The_Catalyst

"Can't we all just get along?"

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The_Catalyst

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Haven't "slapped a b*tch today"?

So I guess your mother's running late?

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The_Catalyst

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And you're just as dense as I'd expect.

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The_Catalyst

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#3  Edited By The_Catalyst

@blackstone: Thanks! I really appreciate the quick answer. I feel like I can create something based on just that without disrespecting the concept, but I'll wait around a bit for confirmation. It's not of immediate necessity, regardless.

Or I'll just PM him. Yeah, that sounds like the best course of action.

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The_Catalyst

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Couldn't figure out where to ask questions, so I'll just put this here. Does anyone know what woyld happen if a mutant took konite? Would it react with their current powerset in any way, would it give 'em new powers? Does it have any secondary effects?

Thanks in advance!

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#5  Edited By The_Catalyst

Let's go to Tony Danderman in Action Chopper Six! How're things looking out there, Tony?

Well George, traffic down the 13 has literally stopped as construction continues. We recommend transferring onto the 15 and then transferring back onto the 13 past the construction site near Carpenter Bridge. Aside from that there is some light traffic on the 1 going North from Dover to Metro City, as it seems yet another traffic collision has been caused by lookie-loos trying to keep an eye on some of Metro City's flashier, high-flying heroes. Just a friendly reminder, folks, rubbernecking leads to accidents, and it can be construed as distracted driving, which is illegal in the state of Delaware. Stay safe out there folks, and keep your eyes on the road! Back to you in the studio, George!

Thank you for that, Tony. That actually brings us to a related report: Are superheroes actually causing traffic collisions? A study recently published by the National Traffic and Highway Administration seems to suggest so. In cities where prominent superheroes take up residence, there has been shown to be, on average, a 3% increase in traffic collisions for every "major event" in which a hero takes part. This number actually increases to a whopping 5% if the hero has the ability to take flight, and 10% if they have an ability that allows them to "drastically increase their size or otherwise appear prominently in such a way as to take up 15% or more of a driver's viewing area". This study did not differentiate between so called "villains" or the "heroes" that combat them, but one thing has been made sufficiently clear. If you find yourself too distracted by one of these superhero punch-ups, you should do yourself and your fellow drivers a favor: pull over, watch the melee, then get back on the road.

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@theswindler:

It all happened so fast. As McClain came in with a solid right hook, his fists warped with bloody, brown bone spires rising from his skin, the newly transformed mutant he thought he was fighting disappeared from view. Before he could register what was happening McClain felt a thin burning sensation rising up his arm, rising from the bone barbs in his hands to the edge of his fingers, up his forearm, until finally the blade cleaved clean through his arm, splitting it in twain. From his index finger down, the arm he'd struck out with was shorn nearly free, the white, all-too-human bone beneath the liberated flesh seeming to almost glow against the sullen burgundy and black of brick and night.

Hrk! was all that emerged. No words, only raw shock.

His eyes stared at the split arm. Only a fraction of a second had gone by, but already he'd been disarmed (quite literally). The world swam in his vision, it spun and ebbed in and out dizzyingly as he tried to stay on his feet. His eyes focused finally on the oddly dressed character in front of him, on the blade now clutched in his opponent's hand.

Another moment passed. His vision blurred again, from blood loss, shock, or simply the inhuman speed of his enemy's coming assault, he couldn't be sure, but what he did know was that if he didn't do something quickly this would not end well, that he had to play his cards just right if he wanted to make it out of this alive.

But really, it wasn't up to him. He'd failed to catch hold of his opponent, failed to interpret the signs in time. He was out of his league. Far, far out of his league. He was good at feeling things out, superb at it. He was a man who lived his life by instinct, and usually it served him well. It would have served him well even here, had he listened to it. He knew he shouldn't have gone down the alley. Knew he shouldn't have confronted the boy. Knew he shouldn't have turned his back on him. He should have listened. Should have listened to the sinking feeling in his gut when he saw the boy bathed in blood.

The blur in his vision solidified for a moment, and the figure came into being its stance ominous, the gleaming blade foreboding in the low light. Then came the next slice, and the burning returned. Not his arm. His stomach. It extended deep. He could feel the blade turn deep in his gut, then push further, cutting through ribs, bone, and organ until it finally caught at the end, only his spine holding up long enough to absorb the momentum of the trickster's blade.

His knees gave out on him. He slumped to the ground, blood pooling around his feet. His arm moved to his stomach, cradling the most grievous wound he'd ever received, had ever even seen. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, the blood not seeping through the gash in his gut pounded in his ears. Through the corner of his eye he saw his mutant assailant look back at him for an instant before disregarding him, sauntering off to find new victims.

I..I can't let him... let him--

His body slumped soundlessly to the ground, his hand loosening upon his wound, letting go. Sweet black nothingness overtook the pain, his muscles slackening as he fell into the abyss.

God, Chris, you really are pathetic.

A soft "poomf" came shortly after his foe had definitively left. Celvice stared down at the seemingly lifeless body at her feet, rolling him over tenderly, her hand running softly over his cheek. His body had already begun to stitch itself together, muscle and sinew reconnecting, the organs pushing themselves together and re-fusing into a somewhat functional whole, but the blood loss... the blood loss was significant. His battle had taken its toll on his body, but with his stolen regeneration it would recover. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't taken that inhuman ability to manufacture the seemingly infinite amount of blood that kept the other regen-heavy mutants she knew alive. He was dying (if he hadn't already crossed that threshold). She felt for a pulse and was rewarded with a thin, near imperceptible pressure against her fingers. She glanced about, satisfied in the knowledge that his attacker, whoever he was, had gone, and began to cradle her mutant companion in her arms, her focus traveling to a vial of her own blood she had deliberately left exposed to air back at their safe house. An instant after her focus had shifted there she could feel the pull of a timeless, arcane wind rapidly pressing against her from all directions, swirling around her and her charge. She closed her eyes. She always closed her eyes when teleporting. The blackness she saw between locations, that split second of near total dark, it scared her. If only the blackness had been total. If only it did not show her glimpses of that something lurking there, of that which she did not care to see.

But there were more pressing matters than whatever was lurking in the dark. She arrived a split second later and began rummaging about the safe house, tossing a limp Christopher onto the worn out couch in the ratty studio apartment. She withdrew the materials she needed from a plain white case haphazardly abandoned on the coffee/dining/occasional operating table. She wrapped the tubing around his arm, piercing a blood vessel and then piercing one of her own in turn for a direct transfusion. It was risky, and she could very well be dooming him by mixing their blood, but she was counting on his unique abilities to keep him alive. Same ABO blood type or not, she couldn't risk doing nothing, but she also refused to take him to a hospital. She'd rather let him die than expose him as a mutant. He'd be useless to the Shogunate-- or rather, the Monarchy (she had to keep reminding herself of the shift, so much had changed since she'd been away) of Venezuela should he be discovered. She gulped down her fear. He was dying, and all she could do was watch. Fear of failure crept in all around her, but another fear rose along with it. She was afraid to lose a friend.

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The_Catalyst

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#7  Edited By The_Catalyst

@theswindler: Kid's freaking out. Whatever. 911's called, help (and cops) are on their way. I can't stick around for that. The sooner he gets away from here and lets me work, the better...

McClain tore his hand away from the boy's shoulder as the child jerked back, shocked at first, wary, but when the boy turned to leave Chris wasted no time in attempting to treat the two on the ground. He was focused, determined, inattentive to everything else around him, including the boy's transmorgrification. A short examination of the bodies revealed them to be well and truly dead. Dammit. Just... too late, too little. Hey, kid, I'm sorry but your parents they..uhh... they're...

Wait a minute...

"Mr. Christopher, I appreciate your help, I'm gonna..."

Wait a minute kid, how'd you know my--

Oh ship .

He turned just in time to catch sight of the slim, elegant weapon, and the tall, blue and white clad stranger wielding it. He caught sight of the trigger pull, then felt the burning hole in his gut before he saw anything else.

Hrk!

What... wha? Who the frack is that? Oh, right... mutant. God...

He stammered to his feet, the hole burnt into his gut reopening and spilling forth a fresh red torrent. He pressed his hand to the wound, which was already starting to scab over and heal. The physical wound would heal, as luckily for McClain the shot missed his vital organs (or at the very least singed them lightly enough to leave them salvageable), but the pain was something he could never accustom himself to. He doubled over again, hunched over the burning hole in his abdomen.

"Just tough it out McClain", isn't that what Celvice always says? "What's a knee to the gut compared to what the cape-killers can do?" Dammit. I hate it when the ninjas are right...

McClain raised his eyes to the newly mutated boy-turned-man before him, ducking behind a garbage bin in the narrow alley.

Damn it, gotta think-- no, got to feel him out. It was like Celvice's... felt similar to that, but with so much... extra. Gotta focus on the familiar. It's... displacement? Teleportation? Whatever it is, it's something I need. If I just wait long enough, he'll come. He's the aggressive type. Well, come along big guy, let's see what you've got.

McClain's hand flexed, the bones in his hand twisting into barbs as he stared down at the boy's initial victims. I'm not like them, kid, I won't be such an easy mark... And this time, I'm ready for you.

When the newly transformed murderer approached, Chris would lash out with his own newly transformed body, embedding one of the barbs in his attacker, taking a piece of the boy, and use it in conjunction with his own powers to begin to infect himself with the boy's abilities. It was just a matter of striking the kid, and then staying alive long enough for the viral mutant infection to overtake his own immune system, granting him the powers of his assailant (for a time, at least) and allowing McClain to use the boy's powers against him, or at the very least use them to escape.

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The_Catalyst

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@paragonxxx:Sure thing! I'm always happy to RP, and you really helped me get back in the swing of things! Thanks for the ability to take pot shots at your organization too =P

@rosso: I always appreciate the kind words! We need to RP sometime soon!

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@sarah_and_lara:

The conversation had not gone as planned, and Sarah Jones had actually deflated a lot of their claims of bias in hiring. It was a dangerous gambit, they knew when they broached the subject. She could easily bring up the facts and figures on the matter, and that she did. They do hire normal people, they do provide the technology to combat metas, they will make an effort to hire more of those people based on the public's concerns, and the mutants were hired to take advantage of special skills (as opposed to implication that they hired them wholesale, an underlying accusation he would have preferred to maintain intact throughout the interview.

His smile grew ever more tense. He simply nodded and kept his mouth shut, preferring to let her speak until the end to address her points. Then she rolled into overtime, and the crew signaled for a break. He'd lost his chance. Well, he'd get her after the--

"Thanks for having me here, but I have to go."

break. He'd lost it. Lost control of the message. He fumed, the skin around his neck taking on a reddish tint. Still he smiled his terse, thin little smile.

Completely understandable. I realize there is only so much time a person such as yourself has for interviews like these. Thank you again for your time and for your work as a DSA agent and patriot.

Then it was back to business as usual.

Except she got the last word on you, George-y boy. Made a mess of things. Made you look like a preening simpleton. She sicced the cat on your tongue, and you let her get a hold of it too long. Stupid.

Business as usual. A breath, make-up, a drink of water, and action.

Up next, terror in piggy paradise. How tourists are unintentionally killing these swimming pigs in the Bahamas, and what you need to know to avoid doing the same. Over to you, Jerry.