Devil's Reign

In the wake of Carnage's shocking rampage, Norman Osborn steps down as Mayor of New York. His parting shot: the creation of a frightening new team of superhumans, tasked to serve as his next-in-line's personal enforcers! When the strong arm of the law comes down on your head, sometimes the only way to be a hero... is to be for hire!


Event Milestones:
TBD

Stay tuned...

Prologue.

LOWER MANHATTAN
NEW YORK CITY HALL

“Mayor Osborn, do you have any comment on Cletus Kasady’s escape from Ravencroft, or his deadly attack on the people of New York?” The Mayor shakes his head as he pushes his way through the crowd. The sea of reporters slowly parts as he makes his way through toward the podium. "It's been a week since the massacre. Yankee Stadium is still cordoned off from the public. The people are demanding answers--"

“I called this press conference myself, Robertson. Now let me through.”

But even as Osborn's would-be interviewer reluctantly gives way, more reporters flood in from either side, shoving an assortment of microphones and cameras toward the Mayor. Even if he wanted to speak to them, their competing attempts to get his attention would make it impossible for him to focus on any one thread of conversation: “Hijacked helicopters-” "Yankee Stadium under attack-" “Alien ‘symbiotes’ running wild-" "Public backlash against the Superhuman Registration Act is higher than ever-" "Rumors that you plan to introduce a new Avengers Initiative-"

Shrugging off the assembly, Osborn reaches the steps onto the stage. However, a nervous-looking reporter blocks the way, looking determined to get his scoop. “Mr. Mayor, what about a comment on the new team of superheroes that stopped Kasady’s attack? Rumor has it that New York has a brand-new team of Avengers. Are they officially sanctioned by the Mayor’s office?”

Osborn gives a slight smirk. “And there’s a rumor going around that I’m the Incredible Hulk. But that’s obviously untrue… isn't it?” The reporter swallows his reply as he abruptly makes way for the Mayor to pass. As Osborn strolls toward the podium, a mousy-looking aide with dyed hair and thick-framed glasses attends him. “Talking points memorized?”

“Play up our office’s connection to Thurman. She was on the city's private security payroll. And intel suggests she fired the shot that killed Kasady. The superheroes of New York didn’t end the 'Carnage Crisis'. Norman Osborn did.”

“Exactly. Good luck, Sir.”

"Luck is the idol of the idle, Victoria." Osborn nods, dismissing her. "Er-- right. Um, Sir, I have the speech written down if you need--" She trails off as Osborn leaves her behind, arriving at the podium and greeting the crowd with a dignified nod. He waves to the more enthusiastic rows in the crowd, many of whom hold up signs of support for the embattled politician: "OSBORN CARES". "KEEPING NYC SAFE". "MAYOR FOR LIFE". A few more odd messages of support crop up here and there among the crowd, some with crudely-scrawled illustrations. One depicts the Mayor in a patriotic suit of armor zapping the late Cletus Kasady with lasers from his hands. Others are equally well-meaning but misinformed, such as the one seeking to name the company of heroes that arrived to defeat Carnage: "NYC'S NEW AVENGERS".

As the mayor begins to speak, the crowd quiets down. "My fellow citizens, this has been another dark chapter in the history of our city..." Although decidedly somber in tone, the speech that follows is as eloquent as it is reassuring: "But I know firsthand the strength and resilience the people of New York possess. How time and again, they find the courage to move on after tragedy..." As he continues on, Osborn's words create a lulling effect on most of the crowd. As he gets into the facts of the matter-- of his office's employment of the mercenary Neena Thurman, who went on to terminate Carnage-- Victoria clutches her notes anxiously, nodding her head in approval.

As he addresses his handling of the "Carnage Crisis", those seeking accountability for the Mayor's lack of response to Carnage's rampage-- criticizing his lack of urgency and leadership in the face of the emergency, and demanding to know his whereabouts during the crisis-- quickly find themselves silenced by his supporters. However Osborn might appear to stay above the fray, it is a cruel thing to witness-- the survivors and victims of Kasady's spree, enabled by Osborn's inaction, being browbeaten into silence by those who insist "now is not the time" to criticize New York's leaders. If the Mayor just ignored them and kept right on talking, no one would bat an eye. However, something remarkable happens just then. The Mayor looks into the eyes of his critics. He looks toward the array of news cameras watching his every move. And he adopts an expression of remorse.

“To my critics... to those of you who believe I failed this city... I ask what you would have had me do. My hands were tied-- bound by the laws of this great nation that took effect years ago. I was not willing to act unilaterally-- to violate the Superhuman Registration Act and allow even greater anarchy to run into our streets-- costumed vigilantes who think they're above the law." Resisting the urge to offer further defense, he takes a different tack. "But to my critics and supporters alike, know this. I see you. I hear you. And I know firsthand the pain of losing a loved one to senseless violence." He pauses for maximum effect before delivering his conclusion: "That is why, effective immediately, I am formally announcing my intention to step down as Mayor of New York. I believe this tragedy has irreparably severed the trust between my office and the people of this fine city. I expect a mayoral election to begin very soon, and I will not be endorsing a potential successor.”

The crowd dissolves into uproar as Osborn calls for silence. "As my final act in office, my team has spent the last week drafting a brand-new initiative. The Carnage Crisis has proven the need for an officially sanctioned team of superheroes to defend our city in its darkest hours. To make sure no one like Cletus Kasady ever threatens this city again. But they must be accountable. And they must be selected from a pool of the very best and brightest."

Beckoning to Victoria-- the shock on her face utterly palpable, as though none of this went according to plan-- the Mayor smiles. "Yes. New York will meet its new heroes very soon." Departing casually from the podium, he passes behind a curtain and is gone from view, leaving the stunned crowds behind.

Down near the front of the stage, a tall woman in sunglasses frets slightly. Her hand-- a prosthetic-- reaches into the pocket of her red jumpsuit, retrieving a curious-looking phone emblazoned with what appears is a monogram: "HFH". Leaving the din of the crowd behind as she strolls away from the press conference, she speaks into the receiver:

"Hello, Hero. Are you for hire?"

NEW YORK CITY. NOW.

It begins with news of a press conference reaching your ears. After Carnage's attack last week, the Mayor's office is finally hosting an event at City Hall to address the public outcry. There's even speculation that Mayor Osborn is about to officially sanction the formation of a brand-new team of Avengers. Of course, it's been years since the Superhuman Registration Act was passed into law-- and this is Osborn we're talking about. But there's a non-zero possibility that his public approval ratings have sunk low enough for this to be legit. That he could be offering an olive branch to New York's heroes, who rose up courageously to defend it from the threat of Cletus Kasady and his twisted "Family". With heroes in short supply these days, public opinion seems to be shifting again toward their admiration and recognition.

Normally, it could be the kind of thing you would ignore. No matter your costumed identity, you probably have at least something of a civilian life to manage that precludes keeping up with the 24-hour news cycle. But word travels wide and fast enough in this city that it isn't long before you've seen Osborn's face somewhere, and the accompanying headlines: "OSBORN IS OUT". "MAYOR'S FINAL ACT STIRS CONTROVERSY". "WHO ARE NEW YORK'S NEW HEROES?".

Whatever concern-- or not-- the news comes as to you, all you know is that the Mayor isn't calling. Whatever role you played in Carnage's defeat, it doesn't seem like he's in any hurry to recruit you into this "new team". Yet someone out there is trying to get your attention. You notice ads taken out in the newspaper-- odd interruptions of radio programs-- e-mails in your "Junk" folder that demonstrate impeccable knowledge of your recent superhero activities (along with unusual attention to proper spelling and grammar). This person, whoever they are, is clearly seeking an audience with you-- one of New York's acclaimed heroes and would-be "Avengers". "Hello, Hero," the message greets you-- time and again, without fail. "Are you for hire?" Cheerfully, it directs you to call back on a secure line: 1-800-NYC-HERO.

Well. Are you?


Please narrate what you're doing in the hours following Osborn's press conference, plus your choice whether to answer or ignore the stranger's calls. No dice actions just yet-- there will be a quick refresher before anything pops off.

Domino is casually rewiring a several circuits in the small ventilation shaft that she currently lay in on her back.

When 'the call' came through, she let it play out on her subdermals.  She considered leaving her response till later, when she was less occupied ... but as usual, the call of cash was too strong.  And as a professional contractor, Domino knew that time was money, and that in a matter of moments, another contractor might elsewise snatch the ofference out from under one, if one was 'caught napping'.
So she returned the call, allowing (again) her subdermals to facilitate a nigh silent response.

When the connection went through to 1-800-NYC-HERO, she simply replied, "Of course I am for hire", and refrained from adding, 'asswipe'.  After all, even the most idiot client still had money to share, and could be known to take offence at such.  "Talk to me".

Mark and Jake had both been called upon to fix up the new headquarters. Steven was useless in this regard, of course, unless they wanted to decorate. But slowly Moon Knight's base of operations took shape.

Are you for hire?

The question echoed in his head, as much as he tried to ignore it. He'd been a mercenary once. He'd been for hire. It was what had gotten him killed, that first time. (And the third, truth be known.) Now he dressed all in white and pretended to be a hero. He never felt like a hero, but the old saying still resonated: Fake it until you make it. He'd never be a mercenary again, anyway, even if he never really made it to hero. He was done with that part of his past. Other parts kept catching up to him, but he was through being a mercenary.

Are you for hire?

He grabbed up the phone and dialed the return number.

"Hell no," he said as soon as the line connected. He didn't wait for someone to ask again. He wasn't for hire. "I'm free."

Felicia dials the number.  As soon as the line picks up, she says.  "Not really a hero.  Unless the price is right.  I will try anything once.

If it is, I'm in."  Or if the job is fun but enough.  But no need to sound eager when negotiating.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:17, Tue 16 Jan.

April is pacing around the bus station, making the other weary travelers very nervous; she'd been on one bus or another for five days... she didn't sleep like other people did... and she'd run out of chocolate and money (to buy more chocolate) in Delaware. She needs to go somewhere and do something, but she doesn't have anywhere to go or anything to do, and her human form is... a little bit less than consistent.

She touches the blue sweatshirt in her "pockets" for comfort. For stability. And then she looks up at one of the depot's giant televisions...

To her credit, April doesn't quite transform in the middle of the crowded bus station, but her hair grows about a foot longer and starts twisting around itself.

"You... you idiots made Norman freaking Osborn your mayor? Who's next, Wilson Fisk?"

People start paying April a little too much attention when her phone rings. The phone Felicia gave her. The phone that only Felicia had the number to.

Her hair goes slack, and shortens, and greys instantly. She ducks into the women's restroom to answer it.

"Yo, Cat. What's--"

"Hello, Hero. Are you for hire?"

The question takes her aback. She knew what her sister would say. She knew what her father-- Screw Dad.-- and she needed money (for chocolate) soon or mysterious strangers wouldn't be addressing her as "Hero" for much longer.

"I'm listening. Who are you, and what do you need me to do?"

The caller laughs good-naturedly. "That’s what I like about you, Hero. You’re always up for a job. Consider the advance payment I wired to your account just now as a sign of my gratitude.” As if on cue, Neena’s subdermal implants register the receipt of the funds: a pretty sum, just for talking to a stranger on the phone. “The job I’ve got in mind is strictly surveillance, of a… high-profile individual. There’s a file, but you’ll have to pick it up at the drop site I’ve arranged. I can’t risk the data being compromised. I’m sure you understand the need for… operational security, in this line of work.” Neena’s subdermals thrum again as she receives an encoded set of coordinates. “Should be no trouble decrypting these for someone of your talents. I’ll wire you another payment once you pick up the file. And Hero…?” The ventilation shaft goes quiet for a moment as there is a reverent pause from the other party. “Thank you for protecting this city.”

CLICK.


“‘Freedom’,” the voice responds. “That’s a priceless commodity. I ask you, what does it mean to be ‘free’? Are you referring to freedom of thought? Freedom of action? Or maybe you’re talking about freedom ‘from’ something. Is it freedom from bondage you’re referring to, Hero? Freedom… from servitude?” The caller’s tone is inquisitive– even challenging, though not hostile. She allows a pause for the other party to absorb her rhetoric, and her cool demeanor takes on a fiery yet controlled passion when she speaks again. “I like my freedom too, Hero. I covet it. I crave it. And I offer you now the chance to give others their freedom. To guard the innocent from those who would see every bit of freedom stripped from them.” Just as she reaches her crescendo, she pulls back and the line goes quiet. There is another extended pause before her voice is heard again– closer, somehow. Intimate. “So, again. Are you for hire?”


“That seems… simple,” the caller remarks. “Straightforward. And I know better than to keep on expecting that from you, Hero.” The caller laughs, as though they have known each other a long time. “But if you’re in, you’re in. This first payment is just a little taste of what I’m offering–” the bank transfer alert suddenly chimes on Felicia’s device of choice– “And the next one comes pending your agreement to the job. I think you’ll find the ‘fun factor’ more than sufficient.” She leaves Felicia dangling for a moment before indulging her in the juicy details. "I’m asking you to break into a very exclusive club… track down a very reclusive member… and steal something very valuable from them.” The alert tone chimes again as encrypted data is fed to Felicia’s device. “As soon as you can, head to the coordinates I’ve just sent. Retrieve the file I’ve left for you at the drop site. Do the job I’ve asked for, and after that? You’re in the money, baby!”

CLICK.

Looks to me like we've got two recruits, with one refusing the job- or potentially changing his mind. Either is permitted. *Let's get responses from the remaining players and then we'll see just what these jobs are all about.

*DD, your response to the job offer isn't strictly needed, but you're welcome to answer the phone if you would like.

Next GM post: 1/20/2024.

Between the callers  "And Hero...?"   and  "Thank you for...", Domino stated, quite firmly, "Don't fucking call me Hero"

When the call went dead, she went about the business she was perpetrating.
If she could get into Moon Knights new place here, she intended on leaving him a message ... a message in the form of absence.
An absence of guns, and tech.

She smirked to herself.   Of course he'd get the joke, right?!?

This message was last edited by the player at 14:34, Wed 17 Jan.

Elsa Bloodstone hated New York.

Okay, so maybe hated was a little unfair, but anytime work dragged her within its bounds something always managed to put her in a foul mood.

She'd died here a few years back. It'd only been a brief thing, just barely long enough to make the news, but that'd put a damper on anyone's weekend. Even before that she'd been dragged through the sewers ad nauseam hunting the Brood and, worst of all, forced to endure Stephen Strange's particularly interminable brand of smugness. Get along like a house on fire they did not.

Call her a cold-hearted bitch, but she was genuinely glad she didn't have to worry about the odd meet-up with him over tea any more. One small mercy in all this mess.

---

This was all just supposed to be a flying visit. Her New York safehouse was exactly that - a scantly-furnished condo in midtown - and it paid to check on those more urban sites every once in a while just to make sure some cape hadn't passed through uninvited and left the place an absolute pigsty. It’d be nice if one day she could pop in, put the kettle on and vegetate in front of something utterly brainless for a bit, but instead each pass risked being a fresh new adventure in what the fuck did they take this time? Some people didn't keep their own armouries of assorted esoterica and it showed.

She'd barely got her boots off, something of an endeavour in itself, before her work phone started ringing. Elsa ground her teeth. She very pointedly threaded her feet into her fluffiest pair of slippers, a house-warming gift from one Nico Minoru, and threw herself down heavily on the couch before even sparing the screen a glance. What awaited her didn't exactly make her heart soar.

One aggravated sigh later she made the call.

"Don't know how you got this number but I'm a monster hunter not a bloody taxi service. If I showed up every time someone threw a few quid my way I’d be spending the rest of my days checking under rich brats’ beds, and that’s a long ☠☠☠☠☠☠☠ time when you’re immortal." She allowed herself a slow calming breath. It dialled things back from pissed to merely agitated, resigned. "Go on then. If you’re trying this hard for my attention I’ll probably end up having to deal with it anyway. Might as well get ahead of things now rather than catching it in the neck later.”

Jessica Drew held a fussy Jerry, gently rocking her baby boy. “C’mon, Jerry. You know it’s bedtime…Aunt Winzy already sang the Nap Nap song!” She shook her head at Lindsay McCabe, old friend and newly reinstated Roomie/Nanny/Possible Fellow P.I.. Jerry’s protest gradually turned into mumbled whines. Jessica cooed softly as Lindsay held up her iPad and silently mouthed, You need to see this.

When her little boy finally surrendered to his bedtime, Jessica joined Lindsay at the kitchen table. Lindsay started the video of Norman Osborn’s press conference (on a lower volume, natch). Jessica rolled her eyes as she heard Osborn blather his insincere platitudes. “Sure. Your hands were ‘tied’…you lying, psychopathic asshat.” She shook her head with a disgusted scoff.

When the video ended, Jessica looked incredulously at Lindsay. “The sheer audacity of that creep…! His tenure has nothing but a shi—!” An obscenity-laden tirade ended abruptly when her phone rang. A familiar voice asked if she was “For Hire”.

“Misty? Yeah, I think I might be.”

Domino's associate, the vigilante called Moon Knight, was a solitary sort. Perhaps that was why the two of them had seemed to hit it off so well, at the time of the Carnage business. And why Neena was looking to track him down again. Of course, he had taken to greater secrecy since their last meeting at his old base-- a sound policy, since the last uninvited guest had torpedoed the place. Wherever he was, though, it wasn't here. Breaking in had been a worthwhile exercise-- a chance for Neena to work some skills she hadn't used in a while-- but this abandoned structure was a dud. On the plus side, Hell's Kitchen wasn't a very large place. Neena could hit a few more spots-- maybe turn up something-- but what was that other thing the caller had said, before she hung up?

"Oh-- one more thing. You might just bump into an old friend on this job. Someone you're looking for."

Edit: No one would have blamed Neena if she had turned to leave. But just then, in a corner of the room, she spied an ornate display case. Inside was a suit of white armor. And that was when she realized she had come to the right place.

That 'friend' being the mysterious Moon Knight, who assures me the location of his secret base is indeed secret...! Although if you want to take the caller's word for it, and head to the drop site in Midtown, there's a good chance you two will cross paths soon enough. The location appears to be an alleyway next to an abandoned office building.


After such an impassioned speech, the voice on the other end abruptly goes quiet. When she speaks again, it's almost as though she breaks character for a moment. And just a moment. "Oh. You meant 'free' as in-- yeah, okay. Forgive me for my... passion." She clears her throat, and Marc can almost sense she was blushing. "Head to the location I'm sending to your feed. We'll talk once you're there." As the data begins to trickle in on Marc's device of choice, the caller wraps things up. "Pro bono work is something I respect. You're a noble one, hero. A proper Knight."

The data shows a set of coordinates that lead to Midtown. Though Marc wouldn't know it, he would be heading to the same place as Domino. We could say they arrive at the same time, if both players wanted to interact there.


"A little birdie told me you were in town, Hero. But lately it seems she's stopped singing. I need someone to check on her for me. Someone who isn't afraid of whatever... thing... got into her nest." Elsa might get the sense that she knows whom the caller is referring to-- one feline Sorceress Supreme. Greer had called off their meeting at the Sanctum Sanctorum-- something about feeling under the weather-- but maybe there was more to the story than the monster-hunter knew. "I take it you already know where to go. And how to get in." The caller frets a moment. "I don't know if we can save her, Hero. But if you can tell me what happened to her, there's good money in it for you. I understand you're something of a solo act, but if you can play nice you might find Spider-Woman's help to be of value."

No drop site or secret file in this case. You're going in blind here. But why else call a professional, eh?


"So. You saw the news, huh?" Misty's tone had been cool. Detached. Professional. But at Jessica's familiar greeting, she drops the act a bit. "Look... I know you've got other priorities. Big ones. And I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't an emergency. But no one else in the game has got your skills, girl. Your experience. Your connections. Just name your price-- I know a sitter in this town ain't cheap-- and you'll have it." A pause ensues, to let Jessica have a moment to consider her response. "First thing I need is for you to check up on a certain... feline. I have reason to think she's in trouble again, and no one's got a better track record of bailing her out than you. There's a storm heading our way, and I fear our mutual friend was the first one in its path. You have my number. Let me know what you find. My contact, Elsa Bloodstone, will meet you there."

Elsa and Spider-Woman, you can describe your arrival/meeting at the Sanctum if you so choose.



"My name is Misty Knight. I trust you remember our meeting. As for what I've got in mind...?" There is a brief pause, as though the caller is considering how much to divulge. "Do you follow the news, April? I've got a bad habit of keeping up with it, myself. You see, I'm something of a... worrier. And that night we met, I got the sense that you might be the same." Another pause, during which April might confirm or deny-- although Misty's point is clear enough all the same. "I don't think I need to tell you what latest news story has me worried. Or should I say... scared as all hell about what kind of shit-show is coming to my city next. You see, that's why I'm making these calls. It's why I'm offering you this job. Which, in a word is... infiltration." Smack goes the sound of what must be chewing gum.

"That night, you told us all your story. About your world-- your home-- and what losing it meant to you. And I saw in you a woman who would give everything to keep that from happening again." Misty's words make her respect for the potential hire perfectly clear, though her cool tone is as dispassionate as ever. "I can't give you back your home, April. But if I could, I would offer you a job. A cause. And... a chance to work with some heroes I take it you hold in high esteem." Smack. "Think about it, April. And when you're ready? Come to my office."

CLICK.

*Mayhem might predict she is being asked to head to the old Heroes for Hire office in Midtown-- and can describe arriving there, if desired. I'm aiming to post a mid-week update, then do another big post on 1/27/2024.

*I'll assume for the sake of plot convenience that April is familiar with most/all of the NYC locations listed in the "Map of Manhattan" thread, and that their locations are equivalent to the NYC of her home universe before it went to hell.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:14, Sun 21 Jan.

A smirk came across Domino's face, as she eyed off the mystic white armour.    She'd never really been one for costumes, or armour (beyond a healthy dose of Kevlar), but Moonie did have a flare for style and taste.   Or, at least, whomever designed his costume did.
This wasn't the first time that she'd admired it ... but it was the first time she had the chance to, maybe, try it on.

But that thought, also, was fleeting.   It looked good, but in truth, she had no interest in how it felt.  And so that thought fled, in favour of another.
"Now, where oh where is the hidden cache of tech and weapons, my friend?" she aimlessly asked the facility around her.    Moon Knight had done a good job of making this place looks abandoned, so he'd have concealed his armoury also.

Looking around, her devious, covert eye took in the panelling, floors and ceiling with mischief.

"Misty, if this turns out to involve a certain artifact that I had in my possession last week, I will be very cross with you for not placing a bid at the appropriate time.  I cleared a longstanding debt with that, and I'm not usually in the habit of bringing things into museums.

So if that's what you're talking about, I'll be charging extra.  See you after the drop."

Felicia stakes out the coordinates to make sure they're not being watched before retrieving the file.

Moon Knight had taken all of two steps in the direction of the given coordinates when the alarm remote on his belt beeped. He checked it, and saw that someone had already invaded his decoy base. He shifted directions and headed for the brownstone he'd fixed up to look like he'd taken up residence.

He had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was sneaking suspiciously through his fake home. Why was another question, though.

He exited his actual base and headed for the rooftops. The fake HQ was only a block away, and would take less than a minute to reach. Then he'd see what's what.

"Yes. New York will meet its new heroes very soon." Matt hits pause on the keyboard this time instead of the double arrows to start it again, and rubs his chin. He got nothing more out of it this time or the last hundred. He wasn't going to get even a hint of nuance from a recording going out over the iffy pathways of the Internet to figure out Osborn's angle. But he wasn't as concerned with the now-former-mayor's unexpected declaration than the intentions of the last words in the press conference.

Murdock leans back in his office chair and feels the sun from the window on his face and collar of his starched shirt. He could still smell Mary on his fingers as they passed in front of his face. He had heard the advertisements looking for heroes -- he can hear them now, from the neighbors on the other side of the wall of his office listening to one on their phone, judging from the tinny tone of it. He had too recently experienced the ghastly state of so-called heroism from assorted characters of New York City and the thought of who could be pulled from that dark pool and into whatever scheme Osborn has planned made him feel cold in the sunlight. Murderers running free was bad enough, worse when claiming killing as part of being a hero. Surely they wouldn't recruit Frank for this team, but he wouldn't be surprised. An open call for heroes would be a disaster, even worse with resorting to hiring them, as if true heroism could be paid for. He didn't agree when Luke & Danny did it but he knew underneath the mercenary nature of it they would do the right thing. And if they -- wait. Luke & Danny. They didn't have a trademark on the heroes-for-hire idea but they were certainly the poster-boys, usually literally. If they didn't have anything to do with this, and weren't already a part of it, then it would certainly get close enough to them that they might know what's going on. This idea going far and wide through the city was already an oncoming wave of chaos, especially being tied to Osborn, and something he'd need to get in front of, even if he'd have to do it from the inside.

He snatches his Rolodex and runs his fingertips over the miniature pages. "CAGE." "RAND." Then punches the numbers into the landline phone. If they didn't answer, he had Misty's number ready as well.

Eddie chuckled as he watched the Mayor's little grandstanding, "Osbourn always has a plan to slip out of trouble...slime is hard to nail down." Two of us symbiotes extend out from his side as he sits, one adopting a cat-like appearance the other could questionably be called a canine, "You can feel my nervousness, Osbourn is trouble wrapped in cash. Everyone that works for him in the hero or villain game gets burnt either on his side or against."

He reaches out to pat each, "We've put some good in the world, and don't pretend you don't enjoy the awe of the kids when you play with them."
Eddie stands up, "In any case, the mugger back on 3rd had a ten spot on him we'll go grab a bucket near the end of patrol and see if Mrs. Parker left us any chocolate back at the Shelter."

"You should ask for Chocolate Cake for pay! , Not how volunteering works but I could certainly hint at a cake night but we'd have to share., We share good!"

Eddie nods as he lands in the alley of the shelter using his key to open the alley entrance, "Yes you have been working hard. Let's get settled in and we can watch some cartoons." He blinks as the phone rings and picks it up, "FEAST Shelter offices are closed for the evening. If this is a medical or safety emergency please hang up and call 911." "Hello, Hero. Are you for hire?"

He blinks at looks at the receiver, "We take money donations via dropbox in front of every location or physical items at the loading docks. Everyone who steps up is a hero. For donations, we are willing to make an appearance send info in writing to us via dropbox. This line is for Shelter Business only." He hangs up instantly. "Always something," he rubs his face as the little symbiote devours the chicken and watches a random cartoon, "We'll deal with that tomorrow."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:15, Wed 24 Jan.

“When have I ever been anything but nice...?”

---

Midtown to Greenwich Village was a mercifully short journey – not pleasant, but short enough. For all that the world she walked was built on secrets, on truths hidden from the ignorant, Elsa had never been one to shy away from being herself. It was no real surprise then that she drew her fair share of attention on the train ride over. Maybe her style didn’t overtly scream ‘superhero,’ but even for New York a nigh six-foot woman with a flaming red ponytail halfway to the floor, battered guitar case and a penchant for orange was a little unusual. She had dirty looks enough anyone who couldn’t keep their eyes to themselves.

The walk to the Sanctum itself was calming in its own way. It wasn’t a place she much cared to be, not even with its new occupant a damn sight more her speed, but there was a comfortable familiarity about stepping blind into some new mystical screw-up. Elsa would never deign to admit it made the trip worthwhile, but she might just begrudgingly admit that it made for a more interesting way to pass the time than trash TV and takeout. Not that she’d say no to the latter of course.

It was quiet when she got there, though she’d hardly expected the place falling down about her ears either. Maybe she was a little early, or maybe the help was just terminally late. She’d heard that was a Spider thing somewhere.

Elsa brushed the second step clear and settled herself down with her case across her knees. Any other day she’d gladly kick in the door herself, but just for today she supposed she could wait. It wasn’t as if they were there to do anything too important after all.

Ah, there she was now!

“About time, darling,” Elsa offered dryly with a slight quirk of the head. She stirred but didn’t get up. “As much as I’d love to already be waist-deep in whatever palaver’s going on back there, our mutual friend tells me you’re useful, and if you’re getting paid for this then you’re bloody well putting the time in.”

Only then did she take her feet, and with no undue haste at that. “So what is it you do anyway?”
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 00:24, Wed 24 Jan.

“Up here,” Elsa heard from above. Spider-Woman waved from where she perched upside down on the ceiling, her black hair trailing down in a thick fall. “For starters, I cling to walls.” Releasing her grip, Spider-Woman somersaulted down to her erstwhile partner in crimefighting.

When she stood before the striking redhead, Jessica looked the woman over. Jessica was nearly six feet tall herself, if more flamboyantly dressed. “So you’re Elsa Bloodstone? Monica tells me you’re hell in a scrap.”
.

April sees the open window and the fire escape from three blocks away. Thoughtful. She knew about the Heroes For Hire mostly by reputation, but that reputation was solid enough. She landed by their front door, just the same, in a perfect superhero landing complete with hair flick as she resumes her human form: black leather over ripped denim and fishnets, a baby-faced teenager with a manic gleam in her eyes.

She walks the rest of the way up to her destination.

"Misty? I'm here. Did we... meet that night in the Stadium? I'm sorry, I kinda lost the plot after Shan-- after American Dream showed up."

She ages a bit, and a white streak shows in her hair. "You called, I came. What can I do for you?"

Since we're still in an action scene, is the Status Tracker as updated as it can be?