Gothic City [CVnU: Living Location]

It began before dawn on a Monday morning. The serenity of the wee hours was shattered by the rumbling of diesel engines as a veritable army of construction equipment rolled into Gothic City. The machinery and the workers who operated it all bore the logo of the Alaric Foundation, the non-profit organization dedicated to to metahuman issues that had, until recently, been run by the late Gunther Beremud. The convoy was escorted by armored vehicles filled with armed agents of the Metahuman Response Force. The work began quickly and efficiently, the massive convoy breaking up into smaller teams, each reporting to a different site. The MRF operative first secured each location, removing squatters with as much gentleness as the situation and their own nature warranted, which admittedly was not much. Those who complained of having nowhere else to go were herded into temporary shelters and camps that had been erected on the city's outskirts. Once the sites were secure, the work began in earnest, and man and machine initiated a massive reconstruction project that would continue around-the-clock until completion.

In another part of the city, far from the clamor of the equipment, Elsa Beremud, daughter and heir of the aforementioned Gunther Beremud, sat in the main office of the metahuman halfway house that her late father had founded, watching the feeds from dozens of videos of the frenzied work, responding to a frenetic barrage of emails, text messages, and phone calls with a calm precision that straddled the line between surgical and frighteningly mechanical. The time and effort that she had put into this project were staggering, and she was not about to let the stress affect her at this critical juncture. She had painstakingly tracked down and met with landlords and business owners whose properties had been damaged or destroyed, and convincing them not to pull up their roots and move elsewhere. What insurance policies wouldn't cover, the Alaric Foundation would, financed by a historic philanthropic campaign and loans taken out against the projected successes of certain future...projects.

Convincing many of these property owners to participate was a titanic accomplishment in itself. This being Gothic City, many of them were not particularly wholesome characters, and with the inherent caution of thieves, they had been suspicious of this generous offer of charitable assistance, leery of what they would be expected to provide in return. The young Beremud scion, however, had been adamant that she would ask for no transfer of ownership, no owing of debts, and not even shares or partnerships in any businesses, legitimate or otherwise. Her father's attempt at a power grab was what had sealed his fate, after all, and she was determined not to follow in his footsteps. Her power would come from influence, and a massive display of what she was capable of doing. If Gunther Beremud had kept a deliberately low profile, Elsa Beremud would build her own power not in the familiar shadows, but directly under the glare of the public eye. He had failed in his attempts to be Gothic's savior. She intended to go down in history as the woman who resurrected the much-maligned metropolis.

There were still many variables at play, but she would accept only one outcome. When it was all said and done...

0:15 AM

They'd arrived in the dead of night, emerging from the sleek interior of a modified BMW i8. Genki, the Beast from the East, strode out, the arctic white of his long-coat in stark contrast with the black of the night sky. Arms folded behind his back, his posture one of self-assurance, he cast a presence of arrogance and icy indifference wherever he strode. And where he strode, he was followed. Behind him walked Ayesha, an armed bodyguard whose focus was as singular as her beauty. Together, they marched into the heart of a construction site, the dirt crunching beneath their boots as they headed for a gaping ditch in the terrain. "Genki, why are we here?", Ayesha asked, her hazel eyes squinting, her gaze as scrutinizing as ever.

"To take over this city", he answered, his smooth monotone echoing in the wake of his drop into the ditch, a soft thud marking his landing. "How?", Ayesha prodded, tying her raven curls in a ponytail before following him into the ditch. Genki gave her no answer, instead he lowered to a knee, his dark eyes studying the ground with a furrowed brow before he dug his gloved hand into the sand. His features held in earnest, the Beast from the East rose to his feet, holding an emerald crystal in his grip as sand fell in-between his fingers. Gazing upon the crystal, his sharp features softened, "You know what this is?", he asked, his exotic Spanish-Japanese inflection hanging in the air, his eyes studying the crystal's luminous haze. "Enlighten me", Ayesha answered, overcome by curiosity.

"Konite. Something worthy of research and experimentation", Genki paused, "Oh.. I'd heard a rumor that Konite was in powdered form", Ayesha shrugged. "That is why I don't deal in rumors. I deal in facts. And the fact is that with this, we can make the Espada unstoppable", Genki asserted, "We learn enough about this, we can develop our own variation of Konite to grant Espada members a specific power. The ability to detect, from others, the subconscious brain activity that precedes decision making". A pleased smile on her face, Ayesha lifted her chin, "So they'll know what someone is going to do seconds before said person knows it themselves".

"Exactly", Genki smirked. An invaluable trait for a guild of homicidal spies, he thought.

>.> <.< I wana do stuffs/at least try in regard to that lol but it's in an NU thread xD

@madridista: And here, we, go

Oh my gosh O___O

I'm gonna have to watch f'n Bellator next time I wanna hear that, LOL.

@madridista:

"We've got company."

"How many?"

"Two."

"Meta?"

"Does it matter?" Move."

The armored surveillance van screeched to a halt outside of the construction site, it's rear doors bursting open to disgorge the vehicle's contents, a squadron of MRF security guards, sheathed in ceramic and Kevlar and strapped to the gills with automatic weapons. They didn't know who the intruders were, and they weren't inclined to curiosity. These were old-school MRF; thugs and degenerates who signed up so they'd have an excuse to indulge in the occasional bit of unrestrained violence, and get paid handsomely for it. Patrolling construction sites in a ravaged city hadn't exactly been their idea of a plum assignment, and they (correctly) surmised that this was the new boss' way of demoting her father's hand-picked goon, and this put a nice layer or resentment on top of their natural murderous tendencies.

The five of them spread out smoothly into a wedge formation, rifles snapping up in unison and fixing on Genki and Ayesha as their helmet-mounted lights illuminated the site. "This is private property," the leader barked in a voice like a tuba made of sandpaper.

@beremud:

They felt the glare of their lights on their faces, and their attention drawn to the echoed warning. Instinctively, Genki's gloved fingers coiled round the hilt of his sword, and Ayesha's clung to her battle rifle. Casting his gaze upon them, his eyes so dark as though they were meant more for hypnosis than sight, the Beast from the East felt a tinge of amusement, "Hmph", his cold and earnest exterior giving way to a smirk of arrogant dismissal. Signaling that Ayesha lower her rifle, Genki's hand slid from the hilt of his sword. Brow furrowed, her beautiful features strained with an intense focus, Ayesha remained guarded while Genki turned round. Rolling his neck and shoulders, a cocky flair and swagger oozing from his pores, the Beast from the East sighed, "So...", he began, tucking the Konite crystal inside his coat.

"Your formation is not bad though you've alerted me of your presence and made no attempt at sensory deprivation, effectively giving up the undisturbed observation of your targets and an optimal firing position", Genki paused, his exotic Japanese-Spanish inflection lending itself to the cold depth of his voice. "You are either untrained amateurs or you do not intend to kill me", he concluded, his own observation doing nothing to relax the quiet intensity in Ayesha's eyes. "Neither option ends well for you", he insisted, a cool matter-of-fact monotone trailing his words, "So. Shoot. See what happens".

@beremud: @madridista:

"I'm picking up some chatter. Where is he?" The bearded man's militarized swag and confidence was undeniable. Visually adorned in urban cameo, dark greys and heavily treaded boots, he looked and sounded every bit of the part. "He in da kennel, where else." Similarly dressed, the equally scruffy looking confederate responded with dismissive overtones, as if inconvenienced by the sheer stupidity of the question. And with good reason after all, for the mysterious militant known only as the Ghostshell could often be found outside in the group's deplorable man-made prison for the abnormally born, the genetic outliers, the lost mutants of Gothic.

"Look, I dont wanna do this. You think I like coming in here? Smelling your piss and shit just so I can break your legs day after day? Shit gets tiresome kid. Can you imagine? I mean, think about it. I have to walk all the way out here, bash your bones into a pulp, let you heal, and then do it all fcking over again." The Ghostshell's premeditated apathy was an arrogant mixture of sociopathic sadism and out right evil. "Look!" he sharply barked, snatching the malnourished-non-disscript mutant by the back of the neck, threatening to rub his face in a freshly spawned puddle on the dilapidated cell floor.

Known as the 'Kennel,' the cells were little more then modified chicken coops, reinforced with salvaged metal and technology left over from the great calamity that had decimated Gothic. The aftermath of which had manufactured horrors beyond imagination. With no oversight and corporate focus centered on the bottom dollar, slipping through the cracks of the rebuilding city had never been easier. Missing persons were an hourly occurrence outside the designated construction zones, which offered some semblance of security as CEO's sought to protect their investments.

"Sir, I got something. MRF dispatched a security squad to investigate a trespassing." Relaying the situation while handing over a basic radio confiscated during a midnight raid on a lonely MRF outpost, the Ghostshell grabbed it with his faux hand and listened carefully. "Full squadron.....must be serious huh?" Side-eyeing the trembling prisoner before rising to his feet, shoving the radio deep in his affiliates chest, the Universal Soldier slid his tongue across the surface of his gold tooth, "Get em ready. We're going out."

Sometime later:

The roar of re-fabricated engines could be heard on approach long before the junkyard assembled vehicles of the Hounds of Humanity came into view through the moon-lit-skyline. Equipped with roll cages, welded grill guards and mounted artillery, the convoy served but one purpose, insurgency. Former an outside perimeter to ensure their targets were contained in front of their field of vision, the Ghostshell and his Hounds let the dust settle a bit before debarking from the vehicles in varying fashions. "Whatya say we go ahead and drop those badboys before somebody gets hurt" he smiled. Aiming his costume AR-15 at the closest MRF security agent. "Nobody plays the hero anymore. Not in this shithole of a city anyway, you really wanna die tonight son?"

@the_ghostshell: @madridista:

Though his helmet disguised his expression, the leader of the MRF goon squad grinned. He had no idea how out of their depth he and his men were, but if nothing else, he was not an easy man to intimidate. "You heard the man," he snapped at his subordinates. "Open-"

Though the rest of his command could probably be reasonably surmised, it was left unfinished as the sudden arrival of the Hounds of Humanity added a new element to the scene. Sweat beaded on the sergeant's forehead and a number of colorful curse words danced across his thoughts, but his fear responses were dulled by psychic treatments administered by the Demon of Silence on Alcatraz island, and he reacted as a consummate professional.

"HQ, this is squad 37-G, requesting immediate and significant backup. We are engaging multiple hostiles, nature unknown, and may require air support." After shooting off that quick request into his communicator, he turned his attention to the Ghostshell. "I don't know who you think you are, pal, but this is private property and you, all of of you," he said, throwing another glance towards Genki, "are trespassing. Drop your weapons and keep your hand where I can see them, and I'll order my backup to not come in shooting."

@the_ghostshell: @beremud:

Ayesha's muscles tensed at the looming threat of a gunfight, her gloved fingers inching closer to her battle rifle's trigger, sweat trickling down her left temple as she surveyed the scene with an earnest intensity. Genki however, cocky as ever, seemed unbothered by the danger of being gunned down. There was a predatory cold in his eyes as he gazed upon the MRF, his taunting smirk slowly fading and giving way to something less humane, to a killer instinct that could neither be taught nor learned. Others arrived, paramilitaries who strode with the swagger of fearless urban militants. And the odds it seemed, were evened. Right hand slipped into his pocket, the Beast from the East ran his fingers through his short raven hair, feeling it's smooth texture as an arrogant sigh escaped him.

In a blur, his hand emerged, razor sharp shuriken in-between his fingers. His muscles relaxed, and with a glance he aimed, his mind and motor skills bringing to life a strange ability to perfectly comprehend his position with respect to others and the position of points in a physical system. He knew the exact position of every enemy, and the exact position of every vulnerable point in their battlesuits. Genki rarely missed. He'd glanced and seen their areas of exposure, he need only attack. And no more than a second later, he did, hurling a barrage of shuriken at the MRF goons, at the gaps round their necks and joints, from the cruelest of angles and with perfect aim. Arteries would be severed, blood would spurt, and men would drop dead. "It is too late for diplomacy. When you pointed your guns at my associate and I, you chose death", he asserted with an icy indifference, as though he had simply uttered a mere fact of life.

"Let your backup come, you clearly need them". They were quick, Genki and Ayesha, leaping out the ditch with an athleticism and speed that seemed superhuman. They vaulted through the air and landed on their feet. Taking cover behind a wall of concrete, Ayesha assumed a firing position and waited, "If I die here tonight...", she murmured to herself in frustration, her heart rate racing, and her chest heaving. Drawing his katana, a powerful alternating current reinforcing it's blade and resonating at extremely high frequencies, the Beast from the East waited, his sword crackling in the night air, his eyes trailing over the MRF goons and the paramilitaries who now held them at bay. "Heh... this is a waste of time", Genki thought. "Instead of backup, why don't you bring us your leader?".

"I'm offering you a choice. We are all here for something. With your leader here, a proper negotiation can be made. But if not...", he shrugged, "That is the only diplomacy I'll offer".

Her head is held high with pride and purpose. A walk of urgency with every click clack of her six-inch heels. With an air of confidence does she approach her destination, poised and prepared for whatever comes next. "Hmm...interesting," she slyly mutters to herself as she raises a single hand to shield her sight from the beaming sunlight. Her violet eyes fixate on the pristine picture of architecture standing before her, taken aback if not impressed by the resemblance of normalcy existing in this city.

It doesn't take long, however, for the casually attired citizen to approach the entrance of her intended destination. Her posture is unwavering as she clasps her hands together behind her back, lowering her head only slightly as she scans the area for security. "I expected a welcoming party of sorts," the mysterious maiden speaks with such a disappointment tone. The act of being treated as anything less than important is disrespectful in her mind.

"Dead presidents don't come around often. Do they?" An arched eyebrow and a look of unfiltered arrogance, the violet-eyed vixen isn't sure if she should be insulted or humbled. Nevertheless, she steps forward whilst telepathically surveying her surrounding perimeter. Despite the appearance of decorum, the formerly presumed dead president didn't trust Gothic City with every ounce of her being. This city had a mind of its own and even her best efforts to save it had failed.

However, the rumors about @beremud actions and plans gave the Humanity Now philanthropist the belief that Gothic City could be revived. And what better way to reintroduce herself to the world if not by assisting in the rejuvenation of hell on Earth?

"Excuse me, Clarice Michelle Pierce is here. I don't believe I have an appointment, but that shouldn't really matter." The woman spoke once more, this time into the wind, her words floating along the gentle spring breeze. And to whoever's ear those words soothed, they'd ensure whoever ran this establishment would welcome her with the reverence she believes she deserves.

(Mind if I intrude on the party? I felt inspired)

Dreamer thought as he dropped down between two thugs silently. From there he lunged across the room the henchmen still not becoming wary. He pressed a button on his suit became invisible as he passed by other mobsters without them batting an eye. I could kill all these guys in a second if I wanted, But I just want to get information meet their leader. The whole organization was very high tech along with the soldiers/mercs for hire. He leaped up a flight of stares two gunmen stood outside a opening though a garage doorway. Sneaking inside he kicked the side of the mechanism and the door slammed shut.

Concentrate now, let time bend to your will if even for a single second.

Pressing the button on his arm he was spotted but not before breaking a guys arm then throwing him at the door. He walked toward the other body guard glancing over at the boss. "We need to talk." he said as the body guard shot a pistol at him. With his reflexes he watched the bullet inch closer and closer before dodging it with little effort and again reaching and stripping the gun from his hand. The body guard then rushed Chris which he allowed dodging his first swing sweeping and slamming him to the floor. Punching the gun in the skull did the job but the Mob Boss was on the move.

Throwing a throwing star witch managed to go through the Bosses hand. Chris let out a chuckle but the man looked scared trembling "What the hell are you?" his hand dropping a bloodied gun to the floor. He attempts to run only to have his legs grappled and pulling him, making him hang upside down from the ceiling.

"I am the judge, jury, and the executioner, I am the snake hidden among the shadows waiting to strike. I am all your sins catching up to you.. I amThe Ninja." He says talking out his katanna holding it against the boss's chest.

"What do you want from me.." the defenseless guy said squirming around.

"I need you to work with criminal on the underground and to get me information, if you do that for me I will let you live. I wont let your sins come back onto you. I will be watching." He said knocking the guy out and fleeing.

His soldiers waking him up minutes later.

@madridista: @beremud: @clara_mass:

In colorful unison the irruption of violence among the well armed individuals had been sparked by the ivory enigma's dexterous employment of Asiatic projectiles. Without delay the mechanical hand of the urban utilitarian eased off the trigger of his rifle and rose into the air with a symbolic number one, issuing a non-verbal command for his lieutenants to scramble the would be transmission as he sought to intercept the MRF's call for reinforcements.

But no sooner had the Gothic Ghostshell returned his finger to the welcomed tension of his trigger, then one of his heavily bearded Hounds gruffly warned, "META META!" Instantly the entire congregation of enhanced militia-men redirected their attention, and position, to account for the extemporaneous arrival of the unknown metahuman/mutant variable. Who, in-spite of her casual attire, and unbeknownst to the Ghostshell, had once upon a time been one of-if not thee-strongest telepathic mutants on the planet.

"Lady, you picked the wrong fckn day to play princess important. TAKE HER!" With no love whatsoever for the genetically gifted, any would be collaboration currently in the works had immediately evaporated. Obsession and anger overriding tactics and diplomacy.

*DOONDOONDOOONDOOONDOOON*

thunderous repetition rocked the atmosphere as a rear mounted 50 cal urgently spat out round after round, regurgitating spent casings in and around the parked truck that it had been crudely attached to. Stylish formations permeated the through the muscular reactions of the Hounds of Humanity's, premeditated situational awareness governing their individual movements. Be it covering fire, re-positioning, or their unapologetic assault aimed at the former President turned Machiavellian mutant. Aethrium coated rounds exploded through the air at remarkable speed, packing enough stopping power to down a Superman if need be. The highly valued alloy, comparable in a plethora of ways to both Vibranium and Adamantium, Aethrium had been the brain child of the Tech Titan, Sage Manusco and the innovative minds at KS-Corp. And like most of the Hounds eccentric anti-mutant meta armaments, the fabrication blue-prints had been expertly hijacked long ago for a war decades in the making.

Again the Ghostshell physically articulated a command through sheer motion. First pointing to one of his Hounds, then pulling his arm down and into a fist. Greeted with a nod as they remained behind various objects of cover, the ballcap wearing Hound initiated his orders. Electronically mimicking the voice of the MRF soldier who had attempted to call in back up only moments earlier,

"A female hostile, metahuman in nature" forging subtle yet key substitutions it wouldn't take long for the misinformed cavalry to arrive and unknowingly aid the Ghostshell in his attempted apprehension of the notable mutant. Or so he planned.

Blood will burst from her torn throat like confetti. Liveliness lost with the slightest of ease. She'll clutch her throat while tears slide down from reddened eyes. She'll take a few steps to the building before her knees finally give out.

THUD! What's left of her body will drop onto the gravel below. An exposed brain won't reveal her motivations, her feelings or her true self. Instead her lifeless form will prove to be meaningless once this hailstorm of bullets comes to a close. It's this vision of death that startles the mistress of mayhem. Is this what it means to be a mutant? Oppression for the sake of oppression? The thought troubles her in way she'd never thought before.

"TAKE HER!" It doesn't take particularly long for Miss Pierce to return to reality. This time, however, she isn't too keen to playing with belligerent boys and their toy guns. Instead she manifests a dome of green telekinetic energy around herself. These bullets, however, prove to be challenging as their composition in conjunction with the out pour of numbers tears into her shielding with an unmatched sense of determination. It's been quite some time since she's had any sort of combat experience, but that wouldn't stop Miss Pierce from finishing this game.

*DOONDOONDOOONDOOONDOOON*

Cracks begin to splinter from the top of her spherical shield. The pressure is rougher than she previously imagined. It'll only be a matter of seconds before this alloy shreds through her protective barrier and into every piece of flesh she has. Miss Pierce has to think quickly before her revival is rescinded. So, she does what she does best and teleports--

behind a group of hounds shooting their guns with an almost intoxicating sense of satisfaction. Their sweat speaks of concentration. The way they lather saliva on their lips tells tales of their enjoyment. What happens next, however, will be a story they won't likely forget.

"One problem, boys. You can't CATCH ME!" Miss Pierce is anything but ordinary. Once upon a time, she held her own against Ziccarra Liafador. And one trick she picked up from that little spat was using her telekinesis to weaponize sounds. After speaking her mind, Miss Pierce's telekinetic energy amplified the base of her voice and the wave of sounds would smack into the plethora of soldiers like a freight train. It'd crack their gear, pop their eardrums and send them back a few feet away from their previous position. They'd no doubt be startled and injured. Something the former American matriarch would need if she was going to handle the head honcho himself (@the_ghostshell).

"I come in peace, but I guess we can go a few more rounds." These mutts didn't know how to stay down. It was the only redeeming quality about them that impressed Miss Pierce. And although she wasn't the most technically sound fighter, it didn't prevent the recently seasoned brawler from engaging herself in a round of fisticuffs. In doing so, she manifests a pair of telekinetically constructed batons and clobbers a hound upside the head while another attempts to cut her at the neck. She smacks that solider square in the chest with added telekinetic energy from her baton to send him back a couple of feet. All the while, she ducks and evades an attack from another hound.

This close quartered combat proves dangerous for Miss Pierce, because it gives time for the sharpshooting hounds to take aim at her stationary body. As a result, she teleports once again. This time, however, she's in spitting dance of the cockily poised alpha. "Don't you think this is a bit too much!? I'm flattered, but c'mon." She's sweating, an obvious tell for her technologically orientated adversary. And as much as she'd love to stay here and chit chat about why she was being attacked, the sharp tongued femme fatale figured it'd be best to this spat before it went on for too long. "I'VE GOT THINGS TO DO!!!!" Miss Pierce screams with everything she has, hoping to disrupt communication frequencies that'd prevent backup from arriving and hopefully destabilize the ghostshell and his team.

@beremud

@madridista: Quick question: how many shuriken did you throw?

@beremud: Three :)

That's three too many, Impero.

ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵃᶰʸ⋅⋅⋅

@madridista: @the_ghostshell: @clara_mass:

"Spread out! Spread-" was all the squadron leader was able to get out before three of his men suddenly sprouted jagged bits of metal from critical parts of their anatomy. His order trailed off into a series of curses as he ducked and made for the nearest cover, a stack of steel components for the building that the site would eventually become. His one remaining operative followed suit in the opposite direction, evidently hoping that the bulldozer he was heading for would provide ample cover. Assuming he got there, of course. The three stars that had dropped his men had been thrown with uncanny accuracy, meaning the thrower was either a meta, or he was intimately familiar with MRF-issued armor.

He fired off a burst of fire as he ran, more to keep his enemy from drawing a bead on him than out of any serious hope of scoring a hit. "The boss would only have one thing to say to you," he called out, sparing a quick glimpse over his shoulder to take in the sight of yet another newcomer tearing into the Hounds. He truly had no idea who either she or the group she was fighting were, but the fact that they were trying to kill each other and not him was some momentary comfort. "...and that's that this city is ours, now! You metas have run roughshod over it long enough!"

Elsewhere:

"This had better be good," she snapped into the phone, by way of greeting. "You know what my schedule looks like, tomorrow."

"I know, ma'am. But we may have situation. Reports of gunfire from site 37-A. The squadron on site reported in, but we encountered heavy interference. We're surmising that there's at least one metahuman involved."

Of course."Well, stick to protocol, for now. Get us eyes on-site, and scramble a heavy response team."

Within moments, several high-definition camera-bearing drones were zipping towards the site, and a platoon of the MRF's heavy shock troops were preparing to deploy from one of the "nerve centers" that had been set up around the city. It was starting to look like construction wasn't going to be in the cards, today.

Getting a post up soon.

@the_ghostshell: @clara_mass: @beremud:

Bursts of gunfire tore through the air as the Ghostshell's Hounds gave in to their militant urges. They sprayed both the MRF and a former President of the United States with bullets, while the MRF did so to the Beast from the East. Then and there, in the dead of night, as bullets buzzed through the cold air, Ayesha took cover, crouching behind a wall while Genki's strange subconscious censor, the phenomenon between thought and action, caught sight of every bullet and commanded his body to do exactly what was needed in order to counter the threat of gunfire - dodge. Somehow, someway, Genki circled out the way of the MRF gunfire with a quickness he did not physically possess. It was a subconscious precognition that served him well.

That saw only one bullet graze his shoulder, tear through the fabric of his coat, and scrape away a chunk of his flesh. A drop of blood stained the ground, and the Beast from the East smirked, wearing his arrogant flair as his fingers coiled round the hilt of his katana. "Meta?", he paused, a laugh held behind his smirk, "No. However, I can see how extraordinary skill would make you believe I am". Meanwhile, Ayesha poked from behind the wall, a position that enabled observation of her target, the MRF goon who'd shot at them. She kept a position of comfort, one that allowed for steady firing, and reminded herself, "Time and supervision of the target is limited", her mind echoed. Her grip was light, the butt of her rifle rested in the pocket of her firing shoulder to reduce recoil, and she steadied her breathing.

Controlling her muscles and adjusting her natural point of aim to the center of the MRF goon's expected target exposure area - and fired. High-caliber bullets sped through the air, trailed by a buzzing echo as they sought to shot into the gaps in the goon's armor. And in the wake of Ayesha's gunfire, Genki darted after the goon, intent on isolating him and forcing him to do as he'd demanded - summon the MRF's leader.

@madridista: You know, I do have a secretary. There are ways to get ahold of me that require less bodybags. :P

@clara_mass:

"Fk'n flank her!" the Ghostshell growled, somersaulting in perfect unison with the magnificent madame's mutant ability to teleport. Never the less, the bulk of his squad had been taken by surprise. Inadequate intel causing them to overlook one of, if not thee most potent ability in her unique metaphysical arsenal. Metal, shrapnel, and human form were all sent spiraling outwards as the former President unleashed a sonic boom that decimated much of what had been caught in its path.

"Retreat! Regroup at the rendezvous point!"

Caspian Hill Alleyway

@black_virtue:

In an all too common sight on the streets of Gothic, several low level pushers huddled around a crudely lit burn barrel disusing their various endeavors with obnoxious animation. Oblivious to the fact that they were being watched, scanned, and had been for several minutes. Having recently been tasked with uncovering any and all viable information pertaining to the whereabouts of one Abigail Aensland, former heroine turned leader of the League of Shadows and object of obsessive pursuits by both the Mad Strix as well as the recently resurfaced mammoth of mayhem, Satar, the Last Arashikage-a sleeper agent himself-had started his investigation at the very bottom of the criminal rung. Are story unfolds with the young undercover assassin emerging from the shadows.........

"Yo you lost kid? Aint no place for youngin's round here. Mess around and get stretched, kid." To a chorus of chuckles and arrogance, the thick coated thug had felt the surge of antagonistic encouragement needed to further escalate his verbal taunts. Lifting the bottom of his shirt to reveal his foolishly tucked Glock, firmly nestled within his waistband. The hooded Arashikage simply froze, raising his hands in a subtle attempt to visually disarm the situation. "I'm just looking for information. My momz, I aint seen her since the....well, you know, since the 'decimation,' jus hoping one of you might have seen her?" Cautiously handing his mobile device over so the group could peep the female image on screen. "Try a shelter lil ass nicca. What we look like, 1-800-find a dumb'bitch? Get the fk outta here." Slipping the unsuspecting killer's phone into their pocket.

In the blink of an eye the urban Arashikage had discarded his weighted jacket and hoodie, leaving it to briefly linger in the air as he partially darted up the side of the alleyway before cartwheel flipping into the center of the group. Nerve strike to front kick. Elbow to spinning wrist lock. Finger in the eye, thumb to the throat, the violence the young martial master unleashed was a disturbing symphony of ruthless but controlled rage. "HERE HERE! TAKE THE SHIT MAN JESUS!" *Snap* the pleading man's neck twisted and broke with surprising ease. "Its to late for all that now." the boy's words were cold and absent emotion. Proceeding to murder the rest of the criminally misguided congregation, he moved to retrieve his bloody mobile from the dirty alleyway floor.

Giving me Lady Shiva vibes.

@satar: She's back by the way and just took out her daughter AND Bruce. I never fanboy'd that hard before lmao

@raysh_al_shaytan: She took out Cass Cain and Bruce? Gotta look that issue up right now, LOL.

@satar: Detective Comics #952, but the actual story arc starts a couple issues before that.

@raysh_al_shaytan: Gonna read that right now.

That was the best fan service issue for Shiva as much as Cass.

I'm gonna hang back on this by the way, see how it progresses a lil more.

Digame, como, por favor? I read Gambler's debate on how they've been slipping with Cass and I saw his point. Now y'all have both got me curious.

It was owed in the case of Shiva. For almost a decade we (Shiva fans) have had to endure that ridiculous Batman one shot from Superman/Batman. This not only erased that, it assaulted it in a back-alley. Not sure what fan-service was delivered on the Cass front though (outside of establishing her as Shiva's daughter once again) cause she got straight up humiliated.

Having said that, because it was so lopsided I guarantee both Cass and Bats are gonna get some payback in the next issue.

The last couple issues as a whole have really been selling the two as exactly what they should be.

I didn't mean service as in, just TO service the fans. I meant as in *A* service to the fans. They needed this spotlight with both Shiva and Cass. Shows proper respect to what was built before n52.

@black_virtue: Agreed. Been waiting along time for this ish to come back around full circle. I wasnt a fan (initially) of how they introduced the David Cain/Cass stuff but the bigger picture makes it all come together.

@black_virtue: 10-4. Eyes open.

@clara_mass: @the_ghostshell: @madridista:

"Subject is capable of dodging automatic gunfire; repeat, subject is-argh!" was all that the MRF operative had time to get out before the expertly placed sniper shots had him lying on his back, bleeding from multiple wounds. Their mental conditioning gave them an elevated resistance to pain and fear responses, but their bodies were still very much human, and getting past their training and armor would render them every bit as fallible as the least remarkable civilian.

"I'm down," the operative coughed, attempting not to choke on his own blood. "We need extensive backup at this location, and they need to come in hot!" Genki's assurances notwithstanding, the man refused to believe that his assailant was anything but metahuman. He and his squad may have been caught off-guard, but they were conditioned to accept the necessity of sacrifice for the greater victory. He squinted through blurred vision as his attacker approached. "You have any idea who you just picked a fight with?" he half-sneered/half-coughed. "My employer's invested too much in this city to allow you freaks to just roll back in and set up shop like nothing ever happened."

@rey_everdeen: "Snakebite...please." Kenitchi Bin-Bui ordered his drink alone, sitting at the crowded bar. His eyes flickered over the illuminated glass bottles of alcohol. The castle of liquor made his mouth water. Amethyst was crowded with 20something hipsters, eating their freshly made meals while listening to an ironic playlist blending Biggie Smalls "Juicy" with Radiohead's "Idioteque". Despite being on his lonesome, Kenitchi attracted company. The company of long, intrusive stares. Intrusive and obvious, but none made approaches. His animalistic features turned heads. Most were genuinely curious. Others covering their fear with disgust.

His brown horns stretched from his obsidian hair, behind his pointed ears and curled along his jaw, framing the sharpness of his facial bone structure. The fiery haired waitress standing before him stared with her notepad and pen sitting still at her chest. Blinking rapidly three times, she snapped from her trance. "Snakebite?" she asked rhetorically. She spun around to work, whipping her high ponytail behind her. She navigated the glossy castle of liquors for the ingredients of the Snakebite.

@arquitenens: [Respond with whoever you want, obviously; just tagging your most-used account.]

There were any number of justifications that she could have provided for why she was doing what she was doing: patrolling to keep the city "safe," training to allow herself to better utilize her relatively new metahuman abilities, or just simple exercise, but the honest truth was that Kaede Onaga, the Assassinatrix of the Metahuman Response Force, was simply in a bad mood and was looking for someone to take it out on. Not that it was likely that her handlers would concerned about her motivation; in a city like Gothic, authority was built from the ground up: if you controlled the streets, you controlled the city. Putting the hurt on some of the local toughs would only help her employer in establishing her own dominance.

So it was that she found herself lightly jogging across the skyline of the Gothic night, using her enhanced strength to easily leap across the divide between buildings, many of which were still under varying degrees of construction. It didn't take her long to find what she was after: a small group of miscreants squatting in a shadowy alleyway, dividing the spoils of whatever unlawful activities they had been previously engaged in. With a grin, the sadistic supersoldier dropped the four stories to the ground and landed in their midst, her extreme durability easily absorbing the impact of the landing. Two of her targets (although "victims" would have been more accurate) went down almost immediately, a punch to the jaw and a vicious kick between the legs putting them both on the ground, one in a senseless heap, the other rolling in agony and screaming incoherently.

A third, to his credit, had the reflexes to whip out a switchblade knife and go on the offense, although he didn't have sufficient time to process the fact that his blade snapped as it was thrust against Kaede's skin before a well-placed elbow sent him to join his unconscious compatriot on the filthy ground. The final hooligan was locked in a relentless chokehold, and despite vigorously slamming himself backwards against the wall of the nearest building, he was unable to dislodge his smaller but much more powerful assailant. As the lack of oxygen took its effect, Kaede dropped the man to the ground, and then stalked toward the only remaining conscious member of the group: the man with the injured sensitive bits. A twisted grin crossing her features, she fought back the urge to laugh as the panicked man desperately tried to scramble away from her, only to corner himself up against a dumpster.

"You shouldn't stay out so late," she mocked, her voice at once sweet and dangerous, like a lollipop with a poisonous center. "It's dangerous out here."

I want to get off Gothic City's wild ride

@angela_lee said:

Haha, back from the dead I see.

It's only a true thread necromancy whenever Nhumrethaz is involved!

@angela_lee said:

CHARMY MY CHARMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@cassidy_boltian: baby baby baby ♥

@soterichor: sassy as always

@feral_nova: ♥

@amin_karrit: The dead never stay dead ;)

@jean_luc_lebeau:very theatrical

@angela_lee: I'm not usually sassy! I mean...not to you. You make me bashful.

@angela_lee: I suppose so, bella!

@amin_karrit: ♥

@soterichor:that's what I like to hear ;)