Vicki Vortex's Story

Within the depths of a storage room echoed the tinny tsk, tsk of a hi-hat. It petered out, followed by an "ah, fuck". A neck cracked. Wrists rolled. And in came the kick.

Stashed away in the corner was a figure in a loose tracksuit, curled over a drum set. Scabbed fingers held the sticks and flirted with a simple 4/4 rock beat without any thought behind it. Distracted to the trained ear. Dark eyes fixated on a tiny phone screen and the crappy audio coming from it.

"- sure, maybe - Really Hope We Don't - but I think punk is the sound this generation needs. I really do."

A twiggy woman leaned back in her seat, shaggy red hair falling over her face and caught in her lip gloss, legs wide apart and boot resting on one knee. One sleeve fell off her shoulder, showing off a brutal burn as confidently as she flashed a grin. The interviewer asked something muffled out by a stream of blast beats.

"-eah, it's - ri - back in Queens, when I, ah, let's say dabbled in vigilantism - oh, shut up! Shut the fuck up," the woman turned on the audience, who had let out a collective sound of dread at that 'v' word. Her finger pointed accusingly at them, but the sarcastic tweak of a smile made it impossible to tell how serious she was. "You have Logan Price up here talking 'bout snorting coke behind the wheel, cut me a break." A mixed response. Laughs and 'oooh's. She rolled her shoulder and turned back to the interviewer. "So back in Queens, when I was tripping out hard on LSD, I hallucinated that I stopped a gas station robbery..."

The figure's drumming sped up. Their breath hitched in anticipation, for something.

A chant flooded through a stadium. Rows of lighters raised up towards a dark, moonless sky.

"So, Vicki, it's no surprise to you what I'm about to say, surely, but you've been declared quite the controversial figure," the interviewer at last threw at her, the topic she'd been dancing around the interview. The woman rolled her eyes and her hand, goading him on. "You've been under a lot of pressure to join a hero's organization lately. How have you been coping with that?" No answer, just an unimpressed raised brow. The need for a cigarette itched at the back of her head. "Well, do you feel that what you're doing now is good enough for the hero community? With your -"

"Let me stop you right there," she interrupted with a raised hand. The laid-back persona she presented before was stripped away in an instant. "The hero community? What is that?" The interviewer opened his mouth again to regain control of the conversation, when she leaned forward, her elbows pushing her legs apart. "Actually, let's talk about that. Heroes. Look, I didn't get that moment in my life when a superhero lifted me from the rubble, cape fluttering and skin radiant with, shit, radiation. Hendrix, The Pixies, Velvet Underground - those were my heroes."

The chanting faded out in the stadium, it had gone on for too long with no reward, when suddenly - the clash of a symbol, and a spotlight on a translucent white backdrop, revealing the silhouette of somebody behind a drum kit. The stadium was back alive, this time with screams.

The figure's drumming devolved into a frenzy. There was no longer a rhythm to it, or you were just too slow to catch it. Sweat splashed onto the drums and jumped as her sticks crashed down beside it.

"Thirty million superheroes across the world, and is that even counting those that aren't putting on costumes and fighting crime?" The woman slipped a cigarette packet from her back pocket and lit one on stage, ignoring the looks the crew was giving her. Her leg jiggled with agitation. It translated on camera. "That's my community." She claimed, pointing her cigarette at the interviewer. She took a drag, then like she wasn't able to bear it any longer, stood up. "Here's a secret about supers - well, it ain't a secret, let's call it an ignored fact - most of us get it from shit. A lot of us could have gone our entire lives without being super, or realizing we’re super, if shit didn’t happen to us. So. In the spirit of doing right by the hero community, I’ve got a message for kids at home." She turned towards the screen and pointed her cigarette right at it.

"Next time someone tries giving you the Uncle Ben speech, you say... Fuck. That." She took another puff, and the interviewer behind her looked off stage for help. "You don’t have to sacrifice what you want to be because of the shit that happened to you, or shit you didn’t ask to be born with. So yeah, to answer your question. I think I’m doing some good here."

She returned to her seat with a bounce, swinging her leg up to rest her foot on her thigh again, and gave pause. The figure dropped threw her drumsticks down, their wood smeared with red, and hunched over, panting. "I think I am." Repeated over the phone's warbled speakers.

The hum of ghostly back up vocals joined the drum solo, echoing from every corner of the stadium. The crowd swung their lighters, their shouts morphing from, "Cold Front! Cold Front!" to "VICKI! VICKI!"

Then a sudden whoosh of air blew over the crowd, snuffing out every flame. All lights went out. The music cut shot. The stage went dead. The crowds were left anticipating in a jet-black stadium.

When the lights came back on, they were focused on a white-clad figure, their fist raised high and clutching a microphone. Other black clad and masked band members were posed behind her, their hands poised over their instruments. Vic waited for the excited crowd to calm down before she brought the mic down to her lips to say, in the flattest voice imaginable,

"Hey, Atlas City."

The crowd cheered. A little less excitedly than before. Vic shook her head with a grin.

"Sorry. We can do that better."

The white coat she wore dropped to her boots. She clutched the mic with both hands as the band suddenly slammed down on their instruments, and she screamed,

"LET'S MAKE OUT!"

---

Vic listened to her illegally uploaded performance through earphones with far too good quality to be subjected to such a mess as she stared into the window of a newsagents. She could barely hear her own voice over the crowd screaming the lyrics. Her eyes flicked between the magazines on display. To her left, a woman's magazine, where articles were written criticizing her decision to hold a signing of her leaked nudes, right next to bikini pics taken by some pervert when she wasn't paying attention on the beach, next to which was a snarky remark about her weight. To her right, a 'respectable' news source, where her latest live 'outburst' was scrutinized, as well as her lack of a statement on whether supers should all be registered by the government and made to carry identification. Vic's tongue rolled to the back of her mouth as her eyes refocused, settling on her reflection instead of sensationalist titles behind it. A cap, hoodie and medical mask hid her face. The disguise made her look like a teenage delinquent, and she felt like it, from the way the store owner was eyeing her up. Her back molars bit down on her tongue, hard, and she entered the store.

All the stuff in those magazines she could find on her phone, anyway.

Soon Vic was skating down the path, carelessly weaving between pedestrians with her hands in her pockets and clutching breakfast. She dismounted at the park, flipping the board up with her foot and resting it against a bench before flopping down beside it and unwrapping 'breakfast' - an ice cream bar, covered in sprinkles and shaped like a clown, with a big red gumball for its nose. She hooked a finger around her mask and pulled it down for a bite.

Snap.

About three bites in, she heard the dreaded sound of a shutter snapping.

"Jesus," she muttered, looking around, "Here?" Her eyes locked on to some guy across the path crouching with a camera, and she pulled back up her mask, grabbed her skateboard and stood up. She did not need the internet to get a hold of her eating a Candied Clown at 7 am. As she sped up, a voice followed after her.

"Vicki? VickI Vortex. Tobias, from Apex Media."

No, no, no, fuck off.

"Vicki Vortex, with your history of vigilantism, the public wants to know-"

"Dude, it's the first thing in the morning. How long have you been following me for? I know that you finding me here isn't a coincidence," Vic snapped all in one breath before she'd even finished turning around to him. A camera went off and she retracted, squinting at the man's face. "Oh, shit. You."

Tobias Flanagan, the independent 'journalist' famous for jumping celebrities with hard questions in moments they least expect it and getting embarrassing or incriminating answers as a result. "Where is the camera?" She asked calmly. As Tobias raised the camera in his hands, Vic snatched at his collar and flicked away the teeny body camera attached to it. "Unless you're asking about the date of my next tour - no comment. Kindly fuck off." She turned, pulling down her mask, and aggressively bit off her ice cream's nose. Her teeth clanked against the ice hard gumball. Despite her trying to get away, the man persisted.

"How do you feel about privatizing supers? With the rise of private hero institutions worldwide, would you feel more comfortable being involved with the NAHLA, or a private company? What is your comment on the superhero idol culture ?"

"Will you stop it?!"

The man was wheezing out his questions. Without realizing it, she had begun to thin the air around him.

The park began to see more activity trickle into it, and not quite so slowly as Maxwell would have liked. A young man had entered a little while ago, seemingly from the direction of the cafe. Coupled with the Hispanic woman before him, he was starting to get a little concerned. Kingsley was supposed to be meeting with him soon, and he started to question the effectiveness of the location. No turning back though it seemed. But now... Now there was yet another matter to contend to.

A young woman had been in the park as well, wearing clothes typically associated with 'punk', as well as some kind of medical mask, an odd fashion statement perhaps, but not unseen. She wasn't a problem however, it was that she had picked up what appeared to be a rather annoying tag that Maxwell considered to be... Distasteful.

He sighed, laying his paper down on the bench next to him, standing up and straightening his tie. "Would you excuse me for just a moment?" He asked with a polite smile of the Hispanic woman. Maxwell walked over to the other woman, and the man with the camera, and upon reaching them, placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Something was off. The air felt thinner. Was it Maxwell? No, he'd been fine before... It seemed likely it was the girl.

No matter though.

The man with the camera turned to look to Maxwell, who had a pleasant, polite smile on his face, while grabbing the camera the man held. "Excuse me sir, but it appears to me you're disturbing this young lady. You also happen to be disturbing me." He pulled the camera away from the man, tossed it to the ground, and brought the heel of his shoe down on it, crushing it into various, quite unusable pieces and fragments.

The man looked astonished for a moment, then close to becoming furious, but before he could protest at all, he began to sway a little, placing a hand on his forehead and doubling over slightly. Maxwell smirked. "Oh come now, it's only a camera, I'm sure you can afford a new one." The man looked to Maxwell cautiously, his face contorted into a mix of fear and confusion, and a bit of pain from the head ache that had appeared from nowhere.

"Run along now." He said with an unnaturally warm smile. The camera man, despite his strong inclination to refuse this order, obliged them in the end, staggering away to no doubt find something to ease the the throbbing sensation in his head. Maxwell finally turned to the young lady with a smile and nod. "I'm terribly sorry you had to suffer such rudeness miss. Are you alright?" He asked in a gentle, pleasant tone.

Jericho watched the man depart, their eyes zeroing in on a woman who looked as if she had missed many a meal, and who probably needed- The thoughts slammed to a stop, mouth opened to drag air in between three sets of teeth.

A long hiss, a quick and silent sigh. Their skin prickled and the urge to claw, and bite, and bludgeon, and stab and rip and tear-
Jericho shook their head and laughed quietly to themselves. The man was a super! He stank of it, reeked of power hidden beneath the skin!
Their head turned over the shoulder and scoured the park until they locked on another man, sat on a bench just ever so further away. The ever so faintly familiar scent of something like themselves wafted over. A reptilian grin flashed over Jericho's temporarily painted lips, before fading as quickly as it came. 'She' turned and rushed to the silver haired man, and the masked, punk, woman.

"Hey! That seemed like a bunch, you okay there sweetheart? ... Is that what paparazzi is like? Or was that a stalker? What a cunt. Bite his balls off, someone should, yeah." Came the rushed, almost excitedly breathless voice, a low alto, almost as if the 'woman' had a voice too big for her height. Her accent seemed vaguely Boston born, but with a Hispanic lilt that otherwise would have gone unnoticed. Her eyes locked on the masked woman, a shiver passing through the bones of her own body as she realized... Yet another Super. Here. In the park.

W̶̰͂h̴̳͚̊̓a̵͓̐́t̵̬́͌͜ ̶̳̆͌f̵̬̝̓̕u̷͚̯̽̽n̷͔̓̎.̵̧̋.̷̨͘.̴̺̿̓

'She' couldn't stop the shiver that passed through her yet again, the immediate, instinctual, need to consume and assimilate. But she could stop herself from acting on it. And when she took note of the thinning air surrounding the woman, and felt her lungs shift below the surface of her skin to better adapt for it, she simply stopped talking and stepped back. Behind the silver-man. To give the poor thing some space. And to watch the world with an expectant eye.
Speaking of which...

Jericho's hair silently swirled with ink for a moment, though from a distance it could be mistaken for the wind pulling some strands of hair loose. And under the hair, close to the skull, six pairs of 'holes' formed on the flesh. The world became that much louder for Jericho, and that much clearer for 'her' hearing. She tried to angle herself in a manner that would be behind the silver-man as much as possible, but she couldn't guarantee anything. Oh well, not like it would matter, right?

If there was one thing Alex was grateful for one with all the changes that happened to his body, it was probably the fact that he could still get his cardio in. The burning in his lungs and muscles was a welcoming feeling, it made him still feel like he could improve himself. That he was still human and not some invincible demigod. He kept his breathing steady and began to slow his pace as he came close to the end of his run. It was a shame he couldn't run at a full sprint if he wanted too, but the thought of him accidentally cracking the sidewalk from his feet slamming into the concrete at full force wasn't a good one. That was an easy way to out yourself as a super. You read stories all the time of people with minor powers outing themselves on accident all the time, from damaging restaurant silverware to floating off the ground cause you got a little too excited. Yeah, not gonna end up on some YouTuber's top ten list of dumb supers outing themselves in public.

He checked his phone for messages. Jericho was out and about. Hopefully not causing a scene. He too a deep breath and gathered his thoughts for a moment. Jericho was at the part, nothing wrong with that. They could take care of themselves and already ate, there was no reason to worry . . . yep, none at all . . . damn his paranoia. Alex figured it was better to wing by the park and check in then to keep worrying.

Didn't take long to get to the park, he compromised with himself to jog the way there rather then run in fear of an incident from his amorphous roommate. Jericho didn't survive this long on their own being stupid. But Alex would feel better not leaving them to possibly commit some form of social suicide what would end up in the internet, again. Couldn't use that disguise anymore without anyone recognizing the colorful trash eating dumpster diver of Atlas city. Not that Jericho entirely cared but second hand embarrassment was a powerful thing and Alex would rather be spared the cringe.
After a few minutes of trying to remain casual in his search he finally sighed with relief. No crowds in sight, looked like they were chatting with just two people. A relatively sharp dressed man and . . . wait a moment. He could swear he recognized the woman, questions for later. Alex jogged up from an angle that would make him easily visible to the three and made eye contact with Jericho first.
"Hey Jemma! figured I would still find you here. Was gonna grab some things for lunch before heading back home and wanted to know what you were in the mood for." He looked to the man and woman present before glancing at Jericho. There was a hint of something wild in their eyes that was barely noticable. Might be a good idea to divert attention. Alex turned his attention back to the others before sheepishly scratching the back of his head. "Ah, sorry that was rude of me. Barging in on you guys like that. My bad. Alex chuckled a little before relaxing his posture slightly, trying to come off as friendly as he could. Even so he still almost towered over the others present.
"Jeez, where are my manners? He held out a hand towards the silver haired man first. "Alexander Dalton, at your service." The man gave off a professional air to him, Alex figured being polite was the best course of action there. The punk looking woman though, Alex swore he had seen her before and it was really nagging at him now as he gave her a glance and a smile.

By the time she was interrupted, Vic had noticed what she was doing... and she didn't exactly stop it. On the contrary, she just watched as Tobias's face went red and his last words trailed off in a cough and a wheeze. Intently. The green flecks in her eyes seemed brighter as she stared the choking man down.

Then a hand grabbed his shoulder out of nowhere, and she blinked, and Tobias sucked in a deep, much needed breath. Vic glanced over to the tall, silver-haired stranger, and in a moment too fast for her to form even a single judgement, the camera was violently splattered across the pavement. She stared at the massacre. The rest of her ice cream drooped off her stick to splatter beside her sneakers.

"... Ha!" A sudden, breathy laugh burst from her. She stuffed her hands into her pockets as she watched the stranger ward Tobias off, her mouth still left hanging from the last she opened it. A genuine grin threatened to spill over and she sealed her lips, ignoring their twitch and chewing her gum. When the stranger turned to her, she took her time to finish blowing her bubble and answered with a pop!

"Yeahhhh..." she dragged out, looking him up and down as she did so. Spick and span in a business suit and tie and wearing the professional charm of a car salesman. Not the sort of person anyone would expect to spontaneously lay waste to thousands of dollars worth of personal property. "... you-" Before she could add anything to that thought - another interruption. Vic raised a brow at the woman's enthusiastic punishment proposal and stretched her lips thin, giving her a mock-thoughtful nod.

"Yeah, fair. Personally, don't think they're fit for a dog, but," she ended that thought with a shrug and looked back to the business man. "I'm good. Don't worry about it." Her sneaker unintentionally nudged the colorful breakfast sludge she'd dropped before as she intentionally nodded down to it. She picked the already flavorless cheap gum from her mouth and flicked it over to join the camera, then shuffled a cigarette pack from her shorts pocket and lit one up. "Always a plan B. You're looking wicked, by the way." She added, eyes flicking up the woman's tight leather pants to her startling gold lipstick.

She took a drag, and almost immediately felt her rumbling, baseball-sized stomach crunch down to about the size of a golf ball. "So, ah," She cocked her head and her eyes crinkled at him. They were sparkling with interest and narrowed with suspicion, but not the dreading kind - more of the kind one looks around with when they hear the rustle of a chip packet. "... Who do you think you are?"

She didn't get her answer, not before somebody else barged in and - HOLY SHIT.

Vic's brow shot up like it was trying to match the giant in height. In an instant, it was decided that she was not going to be tilting her head back for him. This man would be satisfied by eye-to-throat contact or nothing at all.

"Ummmmm." Vic very clearly vocalized as the man's hand was passed over to her. She chewed on her tongue as she regarded it. "Scarlet." She very clearly made up on the spot, courtesy of Grateful Dead's Scarlet Begonias blasting in one eardrum loud enough to be heard faintly by all present. Then she smacked her palm against his instead of shaking it, then looked away. "Barge anytime, but you missed the good part. Nothing here now but a..." A glance to the camera and melted ice cream puddle. "...boulevard of broken data and dreams. And no skating. Which I came here to do, so..."

She took the cigarette from her mouth, picked up her skateboard by its end, and backed off slowly as she raised her mask. Her brows lifted like she might have had a smile behind it, however sarcastic it was.

"Thanks for the concern babes, but I'm just gonna... goooo..."

Maxwell had allowed himself a small smirk when the girl had let out a laugh at the ordeal they'd put the camera man through. Seems the moment had been mutually enjoyable, much to Tobias's expense. She seemed like she was about to say something else until another presence had arrived behind his back. The girl from before.

Did she know him or something? She'd been getting awfully familiar with him, he almost felt like she might try to devour him or something if she could. The girl with the now medical mask confirmed she was doing well now, to which he responded with a slight nod and smile. "I'm pleased to hear that." As she pulled out a cigarette pack, Maxwell felt the desire to obtain his own, as well as the permission to do so. He pulled out a small gold case and popped it open, pulling one out for himself. As he placed it back in his pocket, the girl responded with a question.

"So ah, who do you think you are?"

He gave a soft smile. "I'm-" And before he could say another word yet ANOTHER person had arrived to the group. The man seemed to know the woman behind Maxwell, Jemma apparently. He seemed strangely familiar to Maxwell if he were being honest, not in terms of looks or anything, just a feeling he got from him. Maxwell took the man's hand and shook it with polite firmness. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Dalton, Miss Jemma. Maxwell Landon, equally at your service." He gave a cordial smile to each of them, and to the masked girl who had now introduced herself as Scarlet.

She began to work her way out of the group, seeming to be preoccupied, or wanting to be preoccupied, with other important exploits. "A pleasure Miss Scarlet. Take ca-"

Another noise sounded off. Louder this time.



Richard smiled as both Ichiro and Yue explained the nature of their expertise's, and he took a quick moment to enjoy a few bites of the food that had newly been brought to him. After a quick gulp of orange juice, another man at the counter had butted in, putting in his own two cents about Yue's profession.

Richard was feeling pretty relaxed at this time, but he'd begun to notice that he was one of the only people in here that seemed to be feeling that. Both Yue and Ichiro had seemed off. The large man with the French toast had seemed off. The girl in the booth had stopped moving practically. He almost started to speculate that these people might be here for a revenge killing for last night, but nobody had seen him in any way. The only person who would know who he was would be that dead drug slinger, and unless his power involved regenerating his body from literal ashes, he very much doubted that was the case.

Maybe it was him though, making them a little uncomfortable or something. He'd started to wonder if they could... No, no he had been pretty good about that too, slim chance they could see, the waitress certainly hadn't. Richard inwardly shrugged. Besides, this Yue woman did look pretty tough, and he contemplated saying so but her flustered response to the other guy gave him the impression that maybe he should respond with more tact and consideration.

"Exercise is good for the body, mind, and spirit they say. Whatever it is you're teaching, I'm sure your students appreciate it, and probably get as much out of it as you do." Richard gave a kind smile and understanding nod to Ichiro and Yue.

Richard took a few more bites of food and a sip of orange juice while the door to the Diner opened again. He had contemplated what the real deal was with Ichiro and Yue, and the other people in here. Seemed all to be quite odd, but he tried to ignore it. The sound of those loud feet touching down on the floor was quite distracting however on its own, but Richard felt the need to maybe offer a little bit more small talk to ease Yue and Ichiro's minds. And maybe learn a little more about them.

A tall, looming figure behind the group placed a hand down on a shoulder. Yue's. Before anyone said anything the counter had shuddered, knocking over Richard's food and drink, as Yue was hoisted from her seat, and flung across the room behind them. Her body briefly passed in front of Henry as she crashed through the window next to him and toppled out into the street.

Richard had bolted up from his seat just in time to turn around and watch a hulking mass of a man leave the Diner. He was at least 7 and a half feet tall, decked out in a long, black leather trench coat, and wearing a... A Puritanical hat. The same garb as the Witchfinder Generals. Outside stood 25 more of them, all lined up in the street, effectively building a wall that kept Yue and the diner barricaded.



"YUE BAYUSHI! YOU DEGENERATE FILTH! DEMONESS! PERVERSION OF NATURE! YOU STAND ACCUSED OF CRIMES AGAINST THE WITCHFINDERS! THERE SHALL BE NO TRIAL FOR YOU, YOUR GUILT SPEAKS FOR ITSELF." One of the men seemed to roar at the woman.

The others were all dressed quite similarly to each other, but some held guns, while others seemed to be injecting something into their necks... Within a few moments, those who had taken the injections began to wield new powers, but only two types, no other variety. Some of the men seemed to be wielding fire, and the others some kind of pale sand or something.

It was salt. The Witchfinder Generals were particular about their powers, so they bought these from one source and one source only, possibly located somewhere in Asia. The fire was a straightforward enough power, but the salt? It could be wielded as though it were a sand storm, a storm that could rip skin open and burn the flesh beneath. Some had even suggested the power could turn the enemies of the Witchfinders into salt, their bodies burning in agony as they slowly morphed into the substance.



Looked over to Ichiro for a moment, then the others. The girl still seemed like she hadn't moved at all. Richard dropped to the the ground by the booth Henry sat at, pulling Ichiro with him, and using the seat as cover. He waved to the other patrons to get down and away from the windows. Richard quickly scrambled through his pockets as he pulled something out and started to put it on his head.

"Pardon me Ichiro, but I have to break a few laws quickly." He pulled down his balaclava over his face, and pulled off his jacket to reveal the shoulder holster under it, equipped with two pistols. Richard pulled both out, donning one in each hand. "Any chance I can give Yue a little cover?" He asked Ichiro, who he hoped might have a better angle for a view outside.

The sound of crashing glass and gunfire caught Jericho's attention first, the overwhelming stench of adrenaline and fear caught second... And the absolutely, quite nearly blasphemous stink of super powered beings sucker punched the Polymorph so hard in the olfactory senses that they staggered. They spent only a brief moment, not nearly long enough to truly consider the consequences of stepping in, before their choice was made.

Then, with a bright cackle that did not nearly fit the voice of the woman who stood beside Alex, Maxwell, and 'Scarlet', a noise like an oversize cicada burst forth from the Polymorph. It drowned out all thinking for a moment, though when the ink began swirling violently around 'Jemma', perhaps thinking wasn't necessary. The flesh vanished and exposed organs that were nothing like the proper human anatomy, muscles and nerves and bones of bright silver-y sheen ripped their way into the sun before quickly fading from its light. They were replaced by the same beast Jericho had transformed themselves in to the night before.
The cicada-like scream continued droning on, and in pockets and along walls, on desks and on wrists, within a radius of about thirty or so feet... Phones and cameras, or any other small electronic without proper shielding, fried itself and shut off. Permanently.

Jericho, however, did not wait.
They instead leapt forth, darting forward like a demon sent straight from the bowels of hell. And CRASHED into the backs of some strangely dressed men, their weight alone snapping and cracking bones. The blade-sharp protrusions from their snout sliced into the back of the neck of one such man.
From the beastly maw came a scream like no other, like a cougar was blended in with a train whistle, and then brutalized by a booming undertone that rang the eardrums of the nearby 'Witch Finders'.

Another scream rang forth from them, the man-made monstrosity, and their metal-stinger-tipped tail whipped about and sank into the shoulder of a man who's gun rang forth projectile idiocy at a woman who barely dodged its bite. The blades on Jericho's face were wet with ichor, and their heart was pounding harder and louder than it had in a while. The cicada drone continued on, as yet more small electronics failed their owners. A claw swiped out, ink swirled, and sheets of iron plating layered over Polymorph J-3's skin. Their attention turned towards an apparent ally, another Changer whose form was that of a devilish beast.
J-3 screeched a greeting, and turned to snap their maw with deathly force at a nearby gunman.
A searing wind of salt scoured across their shoulders, but the iron simply held for yet a moment more. It would eventually scrape away, and the flames from nearby Witch Finders would soon burn and harm... But...

The slaughter was on, and no hesitation would be spared for the meat.

Sheri cursed at herself as she fiddled with the hinges on the back door, finagling them in such a way that they wouldn’t open if the target tried to come through here. It took several minutes of effort as she considered, attempted, and then reattempted several different solutions that wouldn’t be easily seen or removed before the man got here. The cook passed by twice, giving her a funny look the first time, but she just said ”Maintenance!” with the best fake smile she could manage and he immediately lost interest in her presence.
She’d got it just about into a state she was satisfied with when there was a sound of glass shattering at the front of the diner, followed by the sound of shouting. Her first thought was to slip out the back if there was trouble here... only to be reminded she’d just jammed the door shut when she tried to open it. ”Shit.”
She turned and slipped back toward the front. She quickly stepped to the side as staff and a handful of customers fled back into the kitchen; she decided not to mention there was no escape this way. They’d figure it out. She turned to look back up front, only to see a crowd of goddamn Witchfinders gathered outside, in a fistfight with the woman who’s been at the counter, and someone else she couldn’t see. Three of the men who’d been in the diner were also still here - two taking shelter behind the bar (was one of them wearing a balaclava mask? In 2045? What is this, the IRA?) and the third looked like he was about to go join the fight outside. Good for him, Sheri thought. Buy me more of a distraction. Oh, and her double was still in the booth. That was kinda funny. She dismissed it, and it dissolved in a burst of static.
It was a shame this job would turn out to be a bust, though, she thought to herself as she slipped around the counter toward the door. After all, it wasn’t as if Mr. Alan Kingsley would be stopping by for his coffee after… after… She froze where she was standing, within arms reach of the balaclava man, as her eyes fell on someone through the window, at the other side of the park.
Her fucking target.
She threw herself around the counter, jumped onto a booth table and tumbled out of the window, before breaking into a dead sprint through the meleeing crowd. Her hand flew to the PPK tucked into the back of her jeans under her coat, her fingers wrapping around the top of the grip with her forefinger resting along the length of the barrel. One of the Witchfinder’s spotted her as she dropped her stealth, and she ducked under his arm as he reached for her, putting her gun in his face and channeling a stunning nerve blast through the handgun at point-blank range without ever turning her eyes to him.
Sheri folded herself nearly in half as she vaulted over some mutated monster a mere instant after it tackled two more Witchfinders to the ground (Where the fuck did that come from? Am I gonna have to deal with that?) and then she was across the street, boots pounding over the grass as she made a beeline for Alan Kingsley. He spotted her, and as he turned to run her eyes flashed a brighter shade of green and two exact duplicates of herself appeared 20 yards ahead, following one very simple command: catch the target.
Alan bolted, adrenaline making this otherwise out of shape man move faster than he ever had in his life. Sheri dismissed her clones, then summoned two more further ahead, gaining ground with her doubles until they were practically on either side of him.
”Leave me alone!” he wailed, struggling for breath. He stumbled and fell as he reached the street, rolled, then was back up, sprinting left. Sheri stopped and fired another nerve blast through the handgun, hitting Alan in the back of the knee. He fell a second time as his entire leg suddenly went dead, cracking his chin on the asphalt. ”Please,” he wheezed. ”Please don’t hurt me.”
Sheri walked over, stuffing her gun back in her pants and dismissing her duplicates. She pulled a thin voice recorder out of her pocket, then lifted Alan up slightly by the back of his shirt, kneeling down to look in his face. ”You’re Alan Kingsley?”
”W-what?”
”I need you to confirm,” she said, clicking ‘record’. ”Are you Alan Kingsley?”
”Y-yes,” he answered. He was starting to cry. Gross.
Sheri dropped him, then clicked play on the recorder to confirm she’d gotten his official confirmation.
Nothing happened.
Click. Click click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick- she through the recorder on the ground, and it bounced and skidded into the gutter. ”God damn it!!”

Laying on the pavement, coughing up globs of blood, the head Witchfinder started to barely stir and regain his senses, just in time to witness several of his men being attacked by terrifying looking beasts, monsters, demons.

"Th-the demon- *HACK* The Demoness! She brings her servants with her! Destroy them! SEND THOSE UNNATURAL CREATURES TO PERDITION!" He cried out.




Richard saw the larger man at the booth bolt out of his seat and over the diner counter, calling out to him to help deal with the Witchfinders, and to... Rob the place later? He was confused for a moment, then it occurred to him not only what he wore, but what he had said moments before. Ichiro's words broke through Richard's moment of embarrassment, focus on getting the civilians out of here. The short girl from earlier appeared to have entered the diner again from out of the kitchen, and before anyone could say or do anything, she bolted out and towards the park? And the guy who had been at the counter with them had gone into the kitchen, and several of the staff had gone with him, only a few others remained pinned down in here.

Ichiro had been on his phone a few moments, and it became clear that Ichiro wasn't just a therapist. Sounded a lot like he was some kind of cop. Not great for Richard. Giving a slight nod to Ichiro, Richard began to assume a crouching position as he got ready to take action. "Oh and Ichiro, I ah... I'm not a burglar or anything like that... I ah... I'm in witness protection..." He feebly lied. Once he felt he'd attempted his best possible subterfuge in the moment, he raised a hand towards the shattered window, and to the others. After a few moments, a faint frost began to appear, and where the shattered window had stood with a hole in it, it now was becoming a full sheet of ice.

The ice was too crystalline to see through, and caused the room to dim slightly. Richard quickly ran over to some of the other staff and guests, quickly trying to usher them into the kitchen, where the guy from the counter had seemingly gotten the back door opened. "Alright, get out of here as quick as you can! Stay low, stick to the back alleys, and get into some kind of building! You need to take cover!"

He looked back to Ichiro now, nodding his head to the kitchen. "You need to go too, unless you're able to help out here." Richard raised both pistols to the opaque windows now as the power went off, some kind of shriek emanating from the street out there.

One more thing to worry about.

As some of the Witchfinders tried to chase down Yue, others tried to get a handle on the situation with Jericho and Sasha outside. Richard had noticed the man from the booth was now holding some kind of glowing gun, a laser gun? Weird, but he'd roll with it. "Hey! Aim for the shadows with tall hats!" He called out to Henry. A steady stream of bullets began making their way down from the rooftops, and soon after another hail of them exploded from the windows of the diner. Richard had begun to open fire through the glass, shattering the pane that had previously stayed in tact.

Three Witchfinders were grazed or hit, scrambling to take cover or falling to the ground as Richard opened up on them. One tried to crawl away from the gunfire and Jericho, but before he could make it far his hand landed in a pool of blood that quickly froze solid around his hand.

His screams of terror echoed across the street as his doom became sealed with that hand.



Maxwell felt himself tense as gunfire and violence exploded on the street next to the park. "That is... Problematic." He muttered. Just as he finished, the girl who had been called 'Jemma' disappeared and turned into some horrific monster, the likes of which Maxwell had never imagined. As the creature bounded off into the fight, he couldn't help but cock an eyebrow. "And that is... Rather interesting." He mused, almost a tiny bit pleased. He'd just witnessed something he was now quite interested in getting a better understanding of...

That brief pleasure was fast cut short however. Mr. Kingsley was outside the park. Running. With a girl chasing him. Maxwell's eyes narrowed as he chewed his lip. "This day has been full of surprises. Some more pleasant than others." He quickly gave a nod to Scarlet and Alex. "I'm terribly sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. This mess may have just put a client of mine in grave danger, and I must go help him. Mr. Alex, Miss Scarlet, it has been a pleasure." He gave them both a kind, warm smile, a slight bow, and turned to go find Kingsley...



Not long later, the silver haired man found Kingsley on the ground, and a shorter girl standing over him, likely a super.

"Excuse me Miss, but can I help you?" He asked in a light tone.

Maxwell came off as formal as he looked, though the air around him was giving Alex a sort of hair raising feeling that he couldn't quite place. Guy must be rich and powerful or something like that. Always came off as some sort of different breed, that's the difference in social classes for you. Scarlet on the other hand came off a lot more chill and casual, definitely more his kind of person. Unfortunately Alex never got the chance to really start talking due to the sudden sound of crashing and gunfire.
Alex's head snapped towards the general direction right as the screaming started. Shit, that sounds really bad. And only getting worse by the second. Sure enough, as if on cue, Jericho had exploded into a writhing and screaming mound of flesh. Dashing off towards the growing chaos just as their form settled, followed by the sound of electronics frying themselves.
Alex quickly fumbled for his phone on reflex and almost swore at the burnt out screen. He had just gotten that thing replaced after last time. Throwing it to the ground with an annoyed groan, He had a moment to notice he and Scarlet had been left behind by Maxwell during his small fit of annoyance.

He looked down at Scarlet as he pulled his hoodie on and zipped it up. "Hey so, I would explain but I gotta go after my roommate . . . the thing that was that girl just now, and try and keep them from going totally ape shit. Just, please don't tell anybody what you just saw. I gotta go. Now."

With that, the threw his hood up, he turned on his heel and bolted off. Alex only began to pick up his speed after getting a good distance away from "Scarlet". His feet tore into the ground as he ran well past the speed of any normal human. Alex ran a hand across his face and let his force fields shape over his head and effectively obscure his face under his hood while still allowing him to see. other plates and panels of simplistic, glowing blue armor rippled into existence around the rest of Alex's body until he looked like some form of ethereal knight.
Finding Jericho wasn't hard. Alex almost slowed down at the scene before him. The entire vicinity of the diner, inside and out, was in complete pandemonium. All of it seemed to stem from the strange and similarly dressed men Jericho and others appeared to be fighting off. Well . . . Jericho was more so having an early lunch rather then try and fend off the screaming men. All of which were screaming out of either fanaticism or terror. Alex took little time to contemplate who these people were as one of the man's hands erupted into flames which were soon pointed in the direction of Alex's friend. Fuck. That.

Alex ran full tilt towards the man. "Over here Asshole!" The flaming man only had a moment to turn and register what was happening before a quarter ton of armored superhuman crashed into him with the force of a speeding truck. The shoulder charge sent the Witchfinder flying, landing with a a loud thud. Satisfied with the results, Alex didn't hesitate to charge his way towards the next man in similar garb wielding an automatic weapon before giving him a swift kick between the legs. The civilians the man had been terrorizing before winced reflexively as the witchfinder dropped to his knees, his voice i soft and high pitched scream of intense pain. Alex turned to place his body between the civilians and the battle. "Get to safety, now!" it didn't take any more convincing before he heard people scrambling away. Good, he really wasn't wanting to have to keep an eye on paralyzed innocent bystanders when he had to keep . . . that in check.
Alex made a few steps towards Jericho. "Hey big guy! You still in there?" He tensed and swallowed hard as his eyes and hands flared with blue energy. Anticipating he he was going to have to bubble his friend any moment. he never liked having to do this, but he had to help keep Jericho under control.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

Vic went from covering her ears to protect them from the horrid, cicada like screeching to tearing the popping earphones away from them in a flash. She snatched the phone from her pocket, eyes darting between its dead, dark screen and the screaming flesh alien, and clicked the buttons on the side of the screen to no avail. "Hey-!" Her head jerked back up to Jemma, eyes blazing with fury, but the thing was already bolting towards the action. She shook her head and glared at the sky, trying to look for the angel above who'd just let this happen to her. "Fucking shapeshifters," she exasperated. With the same tone of somebody who had just been cut off in traffic.

Business man left, calmer than the average citizen fleeing the park for safety. Tall glass of water took his leave, too, running towards the danger zone. Vic was left behind with no music to drown out the melodic lure of bones cracking and gargled screams in a superpowered smackdown. She sucked in her cheeks, crunching down on them with her molars, dropped her skateboard on the ground, then mounted and rolled the other way.

Hey, she was a rockstar, not a hero.

She had a reputation to keep, sure, a controversial one, but not one where she was labeled an active vigilante. That would be a little too much for her agency to tolerate. Or the law. And it wasn't like she could just stand by and watch the show, either. @Vicki Vortex, is this you watching a terrorist attack and doing nothing?! Yeah, piss off.

Besides, these things got out of hand, fast. Especially in a place like Atlas City where the super per square mile ratio was way out of wack. Think punching a person in GTA and how quick that escalates. Somebody was gonna die. That was pretty much what she thought she could hear going on back there, and if she was being honest with herself...

... it sounded awesome.

Nobody can see your face, anyway.

She didn't think about it as her skateboard lifted up from the pavement and she changed her course. She came soaring quietly over the scene, hands in pockets, like an unenthusiastic Silver Surfer with bad posture. The chaos was even better than it sounded from the park and had its own celebrity guest star. A streak of red hair slipped from being stuffed in her cap, but she didn't think about it. She was fixated on the monster tearing through Witchfinders like they were gore filled pinatas. She didn't take the time to figure out whose side anyone was on. Frankly, she didn't give a damn.

Out of nowhere, a Witchfinder found themselves knocked to the ground by the blow from a heaven sent skateboard to the back of the head. Vic plummeted down from the sky, hand gripping the skateboard's front. As the Witchfinder fell forward, she followed, her wheels grinding their skull against the pavement. She hopped off, snatched her skateboard back up, and turned around as her fallen victim lifted their salt-crusted hand towards her, to deliver one, two, three, four - an exorbitant amount of bashes to the head. If anyone looked now, they'd see a random civilian who'd wandered onto a superhero movie set and was giving it their damn best - bloody - shot.

Witchfinder out cold, she shook the blood from her board, rested it on her shoulder and turned back to the monster. Then gave a little flick of her fingers.

Superhero and Van Helsing wannabe alike suddenly had a wall of air shove them aside, thick enough to feel like a solid force. She cleaved a straight line through the battle - a path straight to the monster. She immediately drew her busted phone from her pocket and ditched it at it. It bounced harmlessly off its hide, but got its attention.

"Hey, creature feature," Vic murmured under her breath, glaring down at it with undeniable murderous intent. "You shouldn't have cut off Bob Weir." Her grip on her skateboard tightened as she prepared to launch herself at him. "Or been the biggest motherfucker at this joint."

Jericho turned, focus locking on a new target; through the blur of combat haze, irritation and excitement built into a roar. The sound of a lion’s deafening call, mixed with the warbling shriek of an elk underwater, and undercut by keening tone that warbled glass and eardrum alike.

Vic's heart leapt as the land shark charged her. It was a non-too-regular reminder that it was still there. Regardless, she ran right for it, taking the skateboard off her shoulder. She pushed it along the ground, letting it run ahead of her and through the creature's legs, as its reach breached just a mere several meters from her. Five. Tw- Without a sound, she was gone. Particles exploded out, then faded into nothing. A gentle breeze wafted past Jericho's face.

Whomp.

Vic materialized behind them, feet plonking down on the skateboard. She skidded around, raised two fingers, and mimicked a little "Pow!" of a gun. The creature was pushed forward by the world's strongest air cannon - that was restraining itself. Just a little puff, enough to stumble it. An adrenaline-spiked grin flashed across her face, hidden by her medical mask.

Man... it had been way too long since the last time she'd nearly died.

Jericho had paused at the sound of Alex's voice, had begun turning to locate the massive man who they called a friend, their very first friend. The stench of super powered individuals was overwhelming. It stank like rot, like flesh and meat and hunger.
It stank like glorious power, sweet glorious satisfaction, like a purpose meant to be completed! They would have their carve! But. Alex would be disappointed, perhaps even angry, and survival would be in jeopardy if Jericho kept going the way they were. They had to calm down, they had to back away from the fight, return to hiding! They-

Something clattered off their haunch, the scent of wind-scraped plains, of dust and gale, caught their attention. The air shoved Alex out and away from Jericho, shoved the prey that surrounded the Polymorph away.
The fog descended, and Jericho gave in to their instincts for battle, for the hunt.

There was a brief black-out moment, where J-3 would not remember even moving to attack Scarlet, where it wouldn't remember having its' haunch shoved by a wall of wind that threatened to topple it over. The meat of J-3 would remember turning, flinging a cadaver at 'Scarlet' and rushing her right after the corpse flew through the air.
It would remember cleaving a path through meat that stood in its' way, ripping a witchfinder in twain with brutal efficiency, sending the halves scattering their contents to the ground as they continued with single-minded determination.
It would remember watching Scarlet blocking and deflecting the corpse of a witchfinder with her skateboard, would remember leaping up, spinning about midair, and flexing its long tail.
The length of meat and metal split apart like a horrifying flower. A multitude of eight thinner but no less armored, lined with iron 'fangs', tentacles spread out.
The tendrils swept through the air like whips, and the first three to come into contact with Scarlet's board tore it in half. Another lashed forward as J-3 landed, spearing through the air with the intent to harpoon and kill.
She disengaged her ‘shield’, holding each skateboard piece by the truck like she was about to start dual wielding them, and ducked. Far too slow. Half her face began to melt away as the tendril shot through it, particles floating up into the sky, but she felt the sting. When the tendril whipped away, and she regained a full solid form, her hat had been knocked off and there was a thick, red gash on her forehead, spilling blood down her face and soaking into her mask.

J-3 Unleashed another roar, their chest ballooning outward and swelling with silver-black ink. The sound was that much louder, like a blast of thunder and animal-fury. The noise was a grating bellow mixed with the chittering whine of an insect, the screaming caw of some parrot-like bird supplemented it all. They shook the ground with the force of it, completely lost to the shift and shake of combat. They spun about, swirling on one armored hind leg, as their limbs lashed out at everything nearby. Another Witchfinder lost an arm, the one who ran to avenge her comrade found her face slashed by a clawed hand that spared no mercy or care for her existence.
Meanwhile, across from the whirling dervish, a certain someone thought to themselves.
Christ, that was a big set of lungs. Would be a shame if somebody-
Scarlet flipped her hood back on and punched forward, air cannon engaged. And concentrated. It blasted the creature, and the sickening noise of ribs turning inward cracked over the conflict. The creature’s chest caved in as it was blown back, the air forced out of its lungs. Vic gladly held onto that. And didn’t return it.

J-3 was thrown back, chest caved inward and starved of air. It locked its' gaze on Scarlet, still blinded to reasoning by the thrill and excitement of the hunt. It stood a solid fifteen or more feet away from Scarlet now. The tails on its hindquarters flicked, and lashed forward with an abrupt speed that left them blurs to the naked- or non super eye. Ink swirled on the tips of the tails as they moved, quills of bone and barb forming and soaring through the air between the two combatants. Four sank into the flesh of Scarlet's left shoulder, right and left forearms, and one just barely scraped by her hip as she once again 'POOFED' to avoid the worst of it.
J-3 thrashed for a moment longer, before shuddering and staggering side to side, desperate for oxygen.
The middle of a roar was no time to have the air stolen from you. Asphyxiation was a bitch.

What unfolded in front of Devon's eyes was nothing short of a scene from a martial arts movie as Yue made short work of the ones left standing after his barrage, though a part of the fight had happened outside of his sight including the last of one standing of the assailants. All he had been able to see of him were the flames he attacked with, not even enough to attempt suppressing fire on his location, who knows what or who else it might hit. Combined with the fast pace and close quarters nature of the fight he hadn't been able to add any covering fire aside from that initial strike.

It took him a couple more moments than he would honestly like to admit to realize what Yue's plan was with moving the disabled crooks into a pile in his line of sight, in fact it took until Yue directly signed to him what she wanted. She wanted him to foam the crooks, though he couldn't quite imagine how one were to get up after sustaining the types of injuries that the both of them dished out. That being said, better safe than sorry. He said as he covered the bunch in foam taking the time to make sure none of their heads got covered by it.

By the time he was done covering the pile of Witchfinders in foam, and turning them in an abstract art piece of tangled limbs, heads and sticky goop, Devon noticed that he now was sharing the rooftop view with his impromptu ally. She was overlooking the area to the front of the diner, to which he had pretty horrible overview from his current perch. Which meant running back over the roof to his original position, to the roof without a raised ledge. At least the fighting should still be relatively close to the diner, which should allow him to get close to that edge without being spotted.

Taking his first peek over the ledge he noticed the familiar face, or rather helmet, of the loose cannon that called themselves a hero. In property damages alone they were nothing more than a walking disaster zone. Another two additions among the chaos had taken their aim at the monstrosity, one of them being a... teleporter? No, that didn't seem quite right, especially after the creatures roar was halted in the middle of it and he seemed to be struggling with some invisible ailment, was it suffocating? Whatever the reality was it seemed they weren't allied to the Witchfinders, given the few that he'd just prevented from performing a sneak attack from behind with a few more well placed shots. Rather they seemed intent on stopping the monstrosity's rampage.

He crouched into a position close to the edge popping up the collar of the trenchcoat and making sure it covered as much of his face as possible without covering his eyes. How he'd love to go in guns blazing, but without proper face protection and gloves that was just asking for injuries or death. Still he'd at least give as much covering fire as possible form his position to those fighting below.

Chaos erupted on the streets of Atlas City. Witchfinders getting attacked by supers from all angles. Burglars with mastery over cold, fighters with superhuman strength, a reckless super crashing through the sky, uh...foam? And then there was that creature...After the Witchfinders, whatever that thing was, was his biggest concern at the moment. It seemed to have turned it's attentions from the Witchfinders to some woman. Perhaps she was a super too? Another super jumped in to provide assistance.

Ugh, this wasn't what he was here for. Stupid, stupid decision for him to return to Atlas City. But he had to. He raised his blaster, using the counter as cover and aimed his shots at the Witchfinders. They were the biggest threat to the populace at the moment. The creature could perhaps wait. And maybe be dealt with. He didn't quite get the feeling that it was something that would require him to step up just yet.

He slapped the side of the blaster once, giving it a blue sheen. Stun would do for now. No point in killing the Witchfinders when he could leave as many alive as they can for someone to question. He fired several shots at any Witchfinders left unengaged, hoping to temporarily neutralize them before they did any further damage to the city's denizens, utilizing the counter as cover should they try and fire something back.

Cannonade ran forward, leaping into the air and flying high into it- as though whatever force was keeping them on the ground disappeared beneath their feet. And just as quickly as they shot up they flew down again, punching one of the two black-coats in the face. His hands let out a spuddle of fire as he splayed out cold on the concrete. The second witchfinder, who had not stupidly injected chemicals directly into his bloodstream, grabbed for his gun. Cannonade ran forward, headbutting their helmet into the man's face and bending his nose sideways. They then kneed him right in the puritans before sweeping his legs out from under him. The witchfinder fell onto the hood of a car, out cold.

Around Cannonade the remaining witchfinders were being mopped up left and right- local heroes on the scene. Between the cars they spotted a man with skin made of what looked like oil and the red eyed face of a demon. Cannonade hesitated at the strange hero but stopped as they witnessed him take out a witchfinder with hand-claws.

Suddenly, a beast of a creature flew into the side of a truck beside Cannonade- blasted by air. It looked like a mutation of an animal, silver bones and unnatural muscles rippling through the beast- and blades growing out of it's face. Cannonade frowned. The witchfinders had brought a monster.

"Ay, dickhead!" Cannonade screamed at the creature as they began to march forward. Their hand reached up to their helmet and after a moment the side speakers began to blaire an announcement in italian:

"PENALE! METTI LE BRACCIA DIETRO LA TESTA E ARRENDITI-"

"No!" Cannonade cursed under their breath as they adjusted the helmet's setting to the correct language.

"CRIMINAL! PUT YOUR ARMS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND SURREN-" Before the english automated voice could finish Jericho let out another cicada like screech. Cannonade's hands went to the side of their helmet at the sound. The red AR display before their eyes began to flicker as the helmet's power died. "-The fuck is this?!"

Cannonade frowned, their helmet now offline. They did a skip and hovered up into the air. Near the creature, between the cars, was a tall, dark haired man. Alex, unbeknownst to the Cannon. "Citizen!" Cannonade called down. "I'd take cover if I were you!" Cannonade then plummeted, smashing into the earth beside the beast of Jericho and sending a gravity weighted punch into its mutated form.

“And you’re sure about this?” Klaus quirried, his eyes darting over the strange wrist-mounted device before him, taking in every detail of its sleek design. The glass and steel gadget before him hummed to life with a blue glow.

“Absolutely, my friend,” With this we can experience all of history,” The wide-eyed scientist began as he eagerly strapped the device to his wrist before reaching for Klaus’s hesitant arm, “We can watch as the Great Pyramids rise and while Rome burns. Experience the birth and death of those who have shaped the modern world, experience the first democratic vote in Athans, the sky's the limit! Anywhere within time is ours to explore!”

Klaus smiled as the tech was applied to his wrist, “Well, I’m all for adventure.”

“That’s the spirit! I knew you were the right man to tell about this! My students you see, they haven’t been made aware of this experiment yet, my TA has been covering my lectures ever since I had a breakthrough,” He stopped for a moment, quickly looking at his datapad, “here we are, this should be good!”

Klaus watched his colleagues' fingers dance across the small display on the device, the words “Chrono Dialer” appearing before being replaced with four input fields: Date, X:, Y:, Z:. Implying they worked by inputting the desired day one wished to travel to as well as the geographical coordinates. Klaus understood the real technology must be housed under the glass display, and the inner workings were a complete mystery to him, though he could see many charts and notes strewn about the lab, all of which made no sense to him, yet.

“Here, yours is ready,” the scientist eagerly handed him the Chrono Dialer before strapping a second to his own wrist. With a smile and nod to encourage Klaus to do the same.

“We stand at the forefront of a revolution my friend, those novels you teach your classes will simply cease to be fiction, and become reality. The possibilities are endless!” with that he gripped Klaus’ wrist, clicking a button seamlessly built into the side of the Chrono Dialer before clicking his own.

A flash of light and a rushing sense of nausea replaced the world as Kalus lost all semblance of reality.



A flash of light erupted in front of Atomic Anne’s diner and from the light a figure appeared on the sidewalk amidst all the chaos going on around the sleekly suited super. Static sparked against his suit as the pressure around him normalized. In a flash he began tossing small disks that then attached themselves to the various WitchFinders, slowing their movements as they became out of step with time.

The other Supers would notice their enemy's reaction times were seemingly non-existent, their trigger fingers slow on the draw, their fire, and salt extinguishing, and crashing to the pavement below as the concentration needed to maintain their power and that power was no longer in step.

A final disk would attach itself to Jericho, slowing the out of control shapeshifter enough for Alexander to apply some pressure. Of course, the effect of the disk on a creature like Jericho wouldn’t last long as its biology would destroy the foreign invader with ease, but against a shape-shifter, every second counted.

With disks dispersed and time shuttering for the WitchFinders, The Cobalt Clock got to work, his fist collided with the face of a WitchFinder stuck with an expression of disbelief at his appearance. The contact between the two rendered the timeshift moot as he crumpled to the sidewalk, Cobalt securing the disk from his coat as he fell.

Before relief even set in as it looked like Jericho was coming to their senses something sent Alex flying. The feeling was disorienting to say the least. it wasn't impossible to throw Alex around but he wasn't used to the sudden lack of stability. He took a moment to reorient himself and cursed. His barrier armor had dissipated from the sudden attack. He would have to work on that better, cant loose focus even when tossed around if lives were in danger. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the roaring. Jericho. Shit he had to get back in the game, it wouldn't take long before someone came along that could hurt him badly. or worse, kill him. Alex pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. He had landed between some cars so nobody had a clear view of him just yet. Fighting was still happening around him, but the sounds of the witchfinders zealous screaming wasn't as load as before. at least that was something.
A quick glance around one of the cars showed Jericho, A rippling beast of flesh and metal fighting . . . Scarlet? why was she attacking him? she kept disappearing and reappearing while some invisible force seemed to damage Jericho's body. Alex almost though it was some form of teleportation coupled with telekinesis until he heard it. the whistling and howling that accompanied each strike against Jericho. Okay, not psychic powers. It was wind, or was air more accurate? Didn't matter, he had to act now.

And that was when Cannonade of all people decided to just show up, who also seemed to think Alex was a citizen. Alex clenched his jaw but held back the urge to correct the celebrity hero. He wasn't in costume after all and hadn't had the time to make his temporary armor again. the fact she was here was a good sign thing were going to get wrapped up soon, hopefully. Or at least Alex THOUGHT that was going to happen right until Cannonade sent a punch aimed straight at Jericho. oh no. No no no NO. That was the last straw.
In a split second, Alex's eyes flared with incandescent blue energy as he threw his hand open hand towards the gravity hero with a loud yell. His outburst sent thick wall of force field energy manifested itself while flying fast towards Cannon, practically blindsiding her with the force. The wall kept going for a few feet after the initial impact, pushing Cannon away from Jericho.
With no time to waste anymore Alex charged towards his friend, tackling the polymorphing beast near what he hoped was their neck and held on for dear life. With another flash of energy Alex began to form a dome around Jericho and himself. Effectively trapping the two together in an increasingly fortified dome.

Jericho seemed more sluggish in their thrashing, for what reason, Alex wasn't sure. Worry flooded his mind that he had taken too much damage. He had to get him to focus. Holding on to a panicking shapeshifter's body was not easy in the slightest. Jericho didn't like being trapped but Alex was left with little to no options. Tendrils of sinewy muscle covered in all manner of bone and metal protrusions whipped at Alex's body in an attempt to get him off. Even with nothing so much as bruising or breaking skin the pain was starting to pile up. He had to take it, Jericho would just get worse if he stopped now. After a moment of searching he found an eye the size of a dinner plate blinking and darting around frantically. "Jericho! Look at me! its Alex! Hey, hey hey hey its going to be alright. I got you. I need you to calm down buddy. look, its just you and me all domed off, nobodies hurting you. Without thinking he began gently patting and rubbing his hand across a patch of still shifting flesh, trying his best to be gentle. "I'm gonna get you out of here, but i need you to get your head in the game. Shit's still going down and we have actual Hero's starting to show up."

Before Cannonade's fist could connect they were hit. The black haired man giving a scream was the only warning they got before a sudden smash of energy consumed them. Caught off guard and with no time to brace Cannonade's body flew sideways over the heads of those present, smashing violently into the window of a nearby shop like a ragdoll.

Sasha had backed off from the fight, allowing his power to fade, taking in the confusion of the battle. Blood splattered Sasha's face as Jericho and the others tore into the supposed villains, holding nothing back and seemingly having no hesitation in murder. Sasha wiped his face, his mouth twisting in disgust, wondering if fate was playing a cruel joke on him.

Cannonade went flying past Sasha, prompting the Russian super into action. Crossing to the shop, Sasha leaned down to check on the veteran superhero.

"You all right?" Sasha asked, frowning. "That guy seems to pack quite the punch."

Yue rose to her feet, clenching her fists. It was going to be now or never, she had to step in and stop that shifting mass before more people got hurt. She inhaled sharply, her eyes flashing red.

Ginr- The creature was gone. One single spark of crimson energy escaped her chest and spiraled down her right arm before vanishing. Her eyes darted about the battlefield until she found it again fighting... Vicki Vortex? Yue ran along the rooftops to follow the fight, jumping across the gaps where necessary just in case she still needed to intervene. Vicki's aerokinesis was the primary reason Yue had tech install a backup respirator into her armor, and Ichiro had so much Vicki Vortex merchandise that there was no way Yue wouldn't recognize her when the hood came off.

Yue crouched back down on the ledge to observe, although she came halfway to her feet when the large man blasted Cannonade away with some sort of force, telekinesis she guessed. One of the combatants that had come to help went to check on them and Yue settled down a second time, seeing the large one wrestle the creature into a dome of sorts. At least it was contained for the time being. She exhaled slowly.

"Nante fuyukai (How unpleasant)," she muttered, scanning the rooftops briefly to locate Devon and then surveying the battlefield. She didn't find Ichiro in the fray which was a relief. He was probably helping civilians get out of danger and treating anyone with injuries. Most of the Witchfinders had either been incapacitated or killed, and it looked like the fight was winding down. That uneasy feeling hadn't gone away though, and she couldn't help but think she was missing something important.

The leader of the Witchfinder General hit squad coughed out yet more blood, his vision becoming hazy as he laid on the ground, the life slowly draining from his eyes. "*HACK* B-B..... BALTHAZAR! BALTHAZAR THE DESTROYER!!!" His cry echoed out across the street. As he gazed up into the sky above him, he felt his life leaving him, but the last thing he saw before it was abruptly cut short was a car falling on top of him.

The tall, monstrous Witchfinder from earlier stood on the street again, now alone, all his other comrades now either dead or captured. His outstretched arm remained in the air a moment longer after it had tossed the car that landed on the now deceased Hit Squad leader. The Giant's other arm was next to his side, fist closed, but as it opened it released seven hypodermic needles.

Empty needles. The Boss fight had begun.

"PUUUUUUURGE!!!"

The Witchfinder roared with the low, monstrous bellow. He aimed his arms at the various heroes and supers around, unleashing a torrent of fiery, molten salt at the enemies that surrounded the area. The flash of blue had particularly caught Balthazar's attention, causing him to rip the door off the truck Cannonade had previously been thrown into before being tossed into another building. Balthazar flung the door in the direction of Cobalt Blue, following it up with more salt and fire.



Richard looked to the right side of the diner, standing outside was the giant of a man that had thrown Yue through the window. His eyes widened slightly as he tensed up. This guy was not human, not even close. He waited to see how the other heroes would respond, but the new comer (Cannonade he thought he heard? Sounded kind of familiar) had been tossed into another building, and some of the others seemed caught up in their own fights.

"Hey pal?" He called out over to Henry. "Hope that thing has a kill setting on it. You're going to need it."

After Richard quickly reloaded his gun, he vaulted out the diner window and onto the street, firing off three shots at Balthazar's head. Two went through, the third knocked his hat off.

As the hat hit the ground, Balthazar's massively deformed head became visible to all. The place where the two bullets had hit was a now dented steel plate sewn into the monsters scar covered head. His entire face was a patchwork of stitches, decaying skin, and bits and pieces of metal and wires. The Witchfinders had employed a monster to hunt other 'monsters'.

"Guess you're going to take a little more work."

Balthazar roared at Richard, and the two charged toward each other. As the two closed the distance, a glittering blade formed on Richard's right hand and forearm, coming to a sharp, knife like point that protruded 3 or 4 inches out from his knuckle.

The beast of a man swung a right hook at Richard, but he quickly dipped down and dodged to the left, sending his right fist up into Balthazar's jaw, puncturing it and tearing through his mouth. Richard broke off the shard of ice and pulled away from Balthazar a few steps.

As the giant turned to look at the masked ice wielder, the ice blade fell from his mouth and shattered on the ground. Balthazar's jaw was split vertically into two, loose hanging halves that swayed as he moved. He swung his right arm and sent it crashing into Richard, tossing him backwards and sending him into a roll across the pavement.

"PURIFY!!! PUUUUUUURGE!!!"

He reiterated with fiery hated.

"As you wish." Richard muttered through gritted teeth, as he got back up, firing off three more shots.

The bullets passed through Balthazar's neck. He seemed unfazed as a trickle of thick, brown liquid began to make its way out of the holes in his neck.



Maxwell smiled as he pulled out his cell to amuse himself and the girl, but he soon noticed it wasn't working anymore. That was... Odd. And unexpected. He'd have to get that dealt with later. "I'm sorry, seems like I'm at a loss for that too. How strange." Maxwell looked the girl over, and then Kingsley once more.

"Since I can't help you, perhaps you can help me. I'm rather curious what it is you want with Mr. Kingsley?" He smiled kindly at the girl, intentions well hidden behind the soft face.

"Okay...okay, okay, this is good," Henry sighed. Heroes had seem to crawl out of the woodwork in order to put a stop to the Witchfinders. He stood up. Now would be the perfect time to make his escape. More than a few people had seen him, but if he moved some of his plans up ahead of schedule....he may be able to secure a safe place to hide out in. At least for a moment.

"And I'm outta here...." he thought to himself as he began to run out the back, same way the civilians had exited the diner, out the back entrance. He poked his head out the door and froze right before he could turn the corner. Some of the diners and wait staff were being spoken to. He couldn't see the figure fully, but he caught the shoes, caked in dirty water. Dress pants, not too cheap, not too expensive. A woman was speaking to the civilians, her voice, sharp and direct. "Damn it."

Henry slowly closed the door, careful to not even make the slightest noise, even though the battle outside was making a cacophonous ruckus that drowned out nearly every miniscule sound. In fact...if the Witchfinders were too preoccupied with their foes, perhaps he could escape through the front, unperturbed! Henry began to turn around and....and once again, things happened too fast.

Perhaps he was too lost within his own thoughts to pay attention to what had gone on outside. But now, it was clear the situation may have gotten worse. The large Witchfinder, the one who had tossed the woman out the window. Seems like he was some kind of patchwork monstrosity, far more of a threat than his cohorts. And he's supposed to be one of the clowns that call other supers demons?! This shit was unreal.

"Hey pal?" He called out over to Henry. "Hope that thing has a kill setting on it. You're going to need it."

"I don't know if it's needed..." Henry looked up at the for everyone was engaging . "Not sure if it's make a difference either way..."

The frozen burglar had already gone to engage him. Henry was sure the other supers would join him soon, but if this thing proved to be a challenge, then....well. Henry's hands balled into fists. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. But for now, he could provide support. He draws out his blaster, firing some blasts at the mutational's legs. Probably would feel like an inconvenient sting in the long run, but a distraction could be beneficial to the others hoping to engage the bastard.

Jericho found themselves slammed about, asphyxiating at first and then abruptly able to breathe once more. The sound of battle was fading from their hearing, and a quiet- in insistent- pounding was echoing against their mind. The Hunt kept calling out to them from some unknown distance, and their vision and focus was disoriented. It felt as if they were pushing through mud, but the mud was existence, and their body just wasn't right. It was a vaguely familiar sensation, as if they were dreaming... Their flesh shifted, swirling yet again with ink before a maw filled with tombstone shaped teeth formed on the patch of skin that held a strange device. Some sort of power was being emitted from it, and the cicada scream from their EMP generator was doing nothing.
So they crunched it. The abrupt opening and closing of a jaw with the strength twice that of a hippo flattened and destroyed the object attached to them.

The world was still blurry, and their vision was suddenly filled with Alex's! face.
A gentle pat across the 'unarmored' part of Jericho's ribs brought them further back to reality, farther away from the siren call of the Hunt. They knew he was talking to them, and they understood the words, but the meaning behind them just wasn't computing. Their mind was foggy and sluggish, the rush of combat was only just bleeding out of their system.
The sound of Alex's voice was filtering in, and the calm-panic in his tone shook Jericho to the odd core.

The first friend they had ever had, and they sounded fearful, but of what? Of them? Of the battle? They needed protection didn't they, shit. "Nrh. Hold on. Will protect you. Make you safe." They grunted out, their voice distorted and mixed together with the sounds of a tiger growl and a boar's grunt. They shifted then, dropping the combative form and instead switching to the shape of a large, amorphous metallic... Blob. Jericho swooped upward, surrounding Alex and cocooning the other super in a protective shell. They extended upward from there, forming a small, humanoid torso on top of the metallic sphere. The torso had no eyes, no mouth, no nose... But it did have a multitude of arms that were lined with jagged blades. The torso swayed back and forth, and was turned towards the squabbling group of Supers.

'Protect.' Said Jericho's instincts. So Jericho positioned themselves to protect.

Vic thumped down onto the sidewalk like a passed out drunk, her clutch on the monster's lungs released. She looked down at the pincushions that were her arms with a quiet, monotone "Ahhhhhhhhh" of pain. They stung like crazy. There had to be some kind of venom in these quills, something sourced from the biggest, angriest wasp. Vic pulled down her mask, hissing out a string of curses, and tore each quill out with her teeth, spitting them out to the side. Her eyes flicked across the battlefield towards her opponent as she did, in time to see Cannonade blasted across the street. ...Damn.

She hauled herself up to her feet, blinking through the flow of blood dripping down into her eyelashes. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand then smeared it thoughtlessly across her chest, giving the NSFW print of a 90s style cat girl splayed out there a bloodbath. Her target was bubbled by an impenetrable force and just ate the man who'd done it. Well, that was a shame, she supposed, as her gaze already locked onto the new biggest brute on the field. She pulled her mask up and disappeared...

... reappearing half a second later between a truck door and some guy who looked way better equipped to deal with the threat. She tapped her foot, which was entirely unnecessary in her power using process, like every movement was, and the hurtling truck door was sent flying upwards a good fifty feet and sent soaring over their heads to become somebody else's problem. Her hands then shot out, and a wave of air tore through the onslaught of fire and salt. That wave swiftly built into a powerful vortex, charging at the behemoth and contesting his control of the salt. It crashed into him. Small, stinging grains of salt tore through his attire, bit at the skin beneath and assaulted his eyes, while the roaring wind obstructed his hearing.

Vic glanced over her shoulder to the man behind her, as she nonchalantly rolled her wrist with a finger pointed skyward, like she was conducting the tornado, other hand in pocket. That suit's technology looked state of the art, NAHLA worthy. Her eyes flicked up and down it, then she quirked a brow at him.

"Hey. You packing a laser beam in that?" She asked, with the same tone of someone asking if you have a lighter. Her shoulders jostled with a small shrug as she turned her head back around to Balthazar. Still struggling and failing to escape the salt flinging tornado following him around while Vic kept on moving her finger in a continuous circle. "Think we could all do with a classic right about now."

"There it is," grumbled Yue, snapping her fingers as she pushed back to her feet. The leader was calling in his trump card, the enormous brute that had thrown her through the window in the first place. Somehow she'd lost track of him during all the fighting. Yue's eyes darted across the battlefield, taking stock of everything that was happening. She couldn't help but flinch as the car landed on the Witchfinder leader. She didn't feel bad, these were people that had not only threatened her, but her family as well... still that would have been a promising lead to bring back.

She clenched her fists. This was it, do or die, no turning back; this was the time to take action and end this. She took a deep breath, filling her chest with energy and- Vicki was already there, intercepting the truck door and pushing back the stream of molten salt with blasts of wind.

Yue deflated slowly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her track pants and observing from the rooftop. Vicki was a lot stronger in person than her database file had implied. In fact Yue guessed she was the most dangerous super on the field at the moment. Lacking imagination maybe... or perhaps having skipped a few too many science classes. The thought tugged the corners of her lips into a frown. Perhaps it was just jealousy that Vicki had an ability that didn't destroy everything it touched, herself included. She was just pushing the notion from her mind when she noticed the shapeshifter slurp up the young man that had gone in to contain it and adopt a defensive posture. Yue clucked her tongue in thought, glancing from one battle to the other.

That's when she dropped from the rooftop onto a lamp post, sliding down gingerly and then striding purposefully across the street. She paused only momentarily to casually step on the groin of a Witchfinder that was trying to get up.

"Stay down, or I'll break it," she warned in a tone that suggested she was just... done.

Yue approached the metallic creature, stopping at the edge of what she'd guessed its striking range was and locked... she couldn't find its eyes, but she leveled her burgundy gaze at it purposefully and prepared herself with a breath, just in case. She was still for an excruciatingly long moment, as if observing its reaction. The morning light glinted off the fragments of glass embedded in her arms and blood dripped slowly from her fingers to the asphalt. Her shirt was torn where she'd been hit by the salt, exposing a deep, bleeding scrape in her side, and the flesh on her right shoulder was already red and peeling from where she'd been burned by flames.

"'Oi, Cannonade! They have a bruiser, 'Windbreaker' needs your help so get off your ass! I'll take care of... this," she called out in the direction Cannon had been thrown without taking her gaze off the creature.