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Descendant

Descendant

0 INK

Private RP between Mombie & Mjolnir

482 readers have visited Descendant since mjolnir created it.

mombie are listed as curators, giving them final say over any conflict & the ability to clean up mistakes.

Introduction

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C R E A T I O N . . .

It’s been many years since superheroes rose up to protect the Earth and its inhabitants. It all began with the creation of Captain America during WWII, and since then more heroes, and subsequently, villains, have made themselves known. Some heroes such as the Avengers and Justice League have made themselves known to society, whether that was desired or not. While others, like the X-men, have remained in hiding. Either way, the world is no longer in the dark about the existence of heroes or villains.

For decades, these heroes have courageously defended and protected the citizens of Earth, along with many other planets in the universe. Our reach in the galaxy has shortened due to the knowledge from some intergalactic heroes like Thor, Superman and the Guardians of the Galaxy. But the current reign of heroes have reached their end. Some have died in service, while others desire to hang up their cape and retire. Many of these heroes could not leave innocent people defenseless and in return decided to pass on their legacy to their children. These proteges have inherited their parents skills, abilities and powers, while also growing up watching and being trained by their parents.

Many of these children attended Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters during their younger years, up through High School. A good starting ground that helped these students learn how to hone their abilities, while also getting a proper education. Professor X always desires the best for his students, wanting them to have bright futures to pursue whatever they wish… Be that a hero or a lawyer.

Although Prof. X’s school was marvelous in many ways, some heroes still didn’t think it was enough for when another attack presents itself. So before throwing in the towel, Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark came together and funded the Descendant Academy. An elite, highly secretive facility that focused on the intense and vigorous training of the worlds finest heroes. Recruits were pulled from the most powerful and prestigious of proteges, only gaining entrance into the Academy if chosen. Bruce and Tony are highly selective about who joins the academy wanting uniquely useful and talented heroes to take up the reigns.

These Descendants come from all walks of life. Some are children of the most infamous and powerful heroes in the universe, some of simple human vigilantes and some… are even children of villains trying to get a clean slate for their family name. They all have been chosen to study, train and learn so that they can become the new saviors of the world.


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The GM of this roleplay hasn't created any rules! You can do whatever you like!

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 2 authors

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
It has been a decade since the closing of the Descendant Academy. Once the U.N. created the International Hero Association, I.H.A., the usefulness for such an academy dwindled. Every self titled hero or person with special abilities was registered, cataloged, thrown into a databank and given jurisdiction over a district. Depending on a heroes rank, they were assigned to neighborhoods, cities and sometimes, the most powerful, were sent to help an entire nation.

And this worked.

Sometimes the order and regulation of it all was tedious, but it kept certain heroes in line while protecting the world from threats domestic... and foreign. It wasn't perfect, but it brought about a time of peace, although brief.

It was a year ago when it started happening. It began with the lower ranked heroes. They leave to go on a mission like any other, but never return. It was nothing out of the ordinary for a hero to go missing every so often. It was assumed they were killed in action by whomever the villainous threat was at the time. So, at first, no special proceedings were taken beyond the normal when a member of the I.H.A. went missing.

But then it grew more frequent. It started turning heads when it was happening all over the world rather than confined to areas like Manhattan. The I.H.A. and U.N. began looking into it all further while implementing more protocols for the heroes protection. But when top tier heroes disappeared, the world went into a frenzy. With no one to protect them, what would happen when there was another attack like Thanos, Steppenwolf... or worse?

With no other choice, Phil Coulson and Alfred Pennyworth, who were left to look after the Descendant Academy after it closed, sent out a distress signal. There was a secret hero network created before the I.H.A. and while it was ordered to be shut down years ago, it was kept up as a fail safe in case the new association was compromised. The message was sent around the world on the old frequency, to anyone who might be listening. The only information it gave was a date, time and coordinates.

For now... everything is quiet. Quiet, until threat came out of the shadows showing their true intentions.






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william richards
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It had been nearly two months since William's parents and the rest of the Fantastic Four disappeared. Classified as some of the higher tier heroes, they resided within the Baxter building as protectors of Manhattan but also the eastern seaboard of America and Canada. Before their disappearance, Will was in Greenland studding the polar ice caps and global warming. For over two years he had been working on a machine that would help make more glaciers. It was a large, autonomous machine that would be submerged into the Arctic Ocean and, essentially, make giant ocean ice cubes.

It took a few days for the news of the Fantastic Fours disappearance to reach Will. Although he hadn't heard from his parents in a few weeks, that was normal considering his location. But when the news hit him, it still sunk like a brick in his gut. He knew heroes have been turning up missing and it had only been getting worse in recent months. Perhaps his remote location is why he was lucky enough to not have fallen under the same fate? Either way, he had no choice but abandon his work and to return to New York to aid in the search for the missing heroes.

Some might call it tempting fate, how Will decided to return to the Baxter building and reside where his parents did as he searched for them. It's unknown if they went missing from inside the tower or on a mission, but many others have been avoiding hero head quarters like they had the plague. From what he had heard the Avengers tower had been a ghost town for the better part of the year and even civilians will walk a block out of their way to avoid it. It was like everyone was scared that if they went anywhere near remnants of the heroes, they too would go missing.

But Will wasn't the superstitious sort. His best bet was to stay where they were last seen and hope that some sort of clue or hint would turn up. It didn't hurt that the Fantastic Four had one of the best labs in the world. And perhaps, a small part of him, wanted to use himself as bait. Every lead the U.N. and I.H.A. had ran cold. So, in his mind, the best information he could get would be from the attackers himself.

William had lost track of the last time he slept or found even a crumb of information to follow when the distress call came in. The beeping in the Baxter Building took him by so much surprise he nearly fell out of his chair. But it wasn't a common alert from the many sensors, scanners and satellites he had skimming... well, everything. It was an old tune that chirped from the communications room.

Once he accepted the message, his heart sank, for a moment when nothing came through. But just before he turned the machine off, it began to beep in morse code. Date. Time. Longitude. Latitude. Will could barely contain the glimmer of hope that radiated from him as he quickly wrote it all down. This was it. This was the lead he needed. He hurried over to the large map and entered in the coordinates. Then the location pinged on the map.

The Descendant Academy.

Will froze as he stared at the blinking red light. This was either really good... or really really bad.

* * *

A strange sense of deja vu, or perhaps nostalgia, washed over Will as he turned onto the long drive toward the Descendant tower. It had been ten long years since he last looked upon the building. And while, on one hand it hadn't aged a day. It also looked like a barren ghost town. No buildings for miles, empty docks and weeds blowing in the wind through cracked concrete.

He half expected to arrived to a bustling throughway, with dozens of cars littering the lot surrounding the glimmering tower. But he should have known better. As his car slowly came to a halt near the entrance, he was surprised to find not a single vehicle, nor a light shining from behind mirrored windows. Was it all a ruse? Or perhaps this was how so many heroes had gone missing? It put him on edge, but he also couldn't help the slight ping of hope that still glistened in the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to give up.

Will turned off his car, leaving it parked in the large round about area. On any other occasion he might have actually pulled it into a spot, or the garage below the building. But in the event he might need a quick escape, he wanted it readily available. And it wasn't like there were others there to argue about him 'parking in a no parking zone'.

He stood before the entrance for a long moment, adjusting his necktie and taking a deep breath. Will had to know. He had to. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out his hand and opened the large glass door. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't seeing Phil and Alfred standing in the foyer waiting for him like nothing had changed.

"Mr. Richards, it is so good to see you," Alfred greeted him, crossing the lobby to offer his hand.

Still in bewilderment, Will took his hand and shook it before bringing the man into a friendly hug. "—The hell are you both doing here?" He then moved to Phil, giving him a similar greeting. "I thought this place was closed down years ago?"

"It was," Coulson confirmed. "We're more of glorified grounds keepers."

Will's brows furrowed as he tried to understand what exactly was going on. "... I have to ask, what is going on here?"

Alfred looked to Phil before responding. "We should wait and see if anyone else arrives. Then we'll explain everything."






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myla murdock
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Manhattan had quickly become a mess with the absence of some of it's most predominant heroes. The average crime rate was hard enough for Myla to handle alone, but then the audacity of criminals only seemed to rise with each new disappearance. She had been so focused on trying to help pick up the slack that her work suffered. Until, eventually, she lost her job... Which caused her to lose her apartment as well.

Luckily, her Uncle Foggy had been spending all his free time helping her search for her father or any other heroes in the area that might have answers. For several months Myla had been staying with him, although she was rarely home enough to call it that. His apartment became more of a glorified base camp to eat and shower before she had to leave again.

The only other hero she had heard of that was still... around was William Richards. The Fantastic Four were no strangers to media, and whether or not Myla would call it smart, he had been using this to his advantage. It wasn't hidden knowledge that heroes were more myth than fact those days, but civilians were happy in their ignorance rather than excepting the truth. She had tried on a few occasions to contact the man, but she also couldn't help but worry if it was a ploy to pull more heroes out of the wood work. Instead, she tried to reach the U.N. and I.H.A. to no avail.

It was the anniversary of her father's disappearance and crime in Hell's Kitchen was at an all time high. Myla was exhausted. She couldn't remember the last time she got more than a handful hours of sleep before she heard more sirens or police scanners in the distance begging for her attention. Without the Avengers or Defenders, and half of the New York Sanctum empty, whatever heroes remained were pulled in several directions at once.

She had stopped five separate crimes in Midtown Manhattan already that night and the sun had barely set. Myla made a detour back to her Uncle Foggy's just for a quick bite to eat and to address some wounds. With no sirens or distant cries for help, she allowed herself a moment to collapse on the couch. Just a minute of rest. No sooner did her head hit a pillow that she heard a foreign beeping.

With a groan, she sat up and followed the sound to a box shoved in one of Foggy's closet. It was what they could muster up of her father's belongings before his apartment was seized after his disappearance. Myla had all but forgotten about it. Neither herself nor her Uncle had the heart to sift through it's contents. But if she had hope to get any sleep before she was needed again, she had to silence the damned beeping.

Hidden beneath a jacket, a few braille books and trinkets she had given him as a child, Myla found a small device from which the noise was coming from. It felt like pager, of sorts. But if there was a screen, there was no way she could read it and her Uncle wasn't home. She cursed under her breath, trying to understand the device best she could. There seemed to be only a single button, so she pressed it. Then a robotic sounding voice spoke out from the small box. "41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 18 00 hours."

Myla's eyes widened. Was this a message from her dad?! Could he be found at these coordinates?! She quickly searched the apartment trying to find her phone or a recorder, repeating the information over and over in her head so she wouldn't forget it. As she felt around, her hand accidentally pressed the button again. "No. No. No," she panicked, thinking she erased the information. But like before it repeated the data.

She let out a sigh of relief, holding the pager close to her chest. "I'm coming dad," she whispered.

* * *

Myla could smell the sea salt in the air as her taxi turned down a drive towards the coordinates. It felt different than the city. Everything was more open and quiet. She could hear the sounds of the waves against the shore and the wind whipping around a singular sky touching tower. To the best of her ability, she couldn't sense any other buildings in the general area. So, she could only assume that that was her destination.

In the distance, Myla though she might have heard another car but it was far more quiet than she was used to. So, rather than concern herself over it, she focused on whatever might come of this meeting. She hoped, that she would step out of the taxi and there her dad would be, like nothing had changed and it was all part of some elaborate ruse to fool some big bad that was threatening the world or something. But she knew it was wishful thinking. She still found herself saying a silent prayer before the car came to a halt and the driver announced that they had arrived.

She gathered her bag and cane, but before she was able to open the car door, it opened for her. "Allow me," a deep, yet somehow familiar, male voice greeted her. Myla sensed his hand extended out to her, but he must have noticed her cane because he then took her hand. Sometimes she forgot that when she was 'just Myla' people saw her as blind, not the daughter of Daredevil.

"Thank you... Mr. Richards," she replied as she let him help her out of the car. He didn't say anything, but she imagined the twisted confused expression on his face. Myla smiled. "The media does love you. I don't think a day can go by without you on the news. I have an ear for voices," she concluded pointing to her ear. "And the stretchy arm gave you away." Feeling no need to keep up the act, Myla collapsed her seeing cane and tucked it under her arm before heading toward the entrance.

William lingered behind for a moment, his brows furrowed in confusion. He quickly stretched out his arm, extending it past Myla so that he could grab the door and open it for her. His feet hastening to catch up to the woman. "Forgive me, but I thought you were blind?"

"Very," Myla responded and then entered the building.

She could only sense two older gentlemen in the room but no others. No booby traps, soldiers laying in wait or silent alarms signaling her arrival... and no dad. Her heart sank a little, although she knew the chances of finding her father here was slim. But there was some relief knowing that this all wasn't a trap to take her as well. She partly regretted having her suit and billy club in her bag, but she could never be too cautious.

One of the men approached her, offering her a hand. "Hello Miss—"

"Myla. Myla Murdock." She took the man's hand and gave it a friendly shake.

"Ah, Matt's daughter, I presume? I am Alfred Pennyworth. And this is Phil Coulson." He motioned to the other gentleman who gave her a similar greeting. "And I see you've met Mr. Richards."

"It's hard not to know of him if you have a television." She flashed the tall male a playful smile. "Although I think I confuse him." Myla then took a step back towards Will. "I would like to thank you though, for helping look for the missing heroes. I thought I was the only one. My father... You probably know him as Daredevil, he was one of the first to disappear."

"I remember hearing about that. I am sorry about your father."

"And I yours... And your mother." Myla's lips pulled back in a sympathetic smile. It wasn't an easy topic for either of them. But there was some solace in knowing that she wasn't alone and that someone else was trying to find them as well.

"You both are welcome to take a seat while we wait to see if any others will join us."

William motioned his hand toward the sofas in an 'after you' manner. Myla nodded her head slightly and took a seat. Will followed, helping himself to the same couch but was sure not to sit too close or invade her personal space. "I have to ask..."

Myla chuckled before finishing his question. "How can I see if I'm blind?"

He nodded his head in acknowledgement and quickly realized she couldn't see that. But before he could audibly agree, she seemed to know he nodded and proceeded to answer. "Well..." Then as they sat their, waiting to see if anyone else arrived, Myla explained her gifts to Will, whom seemed far too excited to learn something new.






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zehara el sayid
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Zehara never was one to call herself a hero. She knew what was in her was a monster and after seeing what her mother was like and what she did, she could never consider herself good. But that wasn't for the lack of trying. She lived the nomad life, flitting from one place to another wherever whispers carried her. And for a couple months it had carried her back to her homeland of Algeria.

The hero disappearances were old news and nothing Zehara particularly worried herself about. She wasn't a hero. And if she did disappear... Well, her captors would have to deal with the Cheetah, not herself. But the missing numbers only seemed to keep growing. She had no intention of involving herself, but when locals from her home showed a particular worry when Monet St. Croix turned up missing, she couldn't tell them no when they asked for her help.

Her investigations were turning up short and Zehara had no more information two months in than what she did the day she arrived. Even with feline level tracking, it seemed like Monet just vanished. There was no trail, no clues, no blood. Nothing. She spent day after day combing over everything within the hero's home trying to find anything that could be of use. But again, nothing. No strange sightings, no remnants. Everything looked like she just left for the store and never returned.

Zehara had all but given up. She gave a new definition to double checking because she was double checking her double checks. It was frying her brain and frustrating her. Not to mention her hunger was growing out of control. Until finally, one night when the rest of the town was asleep, she snuck out to feed on gazelles and the occasional jackal.

Not satisfied, but full, she returned to Monet's to try and give it one fresh look before delivering the sad news to the locals in the morning. But upon entering her home, Zehara heard a quiet, sad beeping, like a watch that's batteries were dying. She quickly searched the house, trying to find the source before it went quiet. It lead her to a loose floor board in Monet's room. Zehara was mad at herself that she hadn't notice this the first ten times. Cursing under her breath, she lifted the board and found an odd looking pager. The screen was dim, nearly out of juice, but numbers flashed across the screen.

Not wasting anytime, Zehara used her claw and quickly scrawled the numbers into the ground. She managed to get the last number down just before the screen when dark and the pager died. With a sigh, she sat back on the ground, staring at scratches. She wasn't quite sure if she was excited to have a lead... or worried that it could lead her into a trap like the one Monet must have fallen into. One thing was certain, she was relieved to return to the locals with some amount of hope... even if small.

* * *

Zehara had never been a fan of flying. She had only done it once or twice in her life, but this was by far the longest flight she had ever been on. She had heard a lot about America, everyone had. But she had never traveled there before that day. It was a long and stressful flight, but she'd take it all over again rather than the strange looks she got from the white minivan moms as she exited the plane and walked through the airport.

Luckily, no one approached her or tried anything, because while she might not be an overly mean person, her resting face scared away most who might try. She didn't waste her time on them. Zehara hadn't heard too many overly wonderful things about Americans and her time there wasn't to socialize and decide if she wanted to immigrate. She minded her own business, got her taxi and promptly zoned out staring at the scenery as the driver took her to her desired location.

It wasn't long before she arrived at the tall building, that stood out against the back drop of the ocean and surrounding nature. It was like someone decided to place a sky scraper in the middle of a forest. Zehara couldn't decide if it was beautiful or obtrusive. But it seemed... vacant. The grass around it was overgrown and weeds had broken their way through the concrete. And aside from a single parked car and a leaving taxi, she would have assumed there wasn't a soul there.

Zehara didn't know what to expect as the taxi came to a stop, but there was nothing that churned in her gut or made her hair stand on end. So, she took that as a good sign. She grabbed her bag and paid the driver, before ascending the steps up to the entrance. It wasn't until she started opening the door that she notice a couple people already inside. Normally, this might have put her on edge or made her defensive, but she felt safe... relatively. She couldn't put her finger on it, but these people didn't seem quite so different. Although she didn't know why.

Feeling the need to explain her presence, she dug the dead pager out of her pocket and held it up. "I was hired to search for Monet St. Croix," Zehara spoke with a heavy Algerian accent but spoke perfect English. "I found this in her house... The coordinates lead here before it died." She held it out towards Coulson who was approaching her.

He took the device with a slight smile. "Well, then you are in the right place. Welcome." Phil motioned his hand for her to be welcome to take a seat.

Zehara gave a slightly awkward smile as she looked around at the others. The one tall brunette male looked vaguely familiar but she couldn't put her finger on it. So, rather than poke around for names, she decided to take a seat quietly. If she asked questions, then they would ask questions about her. Somehow, someway the Cheetah would be the topic of conversation and she'd no longer be welcome. Instead, she opted for keeping that quiet for as long as possible... At least until she got more information that would help her find Monet.






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jameson blaze
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It's no secret that the Ghost Rider isn't always the most revered hero or kept in tight circles. Maybe that's because James' dad wasn't always the most amiable. But when James took on the mantle of Ghost Rider, he wasn't kept in close communication with other hero organizations. He often wondered about the country, going wherever his bike took him. It rarely steered him wrong, taking directly toward whomever the spirit wanted next. It wasn't particularly a glamorous job like Superman or Iron Man who had international fame. But he did his part... whatever that was worth.

He knew about the heroes that had been disappearing. You couldn't go anywhere without hearing it, but it hardly affected him. No one he knew was gone, and even if they were what could he do? James had no connections or networks. And most people saw him as more of a plague rather than a hero, regardless of what good he tried to accomplish. So, rather than meddle in business that wasn't his place, he kept to himself and did what he did best... smiting assholes and dragging their souls to hell.

James was somewhere on the Pacific Coast Highway between Santa Cruz and Los Angeles when he got a phone call. "James?"

Hearing his dad's voice nearly brought tears to James' eyes. "Dad? Dad, is that you? It's so good to hear your voice! I thought with all the disappearances that maybe—"

"I got a message." His father cut him off, cold and indifferent. It sounded like he was pained to have to speak with James and was merely doing it out of formality and wished to end it as soon as possible. "It's for the Ghost Rider... Which is you, not me." He then began to read out coordinates, a date and time. James did his best to write it all down on his arm because he knows his day would only relay that information once and couldn't care less if James got it down correctly or not.

"Dad—"

"If you go missing, don't think we'll come looking for you. You're already gone to us." Click. The line went dead.

James sat there on his bike on the shoulder of his bike, lost in bewilderment for the better part of an hour, staring down at the scratchy information on his arm. Part of him wanted to wipe it away and forget he ever heard about it. He didn't want to give his dad the satisfaction of him going. Or maybe he should go, get captured, disappear... die. Then that'd be one less mess up in the world. He could go straight to hell taking the spirit with him and then he'd no longer be anyone's burden.

It was a tempting option. But a part of James, the little boy still wanting his dad's approval, wanted to prove himself. He wanted nothing more than to make his dad proud, which only made him hate himself more. He sighed, running his hands back through his hair before he started up his bike and sped off down the highway.

He pulled over at the first gas station he found. He went inside and grabbed an atlas. For the next hour, James sat on his bike flipping through it page by page until he came to the map of Connecticut, where the coordinates finally lined up. Bridgeport. This city was nearly as far as possible within that damned country, but he had to try... for himself. He made a shitty route plan and then took off, making his way east.

* * *

James lost track of how many hours he hand be riding when he finally reached Bridgeport. He only stopped when eating, or showering at a truck stop was a necessity. Traveling cross country, especially on a motorcycle, was no easy task and was nothing short of exhausting. Somehow he managed to only get two speeding tickets, which is a feat in and of itself. He didn't know what he expected going into this and often during his ride he asked himself why he was doing this. There was no definite answer. Curiosity... and something in his gut telling him he had to go.

He came barreling down the drive toward the tower going nearly double the recommended speed. Then just before reaching the front of the building, he brought his bike skidding to a halt, nearly missing the bumper of a Tesla that was worth ten of his ride. The engine was barely off and the kick stand down, when James hopped off the seat and hurried towards the doors. He rushed inside, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw several people sitting around in mid conversation.

James swallowed and pulled off his helmet. "Sorry I'm late. I rode non-stop for two days..." He sighed trying to catch his breath as he looked around at the people that filled the room. All looking to be from very different walks of life and even then he felt like he stood out like a sore thumb. He instantly began to regret his decision to answer the call.

The oldest of the men approached him, offering a kind smile and a hand. "That's quite alright Mister...?"

"Blaze," he took the mans hand with a weak smile. "Uh, Jameson Blaze."

"Alfred Pennyworth," the man responded with a firm shake and motioned towards the chairs for him to take a seat.

"I didn't realize Johnny had retired," the other standing man commented.

"Unwillingly," James responded with a vague answer before going to take a seat in a chair that sat across from a majority of the others that sat in silence. He gave his best, semi-apologetic smile before setting his helmet on the ground, not really keeping prolonged eye contact with anyone.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by mombie
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J o s i a h x D a l i n s k i

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o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || the jester

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Everyone knows that Villains love New York. Over the last couple of months, Brooklyn's finest heroes have gone missing in action. There were the greats like Spiderman, and Josiah actually didn't mind the guy. He went around, swinging here and there, dropping bad guys off at the police station. Really pissed off the donut gluttons. This was not the original Peter Parker Spiderman, but the newest addition -Miles. Not that anyone knew his identity. Peter Parker hasn't been around even longer than Miles, and it was assumed that he was dead.

The part of Josiah that was mentally stable, kind, and not vile - liked this Spiderman. There was a time, shortly after he was able to get out of the Asylum, that he was starting to get into some real trouble. One of his more brutish personalities slipped through, and during the commission of a violent crime, Spiderman showed up. He always showed up. Little to Josiah's knowledge, Miles knows him from school. He knew that something was wrong with the kid, even if he didn't know the circumstances of his genealogy or his upbringing very well. Miles knew that there was a kind person beneath all of the layers of personalities, so he tried his best to be a sort of mentor to him.

It's been seven months since he has last seen Miles. In these last seven months, it's felt like a hellish landscape of chaos and cacophony in his brain. Dark thoughts were starting to creep, and his multiple personalities were conspiring against him and he didn't even notice. The boy - the warmhearted intellectual that just wanted to live a normal life among typical people - was slowly being overtaken.

Today he sat at his computer desk, and the screen was on but his focus was pinned to his journal. He kept it because he started to notice that there were blanks in his memory over the last couple of days. Every entry was like reading the life of a different person, sometimes multiple people in the same paragraph. Scribbles. Elegance. Pictures. Ink splotches. Details he couldn't remember and writing that was not his.

"It's right behind you, and creeps on the ground. It follows you home but does not make a sound. Careful when you turn around," he read softly to himself as he leaned back into his chair. A riddle from his least favorite personality, the pseudo-intellectual with the God complex. He spoke in ways that Josiah could not understand. He tapped the opened journal against his forehead and sighed.

Just then, the screen to his computer began to flicker. An image of Spiderman, Miles, popped up but it was pixelated and went in and out. He seemed to be trying to tell him something, but Josiah couldn't make it out. He set his journal down and got to work on trying to stabilize things but failed. All he was left with was some binary code scrolling over and over again on his screen. He jotted it down to solve it and ended up with coordinates.

* * *

Connecticut. What kind of backwater state was he going to? Where had Miles ended up? He looked out of the window of the plane as they began the descent. There was no logical reason as to why he was doing this other than he felt Spiderman was the only person that didn't treat him like a crazy person. Other than that, he didn't know what to expect. Did he need saving? How would he save the renowned hero Spiderman anyway?

It didn't take long for him to get to where he needed to be, and when he arrived at the door and noticed that there were people, he froze. He couldn't be around people. He didn't know who he was going to be from one second to the next. What if they call him crazy? What if they hate him? What if he hates them and does something horrible right off of the bat? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just be normal?

When the insecurity hit him so suddenly, it caused a crack in his otherwise typical shell. One of his more insidious but charismatic personas slipped through, and it was almost like he never had a second thought to start with. He moved through the door with a confident pep in his step, and when he was in the center of the room with all the people, he smiled wide and chimed, "Why all the long faces? Is this a funeral?" He laughed inappropriately after he swatted away the hand of the gentleman trying to greet him. He didn't want anyone to touch him. People were disgusting. Especially geriatric folks - they were the worst. They smelled, too. Like death at the door.

Alfred knew who he was. How could he not? The son of the infamous Joker and Harley Quinn - sworn enemies and longtime adversaries of Batman. They've kept a rather close eye on this particular child for obvious reasons. While he was a deviant of all kinds, he was hardly threatening at this point in time.

He waltzed over to Zehara, because she was super pretty, and wiggled his eyebrows at her flirtatiously. Yeah, he's the man. Then there was a tick in his eyes - a very subtle one, and his flamboyant aura disappeared like it was never there. He leaned down, and suddenly there was a predator gazing at her with a similar grin, "I come in a lot of different sizes. Sometimes, I drip a little. If you blow me, it feels really good. What am I?"

And just before she could answer, he flipped again, stood up straight, and laughed out loud. "Your nose!" Ah, that was hilarious.

When he was done toying with the beautiful lady, he addressed Phil and Alfred. "Josiah. Josiah Dalinski." Afterwards, he just did as everyone else - find a seat.





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A r i a x M u n r o e

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o f x s t o r m & f o r g e
#475D6B || Outfit || tempest

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Aria was nothing like her mother, Ororo. She was not revered as a goddess, nor was she a queen of some distant world. She did not live a life of romance and danger, or anything of that sort. Storm exiled her from Wakanda, and this forced her daughter to New York where she had to suffer through her father's life. In the short time she had been away from her homeland, she was imprisoned by her own father, betrayed by another mutant, and thrust into some world that she wasn't sure of. By her mother side, Aria always felt like nothing could get her. No one would mess with the great Ororo Munroe, one of the Omega Mutants.

She had followed Cable to Alaska, ruled by the frigid sea and intense weather. There were things she was assigned to do here - given the number by the government, told she was supposed to play the hero. Anchorage Alaska was a small place fraught with very little villainous crime. However, Cable took her everywhere - to all parts of the world where there were real problems that required powers like her own to solve.

This lasted for a while - this relationship was almost father-daughter like. This last month had been spent alone, in a cabin in the woods of Alaska. It reminded her of when she was alone with Forge, but with less security and the freedom to go out. Only now that she was free to do as she pleased, she felt like she had to have Cable at her side. But he was nowhere to be found. She didn't even have the courage to pick herself up off of the floor and look for him.

Aria needed groceries, but she couldn't go out there by herself. People would be out to get her. She was Forge's daughter. Storm's daughter. That meant she was a target of every villain in the known world. Maybe even in other worlds. Her paranoia ran so deeply that she was thinning and gaunt from the lack of nutrition, but she couldn't leave this house.

A man's voice pierced her psyche, "Get up, Aria. Get up. She had her back pressed into a corner in the cabin's den, her arms were wrapped around her knees. She looked around, but she didn't have the strength to rise to her feet.

"Nathan?" She looked for Cable because he was calling out to her telepathically, but he was nowhere. It's been so long. Maybe she's dreaming. Just hearing stuff.

"I am sending coordinates to the computer. You need to check it, Aria. You need to go there. Your mother. Your father... Go there."

No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't go somewhere on her own. Regardless, she pulled herself up to her feet and labored toward the room in which Cable kept his technology. Coordinates flash across the screen, and she doesn't have to write anything down. They are just imprinted into her mind when she saw them. "I can't... I can't go."

"I have to go. They are -
Cable's telepathy was severed just like that, and panic set into her. She looked up the coordinates. Connecticut. That's a three-day trip if she drives, and an impossible one if she decides to take it to the sky. She couldn't possibly put herself on an airplane with a bunch of strangers. She grabbed the keys to Cable's truck and decided that it was good weather to drive in, and all the roads would be open. It would be a good time to try to contact her mother.

* * *


When she arrived at her destination, she was just behind Jameson Blaze. Aria parked the truck, but she waited for the last two guys to enter the building. She sat in the vehicle for a very long time, her eyes continuously glossing over the words Descendent Academy. It sounded like something akin to Xavier's School for the Gifted, and that meant that the same problems would exist. People betrayed each other in that place. They betrayed her father. Made her mother choose between her child, husband, and the team.

Superheroes didn't belong together in big groups.

She took in a deep breath and reminded herself that Cable sent her here. Something about her mother and father, she didn't know exactly. With a sigh, she dragged herself out of the truck and slowly made her way to the entrance. Before she stepped inside, she leaned off toward the side to peek through the window. She wondered what kind of people were there. She noticed Josiah hovering over Zehara and then laughing his ass off. A lot of people looked like they had to be dragged there by their teeth. It wasn't a good first impression.

Once inside, she suddenly found herself immersed in a room with people that she didn't know. Alfred approached her, "You must be Aria Munroe. You look just like your mother," he smiled at her, and she tried her best to smile back. She kept her hands close to her lap and tangled her fingers together. Her entire body was tight - almost as if she was trying to pull her limbs into it to avoid everything around her.

"Who are you, and why did Cable send me here?" She inquired, avoiding the handshake.

Nevertheless, Alfred was sympathetic to her. This was an unknown situation. He waved a hand toward a seat next to Jameson, "We are still waiting on other. Have a seat, Aria. We will explain everything shortly."

She looked over her shoulder at Jameson then back to Alfred and Phil. "No, no - I can't. I don't know what you want with me." She sort of hugged herself, as if someone was trying to take something for her. She walked backward, stumbling a bit. She lost her sense of direction for a second. She had no idea that she was no longer even walking back toward the door.

Unfortunately, she ran right into an awaiting Josiah. He grabbed her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist after he stood up. Maybe it was to prevent her from ending up on his lap. Then again, Josiah, as he is right now, is sort of a predator. He leaned in, his lips brushed against her neck, "I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat," he reached down and grabbed one of her hands, just there at the fingers, "- and your heart grow cold. I visit the weak, but seldom the bold. Who am I?" Then there was laughter, but it was dark and cold. He released her and reseated himself, one leg crossed over the other.

He did love to ruffle feathers.

Aria's eyes began to cloud over, and the rich chocolate shade of her braided hair started to fade to white. She clutched her biceps with her fingers, "Just tell me where my mother and father are. Where is Cable?"

Phil stepped close to the woman because she was beginning to spiral. He knew all-too-well the damage that Forge did to his daughter in her younger years. "Let's take a breather. Hmm? We'll tell you everything you need to know soon. You can trust us. No one here is your enemy."

Something about that quelled whatever storm was literally about to brew, and her appearance returned to normal. Phil guided her to her seat, which was close to Jameson's own. After she sat, she scooted her chair away from the Ghost Rider until it couldn't go any further. She looked around, but she didn't recognize anyone. Maybe just Richards. He looked very familiar.





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K a n e x N y g u y e n

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#000000 || Outfit || ronin

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Kane has always been on his own. Gotham City was home to many, many villains - and much of them much more glorified and infamous than himself. Their heroes were almost the same with some newsworthy faces like Batman. Ronin was nothing like any of the heroes or villains in this God-forsaken metropolis. He was just... here. However, he did notice that there seemed to be more and more crime as the months progressed. The city's most violent and brutal gangs have begun to boldly go where they once could not, and the city was in more chaos than usual.

But his job never changed. Grab a contract, kill someone, go eat. During the day he taught Judo and Karate to children, and he enjoyed it. He was still human, after all. Somewhat. He still required human connection, and children were more trustworthy than adults. Kids were his soft spot, especially in the Hellscape that was Gotham City. He could smile, laugh, teach, and no one judged him for that. He was a great instructor.

This was his life. He didn't care for change. He didn't need it to change. Yet, it seemed that fate had something else in store for him tonight.

Freshly spilled crimson dribbled off of the katana as the 'thud' of a body crashed against the rooftop. His eyes rolled just slightly - bored from this constant task. Everyone liked to romanticize assassins, but there was nothing especially intimate about dropping bodies without asking the big questions. No one really enjoyed it unless they were a psychopath.

He's not a psychopath. It didn't show, but something was starting to bother him about all of this. He sheathed the katana and walked toward the edge of the rooftop. He looked out into the city. It stunk here. There was a haze of poison in the air - pollution at its very worse. There were always sirens from some emergency vehicle. Always gunshots. Always screams. At night, Gotham City surrendered helplessly to the choir of violence, and there were hardly any heroes left to defend its citizens.

He placed his hands on his hips, wondering what kid he wasn't going to see tomorrow. It was always like that these days - people disappearing. Children. Women. Whoever. People were dying. The streets were not safe. Curfews have been put into place, but people tend to do what they want, even if it will kill them.

He looked over his shoulder at the dead body; a man in his late 30's. Kane didn't know what he did that deserved the death penalty, but... he did as he was bid. Kill. Kill. Kill...

... He's probably a father or a husband, or both. He probably had a good job. To be honest, he was probably a good person. Maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. That's usually the case.

He held onto the hilt of his sheathed blade and ran; light-footed, he bounded from rooftop to rooftop as though he had superhuman power. Just as he landed in an alleyway, he heard something playing over and over again - a series of numbers. He stood up and looked around, edging closer to the source when he knelt down and stuck his hands out. After he fumbled through some classic alleyway floor trash, he found it. He lifted it up to get a better look. It was the famous Batarang - a communication device for the noticeably absent Batman. It repeated numbers over and over again until Kane figured out that they must be important.

He slipped through the open window of the apartment above his dojo and plugged them into the computer. They were coordinates in some state he forgot existed - Connecticut.

He wasn't certain that he wanted to go at first, but he was tired of this. This life drained him. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe he'd finally die because that was the only way to freedom from the League of Assassins. He suddenly found himself not caring about who was on the other end, or what their intentions were. He grabbed his bike, and much like Ghost Rider - set out on the ride. His was significantly shorter, of course.

* * *


When he arrived at the Academy, he parked his bike next to the other one, locked up his helmet, and brushed a hand through his slick, yet somehow still slightly shabby hair. "Descendent Academy," he said to himself, giving the place a once over before he decided to finally step inside. He moved through the foyer without much sound, and finally entered the room with all the occupants. Alfred and Phil acknowledged him instantly, but Kane noticed... someone else first. It was a vague sense of familiarity not rooted in physical appearance, just in... being around. It was hard to explain, but it is what it is.

He caught Myla in a sideglance. Naturally, the man well-loved by the media - Mister Jr. Fantastic, had seated himself right next to her, blocking most of the view. He just shook his head slightly and cast his gaze back to Alfred and Phil. He gave them both a slight respectful bow, placing a palm on his chest. They did the same. It was only right, and Kane was a deeply traditional man. He was glued to the customs of his culture.

"I found this,", he said, his accent clearly ethnic in nature, and a bit heavy at that. It was hard to place, as he spoke more than one Asian-centric language fluently. He tossed the Bat Communicator toward them. Phil caught the familiar item and tossed it to Alfred, who cradled it quietly in two open palms.

And that was all he would say about that. No questions asked. That was just the life he was used to. Without another word, or even waiting around to see if they would offer anything to him, he turned and found himself a couch that he could turn and stretch his legs on.

He didn't bother looking around to see who else was here. Aria was loud. Josiah was loud. The others... well, they were just there. Just like he was.






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L e x a x C r e e d

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o f x s a b r e t o o t h
#b45439 || Outfit || nightclaw

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The best thing about being the daughter of Sabretooth was that she was raised as a free roaming child. There were hardly any rules to go by, and they lived in the mountains of Canada - which offered Lexa boundless opportunity to be her most wild self. Victor Creed cared deeply for his daughter, just as he did her mother. He taught her everything he knew, even if she didn't get his intellect. There were other things that she did not get from him, but he would supplement what she lacked with other tactics. She was his pride and joy, and in many ways - just like him.

Lexa had always been surrounded by friends from the late Weapon X project. For a time, she even got help from the renowned Wolverine, X-23, and others. She was one of many children that escaped the Weapon X program, though she was one of the few that was able to get out before she was physically and genetically altered. There was a small group of them ranging from the ages of 15-30, and together they made up a tight-knit community of anti-villains. They were quite heroic in their vision, but their means to an end were not always desirable.

Her father had long since abandoned the villain title after Lexa came into the world. He had settled with himself as a father, and no longer had the dark ties that he once did. In fact, he and Wolverine had resolved their longstanding antagonistic relationship, often leaving on long trips to take care of things elsewhere. They were on a mission of importance - and that was to find and locate dangerous Weapon X projects around the world.

Victor had been gone for about a month or so, and that was hardly enough time for Lexa to be suspicious. It wasn't until his trip reached nearly half a year that she began to grow curious about his whereabouts. His last mission has whisked him all the way to Russia. He usually found a way to get into contact with her at least once a week, but lately... it's been radio silence.

It was a brisk afternoon, and Lexa was just hanging out with her crew. She sat on a thick tree branch, legs dangling and swinging to-and-fro. They were smoking, drinking, and talking about this or that. It's what they always did. A couple of them roughly played, but Lexa's mind had drifted elsewhere. She looked over the distance; a forest sprawled densely across the mountainscape, and just ahead - more desolate peaks. At the foothills rested small towns, and every so often, a lone home was tucked deep into woods. Her fingers toyed idly with a necklace. It wasn't anything particularly expensive, but her father handmade it for her when she was a child.

She jumped off of the branch, landing lightly on her two feet without regard for the ridiculous height. "I'm gonna head home, guys," she stated as she walked away from the group, waving her hand at them. They kept doing their thing, and she was able to leave in peace.

Lexa shut the door when she entered the cabin, resting her back against it while her hands clung to the knob. It was time to acknowledge that her father wasn't going to be coming home and that something might have happened to him. It was time to do something about it. So, she rushed to his room and went through everything. By the time she was done, it looked like he had been robbed.

There was nothing unusual in his room.

Fine, then she'll go to Russia. Her father had ensured that he got Lexa a passport, so she packed herself a small suitcase, grabbed her passport, and threw it all in Wolverine's jeep. It wasn't until she was on the way to the airport that the radio in the vehicle began to get fuzzy. She beat it a couple of times with an annoyed fist, and someone's voice started to come through. 41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 1800 hours.

"What the fuck?" She hit the dashboard again, but the voice kept replaying. It wasn't even a human voice. It was some kind of synthetic production. She pulled over to the side of the road, plugged the numbers in, and hit on a location.

"It's a shorter trip than Russia," she told herself, trying to find a reason as to why she should abandon one plan for another. Maybe this is the X-Men calling for Wolverine. Were the X-Men still around? She didn't know. A lot of heroes were not around these days. "To America I go."

* * *


She pulled up to the Descendent Academy. The way she parked was abysmal, and she nearly hit someone's really nice car. She got out, pulled out her funky rolling suitcase, and sniffed her way toward civilization. There was a room full of people, and her senses guided her in the right direction.

It wasn't too long before she entered the room where everyone was located. Lexa was greeted by Phil and Alfred - given their names and such as they had done seven other times. "Got some coordinates from Wolverine's radio. I'm lookin' for my dad, Sabretooth."

Phil nodded, "You're at the right place. Your name?"

"Lexa Creed."

Phil nodded, "Well, Lexa, we will be getting to the details in a couple of minutes. Why don't you have a seat?"

She gave him a lazy nod and turned around, instantly locking eyes with William Richards. Her own eyes went wide. Oh, he's so famous, even in Canada. Her friends would not believe their ears when she gets to tell them that she met him. Like a true fangirl, or maybe more like a wild animal - she released her suitcase handle and pounce on him. Not on him, of course. More like she ended up sitting next to him.

She whipped out her cellphone, put it in selfie mode, "I can't believe it! William Richards. Wow! Can you take a picture with me?" It wasn't really a question because she didn't give him a chance to answer. She just smooshed her face against his, put out the phone, and snapped a picture. She made this happy fangirl motion, like a bounce in her seat, eyed the picture, and gave him a quick smile, "My friends are gonna freak out."

She picked herself up off of the couch, walked to her suitcase, and rolled both it and herself to an empty seat. All while gushing over her selfie with the famous Jr. Fantastic. It's not every day that a girl like her got to meet a celebrity, ya know.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lucas Isley Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: Franklin Richards Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mjolnir
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zehara el sayid
cheetahx|xoutfitx|x#c8a964

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Zehara barely had a chance to lean back in her seat and get comfortable before another joined them. He was well dressed, like his parents came from money or he grew up in one of those snobby areas in Manhattan. She couldn't recall the name of the area. She tried her best not to familiarize herself with popular places, especially those that bred walks of life she wasn't keen on. He seemed jovial... almost too much so. She couldn't help but wonder if the gravity of the situation was lost on the boy.

"Why all the long faces? Is this a funeral?" Zehara's brows furrowed as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Then he turned all his attention on her. Zehara inhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest as she sat more erect. He wiggled his brows like he was some casanova and while some girls might swoon at the attention, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. He then leaned down close, far too close for comfort. His presence made the real predator alert beneath her skin.

"I come in a lot of different sizes. Sometimes, I drip a little. If you blow me, it feels really good. What am I?"

A growl emanated from her chest. Zehara moved at an inhuman speed, something a person like him wouldn't have seen. Before he got the chance to spit out the answer to the riddle, be it innocent or inappropriate, she had shifted in her seat. She was leaning forward in a protective stance. Her eyes shifted orange like the beast's within. But the important thing wasn't what she looked or sounded like, but her right hand... Which hovered a few inches below the boy's family jewels, claws extended. "A eunuch?" She raised a challenging brow. Your move. her gaze said in the silence.

"Your nose!" He laughed and retreated. Then he proceeded to act like nothing happened and addressed the two older men. "Josiah. Josiah Dalinski."

Luckily, another man came bursting through the doors in quite a rush, thinking he might have been late. Jameson Blaze, he called himself, a name she wasn't familiar with like everyone else in the lobby.

Then there was a quiet, mousy girl who looked terrified to be in their presence. Zehara felt for the girl. It was a strange situation. But even in strange situations you have to keep your wits about you, and your fears close to your heart because they'll be used against you. That girl looked like a doormat to anyone with a single vertebrae more than her.

The girl's anxiousness quickly escalated. As she began to retreat, she stumbled her way right into an, all too eager, Josiah. The girl found herself in his lap, and his slithery appendages wasted no time in wrapping around her. Zehara quickly hopped up to her feet, crossing the lobby toward the creep like a predator closing in on its prey. I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat—"

"No. No!" She interjected. Zehara wasn't about making a good impression for these people. She could handle creeps all day long, but not someone like Aria. Men like Josiah preyed on naive girls all too often. It's just lucky for the girl that she was here to put a stop to it... Abruptly.

Zehara's right hand took ahold of Josiah's face and shoved it backwards. Her left pried his arms off of Aria, all the while claws threatened to penetrate his skin if he so much as fought against it in the slightest. She gently pulled the girl from Josiah's lap and motioned to Zehara's now available seat. It wasn't a sofa and sat next to Jameson, who seemed content in keeping to himself. And she took it upon herself to take the other half of the couch next to Mr. Hands.

While she shared a seat, Zehara sat as far away as possible crossing her arms and legs. She was content with waiting in silence. But just for good measure, she held up her index finger stopping Josiah from talking regardless if he was going to or not. "Don't talk to me. Don't touch me. And if you bother any other lady here I will break your hands and rip out your tongue." She squinted her eyes slightly, before turning to face forward, proceeding to act like he didn't exist.

Once it seemed the influx of people had come to a halt, Alfred and Phil moved to stand before the small semi-circle of chairs and sofas. "Thank you all for coming," Alfred began. "I don't know what kind of turn out we were expecting, more or less. But regardless, we appreciate that you all came nonetheless."

Phil then sighed and took over the conversation. "We're not going to beat around the bush. We," he motioned to himself and Alfred. "We're the ones who sent out the distress signal. For the past year, as you all are aware of, Heroes have been disappearing left and right. We tried, on multiple occasions, to reach out to the I.H.A. and were met with the same response. 'There is an ongoing investigation. Details are classified.' No one has been in direct contact with anyone from I.H.A. for months, facilities are locked down, phone lines are dead, no public appearances and all digital correspondences are met with the same response."

"We have reason to believe that the I.H.A. could be compromised."

None of this was news to Zehara. She also had tried reaching out to the organization. She wasn't registered under the I.H.A., which was part of the reason she preferred laying low and keeping to herself. But even she couldn't turn a blind eye. And part of her hoped that she'd get some answers about Monet St. Croix, although deep down she knew it was a dead end.

"We couldn't risk sending the message through the I.H.A. network. If it is compromised, sending a message calling everyone to a single location wouldn't end well. We decided to use an older network that veteran Heroes kept a secret, for emergency purposes... It seems more of the veterans have been taken than we previously thought."

Zehara remained quiet and attentive through the explanation, but her patience was growing a bit thin. Her leg began to bounce as her eyes scanned the room and the windows. She couldn't help but worry, after everything they said, that having this many gifted individuals gathered was a recipe for disaster.

"We called whomever we could here... To try and solve this before it gets worse. I know some of you have personal stakes in this. But we feel like our best chances are doing this together. A strength in number, of sorts."

"We know it's not easy to trust strangers. Ourselves or each other. If you don't wish to stay, we won't stop you. But know that this facility has the highest security protocols and protection. The Descendant Academy has been shut down for a decade, so no one comes around here or knows it's anything more than abandoned. We have cloaking procedures that make the building look uninhabited, and there is no one else who knows of it's current functionality besides us in this room."

Alfred tried to give his most reassuring smile. "This isn't an easy decision and not one to be made lightly." He set down a silver platter that held eight room keys, each of which were adorned in a keychain with a number. "You will be safe here, with your own private penthouse. Phil and I will aid in your training. It won't be easy, Mr. Richards can attest to that. But we'll do our best to help you prepare, hone your skills and work together as a team."

Everyone else sat around in silence, contemplating the offer at hand or perhaps leaving. No one wanted to be the first that stepped forward. Zehara didn't blame them. She had no allegiance to these heroes and no one she was close to had been taken, but it didn't help the nagging feeling in her gut telling her that this was where she was needed. For years she'd be trying to remove the tarnish her mother's reputation bestowed upon her. Perhaps this was her chance. Either way, this was her best chance to find answers about Monet St. Croix.

Zehara had no issue being the first to make a move or fill a silence. She leaned forward and grabbed the closest key. She then stood up and threw her bag over her shoulder.

Alfred looked to be relieved that at least one person took the offer. He smiled and offered her his hand. "Thank you, miss?"

She took his hand and shook it. "I guess we should introduce ourselves, shouldn't we?" She sighed, adjusting her bag. "Zehara El Sayid." She would have refrained entirely from explaining anything else about herself, but it'd come out one way or another. And the least she could do was prepare any others for what they might be getting into with her by their side. "I am the avatar to The Cheetah Goddess," Zehara said nonchalantly with a click of her tongue. Sure there were more details, plenty. Like her hunger for human flesh that is tamed by the eating of wildlife, or the fact that her mother was a piece of shit, or that she killed said piece of shit. That was none of their business.

Once all the introductions were over, Zehara turned her attention to Phil and Alfred. "Is there a bar? I don't know about anyone else, but I could use a drink..." If they all, or at least some of them, were going to have to play twenty questions like it was the first day in college, she'd need liquor. People didn't often take the truth of who she was lightly and if there was even a fraction of a chance Josiah would be staying, alcohol might be the only way she doesn't kill him.

Phil pointed to a doorway, down the hall on the left. Without another word she strutted in that direction, quickly making herself at home in her new abode.






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jameson blaze
ghost riderx|xoutfitx|x#cb7a06

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Even though Jameson arrived late, it seemed he didn't miss any of the excitement. He was happy to remain invisible as he took a seat, which wasn't hard when a very anxious girl entered shortly after him. Aria Munroe, Alfred called her. A name he hadn't heard before, but to be honest, he didn't know anyone there. She seemed terrified to be there, which only made him wonder why in the hell she came in the first place.

"Who are you, and why did Cable send me here?" Another name he wasn't familiar with. But James wasn't his father. He didn't know many heroes by name or even face. He just traveled the countryside and went wherever the demon lead him. Perhaps it was the fact that he disappointed his father? Part of him wanted to prove him wrong, but how does one do that? His dad didn't want him to be like him, and it wasn't like there were many other options available at the time. So, he chose the longer life, which by default left him in the blue when it came to most things, especially heroes.

No matter how much Alfred tried to placate her, it didn't work. She was a nervous mess that backed her way into a guy who seemed all to eager to take advantage on a pretty lady on his lap. James had half a mind to intervene, but before he could even stand up, a sharp tongued brunette took care of it. He found himself almost impressed with her tenacity and quickness to action. He didn't know if anyone else planned to jump in, but either way, the dark foreign beauty didn't let anyone have a chance.

Phil managed to get the girl to take the empty seat beside him. James wouldn't say she was calmed by any measure. Even part of her hair had gone white. Which only made him curious and his brows furrow. But it seemed when she sat down, she also wanted nothing to do with him. Once she found the seat, she proceeded to scoot it away as much as possible. If it was possible for his expression to scrunch up more it did. What in the hell did he do? He hasn't said or done a damn thing since he sat down.

James tried to sneak a sniff under his leather jacket to see if he maybe smelled. But he had showered that morning in a truck stopped, and smelled like... well normal. Not funky. He probably would have sat there and mulled it over in his head for several minutes. But luckily enough Alfred and Phil began to divulge the reason behind them all being there, which was a distraction, not a happy one, but a distraction nonetheless.

"Thank you all for coming.I don't know what kind of turn out we were expecting, more or less. But regardless, we appreciate that you all came nonetheless." And so began it all, the explanations, the reason they were all there, everything.

Jameson listened, perhaps not as intently as some of the others, but he paid attention. He was not one of the people with personal stakes in the current situation. He did not have his father's connections with other heroes. And, sure, James was registered through the I.H.A., but they learned years ago that he wouldn't follow their orders and went where he pleased. So rather than deal with their bullshit, he hid his tracker in the small trailer he owned, yet rarely visited. And honestly, to the best of their knowledge, he too had gone missing. He wasn't too pressed about that.

"This isn't an easy decision and not one to be made lightly." Then, presented before all of them was a tray filled with keys. This building probably had broom closets that were nicer than Jame's trailer. That offer alone was tempting. He didn't find himself as eager as some of the others, he wasn't missing family or friends. To be honest, he didn't really have either of those. But this was also about being better, better than what his father saw him as, better than what was expected of him and maybe better enough to prove his dad wrong.

With a sigh, James pushed off his knees and moved to his feet. He tucked his helmet under his arm before grabbing a key. "I uh... am Jameson Blaze, er James." He gave an awkward smile, running his hand back through his messy hair. "I'm Ghost Rider." His face instantly scrunched up as he nodded his head to the side before correcting himself. "Not that one... That was my father." His voice trailed off as he tried to think of an easy, short way to explain it. He came up blank. "It's a long story."

Once all the introductions had finished, and it seemed they all would be able to do as they pleased, James made his way over to Alfred and Phil. "Is there somewhere I can park my bike? I'm assuming you don't want a bunch of vehicles parked in front of an abandoned building."

"Very good thought, sir," Alfred applauded him. "For those of you with vehicles, around back is an entrance to a garage underneath the building. Your key has a sensor in it. The doors should open right up when you get close enough."

James gave Alfred a pat on the shoulder before heading back outside. He hopped on his bike, not bothering to put his helmet on and proceeded to take the machine into the garage. As the large door opened, he found himself in a bit of awe at the wide array of vehicles housed under the tower, everything from everyday cars, to ambulances, police cars and he could have sworn he saw a couple bat mobiles toward the back. The garage was massive. It had to be home to at least fifty vehicles, and could easily hold another hundred.

Surprisingly, or honestly, unsurprising, James found motorcycle parking next to the elevators. There were dozens of bikes lined up, with room for more. He did his best to line his up with the others before getting off and leaving his helmet on the seat. This definitely wasn't the type of place where he had to worry about his bike or helmet being stolen. He probably owned the cheapest thing in that garage. He took a moment or two to admire some of the other bikes and vehicles, then took the elevator back up and joined the others in the bar.






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myla murdock
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Once other people began to arrive, story time with Jr. Fantastic had to come to an end. Not that Myla's story was interesting in the slightest. But, she isn't surprised that when she openly showed herself to be blind... People were curious. That was something she could share at a later date, if that knowledge was prudent. She saw no reason to share more details than necessary at the current time and was more interested in finding her father's whereabouts over anything else.

Whether or not Myla wished to hear everything that was going on as the others joined them, she did. A woman who smelled and sounded foreign arrived next. Middle eastern, maybe? She couldn't quite place the accent. Unlike herself though, the woman was investigating the disappearances and that's what brought her there, rather than directly receiving the call herself. While, evidence would point to the fact that the woman could just be that... a woman hired to investigate, something about her was different. The air around her seemed the feintest bit warmer than it did around the others in the room. And her heart beat was faster, although everything else about her seemed calm. It reminded her more of an animal, rather than a human.

The next to join them just... made Myla uncomfortable, although she couldn't quit figure out why. One of those gut feelings perhaps? Or maybe it was simply because he thought his first words to them all should be, "Why all the long faces? Is this a funeral?" She didn't find it very humorous, especially with the fate of her father unknown. Then he approached the foreign girl, and while others might not have heard what he said, she did. It made her uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat slightly, hoping that this man didn't set his sights on her next.

Myla heard the motorcycle approach several moments before another came bursting through the doors. And not shortly after him came in a girl who seemed half scared to death to even step foot within the building. Myla could hear the girls racing heart beat. It was so loud it nearly drowned out all other noise. She wanted to console the girl, maybe reassure her that everything was fine... But she didn't know that for sure and by the state of Aria, no one's words of comfort would be of help. Unlucky for her, she moused her way into Josiah's lap. But thankfully, the foreign woman was quick to the draw. A woman that protects other women is something to be admired.

The next person peaked Myla's interest a bit more than the others. He moved far more quiet than most people. But it didn't seem to be intentional or strained, like that was his natural walk. She found herself leaning forward to get a better sense of the man. And the sensation of feeling one's gaze rang true in the moment, although she had no way of telling he did, in fact, look in her direction. He didn't say much compared to everyone else, which was both a relief and... a bit curious. He spoke with a heavy accent, far different than the foreign woman's. His seemed more Asian in origin, but again she could not place it. She subconsciously found herself, following his steps, deeply fascinated by his lightness of foot.

"I can't believe it!" The loud voice made Myla jump. It nearly made her ears ring and she tried her best not to flinch at the excited woman. Lexa, like any fan girl, shoved her way onto the couch. Unfortunately for Myla, she was practically invisible next to William. She managed to hop up from her seat just before the giddy girl sat on top of her. She scoffed at the forceful relinquishing of her seat. That didn't leave much else available. The only other openly available seat was besides Josiah, which she had no desire to take... For obvious reasons.

Instead she headed toward the quiet man, who sat half sprawled out on a sofa all to himself. Myla could have asked for a seat, but she wasn't going to impose on anyone because one girl evicted her. So rather, she took a seat on the armrest of the couch near Kane's feet. She crossed her right leg over her left and draped her things across her lap. It wasn't bad, all things considered. Myla found herself sitting in far less comfortable places for longer. And at least there, no one would try to sit on her.

With no other commotion or additions to the unique group. Alfred and Phil proceed to address them all behind the meaning of their arrival. Nothing so far was new news. She herself had tried to contact the I.H.A. to no avail. Every turn and every lead was cold before she even got it. Part of her had hoped the message was from her father, but even that was a pipe dream and she knew it. But like they said, some of them had personal stakes... And she was one of them.

It wasn't an easy decision. Myla wanted more than anything to find her father, and at the time this looked to be her best chance. But another part of her worried about leaving Hell's Kitchen. Crime was at an all time high, so much so that she was struggling to keep up. She had no idea how much more it would spiral if she left, or how much trouble that might put her Uncle Foggy in. But she also knew what he'd tell her... And he'd want her to stay, for her Father... because that's what he would do too.

With a soft sigh, she leaned forward and grabbed a key. "I am Myla... Myla Murdock." She shrugged her shoulders slightly trying to think of whatever vital information she should probably share. "My father, Daredevil, was one of the first heroes to go missing." Her head fell slightly as she bounced her crossed leg. "I don't have any powers or Goddesses inside me... I guess by most definitions I am a vigilante." She gave a weak smile. "Oh!" she added nearly forgetting. "And I'm blind." She raised her brows slightly, half waiting for an onslaught of questions. She always seemed to forget how important that information was to other people, even though she can live alongside a person with eyesight and they'd never know.

Myla's thumb traced the engraved numbers on the key. It took her a few passes before putting together the number... 80. As everyone started to get up and go there separate ways... Which all seemed to point to the bar, she held out her key toward the quiet man she shared a couch with. "Here. Pretty sure I got the top penthouse. A view like that should go to someone who can appreciate it." She gave him a friendly smile and took his key. Her fingertips traced the numbers again, revealing a 73. "Ha," she mused quietly, just to him. "I was right."

She tucked the key into her bag before slipping off the armrest of the couch. With items clutched in her arms, Myla made her way over towards Alfred and Phil. "I need to return to Manhattan to gather some of my things. I didn't come prepared for a long stay as the others did."

"Of course," Alfred replied kindly. "Perhaps someone else should go with you. It's probably best that no one travels alone, given the state of things. And you wouldn't have to wait on a taxi." He smiled.

Myla nodded her head, then slowly walked to a far side of the lobby where no one happened to be standing. She pursed her lips slightly as she ran through all the names, personalities... and to be honest, vibes, of the others who decided to stay. She wasn't a particularly shy person, but it wasn't every day that you walk up to a near stranger and ask them to go on a tiny road trip. Sure, it was only an hour and a half drive. But that was long enough to get tired of anyone... quickly.






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william richards
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William was far more interested in hearing the vast capabilities of a woman who was blind, but seemed to function better than most people with eyes. So much so, he didn't pay much attention as others began to join them. Sure, he passed them a glance, sized them up, but Will was not the best judge of character and his social skills were a bit on the lacking and awkward side. If he paid more attention, he might have noticed familiarity with some of them from the vast files in the Baxter building, but putting faces with names was not one of his skills.

There was a feisty girl, who easily could have been Catwoman, that arrived shortly after Myla. Nothing about her gave off any red flags or anything to be concerned about. And until Josiah arrived, he would have believed that she was a P.I. in a room full of supes. But when Josiah decided to get a little too suggestive, Will could have swore he saw a glint of a talon extend from her finger and her eyes shift color. Either way, she made it very apparent she didn't need any help when it came to keeping guys like that in check. So much so, she intervened when Josiah tried a similar, albeit far more inappropriate move on the skittish girl.

William would have intervene, much like the rest of the room probably would have. But the feisty foreigner was happy to oblige when it came to putting the guy in his place. It was endearing and intimidating. Strong willed woman often intimidated him, maybe because they were so damn hard to talk to. He could be awkward and his curiosity always took the driver seat which was often off putting for some.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos two men with motorcycles came in and took their seat with little to no show. Which is probably why, until he actually looked at them, that he nearly forgot they were there in the first place. He was fortunate that none of them had introduced themselves to Will, because given the excitement of it all, he probably would have forgotten and had to ask for their names at least 2 more times.

The last person to arrive was an attractive brunette who looked somewhere between a hipster and tomboy southern girl. It seemed the second she turned around her eyes instantly fell on William. He was never good at the whole fans thing. Sure, he always obliged, pictures, autographs, etc. But it was the saying no, or trying not to be mean, but moving on with whatever he needed to do, that he struggled with. It was probably one of the reasons he went up to the Arctic Ocean in the first place.

Lexa beelined straight for him, all but shoving Myla out of the way to get a seat beside him. "I can't believe it! William Richards. Wow! Can you take a picture with me?" Her cellphone was out and ready before Will had a chance to respond. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't used to it, just a bit out of practice. Lexa's cheek smushed against his as she held up the phone, and in typical Jr. Fantastic way he made a peace sign, but let his fingers stretch in all weird ways. People always wanted to see the powers.

Once the picture was taken, she bounced in her seat like a giddy child and flashed him a smile. Will reciprocated. "My friends are gonna freak out." Honestly, he was happy that he only had to do this once and that none of the others reacted the same way. So, it was a small victory.

"Any—No problem," he corrected himself before she stood up. Will nearly said anytime and that could have opened an entire bag of worms he was not wanting to deal with. Thankfully he caught himself before the words slipped out. And then before anymore pictures or word slips, Alfred and Phil got up and proceeded with their little speech.

Of course, none of this was new to William. He had been monitoring the situation very closely once he got the news of his parent's disappearance. The message that was sent out caught him by surprise, but he wasn't going to go to unknown coordinates without research. Once he saw that they came from the Academy, he was almost certain it had to be Alfred and Phil's doing. Really quite simple to piece together, but he wouldn't say that out loud. He's often been told that when he finds things to be easy or common knowledge he comes off arrogant or belittling because apparently it's not as easy for everyone else.

William wasn't going to say no to returning to Academy, especially when it meant finding his family. He took the key for floor 77, which was his room the last time he was here. He then stood up and followed suit as everyone before him. "I am William Richards... Will. You probably know me as the son of Reed Richards and Sue Storm, or uh, Mister Fantastic and The Invisible Woman." He lightly clapped his hands together trying to think of what else to share. "Oh, and my body is elastic, or more plastic..." He began to ramble about the science of it, but cut himself off not long into the drawn out definition of what he was. "Cliffnotes, I can stretch and change the shape of my body."

Everyone started breaking off, a majority moving towards the bar. Will intended to join them, but overhearing Alfred's comment about the cars, he headed outside. There was another car parked alarmingly close to his that he actually went around to the other side to make sure it wasn't hit. He had to back up very carefully, but managed to get out of the predicament and get his tesla to the garage. Just like he remembered, it was like nothing had aged a day. He could nearly believe it was a decade ago. There wasn't even dust on the hoods... But he had to assume J.A.R.V.I.S. has something to do with that.

At almost like the A.I. had ESP, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice echoed throughout the garage. "Welcome back, Mr. Richards."

"Happy to be back." Maybe not under these circumstances, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't missed the place. Will smiled, giving a friendly pat to the wall before entering the elevator and heading up to the bar.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid Character Portrait: Lexa Creed Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen Character Portrait: Aria Munroe Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski Character Portrait: William Richards
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#, as written by mombie
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J o s i a h x D a l i n s k i

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o f x h a r l e y & j o k e r
#B48F7C || Outfit || josiah
#52493d || the brute
#5c7340 || the enigma
#544073 || the jester

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He didn’t even get his chance to have fun with the doe of the gathering when Zehara pried him away from her. He didn’t seem to mind at all that she shoved his head back. It made him tingle a bit on the inside… in a perfectly good way, too. Something clicked as she proceeded to spew her alpha female threats at him, as though it was she that was the predator in this game.

This exotic beauty, even when she's putting hands on him - especially that - and threatening him, was going to be his. He whispered low to her, despite her warning to not speak to him, "If you keep treating me like this, I might think you want something from me." That was it, and soon enough he’d be at her mercy doing as she bade him. Because she’s sexy, and he didn’t mind being yanked around by a feral woman.

The smelly and geriatric men were saying something that he didn't really care for. There was something about heroes and disappearances, but Josiah didn't care for good guys. At least, not this particular part of Josiah. Certainly, the good ol' boy was in the background somewhere protesting everything like the nuisance he was, but he is not the king of this body. He's not even the king of his own mind right now.

He didn’t move much, but not because of the cat girl’s threat (he’d not-so-discreetly enjoy a good beating), but because his body had gone from full of devilish expression to completely blank. His head and eyes twitched slightly, and the woman might hear him mumble something incoherent every so often.

"Aaall the heroes are deeaad," he began to sing to himself. Aside from being absolutely tone-deaf, he seemed to be having fun at the expense of others' parents. But it wasn't fun that he was actually experiencing a psychological moment where things were shifting and the voices in his head were getting louder. Too loud. They were a cacophony of mixed thoughts, and he couldn't do anything more than raise his voice and sing louder. "Red streets, red str-- SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

He stood up and took a deep breath. It didn't appear that he felt embarrassed by the nature of his disease, as he had no real reason to be. What others thought of him was obviously back of mind. He turned around and gave Zehara his best smile, albeit a thin yet strangely genuine one rather than the nasty devilish grin of before, "Sorry, sorry."

He made a move to claim his keys, seeing no reason why he should reintroduce himself to anyone. They'd get to know him well enough as the time went on - the many voices, abilities, and personalities of the mentally disjointed Josiah. He slipped past the small gathering and left the lobby without exchanging any words with anyone other than his many selves. A hero. Hah! What kind of hero could you be?

Quit while you're ahead. They're all dead. He's dead. It's the age of villains.

Now you are going to really die, Josiah. Bye Josiah. Haha ha ha HA!

He forgot about everything that he was supposed to do. He found himself standing in a hallway, and it felt like time had passed without him knowing. His palms were sweating. He was sweating. He was standing in front of a room with a key, but he couldn't remember how he got there.

All he knew is that he felt a sudden urge to take a nap. Just a quick five minutes. Hearing all the noise in his head made him weary. So, he collapsed on a couch as soon as he was able to get himself inside, shut his eyes, and snoozed off.

Just for a few minutes... just until the world was quiet again.





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A r i a x M u n r o e

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#475D6B || Outfit || tempest

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The woman not as disturbed by Josiah as one might think. He was more than just a few screws loose, but she's actually used to that kind of crazy. Not to say her father has some dissociative identity disorder, but the idea of nutjobs were not new to her. It didn't mean she wasn't thankful that Zehara had come to her rescue because the last thing Aria needed was an emotional outpour of power. That'd just make everyone in the room miserable.

Normally, Aria didn't like to be handled by others. However, she also didn't want anyone's good intentions to fall to the wayside. She offered Zehara a tight-lipped smile and took her seat.

Many people in Aria's life were missing. There was not just her mother, Storm, or even her father - but almost an entire nation of heroes was gone. Her homeland felt like a ghost town, and there was no one to save it anymore. The last thing she heard about Wakanda was that it is facing some kind of invasion, possibly even a genocide. T'Challa and Storm had helped protect it for a while, but they were gone - as were their allies.

Heroes have become necessary in this world. The worst part about the whole dismal situation was that when the world needed them the most, Aria couldn't stand up and fight for her own city. She had gone an entire month just trembling on the floor, and the world outside screamed out in pain. She wasn't anything like her mother, who had always been courageous and just. Instead, she allowed herself to become a sidekick that didn't have the courage to operate when she had to be the real hero.

As Alfred and Phil spoke, then people went on to introduce themselves, she figured that maybe this was a safe place after all. Her gaze flits from one person to the next, thinking that they didn't seem too bad. Aside from Josiah, of course. He made it perfectly clear that he wasn't a good guy at all. Everyone else, however, appeared decent. Jr. Fantastic was - well, everyone knew about him. He's famous. She knows of Sabretooth because a bit of Aria's childhood was spent with the X-Men. There were a lot of parents that she did not know, but she figured that it wasn't entirely important. They were still their own person outside of their genetic pool.

When it was her turn to speak up, she stood and cleared her throat. "I'm Aria Munroe, child of Storm and Forge. I have control of the weather, flight, and some mystic ability... among other things." She gestures toward Lexa, "I knew Wolverine as a child." She left the whole Sabretooth bit out because she only knew of him through the rumor mill. By the time Aria had left Wakanda, Victor Creed was already taking care of his daughter.

There was nothing more to say, so she grabbed a key to one of the penthouses and followed the guys outside to the vehicles. She naturally got a good laugh from watching William Richards get out of his tight parking situation, but was kind enough to cover her mouth so it wasn't too obvious that she was amused. Jameson was next, then a Lexa snuck out. Myla and the man without an introduction had left to go somewhere. Maybe they decided against the superhero business.

She hopped into her truck, parked it inside, and pulled out her bags. Aria has... a lot of stuff. Her suitcases were heavy and full, but she didn't require any help carrying them. Instead, she allowed her command over weather to do that job for her, summoning a bout of wind to wrap around them and assist in the haul to the penthouse.

She left her room, took the elevator down, and found herself lingering at the entrance of the bar. Drinking was probably not a good idea, but the way her stomach was beginning to bother her - maybe food was. There was food somewhere. She took a step back just as soon as William was about to enter, and retreated right into him! "Sorry, sorry." Gods, she hopes it's not Josiah. She turned around, glad that it wasn't.

She just did her thing without waiting for his response and sidestepped him, muttering, kitchen, kitchen over and over again until she disappeared from sight. She eventually did find the kitchen. Of course, it had everything that she could possibly want! She wanted a cappuccino, and some cool gadget just made it for her - no problem! She sat at a table, propped up the side of her head against a palm, and sipped at her drink.





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#000000 || Outfit || ronin

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Had crossed his arms over his shoulders; fingers curled around his biceps lazily. From the corner of his eyes he observed Myla's movement; from the moment that she was booted from her seat, to that in which she was walking toward the couch he occupied. When she finally plopped her butt down, it seemed that he was indifferent to her possible discomfort. Kane, fortunately, was no asshole. He looked like one, but he was not one. She'd find that he moved his feet for her and sat kind of properly, allowing her to have space. They were probably two people that valued a little space from others.

No words were shared between them as Alfred and Phil began to indulge all their curiosities. It was around this time when the Assassin began to doubt himself. He wasn't a hero. In fact, he's fought against many of the good guys in Gotham. He's no one's arch-nemesis or any sort of infamous villain, but he's had several extremely close calls with the best of them.

He was not a good person. As he looked around the room while introductions were made, he heard the names of famous heroes and vigilantes, and he knew that he was completely out of place. Whatever else was said after a couple of introductions kind of melted into background noise, and he all but slipped into his thoughts. Needless to say, there was no point in making his own introduction. Around all of these people, he was on the far end of the spectrum. He couldn't trust himself, let others trust him.

He finally snapped out of his own mind when Myla held the key toward him. He looked up at her and tilted his head, "Keep them." That said, he tucked his hands into his pockets, stood, and stepped around her to leave without saying anything else to anyone.

It just so happened that he heard the conversation between Alfred, Phil, and the blind vigilante, shy of leaving the room completely. He stopped at the exit, thought a little bit, and then sighed. His eyes rolled. He felt bothered. He lifted his foot to take another step but found himself just putting it back down.

Just as Lexa was leaving, he stuck out a foot so that her rolling suitcase got stuck. "You look her size. Got some pants and a jacket you can spare?" He turned to glance over his shoulders for a second and cast his gaze down to Myla's shoe choice. "Shoes, too.

"Uuuuumm, not sure you'd fit in my clothes," she placed a hand on her hip and stared up at him.

"They're for her," he pointed over toward Myla, "Since it's on my way to where I am going, I'll take her to go get her things. I mean, unless you prefer she goes on a bike dress like that. I wouldn't really complain. She might, though." Honestly, he really did mind, as he'd rather not have some girl's cooch all up on him for a whole ride. He did have more respect for himself and others than his words implied.

Lexa scoffed, squatted down, unzipped her suitcase, and tanked out a few clothing items and a pair of boots. "There are way too many perves here."

When Lexa handed him everything, he kept one hand in his pocket and walked toward Myla. He held everything out to her, "I'll take you, but you're going to have to change. Meet me outside. Take your time." He didn't offer much of anything else, and his words sounded rather cold.

He waited near his bike and watched as people came and went. He felt amused as William had to figure out how to get out of his parking situation, and was even more entertained by the idea of catching Lexa hiding and waiting until Richards was out of sight. He held a black helmet under his right arm; something he picked up from the garage, of which had a surplus of riding equipment that he was sure no one would miss for a day or two.

When he saw Myla, he let her approach him before setting the helmet on the seat of the bike and closing off the rest of the distance between them. Kane quietly took some time to make sure she was zipped up well because he didn't want her to be uncomfortable. Just as he thought - Myla and Lexa were about the same height and weight, so it fit her well enough. He didn't bother to ask her if she even wanted to ride the bike with him, and he wasn't going to. It was implied that she would, and it didn't seem like anyone else was stepping up to offer to be her traveling companion.

He reached behind him to seize the helmet and gently put it on her head. He had to take a moment to brush some hair away, but despite his cold demeanor, he was actually quite gentle about any physical contact with her. He made sure it was comfortable, fastened and tightened the straps, and looked her straight on for a second. He didn't even realize that he was still just slightly holding onto the buckle of the straps until he saw his own hands.

He was going to say something, but he didn't. What was there to say? He needed some time to think about this situation, and maybe a good three long cruise there and back would give him that time. Tack on another hour - probably a lot more - for however long it takes a woman to pack. He took out his phone to plug her address into the GPS, assuming that she'd give it to him when asked, "Where are we going?".

He pulled his helmet off of its lock and put it on. He climbed onto the bike, popped his phone onto its mount, inserted the bike key, and waited for her to get on behind him. When she did, he decided to clear the air, "You can hold onto me if you want." That was it. He's not going to baby her just because she's visually impaired. She's a vigilante, for Heaven's sake - she can take care of herself. It wasn't his job.

The pair would be off! He preferred a calm ride to a fast one. He loved a good thrill, but he had another person with him who gave a good excuse to take things easy. It was still faster than a car since they got to weave through traffic whenever it came. It's especially good in the perpetually crowded New York.





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L e x a x C r e e d

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#b45439 || Outfit || nightclaw

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William was right to steer clear from 'anytime', as Lexa had no shame about taking advantage of cute and willing guys. However, much to his (likely) relief, that was the last bit of attention she'd pay to him. For now..

Whilst Jarvis and Alfred explained the situation with them, Sabretooth's darling little spawn was racking up the likes on her Insta. Even her follower count rose. Jr. Fantastic was certainly a good boost for her social media. Not that she wasn't already quite popular with her transient, heroic, blah blah blah, hippy - whatever you want to call it - lifestyle. The world loved girls like her, and she shines even better next to guys like him. Regardless, she still heard what was going on, even if she wasn't quite smart enough to put everything together all at once.

All she heard was... missing heroes, I.H.A., training, compromised, and decision making. She looked up from the screen of her phone, her fingers still clicking on hit busily, and tilted her head in the general direction of... everyone.

Lexa is a villain's daughter, but no one could properly call her evil. In fact, the latter half of her father's life had not been spent living up to his infamy, either. Not that Wolverine can be truly classified as a hero, himself, it is worth noting that he is considered her uncle. He raised her from time to time. Up until the last year or less, many members of the Weapon X program have raised each other, and most of them were not evil. She didn't act like a hero all of the time, but she wasn't going to spend all of her life acting like a good girl. Lexa is simply Lexa - wildly unleashed, yet still able to bash in a bad boy's skull when she must.

Thus, there was no issue when it came to the decision as to whether or not she'd stay. Sabretooth is her father and Wolverine is her uncle, so if this meant she could get to the bottom of their disappearances, she could endure. As she looked around the room for a brief moment, she noted that not everyone looked like your typical good boy or good girl superhero.

Aria looked a little stuck up, but then again - her mother is Storm. The Queen of Storms had her frolicky romances with Wolverine, so Lexa knows a thing or two about that stick-up-the-butt, rule follower, mum. She wondered if she was like Ororo - a good girl into bad boys. Her gaze moved toward Myla, and she offered her a quick smile. Only to realize that, upon the woman's introduction, that she was blind. Then the smile disappeared from her lips, and she instantly felt bad that she practically plied her off of the couch to grab a selfie with Jr. Fantastic. A vigilante, though. Interesting.

Zehara is definitely a cutie. She seemed bold, like someone that will take quick initiative when others would not. Lexa noted that, as she is the same way. They would either clash or drive the group crazy. Those were the only two possibilities. Ghost Rider came up next, and girl Creed was not going to be mad at that.

Why is everyone here so good-looking? It's really wreaking havoc on her hormones. How's she supposed to train like this?

Of course, Jr. Fantastic required no introduction. However, his introduction needed a follow-up with a few dirty jokes, but she would spare him. Her jokes were always lame.

She wasn't going to give the lunatic, Josiah, the pleasure of her attention. What a creep. Kane was obviously not going to stay seeing as he made it known that he'd accompany Myla on his way back home. Not everyone could be hero material, she supposed.

It was her turn to make introductions, and she did so with a bubbly personality and a twinge of southern on the tip of her tongue, "I'm Lexa Creed, daughter of Sabretooth. I consider Wolverine to be my loving uncle," She just knew that she'd have to get that last part out quickly because Sabretooth is a villain and Wolverine is not. The last thing she needed was suspicion and prying. "I'm an influencer on social media when I am not busy saving the day from the world's many idiots. I self-heal, have enhanced speed, endurance, blah blah blah. I’m just’an overgrown human cat that bites only when provoked - or asked." She gives the room a bow and smiles brightly, "You can follow me on TheRealNightClaw on any social media platform."

With that said, she gave everyone a quick peace sign and picked up the key to floor 79. Thrilling! The higher the better.

She moved to the garage, leaving her rolling suitcase in the room temporarily after Kane had her give up some clothing. She knew that she'd have to repark before someone gets really pissed at her terrible parking job and keys her poor jeep. Not that it wasn't in bad shape already. Wolverine would murder her for ruining his car.

But when she got out to the garage, she noticed that William had beat her to it. That was his car, and she didn't want to be caught red-handed. What if she had scratched it? Man, she didn't have the money for whatever a scratch on that vehicle cost. She might as well as give him her life!

When he was out of view, she quickly ran to her jeep and brought it into the parking garage. She found a space that was mostly empty and decided to park it there. Safer that way. She sat in the jeep for a while and brushed her hands over the steering wheel. She missed her father. She missed her uncle. All of the attention she got from social media could never replace them. It was silly, but she sort of felt alone at this moment. Some might say that their villainous dads didn’t deserve a Father of the Year award, but Sabretooth wasn’t like others. He had taken care of her from the moment he chose to save her until the day he left. His vile days had been put behind him. While he was never much of a hero, he had settled down into his paternal role like it came natural to him.

She wiped away a tear that welled in her right eye and sniffed up some snot that dared to try to fall from her nose. Lexa was not about to let a bunch of strangers notice that she was upset. She got out of the jeep, gave that baby a few pats, and left for the lobby to grab her suitcase before heading up to her room.

Her eyes went wide when the doors of the penthouse opened for her. "What is all this stuff?" The penthouse alone was bigger than her mountain cabin back home. It was… uncomfortable. The doors shut because she had been standing outside of them for so long, and she rolls her suitcase to rest against the frame of the door before dipping. It was to the bar with her.

Once at the bar, she grabbed a stool next to Zehara right before Josiah could take it upon himself to do so. Girls have to look after each other when it comes to freaks like that. "Cheetah Avatar, huh? What does that mean? Does that make you a goddess or…?" Lexa couldn’t help it that she was intellectually lacking when she didn’t really have much of a formal education past elementary school.

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View All » Add Character » 10 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze
Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
Character Portrait: Josiah Dalinski
Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Character Portrait: Myla Murdock
Character Portrait: William Richards

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Character Portrait: William Richards
William Richards

Jr. Fantastic

Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
Aria Munroe

Tempest

Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Kane Nguyen

Ronin

Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Lexa Creed

Nightclaw

Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Zehara El Sayid

Cheetah

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze
Jameson Blaze

Ghost Rider

Character Portrait: Myla Murdock
Myla Murdock

Hell's Angel

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Character Portrait: Myla Murdock
Myla Murdock

Hell's Angel

Character Portrait: Jameson Blaze
Jameson Blaze

Ghost Rider

Character Portrait: Zehara El Sayid
Zehara El Sayid

Cheetah

Character Portrait: Lexa Creed
Lexa Creed

Nightclaw

Character Portrait: Kane Nguyen
Kane Nguyen

Ronin

Character Portrait: Aria Munroe
Aria Munroe

Tempest

Character Portrait: William Richards
William Richards

Jr. Fantastic

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