldly voices, each clamoring over the voice before. They quiet slowly as they're bathed in scarlet.

The Witch reaches for the bone again, growing weary of them.

“Now let me see the contract,” the Witch urges impatiently. Finally, they are allowed the image of the man peering over the contract. Ah. A name.

The Witch sighs in exhaustion, thanking the bones before he breaks the circle and steps away. He will let the bones be happy for a time before he cleans them.

The Witch stands, washing up before pulling stained hands into silky black gloves. Julian will want to hear what he's found.

Steve Jobs · Thursday at 7:32 PM

— PARODY VS SILK !
in collaboration with

Auda .

01. Silk.

“Thank you for your donation benedict e.e.cummings for your donation! Are you related to Juice? Well first of all, just because I’m part Korean and have blonde hair, that doesn’t mean we’re related. Second of all, I came first. I was the blueprint of fuckin’...mutant streamers. 2014. That’s nine years on YouTube, three of which were on Demise. No one was doing it like me back then.”

Ann furrowed her brow and leaned back in her seat.

Maybe she should’ve dyed her hair blue last week. The next question rolled in, by one KappaKnight40. “Are you related to Parody?”

Is this really going to be tonight's theme? Are we really doing this? “No chat, I’m not related to him either.” She let out a huff as the queue finally popped for her game. It had been three weeks since her last bout of villainy and two weeks since she released something other than pithy stream highlights.

“Oh! Finally chat, a question that matters. What’s your plan going in the fight between you and your bro-Parody.” She pressed her lips, barely suppressing a snort

Okay, maybe the third time’s the charm.

“Nice try Parody, but I’m not giving up my secrets so easily.” She shot the camera a wink. “But since you’re here. Chat, what should my victory pose be?”

A: Pumping your fist!
B: Middle fingers up!
C: Teabag him!

The poll she set up lit with votes, fluctuating evenly between the three until the tackiest option came out supreme. The fight had been brewing for weeks, teased through subtweets, photos of herself at the gym and even a billboard she graffitied with “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” She also lobbied the tag “#StringHimUp” but ultimately deemed it inappropriate and instead, settled on #StringSquad.

CHOOSE YOUR HERO!

Oh right, she was still playing a game. Much to her fans’ delight she locked in a rather interesting character if only because Ann refused to play him out of principle.

KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody

She eyed the chat before breaking out in laughter. “Seriously Parody? This is the best you can do?” The ban hammer came swiftly but so did dozens of other accounts, something she could only assume was the product of either his fan base or some shit stirring troll.

READY? FIGHT!

Shit, they’d already started and Ann was woefully underprepared. Glancing at her chat, the number only grew as she got into position. For each user that one of her mods banned another popped up, until her other monitor was nothing but shit.

“Sorry to do this to you guys, but mods please put this chat in sub only mode.” She sighed, her face exasperated and apologetic. “It’s just so hard to play when you’re getting spammed by one of your own team members.”

02. Parody.

Karl has barely begun his stream and he was already bombarded with donations and subscriptions. He didn’t have to wonder for too long why his viewers were being too generous as each message was about his upcoming fight with Silk. Karl guessed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Both him and Ann have been teasing it for weeks now and the day was nearly approaching.

“You guys need to let me breathe! I can’t even read your messages because a new one will just replace it immediately. At this point the entire stream will just be me going through them all.” Karl laughed, clearly not minding the influx of subscriptions he’s receiving.

“Also, what’s with all these donations mentioning String Theory?! I just started and you guys are already bringing my mood down~” He pouted. “Now I don’t feel like streaming anymore,” Karl let out a deep sigh, “guess there will be no stream today.”

‘Noooooo’
‘He’s obviously joking LMAO’
‘We’re sorry Orz’

“Hmmm… I guess a Hype train will help cheer me up~”

ParodysFootstool has gifted 25 subscriptions to the channel!
Dicksoutfordemise subscribed at Tier 3! They subscribed for 9 months, currently on a 9 month streak!

A hype train has started! Sub, Gift, or use Bits to get to the next level.

Karl covered his mouth with his hand, obviously pretending to be shocked. “I was just joking! You guys didn’t need to do all that.” Acting wasn’t his strongest suit and it showed. “But still, thank you for all your kind donations!”

‘What a bunch of simps’
‘Anything for u king’
‘< 3333’

“So for today’s stream, we’re gonna talk about my previous battle with ‘Nitro’! You guys have probably never heard of him before but he’s an upcoming vigilante and I have to be honest, he gave me a hard time.”

‘String Theory is talking shit about you LMAO’

“I mean what else can she do but talk about me? It’s the only way she’ll be relevant anyways.” Karl scoffed at the off-hand comment.

‘She made a poll for a pose when she beats your ass’

“When?! Brave of her to assume she’ll even land a hit on me!”

‘#StringSquad’

“Mods, someone’s asking for a ban~”

‘There’s a fight happening?!’

“Well someone has been living under a rock. Remember to type ‘Exclamation point Battle’ for more details”

Karl—well, it’s Parody now that he was live—leaned back in his chair, eyes creased with mischief as he stared directly at his camera. The chat on his second monitor was scrolling faster than he could read thanks to the constant flood of emotes from his fans. The only thing he could discern from the waves of nonsense was the occasional ‘#PurelyParody’ and ‘#StringSquad’ amidst the chaos.

“Alright, everyone,” Parody’s voice mirrored the mirth on his face, “since String Theory can’t keep my name off her mouth, why don’t we go ahead and give her a visit?” He closed the video and put up the ‘Ending Soon’ screen on his stream. “There goes my plan for today’s stream. Guess there’s no point since all of you are worked up and itching for some action.”

Parody didn’t check his viewer’s response or even bothered in making a poll as he’s sure it’ll be a resounding yes. They all live for the drama, him included, after all. With that being said, he quickly opened Ann’s channel—don’t ask why it was bookmarked—and quickly navigated through his dashboard before clicking the raid option. A notification popped up in his stream, indicating that the raid will begin in 30 seconds.

“That should do it! Now everyone, just a reminder to be respectful and follow TOS.” Parody’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Also one of the mods has pinned a cute little message for String Theory. Make sure to copy it and greet her once the raid starts~”

The raid has begun. Changing channels shortly.

This should be fun.

03. Ann Akimiya.

5/12/16 and +2 Rank Points, oh she was going to crack his skull. What ought to have been a chill, promotional stream spiraled into a five game loss streak, no, a learning experience for herself and her viewers. “Well we can’t end on a loss” became her mantra as she careened off the face of the earth, finally ending with outstretched arms and an exaggerated yawn.

“Thank you to all you lovely viewers. Remember to check out our fight tomorrow night and subscribe. I stream every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 8PM!”

There was no need to go raid for raid or even address Karl’s mean spirited behavior. She was the bigger person, the more mature streamer of the two.

Oh who was she kidding? Of course she wasn’t the bigger person–she barely reached his neck!

Scrolling through the chat, the bulk of it consisted of the same “You fell off”, “Dog champ”, and “#PurelyParody” shlock copy and pasted from his channel (she was nosy, what did you expect?).

However, there was always at least one gold nugget sifted from the dirt.

@StringTheory
1m .@Parody Some fanbase you got here tw: sexism

PaordysFootstool: yyour are fucken bitch get parodys dick out your mouth and get a real job (OF dont count)

And tweet. With popular creators it was hard to tell whether it was a legitimate fan or a set up account but given her own fan base’s…enthusiasm it wouldn’t be long before they dug up something else.

She put her phone down and stared at the calendar hanging on the wall. It felt like only yesterday that they discussed next year’s (tomorrow’s) venue, the terms, and the sponsors subsidizing their fake beef. The match was burned in red sharpie and surrounded by black ink crossing off noteworthy events. Unlike last year, she actually trained and reflected on his skills as a villain. Begrudgingly, she even watched some of his videos on an alt account (ad block on obviously). She couldn’t stand to lose another match to him, especially when last year’s punishment had been so…ugh she didn’t even dare speak it. She couldn’t fathom what he would ask for this year.

The year she won, she forced him to get her name tattooed and streamed the whole, painful process (because he so wisely chose his foot). She couldn’t repeat the punishment, but she also hesitated to choose anything that crossed into cruelty. It had to be funny, novel, and a good time for all (except maybe Karl).

Her eyes moved to the framed poster on her wall (memento of her debut) before a grin crossed her lips.

04. Karl Evans.

Karl was having the time of his life. He eagerly watched Ann try to keep her composure while his viewers spammed her chat. She quickly fixed it by enabling sub only mode, but he’ll also take credit for the loss streak she just had. It was a great appetizer for the fight tomorrow. If things were in his favor, the loss streak will affect her and maybe he’ll snatch the win like he did in the previous year. Perhaps he’s getting too ahead of himself but he was already thinking of a punishment to give Ann. His previous one of changing the bio on all of her socials so the link will be directed to his account was fun, but it wasn’t as impactful as he hoped. Though he did get an influx of followers right after.

Once Ann’s stream ended, Karl was about to message her regarding the venue for tomorrow when he was greeted by a wave of notifications. It was nothing new, it was even expected to be honest, but when he opened one of them the content of the tweet made his head throb in annoyance. He couldn’t handle another ‘cancellation’, especially so close to their fight tomorrow. Instead of retaliating and escalating like what he’d usually do, Karl instead opened up his drafts and scrolled until he found a fitting ‘apology’ tweet.

No. Too sincere.

Too wordy.

Why do I even have that in my drafts?

Oh that tweet is funny. I’ll post it later.

Pretty sure this one was made with AI

Ah! Perfect.

Without much thought, Karl opened the draft and edited out some key information to make it relevant. Something about he didn’t stand for what happened and how he’s not a reflection of his viewers and how he’ll do better. Blah blah blah. He didn’t bother to check for typos, it probably made it more sincere and notably, there wasn’t an apology directed to Ann. He might give her this small victory but that’s it. Karl could already see the drama youtubers going in on their little interaction and the humorous title they’ll name their videos. ‘Team Demise, not a team at all?!’, or maybe even ‘Has Parody gone too far?’. Whatever it was, he’s sure it’ll be irrelevant the following week. Probably replaced by another headline.

With the tweet sent, Karl turned off his phone and tossed it to the side. Guess he’ll figure out tomorrow if it was effective or if he had to make another one—or worse, an apology video. He won’t let Ann ruin the rest of his day however. He needed his beauty sleep to look his best for tomorrow’s fight. Karl couldn’t wait for Ann and the rest of Sentinel City to see his trump card.

I wonder what I’ll wear though.

05. Ann Akimiya.

When morning came the sun shone, the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed–yet the first thing Ann did was check her phone.

From: Ichabod Bouziane
To: You
8:00 am Looks like your tweet left the target audience.

From: Jouga Jonouchi
To: You
6:30 am Please, don’t do anything dumb. We don’t need this overshadowing the fight.

Yes, even without any other messages between them, the (partially manufactured) beef into the trending tab, nearly edging out the actual #ParodyvsSilk and #WhoWillWin tags.

She let out a raspberry and sent a dejected “okay” to her manager before rolling out of bed. Tooth brush, tooth paste, floss tongue scraper, cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. Two years ago it would have been torture but coupled with a long shower, it was an act of meditation. Save for the days she filmed a GRWM or stayed with a friend, her skincare routine–ritual was one of the few time slots spent by herself, focused solely on herself.

She would have loved to continue her foray into self-care, but she had bills to pay.

@StringTheory
1m GRWM before the fight via IG Live! Tell your friends. Tell your family. Cause we’ll be winning! #StringSquad #ParodyvsSilk #WhoWillWin

Ann affixed her mount to the bathroom mirror, testing it with a few tugs before setting her phone down and hitting the button to go live.

“Good morning everyone! Are we ready to fight? No, well that’s fine. Let’s get ready together~”

Compared to her skincare routine, her makeup regime was much simpler with a focus on a few big steps rather than her nightly checklist.

“So I first came to The Enrichment Center when I was around five years old because my powers came in early and apparently I was ‘too dangerous’ which was crazy because my dad could literally suppress powers. But whatever.”

She waved a tube of concealer in front of the camera before dabbing three drops beneath each eye.

“Around year…three I see this weird kid almost the same age as me blabbering about how much he hated the place. He even set fire to the teacher’s–well, the babysitter's pants using the guy’s own power.”

“Do I still talk to him?”

Her eyes flickered to a text notification before she took a tissue and wiped the edge of her eyeliner.

“The last I checked, he was still bullying other mutants.” Ann finished the look with a cherry-scented setting spray and an air kiss, reminding everyone to tune into the fight.

With her stream over, she sent a mass text to everyone in her contacts, politely requesting that they attend the big match. Due to the timing there was a low chance of everyone attending; however, a stream was just as good as attendance in her eyes.

That being said, Lucian would require a more personal message if she wanted him there.

To: Lucian (Luc on Tuesdays)
10:44am Come to the match or I'm never speaking to you again
10:44am But if you can’t, you owe me a celebratory dinner!

Before she entered her closet however, she made time for one last message:

To: Carl (don’t pick up)
10:45am If you’re gonna stalk me, at least send some flowers.

06. Karl Evans.

The day has finally come. Their fight has already made headlines and it hasn’t even started. The entirety of Sentinel city was eagerly waiting for the clock to hit noon. Some clutched their respective merch in anticipation, while others were putting in their final bets on a sketchy website—Demise had nothing to do with it, or so they’ll say when confronted. While the world waited with bated breath, Karl in the meantime, was making his breakfast.

He took out a meal kit from the fridge—thanks to greenchef for today’s sponsor—before putting it in the microwave. While waiting for the food to heat up, he went ahead and checked on his twitter feed to check if the ‘drama’ had died down or if he needed to contact Casper for help—though he’s not sure if the guy’s help will do much. Thankfully, he wasn’t fully cancelled and he didn’t need to set up a camera in his living room for an impromptu apology video. The tweet did attract some randos outside their circle but their opinions didn’t matter anyways. The loud ‘DING’ of the microwave steered his attention away from his phone and he had a quick breakfast before moving on to prepare for his upcoming fight.

Karl grabbed a random shirt from his closet before booting up his PC to open a video compilation he made of Silk and her previous battles. He had been doing the same thing every day since they had decided on the date of this year’s fight. If Ann found out he spent this much time watching her, she wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. With one final recap, Karl focused his attention on the weathered shirt on his lap. It always felt weird using a new power for the first time. Almost like an extra limb with pins and needles, waiting for his body to get used to the new addition.

Still, he wouldn’t be in Team Demise if he couldn’t adapt quickly. Without much surprise the shirt on his lap began to tear itself apart to become a new form that Karl envisioned. He’d admit that it was crude, nothing like how Ann uses it in the videos he watched. Still, a small victory was still a victory. He spent more time practicing, making it as thin or as thick as he could, experimenting on how much he could push it in length before it starts to tear apart. Gaining confidence, he moved on to using it on his bed sheets, then onto his curtains, before trying to manipulate the threads on a small metal screw.

It took a couple more hours before Karl was confident enough to use his newfound ability against Ann. Much to the expense of multiple shirts, towels, curtains, and whatever piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Maybe he was a bit too excited. He didn’t plan on going head on against Ann with her own powers anyways. That’s just a recipe for a black eye and months worth of humiliation for him. He just needed to surprise her, even for a second.

Usually he’d still be streaming right now, but he already made an announcement beforehand that it’ll be moved to another day to give him time to prepare. Ann however, had other ideas as a notification alerted him that she just started streaming. With his curiosity piqued, Karl tuned in just in time to hear Ann talk about him during their time in the enrichment center.

Without much thought, Karl grabbed his phone in reflex and sent out a quick message.

To: StringCheese
10:33 am I’’m always in your mind, huh? (Also your eyeliner is crooked. You’re welcome!)

With the message sent, Karl followed Ann’s footsteps and started to freshen up. He needed to be presentable when he won, obviously. Karl just about finished his shower when his phone lit up with a response from Ann.

To: StringCheese
11:03 am I'll get you a wreath with your name on it once I beat you later~ Sent.

He debated on what to wear, even thinking of debuting a new look. How fast does hair dye dry anyway? Before ultimately settling on his usual techwear outfit: a sleek, black waterproof jacket with multiple pockets, tactical cargo pants with reinforced knees, and rugged, high-tech sneakers. It was comfortable, practical, and on brand. There was no point in changing something that worked, after all.

11:45 AM. The clock read.

More than enough time to make his way to the arena. If he was late, it’ll be intentional.

07. Silk.

By the clock hit twelve, the crowd reached a fever pitch. Cars lined nearly every block and attendees were practically spilling onto the streets. There was String Squad to the left, Pure Parody to the right, and the press trying to get an image of the snazzy Silk and provocative Parody. Among them was the owner of the venue, Nico la Cage.

A man who acts far younger than his face would suggest, he sauntered over to Ann and gave her a once over before removing his knock-off Ray Bans.

“Jeeesus Ann, this is an arena not a nunnery. What’s with the getup?”

Black lace unfurled, revealing a cheeky smile. “Do I at least look like a pretty nun?”

A trick question. Fashion had always been her other superpower.

Nico let out a hearty laugh before giving her a hug. “The last time I answered honestly, you nearly strung me up.”

“Yeah, but I still appreciate a good compliment.” She clicked her tongue before glancing around the array of cameras.

“Silk! Silk! Can we get a picture!” Ann turned over to see a few fans cosplaying last year’s outfit and shot them a “of course I’ll be right over!”

“I’ve gotta go, but seriously, thank you for making all of this happen!” she said before heading towards the group.

“Win for me and we’ll call it even!”

08. Parody.

“Nico! I love what you’ve done with the place.” Karl exclaimed, eyes taking in the extravagance of the arena around them. “I dare say, it’s the best this dump has looked in a while. Thanks to my face plastered on every screen, of course. Though I think everyone would’ve preferred it if there were less of Ann’s”

“Do you have any idea how many hours of sleep my men and I lost because of this? If these fights keep on being bigger than the last, I’d have to rent out half of the district!” Nico’s voice was as loud and as welcoming as ever.

“Just half? Why not make it the entire west district instead?” Karl chuckled in response.

“I don’t even want to think about it!” Despite Nico’s words, he could see the gleam of greed at the corner of the man’s eyes, almost like dollar signs waiting to burst forth. “Just hurry up! We’re already behind schedule.”

I’m always on time. Karl made his way towards the center of the arena. Along the way, fans and paparazzi were calling out his name and he made sure that a smile was ready for each flash of the camera as well as pleasantries for every eager audience. He’d occasionally approach someone wearing Silk’s merch, and being the ever generous person that he was, he offered the same amount of kindness. You know you’d look better with my colors.

It took some time and a couple more photos before Karl finally made his way in the center of the Arena where Ann was waiting. They’ve done this before, multiple times even, but his nerves still refused to calm down. He planned on wearing a poker face, a picture of elegance and composure against his adversity. But Karl couldn’t force his features to relax thanks to the sheer amount of excitement he was feeling. It almost looked like he was happy to see Ann standing on the opposite side of him.

09. SILK VS PARODY.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting!” Karl started, voice far from apologetic. “You know how it is, gotta show your supporters some appreciation for taking the time to watch the fight. Though you’re here awfully early. No one stopped by to say good luck?”

“Au contraire Karl”-god it felt weird to say that name-”I decided to come early to tend to my fans’ needs.” Her prior anger was spent and her nerves condensed into a single ball in the back of her mind. "You should try it sometime. They say the early bird gets the worm."

She shot him one last look as the horns signaled their entrance, a glint mischief in her eyes.

“The string with a STING! Ann ‘SILK’ Akimiya!”

A cheer so loud that it shook the stadium erupted. Banners with Ann’s face plastered all over started to soar, filling the stands with her signature color.

“The man, the mimic, the crazy asshole who made us wait for 30 minutes. KARL!”

Not to be outdone, chants of “PAR-O-DY! PAR-O-DY!” followed soon after with marquees and hand drawn signs. Amidst the chaos, one could barely pick up Parody yelling ‘Just Karl?!’

Black, blue, purple, gray, there was not an area left desaturated save for the battlefield where the two stood.

The screams and applause went on for a couple more seconds before everyone started settling down, preparing for the main event.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Without further ado, the match will officially begin in…

5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
FIGHT!”

code by @leviathan.

01. SILK

“Thank you for your donation benedict e.e.cummings for your donation! Are you related to Juice? Well first of all, just because I’m part Korean and have blonde hair, that doesn’t mean we’re related. Second of all, I came first. I was the blueprint of fuckin’...mutant streamers. 2014. That’s nine years on YouTube, three of which were on Demise. No one was doing it like me back then.”

Ann furrowed her brow and leaned back in her seat.

Maybe she should’ve dyed her hair blue last week. The next question rolled in, by one KappaKnight40. “Are you related to Parody?”

Is this really going to be tonight's theme? Are we really doing this? “No chat, I’m not related to him either.” She let out a huff as the queue finally popped for her game. It had been three weeks since her last bout of villainy and two weeks since she released something other than pithy stream highlights.

“Oh! Finally chat, a question that matters. What’s your plan going in the fight between you and your bro-Parody.” She pressed her lips, barely suppressing a snort

Okay, maybe the third time’s the charm.

“Nice try Parody, but I’m not giving up my secrets so easily.” She shot the camera a wink. “But since you’re here. Chat, what should my victory pose be?”

A: Pumping your fist!
B: Middle fingers up!
C: Teabag him!

The poll she set up lit with votes, fluctuating evenly between the three until the tackiest option came out supreme. The fight had been brewing for weeks, teased through subtweets, photos of herself at the gym and even a billboard she graffitied with “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” She also lobbied the tag “#StringHimUp” but ultimately deemed it inappropriate and instead, settled on #StringSquad.

CHOOSE YOUR HERO!

Oh right, she was still playing a game. Much to her fans’ delight she locked in a rather interesting character if only because Ann refused to play him out of principle.

KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody

She eyed the chat before breaking out in laughter. “Seriously Parody? This is the best you can do?” The ban hammer came swiftly but so did dozens of other accounts, something she could only assume was the product of either his fan base or some shit stirring troll.

READY? FIGHT!

Shit, they’d already started and Ann was woefully underprepared. Glancing at her chat, the number only grew as she got into position. For each user that one of her mods banned another popped up, until her other monitor was nothing but shit.

“Sorry to do this to you guys, but mods please put this chat in sub only mode.” She sighed, her face exasperated and apologetic. “It’s just so hard to play when you’re getting spammed by one of your own team members.”

02. PARODY

Karl has barely begun his stream and he was already bombarded with donations and subscriptions. He didn’t have to wonder for too long why his viewers were being too generous as each message was about his upcoming fight with Silk. Karl guessed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Both him and Ann have been teasing it for weeks now and the day was nearly approaching.

“You guys need to let me breathe! I can’t even read your messages because a new one will just replace it immediately. At this point the entire stream will just be me going through them all.” Karl laughed, clearly not minding the influx of subscriptions he’s receiving.

“Also, what’s with all these donations mentioning String Theory?! I just started and you guys are already bringing my mood down~” He pouted. “Now I don’t feel like streaming anymore,” Karl let out a deep sigh, “guess there will be no stream today.”

‘Noooooo’
‘He’s obviously joking LMAO’
‘We’re sorry Orz’

“Hmmm… I guess a Hype train will help cheer me up~”

ParodysFootstool has gifted 25 subscriptions to the channel!
Dicksoutfordemise subscribed at Tier 3! They subscribed for 9 months, currently on a 9 month streak!

A hype train has started! Sub, Gift, or use Bits to get to the next level.

Karl covered his mouth with his hand, obviously pretending to be shocked. “I was just joking! You guys didn’t need to do all that.” Acting wasn’t his strongest suit and it showed. “But still, thank you for all your kind donations!”

‘What a bunch of simps’
‘Anything for u king’
‘< 3333’

“So for today’s stream, we’re gonna talk about my previous battle with ‘Nitro’! You guys have probably never heard of him before but he’s an upcoming vigilante and I have to be honest, he gave me a hard time.”

‘String Theory is talking shit about you LMAO’

“I mean what else can she do but talk about me? It’s the only way she’ll be relevant anyways.” Karl scoffed at the off-hand comment.

‘She made a poll for a pose when she beats your ass’

“When?! Brave of her to assume she’ll even land a hit on me!”

‘#StringSquad’

“Mods, someone’s asking for a ban~”

‘There’s a fight happening?!’

“Well someone has been living under a rock. Remember to type ‘Exclamation point Battle’ for more details”

Karl—well, it’s Parody now that he was live—leaned back in his chair, eyes creased with mischief as he stared directly at his camera. The chat on his second monitor was scrolling faster than he could read thanks to the constant flood of emotes from his fans. The only thing he could discern from the waves of nonsense was the occasional ‘#PurelyParody’ and ‘#StringSquad’ amidst the chaos.

“Alright, everyone,” Parody’s voice mirrored the mirth on his face, “since String Theory can’t keep my name off her mouth, why don’t we go ahead and give her a visit?” He closed the video and put up the ‘Ending Soon’ screen on his stream. “There goes my plan for today’s stream. Guess there’s no point since all of you are worked up and itching for some action.”

Parody didn’t check his viewer’s response or even bothered in making a poll as he’s sure it’ll be a resounding yes. They all live for the drama, him included, after all. With that being said, he quickly opened Ann’s channel—don’t ask why it was bookmarked—and quickly navigated through his dashboard before clicking the raid option. A notification popped up in his stream, indicating that the raid will begin in 30 seconds.

“That should do it! Now everyone, just a reminder to be respectful and follow TOS.” Parody’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Also one of the mods has pinned a cute little message for String Theory. Make sure to copy it and greet her once the raid starts~”

The raid has begun. Changing channels shortly.

This should be fun.

03. ANN AKIMIYA

5/12/16 and +2 Rank Points, oh she was going to crack his skull. What ought to have been a chill, promotional stream spiraled into a five game loss streak, no, a learning experience for herself and her viewers. “Well we can’t end on a loss” became her mantra as she careened off the face of the earth, finally ending with outstretched arms and an exaggerated yawn.

“Thank you to all you lovely viewers. Remember to check out our fight tomorrow night and subscribe. I stream every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 8PM!”

There was no need to go raid for raid or even address Karl’s mean spirited behavior. She was the bigger person, the more mature streamer of the two.

Oh who was she kidding? Of course she wasn’t the bigger person–she barely reached his neck!

Scrolling through the chat, the bulk of it consisted of the same “You fell off”, “Dog champ”, and “#PurelyParody” shlock copy and pasted from his channel (she was nosy, what did you expect?).

However, there was always at least one gold nugget sifted from the dirt.

@StringTheory
1m .@Parody Some fanbase you got here tw: sexism

PaordysFootstool: yyour are fucken bitch get parodys dick out your mouth and get a real job (OF dont count)

And tweet. With popular creators it was hard to tell whether it was a legitimate fan or a set up account but given her own fan base’s…enthusiasm it wouldn’t be long before they dug up something else.

She put her phone down and stared at the calendar hanging on the wall. It felt like only yesterday that they discussed next year’s (tomorrow’s) venue, the terms, and the sponsors subsidizing their fake beef. The match was burned in red sharpie and surrounded by black ink crossing off noteworthy events. Unlike last year, she actually trained and reflected on his skills as a villain. Begrudgingly, she even watched some of his videos on an alt account (ad block on obviously). She couldn’t stand to lose another match to him, especially when last year’s punishment had been so…ugh she didn’t even dare speak it. She couldn’t fathom what he would ask for this year.

The year she won, she forced him to get her name tattooed and streamed the whole, painful process (because he so wisely chose his foot). She couldn’t repeat the punishment, but she also hesitated to choose anything that crossed into cruelty. It had to be funny, novel, and a good time for all (except maybe Karl).

Her eyes moved to the framed poster on her wall (memento of her debut) before a grin crossed her lips.

04. KARL EVANS

Karl was having the time of his life. He eagerly watched Ann try to keep her composure while his viewers spammed her chat. She quickly fixed it by enabling sub only mode, but he’ll also take credit for the loss streak she just had. It was a great appetizer for the fight tomorrow. If things were in his favor, the loss streak will affect her and maybe he’ll snatch the win like he did in the previous year. Perhaps he’s getting too ahead of himself but he was already thinking of a punishment to give Ann. His previous one of changing the bio on all of her socials so the link will be directed to his account was fun, but it wasn’t as impactful as he hoped. Though he did get an influx of followers right after.

Once Ann’s stream ended, Karl was about to message her regarding the venue for tomorrow when he was greeted by a wave of notifications. It was nothing new, it was even expected to be honest, but when he opened one of them the content of the tweet made his head throb in annoyance. He couldn’t handle another ‘cancellation’, especially so close to their fight tomorrow. Instead of retaliating and escalating like what he’d usually do, Karl instead opened up his drafts and scrolled until he found a fitting ‘apology’ tweet.

No. Too sincere.

Too wordy.

Why do I even have that in my drafts?

Oh that tweet is funny. I’ll post it later.

Pretty sure this one was made with AI

Ah! Perfect.

Without much thought, Karl opened the draft and edited out some key information to make it relevant. Something about he didn’t stand for what happened and how he’s not a reflection of his viewers and how he’ll do better. Blah blah blah. He didn’t bother to check for typos, it probably made it more sincere and notably, there wasn’t an apology directed to Ann. He might give her this small victory but that’s it. Karl could already see the drama youtubers going in on their little interaction and the humorous title they’ll name their videos. ‘Team Demise, not a team at all?!’, or maybe even ‘Has Parody gone too far?’. Whatever it was, he’s sure it’ll be irrelevant the following week. Probably replaced by another headline.

With the tweet sent, Karl turned off his phone and tossed it to the side. Guess he’ll figure out tomorrow if it was effective or if he had to make another one—or worse, an apology video. He won’t let Ann ruin the rest of his day however. He needed his beauty sleep to look his best for tomorrow’s fight. Karl couldn’t wait for Ann and the rest of Sentinel City to see his trump card.

I wonder what I’ll wear though.

05. ANN AKIMIYA

When morning came the sun shone, the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed–yet the first thing Ann did was check her phone.

From: Ichabod Bouziane
To: You
8:00 am Looks like your tweet left the target audience.

From: Jouga Jonouchi
To: You
6:30 am Please, don’t do anything dumb. We don’t need this overshadowing the fight.

Yes, even without any other messages between them, the (partially manufactured) beef into the trending tab, nearly edging out the actual #ParodyvsSilk and #WhoWillWin tags.

She let out a raspberry and sent a dejected “okay” to her manager before rolling out of bed. Tooth brush, tooth paste, floss tongue scraper, cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. Two years ago it would have been torture but coupled with a long shower, it was an act of meditation. Save for the days she filmed a GRWM or stayed with a friend, her skincare routine–ritual was one of the few time slots spent by herself, focused solely on herself.

She would have loved to continue her foray into self-care, but she had bills to pay.

@StringTheory
1m GRWM before the fight via IG Live! Tell your friends. Tell your family. Cause we’ll be winning! #StringSquad #ParodyvsSilk #WhoWillWin

Ann affixed her mount to the bathroom mirror, testing it with a few tugs before setting her phone down and hitting the button to go live.

“Good morning everyone! Are we ready to fight? No, well that’s fine. Let’s get ready together~”

Compared to her skincare routine, her makeup regime was much simpler with a focus on a few big steps rather than her nightly checklist.

“So I first came to The Enrichment Center when I was around five years old because my powers came in early and apparently I was ‘too dangerous’ which was crazy because my dad could literally suppress powers. But whatever.”

She waved a tube of concealer in front of the camera before dabbing three drops beneath each eye.

“Around year…three I see this weird kid almost the same age as me blabbering about how much he hated the place. He even set fire to the teacher’s–well, the babysitter's pants using the guy’s own power.”

“Do I still talk to him?”

Her eyes flickered to a text notification before she took a tissue and wiped the edge of her eyeliner.

“The last I checked, he was still bullying other mutants.” Ann finished the look with a cherry-scented setting spray and an air kiss, reminding everyone to tune into the fight.

With her stream over, she sent a mass text to everyone in her contacts, politely requesting that they attend the big match. Due to the timing there was a low chance of everyone attending; however, a stream was just as good as attendance in her eyes.

That being said, Lucian would require a more personal message if she wanted him there.

To: Lucian (Luc on Tuesdays)
10:44am Come to the match or I'm never speaking to you again!

10:44am But if you can’t, you owe me a celebratory dinner!

Before she entered her closet however, she made time for one last message:

To: Carl (don’t pick up)
10:45am If you’re gonna stalk me, at least send some flowers.

06. KARL EVANS

The day has finally come. Their fight has already made headlines and it hasn’t even started. The entirety of Sentinel city was eagerly waiting for the clock to hit noon. Some clutched their respective merch in anticipation, while others were putting in their final bets on a sketchy website—Demise had nothing to do with it, or so they’ll say when confronted. While the world waited with bated breath, Karl in the meantime, was making his breakfast.

He took out a meal kit from the fridge—thanks to greenchef for today’s sponsor—before putting it in the microwave. While waiting for the food to heat up, he went ahead and checked on his twitter feed to check if the ‘drama’ had died down or if he needed to contact Casper for help—though he’s not sure if the guy’s help will do much. Thankfully, he wasn’t fully cancelled and he didn’t need to set up a camera in his living room for an impromptu apology video. The tweet did attract some randos outside their circle but their opinions didn’t matter anyways. The loud ‘DING’ of the microwave steered his attention away from his phone and he had a quick breakfast before moving on to prepare for his upcoming fight.

Karl grabbed a random shirt from his closet before booting up his PC to open a video compilation he made of Silk and her previous battles. He had been doing the same thing every day since they had decided on the date of this year’s fight. If Ann found out he spent this much time watching her, she wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. With one final recap, Karl focused his attention on the weathered shirt on his lap. It always felt weird using a new power for the first time. Almost like an extra limb with pins and needles, waiting for his body to get used to the new addition.

Still, he wouldn’t be in Team Demise if he couldn’t adapt quickly. Without much surprise the shirt on his lap began to tear itself apart to become a new form that Karl envisioned. He’d admit that it was crude, nothing like how Ann uses it in the videos he watched. Still, a small victory was still a victory. He spent more time practicing, making it as thin or as thick as he could, experimenting on how much he could push it in length before it starts to tear apart. Gaining confidence, he moved on to using it on his bed sheets, then onto his curtains, before trying to manipulate the threads on a small metal screw.

It took a couple more hours before Karl was confident enough to use his newfound ability against Ann. Much to the expense of multiple shirts, towels, curtains, and whatever piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Maybe he was a bit too excited. He didn’t plan on going head on against Ann with her own powers anyways. That’s just a recipe for a black eye and months worth of humiliation for him. He just needed to surprise her, even for a second.

Usually he’d still be streaming right now, but he already made an announcement beforehand that it’ll be moved to another day to give him time to prepare. Ann however, had other ideas as a notification alerted him that she just started streaming. With his curiosity piqued, Karl tuned in just in time to hear Ann talk about him during their time in the enrichment center.

Without much thought, Karl grabbed his phone in reflex and sent out a quick message.

To: StringCheese
10:33 am I’’m always in your mind, huh?

(Also your eyeliner is crooked. You’re welcome!)

With the message sent, Karl followed Ann’s footsteps and started to freshen up. He needed to be presentable when he won, obviously. Karl just about finished his shower when his phone lit up with a response from Ann.

To: StringCheese
11:03 am I'll get you a wreath with your name on it once I beat you later~ Sent.

He debated on what to wear, even thinking of debuting a new look. How fast does hair dye dry anyway? Before ultimately settling on his usual techwear outfit: a sleek, black waterproof jacket with multiple pockets, tactical cargo pants with reinforced knees, and rugged, high-tech sneakers. It was comfortable, practical, and on brand. There was no point in changing something that worked, after all.

11:45 AM. The clock read.

More than enough time to make his way to the arena. If he was late, it’ll be intentional.

07. SILK

By the clock hit twelve, the crowd reached a fever pitch. Cars lined nearly every block and attendees were practically spilling onto the streets. There was String Squad to the left, Pure Parody to the right, and the press trying to get an image of the snazzy Silk and provocative Parody. Among them was the owner of the venue, Nico la Cage.

A man who acts far younger than his face would suggest, he sauntered over to Ann and gave her a once over before removing his knock-off Ray Bans.

“Jeeesus Ann, this is an arena not a nunnery. What’s with the getup?”

Black lace unfurled, revealing a cheeky smile. “Do I at least look like a pretty nun?”

A trick question. Fashion had always been her other superpower.

Nico let out a hearty laugh before giving her a hug. “The last time I answered honestly, you nearly strung me up.”

“Yeah, but I still appreciate a good compliment.” She clicked her tongue before glancing around the array of cameras.

“Silk! Silk! Can we get a picture!” Ann turned over to see a few fans cosplaying last year’s outfit and shot them a “of course I’ll be right over!”

“I’ve gotta go, but seriously, thank you for making all of this happen!” she said before heading towards the group.

“Win for me and we’ll call it even!”

08. PARODY

“Nico! I love what you’ve done with the place.” Karl exclaimed, eyes taking in the extravagance of the arena around them. “I dare say, it’s the best this dump has looked in a while. Thanks to my face plastered on every screen, of course. Though I think everyone would’ve preferred it if there were less of Ann’s”

“Do you have any idea how many hours of sleep my men and I lost because of this? If these fights keep on being bigger than the last, I’d have to rent out half of the district!” Nico’s voice was as loud and as welcoming as ever.

“Just half? Why not make it the entire west district instead?” Karl chuckled in response.

“I don’t even want to think about it!” Despite Nico’s words, he could see the gleam of greed at the corner of the man’s eyes, almost like dollar signs waiting to burst forth. “Just hurry up! We’re already behind schedule.”

I’m always on time. Karl made his way towards the center of the arena. Along the way, fans and paparazzi were calling out his name and he made sure that a smile was ready for each flash of the camera as well as pleasantries for every eager audience. He’d occasionally approach someone wearing Silk’s merch, and being the ever generous person that he was, he offered the same amount of kindness. You know you’d look better with my colors.

It took some time and a couple more photos before Karl finally made his way in the center of the Arena where Ann was waiting. They’ve done this before, multiple times even, but his nerves still refused to calm down. He planned on wearing a poker face, a picture of elegance and composure against his adversity. But Karl couldn’t force his features to relax thanks to the sheer amount of excitement he was feeling. It almost looked like he was happy to see Ann standing on the opposite side of him.

09. SILK VS PARODY

“Sorry if I kept you waiting!” Karl started, voice far from apologetic. “You know how it is, gotta show your supporters some appreciation for taking the time to watch the fight. Though you’re here awfully early. No one stopped by to say good luck?”

“Au contraire Karl”-god it felt weird to say that name-”I decided to come early to tend to my fans’ needs.” Her prior anger was spent and her nerves condensed into a single ball in the back of her mind. "You should try it sometime. They say the early bird gets the worm."

She shot him one last look as the horns signaled their entrance, a glint mischief in her eyes.

“The string with a STING! Ann ‘SILK’ Akimiya!”

A cheer so loud that it shook the stadium erupted. Banners with Ann’s face plastered all over started to soar, filling the stands with her signature color.

“The man, the mimic, the crazy asshole who made us wait for 30 minutes. KARL!”

Not to be outdone, chants of “PAR-O-DY! PAR-O-DY!” followed soon after with marquees and hand drawn signs. Amidst the chaos, one could barely pick up Parody yelling ‘Just Karl?!’

Black, blue, purple, gray, there was not an area left desaturated save for the battlefield where the two stood.

The screams and applause went on for a couple more seconds before everyone started settling down, preparing for the main event.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Without further ado, the match will officially begin in…

5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
FIGHT!”

floralmoon · Friday at 8:47 PM

viviana knox.

.
.
.
.

mood

varying from anxious to joy
outfit

outfit
location

The Outskirts, Hospital, and home
interactions

N/A

TW for terrorism and bombing

"Viviana?"

A voice speaks over the music blasting at the club, Viviana turns around, preparing to take an order from a patron. The woman hands over a folded piece of paper, making sure it was secured in the bartender’s hand before slipping off into the crowd. Whoever it was, definitely wanted this exchange to remain private, so Viviana discreetly slips the paper into her apron before returning to work.

Hours had passed since the exchange, meaning the thought of the paper completely slipped Viv’s mind. She goes through her closing duties, leaving the club, and locking the door behind her. As she made her way to the train, she felt something in her apron. Perhaps she forgot some tips? Carefully reaching in, she wraps her hand around the paper, and the memory comes flooding back.

The trip home seemed to have lasted a lifetime, question after question flooded the girl’s head, wondering what exactly she was about to read. Almost as quickly as she hopped on, she left the train, speed walking home. Any after work rituals were put on hold, as she immediately sat down on her couch, unfolding the paper.

"You have been cordially invited to join The Red Court. Please arrive at The House of the Stygian Order at midnight to receive your initiation."

Initiation? The Red Court? Why would they want Viviana? Shock coursed through the girl's veins as these questions flew threw her mind, but she never second guessed going. Thankfully she had the next two days off, so there was no worry about whether she would have to call out of work or miss the expected arrival time. Viviana climbed off the couch and made her way to the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.

Sunbeams lit up the room, despite having blackout curtains, throwing the duvet over her head and letting out a grumble, she decided it was probably time to get up. Throughout the whole day, Viv couldn't help but think about what The Red Court initiation could possibly consist of. Time seemed to pass unbearably slow, building up a sort of anxiety inside the girl. She truly did not know what to expect, but had her suspicious based off of the whispers she's heard around town about The Red Court.

MIDNIGHT.

Viviana approaches what looked like a church, knocking on the door right as the clock struck 12. They had been waiting, she knew they had been, especially with how quickly the door swung open. She looks around, the room was dimly lit, but she could see people standing around her, masks on their faces, and cloaks draped over their bodies. The process was relatively quick, receiving the initiation request on the same kind of paper as the invitation.

"Your task is exploding the hospital. Supplies will be found in the outdoor dumpster in two days. Do or die, that is your decision."

The task seemed a little extreme, but that's what The Red Court was known for. On one hand, Viviana didn't want to hurt the people she knew at the hospital. On the other, she didn't want to die, and having a group of people she belonged to, almost like a family, would be life changing. She had two days to make a decision, so she continued on with her usual routine, trying to make a decision. Most people would need the full two days to choose what to do, but it was mere hours later after the meeting that she had finalized her answer.

TWO DAYS LATER.

Gaining access to the hospital wasn't too difficult, she was a familiar face, and stopped by frequently, so nobody questioned her presence. Viviana tightened the straps on her backpack, explosives where surprisingly heavy, not to mention the extra janitor outfit she carried as well in order to access the basement. Slipping into a bathroom, she shapeshifts into one of the staff members, slipping into the jumpsuit, and packed away her own clothes.

Thankfully, security was dumb enough to accept the whole "I forgot my badge at home, can I get a temporary copy?" spiel, this would grant her access to every part of the hospital, but there was only one place she was interested in. She couldn't help but notice her feet pounding on the ground, it had been a while since she took the body of a male, did they always walk this loud? It was no matter though, just another thing to distract her from the task at hand. The basement door fell into her line of sight, time for the homestretch, when all of a sudden someone steps out from the elevator.

"Hey, Tim! I thought you were off today?" Viviana turned on her heel, facing the coworker and giving them a small smile, "Need the extra hours." followed by a shrug. That seemed to have been a satisfactory answer to the man, as he nodded his head in agreement and walked the opposite direction. She let out a sigh of relief, hopefully that would be the last interaction for the night. As she swings the doors open, she walks towards the left wing portion of the basement, carefully placing the explosives on each of the, what she could only assume were, load bearing walls.

Just as quickly as she made it in, Viv made her way back upstairs, quickly slipping into the women's restroom to shift back to herself. This left her feeling exhausted, on top of all the walking that she had just done. The last task was to leave the hospital with nobody stopping her, she wasn't in the mood to make any conversation, so everyone got a quick wave as she left the building. She boarded the train and made her way home, waiting for the right moment to press the detonate button.

BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION AT SENTINEL GENERAL HOSPITAL UNDER INVESTIGATION.

A grin spread across her face as she watched the news, helicopters circling the hospital, showing the many first responders, flames, and people rushing to escape. She had done it, now to wait and see if this was good enough for The Red Court. After what seemed like days, she got an unaddressed letter in the mail, revealing that she had been accepted and what was required of her to further show her dedication to the guild. There was a list of tattoo options, along with some of the most painful places to be tattooed, she had to choose what to get done, then make one last appearance to prove herself.

The tattoo took hours, the pain was almost unbearable, but it was all worth it in the end. She stood up from the table and admired the new ink, a snake wrapped around a knife on her sternum. Viv grinned once more, this was the beginning of a new life, one that would be worth all the trouble she went through to join.

Eye for an Eye

Rina Sawayama

♡coded by uxie♡

M4R5 · Sunday at 4:55 PM

"I will happily pay you to end your own life."

Viktor König

02

1
2

Viktor "Oneiros" König
TW: Substance abuse, self harm, & death.
The clock had just tolled half past ten-thirty as the city beneath stirred with a restless fervor, its citizens eagerly welcoming the weekend’s arrival. Perched high above the sprawling expanse of Sentinel City, Viktor’s penthouse loomed over the citizens beneath. Bathed in muted shades of black, grey, and steel, embodying a dark opulence that shunned warmth. Walls of polished concrete and vast windows framed a city that glimmered below like a distant dream, casting its neon glow through the gloom of the evening. While the furnishings, sparse and meticulously chosen, were harsh in their elegance - adorned with sharp lines of leather and metal dominating the living room. Technology blended seamlessly with the brutalist architecture, each corner alive with unseen mechanisms designed for both comfort and control. And yet, despite the wealth and innovation that surrounded him, the atmosphere remained cold. This was no home but a fortress. A solitary retreat, befitting a man who kept the world at arm’s length, with disdain for the clamor beneath him.

In the dim glow of his penthouse, Viktor König sat leisurely in a leather chair, legs splayed comfortably as he sunk into its cushions. One hand cradling a glass of whisky, its amber warmth swirling in the glass, the other tapping a digit on the arm rest to the slow rhythm of the music lulling over the recessed sound system. His gaze surveyed the frame of the woman dancing provocatively before him, tracing the curves of her feminine physique - though her face was obscured by an elaborate mask. One that was carefully crafted with ornate materials, dripping in elegance and anonymity. She moved slowly with choreographed movements displaying her expertise in the performance. One of his own polished knives brandished in her hand, catching the light as she cut away pieces of fabric with deliberate precision. From behind the mask, suggested a mischievous smile while she also carved small lacerations against her fair skin, leaving thin crimson lines against her exposed flesh. With every stroke of the knife came a soft moan, a sound mingled with pleasure and pain.

From across the room, a voice cut through the grim presentation, stern and insistent, "I want a baby."

Viktor’s glare snapped to his wife, Maddie, sitting at the dining table. Adorned in a silken robe, glasses perched on her nose and hair carelessly thrown into a messy bun as she scrolled through her tekpad. She looked as domestic as ever, a portrayal of casual indifference in contrast to the chaos in his mind.

“Go fucking buy one then,” Viktor groaned, barely containing his irritation. “I don’t care, but you’re not raising it here.” Taking a slow swig of his drink, as if to drown any further commentary on the matter.

Having zero patience to await a response, his attention slowly flicked back to the dancer, now unmasking herself. His heart sank with contempt as the familiar face of Maddie stared back at him from the woman’s body. The internal frustration deepened within him as she grinned wickedly, but in turn he wielded an expression of sick curiosity. Crudely dragging the knife across her own throat, her lifeless body plummeted to the floor, lazily spilling dark red across the black marble. With a heavy sigh, Viktor rose from his seat with a languid grace, sauntering in a drunken stupor toward the dining area. Nonchalantly stepping through the bleeding woman, her form evaporating into a cloud of black dust as he passed - leaving no trace of her twisted performance.

Resting his weight casually against the glass dining table, Viktor cast a steady gaze down at Maddie, who remained absorbed in her tekpad. Her disregard seemed to amuse him as much as it annoyed him. Yet, she remained resolute in her quiet detachment as if the grotesque hallucination hadn't unfolded in the same room, leaving Viktor to study her with the same calculating demeanor that defined his every move.

“Why the hell are you here?” he asked bluntly, tempered with the exasperation of a man stretched too thin. Taking a final sip of his whisky, he glanced over at the now-empty living room, catching sight of a mirror on the couch that served a neat arrangement of white powder shaped into long, pristine lines. But when he looked back at Maddie, she too was gone, dissolving into black dust.

Feeling his sanity tearing at the seams, Viktor hurled his glass across the room, the sound of shattering crystal filling the empty space. Followed by immediately closing his eyes for a moment of withdrawal, sucking in a long breath, while running hand through his tousled blonde hair. Condemning himself under his breath for mixing substances again. It was late, far too late to be slipping into these delusions.

He strolled to the large, inviting sofa and slumped into its lavish cushions. Digging through the pocket of his slacks, he retrieved his own tekpad and scrolled lazily through his recent messages. Each contact being numbered rather than named. Some would consider it dehumanizing, while Viktor saw each digit as an investment. Pausing at the last opened message from “3”, Charlotte Falconer, with a thumb hovering over the screen. Then proceeded to type out a simple message: Come over. For a moment, Viktor contemplated hitting send. He glanced out at the vast city stretching before him, Sentinel’s glittering skyline offering no comfort, no distraction from the perverse emptiness that gnawed at him. Furrowing his brow while chewing at the inside of his cheek, he considered the decision. Finally, submitting to his own whims with a flick of his thumb, he sent the message. Dropping the tekpad on his chest, Viktor craned his stare back to the mirror adjacent to him with tepid consideration. Just one more.

The Myriad / Asst. Captain

information

Mood:
Inebriated & Detached

Location:
König Penthouse, Sentinel Proper

Mentions:
Charlotte Falconer, Madeleine König

tags:
n/a

outfit
a

minajesty · Monday at 3:24 AM

ulysses lombardi

the prologue

TW

scene will contain descriptive contents of blood and obvious neglect/bodily injury to a person as well as implications of torture. all will be censored via spoiler ahead of time.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and fear—a palpable aura of torment sealed within the confinements of four suffocating walls. Thin shafts of light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting streaks of dust into the stale air around him. And swinging back and forth in taunting slowness—a naked bulb hanging from frayed wires cast jagged shadows across the concrete floor.

Through obvious neglect, the room held haunting memories of every man's last breath and screams, his own etched into its history for two agonizing days and three lonely nights.

The 'Lombardi' name couldn't save him.

In the center of the oppressive silence, Ulysses sat disheveled and quiet amongst the cold, hard floor—arms twisted behind him, bound in rope that bit into his skin, leaving red, raw rings around his wrists. His t-shirt, once iron-pressed and a cleanly white, now a filthy rag clinging to his battered body, mottled with splatters of dried blood.

Even the sound of the door creaking open, along with leisurely footsteps, didn't coax him into looking up. Instead, he let his head hang low, chin resting on his chest, and breaths coming in a quiet, yet greedy consistency to match the hum of the bulb above. Ulysses knew what they were here for and he couldn't bare to face it again.

Their faces are obscured by his injuries, but their presence was felt—heavy, menacing, waiting. They watch him, unmoving, like wolves circling prey too weak to fight back, their breath steady and calm, in contrast to the broken man before them. Finally, one spoke, his voice causing Ulysses to stir.

"Could you look any more pathetic on my fuckin' floor?" on the brink of annoyance, Carmine stood impatient. In contrast to his battered nephew, the butcher was garbed in the finest silks to further accentuate his intimidating presence.

Even in his pummeled stupor, Ulysses felt it. Still, he said nothing.

"Answer me when I talk to you, boy." He was closer.

Time seemed to still before Ulysses brought up the nerve to say something. It hurt his jaw to even utter a sound, yet he was firm in his answer. "I won't do it.." he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, though slow and slurred as he spat bloody drool at the floor.

Much too fast to process, the young man felt rough digits snake into his matted curls and close around them in a fistful before a henchman yanked his head back to face Carmine. It was the most he ever said in days, but a torturous yelp escaped his chapped lips in response to the various (and overwhelming) pain signals.

"Say that again with the balls to look me in my face this time," his uncle sneered. Ulysses couldn't decipher the blurry image of the mob's founder gazing over his face, a grotesque contrast to the soft, unblemished skin he once possessed. "You look like shit."

His face was a canvas of pain. His eyes were swollen shut, one a mutilated, discolored shade of black and blue. Blood and grime dried in jagged streaks down his forehead, coagulating into dark patches along his cheeks and jaw. His bottom lip stuck out swollen and split from countless punches. Every sharp line of his cheekbones on the brink of starvation and suffering accentuation.

A shell of his former self, yet he still answered in confidence. "You should've just left me to die," he gulped and stammered, painful tremors coursing through his body as he used the last of his energy to answer.

But he continued: "You had enough love and care to take me in, and this is what you do with it. Beat me."

To this, Carmine scoffed. "Love you?"
"I just wanted to kill you myself."

Ulysses and Carmine stared at one another now, one displaying a face of disgust and the other displaying nothing at all. He knew that what his uncle had said in the countless press conferences about his successor was a lie, but it was different to hear that Carmine wanted him dead. It didn't hurt him any, but it changed the circumstances of his hostage.

"But then I thought.. 'What better way to get back at my piece of shit brother than to take his son?' 'S only fair for how he betrayed the Myriad for some ass that didn't even stick around for you." He didn't know why, but his mother was a sore subject. Absent or not, the mention of her caused Ulysses to turn his head away.

A hand came down and backhanded his attention up again.

"Fuck you, Carmine! I said I'm not doing it!" for a moment, a charged anger flared in Ulysses. It fled as quick as it exploded, but nonetheless, it existed.

"Not even for her?!" Carmine yelled back, his white-knuckled clench lay at his side, readied to strike him again.

In an instant, an image of Miranda Alighieri floated to the front of his mind—a brief yet sweet reprieve to distract him from his situation. A soft groan escaped his lips once she vanished from the forefront of his memory. It had only been a few days—maybe a week—since he last talked to her, but sitting alone had the tendency to stretch the fabric of time into a prison meant to last him forever. I hope you smiled today, Miri, he thought to himself, even in the midst of his pain. I love y- Ulysses' head went flying back as he now lay against the floor, uncomfortably angled with his hands still restrained behind his back. It was a hit that sent a ringing in his ears and whatever consciousness he was clinging onto dissipated into disoriented nothingness.

As his vision blurred and his head spun from the force of the blow, Carmine's voice continued, distant as if he stood in another room. The words slipped through Ulysses' mind in fragmented pieces—something about betrayal, something about a choice, but it all swirled together in a murky haze.

He fought to stay conscious, to catch the meaning behind the last few words, but it was like grasping at smoke. The cold, biting floor beneath him anchored him momentarily to reality, though the pain from the additional blows was nothing more than a dull throb now, numbed by his body’s surrender to sleep.

outfit:

location:

unknown

tags:

ERROR: NOT AVAILABLE

sunshineysoul · 2024-09-17T15:56:20-0400

MOOD: Nostalgic, but not the good kind

OUTFIT: incognito

LOCATION: Team Majestic HQ -> Sentinel Proper
basics

MENTIONS: N/A INT: N/A
tags

TL;DR Welcome to Rowan's brain
tl;dr

Rowan

you're better than the mistakes of those before you

A sigh escaped the captain's mouth. It had been another long day at the office; sorting through new member applications, running through tryouts, sorting through paper works and complaints, and of course fending off the media who had been hovering their obnoxious cameras and microphones all around Team Majestic's headquarters. There had been an uptick in crime in Sentinel City and a noticeable lack of action from a certain guild who was known to "Kick names and take ass". There was palpable anger radiating from those who usually looked towards Team Majestic for comfort and justice, they wanted answers. Why was nothing being done? Why were they sitting on their asses? Why was it when Sentinel City needed them most, they were appearing stagnant?

Rowan leaned back in her office chair, running her hands over her face before letting her chin rest in her hands. The media and their flashing lights, banging fists and yelling voices wouldn't have been too much of a problem, if it wasn't for the tradition of Majestic's captain living at HQ. Every night, Rowan was kept awake to the ruckus of paparazzi at least for the past month. She thought about asking someone if she could spend the night with them, but she certainly didn't have a good enough cover story for why regular ol' Rowan, Sentinel Botanical Gardens worker, would have paparazzi banging down her door.

The noise was driving her crazy, there was only so much music she could play before she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. She needed to sort through the new applicants tonight. When the sun came up, she and her assistant captain Iggy would have to try out a new batch of mutants. Being a guild who is known for being called into more dangerous and life-threatening situations, it was the captain and assistant captain's jobs to properly vet and "audition" new recruits before bringing them into the guild; It was a process that Rowan took very seriously. She already knew the lives of those within Team Majestic were her responsibility, she wasn't going to bring in anyone she didn't think was capable of handling themselves.

Rowan thought back to her own tryout, what made her stand out to her own captain, "Synth"; aka Jacob Wheeler. When Rowan initially inquired about applying, Jake immediately drew the connection from her to her mother, he had remembered hearing about a previous member tragically and unexpectedly dying. Even in the wonder of Rowan being a legacy, Jake told her straight that she had to prove herself capable enough for a guild like Team Majestic. The moment her reality manipulation powers peaked at her young age of 20. She sealed the deal on her title as a guild member, no questions asked; using her reality manipulation powers to make the "enemy" believe a car was dropped on them when in reality it was nothing more than a nearby throw pillow. It was then that Jake knew Rowan had what it took to be the next captain, once he retired. He accepted her to the guild on the spot, and privately told her how he would help train her and prepare her for captain duties.

Jake may have been only four years older than her, but he still showcased all the fatherly features she never experienced with her biological father. The nurture, the care, the attention, the healthy discipline and criticism that only a father could give; Rowan only experienced that through Jake. Soon enough, Jake was the person she trusted more than anyone in the world; Rowan had always been scared of her abilities and her potential, but it was Jacob who aided her in realizing she was capable and equipped to do good with her powers before harm. Jacob was never once afraid of Rowan, and that gave her hope and confidence.

What would he think of us now?

It wasn't an entirely new thing that the public thought Team Majestic was just sitting on their ass, it was something Jacob Wheeler definitely dealt with just three months ago. The Red Court had been growing in power steadily over the past twelve months, hurting more and more while Team Majestic just waited around to be "deployed". "Midnight Sun" couldn't bring herself to face the public when they had questions why their family wasn't worth saving, why Majestic wasn't doing anything. Jacob was always the one to remind her that they needed to have faith in the system, trust the process, and that they would step in when the time called for it.

But was that true? Because the louder the mob on her doorstep grew, the more Rowan questioned why that time was not now? A month before? Six? A year before? Rowan had joined Team Majestic in hopes of making a difference, helping those in need, following in her mother's footsteps. And yet, she couldn't help but feel like a failure of not only a captain, but as a superhero all together.

A large crash sound slowly had Rowan coming to her reality; the fading background music she put on was no longer muffled by her overthinking spiral. Now it was crisp and clear, almost a little too loud due to her senses being heightened by the startling crash. For a moment, Rowan thought the media mob had thrown something against one of the windows, but when she examined her own surroundings, she saw her bookshelf had fallen over. Whether it was an outburst of her magic or just a coincidence, a breath released itself from her lungs. A few flicks of her hands and the books and their shelf found themselves back in perfect order.

The interruption was one she didn't realize she needed. Her spirals were pretty dangerous for her morale; throughout the day, Iggy was there to lighten the mood and help cheer her up along with the rest of the guild. But at night? She was on her own. It was up to her to fight off her thoughts and she hadn't proven the best at it yet.

Regardless, Rowan needed to take a walk. Clear her head. It was the dead of night, and while she knew Sentinel City never slept, she figured now would be as calming of a walk as any. However, there was the large issue of the media mob right outside her door. Nothing could be easy could it?

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Rowan actually dressed down; unusual to her normal wardrobe. Baggy pants and an even baggier sweatshirt, the typical disguise was complete with her hair thrown up into a sloppy ponytail and ball cap. Keeping all the light out, Rowan made her way to the first floor of HQ, somehow being familiar with the emptiness of the guild hall. With the building having almost completely glass walls, Rowan was extremely thankful for the charm she put on them when she first was initiated into the guild; basically acting as a one-way tint, no matter how much light shone through. To everyone inside, the windows were perfectly normal. To everyone outside? The windows might as well have been a solid brick wall. She was free to roam around the building freely, but it was the actuality of getting out of the door that proved the issue.

Without thinking, Rowan's reality manipulation kicked in, the shroud enveloping those surrounding the door she needed to exit from. To those within her power, absolutely nothing changed. They continued yelling and banging at a completely closed door. What actually happened was Rowan walked out the door and straight through the crowd. Even though she had somewhat dressed down to avoid unwanted attention, Rowan still felt the need to try and shrink herself. When she was far enough away from the building and the mob, she transferred her focus from the building to herself. She essentially cloaked herself in shadows, not necessarily making her invisible, just a shadow with a shimmering gold tint if anyone looked close enough.

Truth be told, Rowan's head was checked out. It was late, middle of the night, and even though she couldn't fall asleep she was exhausted. She hoped if she walked around enough that the media mob would be gone upon her return and she'd actually be able to get some sleep before the sun came up. Her feet essentially walked of their own volition, carrying her towards the center of the city. She could've found some kind of public transportation to take her to Sentinel Proper, but her feet knew the path all too well. Rowan's self may not have known right then and there where she was going, but her heart did.

She was going home.

Of course, not her current home, not HQ, but her childhood home. The house that used to be a home but quickly became a broken and heart-wrenching husk soon after the passing of Lyre Booker. It must've been fifteen or twenty minutes of her mindlessly walking through the sidewalks and streets of the eerily quiet streets before she arrived at the curb.

It was a nice house; very pretty and blended in with all the other houses on the street. All dolled up to hide the ugly truth that lay within; the house of horrors for Rowan was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her feet, of course, had decided to stop walking themselves when her eyes landed on the front door. There were no lights on, the dark of night somehow making the scene frozen. It was quiet, it was still, she felt like she shouldn't even breathe in an attempt to not disturb the monster within.

Rowan hadn't seen her father in years. Not at least since she was a teenager trying to make it at The Enrichment Center. She was tired of the abuse, the hurt, the pain, the blame he tried to pin on her, the lack of any love and support. It broke Rowan's heart when she left, but she knew it was for her well being. If she kept herself in an environment where her father was constantly telling her she was worthless, constantly yelling at her to go die like her mother, that a piece of her would curl up and die. In order to save her spirit and her own wellbeing, Rowan left. And this, at the age of twenty-four, was the first time she had been back to the house.

The small, little child in her wanted to see her dad. She wanted to rush into the house and run into his room and give him the hug she's been dying for since she was about six years old. She wanted to tell him all about how she became the Captain of mom's guild and explain how proud she would've been of her. She wanted to talk his ear off for hours just to hear the words "I'm so proud of you, kiddo".

But the grown adult in her simply turn on her heel and walked back to HQ.

code by valen t.

Futuristic UTOPIA! ★°⭒𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕⭒°★

nova.the.alien

✩ space monarch ✩

-ferret-

𝐝𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲

Steve Jobs

Died of ligma

floralmoon

pushing the gay agenda

M4R5

𝗉𝗌𝗒𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗎𝗍

minajesty

𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝘼 !

sunshineysoul

queen of bright-moon

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