18th Shard

I'm fine either way - I agree with Blaze here. If someone wants to rescue Jumpdrive and Michael, that'd be great. There's only one ghoul on them. As far as Insight goes, kidnapping Jumpdrive makes sense, but kind of undermines the plot I had in mind for him. Plus, Coma said Insight would probably just try to kill Jumpdrive if he got to be dangerous, so there is that boring problem . If Insight wants to try and kill him, but fails and leaves instead of kidnapping him, I could see it working. Phoenix definitely is an option though, I think he could be very easily recruited and it would solve some of the problems with Converter's plotline vanishing. For wastelands, I can try and get a post up, but it would just be the Fates dealing with the agents, which I can do in an explanation/flashback on the next day when they visit the Immortal in Timeout. I think that's how I'll have the deal with him. Voidus Is there a time limit/ healing power limit for the Immortal, or is he virtually unkillable?

Phoenix woke to the screaming of a demonic figure. Holding out a hand, he grabbed onto its throat and melted its flesh away. He ducked back into the living room of the apartment, incinerating the demon's partner, and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. Those had looked like the couple next door. Downing the Coke in one gulp, he tossed the other sodas into his bag and rummaged for some canned food in the pantry. Tossing some canned fruit and a back of tortilla chips alongside the Cokes and shouldered the pack. He'd been ready to leave for a few hours, but he needed to ensure he wasn't tracked. As safe as he was here, he was still traceable. He needed to hide, find a hideout that he couldn't be found in, and these demons provided the confusion he would need to lose any pursuers. Burning into the next apartment over, he opened the door and ran into the streets, determined not to use his powers unless there was no option. He kept running until he found an abandoned house, owners apparently ripped apart by the ghouls. As good a place as any, he decided, and headed to the back bedroom, dumping his pack onto the bed. He pushed the bed to the side, then carefully burnt a hole into the crawl space below. Sticking a spare mattress from the master bedroom, some food, lights, and a couple of other things, he was then crawled down, pulling the bed back over the hole. He'd hide out here for a few days, then see what to do. Rainmaker would pay for killing him. Jumpdrive picked up another camera handing it to Michael, who was perched on the first floor windowsill of the two story building. "Over there, on top of the drain. No, a little to the left... Perfect." Jumpdrive looked in the box. Two cameras left, plus the tracers he was going to give the Queens. It was hard enough trying to keep track of them in peace times - with all of these attacking Epics, he wanted GPS locators on all of them. A growling noise sounded behind Jumpdrive. Michael climbed up on the roof as if scared. Then Jumpdrive recognized the noise. He turned to see a charging demon trying to rip a vanilla to pieces. It clawed out the man's throat, then ran for Jumpdrive, face grotesque, growling horrifyingly. Suddenly, a green shield sprang up, knocking back the ghoul. Jumpdrive stood unconcerned, secure in his shield. Then a clatter banged the roof, and Michael and another ghoul stepped into sight. The ghoul clawed at Michael's face, pushing him off the building. Jumpdrive stepped beneath Michael, shield pulsing brightly, Michael stopping at once. The ghoul on the roof jumped for Jumpdrive with an inhuman scream, missing by just enough to miss his Firewall. The demon's back snapped with a loud, nauseating crack. Jumpdrive finally found his voice, and yanked out his phone. "We've got ghouls on SW 3rd Street! We need help! Come on, Broadcast! Answer!" Michael ran away from the ghouls down the street, but the two started after him. Jumpdrive fumbled for the gun in his coat pocket - it was a great pistol, but he had no idea how to hit anything with it. He stood firmly in their way, but they seemed to want to go after the easier target. "Internet tips say: Hold the gun firmly with your proper grip [an image popping up from Locator], Align the sights on the target, Place the center of the first pad of your trigger finger on the trigger, Begin pressing the trigger rearward, smoothly, without moving anything else (or while moving everything else as little as possible), Once you have created enough pressure on the trigger, it will move (sometimes imperceptibly) until the striker, firing pin or hammer in the gun is activated and starts the ignition process, firing the gun. Okay, Jumpdrive, you can do this." He lifted his arm and pointed at one of the ghouls, then pulled the trigger. BANG! The bullet exploded from the end of the gun. And missed, striking the ground twenty feet behind the ghoul and five feet to the left. He looked at the gun. It was semi automatic, so he lifted it up once more and fired again. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three more bullets clanged uselessly into the asphalt, walls, street signs. Jumpdrive looked at the magazine - only three bullets left. He held the gun like he'd seen in first person shooters, hoping for better results. It was harder than expected - he'd been good at Black Ops, but he never had actually had to hold the gun. Bang! That one was much further off. He noted a tip in his database that said to hold it steady on some surface to keep it straight. He rested the barrel on his nearly empty box, then pulled the trigger, careful to hold it still. The bullet sped out, finally hitting the ghoul. "Headshot!" Jumpdrive cheered. Then the other ghoul attacked, bouncing of the shield over and over. Jumpdrive grasped for his phone. "Broadcast, I need help here!"

There you go!

This began as a typo, and I went with it.

I was actually fine with it, I noticed afterwards, but decided, eh, the Fates will just think he's a heretic, so there's no real conflict.

Limited by Hemalurgy? We are merely allowed to have more tools at our disposal in the Hemalurgic labs.

Atium pastries, I feel, are more god-like, but personal preferences, you know.

It is very expensive to buy a drone that can be flown by men still in the burn ward. We await your first payment, as well as a 53.i% advance payment for the second drop. Sincerely, NWI c/o the Dark Alley

When you go to the bank and the doors have PUSH/PULL signs, and you instantly think, If i was a coinshot, that would work.

Tracker pointed at the window. “That one.” The target shifted behind the wall, going for a kitchen knife, and his flickering outline faded out as Tracker switched out of his lifesense. He zoomed in, waiting for the man to move in front of the window to open the door, then squeezed the trigger. His bullet took the man in the left shoulder. Huntress’s arrow took him in the throat a moment later. “Mine was a much more impressive display of skill. It's less impressive when you literally cannot miss,” Tracker said. They walked to the rebel’s side, checking to make sure he hadn't been harboring anyone else. He was one of the last Unregistered. The Fates were Tagging everyone; everyone had gathered in the city square to be Tagged, but only a few thousand remained in line. The Epics, or gods as the Fates insisted they should be called, numbered thirty five, a number which surprised Tracker. He'd thought he knew all of the Epics hidden in Canberra; only twenty had been known in Thunderbolt’s reign. Suddenly, lightning flashed brightly in the clear sky, thunder cracking twice. “That’s Thunderbolt’s signal.” Huntress took off. Tracker started jogging after, grumbling about the full moon. Huntress made it to the base of City Hall before Tracker even got a mile - Huntress got quite a bit faster during the full moon. He made it to the raised platform the Fates had been on all day, and saw Huntress standing next to Thunderbolt. He turned on Epic Sight, noting that all of them - eleven? - standing up there were Epics, glowing with a golden light to his eyes. Lachesis stood from her cloth throne, Clotho and Atropos remaining in their throne. “Citizens of Canberra, the gods have walked among you unseen for much too long. Behold your Pantheon.” She listed off Greek gods to the audience, calling Huntress Artemis, and Thunderbolt Zeus. She continued to explain what each ‘god’ would oversee in the city. Suddenly, Tracker saw someone in the crowd pull out a pistol and quickly fire at Atropos and Clotho. The bullet passed through their chest. Before anyone could respond, threads from the man’s clothes dissolved into a net, strangling him. Clotho and Atropos stood, wound sewed tightly back together and then vanishing away, anger in their eyes. “We cannot die, fools,” Atropos screamed. “But you can! No matter what you try, we will always come back to kill you!” The shooter writhed as the threads pulled tighter around him. Suddenly, there was a deafening boom. A column of lightning blasted the spot where the man once lay, blackening the asphalt with soot. Thunderbolt, or well, Zeus, glared at the crowd as if to dare another shooter to rise. With a quietly dangerous voice, he said, “Leave.” The crowd dispersed, running to hide in their homes. Tracker watched them go, noting one glowing with a silvery energy. Someone’s gifted power to him. Who?

What's the difference between a koloss and the Lord Ruler? One is a people-murdering, evil semi-human with hemalurgic spikes. The other is a koloss. What do you call a fabrial without batteries? stormdark

The doc doesnt really exist yet, just a beginning PM. I'll add you though.

Paradox and Redshirt v. Switch and Doubletake will be based on a challenge, so that'll work in that case. I like having rankings posting; it brings a cohesiveness that the fights have hitherto been lacking. Ugh. Writing papers makes everything I type sound super formal.

Paradox strode into the town bar, a look of complete calm on his face. He couldn't drink alcohol, of course; it never made it to his mouth, since intoxication was an 'adverse effect' according to his time warping. One of the few things he missed from mortality. He walked to the bar, asking for a glass of water. Taking a drink, he watched the occupants scurry around, fear writ on their faces. There were no fights - from what he'd seen walking into town, fights were only allowed in the arena. Stupid rules of Soulcaster, who Paradox had yet to see. He had watched a match between a fool and Showstopper, who had seemed an interesting match. No real match for him, but interesting. If she froze his time warping, he would hold her, teleport to a volcano, and drop her in. Once she'd died, he would revert to his usual invulnerability. Still, she was one to watch. Paradox sat in a shadowed alcove, humming a repetitive tune, and began to suck on the Everlasting Gobstobbers he'd picked up. Fortunately, his warp prevented them from ever really dissolving; in his hands, they truly were Everlasting. Or at least in his mouth. Paradox mused upon the nature of this town and why he was here. While infinity seemed enjoyable, one never really lived until one had almost died. Conclusions held the most meaning; endings gave the preface power. Paradox remembered those days, his days of mortality. Days of living in the moment, because focusing on the end was too depressing, too unsure, too ... final. Now, Paradox could work with focus, work on his grand finale, work until it was done, until he knew what it was. And yet, there was no meaning in it, not any more. In gaining true life, he had lost the meaning of living. And that was why he was here. To regain what he had lost. To be mortal at heart, yet immortal of purpose. He was in Salem to make infinity human. And that meant getting in fights. Salem was a place of mortality, full of life and humanity. In the arenas, the best and worst of humanity shone. Maybe there, Paradox could find his own humanity. Redshirt watched the newcomer with apprehension. When the Epic had retreated from the general room, the chatter continued as usual. The Epics who were in the bar were the failures. The rejects. Oh, there were those who hadn't been tested yet, those who flirted with danger but hadn't yet fought in the arena. But when they won, they left. They became better than this. It was the failures, the rejects, the losers, who came back here. And Redshirt was the loser of losers, the biggest failure of all. He had the magnanimous ability of attracting any injury, any pain around him. He healed from it,of course, or else he'd have died hundreds of times already, but that just meant he got to feel the pain of dying over and over again. His powers were just plain awful in the arena - who cared if you could beat your enemy if you had to beat them without causing any damage at all? And he couldn't shoot or fight to save his life, literally, so he was hopeless even in altered power states. He sighed, depression smothering any drive to even do something productive. The only attackers and fights he was put in these days were trainings to show the newbies the ropes, to keep them fighting until they figured out the arena, or sometimes as a handicap for one team. Redshirt kept drinking, dejectedly watching in silence until Doubletake decided to take out his anger on one of the vanillas in the corner. The vanilla had narrowly beaten Doubletake yesterday with a random shot to the chest. Doubletake was a mental illusionist with a very limited power set: the first time you saw him in any one place, he could make it so you didn't notice him; when you looked back, he was painfully obvious. He could also make any one he saw do a complete 180 turn, but it didn't affect any object near them. Sitting with Switch, who looked bored with his antics, Doubletake kept flipping the vanilla around, making him spill his drink,though the vanilla ignored it, until the Epic was finally angry and drunk enough to swagger over. "You think just cause you can get a lucky shot in, that makes you important? Next time you fight, I'm gonna turn you around right when you need it. And you're going lose and die." The vanilla looked up with careless disdain. "Soulcaster's not enough of an idiot to let you use your powers on someone in the arena. You are just a stupid, drunk man who is too idiotic to admit that inside you are hopeless, and in the arena, you're worse than useless. Go home before you hurt yourself doing anything you'll regret, like maybe thinking." Doubletake threw the punch. Redshirt winced even before he felt the fist landing. Doubletake looked down in confusion as the vanilla didn't react to the punch, and began to rain blows in his stomach, head, face. The vanilla didn't react. He just pointed at Redshirt. "Idiot. Redshirt's still in the room." Redshirt felt his face bruise, almost losing consciousness before his healing kicked in, pins and needles pricking until he was whole once more.Doubletake growled, apparently debating which person to get rid of so he could continue the fight effectively. Deciding on the vanilla, he grabbed the scruff of the vanilla's shirt and tried to drag him out the door. Before he took a step, the new Epic was in his way. Redshirt's eyes widened. Teleportation was a pretty powerful ability, and the Epic stood with the confidence of a High Epic. The new Epic's eyes looked bright, excited. "I am Paradox. And I have decided to forbid you leave this place." Paradox just smiled as Doubletake tried to punch him. Redshirt flinched again. The fist never landed. Doubletake kept swinging, arm moving slower and slower as it approached the Epic. Paradox smiled, then leaned to the side. Moving once more at regular speed, Doubletake stumbled as his punch landed on thin air. Reaching in with a quick, hard punch, Paradox hit Doubletake. Hard. Redshirt doubled over. Paradox looked over, noticing. "Apologies, I forgot about that. Redshirt, isn't it? You have a portion of infinity as well, don't you?" His hand reached out and grabbed Doubletake, who froze. Not even his chest moved, eyes frozen in position. Switch stood, looking at Paradox with a hint of fear, or maybe anger. Paradox turned to the vanilla. "What's your name?" The vanilla smiled, extending a hand. "Joseph Parker." "You have strength. Life. I would be pleased to aid you in the arena. You have much I need to learn, it seems. And you, Redshirt. You and I, we are brothers of a sort. Once mortal, we now hold infinity. Although your infinity looks a bit more painful,” he laughed. Redshirt stared. A High Epic would be pleased to help him? Why? He wasn't worth anything, was he? He stepped over, shaking the outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Voidus, in Salem, if you want to just get a short POV from Switch in which he throws a few punches, fighting starts between Paradox, Redshirt, and Joseph and Switch and Doubletake, then someone high up breaking it up and putting the fight into the schedule for the next day.

To understand the Alleys, you must first understand the darkness. To understand darkness, you must leave the light. To leave the light, you must enter an Alley. To enter an Alley, you must understand it. Have fun!

Day 0 The Huntress watched Thunderbolt, or "Zeus", mount the steps of the stage, lightning flickering around him nervously. He cleared his throat, waiting for the gathered assembly to quiet. Murmurs and questions continued unabated as Zeus surveyed them; then, without warning, he lashed out with a bolt as thick as an oak, thunder deafening everyone around him. "Quiet!" he shouted, air bristling with static. "As of today, I am no longer merely in the service of the Lady Huntress. Canberra has taken new head management in the form of the Three Fates. Their reign is fully supported by me and disobedience will not be tolerated. Beginning from City Hall and continuing outward, all citizens will be asked to comply to population control measures. Comply or die. Your choices are that simple." "You were defeated?" one asked. Foolish, very foolish. That tone of arrogance, that incredulous disrespect. These people had probably seen the lightning flashing and threads weaving across the sky, but there was no reason to point it out. The fight had been short. There was no bargaining, no arguing with these interlopers. When they held your life in their hands, you begged for your life. The Huntress slid an arrow into her bow, pulling the string taut, but not releasing. She wanted to Thunderbolt's reaction. He smiled, a frigid, dark thing. Lightning arcing between his fingers, he turned slowly to face the insipid human. "No, my dear sir," the courtesy dripping like venom. "I decided to leave some administration details to these Fates, so as to better be able to spend time with miscreants like you." He bent down, grabbing the man by his throat and lifting him onto the stage, then dropped the gasping man to the floor. He let the lightning flash once, and the man lay still. "Any more questions?" Zeus asked. Another young man, defiance shining in his face, no doubt thinking himself quite noble and brave, queried, "Will your betters back up those words?" Artemis released. The silver arrow quivered in the boy's mouth. Before he could collapse, she released again, and again. Once to his head, once to his heart. There was dead silence as the Huntress left the shadows, blond hair shining, an almost silvery glow. The people feared Thunderbolt like a child feared a bully; you ducked your head, complied with his demands, and hoped you remained faceless. The Huntress, though, she was the monster in the dark, the faceless demon of the dark, the hidden knife poised behind your shivering spine. Few saw her and lived to describe her. Few knew she was eve real. But that was going to change. The Fates had decided to have her make public appearances, and unfortunately, they had her thread. Her thread. Artemis, as they had insisted she was named, nearly shivered. She had seen what they could do with one's thread. The Cutter of Souls, that Atropos, had no mercy. No matter the darkness Huntress hid in, Atropos would snip that thread, and Artemis would die. So she would do as they asked. She would be a royal goddess, she would bow to their mad whims, she would come out of the shadows, because they had her thread. Artemis stepped to the body of the slain youth, blood pooling around him. Such a waste, she thought, of life. She was just as dead, though no one could see her dying from the outside. "His voice. His mind. His heart. He presumed they were his. They are not. They are mine. They are Zeus's. They are the Fates'. And because he believed they were his own, they are useless to me. And what you do not need, you lose. Anyone who presumes likewise will face the same reckoning. Now, kneel in honor of your new rulers." Artemis watched the citizens of the city, once-hers, kneel in unity of fear, and she felt the chill finally ripple down her spine. One could argue with a god, but there was no arguing with Fate.

I too vote for the Dark Alleys. But we are, right? ... We have nothing to hide. In fact, would you like to see this bakery aisle over here?

Coincidence indeed. (Does anyone else know that coincidence originally came from co- [together] + in [in or on] + caedere [a Latin verb meaning to fall or to kill]? So coincidence could mean something we fall upon/kill together? Food for thought. Cookies for physical needs.)

That's ... a ridiculous connection. The DA has a liability waver we ask participants to sign, and they are only very rarely under duress. In addition, 367% of our donors would recommend us to a friend. Only 1 out of every three imaginary participants feels he/she is being treated incorrectly, and only 1 out of the remaining 4 halves has had his or her nerves removed. It's simple business to keep clientele happy.

Hey, so as far as Australia goes, I can probably post twice a week, maybe more depending on RL, but not more. I'm always open to sharing with someone, if wanted.

Hey, can I get a city? i had an idea for triplets from New Zealand ruling the city, two of whom are conjoined. They have a string/Fates theme, with one (conjoined) able to make a string that represents a person (ex. color shows mood, can divine some things from having strings together) and create strings in general, the second (unconjoined) able to "tie" people together - basically voodoo, so a negative tie means damage to one damages the other, while positive means you have to damage both to hurt them permanently - and a third (conjoined) who can cut her sister's strings to kill people she sees, and summon scissors from nowhere. They rule the city with a Mount Olympus theme, so Epics fit into the pantheon, while peasants serve them. In the middle of this is the triplet's elder sister, who is a vanilla. she runs the city, since her sisters are very unpersonable and not good with bureaucracy. I'm fine with other people adding themselves into this city too, though Epics would be understandably limited to a few dozen at the most (except for really minor powers that could be termed satyr or naiad level power), could maybe have a theme that other Epics are monsters

I think Jumpdrive remembers Clippy.