#capehood.start

[heroescue]

! 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 : 𝚋𝚞𝚣𝚣.

archie wasn't lying when they said the city didn't exactly like what was happening: halcyon city looked like one of those y2k atomic zombie movies with the inappropriately dressed protagonist and 2 hours of just straight up zombie killing til the bad ending … well, maybe the visual and special effect budget went up by like $500 million and so did the fucking smells too, jesus christ they stunk. truth was, buzz probably couldn't do much physically, even with their flight because ding ding ding : some of these things had wings. but they did have something of a plan; restoring power to one of the major grids could probably help out, especially since they wanted to track down where the demonic opening of pandora's jar came from. doing that might help this shit end.

but for the moment, they'd need to aid out. anyone they come across while trying to get some more power back up could probably help. “ yo, you ! you got powers ? ” buzz's cyber voice can be heard thanks to the helmet. “ if you do, can you- HEY, WATCH IT BUZZO ! ” buzz groans as they duck a flying thingy or whatever. “ I'm trying to get to one of the cell towers to get it back on; think you can help me get there ? ”  gotta be better than sticking around to become demon chow, right ? 

@capewiki

[bark4mebtch]

The tie was wrong. Karma stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fingers working at the knot for the third time, and decided that no, actually, the tie was fine. He was wrong. Red light flickered at his knuckles without permission. It beat just like a pulse, just a whisper of it, the way a bruise throbs when you press it. He looked down and watched the crackling curl between his fingers like it was embarrassed to be there. He was a walking bad luck charm. That's what they wrote about him in the blogs, in the comment sections, in the little wiki someone had made for the Kickstarters that he'd told himself three times he wasn't going to read and then read anyway. Karma: bad luck personified.

He wondered if they'd update Trailblazer's page. Guidemaster's.

His stomach turned itself inside out and he pressed the heel of his palm flat against his sternum like he could hold the feeling in. The migraine that had been sitting at the base of his skull since yesterday found its legs, started its slow crawl up toward his temples. His ribs still ached when he breathed too deep. Some parting gift from the fight, a farewell souvenir, thanks for coming, sorry it wasn't enough.

Should've done more.

Could've done more.

Should've, could've, but didn't.

Funerals. He fucking hated funerals and he'd been to enough of them that the hatred had gone past sharp and into something duller and more total, something that lived in the body rather than the mind. The weight of it settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew the way people arranged their faces and the particular silence that wasn't silent and the way everyone was always, always standing. These thoughts swirled through his head as he exited the bathroom. The crowd materialized around him, gathered at the edges of the memorial space in the way crowds did when the occasion was heavy enough to make people uncertain of their own geography. Dark coats. Bent heads. The sound of it reached him before anything else. Or the absence of sound, really, that specific frequency of collective grief. The knot in his stomach pulled tight. Sorry about your loss, dude. My condolences Murph. Your parents must be crushed. Such a shame they went that way...

Murphy swallowed thickly. The last funeral he had been at... the lights flickered and surged above him briefly, threatening to burst. 'Control... control yourself... easy... don't fuck this up...' He breathed in, slow, the kind that was supposed to do something and positioned himself at the perimeter. Far enough that he was navigating his own atmosphere. Close enough that he was there, present, counted, visible if anyone needed to see him. He understood, on some animal level, that showing up was the thing. Even if showing up felt like standing at the edge of something he might fall into. Lest Lady Luck decide to be a bitch. Yeah. Yeah, there was that. He exhaled through his nose and looked out at the assembled grief with the expression of a man who had not yet decided what his face was supposed to do, hands still buried in his pockets, the red tartan a quiet thread of color in all that somber flock. He lowered himself onto a nearby bench. "Where's the fucking buffet..." Murphy said, to no one, trying to lighten the mood in the only way he knew.

[thesuperstripper]

The moment he spotted them backstage, he smiled slow and knowing.

“Well,” he hummed, shutting the door behind him, “either security’s getting sloppy… or you came looking for me.”

Neon light caught against the sheen of sweat on his skin as he stepped closer, close enough now for his cologne to linger between them.

“You know,” he said softly, fingers hooking beneath the chain around his neck, “most people have to pay for a private show.”

His gaze dipped briefly to their lips before returning upward again.

“But maybe I’m feeling generous tonight.”

[dunamisteras]

MAY   9TH,   AROUND   1   AM. 

fear   swelled   in   his   chest,   slowly   spreading   through   his   limbs   as   darkness   consumed   the   city,   until   it   left   him   frozen   in   place.   without   light   or   electricity   to   empower   him,   leon   felt   incredibly   useless.   going   out   under   those   conditions   sounded   stupid.   uncharacteristically   reckless.   and   yet,   how   could   he   ignore   someone   in   need?   he   would   not   be   able   to   live   with   himself   if   he   didn’t   do   everything   in   his   power   to   protect   people   from   that   nightmare.   courage   was   never   about   the   absence   of   fear⸻   it   was   about   overcoming   it.   without   warning   anyone,   leon   left   the   safety   of   his   home   and   stepped   into   the   nightmare. phone   clutched   tightly   in   his   hand,   he   kept   trying   to   reach   the   people   closest   to   him,   desperate   for   any   sign   that   they   were   safe.   every   call,   every   message,   every   attempt   failed.   around   him,   it   was   like   being   in   a   very   elaborate   set   for   a   horror   film.   but   there   were   no   cameras   around.   no   director   to   lead   the   scene.   only   destruction. the   first   creatures   he   encountered   came   in   a   group   of   six.   without   any   other   source   to   absorb   from,   leon   fought   the   mindless   undead   with   his   own   fists,   taking   advantage   of   their   lack   of   coordination   and   making   sure   every   hit   counted.   every   time   he   connected,   his   strength   increased,   energy   building   up   inside   him.   his   best   efforts   could   only   keep   them   away,   but   he   couldn't   kill   them   with   his   own   hands.   that   wasn't   the   goal   anyway.   he   was   only   stalling   until   he   could   fully   recharge.   taking   damage   occasionally   was   part   of   the   deal.   he   thought   about   levi   and   tried   to   mimic   his   actions,   having   watched   him   since   he   was   a   kid.   the   guy   knew   how   to   take   a   punch. more   groups   of   undead   made   their   way   towards   him,   attracted   by   the   noises   from   the   fight.   from   his   palms,   small   explosive   blasts   kept   the   undead   at   a   safe   distance,   a   little   display   of   his   ability,   though   he   was   conserving   as   much   energy   as   possible.   when   the   horde   surrounded   him   and   gave   him   nowhere   else   to   run   to,   leon   unleashed   all   his   energy   into   one   destructive   blast,   attacking   any   (non)   living   creature   around   him. his   body   fell   to   the   ground,   clothes   evaporated,   as   well   as   anything   in   a   big   radius.   he   was   conscious,   but   barely.   he   told   himself   everything   was   going   to   be   okay.   he   only   needed   a   minute   to   catch   his   breath.

[fixedpower]

open to members of the seven deadly sins.

it  had  been  weeks  since  ghost  stepped  foot  in  the  warehouse  the  sevens  called  home,     nights  these  days  spent  on  the  job,     working,     stalking,     killing.     it’s  the  cost  of  success,     of  being  good  at  his  job,     (or at least that's what he tells himself) contracts  and  contacts  almost  always  hitting  his  line,     keeping  him  busy.     and  if  he’s  completely  honest  with  himself? a  part  of  him  likes  it  that  way.     he  wasn’t  built  for  this…     for  them.     to be regarded  and  regard others.     its  been  years  and  still,     the  care  he  has  for  them  fits  wrong, like  a  suit that's been tailored for a man different than him,     stretched  over  his  body,     tight  and  restrictive.     he  doesn’t  know  how  to  move  with  it,     with  the  concern  that  he  has  for  them ⎯ so  instead  he  lets  the  time  pileup.     he’s  never  regretted  that  more  than  now.     he  doesn’t  know  how  any  of  them  have  fared  in the  darkness.     is  everyone  okay? safe? are  there  any  injuries  or  even  worse,     casualties? ghost hasn't let himself think about it. he  swallows  roughly  as  he  lets  himself  in,     morning  light  barely  peeking  through  the  horizon.     his body  is heavy  with  emotions  he’s  sealed  up  tight and he could almost sink into how it feels to cross the threshold.     “anyone  home?”

[bark4mebtch]

The cereal aisle was, objectively, a nightmare. Blitzen stood in the middle of it with a plastic basket hanging from the crook of his elbow, antlers barely clearing the overhead signage. He'd learned to watch for that, and stared at the wall of boxes like they'd personally wronged him. They kind of had. There were so many. When he was much smaller, breakfast had been whatever the handlers deemed appropriate for the exhibit. A scoop of this, a measure of that. Nutritionally optimized. Joyless. He hadn't had opinions about food then. Now he had too many. "Ducky wants the one with the little marshmallows..." He murmured to himself. That part was easy. He'd spotted the Lucky Charms immediately. But Ducky had also said, very gently, over coffee this morning: "Maybe grab something for yourself too, love. Something you actually want." What he wanted wasn't on any shelf in this store. He pushed the thought down, focusing on the beeping of the self-checkout in the distance, and crouched toward the lower section. Something with honey, maybe, Ducky said he'd liked honey. He felt an antler catch the edge of a facing. Blitzen went very still. A few boxes dropped as the shelving trembled. 'Don't make a scene. You are a person. Persons drop things. This is fine.'

Blitzen moved to gingerly free himself and panicked as animal instinct momentarily took hold. Then a domino cascade: three, four, five boxes fell, then the shelve gave. An avalanche of sugar and screaming metal that turned at least four heads from the end of the aisle. Someone screamed. That didn't surprise him but it was upsetting. He began gathering the boxes quietly, long fingers working fast, head angled so he wouldn't break any more shelves. He'd gotten good at folding himself small. Two years of practice. Ducky's gentle coaching. Make eye contact, not too much. Smile, not too wide. Don't stare at their throats.

He was reaching for the last box when a shadow crossed him. A hand. Reaching for the same box. They brushed his knuckles. Warm, dry, a stranger's skin. Blitzen froze. His fingers curled against the floor. His breathing didn't change; he'd learned to control that too. But everything underneath went very, very quiet in the way that meant it was actually very, very loud. The hunger unfolded like something stretching after a long sleep, lazy and enormous, pressing up behind his sternum. He could feel it. The heat of them. The faint mechanical rhythm, the architecture of them, so close. The way his ability ghosted outward without permission, just tasting the edges of what was there. Femoral artery. Liver, maybe a little stressed. Heart rate: calm. Unsuspecting. Blitzen raised his eyes slowly. He was still smiling. He'd gotten very good at smiling. "Sorry, I just... the antlers... they're great for some things. Like Christmas lights I've been told." Or for pinning and goring victims and hanging their entrails. "But not good for others."

[dunamisteras]

NIGHT   OF   THE   UNDEAD. location:   one   of   halcyon's   largest   hospitals.

anubis   had   never   experienced   anything   like   it   before.   an   entire   week   in   total   darkness,   free   to   run   wild   and   cause   as   much   destruction   as   his   heart   desired.   without   thinking   twice,   the   professor   feasted   and   claimed   the   souls   of   anyone   who   dared   cross   his   path,   taking   countless   lives   from   innocent   bystanders   who   were   simply   in   the   wrong   place   at   the   wrong   time.   yet   his   thirst   for   blood   was   never   satiated. 

when   the   first   ray   of   sunlight   came,   anubis   understood   that   the   end   was   near.   soon   the   heroes   would   regroup   and   rebuild   the   city,   stronger   than   ever.   rage   made   his   blood   boil,   the   idea   of   returning   to   his   old   life   as   a   professor   didn't   feel   right   when   he   could   just   be   his   true   self   at   all   times.

so   he   launched   an   attack.   there   was   little   planning   involved.   antonio   spent   the   day   hiding   in   one   of   the   mask   society's   hideouts,   nobody   else   around,   except   over   fifty   mindless   mummies   who   survived   the   nightmare   week.   helpless   victims   trapped   in   decaying   bodies   wrapped   in   ancient   cloth.   during   the   dead   of   the   night,   when   the   city   quieted   down,   anubis   led   his   small   army   through   underground   tunnels   and   into   the   mechanical   basement   of   halcyon's   biggest   hospital. 

the   undead   advanced,   anubis   at   the   front.   only   a   reinforced   maintenance   door   stopped   the   maniac   from   accessing   the   hospital.   unceremoniously,   the   masked   criminal   raised   a   hand,   and   dozens   of   strips   of   bandages   came   from   his   arms   and   spread   over   the   metallic   surface.   the   cloth   tightened,   pressuring   until   the   metal   started   to   bend   inward   and   groan   violently.   he   kept   on   pulling   until   the   entire   frame   was   ripped   from   the   concrete   wall   and   fell   onto   the   floor   with   a   thunderous   impact   that   not   even   the   machinery   surrounding   them   could   muffle.

a   pair   of   security   guards   approached,   totally   unprepared   for   what   came   next.   mummies   lunged   from   the   darkness   and   slammed   into   the   men,   the   struggle   lasting   only   seconds   before   their   lives   were   taken.   anubis   kept   on   moving,   following   behind   the   new   additions   to   his   collection.   soon   all   would   be   under   his   influence.   with   no   one   to   warn   and   nothing   to   stop   the   invasion,   the   horde   infiltrated   multiple   floors   simultaneously,   accessing   the   building   through   the   evacuation   stairs.   anubis   positioned   himself   at   the   center   of   the   attack,   keeping   all   the   minions   within   a   certain   distance   from   him.

the   mummies   attacked   everything   that   moved   with   horrifying   brutality,   tearing   members   apart,   punching   through   hearts,   biting   off   flesh.   the   first   attack   concentrated   on   civilians,   helpless   victims   and   easy   targets.   each   corpse   anubis   passed   by   was   reborn   as   one   of   the   creatures   under   his   influence.   in   less   than   a   few   minutes,   his   numbers   had   increased   significantly,   but   he   was   aware   that   his   stunt   would   soon   earn   the   attention   of   a   couple   do-gooders.   a   response   would   quickly   follow.   that   didn't   frighten   him,   on   the   contrary.   the   idea   of   converting   a   powerful   hero   into   an   obedient   minion   was   too   tempting.   he   was   ready   for   it. 

[better-call-colos-saul]

open starter uwu location: somewhere

"This looks bad.." Saul began to say, concern in his voice and expression. His eyes landed on the crowd of protestors. Sauls grip on his workout gear tighten, anxious about his implications for his actions during the calamity. Should he have done more? Less? Soft brown eyes begin to well slightly, "We should probably join them right?"