Life in Bay City (City on the Bay!) was much like any other prosperous tech-focused, forward-thinking city of the future. Hover platforms hummed across the lakeshore at dawn. Glass-cased vertical gardens rose from the electric-car filled streets and the solar-paneled parking lots. Citizens made their way to work via bus, or subway, or flying car. HD 3D hologram ads covered most available surfaces. Wizards called lighting from the evening skies. Mutant bats flew against the full moon. Demons rose from the nether dimensions to catch the unwary.

Life as usual.

On a sunny autumn morning, with the distant chill of winder in the air, a call came over the secure line at the offices if CRISP (Centre for the Research and Investigation of Supra-natural Phenomena). Calls to CRISP were of two varieties: short and quick (when there was trouble), or hours long yelling (when they were in trouble). This one was the former:

Finance Square. Adison and Oman. Treadwell Bank. Five perps. Code 10."

Bank robberies weren't their usual line, of course. There were cops for that. CRISP only got the call when whatever it was had the potential for something the cops couldn't manage.

In this case, for example, Code 10 mean potential tech violation.

It meant someone, somehow, was using cutting edge high-technology for nefarious purposes.

OOC: Welcome to Unlimited Heroes! In your post, let us know where you are when you get the call (we'll assume that everyone gets the same call). You don't need to live at headquarters, but anyone can if they  want. So let us know where you are, and how you go about getting down to where the robbery is happening.

Doc Roller, you're welcome to had out some orders/direction as you go.

Finance Square is right in the heart of downtown, and is towering-steel spires and busy streets and sidewalks full of people.

Let me know if you have any questions. Game on!

Doctor Ben Roller, more commonly know simply as "Doc", was running thruster checks on the Mark 3 VTOL transport when the call came in and it took only a second for him to relay a signal that sounded the general call to action alarm.

He checked the stowage straps on the M.A.C.E. and brought up the locations of the other team members on his goggles.

"Attention Gecko, recon the Treadwell Bank at Adison and Oman. Avoid contact, Level 3."

Level three meant the operative should use his own judgement to decide if engaging would save lives but otherwise should not make contact.

Doc didn't bother to warn him not to be seen. If Gecko didn't want to be seen it was damned unlikely that he would be. For all Doc knew he could be in the hangar right now.

"All other Alpha Team members rally at the Mark 3. Wheels up in one minute!"

It took only a few more seconds to go from the thruster test to actually warming up the Mark 3 for flight. He even went ahead and put his helmet on so that it's comm system could link with the  vehicle and relay messages via the CRISP network.

A hand wave signal warned the crew to clear the area around the VTOL.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:17, Sun 04 Apr 2021.

It had been a long night. Anton had been running down leads on a supposed, cursed artifact, Balrog's Eye, a large black sphere that was reportedly, a demon's eye ball. Supposedly, this thing was the size of a softball, composed of a strange black stone-like substance with a cracked surface that was perpetually cold. As it was told, anyone holding it would loose all empathy and become quite murderous. In addition they would become inhumanly strong and very, very hard to kill.

His queries had taken him to Low Town, the entertainment district down by the international docks. In Low Town, it was known you could find anything you could possibly want...for a price. So, putting on his best, bad boy thug attire, Anton had went out into Low Town, hitting the darker clubs and bars in hopes of spotting the Eye. When the night had ended, all that Anton had was a weary body and a slight buzz, yet no lead. Perhaps the rumors were wrong.

He was just walking to the front of his loft when the jarring alert blared loudly in his ear.

Finance Square. Adison and Oman. Treadwell Bank. Five perps. Code 10."

Which was quickly followed by Doc's commands...

"Attention Gecko, recon the Treadwell Bank at Adison and Oman. Avoid contact, Level 3...All other Alpha Team members rally at the Mark 3. Wheels up in one minute!"

Adrenaline pulses through Anton's body, shaking off his fatigue. Turning around, harsh, sibilant growls begin to string together in a language not meant for human tongues. Nearby shadows begin to stretch and reach for his rapidly moving body. A heartbeat, his own shadow shifting and stretching upwards, sliding around his body, changing it. Another step, his form slides through that darkness and emerges definitively inhuman, now moving at speeds greater than anyone should be able to. A deep breath, and he leaps up in an arch that has him diving into a shadow, only to emerge from another some distance away, briefly, then sliding down into another shadow...this one of a vehicle moving speedily with traffic, merging into it...

Doc's three quarters the way through his pre-flight checklist(Doc's shortened version, patent pending) when the darkest corner of the VTOL suddenly vomited up the Dark Defender, who slides into his seat at the back, buckling in. A heavy waft of club air and something slightly darker flows through the cabin, “Here Boss...”

As the alarm sounds, Hikaru carefully snips serrations around the edge of a small leaf. It is his most ambitious project to date, and coming along nicely. Almost, the willow in his head is represented in the small pot on the table. But, duty calls. Duty he would never shirk, duty that can never be complete.

What other reason would compel a man to wear his slightly bulky armor day in and day out. Hikaru grasps his katana and starts out of the room as he speaks the phrase triggering his transformation, "[Language unknown: Witr ch arek aiil ble chilon]"

Shitsumon steps from the room and heads to the hangar, breaking into a trot. The maintenance personnel in the hallways dive out of his way, many still think of him as unpredictable, some think less. But they've all seen what he can do and they all dive out of his way.

Squeezing his way aboard the jet, the six and a half foot tall samurai finally levers himself into a seat. Nodding to Doc, Shitsumon merely grunts to announce his presence.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:50, Sun 04 Apr 2021.

Sam was relaxing through exorcise while code compiled on his computer when the call came up. He took a breath. He had tried to see what he could do with the tech of his time, but it was so slow - everything was slow now since the Awakening.

He began looking up the bank on his cell phone on his way to the jet, the situation as it was understood, and some of the names involved. While he had a long and involved list of data he was looking up on his way to the jet. He was not "in costume" yet. "Seeing what we know."

He was trying to recall if this fit the M.O. of any prior individual he had read about. His patron had tried to teach him to as many of the older villains as he could, and to encourage him to try to keep up with new dangers. But either he knew it, or he did not - this one was binary.

He got onboard and strapped in. Most of the people here on the jet knew his secret. He had followed his mentor's advice and basically lived here now - on the other hand, his mentor had no life beyond the job. He took a whiff of the air. "A bit early for clubbing, isn't it? Is this a party call? I'd appreciate a party call. If Code 10 means 'five guys are waiting to celebrate your hard work,' that would be a nice change of pace."

He knew that was not what it meant at all.

Of course, right now, he was "off the clock" until he knew what he was fighting, or even if it needed fighting. "Off the clock" did not mean he wasn't going to help. It simply meant he wasn't the Other Guy yet.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:41, Mon 05 Apr 2021.

One minute to the second after the alert was received the Mark 3 lifted off and exited the hangar through the roof access.

The VTOL angled toward town and accelerated slowly as he waited for Gecko's response.

Doc's voice, from inside the helmet, sounded tinny and electronic as he spoke.

"Were you able to pull up anything Sam?"

He knew the man well enough to know he would have tried to gather whatever intel was available, well enough that he hadn't bothered to check himself, instead concentrating on the pre-flight.

Simultaneously he transmitted a response to local law enforcement both verifying that CRISP was inbound and requesting further information.

The reptilian finds himself in his usual environment:  the back alleys, the squats, under the over passes and bridges, wherever the homeless, the dregs, the street gangs congregate.  This morning finds him delivering much needed foodstuffs collected by various individuals and small businesses with charitable dispositions.  Much of it has been claimed by the various shelters, but a few boxes have been left to be given to the various clusters around the fringes of the city.
Luckily, mostly because he sleeps so very little ( and handful of hours each day, primarily through catnaps), Gecko is on his last delivery, when he hears the text-to-voice message through the headphones covering the small, fleshy nubs that constitute his outer ears.  Mierda, comes the muttered response.  Then comes Doc Roller's message.  Wilco, Doc.  Five-by-five.  En route to Finance Square, Adison and Oman, Treadwell Bank.  Out.
He sprints to the nearest highway on-ramp, easily avoiding vehicular and pedestrian foot traffic and rapidly moving blur, the wind stirred up by his movement almost the only evidence of his passage.
Once on the on-ramp, he clings to the concrete barrier wall, the color-changing blur moving at close to two to three hundred miles per hour out of the way of traffic, moving from top, to side, to underneath as necessary, and spoofing the radar, and befuddling the police officer scanning with it, of every speed trap he passes.
Though not his usual hunting grounds, everyone knows how to get to the financial heart of the city, and he is soon their.  Back to dodging traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, he zips up the side of a building opposite the bank in question.  Taking a pair of binoculars from his pack, he situates himself in a kneeling position, with his head and hands low and close to the safety wall to avoid making to much of a silhouette, even as he blends into the scenery.  He wants to see what he can before going in for a closer look.

13:03, Today: Gecko rolled 23 using 1d100.  Streetwise @ 46%.

13:02, Today: Gecko rolled 93 using 1d100.  Intelligence @ 63%.

"Nyet...not clubbing. Hunting down a lead," Anton replies, "Though where the lead took me...well, it was not boring. It was, however, fruitless." Anton looks forward, towards Doc, " Any idea on threat level?"