Kings of the World - HeroNES

[~Darkening~]

Calatin Pruitt Lefèvre/Chaine
Nationality: Canadian/Unaligned.
Powers: Spectral Control; the ability to turn into an ethereal shade and assume control over another living entity. Chaine does this by gaining eye contact with the victim, and then transferring his essence into the victim. While in possession, the victim has no control over their body, though they are aware of what is happening. When he vacates a body, it renders the victim unconscious for a short period of time, and no memory of the possession.
Description: Born onto the cold streets of Québec some sixteen years in the past, Chaine is an extraordinary young man with excelling beauty. Seemingly fragile, far too thin to be of actual good health, he stands at a mere 5’6. The youth is in possession of the palest blond hair known to man, long and usually hanging below his shoulders, coupled with soft, sky-blue eyes. Little is known about his past, as the boy rarely speaks; though when his voice is uttered, it is colder than a winter in Quebec.

 

[KaiserElectric]

Name/Alias: Hephaestus
Nationality/Allegiance: Unknown, presumed to be European. He has no allegiance to anyone (that we know of).
Powers: Hephaestus wears a full body suit made of a super-heat-absorbant metal. He can extend blades and metal cord-like whips out of the arms, superheated enough to glow brightly, cauterize flesh, and slice through steel like a knife. In a pinch, he also likes to fire napalm at his opponents. Naturally, he has a weakness around water.
Description: Hepheastus' suit is metallic yet flexible. His suit has a gray and dark crimson color scheme, with a face mask and helmet. His eyes are hidden behind blood red lenses. Otherwise, his height and weight are unremarkable.

I'll write him a kick-butt intro tommorow, it's pretty late.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

“Scott!”

Marie was beginning to sound panicked now.

“Not funny Scott.”

There was no noise, save the quiet whisper of wind through the moonlit trees, and the rustling of the sleeping bags.

“Marco, you still there?”

“Yeah” came another voice, deeper, male.

“Scott! That’s not funny!”

The silence continued. The forest itself seemed to be withdrawing, shrinking timidly into quietude.

“Scott?”

It had been less than a minute since their friend had departed from the tent to relieve himself, and perhaps only thirty seconds he had let out a brief, terrified shout, the light of his flashlight disappearing.

Their flashlight. Their only flashlight.

“Damnit… he always pulls crap like this. Spent the whole effing evening telling ghost stories and now he’s going to-

“IIIIEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!”

The two figures in the black tent jumped at the visceral scream.

“Yeah…” Marco hyperventilated, “Like that.”

Light appeared off in the distance, visible through the tent flap. It was flashing about in all directions haphazardly. Someone was running.

“GOD RUN OH GOD OH GOD RUN!” It was Scott’s voice.

Marco unzipped the tent’s door and looked out.

“…the Hell was that about Sco-”

“GOD RUN RUN RUN!”

“SCOTT! Shut up, what is it?” Marco shook his friend, expecting him to start laughing any second.

“There was… this huge… oh God… this thing… it… oh God…” Scott was shaking heavily, pointing with a shaky hand into the darkness.

“It was… heheheh… Hahahahah.” Scott was stuttering, beginning a nervous, wide-eyed laugh.

“What man? What?”

“Hahahahahah! Hahahahahah, God, hahah, you should see the look on your face dude! Hahahah, that’s priceless.”

Marco’s face was one of slow, dawning realization.

“You piece of…” he trailed off, giving Scott a punch in the arm.

“Hahahahaaaah… seriously, every time man, every time. It never fails.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Pardon my trust in my friends Scott. You could have scared the hell out of Marie though.”

The two turned around, to see the wavy-haired brunette, dressed in her pyjamas, sticking her head out of the tent door.

“I might have had a bit of forewarning on that bit.”

Marco’s serious glare began to crack into a smirk.

“Okay, okay, pull a fast one on the third wheel, okay, you got me. But don’t pull that crap again man.”

“You say that every time.”

“Well, maybe next time will be the time when I stop taking you seriously.”

“Not likely Marco… you’ve still got a while to go before that training will be complete.”

“Heh, whatever Scott.”

Marco, shaking his head, stepped back into the tent. Scott followed, and within a few minutes, the three friends were drifting off into restful sleep under the waning moon and forest canopy.

It was a perfectly beautiful night.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

A figure sat curled up in the ruined grove, roiling in its own self-hatred, reveling in its isolation.

Then that noise. The scream, the lights. A snarl flared over the figure’s face, before smoothing back down into complete neutrality.

Visitors!

Black veins flared and receded around the figure’s eyes as it rose to a standing position, expressions flashed across it like water.

Visitors. Intruders. Invading my only refuge.

The figure was now fully upright, a male silhouette clad in torn rags. Branches of inexistence flashed out from his shoulders, fingertips, and legs like some sort of tarnished black lightning.

Ruination and futility. Miserable filth, hateful wastes. Visitors.

The Bent Man began to walk, his gait stuttering and uneven. The brief flashing protrusions from his body extended out only at the most unpleasant angles.

Visitors.

 

[Dachs]

It was eleven in the morning when Lieutenant Mark Olson woke up and found himself lying on his couch. The first thing he noticed was a colossal hangover. Par for the course on Sunday morning. Comfortingly familiar, in its own way.

The second thing he noticed was that he had apparently suffered a stab wound at some point last night. His abdomen was bandaged, and it was painful to move. Woozily, he wondered who might have been responsible for that.

He got his answer a few seconds later, as he turned his head to look into his kitchen and saw a pretty olive-skinned woman sitting there, doing a crossword puzzle out of the newspaper. Mark dimly remembered hitting on her last night in the bar. Apparently he'd been pretty successful.

"Ak." Huh. That wasn't what he'd intended to say. It did succeed, however, in getting her attention.

"Oh, hey, you're up. Want some water?" Mark rewarded her with a semi-vigorous nod.

She came over and handed him a glass with a little ice in it. "Take it easy. You had a pretty rough night."

Once he successfully got a majority of the water in the cup down his throat, the first word out of Mark's mouth was "thanks". He followed up several seconds later. "What happened last night?"

His Mediterranean guest laughed. "What? Between you and me? Or are you talking about the hole that got poked in your stomach?"

Mark managed a smile. "Both, I guess."

"Well, nothing happened between us. But I did have the unpleasant experience of fireman-carrying you into your apartment building and bandaging your injury."

That elicited another mumbled "thanks".

"I had the slightly more pleasant experience of laughing at your jokes and doing my best to seem interested at Anatoly's last night," she continued, laughing at the crestfallen look on Mark's face as she said it. "As for what happened in the middle..."

"Yeah," said Mark, whose expression shifted to one of intense concentration. "I remember...some big lunk in a trench coat. And two Russian Mafia thugs."

"Remember who the trench coat guy was?" Mark shook his head. "I guess it's not your beat. That was one of the local enforcers. A bruiser, goes by Ivan Ivanov. Obviously not his real name. He was sent to teach you a lesson."

"Any - ow - any idea why?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah. The Izmailovskaya gang put him on you for snooping around Dimitri Malevsky's coke connections."

Mark groaned. "So what happened to him?"

"Well, uh, I did. Left him a paraplegic, I think. His goons both ran away, though not before one of them took a swipe at you. Sorry about that."

Mark just stared.

His guest sighed. "I'm guessing that was less for the disproportionate response and more because I don't look like I can do all that. Don't worry, this isn't a Japanese cartoon or a bad martial arts movie: no waif-fu here," she said with a smile. "It's much worse."

"Do you remember what I told you my name was?"

His face screwed up in concentration for a few seconds. Bad idea, with a headache. "Uh, Aleena or something?"

He was rewarded with another laugh. "Almost. I guess you were pretty drunk already when we started talking. My name's Athena."

"That's a, um, good Greek name. What does it have to do-"

"No, you don't understand. I'm Athena."

Mark goggled at her some more.

"You know, the goddess? Wisdom and strategy and owls and all that?"

"You're *****ing me."

"I get that a lot." Athena stood up. "Close your eyes unless you want to have the mother of all headaches. That hangover's got to suck."

Mark obediently shut his eyelids. There was a kind of pop sound, as though a lot of air was moving very quickly, and a flash of light that he could perceive even through closed eyes.

"NOW OPEN," came the command. The policeman slowly opened his eyes.

The eight foot tall glowing being that stood next to his couch towered over the woman that had been there before. She was covered in what Mark could only assume was silvery classical Greek armor, burnished, glimmering, and covered in decorative designs, with a shield to match and a scary-looking spear in her right hand.

"NOW, MORTAL," bellowed the goddess, "DO YOU BELIEVE ME?"

"Holy..."

"YES," smirked Athena.

---

Name/Alter Ego: Athena/"Athena Lekapena"
Nationality/Allegiance: "Greek-American" (Olympian)/Unclear
Powers: Immortality, super strength, mastery of strategy, wisdom, transfiguration, ability to fly. Some of these are nullified by certain magics.
Description: Apparently the ancient Greek goddess of wisdom, currently living as a human in Central City. Motives, etc. unknown. Exposition to follow.

That was basically half of a story; I cut it short to make it more readable.

 

[bombshoo]

Adam's confidence in his decision did little to assuage the feeling of vertigo as he stepped out onto the ledge. The locks on the windows of the sixty-second floor of the Super-Cola Building had been surprisingly easy to break and now all that was left to do was pick an ideal spot to jump from. Even though Adam knew he was about to die, he could not bare the thought of his body landing in front of some poor family out for an afternoon stroll. He would aim for the ally, hopefully landing into one of the dumpster so that no one would be forced to clean his remains off of the concrete. As Adam approached the spot where he would end his life he thought one more time about all that he had lost, all that had never been given to him and how little he mattered to anyone. Adam ran the scenario of a world without him through his mind one last time. The only real effect of his death would be the bottling plant in Douglasville getting their weekly quality control update a few hours late.

Once Adam was sure he was lined up with an empty dumpster taking the step off of the ledge came surprisingly easy. As he fell Adam was surprised to find the sensation something like being in a very fast elevator made of pillows. For his brief amount of time in the air Adam almost forgot he was falling to his death. Once Adam realized that the dumpster lay just below him, he shut his eyes as he had planned earlier. If he was going to live for even a second upon impact he would rather not see any of the resulting mess.

The thud of Adam’s body against the metal of the dumpster was incredibly loud. Adam’s ears rang for several seconds before he realized that he must still be alive to be hearing something. It did not take long after this for Adam to realize he was also not in pain. Either Adam was dead, or simply in such a state of shock that he could not feel anything. Adam remained too frightened to open his eyes and briefly worried that he may be physically dead but his spirit still confined to his body. Adam raised his head slightly to see if he could still move. Upon discovering he could, Adam grew the courage to open his eyes and observe that there was no blood or injuries of any sort on his body. Staring down at his feet, Adam wiggled his toes to ensure he was not paralyzed. Adam was not, he was fine.

Adam could not fully explain what had happened to him but he was sure it must be for a reason. He was being told the world wasn’t done with him yet. Adam had work to do and for the first time in his life it actually mattered.

Name/Alias: Adam Cross/Omega Point
Nationality/Allegiance: American/Good
Powers: Super strength, super speed and super stamina but only when in serious danger, accelerated healing ability. When in a good mood has an aura of confidence and virtue that borders on being supernatural.
Description: A once very sad and broken man who now feels he has a purpose.

I have decided to keep some of his other background for later as I would rather write it as stories than as the long textbook style biography it currently is.

 

[Anonymoose]

Richard Frost woke up to the rays of the sun sifting through the blinds of his bedroom window. His window faces west, and it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Dick threw away the covers and grabbed his wand from the bedside table. He conjured the same suit he's been conjuring to wear for the last six months, and looked at himself in the mirror. He noticed a splash of mud on left leg of his pants. He cleaned up and considered brushing his teeth, and instead just grabbed some gum. Show time was only an hour away.
Dick strode through the backstage entrance, groped a few showgirls, and went to talk to the manager, Roger. Roger was that kind of greasy arrogant manager that really just pisses Dick off... the kind that thinks he brought you from nothing, when you could have done it without any help from some manager with hair plugs.

"Hey, Dick, my boy! Almost show time! Man the house is full t'night. We'll be making the big time soon, Dick. Metropolis! Our names on billboards and televisions. Hell, we should get you a TV show!"

Dick pulled the wand from his pocket and poked Roger in the chest.

"What do you mean 'our names?' I don't think anybody wants to watch your fat ass out on stage."

Roger was used to this treatment, and yanked the wand from Richard. He held it as high as he could, and Richard jumped up and down like a fool.

"Dammit, Roger! I've got a show to do!"

"Yeah whatever, just remember how you got here, and how I found you. Get that show done, moneys ain't gonna make themselves."

Dick retrieved the wand and walked under the stage. He focused a little and made some smoke, and the trapdoor opened, allowing him to walk onto the stage. His performance was mediocre, but the inexplicable illusions were enough to distract people while the pickpockets in the audience did their work.

After the show, Dick counted his earnings. $344 and a handful of cheap jewelry is a good pull for a weekday. He split the money three ways (with a little extra for himself, of course) and sent the two thieves back home until tomorrow afternoon. Roger came in and handed Dick a wad of cash.

"You did good again, Dicky. One of them clowns from the Messenger was in the crowd, and he's gonna have you fronting the entertainment section. That's pretty live, right?" Roger thumbed through some papers that Dick didn't care about, "Yeah crowd sizes are jumping pretty good... ummm looks like we're trending more toward a full venue. We may have to leave to another theater soon, Dick. Man this is just gr-"

Dick stopped paying attention somewhere around 'crowd sizes.' He wasn't worried about cash. Hell, he could make cash any day of the week. Card trick here, stickup there, and he's got hundreds in his pockets. He was more worried about moving up, getting some status, and most importantly, getting his fix.

 

[Dachs]

I have decided to keep some of his other background for later as I would rather write it as stories than as the long textbook style biography it currently is.

/me high-fives bombshoo

 

[Luckymoose]

OOC: Reading everyones apps and stories, you can assume you're accepted unless I say something against it. Front page will be updated with update one. Liking the stories.


----

She awoke in an unfamiliar location; a place she hadn't fallen to sleep in. Feeling like the weight of the world sank in her heart, and her flesh war warm beyond the norm. She was boys clothes, old and dusty and too big for her, how did this happen? Searching the room around her she noticed no one was around, she was in some kind of bedroom or living area with no windows. A single door loomed over the room like a giant she had to overcome. She was a kid after all, and being in a new place was scary enough without this kind of wackiness. She made her way to the door, and upon twisting the handle she slowly opened it and looked out.

“A church?” she whispered to herself. “How did I get in a church?”

A series of cringes echoed towards her from the sanctuary. Curiosity had her by the hand as she opened the door to see the source. Sitting on the altar was a redheaded man having his arms wrapped in bandages by a priest. Peculiar. They were talking, and she eavesdropped.

“Sean it's a miracle you're alive after that. Look what you've gone and done to yourself this time.”

“Father, this isn't like that. The girl...shes a sign, I know it.”

“Me?” she thought silently to herself. “A sign? What does that even mean?”

“Well my son, you have severe burns over your arms and legs. How on Earth you figured picking up the burning girl was a good idea is beyond me, but I'm thankful for your lives.”

“Why don't you come on out now?” the redhaired burned man said towards her. “I might be getting old, but I've still got the ears of a fox.”

She gulped and stepped out into the open. A sight she was, an orphan girl, with silky brown hair past her shoulders and no more than eleven years old, dressed in old boys clothing as a substitute for her lack of clothing.

“...um.” She was lost for words.

“You really caused a mess back there you know.”

“What mess?”

“I'll show you.”

“Se..son, you're not ready to be up and about. You need to rest.” the priest insisted.

He shook his head and stood up, still unmasked his and her eyes locked, green and blue frozen for a moment. He donned the mask, much to her surprise, revealing himself to be the hero of the night. She was thrilled. They left the church through a super secret back door and climbed a fire escape, it was mid afternoon now and she couldn't recalled where the morning had gone. On the roof top he led her along, northward towards her home at the orphanage, with surprising speed for an injured man as he pulled her with him across gaps in buildings.

Finally they approached her home, but it was awry. Smoke still lingered in the air from the catastrophe that occurred the night before. As they stood on the roof of the adjacent building, looking down at the half collapsed orphanage she had lived in for years, she began to weep.

“Are...they ok?” tears poured down her face.

“Everyone got out just fine; I saw to it.” in his raspy hero voice.

“What happened?” as she cried she had noticed her body releasing small burst of flame. Lucky sighed and looked away from her at the city skyline, she would see. He heard her scream behind his back, he turned and saw her feverishly trying to put the fire on her arms out by slapping them. This only exacerbated the flames.

“Calm down.”

“Ahhhh...WHAT?!” she wasn't able to calm her nerves, the flames expanded, brighter and hotter.

“Breathe.”

She tried her best to breathe and upon realizing she wasn't burning to death it became easier. Within a minute the flames had died back down to a slow simmer around her flesh, the clothing she had loaned was being scorched, it appeared that her flesh was the origin.

“What's your name, darlin'?”

“Ra..Rachel.”

“You can't go back like this. You know that don't you.”

Looking down at her still flaring palms, still sniveling “Yes.” She thought for a moment looking from her hands to his. “I did this to you, and...and the building?”

“Who would have thought after twenty-five years in the mask that a little girl would nearly do me in.”

He gave her a smile, and she a sniffling laugh.

 

[sophie]

Name/Alias: Eric Rossiter alias John Bruno alias Hans Schiller alias Gregor Subarov

Age: 79

Nationality/Allegiance: American/Unaligned, currently "retired"

Powers: Rossiter doesn't have any easily identifiable powers, and if you asked him, he would fully deny it himself, however as a result of Project EAGLE he does possess abnormal abilities - he can take more of a beating than your average human, he can run faster, jump higher, and react faster than anyone in the world. Additionally he's more aware than the average human, and thinks much faster than the average human. While he is not invincible, given time, he can recover from even the most deadly of injuries. He also ages slower; he is currently in the physical shape of a man in his mid to late 20s, despite being chronologically 79 years old. He is, in every regard, a Superhuman.

Background: Following the ending of the US monopoly on atomic weaponry in 1949, the US decided to ramp up their defenses against the USSR. Among the steps taken was Project EAGLE, which was designed as a covert-ops training program to create the next generation of superweapons - scientifically and genetically advanced supersoldiers. Planning for the program lasted through the early-fifties, with the program finally being implemented in 1954. The program's first candidate was Lt. Eric Rossiter, a highly decorated officer who distinguished himself well during the Korean War. In addition to Rossiter, 200 other candidates were selected for the program. Training began in October 1954, and by the end of 6 months, half of the candidates had already died as a result of the genetic enhancements. The rest however, would come to form the core of STD - the Special Tactics Division. Training of the new division of Super Soldiers continued over the next 5 years. STD was first deployed in 1960, and undertook numerous covert operations around the world. In 1966, STD was deployed to Vietnam where they launched a number of operations in the North, as well as leading a number of operations in Laos and Cambodia.

STD was finally dissolved in 1979 by President Chase following a number of unsuccessful operations. Chase deemed STD too expensive, and instead created a new program - Superhuman Intelligence Division, which, rather than creating super soldiers, rather used natural-born supers. As such, all the former STD operatives found themselves out of a job. Many of them found work as mercenaries for hire, working as bodyguards and generalissimos for potentates in the 3rd World. Throughout the 80s and 90s the majority of the remaining STD operatives were killed off.

Rossiter, jaded by being so unceremoniously cast out of the organization that had come to be his life, directed his anger at supers, blaming them for the loss of his career. He worked for a time as a private mercenary, usually taking jobs involving the killing of supers, though occasionally working with drug kingpins and other mafia organizations in and around Metropolis. Sometime in the late 80s Rossiter left the country. Reports show him working in the UK, then Germany. He fought in the civil wars in the Balkans, spent time in Central Africa, South America, and the Middle East. Rossiter returned to Metropolis in 2003, where he returned to being a soldier for hire, notorious among the mafiosi of the city for his efficiency, secrecy, and ability to get the job required done, no matter the odds stacked against him. Rossiter finally "retired" in 2009, bored of the dull work of the mafia, and jaded by the deaths of many of his friends from STD. He currently lives alone in a swanky apartment in uptown Metropolis.

 

[bestshot9]

It was just after 9:30 PM. Even though it was dark out, the summer heat still remained thanks to the concrete throughout the city. Juan and Rico both cursed the heat, as they were both wearing heavy hooded sweatshirts and jeans, not to mention the green bandannas under their hoods that signified them as members of Los Santos Locos - The Crazy Saints, a small time street gang in Los Santos' barrio district. They stood on the street corner of 132nd and Rosilia, hoping to meet up with a new buyer for their special wares.

"Man, where the f--- is this guy?" Juan asked angrily in Spanish, after they had been waiting for nearly an hour. "I'm missing my show, man!"

"Yeah yeah, don't ask me. How the f--- would I know, dude?" Rico replied, impatiently, also in Spanish.

A cop car drove slowly by, and both men casually turned their backs to him. The car drove on, the cop knew he'd only be risking his own life by getting out of his car in this part of town. It was another half hour before they heard the rumble of the approaching motorcycle.

The chopper stopped in front of the pair of gangsters. They both looked at each other in bewilderment when they saw the guy driving the bike was dressed as a...cowboy? A man dressed in a cowboy hat, pancho, jeans, and cowboy boots. Was this some new MC that they hadn't heard about? What was up with this guy?

They approached the bike as the rider slowly got to his feet. His brown cowboy hat was pulled down low, concealing his face. The two men got to within ten feet of the white guy before stopping.

"You two with the Saints?" growled the man without lifting his head.

The two gangsters looked at each other for a moment, then shrugged. "That's right. You the guy who come to buy the dope?" Rico asked in English.

"Where'd ya get it from?" the cowboy asked, growling yet again.

"Dude, what the f---'s it matter? This s--- is top of the line s---, dawg. Now, you here to buy or you just trying to piss us off?" Juan spoke up, trying to test how easily this whacko could be intimidated.

But he didn't react with fear. He merely spit at the ground between Juan's feet.

"Hey dude, you better check yourself! What the f--- was that all about, eh?" Juan yelled, his face turning red with anger at such disrespect. "You do that again, I make you pay, got it, b-----?"

The cowboy still didn't react with fear, but spat again at the Juan's feet, this time hitting his right shoe.

"Oh, you stupid f---er!" Juan yelled, reaching behind his back to pull a Glock out of his waistband. But he was too slow. Before he had even brought the pistol around to aim the Gunslinger had brushed aside his pancho, drawing his right-side revolver and firing a .45 caliber slug right into Juan's chest, who hit the ground dead a split second later.

The Gunslinger turned now to face Rico who stared at him in shock, his arm frozen halfway in the motion of drawing his own pistol.

"Well, you gonna draw that iron, or whistle Dixie?" The Gunslinger asked, finally raising his face for the young gangster to see, and slowly bringing his own gun to bear on Rico's chest. When Rico did not respond, just continued to stare in shock at the cowboy before him, The Gunslinger spoke again.

"Now, I asked you, politely, who sold you that coke. Your amigo here didn't want to tell me. He's dead. Do you want to tell me?" the Gunslinger asked calmly, still aiming his pistol at the drug dealer's torso.

"Look dawg, I don't know who sold us the s---!"

"Hmmm" the Gunslinger cocked his revolver.

"Wait wait wait! I DO know!" Rico stammered, and paused, now holding both his hands out in front of his friend's killer in fear.

"Well?" The Gunslinger asked impatiently after a short moment of silence.

"Um... I don't know his name." Rico said, "But he was a Mexican!" he quickly added, seeing a scowl form on the cowboy's face.

"Oh, well that's great. Its not like there aren't two million of you in this city." the Gunslinger commented sarcastically.

"Hold up dawg, I know more! I do! The uh, the guy that sold us the stuff, he was with the Roja Cartel! Other than that, I don't know! I swear!" Rico was nearly crying now, praying this was enough information to make this crazy bastard happy.

Apparently it was. For as soon as he had finished talking, another shot rang out, and Rico joined Juan.

The rumble of the motorcycle as it left was not heard by either man.

 

[KaiserElectric]

"What do you mean the chemicals I ordered haven't arrived yet?" Dr. Theo shouted into the phone.

"We're very sorry, sir," said the voice on the other line. "We've been having trouble moving deliveries into Metropolis recently, it's nothing you have done."

Dr. Theo didin't need to be told the last bit. "Just have the delivery in within the week, or you won't get the buisiness of NeoLabs much longer, are we clear?"

The phone at the other end clicked and went silent. Dr. Theo slammed the reciever down, only to hear a shriek from outside in the hallway. Dr. Theo, already annoyed that his experiment was interrupted by such a trivial event, grew even more annoyed at the new distraction. Walking to the door, he stuck his head out the door to see what was happening. To his surprise, only two people were there; a lab assitant, lying facedown on the floor, and...

Dr. Theo slammed the door and ran back into the lab. A cold sweat broke over his face as he desperately sought an exit from the room. However, he was on the third story, and the lab had no other exits.

Then Dr. Theo saw a glowing blade puncture the steel door and tear it from the wall. Theo ran for the window, trying to throw himself out.

"Now now, Doctor,"

A steel cable sprung out and trapped his arm as he put his hand to the lock on the window, burning his skin in the process. Screaming in pain, he was pulled onto his back by the whiplike cord and dragged across the floor. Dr. Theo was suddenly lifted to his feet by a pair of strong metal hands. He stared in horror at the steel face, the metal cords retracting like snakes back into his wrists, the inhuman, blood-red eyes.

"Greetings, Doctor," Hephaestus said in a slow, almost rasping voice. He gripped the man's throat, tight enough to restrain him, but not enough to constrict his breathing too severely. "How is work going?"

"P-p-please don't kill me!" sobbed Dr. Theo.

That all depends on whether you say the right things at the right time," Hephaestus said smoothly. His hands heated up slightly as he spoke. "Now then..."

Hephaestus lifted the man into the air. "You work with the United States government, I assume?"

"Yes, but..."

"I want the location of someone," Hephaestus demanded.

"Anyone! Please!" Dr. Theo said desperately.

"A man by the name of Peter Janikowski."

"I...don't know anyone by that name." Dr. Theo said.

"Liar liar..." Hephaestus taunted. His hands began to burn.

"Really, I don't know! Please!" Dr. Theo begged of him.

Hephaestus paused for a moment, his heavy breathing echoing in the room.

"Are you going to let me go?" Dr. Theo asked.

"No."

With a sudden burst of strength, Hephaestus threw the scientist through the window, which shattered with ease. Screaming in terror, Dr. Theo slammed into the ground three stories below, crumpling like tissue paper. Hephaestus looked down on him with a mixture of disgust and dissapointment.

"Drop your weapons!" shouted a voice behind him. Hephaestus turned to face the security guard standing behind him.

"Why don't you?" Hephaestus asked. A snakelike cord fell to the floor as he spoke, heated to a red glow. Hephaestus whipped the cord at the man's hand, shattering the gun. Extending a heated blade out of the other arm, he jammed it into the man's throat. The guard struggled faintly, then went limp, blood trailing from his mouth. Pushing the man off his blade, he went back into the hall, where two more guards waited for him.

On his way out, he lost count of how many he had killed after thirty three.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

The three campers had stowed away their tent into Scott’s backpack and were now well on their trek back towards civilization. It was early in the morning- too early, as Marco had complained- and the sun’s light was just beginning to grace the tops of the trees. The rest of the forest remained clad in its sepulchral predawn darkness.

While the hike had begun on a clear, cool morning, the rising temperature was generating an ever-thickening mist. The group continued on undeterred- the path was wide and hard to lose, and had no major branches until it met the road where Scott’s van was parked.

The morning was beginning to wear on, and the faint glow of the sun was faintly visible through the thick cover of fog. Visibility was getting worse, and the group had fallen into a long silence.

“Kinda creepy isn’t it?” murmured Marie.

“Heheh, we’d best watch our backs then. Who knows what horrors dwell within-”

Marco shot a look back at Scott. Scott grinned impishly, but went quiet again- though he didn’t waste the opportunity to pull a dramatic one-eyebrow raise.

It was a few more minutes before someone spoke again. It was Scott.

“Okay guys, does anyone here that noise?”

“SCOTT! For eff’s sake brother, cut it out with your horror crap. It’s getting old.”

“No, seriously. Everyone, stop walking.”

The three halted. The sound of crunching gravel continued. Marco looked suspiciously at Scott, trying to determine if he was making the noise.

“Hello?”

No response came.

“Whatever, Scott, just stop talking, alright? You’re going to give me a heart attack, and it’s probably nothing.”

The three continued on, but Scott wasn’t satisfied.

“What is it then? Animals? Other hikers?”

“Sure, why not?”

Scott lapsed back into a faintly sullen silence. He was sure he was hearing someone walking along behind him. Every few minutes, he turned his head. In short time, his growing paranoia was rewarded. A faint shape began to appear out of the grey void.

“Okay guys, seriously this time. Look back and tell me if you see something.”

Marco and Marie turned around.

“Yeah…” began Marie… “There’s a guy back there!”

“Just like I said then.” Responded Marco, “I thought I was supposed to be the one who gets freaked out when we go out traveling?”

The figure seemed to materialize out of the fog as he approached the halted travelers. He wore tattered clothes and held his head low.

“Hello there!” shouted Marco, “Nice morning for a hike innit?”

The figure halted. Marco was going to speak more but suddenly felt his words catching in his throat. The figure ran his hands over his shredded pants and sleeves- as they passed, the clothes were miraculously repaired. He placed a fedora on his downturned head, then slowly began to raise it, stepping forwards as he did.

“C-can I help you?”

Closer.

The trio began to back out of the way. Scott halted, and looked at the still-obscured face of the approaching man.

“Excuse me, can you hear us? We’re asking... you... uh...”

The approaching face was now visible. Scott felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The sun itself began to fade. Scott tried to turn and run, but he couldn’t make himself. Perhaps he wasn’t fast enough. Tendrils of darkness curled in around the edge of his vision, like some horrible cage. A cold hand grabbed his head.

“You interrupted me.” Came the voice, completely flat and calm.

Scott just stared into the face. But he beheld not a face. He saw his every failure, he saw the void, he saw the horrors of a near-eternal universe, and the full magnitude of his utter meaninglessness. He saw hate, rejection, ruin. He saw himself reflected forever, like an invisible man looking through parallel mirrors.

Scott’s body fell to the ground, flesh opening up as it stabbed by invisible knives. He died without a word or external complaint, for he was already dead inside.

“SCOTT!” Marie screamed, clearly torn between running to the fallen body and fleeing for her life.

“RUN!” was all Marco could shout, pulling her away down the path. The girl dug her heels too heavily, and broke free of his grasp. Marco made it a few more steps, before he saw the dark figure surrounding its second victim. Marco saw its face for an instant, and was filled a devastating flood of sheer wrongness, an utter absence of humanity. Filled with horror, he turned and fled.

Tears of grief and fear were beginning to spill out onto Marie’s face, even as the shadowy tendrils coiled around her arms, drawing her closer. Her eyes were locked on Scott’s body, blood pooling out into the loose-packed dirt and gravel.

“You’re not looking at me.”

“You- you killed him.”

“I showed him the truth. He would have begged for death after that. I obliged.”

“What truth?”

“I’m a monster child, and you are all blind. Why’d you come here?”

“To camp. With friends.”

“Why?”

“To spend time with them. To see a bit of the world.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s worth doing- it’s an important-”

“WRONG!”

“Wh-”

“Existence is cruel and meaningless. All of creation is spiralling downwards into oblivion, all of human achievement is nothing, just a single tiny pustule on the vast diseased mass that is existence. Everything that has ever happened is irrelevant in the extreme, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll welcome your own release.”

“Accept... what?”

“To see existence as I do. Look at my face.”

Marie struggled.

“No!”

“Look... at... my... face.”

“NO!”

Marie kicked and struggled gainst the figure, who threw her down to the ground, placing his foot down on her torso.

“LOOK AT MY FACE! LOOK AT ME!”

Through squinting eyes, Marie looked up at the dark figure hovering over her. It felt like watching an oncoming train. Misery, and pain at first, like a wave of sharpening depression. Then like a punch across every element of her body, a tremendous wave of belittlement. What it felt like to be nothing, devoid of meaning or purpose. And then worse. Each successive blow to her mind struck at a deeper level, each exponentially more powerful than the last. She couldn’t hear herself screaming, the whole world blotted out by the horrible fractal darkness of the man above her.

The Bent Man stared down at the wreck beneath his foot, a brief, indiscernible expression flashing across his otherwise emotionless face- a strange mix of a spiteful sneer and a regretful gaze. A noise in the distance drew his predatory gaze, and with inhuman speed he set off into the foggy gloom. Light was slow to return as he departed.

Marco kept on running, powered by adrenaline, never losing the horrible feeling that the killer was right behind him. He did not stop until he reached Scott’s car, where he frantically scrambled for the hidden key and drove off into the distance.

His pursuer watched the vehicle depart. The boy had not noticed the blood of his friend appearing to stain his clothes, or encrusting on the blade of his pocketknife. This child would find his own path to his hunter’s understanding of the world. Pausing only for a brief moment, the Bent Man turned about, looked at his forest sanctuary, and looked forward, to the lights of the city.

He made his decision.

 

[Luckymoose]

Bent Man is a terrible being. :[

 

[Karalysia]

Stop ripping off Slenderman Iggy.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

It was an inspiration, as one can note from the structure of the name and a few of the motifs, but I'm taking the idea in quite different direction. I started off with the idea of creating a Cthulhuesque being in human form, and it evolved in this direction. Hopefully your idea that it's a ripoff will dissipate in time, after I've had the chance to write more.

IIRC, bombshoo thought I was ripping off the Omen, which I've actually never seen before.

 

[Nuka-sama]

Leaving Metropolis International Airport, one might not notice too many things with the high level of activity surrounding the place. But few could escape the fact that there was a walking suit of armor surrounded by military personnel. Even if they did not see the armor, they surely would have noticed the grounding of flights for two hours, or the fact that there was a convoy of six armored cars. Not that Iron Guard could have helped the situation. As far as he was concerned, Central was the only place he had any business to attend to. But as many could guess, the needs of the United States government always overturned the needs of its tools.

Exasperated, Peter turned to the woman who he loved and despised at the same time "Dr. Wagner, I understand that you have helped me quite a bit, but I have no use for wasting time"

"Don't be so apprehensive Peter" said Dr. Wagner"

"There's only one reason I signed up with this outfit Dr. Wagner, I didn't come to be paraded past a bunch of Poindexter. I saw enough of those in Boston."

The soldiers glanced around nervously. They were told that this....thing...was an ally. They had orders to make sure he arrived safely to the hall, but what would happen if this thing would try to escape. A soldier looked at his rifle and wished he hadn't; that thing was thicker than a tank, how would the rifle make a difference.

Colonel Jack McKenna quickly defused the situation "Agent Iron Guard, you are under obligation to serve the United States of America, not the other way around. The last time I checked, the USA is not limited to Central."

Peter shook his head "Colonel, you know I have no illusions on the relationship. I help you protect the nation, you help me get rid of the Central Mafia."

"Ever think that we know what we're doing?"

"Not particularly"

"How do the mobs in Central make money? Drugs. How do they get guns? Drugs. Where do the drugs come from?"

"I'll take a stab in the dark and say Metropolis"

"Smarter than you look. You went to MIT use your brain. We get rid of the Kennedy's, we cut the lifeblood from the mobs back West. We do that, they can't bribe the politicians. When they can't do that, the law stops getting in our way, and we gut them."

Sensing Peter's anger of being proven wrong, Sophia interjected quickly. "It's not just parading Peter. My colleague Dr. Theo is working on incredible genetic alteration. When he's through with you, your abilities will be pushed beyond that mere suit"

The mood seemed to stabilized, and the soldiers all looked relieved until the armored car quickly swerved.

Colonel McKenna screamed at the driver, and the radio went abuzz. Colonel McKenna then had a short whisper with the driver, and fear covered his face.

"I didn't want to do this, but looks like your first test isn't going to be an easy set up for the press. Some freak destroyed the entire convoy, take care of it Iron Guard."

With that, Iron Guard jumped out, and he was awe struck. Five armored trucks were turned over and in flames with a man a few yards away. People were screaming every where. Doing his best to hide fear from his voice, Peter rushed at him declaring

"In the name of the United States of America, surrender or prepare to be destroyed!"




Iron Guard, ready to fight

 

[bombshoo]

Though Adam had contemplated his existence quite thoroughly before his decision to leap from the sixty-second floor of the Super-Cola Building, somewhere along the way he had clearly made a mistake. Was what had happened to him a divine slip-up or a glitch in the universe? This couldn’t be the case. Adam had never before heard of someone surviving such a fall without even an injury. Adam knew he needed guidance on what to do next and the only place he could think to find this was at the place where he had lost hope in life. Adam began to walk towards East-Gate Park.

Night having fallen, the main gates to the park were already locked. Adam was more than aware of East-Gate’s seedy reputation after hours, having spent much of his childhood wandering the streets of the area. Despite this, Adam jumped the fence and continued into the park. It was difficult for Adam to be scared of the hoodlums who wandered the park when he had just defied death itself. For not having been into the park in years, Adam was surprised to find how well he remembered everything. Adam took a small trail through a wooded area of the park to find the small creek where he had witnessed her death years ago. The trail wasn’t nearly as long as it had seemed when Adam was a child and before long he came upon the rock his mother had often instructed him to sit and wait for her on. What had once seemed like mighty boulder now amounted to little more than a small stony protrusion from the ground. Nonetheless Adam knew this was where he must wait. If he was to receive instructions on what to do next it would be here. Adam sat and closed his eyes. As hours passed undisturbed by a sound, Adam did not move from the rock.

A terrible scream finally pierced the silence. Adam’s eyes shot open. Someone was in great pain and Adam had his revelation.

“I’m coming!” shouted Adam, rising from his rock and darting towards several figures on the far side of the pond.

As Adam approached, the figures were revealed to be three Neanderthal looking men and a half naked young woman bent over a tree stump.

The largest of the men turned his head out and squinted at Adam running towards him. “The Hell is that?!”

The two other men awkwardly pulled away from the woman and struggled to zip their pants up. The larger man pulled a gun from his pocket. “Shoot em!” he heard the others shriek.

The man fired his gun twice. Adam remained confident and kept running towards the scene. The man shot again. Adam suddenly felt an unbelievable pain in his shoulder. The man shot again. Adam felt the same feeling in his leg and collapsed onto the ground. Adam rolled over twice, falling into the pond. As he sank to the bottom he noticed blood pouring from his chest, darkening the water around him. How could this have happened? Adam had spent so much time planning a painless death only to die in terrible pain half submerged in a cold, dirty pond. Adam could now see the sun coming up through the water. He could hear the muffled sounds of the three men approaching and knew his end was near.

“Finish him off” he heard one of them shout.

There was another gunshot. Adam felt the pressure as the bullet hit the side of his head. But that was it, only pressure. Adam looked to his left and noticed the bullet falling to the pond floor. The pain was now gone and Adam again knew what he was supposed to do. Adam felt himself regain strength. More than regain, he felt better than he ever had in his life. Without hesitation Adam leaped from the water and back onto the shore. The three men simply stood there with guns drawn looking baffled allowing Adam time to throw a punch at the small bald man standing closest to him. The bald man flew back several feet, teeth flying from his mouth. The other two men finally opened fire. Adam could feel the pressure of the bullets hitting him first in the chest and then again in the head but they continued to simply bounce off and fall to the ground. Little more than a distraction to the matter at hand.

The bald man on the ground squealed. “Is this freak a ghost or something?!”

Adam lunged at the large man who had first shot at him, grabbing him by the arm to gain control of the firearm. As the man pulled away from Adam’s attack, Adam heard a disgruntling tearing noise as blood poured across the ground. The large man’s arm had ripped completely free from his body. Adam swung the arm into the man’s face, knocking him onto the ground with his accomplice. The large man let out screams of agony and curses as he hit the ground now covered in his own blood.

Adam turned back towards the remaining man only to notice him already fleeing back to the park entrance. Adam raced behind, quickly catching up and grabbing the man around the waste to perform a tackle. Despite the man’s obese size he fell down with extreme ease, hitting his head on a large rock. Blood rushed from the top of the man's head. He was dead. Adam rose up and looked back toward the other two men. The large, now armless man had gone silent while the small bald man was still lying on the ground struggling. Adam approached him.

“How long have you been doing this?” Adam asked with more authority than he knew he was capable of.

After numerous grunts the man was able to utter out a coherent response. “The hell are you?!”

“Never mind. One time is too many” Adam retorted with a disgusted tone in his voice. Adam lifted his foot above the man’s face. The next sound was similar to the man’s arm’s coming off but it was less shocking this time. Adam wiped his foot off in the grass and began to walk towards the battered woman he had just saved.

 

[Luckymoose]

Great stories guys.

 

[Lord of Elves]

The phone was ringing. It was sometime in the early afternoon, and a man stood facing a window in a room where the phone was ringing. The phone continued to ring. The man checked his watch, and it was still in the early afternoon, and the phone was still wringing. That wasn't right -- He wasn't expecting a call. The phone was ringing. The man turned away from the window, and he picked up the phone.

"Yes?"

"Uh, is this 'The Extremely Dapper Gentleman'?" the voice emanating from the phone stumbled over the words. The Extremely Dapper Gentleman noted that for some reason people still had trouble calling him by his title.

"Why yes, I do happen to be him."

"Uh yes, sir, we don't carry monocles."

Again, that nagging uncertainty. Then again, people were uncertain about a lot of things, and you musn't let it get to you or else you'll go stark raving mad. The Extremely Dapper Gentleman recalled his uncle going stark raving mad; poor fellow, and just at the height of his career, too.

"Don't carry monocles? What kind of optometry business are you?" the Extremely Dapper Gentleman reminded himself again that he couldn't let things like this bother him. People were peculiar, and one had to take that in stride. Or one didn't have to, but not taking it in stride was an option he didn't want to consider at that particular time.

"Sir, would you like to speak to my supervisor?"

"Yes, I rather think I would."

"Please hold." the voice stopped. Music started. The Extremely Dapper Gentleman noted that exactly five minutes had passed since the phone started ringing. He also noted that it was poor business practice not to carry such an essential instrument as a monocle, and that he would have to write these people in poorly. A pity.

"Yes, is this 'The Extremely Dapper Gentleman'?" he still didn't understand why people had trouble with his name.

"It is. Your associate just called me to notify that you don't carry monocles."

"That's correct, uh, Mr. --"

"Extremely Dapper Gentleman. But please, call me the Dapper Gentleman."

"Uh, yes, Mr. Dapper Gentleman we have to ask you to stop coming to our store on Forty-Fifth Avenue and asking the employees where they keep the monocles. It's driving away our business."

The Extremely Dapper Gentleman looked out the window. "Yes, very well. But it's rather bugging me, where do you keep the monocles?"

Silence. People always got quiet when he asked reasonable questions like that. It was one of the things that rather irked him about his current home. If it could be called that.

"Sir, we don't have any for sale."

"I don't see how you manage to do good business then!" the Extremely Dapper Gentleman was losing his patience. So was the man on the other side of the line.

"Unless you have any other questions, I'm going to hang up now."

The Extremely Dapper Gentleman looked out in the distance in a manner that he would recollect as being resolute, and spoke slowly and surely into the phone. "No. I don't have any other questions. Good day, sir."

Click. And the conversation was over -- But the hunt was not. The Extremely Dapper Gentleman was short a monocle, and he would not rest until he acquired one. The Crusade began.