We Only Need Four

[weonlyneedfour]

Really? They want that interview now? Come on, man, I was gonna do that for the employee valuation the next weekend! Oh really, three weeks I've been saying that, gee, like I've even HAD a weekend to sit down and look at the time. We just got back from another round of embarassing ourselves, can't I at least wash the clown make-up off first? No, whatever, f*%k it, I'll do it now. If I step in that shower, I ain't coming out for nothing. Hayato can file the report on how we dealt with Mr.Potluck and Shamaid when he's done picking sesame seeds outta his pants. This ain't gonna be for the public, right? Cause, y'know. Hmm, strictly for V.A.P.O.R intel only, got it. Ask away.

Marco Craine. 22 years old. Human turned vampire. Field name is Vulturine. Born in Garden District, New Orleans, was living in Toulonville, currently stationed out in Manhattan. I'm, uh, employed as a "specialized emergency responder", which is barely-respectable legalese for what everyone calls a registered superhero. I mean you guys read my file, right? If this isn't a public thing, what is this for? ... Whaddya mean, the "vampire thing"? Oh, you wanna pick at that, huh? Yeah, I know how this goes, I'm guessing half of you get to think vampires are not real even though you're looking at one. Oh I WISH that was true, believe me. You think I want people to know? You think this is fun for me? It's my life, jackass, I don't get to not-believe my way out of it.

...Okay so you wanna ask me about how vampire stuff works? Man I'm, look, sorry I snapped at you guys, under a lot of stress lately, but I'm not sure I can really help. Yeah, I don't know if my transfusion power is like a, me power, like the others have, or if it's a vampire power, not like I've been able to ask on the latter. I mean, not everyone's powers work the same, but any more particulars on how powers work than that, you're gonna have to go ask Kris, or Doc. Maybe I don't even have my own powers, or maybe I just got stuck with a gross ironic one that makes me suck at being a vampire.

I can't really go to the doctor to figure that stuff out, cause I risk ratting myself out. I have a pulse, but Kris ran some tests on me and apparently I got a bunch of organs missing, and she's not sure if it's a vampire thing or it it's just something my power did to the rest of my body. I mean, I'm pretty sure something like that happened to Noma. She's strong as hell, but I don't think she even has any organs left. I don't sleep on a coffin for the fun of it. I don't have a spleen and my liver doesn't heal properly, and if I don't sleep standing upright, I get really bad acid reflux. Plus, I see in the dark, and if I don't sleep in an enclosed space, I wake up pretty much as soon as the sun comes out. Also, I have bits of my intestines missing, but I'm pretty sure that's Talon Tori's fault. I guess my old folks were paying extra, cause she got, too close, that time. No, I'm not answering that. I go to the bathroom just fine, you dicks.

Yeah the fangs are mostly a defensive thing, like some animal scare tactic. The "drinking" is done through the fingers, see how they open up? But no I don't drink blood. And when I have to "borrow" blood occasionally for my power to work, I feel every drop that's not mine, and it all comes out soon as I can get it out. I guess that's what some of those organs I got missing were for. I mean, for one it tastes fucking gross. Two, I don't kill. Three, I don't even wanna RISK what would happen to me if I did drink it. Cause you know how I "turned", right? When my folks killed me, it kicked in. I had to have been born with latent vampirism, cause I don't remember ever getting bitten. Now, I can't confirm what I'm gonna say cause, and don't you ever tell Jeremy about this, but most of what I think I know about myself comes from the movies. But a lot of what goes on in the movies goes on with me for real, so I take it as enough accuracy to work with. But vampires, when they drink blood, they live forever by always regressing to the age they were when they got turned. Creepy old rich guy becomes creepy 20-something rich guy kind of deal, right? So, I got turned when I was a kid. I'm 22 now. So, going by that logic, there's like a 50/50 chance that if I drank blood, if it worked the way it's supposed to on vampires, that I'd just regress into a 10 year old again. And that is my actual worst nightmare. That's why I barely use my power. I don't even wanna risk any of that blood slipping in by accident. Maybe when I find my piece of shit parents I can ask them in private, assuming they don't kill me first. But yeah, nuh uh, no blood for me. Never had, never gonna have it.

Yeah, sorry, this isn't gonna work out man, my bad. Wait, actually I was meaning to ask, don't you V.A.P.O.R guys have intel on vampires? Cause you guys have intel on everybody for who knows how long. Again, I don't know any other vampires, I'm guessing the only ones I could ask are too busy hiding out somewhere trying to kill me. You guys are government spooks, don't you deal with MIB stuff? None of the other clowns you hired before me ever fought vampires? . . . Wow, great. It really is just a me problem. Joy.

[weonlyneedfour]

November 1975, Location Unknown

He steps through a clockwork-shaped portal crouching just enough to avoid the light fixture, casting an enormous shadow as he enters. He had opted to not wear boots for the occasion, treading the ground with his paws, sounding near imperceptible to the common ear. As the colossal tiger man quietly and politely entered the cell, his hooded companion walked by his side, announcing their presence with the thuds of a staff on the floor. This man wore a bright, ornate golden mask, pulling the hood over his face to obscure it’s effect.

The woman before them was shorter than expected. She was kneeling by the side of a bed with her head tilted downwards, her features fully obscured by a huge, tangled mess of black hair, that slowly writhed in response to their arrival. Dust had gathered around her knees. It was difficult to tell if she had been holding this position for 3 weeks, or for the 3 decades she had spent locked away here. Her hands were obscured under a metallic box used to handcuff them together. Though he detested the sight of those restraints, the hooded man felt a detestable little tinge of gratitude for them. The reports around her were tangled up in wartime propaganda and folk myth, but sympathetic as they were to her plight, only a fool would approach Anemia without a certain distance or fear.

She did not breathe, and the red stains on her outfit further added to her corpse-like appearance. The hooded man took a deep breath and gripped his walking staff more tightly, while the tiger man, who wore a suit black enough to obscure nearly everything but his snow white head and hands, began to speak in truncated Japanese.

"Forgive us for tresspassing. Your guards won't be distracted forever, we needed to seize our chance. We would like to speak to you."

A twitch. Words came about slowly, without noise. A death rattle remembering how to speak again.

"殺す.....殺す......殺すのか?"

His breath skips a beat, and involuntarily, Tsar Tiger takes a step back. The giant crimelord measures his next words carefully.

"No, we are not here to kill you. I believe, thusly, you won't try to kill us, either. I've journeyed here to plead your help, Anemia."

She twitches, and her hair flares up briefly at the mention of her war moniker, before quieting down. She seems to be recovering senses she hadn’t had much use for in the past decades, and lifts her head without meeting his eyes.

"Are you…a snow leopard?"

Tiger chuckles to try and defuse tension.  "Not quite, I happen to be a tiger. I do come from a land of snow. I'm called Tsar Tiger, although my real name is Sevastyan. Not many know of what I'm telling you. This is my associate, Ourochorus. He has brought me here and tutored me in the language of your homeland, so we may speak.”

Another twitch. Her eyes lower, and she whispers in a hollow whistle. "....not….my…..homeland……my home….gone…."

And Tiger drops the façade of joviality.  "I, see. I thought these vermin would have at least informed you about the outside world. Japan is not gone. But it is-" "no. my. homeland. the Empire… took my homeland." "The American empire, or the Japanese empire?" "the Empire." "She means the both of them.", Ourochorus chimed in, quietly addressing Tiger in his native Russian. "Speed this up, Tiger. Now isn't the time for poetry. The guardsmen won’t be deceived for long."

"Miss Anemia, I'm truly sorry for how sudden this is. Believe me. We are here because we too know what it's like to lose everything you love, everything you were, everything you could have been, at the hands of the Empire. At the hands of the West. I admire your resilience, and forgive me, but in you, I see a kindred spirit."

Tsar Tiger waits to see if she responds. She stands there unmoving, but although the lower half of her face remains hidden behind that respirator mask, her eyes shift. His words, the recollection of her senses, whatever memories those bring, all seem to stir up sadness within her, and as much as he hates himself for it, Tiger needs to seize the opportunity. 

"They’ve robbed unforgivable things from me, as well. I'd heard of your power, what you'd done to those uniformed pigs. The massacre of men who deserved it a thousand fold. The statement you made. Ghastly as that affair may have been, we can no longer shy away from brutality."

"....you intend to use me…"

"No! No, heavens no, I’d gut anyone who tried. I intend for us to work together. If you want, we will break you out of here right now, and you will never have to see us again if you wish. But we can make them pay, Anemia. We can make them pay with more than their filthy maggot lives. We can make it so they never hurt anyone ever again."

".......you cannot..."

"We will. We have gathered people across the world. Strong men and women, victims of tragedies like ours. We stand not for our countries, but for the lives of our people, against the enemy of all mankind. The men that stopped you, that let it happen, that locked you away? There are countless like them now. They encircle and protect the West like hyenas defending a carcass. I have amassed power over decades to resist them. But only together, we can stop them."

"...you intend… to build an Empire atop their bodies..."

Ourochorus closes his eyes and looks away, already able to tell the exact moment Tsar Tiger made this a wasted journey. 

"It, is the only way to defeat the empire, to make sure it never grows again. We must raise something on top of it. Only as brothers in arms, we may survive."

“we are not brothers.”

“Pardon me?”

She abruptly stands, leaning backwards to extend her lumbar. Four loud pops and a painful crack sounded off from within her body, as she moves to sit on the bed, calmly looking at the tiger man twice her size before her. Her sharp eyes at last meet Tiger’s own, and she speaks with a different, less sephulcral voice, and much greater clarity.

"....we. are not. Brothers. I take that word as poison, coming from a stranger. I will not have it. And what you tell me, I cannot be a part of it." "They have already made you a part of this." Ourochorus attempts to interject, tugging at his companion's arm. “Tiger, let’s go. This was a wasted effort.” The woman continues. "And my part is finished. So far, it ended in failure. You know this, and you plan to fail as I have." "Anemia, please. You failed merely because you were alone, against an entire American team. I don't mean to offend, but look at what they've done to you. They…" He stops to catch his breath, and his next sentence comes out as a choked, hateful growl, hissing through his teeth. "They killed my son. They kill us, they cage and abuse our people, make monsters out of us, and they will never stop until we make them, until we destroy them. You know this." "I do. I know I am a monster. You, are not there yet. You are a thug. A thug with flowers on the tongue and hate in your eyes. You are not honest with yourself. You cannot be honest with me."

Tsar Tiger stands straight, his head almost brushing across the ceiling. The giant predator snarls with contempt dripping from his fangs. Anemia is not impressed. "And who are you to think you know me? You ungrateful, ignorant coward. You think I came all this way because we need you?" "Tiger, we have to go. Now." "Is this it? Do you know what they've done to your precious country since then? We offer you a chance to stop turning your back on your people, and you reject it? You plan to die in American chains as penance? Are you that afraid of yourself? You disgusting coward!"

Tsar Tiger curses with baritone roars, uneven, unsteady, lost within rage, and a bitter sense of betrayal is painted starkly on his features. At last, he is fully honest with her, and she sees enough to almost pity him. Worse, she is forced to privately concede a point to him. 

"My people were killed, Sevastyan. I cannot die, and as I sense it, neither can you. Neither of us will be seeing our loved ones soon. I see you, and you are me. I know the hatred that’s poisoned you. And so do they. If they haven't already, they will make an example out of you, as they did with me. And they'll make an example out of your people in turn. And you know this already. I presume it has happened to you before, and you think you are either too powerful to let it happen again, or that you have nothing more to lose now. For your sake, I hope at least one of these is correct.”

"....."

"Make no mistake, I will get out of here. But I do not intend to repeat my mistakes once I do. Cowardly as I may be, I will not be a mere cautionary tale again. We can, and must, do better."

The time limit for their departure was drawing to an end, and Ourochorus opened another portal where the prior one stood. It seemed that, unless they planned to join her in this cell and sleep on the floor until the Americans decided otherwise, he and Tsar Tiger would have to carry on Anemia’s debate without her.

Tsar Tiger and Anemia might have been able to live forever, where as Ourochorus...well, a hundred and forty years had done enough damage to his knees as is. More so than being captured, the prospect of sleeping in the floor was most unwelcome to him.

"So be it. I, apologize, for my rudeness. It seems my time and efforts were misplaced."

"They are, but not where you think. Don’t concern yourself with me. I will live to see them fall. I merely warn you to be patient."

“For what?”

“So I might save you a seat, if you get to the end with me.”

[weonlyneedfour]

(The first recorded meeting of The Camelot Circle of America, circa November 1940)

[weonlyneedfour]

Cannon Bill

One of the first superpowered crimefighters, this silent bruiser made his debut in 1930s Manhattan, providing free knuckle dentistry to Pinkerton agents, terrorists and gangsters. Once a troubled young chemist, William Ken Scott developed a formula intended to fix up improperly-healed spinal injuries he had accumulated over the course of an abusive childhood and adolescence, until a mysterious lab accident allowed him to create a chemical compound that permanently granted him superhuman strength and durability. A chance encounter with a lifelong friend wound up inspiring him to use his newfound abilities to fight crime and protect others, and for years, William and his friend, a street smart cabbie always ready for action, protected the streets together, eluding criminals and law enforcement alike as an invincible duo.

Until a fateful night in 1939, when William finally tracked down the master criminal, Father Hatchet, to a hideout at Seventh Avenue, and walked through corpses and viscera to find Hatchet and his gang murdered at the hands of his new lieutenant, the cadaverous giant Frere Jacques. Cannon Bill fought desperately to lead Jacques away from further victims into an unoccupied building, and in the end, his enhanced durability only gave him a few extra minutes of torture. He was thrown off an 8th-floor apartment and rescued by his friend, who raced through the streets as fast as he could, desperate to find anything in their lab that could revive his friend's pulse. William did not survive that night, and in death, whether because of the formula or something Jacques did to him, his body crumbled into a strange black powder.

A year later, when the Camelot Circle of America was formed and Cannon Bill was invited to join, there were few who knew him close enough to tell a different man had taken up the mantle.

In the decades that followed, his friend never quite got over his death, never accepted the sheer injustice that had befallen his companion, never stopped trying to make up for it, only breaking retirement over the decades to stop Frere Jacques whenever he resurfaced. When the Earth was struck by a cataclysm in the 1980s, and Cannon Bill spotted a man he'd seen die and crumble to dust in his arms walking down the street, he gave chase without looking back, and eventually found himself in a strange, broken world, a desert wasteland where he treaded upon a black powder he'd only seen once before, and faced monstrous fascimiles of people he'd met before. A world covered in cremation ashes, all that once remained of his beloved partner.

Maybe it was a trick to lure him into his demise, or something worse than death. Maybe his partner didn't die at all, and got drafted into some kind of eternal war he couldn't escape from. Maybe this is where his partner wound up after he died, and all Bill can do is find whatever remains of a ghost. Maybe the things he's facing really are his old teammates, and when he dies, he'll join the march of the mechanical undead as well.

Maybe, shmaybe, that kind of smart-guy thinking was never Bill's forte. If he got in, he can get out. If his partner isn't dead, he'll find him. And if he is dead and this is the afterlife, then he'll get him out of here either way, and screw it, he'll get those other chumps out as well, because this ain't no place to spend eternity in. Either way, Bill knows the only way out is the same way out of everything: it's going through the storm and keeping your head up till the bell rings.

And if you can't do it alone, well, that's where you find someone smarter than you to point the way.

Cannon Bill was never a one-person job after all.

"Don't sweat it, I can get to them. Just tell me where they are."

[weonlyneedfour]

Noma Lacri

Title: Angelo Cibernetico. Alter Ego: Unknown. Has gone by Maria or Lisa on separate occasions. Confirmed to have been born human. Private subject. Nationality: Italian. Occupation: Full-time Emancipator, lab assistant to Miss Ion in her downtime. Otherwise unknown. Group affiliation: The NY Emancipators.  Base of Operations: Manhattan. Genova, Italy (former). Likes: Friends. Dish-washing (7 limbs help a lot). Dislikes: Enemies. Power outages. Skills: Hacking. Crowd control. Holds the world record at Snake.

Powers: Strange cyber-biological lifeform. Enhanced speed, strength and durability. Able to reconstitute her form following physical injury. Able to travel through electric wiring and enter/speak through/manipulate/fix machinery. Able to "communicate" with machine-based lifeforms. Can produce nanobots to extend her powers to biological lifeforms upon contact, mostly used for healing purposes. Nanobots must be removed or withdrawn quickly to prevent injury to both parties. Does not need to sleep, but requires sustenance to survive. Her stomach appears to contain a miniature portal that compensates for her lack of mouth. Eats by using said portal and using her legs/tendrils to push objects inside of it. Theoretically able to "eat" and convert anything into energy, including living beings. Said option is a last resort. Displays unusual degrees of spatial awareness and cold reading, speaks in inscrutable but often prophetic tones. Unclear if this correlates to any kind of mind-reading or future-telling ability or is another side effect of her biology.

"Honestly, next to Noma? I'm a poser. She scares the SHIT out of villains in ways I couldn't dream of, and she's got some really, really weird powers we know very little about. Don't tell Jeremy I even said this, but I honestly think she could beat Sangrier, and NOBODY beats Sangrier, that's the highest compliment I could give anybody. I know she tends to take this wrong way, and I can't blame her, but I'm not being ironic, I genuinely admire her a lot, I think she's too hard on herself. I'm actually kinda jealous of her sometimes. Being a badass scary monster rules, man, why would you even want to not be one? What, cause people hate you and try to kill you for it? Yeah, tell me something I don't know." - The Vulturine

"I, I wanted to get lunch with her back when we started, just to get to know her, tell her about the costume I was working with Huxley and Ion to design for her, see if she was onboard with the wings and cape and public branding of it all. She can't exactly, um, take her mask off like the rest of us, so I got some takeout. She didn't say anything much, kinda left me talking to myself for most of it, I guess she wasn't hating it? She closed her eyes and made this clicking sound sometimes when I made a joke, I, I'll take that was a laugh. Anyway, dating just came up in the conversation, and she told me to ask out Guard Ramon at some point after work. It, it was this V.A.P.O.R officer I was kinda thinking about a little, and I kinda freaked out that she knew what I was thinking, but she wasn't judgy or mean about it, I didn't, I mean... Okay, look, MAYBE she is kinda creepy, maybe she doesn't get along with most people and, maybe she words everything she says like she's putting it in your tombstone, but she means well, truly. I definitely 100% don't think she's ever going to start eating people and that's NOT A COOL THING TO IMPLY, VULTURINE, OKAY? - Hayato

"I don't think Noma has anything to go back to, outside of what we do in this team. I mean, I don't have anything I'd want to go back to, but that is on me, yes? I left my country and family by choice. I did the right thing. Noma, I, I'm not sure. I don't think she had a choice, in whatever she became. I'm not sure if "right" or "wrong" are sufficient for her. I think whatever Kirigami is planning, what we're trying to build here, maybe she needs it more than we imagine. And we do need her, it's, I don't want her to ever feel like she doesn't belong. I trust her. I'd like to think I have her trust, she looks out for all of us, yes but... But I've been thinking lately and, Noma only speaks generally when she truly, urgently has to, and she speaks to me more so than anyone. We work together, k, that helps. But I wonder if, maybe I'm just not asking her the right questions? ...I'm a little afraid of what I'm gonna hear if I do ask her the right questions." - Miss Ion

[weonlyneedfour]

"Well, I was robbing casinos back then, of course. I wasn't going by Countess Foxbite at that time, no fancy name or mask, didn't need em, just had to look the right amount of rich and stupid to get wherever I wanted and work some extra "magic" if the place was segregated, and not forget to pack the six-shooter in the purse just in case it was one of those nights." "Sure, I'd been around the block. Diamonds, train robberies, cattle rustling, done most of em, but running casinos to the ground is what I liked the most, only part of it I still miss. It was the civil solution to getting them out of Foxhole Boulevard and the not-civil ones looked more appealing every day. They get a legal pass for robbing folks blind every hour of every day, so playing by their rules and being better at it is only fair game. They called on Lady Luck's name, but it was I who was sweeping her off her feet and taking her home to treat her right, and she repaid those nights with a few decades extra for me. "Can't be ungrateful, I suppose, but if I had much patience for men I might have tried romancing the Grim Reaper instead."

But word on the street then was that Edward Triton, the, pardon my language please, pigfuck pimp bastard that ran Toulonville for 20 years, had heard of these rowdy little crooks making noise around town, muscling on his territory. Some loud fat guy from New Orleans was fencing expensive goods he’d acquired overseas and not paying tribute, and I hardly have to tell you Prince Pavonini loved his character every bit as much then as he did until the end of his life." "But it wasn't just us two. Some amphibian monster woman from who-knows-where out of town was going around beating up and kicking his men out of establishments, think she ate a couple of arms too many, and there was this other new one then, messing around with policemen, like sending music boxes to the stations or hijacking the police radio broadcast with uninterruptible music and leaking stuff to the press and public radio that implicated the cops and Triton."

"The former was the first Sally Manda, first that I knew anyway, lost count of how many times she regenerated or cloned herself after a point, and the latter was Legato Sphynx. That was how they met, they and Pavo had a, complicated relationship back then. Well I guess it never stopped being complicated, marriage always overcomplicates everything, never had the patience for that nonsense, but anyway -" "Triton had gotten fed up with us one day, rounded us all up to torture and kill us, send a message across town that he was not to be messed with. Conveniently for us, the poor old man just happened to die of a heart attack that very night. Legally ruled in the papers and everything, go figure." "I can't tell you who did it. It was dark, there was a fight, then we were breathing and he was not, that's all there is to it. You might not believe me, but none of us claimed credit for it. We knew whoever did would be next." "Well no, we didn't get much choice in the matter. None of us wanted it, but it was either taking Triton's throne or dying at the hands of his mob. "The Carnival Court of America" was our idea, the name was Pavonini's little flourish, stealing the Camelot Circle's abbreviation and making a mockery out of it, tell the "white hats" what we thought of them. We'd formed the Carnival Court, split up all his old territories and assets among ourselves, and got everyone to join in or stay out of our way." "Back then, we made a hell of an impression, everyone wanted to grab a mask and a name and jump in on it. Cause suddenly, we didn’t have to take shit from the mafia or the triads or the cops, and do you know how liberating it is to not have to be scared of the cops anymore? It was like we were all immortal for a while there."

"Yes, it was a stupid idea, what else were we supposed to do? You think becoming a "hero" was a choice for people like us then? You don't know how lucky you have it."

"I don't…okay, maybe I do miss them, it's never nice being the last to leave the party. We, Pavonini and I had a fight, the last time I saw him. We talked about you. About what it was like, after he rescued you and brought you here, I moved in when Katrina happened and the pub became a shelter that needed tending to. I mean, four years, me, him and Gloria, trying to raise an orphan who can climb walls and rip through steel when he gets cranky. And you were just so angry, I was worried for you. I was afraid we were hurting or using you, cause we're "black hats". Can't tell you how much I hate that stupid name, but... It's what we do." "I knew Pavonini still wanted to fight this stupid war and was running out of time, that he blamed himself for everything and he sure as shit wasn't innocent but - I, look, the point is that he just couldn't let go. Of that life, of those games, of all that class warfare and hatred he got embroiled in. Of Sangrier. Sangrier is an addiction and I was the first to go cold turkey, and they all should have - Listen to me. I know how you feel, and I'm telling you got to let it go. You are not going to find anything in that auction. You are going to get yourself killed over nothing." "Pavonini is dead, Sangrier is invincible, and you got a DAMN good thing going on with those Emancipator people you're running with, seriously, don't throw that away. Please. For me and Gloria's sake, Marco -"

"I'm sorry, auntie Hazel."

"- Don't die the way he did."

*click

[weonlyneedfour]

(Background by Ele.D)

The Grey Claw

Character created by: Francisco Armond

Home series: A Garra Cinzenta (1937-1938)

Title: Fascinora. Alter Ego: Thiago Fragas. Doctor Stone.  Nationality: Brazilian. Occupation: Crimelord. Chemist.  Group affiliation: His gang. Base of Operations: São Paulo, Brazil.  Likes: His robot companion. Jazz. Attention. Dislikes: His arch-enemy. Dying. Being unrecognized. Skill: Resurrection. Revenge. Building models replicas of haunted castles.

Powers: None on record. Access to a vast arsenal of strange weapons, devices, death traps, and henchmen. Deadly claw gauntlets able to puncture concrete and tear through flesh and bone, below-average fighter otherwise. Chemical and bioelectrical genius. Built self-sustaining automatons. Devised a chemical formula able to resurrect the deceased, albeit without memories. Failed prototypes of said formula were used to transmute living and dead humans into mutant creatures, most frequently reminiscent of chimpanzees and gorillas. Possibly immortal.

The Grey Claw was the man who lit the world on fire in the process of trying to start a match. 

The Grey Claw was among the first recorded black hats operating in Brazil, a master criminal of a sort thought to have died out after the end of World War 1. Distinguished by his grim yet flashy buccaneer grim reaper costume, his deep and nasally voice, and his appalling chuckle and sense of humor. The Grey Claw perpetrated a series of high-profile thefts, murders and bombings at his debut, quickly consolidating São Paulo’s criminal underworld and newfound industrial advancements under his grip and holding the country in a grip of terror for over a year. And this was but the start, a cheap façade over his true plans of alchemical research and global domination.

Notorious for his mysterious technology and bizarre resources, The Grey Claw’s highly advanced arsenal included early prototypes of television screens, recording devices across the entire city, mummified corpses rigged to spasm and perform simple tasks, rampaging mutant apes, and FLAG, a titanic murderous automaton bodyguard that rendered The Claw untouchable, and whom The Claw displayed a bizarre degree of camaraderie with. Constantly outfoxing the police and with little to no white hats to oppose him, The Grey Claw eventually achieved his world-changing breakthrough: perfecting a formula that could resurrect the dead. 

His success would be seemingly short-lived, as a police raid on his underground lair quickly buried the Claw’s discoveries. His persistent enemy, the police inspector Higgins, would find the corpses of his fellow officers, one of the Claw’s mutant apes, and the Claw himself being mauled to death by FLAG, as Higgins had his men bring down the machine and the surrounding cave with grenades, burning the laboratory and notes in the process. The Grey Claw was identified post-mortem as the famed young chemist, Doctor Thiago Fragas, said to be driven to crime by his sheer hatred of his former partner, Professor Curberry. Curberry was identified as the mutant ape corpse in the basement, and with all knowledge of The Claw's research scrubbed from public record, for many years that was assumed to be end of the sadistic crook’s reign of terror, as both Higgins and “The Dame in Black”, the Claw’s resurrected victim-turned-partner in crime, eventually took all knowledge of The Grey Claw’s research into their graves.

But The Grey Claw would return over the following years. Although Doctor Thiago Fragas remains buried, sightings began emerging locally as well as internationally during the war years, with a man wearing the original costume last seen following in the wake of The Golden Bat’s psychic meltdown and disappearance. Variants in costume and body type over the decades indicate that the Grey Claw has become a mantle, worn by criminals pursuing the original’s infamy to their ends. Fascist coalitions, anarchist gangs, doomsday cultists, black hats and white hats alike have turned The Claw’s image to their own ends, using it as a persona with an extra layer of anonymity to escape accountability, and with little interest in the original’s great scientific genius, which would be the most unforgivably offensive part of it all to him.

Some among these believe that Thiago Fragas never died at all, and that he’s merely biding his time, tinkering with the next great electric brain of his design, merged inseparably in the shadows of the city, if not outright merged with the city itself, waiting for the next perennial motivator. Waiting for the next target of his eternal hatred. That he waits for a worthy arch-nemesis, to at last take his throne as the world’s greatest villain.

Or that perhaps he waits, only because when death itself is beyond reach, there's not much else you can do.

[weonlyneedfour]

"Slow down, Pamonha! What's gotten into you, haven't we been shot at by bad guys enough times by now? Well, it's not MY problem you're made of meat and I'm not! The recipe keeps catching on fire cause I can't focus! I am NOT letting them show me up at that stupid cookout, if I can't finish this potion in time, I'm putting YOU in it, got it? Hi-yaah!"

Emilia the Ragdoll

Character created by: Monteiro Lobato Home series: Sitio do Pica Pau Amarelo

Title: Freedom or Death. The Countess of Three Little Stars. The Most Selfish Creature Alive.  Alter Ego: Marchioness. Yakety Ann.  Nationality: Brazilian. Occupation: Space pirate (currently) (not actually a job). The self-appointed brains of whatever group she joins (also not actually a job). Self-employed equestrian dancer, trapeze artist, "cloth fairy", "name giver", "idea inventor", "telescopic looker", Saci hunter, "letter sender", writer of memoirs, chief editor of the Yellow Woodpecker Scream newspaper, and many others (...okay well some of these are actual jobs, kinda). Group affiliation: None. The Encerrabodes Family (formerly). Base of Operations: The Solar System. Yellow Woodpecker Ranch, in Brazil (formerly). Likes: Her pet dog Pamonha. Her former pet rhinoceros Quindim. Collecting artifacts. Talking. Dislikes: Losing. Sitting in silence. Having to stitch herself back together (that's what you're supposed to order the losers around you into doing) Skill: Storytelling. Bossing others around. Chaos.

Powers: Ragdoll brought to life by a talking pill given to her by Doctor Snail (who is not a real doctor, but he is a real snail). Has survived the destruction of her physical form many times and constantly stitches and refills her body back together. Able to curl into a ball and move at high speeds, wrestle beings several times her size, and summon items out of hammerspace.  Displays incongruent biological reactions such as vulnerability to cold, insect bites and terrible smells, suggesting a hybrid existence. Has spent several years / decades in an inanimate state akin to her pre-sentience existence, indicating that the effects of the pill are either temporary or inconsistent. Carries with her a supply of a mysterious pixie powder that enables her to travel through space. Teleportation is not instant and her reserves are limited. 

Once upon a time, there was a strange ranch by the Brazilian countryside where strange adventures befell the family who lived there. In that family at Yellow Woodpecker Ranch, there was a girl named Lúcia, who was gifted a ragdoll by the housemaid Auntie Nastácia, who originally crafted the clumsy little witch out of an old skirt and macela leaves. Lúcia grew tired of talking to a doll that wouldn't answer back, and in one of her adventures, took her to an enchanted kingdom, where she was given a talking pill. With an outlet at last, Emilia began her new life by loudly complaining and cursing about the horrid taste of the pill, and she has never stopped complaining about things in the decades since. 

In no time at all, Emilia made herself into a fiercely independent, opinionated troublemaker. Fearless, stubborn, tempestuous, intolerant of injustice and driven by self-serving curiosity, always quick to insult or argue or speak her mind at length, the raggedy anarchist eagerly takes off on any adventure or goal she sets her mind on, and from 1920 to the 1940s she adventured alongside Lúcia and her family as well as on her own, often getting into trouble and fighting to defend her home and friends from many, many villains.

She's fenced scorpions and fought martian hordes, defeated the world's strongest sailor by tricking him into eating mold, and traveled to the stars on her own and rescued a holy birdman from the Milky Way (after debating whether or not to cut off his wings to see what happened). She's spat in the faces of King Arthur and Hercules, and once held the world hostage with a shrinking spell in an attempt to force the President of the United States to end all war forever. Emilia is a volatile and incorrigibly immature trickster, unburdened with human complications such as organ failure, death, and having to ever accept being wrong in an argument. 

Emilia is currently a living relic of a time that doesn't exist anymore, if it ever did. As Yellow Woodpecker Ranch is nothing more than a children's fantasy series from the early 1900s, whatever freakish anomaly led to Emilia leaving the pages did not carry over to the supporting cast she used to be a part of. She's spent many years in oscillating inactivity where she reverts to inanimate doll form again, and has only sporadically been seen interacting with the local and international caped community over the century. She was last spotted years ago transversing the dunes of Mars with Six-Gun Gorilla and held up in the court of the Clown Kings of Venus months prior, which indicates that she has spent most of her time since traveling across the solar system, using her dwindling reserves of pixie powder, making the most of her sporadic returns to conscience.

It is as of yet unknown whether she's working on any kind of long-term plan, or whether she's merely trying to live and outrun the oblivion that's covered the rest of her family, merely pursuing her destructive and childish carefree whims as long as they'll take her. But then again, those whims have made her quite a force to be reckoned with over the past century. And if this one thinks it'll succeed where thousands failed in finally snuffing out the little firecracker, it's got another thing coming.

[weonlyneedfour]

"My condolences to your vampire friend, little one." "Keep them. And don't call me that." "I am sincere. Human blood tastes revolting to the palette, to need it for sustenance must be truly humiliating. And you are little, as are all humans. But yes, Miss Ion, I’ve heard about the disaster at the auction in Toulonville." "Then you know why I'm here."

"You came to me because there were Tiger Gallery representatives at the scene, and your theory is that I was behind them, trying to attain the, "Gellar Meteor", yes?" "Let’s call it more a, currently polite guess, than theory. Someone had to send them there in enemy grounds with orders to engage if necessary."

"Yes, and to break regional agreements over some old trinket and pick a hopeless battle with the local agent, ridiculous. I have nothing I want in the country you fled to, Kartoshka, nothing but my wish for it to choke to death under the weight of it’s murderous greed. And for that, I merely have to wait, as I have the past century. I remain under confinement, as per our agreement. I have yet to break my end of our bargain."

"Yes, Tsar Tiger, always the gentleman, always the monster with a code, I know your script and I am not impressed by it. I’m not feeling patient enough this evening to take your word for it."

"I have nothing worth lying about. And you are no one worth lying to. What is the matter, can you not sense lies? See my soul, or feel the atoms around my heartbeat, perhaps? I'm sure you can think of something your abilities can do."

"You have no heart, Tiger." "Precisely." "And no soul either. You are nothing but a shell of fizzling contempt and violence where life should be. And if you don’t even have anything worth saying, I'll take my leave. The black hats of Toulonville brutalized my friend, I have no time to waste around you.”

"Tch, "black hat", you even sound like them now. But as is, if you want a name, the Vicars have discussed Professor Attila's latest pilgrimage to Arkansas. He is operating in America, and he takes an interest in the ancient and the arcane. He quite dislikes me, so he might have thought of hiring the Gallery to invade that auction and breach conduct in an effort to reach me."

"...I’m tracking Doctor Aurora's whereabouts. Her interest in weaponizing cosmic phenomenon marks her as a suspect. She joined up with you after I left the Rezina Circus, and I know you keep track of your associates even from here."

"Of course you know, but she was your acquaintance. If she wanted that meteor, she would have shown up in person to claim it, and brought her cosmo-tons with her, and she would have alerted you directly. I take it you must not be on speaking terms with your old clown troupe ever since you fled to America.”

“I’m not taking constructive criticism from a murderer.” “No, you're just chasing after one. I assume you don’t want to hear about Aurora, then.” “She eluded me in Belarus three days ago. If, if you know about her, where I can find her, stop her, tell me where she was last found….Please.”

“Tch, “please” is profane coming from you, don’t do that. Still, Aurora hasn’t been herself in quite some time, it’s possible she tires of the game, just as I did. All I know is that she’s on the run on her own, and she’s cut off contact with the Vicars and me. She might make an attempt to raid my base in Volgograd for supplies in the meanwhile. I suggest you head there. And getting back to that meteor, if my 86 years of experience mean anything to you, and they do because you are still trying to pry answers out of me, then I’ll offer this: it is far more possible that the auctioneer hired the Gallery to pose a front, to throw off suspicion on their own repurposing of the meteor. Had the agent Sangrier not arrived in the scene, he might have ordered the Gallery to assassinate all the other rogues in the audience, to have the American agents blame the Gallery while he breaks protocol without interference. If you want to play detective, you have three suspects now.”

“Four”.

“Yes, four. Suspect me as much as you wish, but you forget: My position in the Vicars of Hatred does not allow me to command the Tiger Gallery anymore, I haven’t issued direct orders to any of my peons for eleven years now. None have had the courage to outright replace me, but they do as they please ignoring the Vicar mandates. And the Beast Union, well, they've never quite obeyed me to begin with. No, Miss Ion, I had nothing to do with your friend’s accident. I’m afraid you missed my violent miscreant era by quite a few decades."

“Is that your way of threatening me?”

“I can do no such thing, no. But perhaps, if you hated me more, had your powers been developing faster, maybe you could be the one to finally kill me. Hrrn. A blessing that would be, no? We could have terminated our agreement sooner. You hold yourself back, and someone will kill you for it. You do not believe me, but as ally or enemy, I live to serve. I am simply lamenting what could have been. ”

“Then serve me by keeping your putrid tongue to yourself, Tsar Tiger. I am not your friend, nor another of your little projects. You deserve no forgiveness or respect. You are but one of a thousand ghosts trying to drag me into the pit of regret with them and I'm tired of it."

"Well, then don't say I didn't warn you. Hard as it may be to believe, I have always been very sincere in my attempts to help idiot children in hats and capes. I've spent decades hammering order out of chaos, putting vile agents in line, and I am bound to your suicidal lifestyles whether you want me there or not, so why don't you make this easier for the both of us and tell me, what else would you have me do?"

"On most days I would simply like you to fuck off and die. And if you can't do that, if I'm the next person your curse latched onto, I would like you to atone, for the lives you ruined, for the part you played in breaking the world, for everything you could have done of your life when you had the chance."

"And I'm giving you that chance, Tsar Tiger. You don't deserve it, but you have it. Help me, and I'll give you what you want."

"...impudent human brat. What makes you think you know what I want?"

"I know about Cadet Solarbolt. I know what you were trying to do together. It is the only reason I'm helping you."

"....."

"And when we’re done, I’ll help you see your own journey to oblivion myself. You can apologize to him, and the ghosts surrounding you, as much as you want then. I'm going to go find Aurora. Until next time."

....

“I’ll look forward to it then, little one.”

Tsar Tiger

Title: Tyrant Servant. Alter Ego: Sevastyan the Timber Tabby. Nationality: Russian tiger-human hybrid. Occupation: Crime Lord. Philanthropist. Blacksmith and lumberjack (formerly). Base of Operations: Volgograd, Russia. The Tiger Gallery and the Beast Union have members and associates around the globe. The Vicars of Hatred operate within Europe and parts of Asia. Likes: Solitude. Mementos he collects. Had a disco phase. Dislikes: Humanity. Back pain. Traveling by boat. Skill: Financial management. Intimidation. Warfare. Group affiliation: Founder of the Tiger Gallery. Leader of the Beast Union. Councilman of the Vicars of Hatred. 

Former partner of Cadet Solarbolt and The Solarbolt Family.

[weonlyneedfour]

So, are they called the NYU Emancipators because they went to New York Univeristy or...?

The group is meant to parallel the Avengers so I wanted a name that matched the "vague but heroic-sounding verb expanded to plural descriptor" name, and something a little less aggressive or fight-y because the Emancipators are intended to be rescue operatives and emergency responders first. Also I really like DJ Emancipator's music and I thought it made a decent cape name.

The NYU part is because there's other units in other parts of the country (and maybe some overseas) and this is just the one operating in Manhattan. There's a kind of West Coast-East Coast-Young Avengers / Justice League International-Detroit thing with all these regional variants with official and unofficial ties to the main group and there's usually a rotating membership, salaries and staffed headquarters that are paid for and maintained by V.A.P.O.R across these.

They're not the biggest team outright, closer to the 2nd or 3rd, but being in the Emancipators is a big deal and there's some fairly significant in-fighting and tension between these.

[krinsbez]

So, why the “U“?

[weonlyneedfour]

Because I forgot what that's supposed to stand for and thought it was just a way for Americans to call New York City even though the proper abbreviation was right there.

[weonlyneedfour]

So, are they called the NYU Emancipators because they went to New York Univeristy or...?

The group is meant to parallel the Avengers so I wanted a name that matched the "vague but heroic-sounding verb expanded to plural descriptor" name, and something a little less aggressive or fight-y because the Emancipators are intended to be rescue operatives and emergency responders first. Also I really like DJ Emancipator's music and I thought it made a decent cape name.

The NYU part is because there's other units in other parts of the country (and maybe some overseas) and this is just the one operating in Manhattan. There's a kind of West Coast-East Coast-Young Avengers / Justice League International-Detroit thing with all these regional variants with official and unofficial ties to the main group and there's usually a rotating membership, salaries and staffed headquarters that are paid for and maintained by V.A.P.O.R across these.

They're not the biggest team outright, closer to the 2nd or 3rd, but being in the Emancipators is a big deal and there's some fairly significant in-fighting and tension between these.

[weonlyneedfour]

MISS ION

Alter Ego: Kristi Kartoshka Title: Lady of Atomic Poise Nationality: Russian Occupation: Nuclear physicist. Engineer Group affiliation: The NYU Emancipators. The Rezina Circus (former associates) Base of Operations: Manhattan. Moscow (formerly). Likes: Cats, old-school PC games and RPGs, tea Dislikes: Social media, sunlight, astrology Skill: Power napping. Nanopainting. Equipment maintenance and upgrading.

Ability: Ion manipulation. Ion is able to sense and manipulate ion particles on an atomic level. At present, she primarily uses these powers to alchemically transmute inorganic matter, levitate, shield herself and others from injury, create energy constructs, and heal by performing proton therapy to irradiate and accelerate the healing of injured tissue. Access to a limited form of telekinesis.

Her powers are highly versatile, as well as extremely dangerous, taxing to use for prolonged periods and determined by her focus, which forces her to only use one or two of her abilities at any given time. While she's able to produce healing radiation to affect nearby lifeforms, her powers have difficulties directly interfacing with living organic matter, and while she has an engineering background to effectively use her powers in energy-related matters, biomanipulation for medicinal purposes is not in her expertise. It doesn't mean she can't do it, but that she dreads the possibility of having to blindly perform atomic surgery on the fly and risk learning how irrecoverably her powers can destroy a living being.

The kind and powerful Miss Ion operates with a brilliant, intuitive mind and a deft, gentle approach to rescue missions, gliding into danger with a cool confidence that few would know where to recognize, in the perpetually overworked and restless Kristi Kartoshka. Having attained her powers in the wake of a lab accident and long struggled to make the best use of them, the frizzy-haired engineer is currently working tirelessly to prepare the Emancipators for danger, redoubling her efforts following the betrayal of her former lab partner and team leader.

Assigned male at birth, she traveled to the United States to better pursue her goals, leaving one hostile scene for another. Often playing peacekeeper in field, among the Emancipators, she gets along best with Noma Lacri, whose idiosyncratic and cryptic nature unnerves most, and conversely makes it easier for Kristi to carry conversations without micromanaging social interaction and risk of offense, and the recently arrived Cannon Bill, mutual cat lover and few among those Ion can unconditionally trust to have her back without asking.

An activist at heart, she believes in social progress achieved through scientific and social advancement, and relies on her teammates and Dr. Kirigami to keep her focused and level-headed, her powers operating on a handicap as a result. The handicap is perhaps a mercy to the enemies of the Emancipators. Kristi has a highly specialized understanding of how superpowers work and her greatest asset remains her analytical mind, but she's failed to notice how little she actually needs to eat or sleep or rest as of late. Her powers are a vast swirling tempest of potential, and after spending so much time fighting for the chance to be herself, she has nightmares about the possibility of losing all she worked for within the storm.

Or that this possibility is only a matter of time.

Miss Ion is the most powerful member of the team, with the background and knowledge to apply this power to great effect, but despite being more level-headed and practical than her companions, she has trust issues that border on paranoia and greatly hesitates to work with other superhero groups outside of the team. One too many sour dealings and betrayals weigh on her mind, and with the powers she has and the responsibilities she takes on, she must be very careful of where her path takes her. The world is far more cruel and unforgiving than it ought to be, and she takes it as her mission to fix that.

So if you go to her lab and find her asleep and buried beneath her Lisa Frank stickers and notebooks, please don't disturb her, she keeps them all numbered very thoroughly and she will notice if a single one is missing. Don't touch her notepads with her grocery lists, don't touch her Little Petra Puma collector's edition tea set, and don't touch the glowing dial that turns on The Anti-Matter Inoculator 3.45b, only she knows how to operate it safely.

And most urgent of all, don't wake her up early unless it's a mission. She has low blood pressure, let her get some rest, k? Davai.

[weonlyneedfour]

HAYATO

Alter Ego: Jeremy Axton Title: Kinetic Freedom / Ya Boy H.T.O Nationality: Japanese-American Occupation: DJ. Set to inherit position as CEO of Axton Motors. Group affiliation: Recently promoted to team leader of the NYU Emancipators.  Base of Operations: Kentucky (solo), Manhattan (w/Emancipators) Likes: J-pop, museum trips, beating Vulturine at videogames Dislikes: Boardroom meetings (more like, BORED room meetings), family gatherings, bullies Skills: E-sports. Engineering. Keeping his head up during a beating.

Powers: A magitech-powered modified flying armor. Highly expensive, self-repairing, tailored to his proportions and genetic code. -Hardened gauntlets for protection and combat. Can be modified to contain -Boots with retractable claws for gripping surfaces and combat utility. -Fully functional wings, with rocket boosters and anti-gravity harness to control speed and precision during flight. Wings have built-in speakers that he mostly uses for public spectacle and broadcasting, but can be utilized as highly dangerous ultrasonic weapons in a last resort, with several limiters in place. -Glasses are largely for show but provide additional protection during flight. Inkpot Staff: A family heirloom. A beacon staff which, when activated, maintains a flame that swirls and swishes around itself as if made from living ink. Full of untapped potential, key to the magitech resources used by the Axton family for the past generations. Jeremy has deployed it on very rare occasions, but usage of it is heavily restricted by Christopher Axton, Jeremy's father who became CEO of Axton Motors after retiring from duty as The Peregrine, who is set to pass it to Jeremy once he's deemed fit to inherit the company.

Jeremy Axton was adopted and raised into a life where costumed crimefighting is both family tradition as well as family business, which means that even despite his inherited wealth, there is but one thing he can't afford: to suck at it. His shining armor and large wings and mighty Inkpot Staff may cut an imposing figure when approaching, for the few seconds it takes for him to open his mouth and start cracking one-liners. Most enemies tend to underestimate showboating dweebs, and so do most allies, which has made Hayato's ascension into team leader of the NYU Emancipators a rather contentious affair among the other superhero groups, and most surprising to Hayato himself.

Hayato is trustworthy, popular with the public, and there is a mountain's worth of medical bills with his name on it as evidence of how many times he's proven himself on field. Hayato is often the first to strike, and when the odds are down, he will be the last to give up, no matter what. However, the pressure to perform and live up to expectations weighs down on the young man, whose insecurities affect his focus, if not his determination. He is inseparable friends with Vulturine, the only person he can really let himself be weird and imperfect around, the two sharing a mutually terrible taste in comedy along with many bickering arguments over which superheroes would win in fights.

Jeremy truly enjoys helping people as an active superhero, he's got a patience for the kind of day-to-day community celebrity work that is both inaccessible and unwanted by most of his teammates, but all that corporate stuff is such a drag, dude, and it's gradually poisoning a lot of the love Jeremy used to have for it. His job and his life and his family's legacy and his corporate responsabilities and his duty to his companions are inseparably intertwined and gnawing on his heels to keep pushing himself more and more, to keep aiming higher and soaring faster and faster, and he's unsure of where is he even expected to land, if at all.

[weonlyneedfour]

THE VULTURINE

Alter Ego: Marco Craine. Occasionally uses a secret identity by the name of Zeke Buzzard. Title: New Blood. Occupation: Unemployed Group affiliation: The NYU Emancipators.  Base of Operations: Toulonville & New Orleans (solo), Manhattan (w/Emancipators) Likes: Yoshitaka Amano art, french fries, beating Hayato at videogames Dislikes: His family, museums, the taste of blood. Skills: Wall climbing. Martial arts. Trailing.

Powers: Enhanced feral biology. Superhuman strength, speed, senses and leaping prowess. Eyes can see within near total darkness. Able to heal small-to-medium injuries at an enhanced rate. Main power is the ability to transfer substances via touch, mainly liquids, via pores on his skin and teeth. Said power enables him to drain someone of blood, viruses, and foreign substance via touch, as well as inject said substances elsewhere. He's unable to eliminate what he absorbs upon entry and must quickly relocate it elsewhere to prevent health complications.

The city of New Orleans has known little peace over the past century due to criminal activity in the neighbor city of Toulonville, a region that most superheroes dread approaching, and for Marco Craine, his problems started young, when his wealthy parents finished a happy trip to the movies by taking him to an alleyway and gunning him down. Marco somehow lived even as the bullets ripped through his body, and took off running without stopping to this day. “Vampire” is the explanation he chose as for why he survived, and it's hard to argue with his biological mutations in that regard.

Rescued and taught how to survive by elderly supervillains residing in the city of Toulonville, as The Vulturine, Marco takes to the darkness as a refuge and tactical advantage point, following an example set by Toulonville's monstrous protector, his mentor’s greatest enemy in the old days. The Vulturine is a rebellious creature of the night who instills fear in the hearts of evildoers as a roaming vampire, with vicious superpowers and a brutal fighting style to back up that image, if not quite the unwavering cruelty or wanton bloodlust necessary to be a fully convincing vampire.

Marco has recently joined the Manhattan branch of a superhero team known as The Emancipators, at the behest of his friend Jeremy Axton (known in field as Hayato). Like most urban vigilante types, Marco chafes under the restrictions placed upon him as a licensed superhero, largely because they cramp his style and individuality. He and Hayato are brothers in all but blood, the only person Vulturine truly feels at ease with, and whether it's playing video games together or shooting for records at training, these two are rarely not competing or arguing for long.

Although his scary reputation demands him to pretend otherwise, Craine is deeply uncomfortable with murder, and his rather unsavoury powers make it extremely easy for him to cross that line should he slip up. He finds himself at the cross sights of supervillains within New Orleans and Toulonville alike, and his parents have taken to sending more and more superpowered murderers against him intent on finishing the job. Life as a superhero has given Marco Craine the means to fight back against his family, via a purpose and community he truly wishes he could have found under any other set of circumstances, doing maybe literally anything else.

[maxwell-grant]

(AO3 link in case you’d prefer to read this there)

(The following text includes excerpts from: Private files and tapes of the A.I Gilbert “Gazebo”’, the field diary of Miss Helix, interviews with the NYU Emancipators Vulturine and Hayato, Yr Fgenar Fgbevr qv Noma Lacri #000-∞, and articles by The Daily Roger.) (FOR DOCTOR SANDRA KIRIGAMI’S EYES ONLY)

————————–ACCESS FILES————————

DAILY ROGER REPORT: October 13th, 1937 CHAOS AT HARPER MILL! A NEW MYSTERY MAN HOAX? Ongoing conflict between the Harper Mill workers and strikebreakers have escalated, as what was believed to be a surprise terrorist militia among the strikers is now reported, by multiple witnesses, to be instead the work of a single man. Said to operate in masked attire, under the cover of darkness, and with mysterious abilities yet to be determined. Is this a ploy by the Harper Mill strikes to generate fear or sympathy, or is this yet another Manhattan “Mystery Man” emerging? Who is this mysterious figure?

———————————

DR. KIRIGAMI: Thank you all for joining this meeting. I understand that some of you have approached me with concerns regarding the, conduct, of our most recent recruit, and some members of this board have expressed a desire to relocate him to our West Coast facility, or expel him from Emancipator membership entirely. Mr. Bill is willing to accept consequences for his assault on Director Vijgen. He has also expressed rather, colorfully, that he “would do it again” if deemed necessary.

I have called this meeting together so I could offer my viewpoint, as his appointed psychologist, and with the backing of his teammates, as to why I believe he should be allowed to remain a member of the NYU Emancipators, for the time being.

Let us review the facts, regarding the case of

————–*click*———————–

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