Refuge MUSH - User contributions [en]

Crime

2018-12-18T20:54:24Z

Apoq79:

Organized crime runs rampant across the cities in which our universe is set. The following is a comprehensive overview of crime organizations, including their leadership, strength and influence. These balances of power can be affected by character actions and game plots.

[https://drive.google.com/open?id=1tP-SWXZF-76vuNycg0uX9JN8dlvHMoCR&usp=sharing|Google Map View]

==Legend==

Crime syndicates will be listed by city. Please note that some organizations may have scope beyond the city listed.

'''Influence'''

Influence is a percentage number that indicates how strong of an influence each organization has in a given city or neighborhood.

'''Strength'''

Strength is a general description denoting what kind of resources an organization has.

*Total Control: Countless foot soldiers. Access to experimental military grade weaponry and/or stolen alien tech. Strong influence over law enforcement and politicians. Near total level of surveillance on controlled territories. Access to military grade vehicles. Access to air, sea and helicopter transport.
*Extremely Heavy: Over a thousand foot soldiers. Up to military grade weaponry. Strong influence over law enforcement and politicians. High level of surveillance. Access to reinforced vehicles. Access to air, sea and helicopter transport.
*Heavy: 500-1000 foot soldiers. Up to military grade weaponry. Mediocre influence over law enforcement and politicians. High level of surveillance. Access to reinforced vehicles and helicopter transport.
*Medium: Up to 500 foot soldiers. Access to stolen commercial grade weaponry. Mediocre influence over law enforcement and politicians. Mediocre level of surveillance. Access to reinforced vehicles.
*Light: Up to 100 foot soldiers. Access to stolen commercial grade weaponry. Light influence over crooked cops and politicians. Low level of surveillance.
*Minimal: Up to 50 foot soldiers. Access to stolen commercial grade weaponry (minimal access to assault rifles). No influence over law enforcement and politicians. Minimal level of surveillance.

==New York City==
===Locals===
====The Fisk Crime Syndicate====
Headquartered in Hell's Kitchen at the Fisk Estate.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Wilson Fisk]] (Kingpin) - Boss || Hell's Kitchen - 90% || Extremely Heavy || Daredevil
|-
| || Lower Manhattan through Midtown - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 50% || Medium ||
|-
| || Harlem - 5% || Minimal || Luke Cage
|}

====Harlem's Paradise====
Headquartered at the Harlem's Paradise Nightclub in Harlem.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Cornell Stokes]] (Cottonmouth) - Boss || Harlem - 90% || Heavy || Luke Cage
|-
| || Bronx - 50% || Medium ||
|-
| || Queens - 20% || Light || Spider-Man
|-
| || Spanish (East) Harlem - 15% || Light || Spider-Girl
|-
| || Midtown, Brooklyn, New Jersey - 5% || Minimal ||
|}

====The Stylers====
Headquartered in Crown Height, Brooklyn and Jamaica, Queens
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[John McIver]] (Bushmaster) || Brooklyn - 55% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Queens - 30% || Medium || Spider-Man
|-
| || Bronx - 20% || Light ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 10% || Light ||
|-
| || Midtown - 10% || Minimal ||
|}
====The Pride====
Headquartered in Mutant Town
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[The Hunter]] (unknown figure) || Mutant Town - 100% || Light ||
|}

===Non-Local / International===
====The Hand====
An international crime syndicate headquartered in China.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Madame Gao]] - New York Area || Chinatown - 90% || Extremely Heavy ||
|-
| || Lower Manhattan - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Midtown - 30% || Medium ||
|-
| || Hell's Kitchen - 10% || Light || Daredevil
|}

====The Maggia====
An international crime syndicate with operations in NYC.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Silvio Manfredi]] (The Silvermane Family) || Queens - 50% || Heavy || Spider-Man
|-
| [[Hammerhead]] (The Hammerhead Family) || Brooklyn - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Mutant Town - 90% || Light (held at bay by The Pride) || Tigger
|}

====The Latin Kings====
A national crime syndicate headquartered in Humboldt Park, Chicago
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| Undetermined Leadership || Spanish (East) Harlem - 85% || Heavy || Spider-Girl
|}

====The Triads====
An international crime syndicate headquartered in China.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| Dragon Tong Gang (NYC) || Brooklyn - 25% || Medium ||
|-
| || Bronx - 65% || Heavy ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Queens - 10% || Light ||
|-
| || Chinatown - 10% || Heavy ||
|}

==Metropolis==

==Gotham==

==Coast City==

==Central City==

2018-12-17-Return of the Latin Kings

2018-12-17T03:51:04Z

Apoq79:

{{log
|
name=Return of the Latin Kings
|
date=December 12, 2018
|
location=Marcus Garvey Park, Manhattan, New York
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Cyblade.jpeg|[[Cyblade]]
Alyx01jpeg|[[Alyx Sun]]
</gallery>

----

Marcus Garvey Park, occupying four blocks between Malcolm X Blvd on the west and Park Ave on the east, has become a sign of New York gentrification in recent years. It's also a point of bitterness for many; residents of Harlem and its sister neighborhood, Spanish Harlem (known by the gentrifiers, of course, as 'East Harlem'), remember a time when the park was visited by... well, not the gentrifiers.

Not far from the park, on the Spanish Harlem side of things, there is a tattoo shop. Anya Corazon has some friends who work there; friends who owe her some favors, so it's time to call them in. She pops through the front door with one Alyx Sun in tow, and shoots an upnod to the big, hairy dude working the counter. "Yo Enrique, que hay de nuevo, gatita?" The dude throws up a hand, and the pair exchange hi-fives before Anya leans in close and whispers something to him. Something in Spanish, about how there's some dorky guy who's gonna show up soon looking for her, and how Enrique should just send him along to the back room where she and Alyx will be hanging out.

The place is popular, even on a Saturday around noon; the buzzing of needles creates a vibe in the air that tickles the senses and brings a smirk to Anya's face while she leads Alyx toward aforementioned back room. "This is a tattoo parlor," she tells the younger girl as they go. "I don't have any, myself, ya know. I know I dress pretty funky and shit, but, abuela would shit a brick if I ever got inked."

As for Anya's dress, yeah... funky is one way to describe it. She's got boots on that seem to be made of faux latex, and they rise up far beyond her knees and into the ripped black skirt. For some reason, she's got pink fishnets over top of the boots, and they're getting torn up with every step. The t-shirt on her upper body simply reads 'FUCK THE POLICE' in dark red on black, and is partially concealed by a studded black leather jacket, causing it to read more like this: 'UC THE OLI'.

Outside, the sun is shining and the city seems eerily still. You see, the blocks around Marcus Garvey Park is usually a hustle and bustle of activity, but for some reason, things seem quieter today. Outsiders wouldn't have a clue as to why, but as for Anya, something about today seems to be bothering her. She knows this part of town like the back of her hand, having been raised only a few blocks deeper into Spanish Harlem. The quiet... is unsettling.

----

Alyx, clad in her usual oversized hoodie and skinny jeans, is a little nervous. That's totally why she's twitchy and very aware of her surroundings. "I knew that much. From the people getting Tattoos." She sticks her tongue out at Anya, before following the rest of the way into the back room. "How're you not freezing? Also, I have a bad feeling about this." She tugs at one sleeve of her sweatshirt, her arm hair standing on end.

----

To be fair, EVERYTHING is popular on Saturday around noon.

If Garvey Park is anybody's territory, it's Anya's. Certainly not Peter's, as he's most at home in Queens, and he doesn't think Arachne has claimed any particular territory for herself yet. Peter arrived a few minutes early, and is now settled uncomfortably in the tattoo shop, trying to look at ink while at the same time keeping a pair of one-use brownie pans from the large, tattooed, Latino man beside him. The man has established, first, that there are brownies, and second, that Peter Parker, in his white button-down shirt and khakis, is a wimp. And he is sure that there are baked goods in his future.

Peter isn't uncomfortable, per se -- the dude could not take these brownies from him if he tried -- but he does feel a warning tingle in the back of his mind. Something is going to happen. Finally he sees Anya enter, and that must be Alyx beside her. "Mi amigo," he tells Danny Trejo's body double, "mi tia hace galletas mucho mejores que yo." And then he rises to meet the others.

----

A big grin is given toward Alyx, moments before Anya yanks the door to the back room open. "Okay, sorry. I mean, you know." She looks around the shop for a moment, before turning her attention back to Alyx. "I can be a dingus, you know?" Once they're inside the room itself, she seems to relax a bit. "Oh, you know. A ho gets +7 to not freezing, so, I'm good." Truth is, of course, she's got more layers on that she cares to admit at this particular moment.

The room itself is where the manager conducts business, and it doubles as a supply room. There's a desk with a Macbook Pro set up, and shelving lines the walls that is filled with latex gloves, bottles of ink, sterilized needles, boxes of contact paper, and the like. The computer was left unlocked, and currently shows a rather sick design depicting a trio of lamia with their tails intertwined around each other. Anya peers at the art, her eyes wide. "That... is dope." She turns back toward Alyx then, and cocks an eyebrow. "Why?" she asks, in regards to the bad feeling. Then, of course, her eyes are going toward the window, which has a clear shot of the park half a block away. A frown comes to her face, and clearly for a moment she seems to be concerned about something. This is what Peter will likely see when he joins them; Anya Corazon, staring through the window with a frown on her face.

----

"...Ho? What does Santa have to do with it?" Slang is not Alyx's expertise. She sighs, looking back around the room itself, nose wrinkling slightly. "...I'm not sure yet. It's... Arachne-Sense. Something is off, but no real direction yet." She peers through the window next to Anya, jumping a little and spinning around when Peter enters. He'd be greeted by a teenage girl who looks shockingly like Cindy if she was a little bit taller, although her eyes uncannily resemble his. A lock of hair rests on either side of her face, the rest pulled back in a pony tail.

----

Peter has applied a lot of bodyspray, it should be noted. Usually he doesn't, but he really doesn't want to risk Arachne putting two-and-two together here. Shouldn't be easy to detect the Spidey-scent through the Axe. "Anya," he says in greeting, noting her concern, but affecting an expression that suggests his greatest concern is just checking to make sure this goes well. "And you've got to be Alyx, right?" He sets the two pans down on the nearest flat surface not occupied by things that could cut the metal. "I think I've got what you need here," he says, tapping one pan, and then, because the pans are identical to the naked eye and he has been shuffling them back and forth, he peels up one corner and peeks in. Brown. "Yes, this one."

----

What cannot be seen from the tattoo shop is the group of people who are converging at one end of Marcus Garvey Park. Individually, there isn't anything particularly special about the men as they gather together, but as a group, it wouldn't take a genius to determine that these boys are clearly up to no good. There's no visible sign of danger, aside from the fact that a growing number of young and middle-aged men, dressed in jeans, hoodies, jackets, and the like, are all gathering together in the park as time goes on. By and large, they are of latino heritage, and they are gathering on the west end of the park. The Harlem side. This, in and of itself, is a statement, but more concerning to the locals is that these men are -not- locals to Spanish Harlem. As the moments pass, more and more of them seem to come out of the woodwork. They aren't talking... they're just gathering.

Anya's frown is broken briefly by a rueful grin. "There's... a lot you're gonna have to learn," she remarks, not yet explaining how Santa has nothing to do with the earlier remark. Talk of Arachne-Sense, however, wrinkles her nose and brings back the frown. "Yeah... it's kinda... too quiet out there for a Saturday," she remarks, but the last word comes out clipped short, due to Alyx's startle.

Anya turns as well, noting Peter with a brief smile that quickly sours when the scent of Axe Body Spray hits her nostrils. "Seriously, Peter... lay off the bro-sauce, man." A gesture is given between the two. "Alyx Sun? Peter Parker. This is the guy I told you about, yeah? The science guy. He's good." A grin. "Trust me."

Following a brief visual inspection of the brownies, it takes a lot of willpower not to make a snarky remark about bakery and marijuana. Points to Anya on that one. Granted, she's emboldened by the general aura of doom that seems to be hovering over the area like a thick blanket. Back to the window she turns, and as she looks on, she can't help but cock her head a bit. "Arana..." she murmurs under her breath. "Marcus Garvey Park. Vigilancia."

----

Alyx gives Pete an appraising look as he enters, wrinkling her nose at the reek of Axe. "Yes. I'm Alyx." She peers a little closer to the pan, raising an eyebrow. "...Brownies?" She hugs her arms across her chest, shifting a bit uneasily from foot to foot. Totally not having Arachne-Sense tingles. Nope. Can't give that away in front of the perfectly normal Science Guy Pete.

----

Pete nods to Anya, then turns back to Alyx. "I'm Spider-Man's science guy. He explained that you aren't able to create something we humans need to live, and you were dependent on some pretty bad people for it. So..." He lifts the foil completely off the pan and presses it toward her. "My aunt's recipe, though I'm not the baker she is -- and I've added something. I think it's the thing you need. If not, that's in here." He taps the other pan.

"So, here's my logic: if they're going to prevent you from making something you need to live, it's probably one of what we call the five dispensable amino acids -- these are amino acids that humans make in sufficient amounts that nobody bothers to make supplements, because nobody needs them. Three of them are commonly found in foods that aren't necessarily cheap, but not hard to get either, and they wouldn't want you to stumble across what you needed when you got asparagus or Chinese food, so those are out.
"The other two aren't nearly so common. Aspartic acid is a possibility, but I consider it less likely. No, I think they left out Serine." He pushes the brownies toward her. "Because it's just too, neat, you know? The word Serine comes from the Latin word, sericum. Which means 'silk.'"

----

Somewhere, back at headquarters, reports are coming in of this gathering. Data sifters are analyzing it, using satellite photography to determine identifying features, take stock of body language, and assess commonalities among them. Conclusion: organized violence most likely outcome, from an exclusively male demographic. There's no question which operative would receive the best public response in the MeToo era.

They scramble to deploy the asset, but quietly. It's best everyone have no idea what kind of support system exists behind her. She emerges from the rooftop of an unassuming brownstone a mile out, and starts running. Her metallic boots occasionally flash pink from the heels as she leaps from one rooftop to the next.

----

Anya is listening, to be sure, but she's shrugged off her backpack and retrieved the smartphone from within. Her face is buried in the screen, fingers tapping every so often as she receives surveillance from Arana.

Meanwhile, the little Spider-Girl drone itself (recently repaired and significantly upgraded) is hovering over the park in question. Her visual recording devices are feeding video back to Anya's phone, and at the young woman's command, begins zooming in on some of the people gathering.

"Quien eres?" Anya murmurs quietly to herself, then quietly walks over toward the computer and sits down at it.

Meanwhile, in the streets on the Harlem side of the park, men and women of the local gangs operating under Cottonmouth are starting to gather. They, also, are coming out of the woodwork; peeking out of windows, climbing down fire escapes, emerging from alleys or jumping off MTA bus lines. Dialogue between them comes quietly, sparsely, and in hushed tones. Arana doesn't notice it just yet, for the drone is still snapping from one person to the other, still focused on the men gathering in the park itself.

----

Alyx bristles a little a the mention of Spider-Man, but gingerly reaches out and accepts the Pan. "T-Thanks." She holds it up to her face, inhaling deeply. ...Okay, that's /really/ good. Most of the science is kind of going over her head, but... She accepts the other pan too, stacking it atop the first. "...That would be the kind of irony that they would like. They think they're smarter than they are. These smell really good though. I can't tell, but we think it might... might work." She reaches down and digs out a small chunk of each pan, about the size of a sugar cube, and pops them into her mouth one by one. Her gaze shifts off into the middle distance, head tilting as if she's listening to some inner voice. "...Yes. These will work. Thank you."

Anya's shift to the computer also gets a curious look, before another shiver runs through Alyx's body, the electric buzz in her nerves getting worse.

----

Peter gives Alyx a thumbs-up. "Try the Serine pan on its own next time," he says. "Just to make sure that's the one you need. Anya can get in touch with me if anything goes wrong, of course. And there are foods you can get that will give you serine, too -- it's just that a lot of them are things you're not likely to find on your own. Primarily, you need to eat a lot of meat."

To Anya he says, "If things are going south, I should get out of here -- but I can have Spider-Man come by." A glance at Alyx. "If that's not going to make things worse."

----

On Anya's cell phone, the video feed has frozen upon a zoomed in shot of one person's neck, where the tattoo of a crown was captured. On the computer, Anya is ferociously banging through web pages, going back and forth between two. She settles upon one, which bears an image of that same tattoo taken from another person at another time. "Hold on.... Fuck!" Anya darts to her feet, clearly alarmed. "Oh, no! Nonono. This isn't good. This is -really- not good!" Her phone comes up and she speaks into it, her voice trembling with audible signs of panic. "Arana, vigilancia oeste." The phone's video feed zooms out and pants westward, where these presumably opposing gang members are visibly gathering on the Harlem street side of the park.

"Oh my God," she breathes, eyes wide. "Get out of here, Pete, and get Spider-Man on the phone. We're gonna need him. We're gonna need -everyone-." She spins around, turns the computer so that they can see, and takes a deep breath.

"Latin Kings are back." The Latin Kings operate out of Chicago, and bailed out of East Harlem almost 12 years ago, when the neighborhood began to feel the effects of gentrification. Their departure signaled a period of significantly reduced crime in the neighborhood. "I think we're about to be in the middle of a war zone."

Said warzone has yet to become a reality. However, the gathering latino men in Marcus Garvey Park seem to have taken notice of Cottonmouth's thugs. It doesn't take much to see that red line being drawn somewhere between Mt. Morris Park West and Malcolm X Blvd. A pair from the park side step forward, and a trio from the Harlem side emerge, walking across the street to meet them. Whatever is coming, it seems it won't be entirely without some sense of procedure.

----

On the corner of a rooftop overlooking Garvey, a woman in skintight bands of gray and blue metal is perched on her toes and fingertips, the red gleam from the lenses in her silvery mask hiding an HUD that is scanning the crowd for the chemical signatures of weapons: bullets most obviously, but also the presence of alcohol that would suggest a molotov. An implant in her inner ear delivers the voice of her handler, commanding, "The company forbids the use of your energy weapons. The public would not accept your use of powers against such menial thugs." The voice does not wait for an acknowledgment; it expects the order to be obeyed without question.

----

Peter doesn't even acknowledge Anya's statement verbally -- just heads out the door at a run, fishing his phone from his pocket and dialing a spare phone he has set up, secreted on the top of the Empire State Building's antenna -- where it's unlikely to be found. As he bursts through the tattoo parlor, he announces, "Spidey! It's Pete! Head to Garvey Park - the Latin Kings are back!"

Admittedly, Peter, and thus Spidey as well, was only 13 when the Latin Kings left town, but that's neither here nor there. There's trouble, and that's what the message is conveying. Or would be conveying, if he weren't essentially calling himself.

Once outside, Peter ducks into an alley, ostensibly to get as far from the park as possible, as quickly as possible. But he's just looking for a place to hide and change and also to use baby wipes to clear off the stink of Axe body spray so, again, Alyx doesn't put two and two together.

----

Alyx nods, re-wrapping the pans assuming that Pete still has the tin foil available. "Thank you. I will use the computers at FEAST for more research, now that I know what I'm looking for." Anya's sudden outburst confirms the buzz. Gang warfare is definitely a reason for danger. "We can... deal with it. As long as he doesn't get too close. We don't want people to get hurt." She ducks out after Pete, jogging at a surprising pace considering she's carrying two trays of brownies. Sticky hands are incredibly useful.

Once she's cleared the area and found her own rooftop, the pans are securely webbed to the top of a HVAC unit. Her clothes start to shift, darkening and flowing together up and over her face. But this time... This time it'll be different. Instead of the typical stark black and white 'feral symbiote' costume, she looks substantially more like a regular cape. A Spider-Suit, in black and purple. Of course, if people look really close, they might realize something's off about the eye lenses, but... Hopefully nobody will be paying that much attention.

----

They may not be visible to the naked eye, but every single one of the men and women gathered on each side are packing heat - everything from semi-automatic pistols to assault rifles. And yeah... there's booze. Some for enjoying, some for burning.

"You see this?" One of the Kings points at the street beneath his feet. "New border. We're taking back Spanish Harlem. Right here, right now. You got one hour to get your skanky-ass bitches and your sloppy-ass pushers outta here. Clear 'em out, one hour."

The gang member opposite the Kingsman stares at his would be enemy for a long moment. He doesn't speak a word.

The Kingsman steps forward, and the look in his eye is threatening. "Get out your phone. Get your n**** Cottonmouth on, and tell him. One... fucking... hour... or we'll burn your precious club to the ground."

Meanwhile, in the tattoo shop, Anya turns back to Alyx as Peter runs away. "Okay," she says to Alyx. "I'll be right there!" Instead of following, Anya sits down at the computer and begins getting to work. This... will be questionable later, of course. On the computer, she's very quickly hacking into the MTA and NYC Traffic databases as if she's done this before. "Arana," she says, her earpiece still feeding verbal commands to the Spider-Girl Drone. "Atasco las radios de la policia de Nueva York."

Anya's not calling for help. No... she's jamming the police radios, and in turn, their in-cruiser data networks.

----

Peter hears plenty from where he's getting into costume. It's a somewhat longer process than usual, what with being covered in alcohol, which is drying his skin out rather a lot. Ugh. He's not going to smell like himself to Arachne either. But once he's managed to struggle into his spandex and leave his Peter Parker gear stashed in an open vent on the side of an apartment building, he makes his way to a rooftop overlooking the park. Taking the Kings by surprise is the ideal -- and best if Spider-Girl and Arachne are able to coordinate with him when they do it.

----

<OOC> Peter Parker has to warn, he's got to go run errands pretty soon -- about half an hour. Anya, feel free to emit Spidey smacking down Kings on the edge of the battlefield and making things easier for others.

----

Fully suited up, Arachne leaps a few rooftops, yanking herself along with strands of black web, until she gets back to a building fairly close to the park. She's still not quite sure where Spider-Girl is, but... She should show up soon. And then they can do things together. She's not about to start a fight yet, but she does perch on the edge of the rooftop and stare down at the forming lines of battle below

----

It doesn't take long for Anya to access the MTA and NYDOT servers. Within moments, the traffic signals are being overridden - red lights on all streets coming into the area, and green lights locked on roads leading out of a ten block radius. She's letting people get out, and not letting people in. A similar effect is being taken with the MTA lines, affecting bus routes and train lines. "Arana," she speaks while working. "Connectar Spider-Net." This connects the spider-folk's comm devices... though Arana, where she hovers over the park, blats like R2-D2 and suddenly flies toward Arachne.

Meanwhile, in the park...

The representative for Cottonmouth smiles at his counterpart. Rather than speaking, he turns his head to the side and nods his head. To whom, it's not exactly clear... but a moment later, the Latin Kingsman's forehead is ripped open by a bullet. The fence behind him is sprayed with blood and grey matter. Within seconds, the opposing gang members raise their voices in a cacophony of shouts, insults, cursing and racial slurs. Weapons are brandished, loaded, and waved around. People who aren't involved scatter, running for the proverbial hills. However, the impending violence, it would seem, is held by a few precious seconds.

As hardened as these thugs are, none of them are really itching to die.

Arana approaches Arachne and opens a compartment. Inside is an earcomm, ready for her to use. Meanwhile, in the nick of time, Anya completes her hacking. She then grabs the computer, rips it free from its cables, and throws it with the force of a wrecking ball toward the router and modem across the room. Both items are smashed into pieces. "Enrique!" she cries, while bursting from the shop and making for the door. "Bajar! Kings are back!"

Time's up. All of those illegally purchased firearms are suddenly coming alive, and the short distance between the street and the park is filled with gunfire.

----

Subcutaneous implants awaken, a lattice of copper and gold beneath the skin forming a second nervous system that charges her body like a flood of adrenaline would. The woman atop the roof leaps down, her long hair trailing behind her like a black comet. "I have this! Everyone get clear!" she yells, an order unnecessary since everyone is fleeing, but it serves the purpose of attracting attention to her as she lands in the park, all two hundred and fifty pounds of her, only her shoulders and mouth not encased in flexible metal.

"Who invited Robocop?" some wit with a fondness for Peter Weller snaps. Derisive laughter follows, cut off as the woman it's aimed at flashes across the park to bury her foot in a flying straight kick right in the thug's belly. He goes down hard, retching up spittle. Like a ninja, the gray-blue woman is already on her feet and twirling away from her position. The sunlight reflects off her chassis in confusing sparkles.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

Arachne quickly shoves the earpiece into her ear, a hole briefly forming to allow it in before sealing over it again. At the sound of gunfire, she launches a web from each wrist, and a blur of black and purple is slingshotted into a group of Kings. She flows between them, delivering fluid strikes and strategic bursts of web to disable guns and stick people's feet to the ground, or limbs to their torsos. Sure, there might be a few broken bones, but better than than gun violence. "Arachne here, we're engaging."

----

"This won't stay here," Anya is saying, even while throwing a hand into her shirt and pulling the mask over her face. "It'll spread." She throws a hand skyward, a webline flying loose. The backpack is clung to by her free hand, even as she leaps and goes soaring upward. "Doesn't matter who wins or loses. We gotta lock down the park -" A pause in the transmission as she lands gracefully upon the rooftop. Then, there is some grunting in the words as she very much begins ripping her clothing off, revealing the Spider-Girl costume beneath. "Then we gotta - urmf - comb the whole neighborhood. Both of 'em - urf! Boots. Harlem, East Harlem, both. Hold on guys, I'm almost ready!"

Meanwhile, Spider-Man is engaging from the opposite end, forming a triangle of sorts between where Robocop and Arachne are engaging the gangs. This leaves one area open, and as Spider-Girl makes for the edge of the rooftop, she spies it. "Incoming!" she calls, before vaulting into the air. She springs over the train running over Park Ave, then quickly pendulums between two buildings to gain speed. Then, she's soaring over the park, descending toward a trio of thugs who are unleashing hell toward the Harlem side of the park. She lands with two feet into one's back, knocking him into the second, and rips the gun right out of the third's hand.

"Guns are -stupid-!" she tells the thug, before whinging it like a baseball bat into the thug's face. "SEE?"

----

On the ground, the gray and blue woman proves she is not fast enough to dodge bullets. Oh, she's amazingly good, and her moves seem designed to startle her enemies into being unable to aim, but that kind of psychological tactic only works until the third gangster is on the ground; at that point, people get their stuff together. Just ask Batman. A bullet takes her on the right side of the ribcage, not penetrating flesh, but the impact certainly throwing her out of her dervish spinning to land hard on one knee. The gangster who landed the shot crows in self-satisfaction, then screams: the orders regarding use of powers is provisionally rescinded, and the metal-clad woman has permission to fire a jet of pink energy from her fingertips to the ground at his feet. The superheated plasma turns the ground briefly into lava, and his shoes catch fire before he can dance back out of range.

"Someone film that and send it to Nike," the woman quips with a beautiful, sinister smile; but she's already on her feet again, dashing into her next opponent, both fists surrounded by pink auras.

----

Arachne nods in response to the voice on her comms. "We'll web everyone we can down!" She thwips off a few more blasts of webbing, guns jamming up as the sticky stuff gets into the mechanisms, and gangsters clawing at their faces as they're suddenly blinded. A buzz behind her and she ducks, a shotgun blast taking the thug in front of her off his feet. The wielder of said shotgun is immediately kicked in the groin hard enough to lift him off the ground. "Are you even trying? We can do this all day!" Hey, if they're shooting at her, they're not shooting at civilians...

----

"Holy shit!" Spider-Girl cries upon seeing what RoboPink can do. "We got the Pink Ranger on our side here!" She flings a pair of weblines to another couple of guns, ripping them right out of the hands holding them. "Don't worry, Arana's recording everything."

From the corner of her eye, she catches Spider-Man suddenly pinned down by a handful of Cottonmouth's thugs. They're firing rounds from AR-15's at him, and he's spinning and flipping about to avoid being pegged by a bullet. He's damn fast, but too locked up in dodging to do anything about them. Rushing over, Spider-Girl lets loose a barrage of web blasts that catch the thugs one at a time, pinning them down against a brick wall. However, before she can do anything else, someone else gets the beat on her. From behind, one of the Latin Kings fires, and four bullets peg her right in the back. The young woman yelps in agony, and collapses face first into the cold grass beneath her. There's no blood; the shells are flattened against her costume, proving that the spider-silk it's woven of is, indeed, just as bullet proof as kevlar. However, it might be easy to miss this critical fact.

With the wind knocked out of her, she lies there silent and still. A crackling sound can be heard as something seeps out from her back; liquid-like at first, the gooey stuff hardens into a chitinous shell of opalescent black and luminescent blue, covering her from head to toe in a protective shell.

The thug who pegged her runs forward, lowering his weapon. Then, he unleashes a barrage of rounds into the fallen hero, the bullets chipping away at the protective armor piece by piece.

----

Range, melting point, and megawattage are calculated in a second as the metal ninja dodges behind trees, her speed enhanced by blasts from the heels of her boots (or at least, the blue-colored metal that climbs up to mid-thigh like boots). With calibrations duly performed, she peeks out from the tree absorbing bullets for her and extends a hand, fingertips out like the female victim in a horror movie reaching for the kitchen knife that might save her from the slasher behind her; but instead of finding a knife, she emits a needle-thin ray of plasma that turns the barrel of the AK it hits red-hot. The gangster holding it shrieks, drops it, realizes the risk of the bullets overheating, and kicks it as it falls, sending it flying in an arc. He doesn't have time to look back at his assailant before her fist has pounded the back of his head and given him a contracoup injury that leaves him senseless on the earth.

----

"Spider-Girl!" Arachne sees Anya go down, and leaps out of her current spot in the melee, launching out two more strands of web and *yanking* It's like the slingshot maneuver, but more so. She speeds feet first towards the ganger pumping rounds into her ally, feet meeting his back with a rather visceral noise and sending him flying. A burst of web for good measure, and she tries to check Anya's pulse. Hopefully Pink Ranger/Robocop/whoever the hell she is can keep the majority of the members distracted. Espcially since she seemingly IS bulletproof.

----

It'll prove difficult to check Anya's pulse considering the shell that has formed around her, but there comes a grunt when Arachne is near. "Mmmmrh. Go. Fight." She moves just so, her insect-like face pried out of the grass. "Go!"

Meanwhile, Spider-Man is thoroughly beating the snot out of the thugs on the Harlem street side of things. There's a lot of shouting, and some confusion, but it would seem that Cottonmouth's people are being told to pull back, retreat, likely to reform elsewhere. The Latin Kings don't seem to be so willing. After all, they are in foreign territory, and don't yet have the advantage of holding turf. They begin turning their attention upon the heroes that remain, ignoring the fallen Spider-Girl for now and instead focusing their attention upon the Pink Robocop and Arachne. Spider-senses are way beyond tingling - right now, they're screaming.

----

If asked, the woman in metal might disagree with being characterized as bulletproof; then again, she might not, as neurological rerouting prevents the pain from her cracked ribs from reaching her brain. Like her ribs, the tree she's hiding behind has seen better days, so she makes the best tactical move she can think of: she emits a wide, thin blade of energy from her fingertips and swipes it across the tree's base in a reaping strike. The blade cuts through the tree like a lightsaber. She finishes her plan by jumping and pistoning one leg out sideways, kicking like a goddamn Street Fighter character, striking the tree so hard it ponderously topples off its trunk in the direction of her assailants, who have to scatter to avoid being hit by falling branches. Not all of them succeed, and several of the ones who do are left with the vision obscured by the tree's upper branches.

----

Assured that Spider-Girl isn't dead and/or bleeding out, she launches herself back into the fight. She tries to get herself in the middle of the crowd in the hopes that they won't shoot their own. Best to focus on the Kings, since they wont' retreat. And she doesn't have to hold back quite as much as the other wall-crawler who has way better PR. Dodging and twisting, she continues to deal out broken bones and blasts of webbing. ...Oh hey, and Robocop has a lightsaber. That's pretty cool. And a good way to take out lots of popel eat once....

----

Soon enough, Spider-Man finds himself freed up to join in the fight against the Latin Kings, whose numbers are in fact dwindling. He is intentionally filling the gaps where Arachne and Pink aren't closing in. Before long, Spider-Girl is able to recover, and crawls to her armored feet. She's still feeling a bit winded, but not so winded that she can't lift two arms. The webbing comes through tiny holes in the armor, and it shoots forth in a wide arc. A net. She's been practicing this one but yet to really put it into action; the net flies out and falls upon a handful of the Kings. Pulling the strands together, she tugs, and the net closes, wrapping around them and pulling the thugs into a tangled ball of bad clothes, guns, and cursing.

----

At that point, it's just mop-up. The woman in metal lifts her fists to chin level like a boxer, and lets a blade snap-hiss into existence from the back of each one: she then smiles at the remaining Latin Kings. "No future in it, gentlemen," she advises them, and waits to see if they take the smart path or the dumb one.

----

Ooooh. Even /more/ lightsabers! And Anya's back on her feet! Still doing her best to steer clear of SPider-Man, she shifts to a slightly more defensive fighting style than her earlier all-out brawling, mostly webbing people to the ground while also making their guns jam uselessly. Any moment they're not quite running, is more of them having to stay behind. "Yeah! We have the high ground!" ...How do We know that?

----

Those Latin Kings remaining suddenly book it, headed eastbound for Spanish Harlem. "Spider-Man?" Anya says into the comm, and gestures that he follow them. Not only is he fast and good at tracking... it'll get him away from Arachne. "Arana, escolta." The little Spider-Drone turns and flies off after him, providing updated surveillance.

Finally, the shell begins to fall away from Anya. She shrugs her arms and legs to help get the gross stuff off her, and the disgust is visible on the exposed lower half of her face. The act causes her to grimace, and she turns around a bit to try and get a look at her back. Four flattened out shells fall, one by one, when she turns her back, and another grimace comes to her face. "They aren't kidding. That really hurts."

----

<Do not pursue, agent,> comes the command. <Let Spider-Man bear the responsibility for their failure.>

Compliance is mandatory. Instead, the long-haired woman takes a long-legged saunter over toward the other two, smiling easily. "I'm glad you two showed up. You saved lives today. Are you alright?" she asks the more obviously injured one.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

"We're fine. We're not sure about Spider-Girl, though." Arachne gestures towards Anya, tilting her head a bit to one side questioningly. "Do you need medical help? We could go find a first aid kit somewhere." She looks back at the probable cyborg again, appraisingly. "We were already in the area."

----

"I think so," Anya answers. She pats her stomach indicatively. "Spider silk. Strong as kevlar, apparently, but I ain't had a chance to test it until today." A pause, and a groan. "Not that it was any fun." She turns her head to Arachne and shakes it negatively. "Probably a pretty nasty bruise under there, but... sorry kiddo, it's too cold to go stripping in broad daylight."

An expression of irritation now crops up, and the masked latina reaches up to fix her hair. It's all messed up and there are chunks of chitinous armor all through it, which go clattering to the ground at her fingertips. "The goddamn Kings. I should'a known," she chides herself. "There's been all this whispering. Quiet real estate deals, shady evictions, all kinds of weird stuff. I'm gonna tell you both, right now, that ain't all of 'em. These guys are organized. They're like the gestapo. Bet you a hundred bucks they've got people all over Spanish Harlem, waited to make their move until they had a stronghold."

By now, she's pacing, irritated. "This is why the smaller gangs have been quiet. Probably got recruited by the Kings, had to go through their crazy boot camp shit, got told to settle down and wait for the right time. Which is now." She turns to look back at Arachne and the Pink Warrior. "You mark my words. This is just the beginning."

----

The woman in gray and blue metal takes a respectful step back as the chitinous woman stands from a gunshot wound. "It sounds like your intelligence is better than theirs, if you heard whispers about this but they had no idea to expect you two."

----

"We're... not really from around here. We were just visiting her." Arachne gestures towards Anya again. "All the intel work is hers." The spider in purple and black looks down at the pile of chitin for a second, before bringing her gaze back up. if the brownies really do work... She doesn't need to scavenge any more. She can actually fight back.

----

"Well, I don't wear a mask when I'm doing my investigating," Spider-Girl admits. She didn't intend to make that type of a strategic decision, but is now realizing just how smart of an accident it may have been. Coming back to her senses, she looks back to the woman that she and Arachne don't yet know, and offers a tired smile. "I'm Spider-Girl. Spanish Harlem's... kinda my turf."

----

"They call me Cyblade," the metal woman explains, tossing her hair pertly. Her skin is dark enough she might be Latina; then again, she could be Mediterranean. Hard to tell, when there's nothing to go off of but a mouth, chin, and shoulders. "Since Spanish Harlem is so well protected, I'll leave you to it; but if you ever need help, I'll be around."

And on that line, sounding like the hero from a radio serial, she flips the other heroes a salute and bounds off in a series of blast-enhanced leaps.

----

"...Well that was a thing. We just fought alongside a cyborg." Arachne leans back against a tree, scratching hte back of her neck. "...Sorry if we caused you any trouble. You've helped us, and..." She trails off, managing to look extremely awkward despite the suit.

----

For a brief moment, Spider-Girl seems to bear an expression of wonder. 'Cyblade' is such a cool-ass name, way cooler than hers, or Peters, though Alyx's certainly stands a chance at competing on the same level of cool. She nods her head and grins. "Thanks for the help, Cyblade."

She watches as the woman departs, then whistles quietly. "Damn. Saying it even sounds cool. Arana?" A pause. "Catalogo 'Cyblade'. Enviar solicitud de contacto y banner amigable."

Spider-Girl walks over toward Arachne then, her expression tired. Too much fighting, too much emotion. "Actually," she answers, "you... kinda kicked ass today. She's right. You and I saved lives today. And you didn't break off and go after Spider-Man. That's some real progress." A deep breath. "But look... we gotta scram. I kinda... hacked the city's networks, kept the cops away, jammed up traffic and completely fucked over the MTA's grid and schedule. I need to go get my backpack, undo all that, and... you know, I could eat about twenty tacos. Wanna go grab a bite?"

----

"We're pretty hungry too. just gotta grab the brownies. Tell us where to meet?" The mask melts away around Arachne's mouth, and she offers a smile to Spider-Girl. "You're buying, though. We only have twenty bucks."

----

"Yeah, you keep that," Spider-Girl says. "And stay in costume. We can get all kinds of free food that way." She gives Arachne the address for where they're meeting, then runs off toward Spanish Harlem.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

2018-12-17-Return of the Latin Kings

2018-12-17T03:50:33Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=A Sticky Encounter | date=October 14, 2018 | location=New York }} <gallery> Anya01.jpeg|Anya Corazon Cyblade.jpeg|Cyblade Alyx01jpeg|Alyx Sun </galle..."

{{log
|
name=A Sticky Encounter
|
date=October 14, 2018
|
location=New York
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Cyblade.jpeg|[[Cyblade]]
Alyx01jpeg|[[Alyx Sun]]
</gallery>

----

Marcus Garvey Park, occupying four blocks between Malcolm X Blvd on the west and Park Ave on the east, has become a sign of New York gentrification in recent years. It's also a point of bitterness for many; residents of Harlem and its sister neighborhood, Spanish Harlem (known by the gentrifiers, of course, as 'East Harlem'), remember a time when the park was visited by... well, not the gentrifiers.

Not far from the park, on the Spanish Harlem side of things, there is a tattoo shop. Anya Corazon has some friends who work there; friends who owe her some favors, so it's time to call them in. She pops through the front door with one Alyx Sun in tow, and shoots an upnod to the big, hairy dude working the counter. "Yo Enrique, que hay de nuevo, gatita?" The dude throws up a hand, and the pair exchange hi-fives before Anya leans in close and whispers something to him. Something in Spanish, about how there's some dorky guy who's gonna show up soon looking for her, and how Enrique should just send him along to the back room where she and Alyx will be hanging out.

The place is popular, even on a Saturday around noon; the buzzing of needles creates a vibe in the air that tickles the senses and brings a smirk to Anya's face while she leads Alyx toward aforementioned back room. "This is a tattoo parlor," she tells the younger girl as they go. "I don't have any, myself, ya know. I know I dress pretty funky and shit, but, abuela would shit a brick if I ever got inked."

As for Anya's dress, yeah... funky is one way to describe it. She's got boots on that seem to be made of faux latex, and they rise up far beyond her knees and into the ripped black skirt. For some reason, she's got pink fishnets over top of the boots, and they're getting torn up with every step. The t-shirt on her upper body simply reads 'FUCK THE POLICE' in dark red on black, and is partially concealed by a studded black leather jacket, causing it to read more like this: 'UC THE OLI'.

Outside, the sun is shining and the city seems eerily still. You see, the blocks around Marcus Garvey Park is usually a hustle and bustle of activity, but for some reason, things seem quieter today. Outsiders wouldn't have a clue as to why, but as for Anya, something about today seems to be bothering her. She knows this part of town like the back of her hand, having been raised only a few blocks deeper into Spanish Harlem. The quiet... is unsettling.

----

Alyx, clad in her usual oversized hoodie and skinny jeans, is a little nervous. That's totally why she's twitchy and very aware of her surroundings. "I knew that much. From the people getting Tattoos." She sticks her tongue out at Anya, before following the rest of the way into the back room. "How're you not freezing? Also, I have a bad feeling about this." She tugs at one sleeve of her sweatshirt, her arm hair standing on end.

----

To be fair, EVERYTHING is popular on Saturday around noon.

If Garvey Park is anybody's territory, it's Anya's. Certainly not Peter's, as he's most at home in Queens, and he doesn't think Arachne has claimed any particular territory for herself yet. Peter arrived a few minutes early, and is now settled uncomfortably in the tattoo shop, trying to look at ink while at the same time keeping a pair of one-use brownie pans from the large, tattooed, Latino man beside him. The man has established, first, that there are brownies, and second, that Peter Parker, in his white button-down shirt and khakis, is a wimp. And he is sure that there are baked goods in his future.

Peter isn't uncomfortable, per se -- the dude could not take these brownies from him if he tried -- but he does feel a warning tingle in the back of his mind. Something is going to happen. Finally he sees Anya enter, and that must be Alyx beside her. "Mi amigo," he tells Danny Trejo's body double, "mi tia hace galletas mucho mejores que yo." And then he rises to meet the others.

----

A big grin is given toward Alyx, moments before Anya yanks the door to the back room open. "Okay, sorry. I mean, you know." She looks around the shop for a moment, before turning her attention back to Alyx. "I can be a dingus, you know?" Once they're inside the room itself, she seems to relax a bit. "Oh, you know. A ho gets +7 to not freezing, so, I'm good." Truth is, of course, she's got more layers on that she cares to admit at this particular moment.

The room itself is where the manager conducts business, and it doubles as a supply room. There's a desk with a Macbook Pro set up, and shelving lines the walls that is filled with latex gloves, bottles of ink, sterilized needles, boxes of contact paper, and the like. The computer was left unlocked, and currently shows a rather sick design depicting a trio of lamia with their tails intertwined around each other. Anya peers at the art, her eyes wide. "That... is dope." She turns back toward Alyx then, and cocks an eyebrow. "Why?" she asks, in regards to the bad feeling. Then, of course, her eyes are going toward the window, which has a clear shot of the park half a block away. A frown comes to her face, and clearly for a moment she seems to be concerned about something. This is what Peter will likely see when he joins them; Anya Corazon, staring through the window with a frown on her face.

----

"...Ho? What does Santa have to do with it?" Slang is not Alyx's expertise. She sighs, looking back around the room itself, nose wrinkling slightly. "...I'm not sure yet. It's... Arachne-Sense. Something is off, but no real direction yet." She peers through the window next to Anya, jumping a little and spinning around when Peter enters. He'd be greeted by a teenage girl who looks shockingly like Cindy if she was a little bit taller, although her eyes uncannily resemble his. A lock of hair rests on either side of her face, the rest pulled back in a pony tail.

----

Peter has applied a lot of bodyspray, it should be noted. Usually he doesn't, but he really doesn't want to risk Arachne putting two-and-two together here. Shouldn't be easy to detect the Spidey-scent through the Axe. "Anya," he says in greeting, noting her concern, but affecting an expression that suggests his greatest concern is just checking to make sure this goes well. "And you've got to be Alyx, right?" He sets the two pans down on the nearest flat surface not occupied by things that could cut the metal. "I think I've got what you need here," he says, tapping one pan, and then, because the pans are identical to the naked eye and he has been shuffling them back and forth, he peels up one corner and peeks in. Brown. "Yes, this one."

----

What cannot be seen from the tattoo shop is the group of people who are converging at one end of Marcus Garvey Park. Individually, there isn't anything particularly special about the men as they gather together, but as a group, it wouldn't take a genius to determine that these boys are clearly up to no good. There's no visible sign of danger, aside from the fact that a growing number of young and middle-aged men, dressed in jeans, hoodies, jackets, and the like, are all gathering together in the park as time goes on. By and large, they are of latino heritage, and they are gathering on the west end of the park. The Harlem side. This, in and of itself, is a statement, but more concerning to the locals is that these men are -not- locals to Spanish Harlem. As the moments pass, more and more of them seem to come out of the woodwork. They aren't talking... they're just gathering.

Anya's frown is broken briefly by a rueful grin. "There's... a lot you're gonna have to learn," she remarks, not yet explaining how Santa has nothing to do with the earlier remark. Talk of Arachne-Sense, however, wrinkles her nose and brings back the frown. "Yeah... it's kinda... too quiet out there for a Saturday," she remarks, but the last word comes out clipped short, due to Alyx's startle.

Anya turns as well, noting Peter with a brief smile that quickly sours when the scent of Axe Body Spray hits her nostrils. "Seriously, Peter... lay off the bro-sauce, man." A gesture is given between the two. "Alyx Sun? Peter Parker. This is the guy I told you about, yeah? The science guy. He's good." A grin. "Trust me."

Following a brief visual inspection of the brownies, it takes a lot of willpower not to make a snarky remark about bakery and marijuana. Points to Anya on that one. Granted, she's emboldened by the general aura of doom that seems to be hovering over the area like a thick blanket. Back to the window she turns, and as she looks on, she can't help but cock her head a bit. "Arana..." she murmurs under her breath. "Marcus Garvey Park. Vigilancia."

----

Alyx gives Pete an appraising look as he enters, wrinkling her nose at the reek of Axe. "Yes. I'm Alyx." She peers a little closer to the pan, raising an eyebrow. "...Brownies?" She hugs her arms across her chest, shifting a bit uneasily from foot to foot. Totally not having Arachne-Sense tingles. Nope. Can't give that away in front of the perfectly normal Science Guy Pete.

----

Pete nods to Anya, then turns back to Alyx. "I'm Spider-Man's science guy. He explained that you aren't able to create something we humans need to live, and you were dependent on some pretty bad people for it. So..." He lifts the foil completely off the pan and presses it toward her. "My aunt's recipe, though I'm not the baker she is -- and I've added something. I think it's the thing you need. If not, that's in here." He taps the other pan.

"So, here's my logic: if they're going to prevent you from making something you need to live, it's probably one of what we call the five dispensable amino acids -- these are amino acids that humans make in sufficient amounts that nobody bothers to make supplements, because nobody needs them. Three of them are commonly found in foods that aren't necessarily cheap, but not hard to get either, and they wouldn't want you to stumble across what you needed when you got asparagus or Chinese food, so those are out.
"The other two aren't nearly so common. Aspartic acid is a possibility, but I consider it less likely. No, I think they left out Serine." He pushes the brownies toward her. "Because it's just too, neat, you know? The word Serine comes from the Latin word, sericum. Which means 'silk.'"

----

Somewhere, back at headquarters, reports are coming in of this gathering. Data sifters are analyzing it, using satellite photography to determine identifying features, take stock of body language, and assess commonalities among them. Conclusion: organized violence most likely outcome, from an exclusively male demographic. There's no question which operative would receive the best public response in the MeToo era.

They scramble to deploy the asset, but quietly. It's best everyone have no idea what kind of support system exists behind her. She emerges from the rooftop of an unassuming brownstone a mile out, and starts running. Her metallic boots occasionally flash pink from the heels as she leaps from one rooftop to the next.

----

Anya is listening, to be sure, but she's shrugged off her backpack and retrieved the smartphone from within. Her face is buried in the screen, fingers tapping every so often as she receives surveillance from Arana.

Meanwhile, the little Spider-Girl drone itself (recently repaired and significantly upgraded) is hovering over the park in question. Her visual recording devices are feeding video back to Anya's phone, and at the young woman's command, begins zooming in on some of the people gathering.

"Quien eres?" Anya murmurs quietly to herself, then quietly walks over toward the computer and sits down at it.

Meanwhile, in the streets on the Harlem side of the park, men and women of the local gangs operating under Cottonmouth are starting to gather. They, also, are coming out of the woodwork; peeking out of windows, climbing down fire escapes, emerging from alleys or jumping off MTA bus lines. Dialogue between them comes quietly, sparsely, and in hushed tones. Arana doesn't notice it just yet, for the drone is still snapping from one person to the other, still focused on the men gathering in the park itself.

----

Alyx bristles a little a the mention of Spider-Man, but gingerly reaches out and accepts the Pan. "T-Thanks." She holds it up to her face, inhaling deeply. ...Okay, that's /really/ good. Most of the science is kind of going over her head, but... She accepts the other pan too, stacking it atop the first. "...That would be the kind of irony that they would like. They think they're smarter than they are. These smell really good though. I can't tell, but we think it might... might work." She reaches down and digs out a small chunk of each pan, about the size of a sugar cube, and pops them into her mouth one by one. Her gaze shifts off into the middle distance, head tilting as if she's listening to some inner voice. "...Yes. These will work. Thank you."

Anya's shift to the computer also gets a curious look, before another shiver runs through Alyx's body, the electric buzz in her nerves getting worse.

----

Peter gives Alyx a thumbs-up. "Try the Serine pan on its own next time," he says. "Just to make sure that's the one you need. Anya can get in touch with me if anything goes wrong, of course. And there are foods you can get that will give you serine, too -- it's just that a lot of them are things you're not likely to find on your own. Primarily, you need to eat a lot of meat."

To Anya he says, "If things are going south, I should get out of here -- but I can have Spider-Man come by." A glance at Alyx. "If that's not going to make things worse."

----

On Anya's cell phone, the video feed has frozen upon a zoomed in shot of one person's neck, where the tattoo of a crown was captured. On the computer, Anya is ferociously banging through web pages, going back and forth between two. She settles upon one, which bears an image of that same tattoo taken from another person at another time. "Hold on.... Fuck!" Anya darts to her feet, clearly alarmed. "Oh, no! Nonono. This isn't good. This is -really- not good!" Her phone comes up and she speaks into it, her voice trembling with audible signs of panic. "Arana, vigilancia oeste." The phone's video feed zooms out and pants westward, where these presumably opposing gang members are visibly gathering on the Harlem street side of the park.

"Oh my God," she breathes, eyes wide. "Get out of here, Pete, and get Spider-Man on the phone. We're gonna need him. We're gonna need -everyone-." She spins around, turns the computer so that they can see, and takes a deep breath.

"Latin Kings are back." The Latin Kings operate out of Chicago, and bailed out of East Harlem almost 12 years ago, when the neighborhood began to feel the effects of gentrification. Their departure signaled a period of significantly reduced crime in the neighborhood. "I think we're about to be in the middle of a war zone."

Said warzone has yet to become a reality. However, the gathering latino men in Marcus Garvey Park seem to have taken notice of Cottonmouth's thugs. It doesn't take much to see that red line being drawn somewhere between Mt. Morris Park West and Malcolm X Blvd. A pair from the park side step forward, and a trio from the Harlem side emerge, walking across the street to meet them. Whatever is coming, it seems it won't be entirely without some sense of procedure.

----

On the corner of a rooftop overlooking Garvey, a woman in skintight bands of gray and blue metal is perched on her toes and fingertips, the red gleam from the lenses in her silvery mask hiding an HUD that is scanning the crowd for the chemical signatures of weapons: bullets most obviously, but also the presence of alcohol that would suggest a molotov. An implant in her inner ear delivers the voice of her handler, commanding, "The company forbids the use of your energy weapons. The public would not accept your use of powers against such menial thugs." The voice does not wait for an acknowledgment; it expects the order to be obeyed without question.

----

Peter doesn't even acknowledge Anya's statement verbally -- just heads out the door at a run, fishing his phone from his pocket and dialing a spare phone he has set up, secreted on the top of the Empire State Building's antenna -- where it's unlikely to be found. As he bursts through the tattoo parlor, he announces, "Spidey! It's Pete! Head to Garvey Park - the Latin Kings are back!"

Admittedly, Peter, and thus Spidey as well, was only 13 when the Latin Kings left town, but that's neither here nor there. There's trouble, and that's what the message is conveying. Or would be conveying, if he weren't essentially calling himself.

Once outside, Peter ducks into an alley, ostensibly to get as far from the park as possible, as quickly as possible. But he's just looking for a place to hide and change and also to use baby wipes to clear off the stink of Axe body spray so, again, Alyx doesn't put two and two together.

----

Alyx nods, re-wrapping the pans assuming that Pete still has the tin foil available. "Thank you. I will use the computers at FEAST for more research, now that I know what I'm looking for." Anya's sudden outburst confirms the buzz. Gang warfare is definitely a reason for danger. "We can... deal with it. As long as he doesn't get too close. We don't want people to get hurt." She ducks out after Pete, jogging at a surprising pace considering she's carrying two trays of brownies. Sticky hands are incredibly useful.

Once she's cleared the area and found her own rooftop, the pans are securely webbed to the top of a HVAC unit. Her clothes start to shift, darkening and flowing together up and over her face. But this time... This time it'll be different. Instead of the typical stark black and white 'feral symbiote' costume, she looks substantially more like a regular cape. A Spider-Suit, in black and purple. Of course, if people look really close, they might realize something's off about the eye lenses, but... Hopefully nobody will be paying that much attention.

----

They may not be visible to the naked eye, but every single one of the men and women gathered on each side are packing heat - everything from semi-automatic pistols to assault rifles. And yeah... there's booze. Some for enjoying, some for burning.

"You see this?" One of the Kings points at the street beneath his feet. "New border. We're taking back Spanish Harlem. Right here, right now. You got one hour to get your skanky-ass bitches and your sloppy-ass pushers outta here. Clear 'em out, one hour."

The gang member opposite the Kingsman stares at his would be enemy for a long moment. He doesn't speak a word.

The Kingsman steps forward, and the look in his eye is threatening. "Get out your phone. Get your n**** Cottonmouth on, and tell him. One... fucking... hour... or we'll burn your precious club to the ground."

Meanwhile, in the tattoo shop, Anya turns back to Alyx as Peter runs away. "Okay," she says to Alyx. "I'll be right there!" Instead of following, Anya sits down at the computer and begins getting to work. This... will be questionable later, of course. On the computer, she's very quickly hacking into the MTA and NYC Traffic databases as if she's done this before. "Arana," she says, her earpiece still feeding verbal commands to the Spider-Girl Drone. "Atasco las radios de la policia de Nueva York."

Anya's not calling for help. No... she's jamming the police radios, and in turn, their in-cruiser data networks.

----

Peter hears plenty from where he's getting into costume. It's a somewhat longer process than usual, what with being covered in alcohol, which is drying his skin out rather a lot. Ugh. He's not going to smell like himself to Arachne either. But once he's managed to struggle into his spandex and leave his Peter Parker gear stashed in an open vent on the side of an apartment building, he makes his way to a rooftop overlooking the park. Taking the Kings by surprise is the ideal -- and best if Spider-Girl and Arachne are able to coordinate with him when they do it.

----

<OOC> Peter Parker has to warn, he's got to go run errands pretty soon -- about half an hour. Anya, feel free to emit Spidey smacking down Kings on the edge of the battlefield and making things easier for others.

----

Fully suited up, Arachne leaps a few rooftops, yanking herself along with strands of black web, until she gets back to a building fairly close to the park. She's still not quite sure where Spider-Girl is, but... She should show up soon. And then they can do things together. She's not about to start a fight yet, but she does perch on the edge of the rooftop and stare down at the forming lines of battle below

----

It doesn't take long for Anya to access the MTA and NYDOT servers. Within moments, the traffic signals are being overridden - red lights on all streets coming into the area, and green lights locked on roads leading out of a ten block radius. She's letting people get out, and not letting people in. A similar effect is being taken with the MTA lines, affecting bus routes and train lines. "Arana," she speaks while working. "Connectar Spider-Net." This connects the spider-folk's comm devices... though Arana, where she hovers over the park, blats like R2-D2 and suddenly flies toward Arachne.

Meanwhile, in the park...

The representative for Cottonmouth smiles at his counterpart. Rather than speaking, he turns his head to the side and nods his head. To whom, it's not exactly clear... but a moment later, the Latin Kingsman's forehead is ripped open by a bullet. The fence behind him is sprayed with blood and grey matter. Within seconds, the opposing gang members raise their voices in a cacophony of shouts, insults, cursing and racial slurs. Weapons are brandished, loaded, and waved around. People who aren't involved scatter, running for the proverbial hills. However, the impending violence, it would seem, is held by a few precious seconds.

As hardened as these thugs are, none of them are really itching to die.

Arana approaches Arachne and opens a compartment. Inside is an earcomm, ready for her to use. Meanwhile, in the nick of time, Anya completes her hacking. She then grabs the computer, rips it free from its cables, and throws it with the force of a wrecking ball toward the router and modem across the room. Both items are smashed into pieces. "Enrique!" she cries, while bursting from the shop and making for the door. "Bajar! Kings are back!"

Time's up. All of those illegally purchased firearms are suddenly coming alive, and the short distance between the street and the park is filled with gunfire.

----

Subcutaneous implants awaken, a lattice of copper and gold beneath the skin forming a second nervous system that charges her body like a flood of adrenaline would. The woman atop the roof leaps down, her long hair trailing behind her like a black comet. "I have this! Everyone get clear!" she yells, an order unnecessary since everyone is fleeing, but it serves the purpose of attracting attention to her as she lands in the park, all two hundred and fifty pounds of her, only her shoulders and mouth not encased in flexible metal.

"Who invited Robocop?" some wit with a fondness for Peter Weller snaps. Derisive laughter follows, cut off as the woman it's aimed at flashes across the park to bury her foot in a flying straight kick right in the thug's belly. He goes down hard, retching up spittle. Like a ninja, the gray-blue woman is already on her feet and twirling away from her position. The sunlight reflects off her chassis in confusing sparkles.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

Arachne quickly shoves the earpiece into her ear, a hole briefly forming to allow it in before sealing over it again. At the sound of gunfire, she launches a web from each wrist, and a blur of black and purple is slingshotted into a group of Kings. She flows between them, delivering fluid strikes and strategic bursts of web to disable guns and stick people's feet to the ground, or limbs to their torsos. Sure, there might be a few broken bones, but better than than gun violence. "Arachne here, we're engaging."

----

"This won't stay here," Anya is saying, even while throwing a hand into her shirt and pulling the mask over her face. "It'll spread." She throws a hand skyward, a webline flying loose. The backpack is clung to by her free hand, even as she leaps and goes soaring upward. "Doesn't matter who wins or loses. We gotta lock down the park -" A pause in the transmission as she lands gracefully upon the rooftop. Then, there is some grunting in the words as she very much begins ripping her clothing off, revealing the Spider-Girl costume beneath. "Then we gotta - urmf - comb the whole neighborhood. Both of 'em - urf! Boots. Harlem, East Harlem, both. Hold on guys, I'm almost ready!"

Meanwhile, Spider-Man is engaging from the opposite end, forming a triangle of sorts between where Robocop and Arachne are engaging the gangs. This leaves one area open, and as Spider-Girl makes for the edge of the rooftop, she spies it. "Incoming!" she calls, before vaulting into the air. She springs over the train running over Park Ave, then quickly pendulums between two buildings to gain speed. Then, she's soaring over the park, descending toward a trio of thugs who are unleashing hell toward the Harlem side of the park. She lands with two feet into one's back, knocking him into the second, and rips the gun right out of the third's hand.

"Guns are -stupid-!" she tells the thug, before whinging it like a baseball bat into the thug's face. "SEE?"

----

On the ground, the gray and blue woman proves she is not fast enough to dodge bullets. Oh, she's amazingly good, and her moves seem designed to startle her enemies into being unable to aim, but that kind of psychological tactic only works until the third gangster is on the ground; at that point, people get their stuff together. Just ask Batman. A bullet takes her on the right side of the ribcage, not penetrating flesh, but the impact certainly throwing her out of her dervish spinning to land hard on one knee. The gangster who landed the shot crows in self-satisfaction, then screams: the orders regarding use of powers is provisionally rescinded, and the metal-clad woman has permission to fire a jet of pink energy from her fingertips to the ground at his feet. The superheated plasma turns the ground briefly into lava, and his shoes catch fire before he can dance back out of range.

"Someone film that and send it to Nike," the woman quips with a beautiful, sinister smile; but she's already on her feet again, dashing into her next opponent, both fists surrounded by pink auras.

----

Arachne nods in response to the voice on her comms. "We'll web everyone we can down!" She thwips off a few more blasts of webbing, guns jamming up as the sticky stuff gets into the mechanisms, and gangsters clawing at their faces as they're suddenly blinded. A buzz behind her and she ducks, a shotgun blast taking the thug in front of her off his feet. The wielder of said shotgun is immediately kicked in the groin hard enough to lift him off the ground. "Are you even trying? We can do this all day!" Hey, if they're shooting at her, they're not shooting at civilians...

----

"Holy shit!" Spider-Girl cries upon seeing what RoboPink can do. "We got the Pink Ranger on our side here!" She flings a pair of weblines to another couple of guns, ripping them right out of the hands holding them. "Don't worry, Arana's recording everything."

From the corner of her eye, she catches Spider-Man suddenly pinned down by a handful of Cottonmouth's thugs. They're firing rounds from AR-15's at him, and he's spinning and flipping about to avoid being pegged by a bullet. He's damn fast, but too locked up in dodging to do anything about them. Rushing over, Spider-Girl lets loose a barrage of web blasts that catch the thugs one at a time, pinning them down against a brick wall. However, before she can do anything else, someone else gets the beat on her. From behind, one of the Latin Kings fires, and four bullets peg her right in the back. The young woman yelps in agony, and collapses face first into the cold grass beneath her. There's no blood; the shells are flattened against her costume, proving that the spider-silk it's woven of is, indeed, just as bullet proof as kevlar. However, it might be easy to miss this critical fact.

With the wind knocked out of her, she lies there silent and still. A crackling sound can be heard as something seeps out from her back; liquid-like at first, the gooey stuff hardens into a chitinous shell of opalescent black and luminescent blue, covering her from head to toe in a protective shell.

The thug who pegged her runs forward, lowering his weapon. Then, he unleashes a barrage of rounds into the fallen hero, the bullets chipping away at the protective armor piece by piece.

----

Range, melting point, and megawattage are calculated in a second as the metal ninja dodges behind trees, her speed enhanced by blasts from the heels of her boots (or at least, the blue-colored metal that climbs up to mid-thigh like boots). With calibrations duly performed, she peeks out from the tree absorbing bullets for her and extends a hand, fingertips out like the female victim in a horror movie reaching for the kitchen knife that might save her from the slasher behind her; but instead of finding a knife, she emits a needle-thin ray of plasma that turns the barrel of the AK it hits red-hot. The gangster holding it shrieks, drops it, realizes the risk of the bullets overheating, and kicks it as it falls, sending it flying in an arc. He doesn't have time to look back at his assailant before her fist has pounded the back of his head and given him a contracoup injury that leaves him senseless on the earth.

----

"Spider-Girl!" Arachne sees Anya go down, and leaps out of her current spot in the melee, launching out two more strands of web and *yanking* It's like the slingshot maneuver, but more so. She speeds feet first towards the ganger pumping rounds into her ally, feet meeting his back with a rather visceral noise and sending him flying. A burst of web for good measure, and she tries to check Anya's pulse. Hopefully Pink Ranger/Robocop/whoever the hell she is can keep the majority of the members distracted. Espcially since she seemingly IS bulletproof.

----

It'll prove difficult to check Anya's pulse considering the shell that has formed around her, but there comes a grunt when Arachne is near. "Mmmmrh. Go. Fight." She moves just so, her insect-like face pried out of the grass. "Go!"

Meanwhile, Spider-Man is thoroughly beating the snot out of the thugs on the Harlem street side of things. There's a lot of shouting, and some confusion, but it would seem that Cottonmouth's people are being told to pull back, retreat, likely to reform elsewhere. The Latin Kings don't seem to be so willing. After all, they are in foreign territory, and don't yet have the advantage of holding turf. They begin turning their attention upon the heroes that remain, ignoring the fallen Spider-Girl for now and instead focusing their attention upon the Pink Robocop and Arachne. Spider-senses are way beyond tingling - right now, they're screaming.

----

If asked, the woman in metal might disagree with being characterized as bulletproof; then again, she might not, as neurological rerouting prevents the pain from her cracked ribs from reaching her brain. Like her ribs, the tree she's hiding behind has seen better days, so she makes the best tactical move she can think of: she emits a wide, thin blade of energy from her fingertips and swipes it across the tree's base in a reaping strike. The blade cuts through the tree like a lightsaber. She finishes her plan by jumping and pistoning one leg out sideways, kicking like a goddamn Street Fighter character, striking the tree so hard it ponderously topples off its trunk in the direction of her assailants, who have to scatter to avoid being hit by falling branches. Not all of them succeed, and several of the ones who do are left with the vision obscured by the tree's upper branches.

----

Assured that Spider-Girl isn't dead and/or bleeding out, she launches herself back into the fight. She tries to get herself in the middle of the crowd in the hopes that they won't shoot their own. Best to focus on the Kings, since they wont' retreat. And she doesn't have to hold back quite as much as the other wall-crawler who has way better PR. Dodging and twisting, she continues to deal out broken bones and blasts of webbing. ...Oh hey, and Robocop has a lightsaber. That's pretty cool. And a good way to take out lots of popel eat once....

----

Soon enough, Spider-Man finds himself freed up to join in the fight against the Latin Kings, whose numbers are in fact dwindling. He is intentionally filling the gaps where Arachne and Pink aren't closing in. Before long, Spider-Girl is able to recover, and crawls to her armored feet. She's still feeling a bit winded, but not so winded that she can't lift two arms. The webbing comes through tiny holes in the armor, and it shoots forth in a wide arc. A net. She's been practicing this one but yet to really put it into action; the net flies out and falls upon a handful of the Kings. Pulling the strands together, she tugs, and the net closes, wrapping around them and pulling the thugs into a tangled ball of bad clothes, guns, and cursing.

----

At that point, it's just mop-up. The woman in metal lifts her fists to chin level like a boxer, and lets a blade snap-hiss into existence from the back of each one: she then smiles at the remaining Latin Kings. "No future in it, gentlemen," she advises them, and waits to see if they take the smart path or the dumb one.

----

Ooooh. Even /more/ lightsabers! And Anya's back on her feet! Still doing her best to steer clear of SPider-Man, she shifts to a slightly more defensive fighting style than her earlier all-out brawling, mostly webbing people to the ground while also making their guns jam uselessly. Any moment they're not quite running, is more of them having to stay behind. "Yeah! We have the high ground!" ...How do We know that?

----

Those Latin Kings remaining suddenly book it, headed eastbound for Spanish Harlem. "Spider-Man?" Anya says into the comm, and gestures that he follow them. Not only is he fast and good at tracking... it'll get him away from Arachne. "Arana, escolta." The little Spider-Drone turns and flies off after him, providing updated surveillance.

Finally, the shell begins to fall away from Anya. She shrugs her arms and legs to help get the gross stuff off her, and the disgust is visible on the exposed lower half of her face. The act causes her to grimace, and she turns around a bit to try and get a look at her back. Four flattened out shells fall, one by one, when she turns her back, and another grimace comes to her face. "They aren't kidding. That really hurts."

----

<Do not pursue, agent,> comes the command. <Let Spider-Man bear the responsibility for their failure.>

Compliance is mandatory. Instead, the long-haired woman takes a long-legged saunter over toward the other two, smiling easily. "I'm glad you two showed up. You saved lives today. Are you alright?" she asks the more obviously injured one.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

"We're fine. We're not sure about Spider-Girl, though." Arachne gestures towards Anya, tilting her head a bit to one side questioningly. "Do you need medical help? We could go find a first aid kit somewhere." She looks back at the probable cyborg again, appraisingly. "We were already in the area."

----

"I think so," Anya answers. She pats her stomach indicatively. "Spider silk. Strong as kevlar, apparently, but I ain't had a chance to test it until today." A pause, and a groan. "Not that it was any fun." She turns her head to Arachne and shakes it negatively. "Probably a pretty nasty bruise under there, but... sorry kiddo, it's too cold to go stripping in broad daylight."

An expression of irritation now crops up, and the masked latina reaches up to fix her hair. It's all messed up and there are chunks of chitinous armor all through it, which go clattering to the ground at her fingertips. "The goddamn Kings. I should'a known," she chides herself. "There's been all this whispering. Quiet real estate deals, shady evictions, all kinds of weird stuff. I'm gonna tell you both, right now, that ain't all of 'em. These guys are organized. They're like the gestapo. Bet you a hundred bucks they've got people all over Spanish Harlem, waited to make their move until they had a stronghold."

By now, she's pacing, irritated. "This is why the smaller gangs have been quiet. Probably got recruited by the Kings, had to go through their crazy boot camp shit, got told to settle down and wait for the right time. Which is now." She turns to look back at Arachne and the Pink Warrior. "You mark my words. This is just the beginning."

----

The woman in gray and blue metal takes a respectful step back as the chitinous woman stands from a gunshot wound. "It sounds like your intelligence is better than theirs, if you heard whispers about this but they had no idea to expect you two."

----

"We're... not really from around here. We were just visiting her." Arachne gestures towards Anya again. "All the intel work is hers." The spider in purple and black looks down at the pile of chitin for a second, before bringing her gaze back up. if the brownies really do work... She doesn't need to scavenge any more. She can actually fight back.

----

"Well, I don't wear a mask when I'm doing my investigating," Spider-Girl admits. She didn't intend to make that type of a strategic decision, but is now realizing just how smart of an accident it may have been. Coming back to her senses, she looks back to the woman that she and Arachne don't yet know, and offers a tired smile. "I'm Spider-Girl. Spanish Harlem's... kinda my turf."

----

"They call me Cyblade," the metal woman explains, tossing her hair pertly. Her skin is dark enough she might be Latina; then again, she could be Mediterranean. Hard to tell, when there's nothing to go off of but a mouth, chin, and shoulders. "Since Spanish Harlem is so well protected, I'll leave you to it; but if you ever need help, I'll be around."

And on that line, sounding like the hero from a radio serial, she flips the other heroes a salute and bounds off in a series of blast-enhanced leaps.

----

"...Well that was a thing. We just fought alongside a cyborg." Arachne leans back against a tree, scratching hte back of her neck. "...Sorry if we caused you any trouble. You've helped us, and..." She trails off, managing to look extremely awkward despite the suit.

----

For a brief moment, Spider-Girl seems to bear an expression of wonder. 'Cyblade' is such a cool-ass name, way cooler than hers, or Peters, though Alyx's certainly stands a chance at competing on the same level of cool. She nods her head and grins. "Thanks for the help, Cyblade."

She watches as the woman departs, then whistles quietly. "Damn. Saying it even sounds cool. Arana?" A pause. "Catalogo 'Cyblade'. Enviar solicitud de contacto y banner amigable."

Spider-Girl walks over toward Arachne then, her expression tired. Too much fighting, too much emotion. "Actually," she answers, "you... kinda kicked ass today. She's right. You and I saved lives today. And you didn't break off and go after Spider-Man. That's some real progress." A deep breath. "But look... we gotta scram. I kinda... hacked the city's networks, kept the cops away, jammed up traffic and completely fucked over the MTA's grid and schedule. I need to go get my backpack, undo all that, and... you know, I could eat about twenty tacos. Wanna go grab a bite?"

----

"We're pretty hungry too. just gotta grab the brownies. Tell us where to meet?" The mask melts away around Arachne's mouth, and she offers a smile to Spider-Girl. "You're buying, though. We only have twenty bucks."

----

"Yeah, you keep that," Spider-Girl says. "And stay in costume. We can get all kinds of free food that way." She gives Arachne the address for where they're meeting, then runs off toward Spanish Harlem.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Anya Corazon

2018-12-17T03:49:16Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

{{character
|
name=Anya Sofia Corazón
|
callsign=Spider-Girl
|
icon=Anya01.jpeg
|
actor=Erendira Ibarra
|
type=Media Character
|
partner=None
|
father=Gilberto Corazón (deceased)
|
mother=Sofia Corazón (deceased)
|
siblings=None
|
children=None
|
height=5'3"
|
weight=115 lbs (130 lbs with carapace)
|
hair=Brown
|
eyes=Brown
|
background=Anya Sofia Corazón is the given name of the vigilante known as Spider-Girl.

Gilberto and Sofia Corazon gave birth to Anya in Mexico City, where he worked as an investigative journalist. It was dangerous work, and after exposing a drug trafficking operation, his wife Sofia was murdered, prompting him to flee with Anya to the United States. Anya was only two at the time.

The pair landed in New York, where a handful of Sofia's family had emigrated in years prior. The extended family helped Gilberto to settle in and looked after Anya while her father worked freelance as a journalist in the Big Apple. Unfortunately, the cartel refused to let this go, and five years later, they hunted down and killed Gilberto in his sleep.

Anya was ordered by the state to live with her maternal grandparents, where she was raised in Spanish Harlem. She grew to become an accomplished student and talented gymnast, but it was tough living in an impoverished neighborhood. In her teenage years, she began to understand racial and gender injustices, which, paired with her hot temper, got her into shouting matches with teachers and faculty, and sometimes, other students.

Regardless, her excellence in school awarded her a scholarship to NYU. It was during her junior year when she was bitten by a mutated spider, which transformed her physiology and gave her special, spider-like powers.
|
history=Anya was discovered during her transition by [[Gwen Stacy]], who helped guide her through the transition and first positioned the identity of Spider-Girl.
|
gallery=[[File:Anya01.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==
*[[2018-07-20-Is_That_You?|July 20, 2018 - Is That You?]]
*[[2018-08-07-Hero_Worship|August 08, 2018 - Hero Worhsip]]
*[[2018-10-11-Alchemax_Jersey|October 11, 2018 - Alchemax Jersey]]
*[[2018-10-12-Bunker_Busting|October 12, 2018 - Bunker Busting]]
*[[2018-10-14-A_Sticky_Encounter|October 14, 2018 - A Sticky Encounter]]
*[[2018-12-17-Return_of_the_Latin_Kings|December 12, 2018 - Return of the Latin Kings]]

[[Category:Roster|C]]

Crime

2018-12-16T15:45:54Z

Apoq79: /* New York City */

Organized crime runs rampant across the cities in which our universe is set. The following is a comprehensive overview of crime organizations, including their leadership, strength and influence. These balances of power can be affected by character actions and game plots.

==Legend==

Crime syndicates will be listed by city. Please note that some organizations may have scope beyond the city listed.

'''Influence'''

Influence is a percentage number that indicates how strong of an influence each organization has in a given city or neighborhood.

'''Strength'''

Strength is a general description denoting what kind of resources an organization has.

*Total Control: Countless foot soldiers. Access to experimental military grade weaponry and/or stolen alien tech. Strong influence over law enforcement and politicians. Near total level of surveillance on controlled territories. Access to military grade vehicles. Access to air, sea and helicopter transport.
*Extremely Heavy: Over a thousand foot soldiers. Up to military grade weaponry. Strong influence over law enforcement and politicians. High level of surveillance. Access to reinforced vehicles. Access to air, sea and helicopter transport.
*Heavy: 500-1000 foot soldiers. Up to military grade weaponry. Mediocre influence over law enforcement and politicians. High level of surveillance. Access to reinforced vehicles and helicopter transport.
*Medium: Up to 500 foot soldiers. Access to stolen commercial grade weaponry. Mediocre influence over law enforcement and politicians. Mediocre level of surveillance. Access to reinforced vehicles.
*Light: Up to 100 foot soldiers. Access to stolen commercial grade weaponry. Light influence over crooked cops and politicians. Low level of surveillance.
*Minimal: Up to 50 foot soldiers. Access to stolen commercial grade weaponry (minimal access to assault rifles). No influence over law enforcement and politicians. Minimal level of surveillance.

==New York City==
===Locals===
====The Fisk Crime Syndicate====
Headquartered in Hell's Kitchen at the Fisk Estate.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Wilson Fisk]] (Kingpin) - Boss || Hell's Kitchen - 90% || Extremely Heavy || Daredevil
|-
| || Lower Manhattan through Midtown - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 50% || Medium ||
|-
| || Harlem - 5% || Minimal || Luke Cage
|}

====Harlem's Paradise====
Headquartered at the Harlem's Paradise Nightclub in Harlem.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Cornell Stokes]] (Cottonmouth) - Boss || Harlem - 90% || Heavy || Luke Cage
|-
| || Bronx - 50% || Medium ||
|-
| || Queens - 20% || Light || Spider-Man
|-
| || Spanish (East) Harlem - 15% || Light || Spider-Girl
|-
| || Midtown, Brooklyn, New Jersey - 5% || Minimal ||
|}

====The Stylers====
Headquartered in Crown Height, Brooklyn and Jamaica, Queens
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[John McIver]] (Bushmaster) || Brooklyn - 55% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Queens - 30% || Medium || Spider-Man
|-
| || Bronx - 20% || Light ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 10% || Light ||
|-
| || Midtown - 10% || Minimal ||
|}

===Non-Local / International===
====The Hand====
An international crime syndicate headquartered in China.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Madame Gao]] - New York Area || Chinatown - 90% || Extremely Heavy ||
|-
| || Lower Manhattan - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Midtown - 30% || Medium ||
|-
| || Hell's Kitchen - 10% || Light || Daredevil
|}

====The Maggia====
An international crime syndicate with operations in NYC.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| [[Silvio Manfredi]] (The Silvermane Family) || Queens - 50% || Heavy || Spider-Man
|-
| [[Hammerhead]] (The Hammerhead Family) || Brooklyn - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Mutant Town - 90% || Light (held at bay by The Pride) || Tigger
|}

====The Latin Kings====
A national crime syndicate headquartered in Humboldt Park, Chicago
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| Undetermined Leadership || Spanish (East) Harlem - 85% || Heavy || Spider-Girl
|}

====The Triads====
An international crime syndicate headquartered in China.
{| class="wikitable"
|-
! Leadership !! Influence !! Strength !! Heroes Patrolling
|-
| Dragon Tong Gang (NYC) || Brooklyn - 25% || Medium ||
|-
| || Bronx - 65% || Heavy ||
|-
| || New Jersey - 40% || Heavy ||
|-
| || Queens - 10% || Light ||
|-
| || Chinatown - 10% || Heavy ||
|}

==Metropolis==

==Gotham==

==Coast City==

==Central City==

Spider Family

2018-10-16T16:42:32Z

Apoq79:

The Spider-Family is a collection of individuals with personal or mystical connections to the ideologue which represents the concept of 'Spider', an [[ideologue]] of the predatory hunter who can trap or pursue with equal skill.

The two individuals closest to the avatar of the Spider are Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy. When they were bitten by a mutated spider, they gained many characteristics shared by other spiders.

Members:

*[[Peter Parker]]
*[[Gwen Stacy]]
*[[Anya Corazon]]
*[[Ben Reilly]]
*[[Cindy Moon]]
*[[Alyx Sun]]

==Genetically Altered Spiders==

The origin of genetically altered spiders remains unknown, but these types of spiders were responsible for the mutated powers of many people within the Spider-Family. [[Peter Parker]], [[Gwen Stacy]] and [[Cindy Moon]] were all bitten by different, genetically altered spiders, during a school field trip to the NYU Campus in 2007. [[Anya Corazon]] was also bitten on NYU's Campus by yet another genetically altered spider, but this happened in 2018, nine years later.

==Clones==

Some members of the Spider Family are actually clones of others. [[Ben Reilly]] is a clone of Peter Parker, and [[Alyx Sun]] was cloned from DNA samples of both Peter Parker and Cindy Moon alike.

==Symbiotes==

2018-10-14-A Sticky Encounter

2018-10-15T20:06:27Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=A Sticky Encounter | date=October 14, 2018 | location=New York }} <gallery> Anya01.jpeg|Anya Corazon Cindy.jpeg|Cindy Moon Alyx01jpeg|Alyx Sun </gall..."

{{log
|
name=A Sticky Encounter
|
date=October 14, 2018
|
location=New York
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Cindy.jpeg|[[Cindy Moon]]
Alyx01jpeg|[[Alyx Sun]]
</gallery>

----

Cindy has been having a day. Or two. Mostly she's absolutely thrilled to be out! And a little hyper because of it, though she feels....well, out of time. It's been 9 years. Everything's...different. But she's trying to adapt! And the internet is....well okay, the internet is still REALLY scary if you wander around but she's sort of getting a hang of some things that have happened. And are reeeeeal careful what you type in the search bar.
But the thing she's almost immediately wanted to do is to see her family again. So she's asked Anya to go with her to find them. Because she's a little afraid they might be in trouble once the people who had her realize she's gotten out of the bunker and that she went willingly. "See, that's our building up there!" Cindy says, practically bouncing on her toes as they draw close, as if she wants to break into a run. "They'll be so worried if those jerks told them I was gone...and they're gonna be majorly PO'd that they got tricked into letting them lock me up."

----

Staying at Anya's grandmother's apartment in East Harlem (referred to still as Spanish Harlem by the non-gentrifiers) has likely been an experience in and of itself. As it turns out, Anya and her grandmother aren't the only ones who live there. An uncle and two cousins also share the four bedroom apartment. The two cousins are teenage boys, and they're forced to share one of the bedrooms, which means there's constant noise in the form of music, banging, and shouting. The uncle may have something of a minor drinking problem - not a violent man, but he lives on disability and pretty much has a permanent spot on the couch and a steady inflow of tequila.

Anya's grandmother, a woman everyone simply refers to as 'Abuela', is a true blue naturalized Mexican-American. The uncle, the cousins, Portuguese, related to Anya's late father.

As for Cindy's visit, it's consisted primarily of a small handful of things. Star Wars Episodes VII, VIII and Rogue One; a catch up on some music and pop culture developments, and a tour of social media ventures ranging from Instagram to Spotify and Snapchat. However, soon enough Anya got the idea that she wasn't gonna be able to keep Cindy there much longer. It took some convincing, but... now, here we are.

Cold weather has finally gripped New York. Anya is bundled up in combat boots, black tights (totally her Spider-Girl uniform, really), black denim shorts, and a grey hoodie beneath a black leather studded jacket, concealing the SLAYER shirt under it all. She's got a dark green beanie on her head, black lipstick and matching dark green eyeshadow for the occasion. And, of course, the ever present patched up backpack.

"Do you have any idea -what- they told them?" asks Anya, who looks up at the apartment with an expression of worry. "I mean... what if they freak and call the cops, Cindy?"

----

When the two arrive on the right floor, they'd find the hallway pretty empty except for one standard-issue teenager waiting for someone. Hoodie with earbuds leading into the pocket, check. Ripped skinny jeans, check. Chunky boots, check. Blue eyes stand out in her otherwise standard asian features, and two locks of hair framing her face are just visible inside the shadow of the hood. She gives the pair an acknowledging nod, before going back to looking at nothing in particular.

----

Anya is good at webbing up new sets of close. As it turns out, Cindy is REALLY good at webbing up a new set of clothes. So she's in comfy leggings and a long striped shirt that hangs down to just above her knees, and matching black slippers. Though she totally borrowed a coat from Anya, because coats are hard. "They'e not gonna call the cops, they're my /family/." Cindy insists, looking back at Anya. "Yours wouldn't if you were in trouble, right?" She frowns. "And they might be in danger because of me too, what if they send someone looking for me at their apartment or something?"

----

Anya looks over toward Cindy with worry. "I dunno. I'm getting real paranoid these days." She strides forward, moving toward the apartment building. "Not sure that's a bad thing," she mutters under her breath, before reaching into her jacket pocket and producing her little Spider-Girl drone, Arana. Newly repaired with a brand new LED light. "Arana, vigilancia." The little drone chirps, sprouts its wings, and takes flight, entering surveillance mode around the apartment building.

As they walk down the hall, Anya casts a look toward the teenage girl. Ripped jeans, always a sign of approval, and it prompts Anya to give the teenager a quick upnod.

----

Alyx returns the nod, giving Anya a brief smile, before looking back down at her phone again. The muffled tinny music abruptly cuts out, replaced with the theme song for that one really good Superwoman cartoon from a couple years ago. She perks up, quickly answering the phone. "Hello? ... Where the heck are you? ... You said to meet you at your place, and you aren't even home yet? ... Come on, their pizza can't be /that/ good that it's worth walking a mile and a half in the cold."

----

Cindy isn't USUALLY rude. But there's something about the place that feels....off. She down't know what, but it makes her move a little bit faster down the hall, the vague sense of unease only fueled by Anya's worries. "There, it's right here, see?" She pauses in front of a door and knocks! And all three girls can hear someone moving around inside as Cindy visibly perks up, grinning big, bouncing on her toes a little. It's been YEARS since she's seen her parents, and her brother! She wonders if they'll even recognize her anymore...

----

As they walk down the hall, Anya's forehead creases. She's distracted, and almost keeps walking when Cindy stops at the apartment door. "Huh? Oh. Damn." She turns back around and walks up, forcing a smile on her face while clearing her throat. Then, she's looking down at the floor again, taking a step back away from Cindy, and listening to what's going on down the hall. She turns her head just a pit, peering beneath painted eyelashes toward the teenager in the hoodie. Then, her eyes are turning back toward Cindy's shoes, but this time they are dashing back and forth. Clearly, someone's gears are spinning... and someone's pores are starting to sweat. She looks up at the door, the worry clear on her face, but she just can't yet bring herself to speak up.

----

"Oh come on, Bertucci's is /way/ better than Antonio's!" Ah, New Yorkers debating pizza. Truly, a city pastime. Seemingly oblivious to the goings on, Alyx turns and starts to pace back and forth along about a ten foot stretch of hall. "Bitch please!"

----

The door opens as CIndy's lips part eagerly, then halts as an older black man looks out, a ruffled beard on his cheeks and a very bald head above. Looks to be in his late fifties.
Also, definitely not Korean.
He raises his brows. "Yes?" he rumbles, friendly enough. Cindy ums, her feet resting flat again a she hesistates. "I'm....I'm looking for the Moon family? They live here...or...they lived....her?" the Korean girl stammers a bit. The stranger raises his brows. "Ain't no one livin' here by that name, hon. I bin here three years. Don't know anythin' about the famly that used to live here. Sure you got the right place?"
Cindy's fingers curl at her sides. "I...yes. Yes, I'm absolutely sure this is the place. Three....three years? Did they leave a forwarding address, or....?" The man shakes his head. "Sorry hon, can't help ya there. Maybe the super would know, or the rental office. If you can get 'em to pick up the goddamn phone." He huffs. "Damn answering service picks up practically anything, I bet they don't even check it. I got a pipe in my wall that's bin leaking nigh on nine MONTHS now, and they still ain't fixed it."
That energy just seems to flow out of Cindy a bit. "I..o-okay...thank you." she says after a moment to get herself together, as the man nods. "Sure thing, hon. Good luck findin' 'em." And he closes the door again.

----

The moment the door closes, Anya walks up and puts a hand on Cindy's shoulder. "We gotta go," she whispers, with a sense of urgency in her tone. "Now." Her hand squeezes the girl's shoulder, both to encourage, and also hopefully to startle her out of whatever emotions she might be feeling right now.

Anya turns, only this time she isn't turning toward the elevator. That would put them crossing paths once more with Alyx. Instead, she turns Cindy straight toward the stairwell, the one with a big red EXIT sign above it. Looks like they're taking the stairs. As she goes, Anya walks over toward a fire alarm panel affixed to the wall, and pulls it.

Nothing happens. No alarm, no sprinkler system.

"Typical," she mutters. "Fucking slumlords."

----

"Yeah, see you soon." Alyx hangs up just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. "Hey, you guys looking for the Moons? I think they moved out like... six years ago. I've got a friend who lives on this floor, pretty much lived here when I was twelve." She offers a friendly smile, although Anya pulling the fire alarm gets a /really/ confused look.

----

Cindy is...numb. Looking a bit in shock now as it sinks in. Her family isn't HERE. She doesn't know where they are. They've been gone for years. Where...WHY would they go? Did something happen to them? Are they SAFE?!? She doesn't know! And it's freaking her out a bit.
Thus, she isn't really resisting as she's pulled along, though the attempt to pull the fire alarm snaps her out of it a little bit. "That's been broken since I lived here..." she offers, her brow furrowing. "What...what are you doing?" And she's starting to pay a bit more attention to her Silksense, turning her head slightly as she starts to look for what would make Anya pull it. Or try to.

----

Words flash like images through Anya's mind. <Growth accelerated by a factor of six.> 12 months divided by 6 equals 2, yielding two months to grow a person one year in age. A twelve year old person, reaching that age in two years. <Invoked Memory Stimulation used to implant background life and improve psychological development.> Another memory, of her laptop at home, processing the decryption of the next segment of data, a video file, which was 98% complete when she and Cindy left her grandmother's apartment to come here.

"Six years?" Anya looks over her shoulder, flashing Alyx a big smile. "Thanks for the tip, but we're good!" She turns back to Cindy while raising her hoodie up over her head, and gives her recently rescued friend a warning look. "Don't," she says quietly, then pushes the stairwell door open and nods for Cindy to go on in.

----

"You're welcome!” Another cheery wave from Alyx, and then the stairwell door is closed again. The other two out of sight, the smile drops away and the teen runs down the hall to a window, climbing out onto a fire escape and easing it closed after her. Her clothes melt into a skintight black suit, and a quick scamper up the wall leaves her on the rooftop, eyes and ears pealed for when the two exit the building.

----

Cindy looks a bit confused as she's pushed into the stairway. "Wait, maybe she knows more about where they went?" she says, furrowing her brow. "What's up with you? she asks Anya, not annoyed so much as uncertain as she's guided along.

----

Once they're in the stairwell, Anya shoves the door shut before Cindy has a chance to confront Alyx again. "Cindy!" she hisses. "Listen." She moves in front of the stairwell door, blocking the way out of the stairwell. "Listen to me. You trust me. Yeah?" Her tone, her stance, both are mildly aggressive in an attempt at redirecting Cindy out of her trauma and onto Anya. "Listen to me. We gotta go, -now-. I'll explain later."

Meanwhile, Arana is doing another probe of the building when her IR scanners notice a heat signature climbing the building. The drone turns, activates its video feed, and zooms in on the black creature.

Anya's phone chirps at her. She retrieves it and pulls up the video feed, and her fears are confirmed. "Oh no." She turns the phone around so that Cindy can see, then climbs up on the wall so that she can peer through the small, square window in the stairwell door. As she suspected... no sign of the teenage girl.

----

Arachne's head spins around, turning farther than should be humanly possible when the drone pops up. Shit! They should have noticed that earlier. The figure in black flips onto the top of the roof-access stairwell, thwipping out a spread of web in an attempt to capture the drone and reel it in.

----

Cindy blinks, tilting her head. "What...of course I do. Is it Alchemax?" she says, her gaze sharpening a bit. "Crap..." Her eyes widen at the image. "What...what's that? Another spider person? How many of them ARE there?!?" She looks to Anya, blinking. There probably hasn't gotten to the whole 'by the way there's also a symbiote made from your DNA running around' conversation. Not quite yet.

----

"Yeah, I think its CS-1," Anya starts to say, then gapes at her cell phone.

Arana is suddenly plastered in black webbing. Her motors overheat and pop with little tufts of smoke, and she's caught.

Watching the feed, Anya seems honestly hurt. "Oh, no!" she openly grieves. "Oh, that's... that's not cool. Totally not cool. C'mon." Turning, she starts down the stairwell, hopping over the railing and bouncing off the wall to make quicker time. It isn't until they reach the lobby floor that she stops, and lifts the phone. "Arana..."

There is a pause, during which Anya considers.

"El uno mismo termina."

The drone suddenly blats in a manner that sounds like an upset R2-D2. The spider-girl emblem on her dorsal end changes from a light blue to a menacing red. There's the sound of something powering up, but then... there are sparking sounds, and the drone simply shuts down. Self terminate... her innards are now fried and melted, the solid state memory banks melted into slag.

----

Cindy oooohs. "Oh. Oh, that's really not cool." she says. "We need to get out of here...if she's here, more Alchemax people might be on their way." She looks around. "It'll see us if we go out the front door, if it's up on the roof watching...."

----

The drone is swiftly reeled in, and lands in Arachne's hands. She lifts it up, peering into the camera. "Look, we just want to ta-" It's about then when their spider-sense goes nuts, and the drone is tossed across the roof and webbed up further to contain any explosion. ...Which turns out to be entirely disappointing. Shit. But now they know about drones. That is good information. Better keep lurking.

----

"Probably," Anya agrees. "You ever play in the basement of this place?" she asks. "Maybe you know about like... like some secret way out?" Meanwhile, she's going on her phone and calling up a search parameter, including the address and key words like 'blueprints' and 'City Utility Lines'.

----

"Heck no, the basement is creepy and there are rats and cockroaches!" Cindy notes. "I mean, I think there might be a sewer grate or something maybe, but nothing that's made to open up or stuff. And we don't have lights or anything to go spelunking!" she points out. "Maybe if we got on an upper floor balcony and just...swung away?"

----

"Good enough," Anya answers. "Hold on." She exits the stairwell, eyes vigilant as she looks around the lobby. Finding a door marked 'MAIN ENANC ', she smirks. "Jackpot." Rushing over, she elbows the locked door open, the doorknob popping off and skittering across the floor. There's some rummaging around, and then she's out with two flashlights. One of them is flung across the way toward Cindy. "Which way to the spooky basement?"
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

...Shit. No movement. Well, they're definitely not coming out the front now. She heas to get inside, in a way thay can't see her... Arachne turns her head, staring at the HVAC unit behind her. Maybe if...

Bit of a tight squeeze, but it totally works, and she's still quiet. The spider-girl in black worms her way down through the vents, following the tingle in her spider-sense of her target. Who is a completely horrible person who eats babies and wants to kill her and that has nothing to do with any of the conditioning with her eyes held open and-NO BRAIN THIS ISN'T THE TIME. Time to go catch Moon.

----

Cindy takes it, then ums. "This way!" She starts running down the stairs towards the door at the bottom of the stairway, pauses as she tries it. "Locked. Oh, wait...' YANK! *snap* "Not locked!" She pulls it open and holds it for Anya. The room beyond is about what you'd expect. Building furnace, more maintenance lcokers, some old junk and boxes, rat droppings. There is, however, a small grate in the floor. It would be a squeeze. Because Anya is, y'know. Curvy. "Um...I thihk we can fit? It looks bigger down below..." she says, shining the light through the grate.

----

"Not gonna be long before it- before she realizes we ain't usin' the front door." Anya flings a hand toward the sewer grate, and a strand of webbing whips out and latches around the metal rods. Then, with a heave, she yanks it into the air, swings her arm, and sends the heavy sewer grate right back toward that doorway, jamming it shut.
"You first," she says. "If she comes for us, I'll hold her off."

----

Gah. ~These vents are filthy. ...Is that a dead rat!? ...Nevermind, we don't want to know.~ Arachne slithers through the vents, stopping when she's as low as she can go, and shifting to crawling forwards. Getting closer... Oh! She peers down at the pair through a vent, remaining completely still and holding her breath. Even if Moon is RIGHT THERE AND ~SO FUCKING HORRIBLE AND-Calm. If we follow them to their hiding spot, we can get TWO spiders.~

----

"And this way, the CHUDs eat me first." Cindy mutters, then reaches out with her fingers, shooting out webs to latch onto the rusty grate, then yanked as it snaps free with a crack of metal giving, clattering to the side. "...I reeeeeally hate this plan." she says, sitting on the edge as her legs dangle over, then slips down through the hole and out of sight, landing with a soft splash below. "....EWWWW!" comes floating up.

----

"Me too," Anya answers, then drops in after her. The splash has her scowling, but she does have at least some positive news. "At least it's just a storm sewer. So, it's not like, 100% foul and gross. Just... you know, 40%. Maybe 50." The flashlight comes to life, and she moves forward into the mire. "What an incredible smell we've discovered," she quips, still completely unaware that they are still being hunted.

----

~...Okay... Very carefully pull the vent up and in... Web on either side of the hole...~ Two soft thwips, and Arachne has her webs anchored. She stretches, then releases, shooting through the opening and swinging around to stick to the ceiling of the tunnel again. "Moon!"

----

Cindy jerks around, turning back to look down the tunnel. "Um...nutbunnies...RUN!" She grabs Anya's hand and bolts down the tunnel away from Arachne!

----

"!Cogida!" Anya feels a shiver crawl down her spine as Cindy makes for a run. That shiver is something she's felt before, and she can feel the terror mounting in her body in ways that others may not comprehend. The first time was too traumatic to really understand, but the second time... the second time brought some clarity.

Knowing what's coming, she grimaces. "Oh boy." The clothing around her begins to bulge as they run, as if something were -growing- underneath her monochromatic clothing.

----

Arachne picks up the pace a little, shifting down and around the side to get a bit better face. "Have to... Have to catch you! Make you pay! They tortured us and it's your fault!" The pursuer lets out a scream of rage, thwipping away again as she tries to pin down the other spiders

----

A split second before Arachne fires, Cindy suddeny changes course, straight into Anya as she knocks them both out of the way, then leaping to the opposite wall to draw the fire as she clings. "Geez, psycho much?!?" she says. Then remembers...HEY, she has webs TOO! And her hands come up as she fires back, trying to stick their pursuer to the ceiling with her hooked webs.

----

Cindy might be surprised to find that contact with Anya feels like punching solid rock. She does move, yeah, but not much further than is necessary to let Cindy through. Her clothing suddenly rips off her body, and an ugly, chitinous hide reveals itself in its place. The stuff crawls over her face, and when she turns, she now has the appearance of something monstrous and threatening. Black by initial appearance, there are layers of luminescent blue when the light catches it, but the transformation isn't quite complete. Upon her fingers, sharp claws begin to grow in the armor, a thing to which Anya can't help but smirk.

"Chica," she calls out to Arachne, "you are -really- misguided here."

----

"That happens when people play with your brai-Ack!" Arachne... mostly dodges. However, one leg doesn't quite make it, and she's left dangling from the ceiling by one leg, flailing and struggling. And then another burst comes in and sticks her arms to her chest. ...This is very awkward.

"They made us because of you! They made us and lied to us and put things in our head, and they broke us! We have to capture you, or they stop giving us food bars. They broke our body so it can't make this thing and they put the thing in the food and they made us into a weapon! We hate you!" By now, the wide mouth ahs formed, and Arachne's flailing hasn't ceased.

----

Cindy drops back down, eying the struggling girl as she raises her hands. "Where are they?! Where are my PARENTS?!? Where did they take them!" she shouts back. "You work for them, you know that much, right??" She hesistates. "I didn't...I didn't force them to be JERKS to you. I didn't make them treat you like that. I'm sorry they did! But I just...I want my family. I want to be free again..."

----

Spider-Girl looks between Cindy and Arachne. The angst is strong with these two, and in some quiet part of her brain, she finds it kind of funny that for once, it isn't her shouting and cursing. However, there are some very interesting little factoids swimming in the shouts, mostly coming from Arachne.

"She's a hostage," she murmurs to herself, and a fresh new look of disgust forms on her face. Okay, yes, a part of it may have something to do with that horribly disgusting, toothy grin that the monster is forming, but mostly, it's leveled at the invisible third party at play here: Alchemax.

"Whoa-whoa, okay, HOLD ON." Her armored hands rise, one aimed up at Arachne, the other toward Cindy. "Everyone, shut the fuck up, ALL OF YOU." She looks from one to the other, the armor crawling down toward her lips and forming a menacing pair of glowing, yellow globes over her eyes.

"This's gonna be one ugly fight if we don't all settle down and work it out. You got me?"

----

Arachne is cut off mid-rant by Anya, although the squirming doesn't stop. She pants for breath, glaring at the pair of heroes. ...Probably glaring. It's kind of hard to tell exactly what spidersymbiote eyes mean. "They don't have them! If they did, they would have talked about it. We didn't hear anything, and we heard a lot they think we didn't." A few more violent thrashes, before she settles back down into the near constant wriggle. At Anya's exoskeleton though, she stops completely, eyes widening. "...That is really cool."
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

Cindy is getting a good look at Anya now too. "Whoa. You're all Guyver now..." she says slowly, distracted from Arachne for a moment, before she pauses and looks back. Wait, she's....they're keeping her from leaving because of...bars? And something she lacks. "...oh. You're...they're using you too." she says slowly. "With bars, right? That's what you said? Something your body doesn't make normally?"

----

"No," Anya counters. "It's gross." She raises an arm, pointing at it. "Just like this sewer water, and that... and that -thing- they've bonded to you." Her hands rise up, showing innocence, and the words that follow come quickly and perhaps a bit panicked. "Which is fine! We live in a, in a weird world, and, and some things that are gross to us are... well, they're... 'cool' to others."

She turns to Cindy, then back to Arachne. "How long can you last without them?" she asks.

----

"...Yeah." Arachne nods to Cindy, but Anya's words get the glare again. "We're not a thing. We... We're Alyx, and... We're Arachne. We trust eachother because we can't trust anyone else, and we can't lie to eachother. We /help/ eachother." The expression shifts again, almost somehow... sadness. "...We have to check in every three days or so. ...Maybe a week. If we don't have something to report, they punish us."

----

Cindy frowns. "And they sent you to find me and bring me back." she says slowly. "Because I left the bunker." She hesistates, looking over at Anya, then back to Archne. "...and could you get, like, a piece of it or something to bring back? Cuz, maybe someone could, I dunno, Macguyver a way to fix it, right? Science it up?"

----

"Not just you, Cindy." Spider-Girl turns and walks over toward Cindy's side, then looks back up at Arachne. "Us. -All- of us. That's what Alchemax wants." She rustles her shoulders and flexes her arms, and the pieces of armor begin dropping off and falling into the sewer water. "It won't stop there, though. It never does. We got a bigger problem, right here, right now." She looks back to Cindy. "If one of us doesn't go with her... chance is she might die." She then turns to look back at Arachne, and a coy smirk shows up on her face. "But I'm willing to bet they won't let that happen." She walks forward a bit, looking up at the symbiote. "The assholes've already gone to some pretty serious lengths to get you two working together. I seriously doubt they're gonna let you die." The smirk then fades. "But... they will let you suffer. They'll let you think they're committed. But that ain't the case."

Anya turns back to Cindy. "We need a better plan than that," she offers. "I mean, what's she gonna do, sneak some out in the prison wallet?" Anya shakes her head, then turns back toward Arachne. "No. If we're gonna help, if we're gonna get you free, we need to try and figure this out, and fast." She then gulps, and the color might just be leaving her face a little. "I think, we, uh... we uh, might need like... a tissue sample."

----

"Bring you back, and stop Spider-Man from causing trouble. Spider-Girl wasn't high priority. You stay in your neighbourhood and don't cause trouble. " Arachne nods slowly, before shaking her head at the second question. "Have to eat it all, or it wouldn't work as well. Then we don't have as much time. Not getting it... hurts. What's a prison wallet?" Despite her face not really conforming to conventional human standards, she somehow manages to radiate confusion. "...Don't need one of you. Some of... Some of the exoskeleton would do. And... Have to fix our brain. They made us... made us hate..." She thrashes violently for a moment, teeth bared at Cindy, before calming down again. "...Sample? Of what?"

----

"She means, like, a little bit of blood or something form you that we can store, so someone could look at it and figure out what they did and how it could be undone." Cindy says, folding her arms. "So they measure doses out, huh?" She frowns. "Gawd these guys suck so hard, they shoudl be a Hoover."

----

"Yeah, well, I'm new," Anya quips at the mixed compliment/burn. "Give it time."
Regarding Alchemax sucking, Anya couldn't agree more. "More like a Dyson," she allows, then considers... was Dyson a thing nine years ago? "Never mind that," she says of the prison wallet remark. "Tell you what." She reaches down to her leg, and pries off another piece of that chitinous hide. "I'll give you this, if we get a blood sample. Not... not here though." She looks around, scowling. "I mean, we all need to wash up, and find something sanitary." Back to Arachne she looks and asks, "Are they watching you? Right now?"

----

Arachne pauses squirming a moment. "...Could work. You'd get Alyx, but not... Arachne. They gave us a bracelet. When it vibrates, we go to the meet spot. And we're plenty sanitary! Bacteria dont' get to live on us. ...And you need to keep me away from her." The symbiote-girl nods towards Cindy, before one particularly violent wriggle detatches her from the ceiling, the aging concrete finally giving way, and dropping her headfirst. Fortunately, there's only a foot or so of standing water. Unfortunately, that's not enough to catch her fall.

----

Cindy is in motion even as the concrete gives way, leaping forward as she catches Arachne on the way down before she goes headfirst into the concrete. "Whoa! Uh, hey..." She quickily puts her down in a seated position. "Sorry! Reflex...didn't mean to touch..." She backs up a bit. "...um...do they bring more than one bar? Maybe we could, you know...beat them up and take their stuff too. So you weren't directly involved?"

----

Damn, Cindy is... fast! It must be that Spider-Sense that Peter and Gwen have talked about. Anya can't help but feel a bit jealous, but then again, none of the others seem to be able to armor up. Which, yeah it's still gross... but she's starting to understand it may be cool, too. Still, the contact has her alarmed. "Okay, so... okay. So, first, we clean up. Then, we go to like... you know, there's a syringe exchange we can hit up. Just gotta keep the sample on ice."

----

Cindy lunging forward and handling Arachne causes more violent thrashing and and angry hiss, although she calms again when her 'foe' backs off. "...Only one. They're scared of us. They made us, then they have the FUCKING NERVE to be scared of us." Cue smug grin, although only briefly. "They'd know we told you the meeting spot. And we dont' see a way out of this stuff quickly." She wriggles a bit to indicate her current bound state. "...Oh yeah. You know what we look like. Spider-Girl, your friend Lexi. We met her, both as Arachne and as Alyx, but... We don't think she knows yet. She volunteers at the shelter where we're staying. ...Please don't tell her about us. We like FEAST. The people are nice, the food is good, there are warm beds, and no pigeons waking us up."

----

Cindy ers, then looks at Anya uncertainly. Not her friend! She hasn't even met the girl. I mean, she's obviously awesome if she volunteers at FEAST and stuff, but, well. "...uh..well. I dunno, maybe Anya could make make a tracer. They gotta belong to a lab somewhere, right? And if one's already been raided, they shouldn't be too suprised if another one gets raided?"

----

"We want to help you," Anya reiterates. She can't possibly imagine what it must be like to have mind-melted with an alien symbiote, but she can certainly understand why Alyx... okay, well, Alyx and Arachne... seem so crazy. She walks forward, and extends the hand holding that piece of chitinous armor. "Here. Take it. This'll get you fed. But if you -really- want our help? Meet us at the syringe exchange on Duke Ellington in two hours."
She then reaches down and pries her fingers into the webbing that keeps Arachne bound up. The young woman gives a great heave, and the webbing eventually gives away and rips open.

----

Arachne springs into a crouch, reaching out ans snagging the plate from Anya. "...Tracer might work. Ask Spider-Man. He has them. The octopus one /hates/ those." This grin looks almost normal and not creepy. "...But why help us? We attacked you and chased you. You should hate us like they made us hate her." Her head jerks in Cindy's direction again.

----

Cindy uhs. "I don't even really KNOW you, why would I hate you? I mean, you're kinda scary with the teeth thing, but it's not like it's your fault you were sent after me or can't say no to whoever's giving you orders." She wrinkles her nose. "I mean, they at least pretended they were just helping me when they stuck me in the bunker and convinced me I could never leave without it being too dangerous. I bet if they'd been able they would have done something like those bars with me too."

----

"You're not the bad guy," Anya adds. "Alchemax is." She turns then toward the ladder they'd descended to get into this place. "Now, can we get outta here before the walls start moving, or some sewer monster grabs us? Or... or one of us loses our dinner?" Her nose curls at that, because it really doesn't smell that great down here.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Anya Corazon

2018-10-15T20:02:54Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

Spider Family

2018-10-15T20:01:53Z

Apoq79:

2018-10-12-Bunker Busting

2018-10-15T16:42:29Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=Bunker Busting | date=October 12, 2018 | location=Bronx, New York }} <gallery> Anya01.jpeg|Anya Corazon Cindy.jpeg|Cindy Moon Peter01.jpeg|Peter Parker..."

{{log
|
name=Bunker Busting
|
date=October 12, 2018
|
location=Bronx, New York
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Cindy.jpeg|[[Cindy Moon]]
Peter01.jpeg|[[Peter Parker]]
</gallery>

----

It's taken a bit of searching to narrow it down...but after some work, Bunker #5 has been uncovered, in the Bronx. An old 50s era bomb shelter originally, long since abandoned. Unlike others the pair have investigated, however, it's not been used as squatters, and there's no signs of homeless making their shelter near it or the stairs down to it, which suggests something or someone is keeping them from settling in and making steady sweeps to ensure they stay away. The stairs down are also monitored by a pair of cameras half hidden behind protective 'domes' that are made to look decorative, high enough where they can't be tagged but have a good view of the dorway.

----

The cameras are, of course, something of a pain in the ass. Not for the first time, Peter wishes he were a better hacker. He's great with electronics in general, but he isn't much of a hacker. Maybe Anya is. "If we just go in with those things running," he observes, "they'll have guards out to stop us in no time. Whoever Subject One may be, I don't want her getting hurt." If Anya jumps on this, great -- maybe her drone can help -- but for the moment he starts hunting for a broadcast signal from the cameras, checking whether they're wired or wireless. If wireless, he can work with that.

----

Hunkered down next to Spider-Man, Anya frowns at the cameras. "Well, there is one thing. Gimme a minute." She flips her backpack around and rips it open, rummaging around inside for something. Something... "Ah, there." Out comes one of those multi-tools, and she gets to work at prying Arana open. "Sorry, baby," she says to the little spider-drone. "Looks like you're takin' one for the team. I promise I'll make you pretty again." She pulls out the bright LED flasher, careful not to rip its wiring, then closes the drone up again. The multi-tool is shoved back into her backpack, then she carefully holds the LED bulb in a particular place, before quietly and slowly spinning some webbing to hold it in place. "There we go. Now." She grins over toward Peter. "Watch this.

Out comes her cell phone, and she pulls up Arana's manual control module. Staring cautiously, she flies the drone up and up and up, until its above those obnoxious little security cameras. She moves it carefully until Arana is in position between the two, then slowly begins lowering the drone, inch by inch. "This is gonna fry that LED and probably the whole circuit, so, I'd better make this count." The drone drops a little bit further, until its dorsal chassis is just positioned to form a sort of triangle between the two cameras. "Watch your eyes!"

Anya touches another control bar on the phone's screen, then ramps her finger upward and grimaces preemptively.

Arana's LED bulb shines, brighter and brighter. "Soon as it blows, we move!" The light shines brighter still, then suddenly, the whole bulb and circuit blows out in a brilliant white flash.

----

When the flash fades, the cameras are still turning, but the little red lights on them that indicate they're operational are blinking fitfully in an error code. Little wisps of smoke are escaping the casings for either as well, indicating some components probably didn't survive the blinding flash. Mind, it also got a bit of attention from people up and down the street this time of night. You're probably going to have some looky-loos showing up shortly to see what it was. Not to mention whoever was actively behind the cameras, but for the moment, it looks clear.

----

The person behind the cameras was what Peter was concerned about, primarily -- they're going to want to know what happened such that both cameras blew out at once. "Let's make this quick," he says, not commenting on the flashy display as he hurries toward the entrance. Time to open up the vault and see what's there for the taking.

----

"Just a transformer going out, right?" Anya remarks while flipping out from her hiding spot and making for the entrance behind Spider-Man. The cell phone is quickly 'pocketed' into her hip pouch, and a hand goes up to the side of her mask. "Arana, acompanamiento."

----

"Depends on how close they're watching the cameras," Spidey replies as he descends. "Could be a transformer, but if they're really worried about people breaking in here, they'll have people out here quickly to see what happened." He pauses a moment before adding, "But if they were that worried, they'd have guards on site, rather than just cameras."

----

Footfalls echo as you quickly disappear down the steps, easily bypassing a metal gate that doesn't quite reach to the roof as you're forced to cling over it. Up ahead you can see a door. It looks a little rusty, but suprisingly new looking...more recently installed than 50 years ago, or upgraded, one of the two. There's a keypad and keycard reader on one side of the door, and another omni-present camera over it that observes the area in front of the bunker door. Water dripped off old pipes overhead, running down cracked and old concrete on either side of the bottom flight of stairs where they reachs the landing with the bunker door.

Behind you, out at the top of the stairs, you can hear heavy running feet approaching with a soft clatter.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

"Well, you're in the shit now, Private Joker," Anya quips. The drone flies along just behind her as she follows Parker down the steps and over that metal gate, seemingly no worse for the wear, minus one LED bulb and a fresh scorch march across her upper half. Spotting the camera, she scowls openly, then flings two hands up to fire globs of webbing at the item. "Hey, handle that door," she says, before spinning around and moving back toward the steps. There, she begins rapidly flinging webbing from side to side, forming a literal spider's web across the pathway. She's starting far out and up, and working her way down the stairs, hoping to stop whomever might be coming in or at least slow them down a bit.

----

Shouldn't be hard to slow them down with that much webbing -- Anya's got the organic webs, which are decidedly sturdy. Not that Peter's chemical webs are lacking in the strength department. He regards the door for a moment, and then the keypad. And then the door again. "Well, we don't have keycards," he says. "And we don't have passwords, so..." He tries the brute force method. Hey, he's got the proportional strength of a human spider. He braces himself, then attempts to pull the door out of its frame -- not so hard that he'll hurt himself, but hard enough that if there's a chance of it giving, it's going to give.

----

The webbing works remarkably well...it's a fairly close in tunnel, so it's not hard to block it off, and from the shouts you hear on the other side, it's been noticed. After a moment there's some muffled shots fired at the webbing, but none seem to penetrate for the moment. It'll at the very least slown them down, depending what they've got to try and get it open!

Meanwhile, Spidey applies himself to the door. It's a pretty thick door. Not NORAD levels of thick, but definitely ten tons or more in weight...like a bank value. There's a low groan as he starts to pull on the metal, the door resisting with a grating noise as the locks built into the wall resist, before said wall starts cracking from teh pressure and the keypad lock starts blinking redly with an error message.

----

"Great," Anya mutters. "Guns." She turns around to watch Peter at work, and the eye-patches on her mask visibly rise, mimicking the raising of her eyes beneath the silk. "Need a hand?" She pounds her feet into the cement one at a time, creating little dents in the stone before firing a pair of webs to either side of Peter. Then, she hauls back on them, the webbing straining at the door but offering a bit more pull as she bends backward, creating a human fulcrum.

----

"That's the thing about doors," Peter remarks. "They're only as strong as the wall they're set into." He continues to pull, adding a few web lines to the top corners of the door so that he can, hopefully, bring it crashing to the ground and not have to worry about being crushed by it. "We better be able to get it out this way," he adds after a moment. "I broke the keypad."

----

With a groan the locks disengage and the door slides open with a grinding noise, revealing a brighter lit passage beyond. Which isn't saying much...it's still an internal bunker passage, with occasional lights, and gloomy as all heck. It leans down to a T intersection with passageways going off to the right and left, and a main door right in front. The right side has a faded stencil that reads 'Supplies', the other passageway says 'Rec', and the main doors don't have a title on them. The doors here are sturdy but nothing like the main bunker door outside. Though there aren't any cameras that are obvious here, for some reason.

----

Dropping her weblines, Spider-Girl walks up toward Peter with a smirk. "Hope you didn't sprain something." She peers into the passageway beyond, and her smirk fades. "Jesus. Creepy. Wish I hadn't burned out my torch, we're likely to be eaten by a Grue down here." She proceeds in, her voice dropping a few decibels as she looks toward the signs. "Boring," she says in regards to Supplies. "Not... so boring," in regards to Rec. However, her mask goes toward what's dead ahead. "You thinking the obvious?" she asks.

----

"You're totally too young for Infocom references," Peter observes as he starts down the hall. "I'm too young for Infocom references," he adds a moment later, peering down the 'Rec' hallway for a moment or two. 'Supplies' probably holds nothing of immediate interest -- unless it's a group of Japanese karate experts in an 80s comedy -- but Rec might have possibilities. Spanish zombies, for example. "I think the obvious choice is usually obvious for a reason. And hey, if there's nothing through there, we just need a couple of firefighters and a camera crew to head down that way."

----

The three paths await! On one, you might be eaten by a grue, but only if it's a twisty maze of passages, all alike. On the other, zombies. Then door number 3. WHICH WILL YOU CHOOOOOSE?

----

At -that- remark, Anya turns her head slowly toward Spider-Man. "I. Am comp-sci student. I studied Infocom my -freshman- year." She shakes her head and moves along toward the Rec hallway. Behind the mask, her face screws up a bit, trying to catch Spider-Man's reference. Then, she blinks twice. "What is this, Wheel of Fish?" Then, under her breath, she murmurs to herself. "Rec... rec-room... maybe records?"

----

"I know, I know, but even my comp-sci loving students don't know Infocom these days. They all want to make the next GTA." Peter is not so big on the GTA games. He dislikes games that glorify a life of crime for relatively obvious reasons. He doesn't discourage his students, but really.

"I figured we'd take the obvious route, but sure, let's do this first," he says, following after Anya. "I'd guess 'Rec Room.' Records is usually spelled out."

----

The hallway follows along and takes a right after a bit, leading to a currently open door. Beyond is a fairly good sized training area, split between padding laid out on one half, including the walls, a weight room area, a treadmill, eliliptical, bike, and a variety of free weights. Oddly, the lights in the room are currently off though, so everything is in shadows, including the deeper areas of teh room, other than small emergency lightning strips near the floor, one of which is blinking on and off fitifully and sets the shadows in the room to dancing back and forth, turning exercise equipment into looming monsters waiting to pounce. There's another door about midway down the room on the right, lit with a small light over it.

----

"GTA is bogus," Anya murmurs. "I mean," she continues, though as they enter the room, her words slow and her tone of voice becomes easily more spooked. "... the, actual story mode... isn't... terrible... but... nobody actually... plays that. Okay, so, rec room. Obviously. Zombie Apocalypse rec room, but..." Noticing the door, she turns toward Spider-Man, then nods her head toward the door indicated twice.

----

"Grues are seeming more likely all the time," Peter observes. "But, I mean, we're dealing with people who deal in Klyntar. They are the sorts who'd have grues around." He nods in return, moving toward the door. Glances at Anya. Back at the door. And knocks. Shave-and-a-haircut...

----

And that's about where both your spider senses blare in sudden alert as a pair of barbells come sailing out of the darkness from the roof above, aimed at the pair of you, followed by a wider 'net' of webbing that seems aimed to roughly where the best place would be to dive backwards away from them. Or if you went down from being hit by them, as there would likely be broken bones involved!

----

Unfortunately, Anya Corazon lacks the spider sense. It was one thing she was not given when she was bitten. "That is so gross," she starts to say, with only enough time to notice something moving at her from the corner of her eye. She moves just enough to keep the thing from striking her in the noggin, but instead it thuds right into her chest. "Ummfph!" There's no cracking; she's always wondered if her silk-woven costume might be bullet proof. It apparently absorbed enough impact, along with her enhanced toughness, to avoid cracking her sternum, but it came damn close and it's knocked the wind out of her. She falls to her knees, stunned for a moment or two, when suddenly the telltale, horrendous WHEEEEZE comes from contracting lungs.

----

Spider-Man, on the other hand, has a spider-sense, and the opportunity to call, "Watch out!" It's kind of a sudden thing, though, and doesn't really give Anya time to react. He leaps to the side, rather than back, dodging the barbell and the webbing. Spider-sense is handy that way sometimes -- giving alerts to all dangers at once, and thus suggesting a direction of escape. He sees Anya on the ground, and hears that gasp, but can't immediately assist her -- because somebody's responsible for what just happened. "Breathe," he says, scanning the ceiling. "I'll be with you fast as I can."

----

It's pretty apparent almost immediately that the ambusher has the high ground...the very dark, unlit, high ground, whereas you're at ground level near the emergency lights that provide light for the area. Meaning they can see you pretty easily, but it's much harder to see them, though there's a faint hint of motion, followed by a pair of web sprays shooting out from the ceiling agian, this time aimed specifically for Anya to try and lock her in place.

----

One hand goes to the ground, and Anya cranes her neck in agony. A long moment comes, followed by another deep, wheezing breath. She's not going to take -as- long to recover as a normal human might, but when the webbing comes her way, she nearly panics. Well, her body does, at least. Endorphins rush, and though her muscles remain momentarily stunned, some parts of her... well, they don't.

Something very odd happens next. The black and white of her costume seems to transmorph into something else. Something black and grey, a chitinous material that seeps through the silk and forms an ugly, monstrous hide around her. The webbing is pushed off, captured by the chitinous hide, and for a moment, Anya seems to be trapped inside of it, like a creature molting inside some sort of cocoon.

----

"Hey!" calls Spidey! "Hey! We're not the enemy here! We came to get you out!" He has to assume that whoever this is, she doesn't want to be here." He leaps to the ceiling, out of the light, and switches on night vision lenses with a whispered command. Jeez, you try to insert a little levity into your rescues...

He does notice Anya's sudden armor. At least she looks safer.

----

The webbing certainly sticks well! Little hooks holding it in place as it draps across the cocoon. Plain white webbing, at the moment. "Suuuure I'm totally on your side Han! Just step in this room over here with the heavy breathing guy and Mr. Cool Armor..." comes a female voice. And it's good Peter turns on the night vision, because that's when his spidey sense goes off AND he's got a front row view for a sneakered foot leading the way at him attached to the person behind it as she swings down on a web, trying to kick him in the chest.

----

*choke hack cough wheeeeze* "... I... am -not- Darth Vader!"

Spider-Girl gives a glorious heave, and the armor begins to crack in various places. As it breaks away, the webbing remains stuck to it... and not, of course, to her. It falls away in chunks as she stands up, and what little can be seen of her expression is disgust. Not really at the person who just called her The Most Feared Man in the Galaxy Far Far Away, but at her own disgusting new ability. "Gross."

A hand darts up to her head. "Arana, luz."

The little drone may have burned out her strobe light, but she -does- have a flashlight. LED powered, and fortunately, it's on a different circuit. The little drone, which was nearly invisible in the dark, activates the circuit and sheds some light on the situation.

----

"Mr. Cool Armor is female," Spidey replies. "And I am not breathing heavily. I haven't even broken a sweat." He swings out of the way on a web of his own. "We got the idea that somebody might be held against her will here when we were trying to find out the people who wanted to take DNA samples from us forcibly -- and by the way, lady, I've been dodging faster kicks than that for nine years."

----

"Duh, obviously you're Lando and totally out to betray me by acting all friendly but really being one of the guys here to nab me...." comes the voice again, though the light does shed some light on the subject...specifically a girl, about Anya's age, with her dark hair up in a tight bun behind her head, dressed in khaki shorts and a faded t-shirt with a Spinarak pokemon on the front munching on a cupcake. She lands in a roll, coming back up in her feet, then leaping up to the wall over the door you came in. "Oh, I can go LOTS faster, bucko..." the girl proclaims. She looks...sort of familiar to Pete, actually? From high school...and then she's leaping forward and launching into a serious of practiced kicks and strikes followed by trying to snap off a web shot at Peter. "I've been TRAINING for nine years!"

----

Peter is good at dodging, but while he avoids the punches and kicks, he doesn't try to dodge the web -- instead, he fires off his own burst of webbing to deflect it. Because things are starting to make sense. That girl -- the cute Korean girl who vanished shortly after their visit to the lab where he was bitten by the spider. And he was sick for a couple of days, and then... well, everybody knows that story.

"Cindy?" he says, voice sounding surprised. "Cindy Moon? Is that you?"

----

Still a bit winded, Anya just watches as the two get at it. They're fast! Damned fast, almost as if they're anticipating each other's movements. It's all a bit much for her stunned brain to handle, and it's beyond irritating. At one point she does go so far as to fire a web toward Cindy, but it clearly misses and ends up splatting harmlessly into the ceiling. "Hey!" she shouts. "There are -men- with -guns- trying to get down here, and -they aren't with us-! You understand that, Miss Yoda?"

----

The girl is fast...and she seems to move in a fluid way like she's always anticipating where someone is going to go next, even to where she doesn't even look at Anya, just leans enough out of the way that the webbing goes shooting past her harmlessly. But she does get one good shot off on Pete before the words register and she flips backwards, landing in a crouch, suprised for a moment, then focusing on Anya. "Well, duh. They're here to keep people out who break in to try and get to me. Like you two. What are you, like knockoff spider baddies?" Her eyes narrow as she falls into a defensive stance. "...they warned me you'd be looking for me, trying to figure out how this happened so they could sell it and copy it." She flexes her fingers. "This place was supposed to keep me safe and people like you out...but I'm TOTALLY down for throwing you back out if I gotta..."

----

"Stop," says Peter. "Spider-Girl, stop. There's more going on here. I know her. We went to high school together." To Cindy he says, "Listen. I'm not a spider-baddie, or a knock-off. Neither is she. I'm kind of the original spider goodie." He pauses a moment, considering these words, because... well... goodie used to be short for goodwife and... yeah, that totally doesn't matter under the circumstances.

He reaches up to pull off his mask. "Cindy, it's me. Peter Parker. We know each other. And if I'd known you'd been trapped here for nine years, I'd have come way sooner."

----

When Cindy bears down on her, Anya's head cocks to the side. If you've ever seen a bloody street fight about to go down, that's what it looks like. Her arm cocks back slowly, and her fingers stretch, but it's Spider-Man's voice that stops her. That's saying something, for what it's worth. Once a street girl from East Harlem gets it into her head that there's about to be a beat down, there's not much that'll cool her blood. Only the word of a trusted friend... which is weird, because she doesn't know Spider-Man that well.

There's still a shred of her that might go for it anyway. Where she comes from, when someone's not listening to reason... they'll usually listen to reason once they've got a concussion. But then he up and unmasks himself, and it's all she can do but to stand there and stare.

----

Cindy seems perfectly ready to continue to throw down when Anya gets up ready for round two...but when Peter speaks, then pulls off his mask...that makes her hesistate, a edge of uncertainty in her eyes. "...Peter?" she says slowly, her eyes filling with recognition. She glances back to Anya for a moment, then back to Pete, still on guard, but not fighting at least. "...what do you mean, you're the original?" she says after a moment, her tone wary. "They said I was the only one it bit...the spider that got out..."

----

"Apparently not," Peter replies. He knows she's on guard, and that Anya will fight if things go wrong here -- but he's dropping his guard. His spider-sense will keep him alive -- probably. She's fast, but he's been dodging her so far. "It was that trip to NYU, right? The genetically engineered spiders? I was bitten too. And you vanished while I was recovering from the bite." He takes a cautious step forward -- not cautious for his own sake, but because he doesn't want to scare her. "We are not here to capture you, or to hurt you. We just wanted to help you."

----

"I got bit," Anya says hesitantly. "At NYU. Three months ago." She shakes her head, still standing in a defensive stance but at least her arm has uncocked itself. "Mine was... we think... different." Her tone of voice is no longer hostile, but it's not exactly polite. She's still nervous about those men with guns trying to get through her webtraps. "This is far from over, Cindy," she adds. "We got files... there's something else out there. Something... that's been made from you, and Peter. And they've been hunting me, too."

Reaching up, Anya pulls her own mask away. What's revealed is the rest of her latina face, with eyeshadow painted dark purple. Brown hair that appeared to be some sort of ponytail, now freed from the hood, shows itself to be a sideshaved half-mohawk, with the shaved hair dyed a bright pink. "So why don't we all get the fuck outta here, yeah? Beat up those pricks with guns and make like the wind. Then we can get our payback for what these creeps are fixin' to make of us."

----

Cindy's brow furrows, before she lowers her hands, shaking her head. "N-no, that's why I'm here. They brought me here, to try and cure me. Because people had found out about what I could do, and they wanted me someplace safe, where they couldn't track me. They've been teaching me how to...to use what I can do, to control it. That's...that's why I'm /here/, because it's /safe/!" She frowns. "...what...are you talking about? Making of us? They leave me alone, other than the testing. I mean...I have a keycard, I could leave whenever..." She just...doesn't. Out of fear, apparently. She bites her lips. "....but there are more spiders? Wait, what do you /mean/ there's something made out of me?"

----

Peter pulls out his phone, calls up the video of the woman, the pictures of the symbiote. "There are a bunch of people like us," he says. "I go by Spider-Man. There's a Spider-Woman -- no relation -- and of course, Spider-Girl. We are very original in our naming conventions." He shows her the phone, lets her take it if she wants. "I think they told you a lot of things because you were already scared," he continues. "Maybe you were the only one they knew about for sure -- and by the time they found out about me, they only knew that there was a guy in red and blue swinging around and stopping muggers. But when we broke into a secret sub-basement at an Alchemax facility yesterday, people were referring to you as 'Subject One' and talking about the samples they had from you, how they could modify them to incorporate the samples from the rest of us."

----

"I'm gonna take out my phone," Anya says, while keeping one hand in the air. "Okay?" The other reaches down to her waist, and retrieves the phone from her somewhat hidden pouch. She calls up a file, then turns the phone over for Cindy to look at. It's text, nothing fancy, just green text on a black backdrop.

<DECRYPTION IN PROGRESS>

CS-1 Project Summary: Develop a viable clone capable of combating Spider heroes. CS-1 is the first viable subject that lasted longer than three months in gestation. DNA blend is primarily viable egg extracted from Subject 1, with Subject 2 DNA as secondary contribution. CS-1 will also utilize a Klyntar Symbiote derived from Sample V-KL-43A1.

CS-1 Growth Progress: A series of 12 still images of CS-1 in a vertical tube, taken at approximately three month intervals. Attached text file mentions that growth was accelerated by approximately a factor of six.. Invoked Memory Stimulation used to implant background life and improve psychological development.

Symbiote Bonding Process: Successful. Symbiote introduced to CS-1's growth tank two weeks before decanting. CS-1 did not gain consciousness during bonding, although eye movement was detected, along with some muscle spasms.

"Subject 2?" Anya nods her head toward Peter. "That's him. I got a lot more decrypting, but it's gonna take a couple more days."

----

The young Korean woman steps forward slowly, until she can see the information being displayed, her eyes widening, before she pales. "...they...they took samples, but they were to...to figure out what happened. How to reverse it." Though her tone now is questioniing as what she reads start to sink in, before she starts to look a bit ill. "...they...they took...and they used it to..." She sways a bit little bit, then leans forward, resting her hands above her knees as she takes several deep breaths. "...they said they'd help me..." she says in a softly, lost voice. "I stayed because it...because they said they'd help..." She swallows. "I /STAYED/...for YEARS. Just me...here...and the trainers...and th-the doctors that visit..."

----

Peter moves closer still, wanting to offer an arm to this long lost... classmate? Friend? They weren't that close, but close enough, perhaps. Just... he had no idea how to try to find her. Probably never thought that much about it. The last nine years have been really, really busy for Peter. "Come with us," he says. "I know it'll be hard to get used to what's going on out there, but you'll have friends to help you."

----

"Yeah, well, guess what." Anya pockets the phone and steps forward, not asking. She slips an arm under Cindy's shoulder, and props her up. "They lied. Cause that's what creepy, wierd-o evil scientists do. Now can we get the hell out of here?"

----

Cindy doesn't resist as Pete takes her arm, swaying a little bit before Anya further steadies her. "I..." She swallows, looking to Anya, then back to Pete. "Out? The...the door. The bunker door is the only way in or out that I know of." she says after a moment. "There's no other way." She takes a deep breath. "...god, I'm an idiot..." she says, reaching up to rub her eyes, swallowing again. "...I...wondered, but I always told myself I could leave any time." She inhales again, then frowns. "...okay. Okay, let's....let's go. She looks towards the door to the next room, hesistating....all her stuff is there. Stuff she's collected over nine years...but stuff they've given her for nine years." Her expression firms. "...let's go out."

----

"You're not an idiot. You were misled. It's a big difference, Cindy." He'd suggest she gather anything she wants -- but doubts there's much she really wants from here at the moment. Her parents, certainly, will be glad to see her. He puts on his mask again -- Cindy and Anya can know who Spider-Man is, but he'll never forgive himself if Cindy's captors go after Aunt May.

----

"Suit up, amiga," Anya tells Cindy. "There's a bunch of assholes outside with guns who want to stop us, and we might need help. You can crash at my abuela's place, yeah? You've probably got some catching up to do." She leans over then and whispers quietly into Cindy's ear, "There's also tequila."

She hefts Cindy's arm once more, as if to give her that extra boost, before freeing herself and reaching up to pull the mask down over her face again. "Arana, acompanamiento." The drone makes to follow, and switches the flashlight off as they emerge into the hallway. The men outside are still trying to shoot their way through her webbing, which means they'll be down a lot of ammo. This brings a smirk to her face, and she cracks her knuckles in anticipation of a short, but fun, ass kicking. However, before they get to it, she's got another word for Spider-Man.

"-Not- what I was expecting, Spider-Boy."

----

"I'm full of surprises," Peter tells Anya drily.

----

Cindy frowns, then nods, following, then pausing for a moment. "...wait. I don't...want everyone to know who I am. My family is still out there waiting for me..." She pause,s then holds up her hands, crooking her fingers, before webbing shoots out of the tips, as she quickly runs her hands over her body, covering up her shirt and shorts in layered white webbing that runs over her legs, then gives herself a lower face mask as well. "...there...' She takes a deep breath, looking up the stairs from the broken door. "...let's go."

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Anya Corazon

2018-10-15T16:39:34Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

Spider Family

2018-10-15T16:20:12Z

Apoq79:

Roster

2018-10-15T16:19:12Z

Apoq79:

The current list of played heroes:

*[[Yana Asarov]]
*[[America Chavez]]
*[[Anya Corazon]]
*[[Carol Danvers]]
*[[Angela Davis]]
*[[Dick Grayson]]
*[[Jean Grey]]
*[[Laura Kinney]]
*[[Haven MacKenzie]]
*[[Wanda Maximoff]]
*[[Cindy Moon]]
*[[Kwabena Odame]]
*[[Thor Odinson]]
*[[Peter Parker]]
*[[Illyana Rasputin]]
*[[Steve Rogers]]
*[[Gwen Stacy]]
*[[Wally West]]
*[[Kara Zor-El]]

The current list of villains introduced onto the grid:

*[[Lex Luthor]]
*[[Brainiac]]
*[[Ultron]]
*[[Oswald Cobblepot]]
*[[Wilson Fisk]]

Current List of Notable Organizations:

*[[The Watch]]
*[[Xavier Institute]]
*[[SHIELD]]
*[[Stark Industries]]
*[[Wayne Enterprises]]
*[[Pym Technologies]]

Current list of Villainous Organizations (please ask staff to be tagged if you're using them for plot purposes)

*[[HYDRA]]
*[[AIM]]
*[[CADMUS]]
*[[Brotherhood of Mutants]]
*[[Morlocks]]

Spider Family

2018-10-15T16:18:52Z

Apoq79:

2018-10-11-Alchemax Jersey

2018-10-15T15:41:53Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=Alchemax Jersey | date=October 11, 2018 | location=New Jersey }} <gallery> Anya01.jpeg|Anya Corazon Cindy.jpeg|Cindy Moon (Scene Emitter) Peter01.jpeg|..."

{{log
|
name=Alchemax Jersey
|
date=October 11, 2018
|
location=New Jersey
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Cindy.jpeg|[[Cindy Moon]] (Scene Emitter)
Peter01.jpeg|[[Peter Parker]]
</gallery>

----

Alchemix Genetics. A widespread scientific enterprise loosely associated with OsCorp as one of its many subsidaries, through several shell corporations to give plausible deniability. To the outside, perfectly legal research on genetic diseases takes place, working to cure a variety of DNA based issues.
On the inside, however, it seems there's more to the local New Jersey branch. Or at least, that's what Spiderman discovered, when he happened to retrace his steps to pick up a misplaced backpack and discovered a pair of people in forensic gear carefully gathering up some spatters of his blood (that he was forced to bleed a bit when some thugs tried to run him over with a pizza van). Being that it's his very own blood that he had to bleed, this was suspicious, especially when the two tried to offer fake police ID. A bit of webbing and some pointed questions later that may or may not have included being dangled from a web from a flagpole (one was a bit afraid of heights as it happened so that was MORE than enough), the two finally broke down and admitted that they were collecting Spiderman's genetic material. And that 'spider broad' that's been around too. No, the other one, not the blonde one. And that they were to return said samples to Alchemax Genetics in New Jersey once collected, where they had apparently done this before.
Thus Peter suddenly had an important reason to track down Anya and do the heroic teamup that's required when creepy types are collecting your hair and bodily fluids.

----

Tracking down Spider-Girl is not difficult. He has her phone number. And as he zips away from the guys dangling from the flagpole, he's tapping the button hidden under his mask that activates the voice-dial function of his Spider-Phone (AKA, a Samsung Galaxy, souped up in red and blue with the Ramones singing his song as a ringtone). He's heading toward the George Washington, already on his way to Jersey. And when she picks up, if she picks up, he's quick and to the point. "SG, it's Spidey. Just nabbed a couple thugs who were carrying fake police credentials and trying to collect my DNA for Alchemax -- and they said they're out for yours, too. I'm heading to their Jersey HQ to yell at their COO and possibly smack down some more thugs. Possibly in business suits. If you feel like making your irritation known, c'mon down."

----

"... what??"

A late night of cramming for her Nanotech Exam tomorrow morning eventually caused irritation, followed by the burning desire to mount some rooftop not far from home. Too much studying? That means its patrol time.

"... GROSS. Yes, I'm coming!"

Reaching up, Spider-Girl taps the little bluetooth earpiece woven into her mask to disconnect the call. Then, she whips her backpack around and retrieves the small, egg-shaped drone of her own design. "Arana?"

At the voice command, the little drone sprouts eight legs, each of which bear small propellors at their tips, and a glowing Spider-Girl emblem appears upon the drone's dorsal shell.

"Jefaturas de Alchemax Jersey." The little spider-drone chirps and rises into the air, rotating around to face westward. "Lleve la manera!"

Moments later, Spider-Girl is slinging from building to building, heading toward the very same bridge Spider-Man is using to reach Jersey. The little spider-drone, nicknamed Arana, is leading the way by flying ahead of her, with a flashing strobe light aimed behind so that Anya can see the way.

----

The building itself is fairly nondescript...very industrial park looking. The difference is the building doesn't have many windows, just a carefully manicured landscaping, a small parkinglot, and a security wall that surrounds it with guards. The ones inside look a bit more well armed than might be normal. There's a main entrance at the front, and a cargo entrance at the back where trucks can pull up to large armored doors. One's there now, unloading. There's also the obligatory rooftop with air conditioning ducts and a roof access. There are a couple lights on in the mostly dark building, so there's definitely still people there at the moment.

----

It's a big corporate HQ. Spider-Man knows better than to expect it to be empty. At the very least there would be security, and there are going to be security cameras for sure. So Spidey considers the options cautiously from a dark and secluded spot. Truth is this: the cargo entrance seems the safest bet because there ARE people there. It's open, and the people involved are busy. Plus, any noise they might here is probably going to be assumed to be others working to put stuff from the truck away.

If there were time, Spidey might take the opportunity to yoink one of the guys away, knock him out, take his clothes, and start carrying stuff into the building as if he belonged there. Might. But the part of him that screams 'WITH GREAT POWER COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY!' every time he gets tired and doesn't want to go out on patrol when he has to teach intro to chemistry at 8:30 AM is reminding him that while there are bad people here, not all of them are bad -- this is a big place, with lots of employees and the idea that all of them are in on the 'let's get some Spider-DNA and make little Spider-Clone-Babies' (or whatever it is they're doing) is patently ridiculous. From a strictly cynical point of view, it's literally impossible to keep that many people from spilling a secret to the government, the media, or a rival business offering them money.

So, instead Spidey heads for that open gateway, carefully looking out for security cams and dodging their lenses -- but checking them out, too. If they're older models, he can knock one or two out along the way by webbing them up if he must. If they're new, he's going to have to seek alternative routes if there are cameras he can't get around. And his plan, of course, is to climb down the wall right over the truck that's backed up to the doors, and then climb along the ceiling while nobody's looking.

They never look at the ceiling.

----

Jersey. Not enough buildings out here to shake a stick at, much less to travel in style. She eyeballs the headquarters from a distance, plastered up against the side of a midrise with Arana hovering over her shoulder. "Okay. Arana..." She looks up at the little drone with a nervous grin. "Vamos para la azotea. Pendulo."

The little drone has limited AI, but for a moment, it seems nervous. Then, it floats off into the air, while Spider-Girl scrambles up to the rooftop of that building. Then, with a flying leap, she careens out over the New Jersey landscape, with the little drone leading her. She strikes zenith, and plummets awhile... before launching a webline toward the drone. It connects, and the drone suddenly powers up to full power. It sinks a little, but it's just enough for Spider-Girl to yank herself into another leap. The drone gains height again, leading her as she goes. Three more pendulums, as it were, and she's making one final soar for the wall of the Alchemex building.

A gentle landing on the wall, and she's scrambling up at once, headed for the rooftop. "Arana, envie el mensaje a Spider-Man. I'm here. Coming in from the top."

The drone, as it were, is synced to the cell phone hidden in a pouch woven into her uniform. Moments later, Spider-Man receives the SMS from her.

----

The cameras are not particularly advanced, just standard panning systems that look over the loading area. It's not hard at all to web them so they're stuck looking the wrong way, long enough to latch onto the building, then climb along the ceiling to the interior. There's a pair of security guards, overseeing the truck drivers unloading a variety of boxes, many of which have OsCorp logos on them. But in this case, there's no one who IS looking up, and the warehouse area inside has a high enough ceiling to easily disappear into the shadows there. From here, there's a standard door with a keycard reader leading deeper, a freight elevator, and a ventilation duct set high on one wall that looks to lead into the vent system.

With the clever entrance, SpiderGirl easily clears the wall and latches onto the side of the building. Oddly enough they didn't place cameras to look for people climbing up the side of the building. However, the roof DOES have one covering the roof access that pans back and forth, though there's some air conditoning units and vents that could be hidden behind.

----

Spidey sees Anya's message literally flash before his eyes -- the phone is synced to the lenses in his mask, letting him read the words without needing to pull his phone free. He doesn't immediately respond, taking time to choose his direction of attack now. The elevator. He crosses the ceiling to the elevator, waits until he's sure nobody's looking that way, then pulls himself in and up to the ceiling of the elevator, where he can stop for a moment, utter a faint click that brings up the retinal keyboard display on his lenses and lets him send a quick message back to Anya: 'In the freight elevator. Heading your way.'

This done, he finds that panel at the top, the one that used to be open to anybody who could reach it, but is now bolted in place, and applies a little Spider-Strength and a bolt wrench to the problem, lifts it up, climbs into the shaft, and then sets the panel back in place before he starts to climb toward the top of the building.

----

"Arana, IR." Spider-Girl stops just below the rooftop, and reaches into her uniform pouch to retrieve the smartphone. Meanwhile, the little drone deactivates its pulsing strobe, and rises up over the rooftop to begin an infrared scan, overlaid against her mounted GoPro. She watches the feed on her smartphone for a moment, noting the difference between those air conditioning vents and... well, what is that tiny little heat signature? She peers up, noting the drone hovering high above her, then looks back down to the smartphone. Ahead, and a bit to the right. Alright then.

Spider-Girl replaces the smartphone and climbs. She vaults over the top of the roof, immediately looks toward the area where that camera was spotted, and fires two blasts of webbing right at it. Not the most graceful maneuver, of course, but it oughta at least blind the thing. Now it's time to decide... crawl down into the ventilation system like John McClane, or find the normal person's entryway.

<<En el elevador de carga. Direccion de su manera.>> The SMS response is parsed over to her earpiece, translated into Spanish by a pleasant male voice. Normal entrance it is. She makes for the proverbial doorway, testing it first to see if it's by some chance unlocked.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

The camera is splattered in webbing, which nicely prevents it from both panning and observing as Spidergirl slips by to disappear into the vents, then emerges after a brief trip in the elevator shaft, just in time to meet Pete coming the other direction. The shaft is pretty dark, save for red LED lights that dimly illuminate the area. Below, the freight elevator rumbles to life...and starts going downwards. Wasn't it at the first floor already?"

----

Peter starts to greet Anya, but stops and peers down after the elevator. "It's not like big buildings DON'T have basements," he says, "but I feel like that one's heading further down than might be expected. And we should check that out." He fires a web at the top of the shaft and descends far more quickly than he rose, not touching down on the roof of the elevator, but following it just a few feet above.

----

"Totally John McClane'd it," Anya tells Peter as they meet up. She looks over to the freight elevator and its open doorway, and doesn't hesitate to follow along. "Creepy science building, creepy experiments, of -course- they have an underground lair." She completely fails to introduce the drone that is hovering along behind her, and instead leaps into the shaft behind Spider-Man. She freefalls for a moment or two, before twisting around and firing a webline up at the top of the shaft. This one she lightly holds onto, while spinning more and more to keep it from going completely taut. She keeps herself above Spider-Man, letting him take the lead while the drone descends behind them.

----

The elevator does, indeed, seem to be going lower than even a basement, passing several doors as it continues to descend. These doors are different than the upper story doors, which are more normal elevator designs. The bottom ones look much more sturdy. The elevator stops when it's passed four of them., opening at that level as the two spiders descend above it.

----

Here Spidey holds up a hand to Anya, lowering himself, twisting around so his ear is close to the elevator so he can hear when it's vacant. Once it's empty, far as he can tell, he lifts the panel he'd set back in place before, peaks inside, and then pulls it aside so he and Anya can climb down into the elevator, and then out into the hall to see what there is to see in this secret sub-basement -- he did notice, after all, that there was no 'sub-level 4' option.

"Nice drone, by the way," he says in a low voice as he peers up and down the hallway -- he has, again, taken up a position on the ceiling.

----

At the gesture, Spider-Girl halts her descent, bobbing up and down a bit until Spider-Man clears the way in. A bit more webbing comes out of her wrist with a quiet spinning sound, and with very light movements she bends herself into the elevator and keeps to the ceiling, proving just how agile she can be.

"Her name's 'Arana'," she whispers in response, taking up a position next to Spider-Man as they keep to the ceiling. "Desactive," she adds, and the little drone floats up to her so that she can collect it. The device immediately powers down, withdraws its eight legs into its chassis, and she replaces it into another hip pouch. Even though the machine is quiet, she's guessing it's just too risky to use it now that they seem to be in the proverbial lion's den.

----

Luckily, the elevator door appears to have been locked open by whoever used it last so that they could finish unloading it all without the doors closing. A quick glance outside will show the two security guards pushing a pair of stacked carts down ao very sterile looking white hall, with large windows on either side and security doors separating them every so often. Through the windows, workers in clean scrubs are working with a variety of samples of some sort, moving from diffent machines or examining results from what look like devices designed for genetic manipulation and examination. The nearest one, on the right, has what looks like a sterile environment surrounding cases of....well. Spiders. A variety of them.

The two men pushing the carts disappear around the corner through a pair of doors, though farther down the hall a door opens and a pair of scientists come walking out, pulling off their breather masks as they do. "Damn, I was sure we'd licked that recombinant issue." the first says with annoyance, the plump woman next to him shrugging. "Hey, at least we've got plenty of samples from subject 1, I'm still pretty confident we can modify her DNA to incorporate other additions. Especially if the other project has successfully regenerated the cell tissue they recovered." The first scientist shivers. "God, that stuff is fucking creepy. I'm glad we're not working on it. Alien goo...ugh."

The pair are approaching the elevator, or one of the rooms near to it. There is one that looks like it might be a staff locker room to your right, and a sort of cafeteria one on your left.

----

Sometimes Spidey thinks he should really develop a stealth costume -- you know, one that will sort of blend with the color of a ceiling, instead of being a bright, gauche blend of red and blue. He swings himself down from the ceiling to slip through the (possibly) cafeteria door, trusting Anya to pick her own direction -- plenty of room in a cafeteria, if she chooses to go that way. He moves up the wall so he can't be seen if people peer into the room, but he does web the door open slightly, so he can continue to hear what the scientists were saying.

----

Of all that can be seen, Anya seems to be suddenly stricken by the sight of spiders. She stops and stares at them through the window, frozen not by any kind of arachnophobia, but by a swell of unanswered questions that have been nagging at her ever since that fateful day at NYU, when she was bitten.

The voices from the scientists prompt her to grow quieter still. She flattens herself against the ceiling, and all but stops breathing, until mention of 'alien goo'. Her mouth opens, a quiet gasp that she prays isn't noticed by the scientists as they move.

----

Luckily, the scientists dont' seem to hear the gasp. Even better, they turn towards the employee locker room rather than the cafeteria for a start, leaving Anya clinging more or less safely out on the ceiling. At least, until the two security guys come back where they might notice her down the hall. In Peter's case, the cafeteria is fairly easy to slip into, with hanging lights to duck around and perhaps ten long tables, with a buffet at the back, a Keurig, an expresso machine, and some vending machines against one wall. There's a pair of workers, one in janitors garb, one that looks like an office work munching on their meal and generally ignoring the world to scroll through their phones, while a pair of workers behind the buffet go in and out of the kitchen at the back.

----

Once the scientists have left the area, though, Peter heads out the door again, leaving behind only a tendril of web to mark his passage. Of course, back in the hall he quickly notices a new problem -- the guards are coming back, and it's far better if they don't make it back to the elevator, in his opinion. Plus, he's pretty sure, given the discussion of the scientists, that anybody down here is in on something shady. He glances up at Anya, points at the two guards, draws a thumb across his neck -- those guys are going down. That doesn't mean they need to be hurt, of course -- just webbed up someplace out of the way -- like back in the elevator shaft. He steps into the elevator, hops up into the shaft again, and waits for the guards to arrive to spring his trap(door spider).

----

Behind the mask, Anya closes her eyes with a momentary burst of relief. She looks down as Peter emerges, and nods her head in confirmation. She similarly scampers along the ceiling toward the elevator, but stops just shy of the doorway. There's a small outcropping, something structural no doubt, but it's all she needs. Her legs spread open against the outcropping and the wall, creating enough opposing force that she can free her hands.
She waits until the guards are about to pass by below. Then, hands fling forth and send splats of adhesive webbing toward their faces. Kicking free, she flips down and lands, firing a line for each of them, aimed at the torso. A heavy yank, and the guards are sent skidding by her and into the elevator. She leaps up and onto the ceiling again, trusting Peter to take care of the rest!

----

The guards are not expecting it, as they return chatting among themselves. That is, until the web splatters and hits their torso, before they're YANKED and swung straight up into the elevator towards Peter with startled grunts! They haven't had time to yell yet however.

----

Peter's quick to act on this, webbing up their mouths and affixing both guards to the roof of the elevator, to either side of the loose panel. "I'd say sorry," he says, "but you guys work on a secret sublevel of a building dedicated to one of the most corrupt corporations in New York -- and we've got Trump Tower." He grins down at the pair from behind his mask. "Don't worry -- we're gonna be in and out in no time. But I hope you're good at entertaining yourselves quietly, 'cause it's gonna be about two hours before those webs dissolve. Have fun!" He drops back into the elevator and maneuvers the panel back into place, then steps out. "We're looking for 'subject one'," he tells Anya. "I think those scientists in the locker room might know where we can find this subject."

----

Anya drops down from the ceiling above, landing with not much of a sound. "Well, why don't we make 'em an offer they can't refuse?" she asks. She reaches out with a hand and makes to pound Spider-Man twice on the chest. "Leave it to the girl from Harlem, Spider-Boy," she advises, before making for that locker room.

Once inside the locker room, she comes at the scientists with arms flinging. One of them finds his hand webbed to the locker he was opening. The woman finds an arm thrown back and webbed against the wall. Two more gestures and each of them find their legs bound together. "Either of you yells, things get -real- ugly. You get me?" She reaches down to a locker door and yanks it loose with a quick tug, then raises a knee and bends the locker door over her leg until it's formed a U. "Nod your heads, Ren and Stimpy," she demands in an aggressive hiss.

----

The man yelps as his hand is suddenly webbed up, blinking, his eyes wide as the woman next to him, both of them most of the way out of their scrubs, gets webbed to the wall, struggling, then jerking. "Y-you can't be here!" the woman stammers, looking between the pair. Then they both get very quiet when the door is bent over the knee, starting to sweat a bit as they nod quickly!

----

"Thank you for your cooperation," Spider-Man says, picking up the thread of the conversation once the scientists have done their best bobblehead impressions. "I'm a man of science myself, and Spider-Girl here is doing pretty well in that field, from what I hear, so we have one very important question for you two." He leans in, face close to the male scientist, blank white eyes staring right into the man's very wide pupils. "Where is Subject One?"

Spider-Man doesn't do creepy often. It's not his style. But now and then it's sort of a necessity.

----

"Shut it, -perra-," is Spider-Girl's answer to the woman's complaint. She gestures toward the woman with her bent-locker-door-wielding hand, but doesn't want to push it too far. Not unless they refuse to answer Spider-Man's question. She keeps her eyes locked on the woman, however, allowing her mouth to be twisted into a disgusted scowl. Not much of an act, to be truthful... the more she gets the smell of this place, the more it reminds her of rotten caca.

----

The two pale a bit. "I..uh..w-we just get samples form her, we don't, um, go to her..." the man hedges after a moment. "She's not here..." The woman shuts up obediently! Either she understands Spanish or she got the tone of voice.

----

"Then where is she?" Spider-Man asks simply. "And as an added incentive to answer, the person who tells us where she is first gets to stay conscious." Though immobile and silent. It's not as good a deal as he might be leading them to believe.

And he probably won't knock out the other one anyway. He's not about needless violence.

----

"That means you can speak, if you have the right answer," Spider-Girl adds, for the woman's benefit. She, also, is not about needless violence, but she's certainly willing to be misleading.

----

The woman immediately says. "There's a folder in lab 3 on the table with information on that. She's in a secure bunker. The man throws a slightly shocked, betrayed expression at her!

----

"Thank you, doctor!" Spider-Man exclaims. "You've been an excellent contestant. Spider-Girl, why don't you tell the lady what she's won!" Meanwhile, he starts fully webbing up the male scientist. It seems likely they'll be found before the two hour limit on the webbing's lifespan expires, and when they are, there's no way anybody will wonder who might have done this, but the longer they can delay that, the better. He carefully tucks the man into his own locker, unbends the door, and fits into place.

"This feels kind of ironic," he asides to Anya before he starts down the hall to find lab 3.

----

"Don't struggle with the arm, you'll make it sore or pull it out of its socket." Spider-Girl tells the woman, before walking up to gently spin some webbing over her mouth. "Breathe through the nose. Nice and easy." She pats the doctor on her cheek in a friendly way, before turning to watch Spider-Man's handiwork with a smirk.

"You know," she murmurs to him as they go, "any time some pinchazo tried to do that to me, I just kicked 'em in the nuts." She shrugs nonchalantly before following him into the hallway in pursuit of lab 3.

----

"I was a total wimp before I got bitten," Spidey replies, "so I kind of had to fake it once I wasn't anymore." He smirks. "Not that I went easy on the local bullies when I was -in- costume. I didn't have the best attitude at first." Lab 1, Lab 2... "Aha. Here we go."
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

With the security guards webbed and the scientists in the labs focused on their work, it's pretty easy to slip by the one camera by webbing it up and down to Lab 3. The door even says 3. It slides open easily enough, revealing a currently deserted lab with several workstations with screen savers up, including one that has a variety of folders piled on top of it by the computer itself. There's a whiteboard that seems to be sketching out a female figure in the midst of a very flexible stretch backwards, with notations on muscle and tendon density required, thought here's no face to the figure. There's also a variety of folders with names like 'OffDef Test #12', 'Climb Test #27', 'Organic Web Test #3'.

----

"Sometimes you just gotta speak their language," Spider-Girl remarks. She wasn't one to really get bullied, but she saw plenty of it. Bullying in her neighborhood though... well, it often got a lot uglier than shoving people into lockers. In that regard, she hasn't truly gone down that road.

The computers are what draw her eye and quickly. "Oh, now here we go." She's been hacking computers since she knew how to use a keyboard, after all. Approaching one, she cracks her knuckles and gets to work. "Lets see what we have here..."

----

Peter briefly checks one of the computers to see if, perhaps, he can access the files on it -- and on the server. He certainly expects it to be locked, but one can hope. "We should grab as much as we can," he says, looking over at the white board. The image worries him -- he doubts that's Subject One, based on the conversation the scientists were having before, and... alien goo.

"Oh hell," he breathes to himself. "They've got symbiotes."

----

The computers are password locked! Which is....kinda completely defeated by the sticky note with the password on one of them, and the other isn't actually locked down. Apparently they were intending to come back shortly, at least. There seem to be two sets of types of files. The physical ones refer to 'Subject #1', 'Subject 2' (Peter), 'Subject 3' (Anya), and Subject 4 (Gwen). Primarily, it's comparing Subject 1 to the others...there's a lot more information on it, including a location...Bunker #5? From the information around it, it sounds like it might be an old civil defense bunker that' sbeen repurposed somewhere in New York. There might be enough here to be able to narrow it down as to which one.

The computer files, on the other hand, have several recent emails from someone called 'R. Vortens', referring to a 'Subject-CS-1'...and there's video. One of which shows...something...ripping up a room, hurling desks around with , thought he lights have been the first casualty, making it difficult to clearly see. There are also stills of a...tube. There's a figure in it, curled up, wearing a breathing mask, with long dark hair floating out behind her. The second is a containment vessel,...inside is...well, goo. Black goo. It seems to be crawling up the side of the container. There's some reference to recombinant DNA and merged samples.

----

For a moment, Spider-Girl frees up a hand and pulls the drone back out from her pouch. "Arana?" The drone extends its legs again, only this time it lands upon them, rather than engaging the propellors. "Transferencia directa."

The drone chirps, and a small compartment opens, revealing a tiny USB nub, like what one might find affixed to a wireless mouse. "You'd be amazed," she remarks, while attaching the USB nub to a port on the computer. "... what you can find dumpster div-" Her head abruptly spins toward Spider-Man, and her tone of voice is alarmed. "Symbiotes? What the hell?"

Arana is downloading everything. Anya isn't paying much attention to what the data is, she's mostly concerned with getting it safely transferred onto the drone. What she does glimpse, however, has her frowning. "Jesus," she mutters. "First, alien guns. Next, actual -rips- in the transdimensional barrier, now? Now this sh..." Her tone suddenly changes when the video file comes up. "shhhhhit? Oh, oh my god!"

----

Peter has other ideas. He uses the computer to log in to Twitter and posts to his account (@NYCWallcrawler, of course), "Alchemax is evil! Human experimentation, hunting Spider-people for genetic samples, all sorts of stuff! Check out this video! Tell the world!" If you put it on the internet, it will be impossible to hide.

He's watching the video, but answers Anya's question anyway. "A few years ago I ran into an alien symbiote from a race called the Klyntar. They bind with human beings and give them powers pretty similar to ours. You might have heard of Venom?" He taps the still image of the containment vessel of goo. "That's a Klyntar symbiote. They're trying to make their own spider-person. We need to find Bunker Five."

----

"Well, I'm grabbing everything off this thing," Anya answers, her tone just a bit shaky though her fingers are still working that keyboard. "Prioritizing files with geotags... addresses... lets see, anything matching county parcel codes... telephone numbers... okay so at least the whole idea of 'alien goo' isn't totally gonna freak you out then. That's good. That's good, right?"

----

"Good that it won't freak me," he agrees. "Not good in general. Klyntar are dangerous, and they can cause dangerous personality shifts in their hosts." He grimaces. "Grab the pictures and files, too -- they've got Twitter blocked, and I want this public so they can't hide it."

----

There's a fair amount of data...less about Subject-CS-1, which appears to be a second line of research elsewhere. There's no mention of precisely where, though you at least have a name associated with the people working on the symbiote. The physical files are a bit bulky but can fit in a backpack with some squeezing.

----

"On it," Anya answers without missing a beat. "Twenty seconds and I've got -all- of it." She shakes her head a bit. "Yeah, I read about Venom. Bunch of stuff on the internet, can't really tell what's real and what's BS. And how the hell are they on -my- ass now? I've only been doing this, what, a month? Okay, two?" She scowls openly. "This is bullshit."

----

Peter doesn't bother with a backpack -- though he certainly has plenty of them stowed around the city. He just webs together the whole pile of physical files. Anya's got the electronic ones, though he strongly considers copying as much as he can to the hard drive of one of the computers and dragging the computer along in turn.

He also takes a few pictures of the white board. You never know what evidence might be important.

He glances over at Anya at her question, then wisely doesn't say the first thing that jumps to his mind. "As I recall, there was a report in the news about something you were involved in a couple months back. I don't know why you're subject 3 instead of Gwen."

----

Behind the mask, Anya literally rolls her eyes. "I -told- them. It was a -misunderstanding-." Arana chirps at her, prompting her to pull the USB and place it back into the drone's chassis. "There. All done. Arana, cierre. Wait." She pauses, and turns to look over at Spider-Man. Sure, most of her face is concealed, but there's an expression on her mouth that suggests absolute mischief. "Want me to fry their entire network?"

----

Peter stops, blinks once at Anya. It's not visible behind his mask, but it's still a blink, and he considers the possible outcomes. The one he's most worried about is that their symbiotes might be escaped if they're electronically locked down -- but better to have them on the loose, probably, than under corporate control. "Yeah, go for it," he says. "Their employees probably deserve a day off. The innocent ones, anyway."

----

With a grin, she turns back to the computer and taps in a few simple commands. "Don't worry, they already did the dirty work for us," she says. "Emergency lockdown protocol, and... well, if I'm reading this right, we'll have twenty seconds to get the hell out of here before the whole place is locked down like the CDC in a Zombie Apocalypse." She turns to Spider-Man, taking a few deep breaths while collecting her drone and placing it back into her hip pouch. "On three... two... one."

Anya hits the enter key. Suddenly, the building begins to sound an alarm. The computer banks begin sparking and going up in flames, one after the other, as if rigged to overcharge and fry all of their components. As for Spider-Girl, well... she's already on the move, and is hightailing it for the hallway.

Moments later, the front doors to Alchemax HQ are busted open, and two Spider-People come running out. Less than a second later, a door made of four-inch steel comes crashing down behind them, completing the total and utter lockdown of the building. Anya slows down just long enough to turn and look at the building, her chest heaving with heavy breaths, before she looks back to Spider-Man. "We gotta do this again some time, yeah?"

----

"We make a good team, Spider-Girl," Peter replies, turning back toward the building himself, then holding out a fist for Anya to bump.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Anya Corazon

2018-10-15T15:37:11Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

File:Kwabena01.jpeg

2018-10-15T15:11:35Z

Apoq79:

2018-09-12-Triad Sniper

2018-10-15T15:10:07Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=Triad Sniper | date=September 12, 2018 | location=Hell's Kitchen, NYC }} <gallery> Angela01.jpeg|Angela Davis Kwabena01.jpeg|Kwabena Odame </gallery> --..."

{{log
|
name=Triad Sniper
|
date=September 12, 2018
|
location=Hell's Kitchen, NYC
}}

<gallery>
Angela01.jpeg|[[Angela Davis]]
Kwabena01.jpeg|[[Kwabena Odame]]
</gallery>

----

Bless the weather gods, a cold front has served to cool down the Big Apple at least in a marginal sense. The morning commute has settled, leaving Hell's Kitchen in a relative state of calm. The temperature hasn't yet broken 70F, but the sky is filled with grey clouds suggesting precipitation to be inevitable, sometime, somewhere.

Two dark skinned men are standing not far from the corner of 11th and 49th. Each of them is holding carboard cups, likely filled with a warm, caffeinated beverage of some sort. They are conversing in a foreign language native to Africa, but to the trained ear it is Dangme, a south-eastern African dialect spoken commonly in Ghana.

Subtitles:
Man #1: On that subject, I do have news.
Man #2: Tell. Of the Triads (this word in English)?
Man #1: Yes.

Man #2, Kwabena Odame, is wearing sunglasses and a black beanie to warm his bald head. He reaches into his black leather jacket to produce a pack of cigarettes, during which he seems to be staring at the other African with a sour look. His jawline tenses, suggesting a momentary gnashing of teeth, before he visibly relaxes into an eerie calm. The pack is lifted, a cigarette clasped between unearthly white teeth, and pulled free.

Subtitles:
Kwabena: Are you at risk for telling me?
Man #2: Yes.

Kwabena reaches out with a hand, placing it upon the other one's shoulder. "Do not worry, my friend," he speaks in English, with a warm smile. "I will have de eyes of de hawk upon you, yah home, yah family." His expression suddenly cools. "If day seek for de retribution," he whispers, "Then dere blood will fill dere own cups."

----

Speaking of the eyes of a hawk, Angela Davis, mild-mannered angel of vengeance (semi-retired) and aspiring artist (not-so-retired) is walking out of the nearby coffee shop, holding a rather strong mocha in her hands. While coffee isn't the best invention of humanity, most angels would consider it somewhere in the top ten lists... depending on the angel in question. The redhaired woman glances back and forth, sunglasses covering her eyes as she wears a fairly casual outfit. Noticing the pair of men talking near the corner, she doesn't seem to give any notice if she hears them or not. Let alone understands them.

----

The second man smiles thankfully toward his friend, but when Kwabena's expression chills, his follow suit. "//Please, Kwabena,//" he speaks in his native dialect again. "//No more bloodshed.//"

"//Bloodshed is the only language the Triads understand," Kwabena answers. Once again, the word 'Triads' is in English, for there is no translation of such a word into the native Dangme. "//Now.//" He pulls his hand away and produces a zippo. The item is flicked to life, a flame set to the end of his cigarette. "//What did you learn?//"

On the opposing corner, there is an abandoned mid-rise, some sort of industrial-commercial combination building that has yet to be touched by the gentrification of Hell's Kitchen. Upon its rooftop, a Chinese man has just finished building a sniper rifle. He sets it upon a tripod, and begins moving it toward the two men conversing below. Unbeknownst to Kwabena and his compatriot, the Chinese man finds them in his sights, and begins dialing in for a shot. However, Angela's emergence from the coffee shop gives her the perfect angle, given her exceptional vision, to glimpse the sniper eight floors up, taking aim.

----

Angela blinks, then narrows her gaze at the sniper, following where he's aiming... and breaks into a sprint towards Kwabena. She looks to tackle either Kwabena or his companion, or both... while shouting, "//Get Down!//" in their native Dangme. With a perfect accent, no less, which might be the strangest thing about the situation.

----

If he is surprised by the female voice sounding alarm in his native language, Kwabena doesn't show it. His companion, however, is frozen like a deer in headlamps. Response time varies among individuals; those who haven't had much experience dealing with life-threatening situations will freeze, or be slow to respond. Those who are trained, such as law enforcement or rookie soldiers, will have a much faster, well trained response time, but they still delay due to lack of experience.

Kwabena is neither of these things. There might be enough time for a person to blink, in the span between Angela's alert and his action. He spins, and bodily shoves his companion roughly. The other man cries out and is evenly thrown into the shadow provided by a nearby loading dock.

In another blink, a shot rings out from above. A hole is ripped through Kwabena's leather jacket, a similar hole pierced through the grey shirt upon his torso, and a bullet slams into the cement wall behind him. However, there is no blood, no sign of injury; it almost seems as if the bullet passed right through him.

Above, the sniper grimaces, and swivels his aim toward Angela.

----

Angela looks up towards the sniper, and even at this distance... well, to say that it's unnerving to have a glare at this distance would be an understatement. Especially since she can see him, and she immediately starts running towards a nearby alley as... well, no need to spread her wings where /everyone/ can see her. That and she's mostly bulletproof even when in her mortal seeming...

----

"Son of a bitch." Kwabena's shaded eyes dart toward Angela just long enough to see her disappearing into an alley. He then turns toward the rooftop in question when another shot rings out, and a bullet smashes into the pavement inches behind Angela's heels, before she's safely out of sight.

There aren't many people on the street at this hour, but those who are cry out in various manner of surprise, many of them scattering for safety.

Not so with Kwabena. He throws his cigarette to the ground, then rips his shades free to reveal catlike eyes with silver irises. The shades are shoved into his jacket, then he leaps into the air. His body disappears, clothing falling to the ground in a haphazard heap, and a black cloud of smoke takes flight in his place, headed into the air and toward the incriminating rooftop.

----

Angela mutters to herself, "Been a few years since I dodged snipers..." as she makes it to a relatively out-of-sight spot, a celestial note suddenly ringing in the air as her clothing is replaced with silver armor, black wings sprouting from her back as she manifests her True Shape. The angel then leaps into the air, soaring rapidly up towards the sniper's roost and giving him a glare that is less 'woeful sinner' and more 'seriously?!?' as she says in a melodic voice, "Well, what have we here?" Considering that she's now wearing armor and appears to be glowing with the light of the Celestial, it's not that easy to recognize her as the woman from the coffee shop anyway. Though it isn't impossible either.

----

The sniper isn't fast enough to let loose another bullet before Kwabena takes to the air, resulting in a hissed curse coming forth under his breath. He immediately begins packing up his sniper rifle, but there isn't much time to be had before Angela is upon him. He turns the weapon on her, but the armor and the sheer visage of it brings him pause. "I have no quarrel with you," he speaks with a heavy Chinese accent. "Triad business. You, stay away." He trains his rifle upon her, eyes hardening. "This is warning!"

Meanwhile, a cloud of tendril-ridden black smoke emerges over the threshold behind the sniper, creeping upon him in utter silence.

----

Ahadiel hovers there, looking... rather bemused as she speaks in his native tongue, "/You think to threaten one of the Host with your mortal weapon?/" Her eyes glow with a brilliant white light as she says, "/You have one chance to confess your sins, else you will feel Judgment be passed down upon you./" She has her sword still in its scabbard, looking down at the sniper... and not giving an indication if she notices the smoke creeping up on the man.

----

The sniper's eyes widen at this display of otherworldly power, not to mention the woman's words suddenly coming at him in Mandarin. His hand trembles a bit, a vibration in the rifle that brings him pause.

Suddenly, the smoke piles forward and enshrouds the man's face. Inky tendrils force their way into his nostrils and mouth, and in a matter of seconds, the man is gagging, choking, and struggling to breathe.

----

Ahadiel flies forward at that, slapping the rifle away from the sniper if he still holds it, and speaks sternly, "Enough! Killing him will not resolve anything." She places a hand on the sniper's neck, not choking as /that/ seems to be covered, but almost holding him up as he gags.

----

There is no response from the cloud of smoke; it simply maintains its choking hold until the sniper's eyes roll back, and he loses consciousness. Almost at once, the tendrils slip out from nose and lung, and the cloud takes the general shape of a man. The sound of air being displaced, almost a sucking sound of sorts, comes when the tendrils find solidity and transform into bone, flesh, blood, skin, and a form fitting suit of unstable molecules, colored a gunmetal grey. Kwabena is sheathed from head to toe in the material, though his mask and hood remain lowered, hung down between his shoulders.

"He is now breathing," Kwabena speaks in a hushed tone while crouching down. He places gloved fingers upon the sniper's neck, feeling for a pulse. "And his heart is still beating."

----

Ahadiel nods slightly, "That's good. He might actually seek out repentance for this actions." She glances over at Kwabena, "I take it you know why he was doing this?" Her eyes no longer glow, looking like a pair of emeralds set into the alabaster of her face.
Stupid thing to keep connected.

----

"Doubtful," Kwabena argues blandly. He rises, eyeing the snoozing sniper with a dubious expression, before finally turning to rest his clearly inhuman eyes upon the armored woman. There come a few moments of silence, during which he is clearly sizing her up for whatever reason. "He is Triad," he speaks in accented English. "Do you know who day ah? What it is dat dey do?" Arms fold over his lean but muscular chest, and he studies the woman critically.

----

Ahadiel arches a brow, "For all humanity's talk of progression, in some things they seem to be stuck in the same old cycles." She looks down at Kwabena, "I am quite aware of what the Chinese Triads are, and the role they fill in society's shadows." Her voice is perfect, no trace of an accent, the pitch such that it almost sounds like she might be singing instead of speaking.

----

A scoff is visible, and Kwabena audibly snorts. "Progression?" he echoes. "Biggest lie." Typically a shell of imperious demeanor, the woman's demeanor and actions actually cause a certain sort of confusion, perhaps an unsettled nature, to pierce the dark skinned mutant's otherwise flawless poker face. He knows it, and he doesn't like it, but there's something in the air that just won't let him fight it off. Maybe it's the hovering, or maybe it's the musical nature of her voice. Either way, it prompts him to finally turn away and begin circling the sleeping sniper.

"Dis one was involved in something terrible," he explains. "Human trafficking. Sex slaves, to be precise." He finishes circling and reaches down to collect the Triad's sniper rifle with a rueful and knowing smirk. "Funny thing. Boat day were going to use? Boat exploded befah dey could load up dere abducted prisonahs."

Kwabena begins disassembling the sniper rifle, first removing its clip then detaching the scope. The clip is stuffed into a nearly invisible pouch upon his costume, the scope into another, leaving the rifle barren to its factory state. "Dis one, I am to guess, was told to keep eyes on me."

----

Ahadiel nods slightly, "I see." With that, she actually stops hovering, wings folding in behind her as she lands lightly on the roof, her boots barely making a noise as she regards Kwabena, "A terrible mishap that was, I'm sure." Her voice doesn't hint that it was more than a coincidence, but there's a definite tone of approval at the destruction of the trafficker's boat. Her eyes scan across the nearby rooftops, looking for other possible minders as she says, "If he was keeping an eye on you, seems a little odd that he waited until now to try and assassinate you."

----

A glint of conspiratorial approval flashes through Kwabena's eyes, and he looks toward Ahadiel at that. Yes, a terrible mishap indeed. "Is because I was to learn some few things he didn't want me to know," Kwabena surmises. "From a friend." He shakes his head, now frowning. "His bullet was not meant for you, or for me."

Kwabena hefts the rifle over his shoulder by its strap, then moves behind the sniper and grabs him under the arms. With a grunt, he bodily drags the asian toward an air conditioning unit, and leans him up against it. Then, he unslings the rifle and looks at it for a few moments. A strange sound comes from his arms, a sound that resembles so many cracks, pops, and hissing.

"Why did you intervene?" He asks, lifting his gaze to the woman once more.

----

Ahadiel glances over at Kwabena, "Because it was the right thing to do. While I am far from omniscient, if I see something happening I can't stand by and do nothing." She smiles faintly, as if it really does end up being that simple. But then for her, perhaps it is.

----

"Because you have special ability," Kwabena quietly, and perhaps rudely, stands to correct her. "You, like me, are not like my friend, or de people on de street; running, screaming, hiding." The sound coming from his arms ceases, and then the sniper rifle is bent with ease, as if he possesses some sort of superhuman strength. He bends the rifle around the sniper's wrists and the support pole of that air conditioning unit alike, creating a makeshift form of binding. Hey, when handcuffs or zip ties are missing, you use what the Good Lord gives you.

"I would not considah you a coward for running," Kwabena states while coming to his feet again and closing the distance between Ahadiel. "But, you and I, we don't run. We don't have to." He squints his eyes a bit. "Thank you for de intahvention."

----

Ahadiel chuckles softly, "I've ran towards far worse in my time on this world... and besides, one lone sniper? The Odinson would never let me hear the end of it if I ran from the likes of /him/." She glances down a bit towards Kwabena, considering her height, and gives him a warm smile, "And you are welcome."

----

"Yeah," Kwabena echoes, a rueful smirk forming his his face. "Same here." Granted, he has no concept of just how far Ahadiel may have gone in her travels, but such a thing isn't always needed. "Kinda... helps to be bullet proof," he adds. His smile, however, is short lived and finds itself cut off when the sound of police sirens begins echoing in the distance. "Dis one we will leave for de pigs," he says, with a dismissive gesture toward the sniper. "But me? I do not like cops, so, I will be making for oddah pasture. You got a name, or do I just call you 'Aerosmith'?"

----

Ahadiel tilts her head, "Much as I like the works of Steven Tyler... Ahadiel will do." She smiles, "And yes, being bulletproof does make things easier, doesn't it? I'm certain I will see you around." With that, she rises into the air, wings flapping strongly as she waves down towards Kwabena, soaring off into the sky.

----

"Just call me Shift," Kwabena answers, a smirk forming when she recognizes the reference. Points, granted. He watches the departure for a moment, before turning and running for the edge of the rooftop. A suicide leap becomes less than lethal when he transforms again into a cloud of inky black, and makes for the discarded clothes and his frightened friend.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Kwabena Odame

2018-10-15T15:00:30Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

{{character
|
name=Kwabena Odame
|
callsign=Shift
|
icon=Kwabena01.jpeg
|
actor=Djimon Hounsou
|
type=Original Character
|
partner=None
|
father=Kwame Odame
|
mother=Akua Odame
|
siblings=Unknown
|
children=None
|
height=6'1"
|
weight=178 lbs
|
hair=Black
|
eyes=Silver
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Kwabena02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==
*[[2018-08-11-Abandon_Ship|August 11, 2018 - Abandon Ship]]
*[[2018-09-12-Triad_Sniper|September 12, 2018 - Triad Sniper]]
*[[2018-09-22-Triad_Revenge|September 22, 2018 - Triad Revenge]]

[[Category:Roster|O]]

Kwabena Odame

2018-09-25T16:01:35Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{character | name=Kwabena Odame | callsign=Shift | icon=Kwabena01.jpeg | actor=Djimon Hounsou | type=Original Character | partner=None | father=Kwame Odame | mother=Akua Odam..."

{{character
|
name=Kwabena Odame
|
callsign=Shift
|
icon=Kwabena01.jpeg
|
actor=Djimon Hounsou
|
type=Original Character
|
partner=None
|
father=Kwame Odame
|
mother=Akua Odame
|
siblings=Unknown
|
children=None
|
height=6'1"
|
weight=178 lbs
|
hair=Black
|
eyes=Silver
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Kwabena02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==
*[[2018-08-11-Abandon_Ship|August 11, 2018 - Abandon Ship]]
*[[2018-09-22-Triad_Revenge|September 22, 2018 - Triad Revenge]]

[[Category:Roster|O]]

2018-09-22-Triad Revenge

2018-09-25T13:42:29Z

Apoq79:

{{log
|
name=Triad Revenge
|
date=September 22, 2018
|
location=Brooklyn, NYC
}}

<gallery>
Yana01.jpeg|[[Yana Asarov]]
Kwabena01.jpeg|[[Kwabena Odame]]
Danielle01.jpeg|[[Danielle Tozer]]
Vanya01.jpeg|[[Vanya]]
</gallery>

----

9/15/18 Kwabena Yana Danielle

9:15 PM
New York City

Its been well over a month since an explosion rocked the docks at Red Hook, tearing apart a sizable freighter docked in port. The police haven't reported much regarding the crime, considering many of them have been 'paid off' to keep quiet about what their investigators did or didn't find related to the explosion and the violence that followed. Typical Triad affairs... they've got moles everywhere, and a number of NYPD officials are on their payroll.

A lone African is seated upon his Harley Sportster, somewhere within the concrete jungle. A half-smoked cigarette sits perched between fingers covered by gunmetal gray, and the leather riding jacket cuts a silhouette that lies somewhere between 'cool' and 'inconspicuous'. The bike is silent and leans upon its kickstand; the rider, with one leg on the ground and the other curled between the seat and his ass, is also holding a hipflask in his other hand.

A pull is taken from the flask, before the item gets shoved into an inner pocket on his jacket. Out comes a cell phone, and Kwabena's finger scrolls through a few messages, looking for one in particular. Dark skin is lit by the soft glow of a backlit screen, reflecting against catlike, silver irises in a spooky way.

The camera zooms in on the message. 'T - action' is the first message, followed by an address.

Frowning, Kwabena sucks a drag from the cigarette before flicking it to the asphalt. Up goes the kickstand, and the bike growls to life with subdued thunder.

----

Yana Asarov is exiting out a local athletic club, looking refreshed, and carrying a small sports bag at her side where some of her gear is stashed. A group of people her age, a few women, and a couple guys all say their goodbyes and part ways, each going in their own direction. Yana's direction happens to be in the stairwell that leads to the parking lot, where her sporty BMW is parked. She pauses to put in her earphones, clicks her device to start playing some Dead Weather, and goes about enjoying her day. Because, why not?

----

In the air above the athletic club, there is a tiny distortion in the air. A small drone, black market variety with less than legal modifications, is nearly invisible given the reflective stealth panels with which it's been retrofit. As soon as Yana emerges into the parking lot, it tags her, and the BMW. However, something else appears on its scopes, and it buzzes around in order to catch a better view of the street below. Three imports, all SUV's with tinted windows, driving in a single file, are similarly tagged. The drone dives lower and closer.

A few blocks away, Kwabena is tearing through the streets on his Iron-883. The gunmetal gray paint job, paired with his monochromatic attire, tells a great deal about the man who's breaking the speed limit. While he doesn't need to wear a helmet, he does; partly because the drone just sent a feed to his smart phone, which is now being bluetoothed to a HUD inside the helmet. The three cars are visible, but an IR and X-Ray scan has been overlaid, showing men inside wielding weapons unlike anything he's ever seen.

"Track," Kwabena speaks, and the images shrink, replaced with a GPS I lay that directs him to take a left. Busting through a red light, he follows the directions and speaks another word. "Alert."

Yana's Dead Weather suddenly shuts off, and a SMS message comes through her phone. The message is cryptic yet clear all the same: 'DANGER'

The trio of SUV's suddenly pull over by the parking lot, screeching to a halt. Each of them pop their rear doors, disgorging Asian thugs wielding weapons that either haven't been cleared by the patent office, or weren't actually made on this planet. Angular devices that would be more at home on an episode of Star Trek, each with glowing purple accoutrements that suggest something far more dangerous than assault rifles. A few words are exchanged, and one of them levels his weapon on Yana.

*PLEEWWWW!*

A glob of iridescent energy, swirling with purple and blue, soars from the emitter and smashes into a security fence that separates the parking lot from the street. The metal immediately melts, sizzling the concrete and asphalt beneath it.

----

"Well, that's new," Yana states, after a few choice curse words in Russian, the blue-haired Mafia Princess, and X-Man watches the melting of the rather solid articles from the energy weapon with a bit of disfavor. Bullets have kinetic energy - energy projectiles are sometimes a different story. Danger, indeed. She doesn't know who sent the message to her, just that it wasn't her dad. She probably has a decent guess, though.

"You do realize," Yana says, keeping a calm demeanor about herself, and not seeking to attack back, just yet, "That you're about to start something bigger than you can handle?" Her eyebrows lift up in the manner of one who is reflecting a question, and earnestly suggesting that the other party take a moment, and -really- think about their next action.

But, for the moment, she remains still. Waiting - mostly, for the opening she needs.

----

It wasn't her hometown of Seattle, but New York certainly did have a few upsides. Namely, more crime. ...Which isn't really an upside, but more low level thugs are good when you're just starting out as a hero. Kind of. Danny still isn't quite sure she deserves the title, but when you're soaring over the city, cape trailing in the breeze, watching the lights below... it's really something.

What is ALSO something is what sounds like a sudden sci-fi battle below and flashes of light, accompanied by her suit rapidly flashing information at her through the display on her forearm. None of which she understands. The teen hero abruptly changes direction, the black and grey mottling of her suit hiding her against the night sky. She slows down about fifty feet up, observing the scene below. This... is a lot more dangerous than a few gangers with handguns. Maybe she SHOULDN'T dive right in.

----

"No," answers one of the Triads, while others line up and begin advancing on the parking lot. Three of them are making for the giant gap they just melted in the fence, while others start fanning out in an attempt at creating a perimeter. "You, and your friend, Shift? //You// started this!"

Other pedestrians have quickly scattered, running toward their cars or the nearby subway station, which is serving at least to clear out the potential for collateral damage.

Meanwhile, a motorcycle blows through another intersection, but it's rider has killed the lights and engine. It leans hard to the right, and continues coasting at a quickened pace down the street toward the parked SUV's.

"You can hand yourself over," the Triad continues with an aggressive tone, "Or we can melt -" His words, however, are cut off when a barrage of gunfire comes from the man riding that motorcycle. Assuming nothing interferes with the passage of those bullets, they will rip through the Triad's torso, spilling blood all over the place. Kwabena pulls the CZ Skorpion machine pistol back to his shoulder, then fires the bike to life again and pulls the throttle with a scream of horsepower.

----

Yana has seen blood before. Lots of times. She's seen people die in numerous ways. By the bullet, by the claw, by tooth, and by many different powers, bombs, explosions, accidents.

Still, the firepower and exposion of guts and blood from the speaking Triad do catch her offguard, even though she knows Kwambe is 'spying' on her with the drone, and had probably sent the message she hadn't known where, or how, or even when, he might show up.

But it's the opening she needs. From her hip, where the small satchel is always kept clipped to her belt, a small ball bearing is whipped to another of the Triad's arm with enough force to smash the radius and ulna into splinters, even as her own momentum is pushed to it's limit, and she moves for cover behind someone else's car. Hopefully, the melty part of the energy weapon won't melt things past the car on the first shot.

----

Shouts rise from the assorted Triads in Mandarin, and the air is quickly filled with the exotic sounds of stolen alien tech. The car Yana has hidden behind is barraged by globs of purple and blue, but she guessed right; the car is very quickly finding itself melted down, but there's no chain reaction that puts her in danger.

Others have turned and are trying to track Kwabena, but that Iron-883 is fast and well maintained. Instead, various sections of road and a few store fronts become victims of those melting energy weapons.

Before anything else can happen, however, Danny's arrival takes all of the Triads by surprise. The shooting stops, at least for a moment or two. A couple of the Triads exchange looks, before another of them who speaks English pipes up. "Back to the sky, cape. This doesn't concern you."

Kwabena peers over his shoulder at the momentary cease fire. Behind the helmet, he scowls. The motorcycle is bent hard to the right, bringing him around toward the gangster furthest from those gathered near Danny. Up comes the Skorpion, and he takes aim.

---

Another open moment, with the flying girl causing a new commotion gives Yana the time she needs to whip not one, but two of the steel ball bearings at the Triads, one of them smashing one of the quite illegal energy weapons through the barrel while the other moves like a bullet and crack-snaps another Traid members kneecap.

She dashes behind another car, to give herself more time, more space, while commenting to Dani, "Welcome to the party, don't know who you are, but you might wanna watch out for those guns. They're eating through steel."

----

"Okay, I gave you assholes a chance, Punching it is." Danny pushes off the ground and charges forward into the group, leading with her shoulder and trying to send them flying. She aims her blows for joints and limbs, trying to avoid causing lethal damage to anyone. There's a sudden burst of swearing as a gout of plasma streaks across her chest and head, and the particularly unlucky mook goes flying into a van hard enough to leave a sizable dent in the side.

----

Kwabena's target finds his life ripped away by the remaining rounds in the mutant biker's CZ Skorpion. Reloading will cost him precious time. He yanks the bike to the left, then kicks it to the ground with his foot while simultaneously leaping into the air. His clothing, helmet, and spent machine pistol soon follow suit, and in his place, there is now a cloud of black smoke flying through the air.

The trio's combined attacks turn the block into a sci-fi war zone once again. The next car Yana chose to hide behind is melted into slag, but at this rate, these collected Triads are gonna be down for the count in short order.

The cloud of smoke lands behind another Triad. It solidifies into Kwabena, dressed in the gunmetal gray form fitting uniform that seems to transform with him. Two hands rise, grasping the thug by the chin and face, and with a vicious sound the Triad's neck is snapped. Seems he's not holding back on the kill shots by design.

----

At least -her- car isn't slagged. Yet. But now enough of the Triads are down that Yana feels she can move freely enough. She infuses herself with her own power, and moves around the car she was hiding behind, to run straight towards another of her enemies, closing the gap -very- fast, at about 100mph before she virtually collides with the man, who goes literally flying across the parking lot, slamming hard into one of the cement beams, and going still.

"Didn't realize you cared that much, tall, dark and handsome," she greets Kwabena with, her tone a mixture of quip and sobriety for the situation.

"They're getting too dangerous for their own good."

----

Even surrounded by the sound of energy fire, yelling in a language she doesn't speak, and cracking asphalt as Danny's boots dig in to let her change direction, she still manages to make out the sound of a snapping neck. Which sounds so much... worse than it does in action movies. "What the fu-" Another blast of plasma, a rough aproximation of a side kick that bounces the gangster into a dumpster more by brute force than technique. "What the fuck! Stop killing poeple!"

----

Not having time to put his mask on his a source of irritation, but Kwabena lets it slide. He's about to say something to Yana, but Danny's shout earns a disapproving look. He crouches down to pick up the discarded alien weapon, then swings it around and fires a blast at the last remaining Triad. The man screams aloud for a moment before his body turns into a pile of molten blood and guts on the pavement.

"Like dat?" he growls, anger in his voice as he throws the borrowed weapon to the ground. "You think grace is how to deal with stolen alien tech?" he demands, before willing his temper to cool. "Listen, kid. Want to fight organized crime? Learn de language." He gestures toward the street, where the sounds of police sirens are now audible. "You think de cops wouldn't hesitate to take a kill shot? Jesus fucking Christ."

Only now does he turn back to Yana. "You want to put an end to dis tonight?" He jerks his head toward the nearest unattended Triad SUV. "Get in."

----

Yana, for her part, hasn't killed anyone, but neither has she scorned Kwabena for doing so - that comes with working with ferals like Wolverine, X-23, or others who might not kill indiscriminatly but not have a problem with it when the time comes, either. She moves towards the SUV, picking up the fallen weapons as she goes and collecting them up. These are dumped into the back, haphazardly, "It's about way more than my life now. It's about finding out where they got these weapons, and keeping them off the streets. If there's that kind of imbalance, it's ... going to cause a cascading chain reaction that will rip this city's heart apart."

The back door to the SUV is slammed shut, and she climbs in, looking towards Dani. "Coming?"

----

Danny lurches forward, trying to get between the killer cape and his target, but she's too late. What's visible of her face under the cowl is clearly radiating dismay and anger. "That's because the cops dont' have other ways to stop them. We do!" She runs a hand through her hair, the visible skin on her face slightly reddened. Presumably tanking plasma blasts with her face isn't painless. "And no. I'm not. Someone has to talk to the cops about what happened, and make sure these guys get enough medical attention to survive until trial." She turns her back on the other two, facing the incoming sirens and staring down at her forearm, an interface lighting up there.

----

For a few moments, Kwabena looks on with a blank expression. When Yana moves to the car, he gestures toward her. "I'll be a moment."

He closes the distance between himself and Danny, moving in a non-threatening manner. "Look. Dis is about what we can or can't do, it's about what kind of message we ah sending. I don't like it any more den you, but I've been at dis long enough to know dat sometimes, you keep up with one strategy? You're just spinning wheels." His expression is empathetic. "We tried no killing with round one. Dis is how dey chose to answah. You may not like it. Dats fine. But it's how de game is played. You want to talk semantics? Go to Chira's Coffee, tomorrow, 3:00. I'll be dere."

----

Yana squint, watching Kwabena curiously, her mouth setting into something thoughtful, she nods at his words and doesn't offer the fact she was the one who told, or asked (however you look at it) for the no-kill rule on their first encounter. "They were trafficking women," Yana informs Dani, quietly. "We stepped them, knocked them out, or took them out without killing them. Wherever they got these weapons? We have to stop them. And if we don't, that means every mafia, every organized crime family is going to rise up and take action, and there'll be not hundres, but thousands of deaths. I don't like it either. But I like the idea of these weapons getting out there a lot, lot less."

She exhales, nods to her 'partner', and waits for him, then.

----

"That still doesn't mean you kill them. We... We have to be better than them. I don't want to work with you. And I'm not going to let them dictate the rules. Now get the fuck out of here unless you want to get arrested too. Might want to leave one of those guns if you really want to find out the source, I have contacts in the Watch." She starts walking towards the cop cars, hands slightly raised to show she's unarmed.

----

"Fine." Kwabena's said his piece. "Just remember, we're on de same side, kid." He turns and kicks rocks, heading to that SUV so that they can make a getaway before the cops get close enough to become wise to it.

----

"Good. Let them know. Tell them if they come to Xavier's, I'll make sure they get one to look at," Yana tells Dani, sincerely. But she doesn't seem keen on leaving one of the guns with the local cops, for some other mook to break into the evidence room and steal, either.

She looks at Kwabena as he moves into the SUV, "Isn't this ironic? Y'know, the first time I got 'tested', I got yelled at for killing too discriminantly." She stifles a bitter laugh, and shakes her head. "This is crazy. You don't have any idea where they got this shit, do you?" Meaning, of course, the guns.

----

"That was discriminate," Kwabena answers from the driver's seat. He fires up the SUV and starts driving. He knows these streets well, and knows exactly where they're going: into the Lion's Den.

"I have some guesses," he answers. "Nothing concrete. Only tip I got is dat a retaliation was coming. I tagged you, by de way. Sorry about dat." A rueful grin pierces the sober expression on his face. "Don't worry, I didn't see you changing clothes."

----

"I know you tagged me. And, you've been watching me with the drone. You're lucky both and my father find you trustworthy. He didn't read any trickery in your movements," Yana relays, matter-of-factly. Then, she smiles. "Better to have an ally in the event of a retaliation, afterall." She adds, "If you had tried to see me changing clothes, I would've had to do something about that," she grins back.

She looks behind herself, back, towards where Dani had been, and the incident. "That girl has a -lot- to learn."

----

Kwabena doesn't say anything about the whole changing clothes thing, but his grin does remain a bit before subsiding. "It's a thing with dese young capes," he agrees. "I like dem. Dey have good hearts, and I'm glad for what dey do. Pity they can't see past de ugly side of things."

Yana Asarov is riding shotgun in a blacked out SUV with Kwabena Odame. The tinted windows are a source of irritation to the merc from Ghana, but he's keeping his opinion to himself... and following all traffic laws. The last thing they need is to be picked up by the NYPD for driving a stolen vehicle registered to God knows whom.

Fortunately the roads at this hour (approximately 9:37 PM) aren't filled with much traffic. They're headed from Brooklyn into Manhattan Island on the Williamsburg bridge. "I do my homework too," he remarks while they're driving over the bridge. "Dese Yin-Yangs have suppliers everywhere. Globally. Big chance dere getting dese Space Weapons from a non-domestic source. Undahstand my drift?" He glances toward Yana for a moment, before looking back to the road ahead. "I know where one of dere big wigs calls home. Think dey will let us in if we come knocking with one of dose?" He jerks his head to the back seat, where a collection of exotic and clearly not Earth-made weapons are resting in a pile that Homeland Security would collectively shit themselves over, not to mention SHIELD.

----

Yana plucks out her cellphone number, and asks Kwabena, "Address?" And then once it's given, as the phone, which rings in a raucous Russian rock song for the ringtone until it's picked up, Yana states, "Time to start earning some of that money I've been paying you, and the trip to Africa. Get to this address, pronto. Apparently the Triads are trying to kill me. They've got energy weapons." There's no further conversation as she hangs up, and tells Kwabena, "Personal bodyguard. You'll like her. She's very thorough."

She looks behind herself, nods, "It'd be a nice way in, to be sure."

----

Yana's phone rings her back only a few seconds later. Guess who.

"<Yeah that's great and all kid but /where the heck is that/?>" the predator snaps irritably as she strides down the sidewalk, looking for a street side. "<I'm somewhere in... I think Brooklyn right now, near the water. Can't one of your friends just pick me up?>"

----

"I'll see." Yana looks over at Kwabena, "Quick pickup in Brooklyn, if it's on our way? She's not the best with addresses. She's - old school."

----

Address is given. It points to a location in Chinatown, not terribly far from where the bridge dumps them off onto Delancey. Kwabena glances toward Yana's phone when it goes off, an eyebrow rising. "You want me to just get her an Uber?" he smirks. A quick check of the rear view mirrors for cops... none. "Hold on."

Brakes, then a yank to the left. The SUV's tires scream as it peels through a pass through to perform a very illegal U-Turn, ending up back on the Williamsburg Bridge.

"Delancey's a pain in de ass," he explains, and checks behind him to make sure the little stunt hasn't gotten them pegged by New York's Finest. "You get an address from Old School?"

----

"What's your intersection?" Yana asks back on the phone, then says to herself, "Going to have to get a better system in place." Once Vanya can provide her with a section of cross streets, she relays them back to Kwabena. "Trust me," Yana says both over the phone, and to Kwabena, "She's worth the side-trip."

----

"<'Seaview A-V-E'... and 'Rockaway Pikwey',> the weresoviet eventually replies as she reaches a sign and slips her sunglasses down from her nose. Vanya's hawkish eyes look upwards towards the sky and squint to get her bearings before she speaks into the phone again. "<So what is it: north, south, east, or west?>"

----

"Gonna take your word on dat, Twilight Speedball." Kwabena waits for the information to be relayed. "Tell her, go up Rockaway, away from de watah, right on Flatlands. We'll grab her at Flatlands and Pennsylvania."

Under his breath he mutters something in his native tribal speak.

----

Repeating Kwabena's directions (including the proper directional) to Vanya, she looks back at the tribal man, "Twilight Speedball? Now you're making me sound like some kind of new drug to hit the streets," Yana chuckles, then returns back to Vanya, "Get there as quickly as you can. We're on a timetable. And we're almost there. It's not too far from where you are."

----

There's a huff from the receiver on the other side of the phone call, followed by wind noise - lots of wind noise. "<Jawohl, mein fuhrer,>" Vanya scoffs as she rushes up the street and falls forward onto all fours, leaping across an intersection and bounding her way to their meet-up with only half a mind paid to weaving around the occasional late night pedestrians. Fortunately for her and the city, there aren't too many.

----

"Mos Def," answers Kwabena. He's already got his smart phone out, having taken it from a pouch that didn't appear to have any seams until he actually reached his hand for it. He swipes from an NYPD surveillance hack over to Spotify, and pulls up the track.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=Id9nCkVc54s

Auto sync is nice. The song starts playing over the stolen SUV's speakers, and Kwabena can't help but bob his head while bobbing through the streets, making shirt time through Bushwick. A couple of chicks jogging in yoga pants catch his eye, and he shakes his head. "Fucking gentrification."

It isn't more than ten to fifteen minutes before they've reached the rendezvous point. The playlist moved right on to 3030 by Deltron 3030, assuming Yana isn't too salty about Kwabena's choice in underground hip hop.

----

Yana seems to let the radio and songmix go, for the most part, and the goth-dressed girl has a quiet chuckle at the comment made by the dark skinned man driving. "There she is," she says, pointing out to the rather tall, and very not-wearing-yoga-pants Vanya, as she spies the woman down the road. "Let's do this."

----

The songmix is about to take a bit of a turn. Deltron 3030 drops into Forever Heavy by the group Black Moth Super Rainbow, right about the time the black SUV is pulling up to Vanya.

Kwabena's attire is certainly unique; gunmetal gray, form fitting, covering all but his head currently. The material, however looks exotic and certainly not something one picks up at Jo-Ann Fabrics, upon a closer inspection. Likely explains why he didn't end up naked after pulling his bike stunt. Otherwise, he appears to be a tall, dark skinned merc, no hair upon his head or face, and catlike irises that reflect silver color when the light touches them.

As soon as Vanya is in the SUV, Kwabena is driving down Pennsylvania toward the Belt Parkway. He glances toward Vanya through the rear view mirror, perhaps sizing her up.

----

As far as curbside pickups go, Vanya's a difficult one to miss. The muscular woman is in her usual battered red pants - the same ones she took to Africa in fact. By now, the garment has begun to show quite a bit of skin but it's still managed to hold together. Spying the vehicle approaching her, the werewoman straightens up and offers a little wave before gripping the SUV's roof and swinging herself into the back seat.

"Spasibo, tovarEE--" she begins to offer Yana before glaring down at the back bench seat and rummaging under her legs for a moment. "<...Tovarisch. I sat on a buckle,>" Vanya grumbles. Their driver is ignored for the moment, giving him ample time to study the burly Russian in her tanktop. No weapons, tools, or bags of any sort, nor jewelry. She probably relies upon brute strength to solve her problems, and from the width of her neck and lack of any scars, it might have worked so far.

----

"Vanya, Kwabena. And, vice-versa. You two should get along well enough. We're about to go hit some Triads, Vanya, who want me dead for helping our friend here out after he blew up one of their cargo ships that was about to pick up a bunch of girls to send back to China for sex and slave trafficking." She glances back at her bodyguard, "They're playing pretty dirty, too. Take a look in the back."

In the back, there's a collection of guns that neither Vanya, nor about 99.9% of the population of Earth have ever seen before, plasma guns capable of literally melting holes in cars, concrete, and other very, very solid objects.

"We're pretty sure they have more. So. Don't get hit. Be careful." Meaning that Yana can't stop these particular shots. They're not bullets, or launched objects.

----

Aforementioned boat incident was all over the news, about a month ago. Papers called it an 'isolated incident' and a 'mechanical failure'.

Russians can be either your best friends or worst of enemies. The accent draws a very mild grin to the African's face, and he resumes his driving. However, they haven't made it far onto the beltway when his smart phone flashes a big red alert.

Looking down at it, his eyes harden. "Fuck. APB on dis god damn vehicle." He looks to Yana, then back toward Vanya. "You two see any cops, I need to know. We see blue and red? Pop dere tires."

----

Vanya half-listens to the introduction as she turns her attention finally to Kwabena and lets her shades slip down the bridge of her nose, exposing a hawkish pair of round but amber eyes. She smirks when she catches his gaze in the rearview mirror and a passing streetlight puts a momentary shine in the center of her pupils - she's got them too.

"Da, da... Policy are no problem. Just open a window and turn off that noise for me," she tosses casually, not seeming at all concerned about the prospect. The brawny bodyguard turns and bends herself over the backseat to study the weapons traveling with them before letting out a low whistle. "<These are some interesting toys, Yana. No reason to block them, just dodge? You can still speed me up, no?>"

----

"" Yana exhales, turns down the music a bit for Vanya's sake, and focuses her eyes on the road. "You put a lot of stock in your tech," she observes to Kwabena, casually.

----

The guns vary in size and look as if they belong in a sci-fi blockbuster. A purple glow comes from some spots which suggest energy cells or access points of some sort.

Kwabena isn't about to bitch about turning off the music. Considering Vanya's wolf-like appearance, he hazards a guess that her senses aren't quite as dull as a normal human's, and Black Moth Super Rainbow just might be an irritant stop that. Even after Yana turns it down, he up and turns it off. "Be stupid just to rely on my x-gene," he answers. "De hookers and blow add up though," he adds, a casual grin suggesting he might be joking.

Damn shame. She Wants Revenge was up next on the playlist, and a typical type caster would assume it might be right up Yana's alley.

Its only a matter of time before they're bound to come across the fuzz. A police cruiser happens to be traveling the other way on the beltway, and thankfully there is a big cement barrier preventing him from following. However, the officer driving does turn and look at the SUV, then promptly gets on his radio to alert dispatch.

----

"Ahh, much better!" Vanya chimes as she opens a rear window and the passing wind whips her hair backwards. The werewoman takes a few sniffs of the night air before returning her attention to the trunk. "<Hmm... these have a nice glow,>" she chuckles, hefting one of the weapons fearlessly for closer study and brushing her fingertips along the iridescent plate. Despite her supposed role as lookout, the brawler's eyes are held on her prize.

"Radioactive?" she asks with a curious, strangely hopeful glance back towards the front. Her bushy lashes flutter once at the pair.

----

And it's 'cause of These Things that Yana's own senses are on high alert. "Don't know, but probably not," Yana states. "In any case, you find one, round it up. We're turning them in. Last thing we need is the Triads, or some mercenaries to show up with these things in hand and tip the balance."

Yana pauses, frowning, leaning out her window. "Cop's onto us, I think. Just turned off and got on his radio. We need to get where we're going pronto."

----

"Hold onto yah butts." Kwabena jerks the SUV into the fast lane, no longer going the speed limit. Within moments he's got the vehicle pushing 100, and is bobbing and weaving throughout the minimal traffic. They don't run into real trouble until they're on Ocean Parkway, headed for the Brooklyn Bridge.

Blue and red begin flashing some distance behind them as a pair of cruisers merge onto the parkway in distant pursuit.

"We need to lose dem, fast," Kwabena notes.

----

Vanya belatedly pokes her head out the window about the time the flashing lights are visible and looks backwards. "<Oh, there they are...>" Pulling her head back out of the jetstream, the brawler studies the rifle in her hand, trying to spot its various working pieces. "<You want I should shoot them? This is no Simonov but I found the trigger.>" The werewoman thinks for a moment, then kicks her feet up against the opposite door with a smirk. "Or you can drive faster. Like this you are bringing police with you; they can fight the Triad for us."

----

"No, we're not using those on the police," Yana states, firmly, to Vanya. "But, if you want, you can fire it on our entrance. We'll need it to make an opening, from what our new friend here says." She looks over to Kwabena. "We almost there?"

----

"You want to give us some speed?" Kwabena asks. "Maybe clear de way ahead, block de cops behind?" He shakes his head. "Not gonna be able to keep dis pace up once we hit de bridge!"

----

Vanya lowers her new toy and huffs dejectedly. "Hmph... <That sounds like a job for you, kid,>" she tosses to Yana. "<Go throw some super-pennies out the window or something. I don't spit shark teeth or anything.>"

----

"Sure. Just be sure you can keep up with the reaction times." She places a hand on the dashboard, and the SUV's speed doubles, then triples. Her own reaction times she can control, adjust, but she's not sure about the current driver so she's not going to take it up too far.

She looks back to Vanya, "<Can't you shoot quills, or stingers, or something?>" Heck, she doesn't know.

----

Usually, Kwabena is pretty cool, calm and collected. He's not surprised that the speedometer just pegged, but as the car keeps on accelerating, his eyes eventually grow wide. Hands are clenched upon the wheel tightly, but he's in the proverbial zone. The SUV does at one point scrape a little too closely to a semi, causing a jolt and a spray of sparks from both vehicles. "Sshhhhit!"

Fortunately, these are expensive and well maintained cars! The SUV jukes back and forth a bit, but Kwabena manages to keep control. A brief glimpse into the rear view and it would appear the cops are almost out of view.

"Yana!" he cries, and veers the SUV toward the off ramp that will take them to the Brooklyn Bridge. Concurrently he kills the lights, and grimaces. He's gonna do his best not to have this end up in a bad situation, but he knows better than to pump the brakes when the vehicle's speeding along at nearly 300 MPH.

----

"<Oh yes let me just spit some venom through an engine block,>" Vanya scoffs dismissively. "<Pssh, if I could just sink my teeth into a hellhound then sure I'd roast theeeeeeeem--> nu blyat!" Sheer acceleration pins the Slav against the rear seat cushions, squeezing her into a Vanya-shaped indentation as she looks back in surprise towards the front. The werewoman laughs incredulously and fishes for the button to close her roaring window again.

"<What the heck, Yana. You can accelerate /whole cars/!?>" she barks. ""

----

The SUV decelerates, back to normal after the 'boost' of speed, like nitro on caffiene, and Yana tips her head towards Kwabena, "You asked me to, thought you were prepared. Sorry," she says, thoughtfully. And, to Vanya, she agrees, "Yes. I can. I weaponized my BMW to take out a SUV that was chasing Kwabena, that's how he knew. Thought you knew, as well." She chuckles, "If it crashed, at any rate, we wouldn't have anything to worry about." More soberly, "More concerned about the people in the other vehicles. Still, we lost our tail, I'm sure."

----

A few deep breathes are given. "Nevah know what to expect with you, Spikes." He uncurls the fingers of each hand in turn in order to flex and stretch them, then finds himself laughing aloud. "We've got to do dis again."

The rest of the journey is surprisingly uneventful. The SUV eventually pulls up outside a tall, five level brownstone sandwiched between larger buildings. Kwabena kills the engine and looks at the building with a sobering frown. "Lao Chin," he says. "All I got, a name. I am guessing he's already in ovah his head; dis is Hand territory. Should work to our advantage." He turns around and glances back toward Vanya now. "You evah deal with high level thugs like dis?"

----

"" Vanya chuckles, easing back into a more natural laying posture as the vehicle slows back down to its designed speed and tucks her hands behind her head to enjoy the rest of the ride.

"Hmm? 'High Level thugs'?" she echoes, quirking a brow at the rearview mirror while sitting up and spanning her arms across the two front seats. "Kid, do you know who you are sitting next to? This isn't little Miss Petya who sells potatoes on a street corner."

Shaking her head, the brawler turns from Kwabena to Yana. "<You want to fill him in? These are chumps with special guns, or will I get to have some real fun here?>"

----

"<Just chumps, with special guns, far as we know.>" Yana turns her head to Kwabena, "Vanya can handle herself. That's why she's my bodyguard. Should've seen her take out that lion, bare-handed." And no, Yana isn't kidding. Still, she frowns. "Let's stay out of the Hand's way. That's one group we don't want to mess with. And I'm pretty sure the Triad's don't either. Let's finish this."

----

"Not what I'm asking about," Kwabena answers while unbuckling his seat belt. "We want to try to do dis without escalation. Means we might have to bluff about some few things. Oh, and do me dis favah? Call me Shift. Dese assholes don't know my real name, I'd like to keep it that way."

The Ghanaian steps out of the car, and goes around to the back in order to grab the largest alien gun he can find. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walks up to the front door and raps on the knocker three times.

An Asian man comes to the door and opens it, glowering at Kwabena and his companions. He says something in Mandarin, to which Kwabena slings the large gun around to the front side of his body, aiming it at the ground.

"Recognize dis?" he asks, and pats a hand on the gun twice. "Lao Chin. //Now//."

----

"<Easy enough. If anyone asks,> I no speak English," Vanya reasons simply while she unlatches and opens the far door with her feet and scoots her way out on the same side as Yana. Rolling some stiffness out of her shoulders and straightening her hair, the were-woman lets her own rifle dangle limply from one hand with her finger curled around the trigger guard. She might be feral but she's still got trigger discipline.

Moving up along with Kwabena, the burly Russian takes a lazy post to the side, weight back on one leg and eyes slowly sweeping around them. "<...I smell kung pao chicken,>" she murmurs. "<We're having a second dinner after this.>"

----

Yana walks just behind Shift and Vanya, looking vaugely disinterested in all of this, but that she's pretty much along for the ride. Still, her bright blue eyes focus entirely on the man at the gate, waiting, watching. And, rolling, as if by some measure of ditraction, three ball bearings in her right hand over and over each other with clever fingers.

----

The gatekeeper eyeballs those guns, then the trio in turn. After a moment of silence, he looks to the street beyond, then steps inside and holds the door open for them.

Kwabena steps through first. He keeps the plasma gun safely aimed at the floor, mouth silent, eyes vigilant.

The foyer is constructed with the highest quality of building material, and its decorations are ornate; a sign of the sheer wealth that organized crime yields. They aren't alone; quiet men, soldiers of a sort, line the foyer and the hallway. The place is well protected, and yet most of them show no sign of being armed. Of course, there are weapons upon the walls, for decoration of course.

The trio are led to an elevator, at which point the gatekeeper turns to then and says, "The guns. They're ours, or you go no further."

----

Vanya smirks quietly and her nose twitches as she steps inside. "<Boring... so boring...>" she grouses under her breath, trusting that Yana has heightened her hearing enough to catch it. Her own gun is held so loosely it nearly drags the floor, as if it were a mere piece of luggage. Her orange-tinted gaze flits to one of the seemingly unarmed men and her brow lifts faintly. "<...Maybe I will get to have some fun here.>"

Coming to a stop for the gatekeeper, Vanya turns more openly to her employer and reveals a playful smirk. "<Want me to wait in the lobby and make us new friends?>"

----

Yana look at Vanya, then, looks to Kwabena, as if to suggest at least on the surface, he's the one calling the shots. She looks at the new gatekeeper with a mixture of disdain, entitlement, and boredom, playing up the part of the Mafia Princess whose been irritated to it's full potential. For the moment, it's his call.

----

"Or..." Kwabena raises the weapon, and suddenly, all of those thugs are producing knives, pistols and various other weapons from hiding places on their persons.

The gatekeeper shouts a single word in Mandarin, while raising a hand. This keeps the thugs from attacking.

".... or," Kwabena continues, "I could melt through you, and de elevatah, and all of your little egg roll-eating dog-fuckers back dere."

The gatekeeper and Kwabena exchange poker faces for a few quiet seconds.

The stare may be daggered, but the gatekeeper finally produces a keyfob and waves it, prompting the elevator door to open.

Kwabena lowers the rifle and steps into the elevator at once. The gatekeeper follows, and holds the door for Yana and Vanya. Once they've entered, he'll key in the fifth floor, and the upward journey resumes.

The top floor is 70% penthouse suite, 30% something else, which exists behind a mirrored wall on the street facing end of the brownstone. This room also holds a number of Triads serving as guards, lining the walls. It is the large and ornate desk that draws the eye, on the far end opposite where the elevator door opens, flush with the mirrored wall. Behind the desk, Lao Chin sets his cigar down and rises. He is an aging Chinaman, with weight on his face and a dangerous look in his eye. "The one and only, 'Shift'," he greets. "The man who can't be killed. And... his new partner, Yana Asarov. Daughter of the great Alexsei, Pakhan of the Bratva's." He peers then toward Vanya, and his expression sours. "Your hired muscle would pay nicely in the slums of Shanghai. On the //meat// market."

----

"Lao Chin," greets Yana, mildly, to the man. "Yes. I've heard much about you." Her tone is courteous, if nothing else. Make no mistake, Yana has mapped out the floor, and her kinetic sense has already mapped out out much more than what the eyes can see, hidden traps, and the like.

"No doubt my father will be reaching out to you soon, given the recent invitations your men have extended me." You know. To die. And all that.

----

Vanya's smirk turns pointed when everyone draws weapons and her posture sinks a faint inch or two as her legs relax into a slight crouch, springy and ready to pounce at the first sound. She almost frowns when the standoff ends peacefully and straightens back up with a dull sigh, eyeing Kwabena sourly but following along without a verbal fuss.

As they reach the top floor and the group disembarks, the brawler... blinks. The werewoman tilts her head from side to side as she takes in all the mirrors and slows her walk to study herself in one of them, straightening her posture a little and flexing one arm at her side. A little self-satisfied grin accompanies the gesture before she turns her attention back forward and regards the man behind the desk. She gets a frown? Then he gets a smug smile.

"" Once again, a statement aimed only for Yana, though this time the werewoman makes no special attempt to hush herself.

----

"Your father," Lao retorts, while leveling a bony finger in Yana's direction, "would be a fool to interfere with my business." He reaches down for his cigar, and carries it with him while walking around the desk so that it no longer sits between himself and the guests.

"Our quarrel is not with you, Daughter of Alexsei," he continues. "Our quarrel is with //him//." He stabs the cigar wielding hand in Kwabena's direction. "However, since you saw fit to interfere with our affairs, we had no choice but to answer in kind. Surely you must have seen this coming?" He takes a long drag from his cigar, before slowly advancing upon his guests. "So, tell me, Daughter of Alexsei, how are we going to mend this... this rift that has formed between us?" Almost casually, Lao turns his face toward Vanya and speaks in eloquent Russian, "<Learn your place, bodyguard. You are in the Lion's Den, and you should be very careful with your animal attitude.>"

Kwabena's only response is the lifting of his eyebrows. Now he is the quiet observer.

----

"That is simple. You are an intelligent man, Lao Chin. My father admires your intellect, and your patience. But this?" Yana gestures to the plasma gun that Shift is holding, "This? Is a mistake. Especially bringing it to the streets, where it could be filmed. I owe Shift a debt of honor. We have already mended it, or had, prior to your attack on my person. I persuaded him not to kill your men that were chasing him." She shrugs, once, and then looks to Shift, and then to Vanya.

"However. You leave him alone, and forget this attempt to take my life as well, and where the weapons came from will remain a mystery, in the eyes of the authorities, for now. Though, if your men continue to be so reckless, they'll do that damage themselves."

----

A light comes to Vanya's face and her countenance changes in an instant. She smiles widely and close-lipped, responding once Yana finishes with flowery, honey-sweet formality. "<Well-spoken, Citizen Lion.>" The lilt of mirth might be noticeable to an ear better tuned to her archaic speech but the dancing humor in her eye is hidden by the brawler's sunglasses.

----

"You will never learn where the weapons came from," Lao Chin answers, his footsteps still closing the distance. "And I do apologize for the attempt on your life, young Asarov. It was the only true way to draw //him// out." He gestures again with the cigar toward Kwabena. "He interfered with our business, //he// cost us countless millions in investment. You know this business well enough to know that such a thing can not be tolerated. To do so would set a precedence, a precedence that my organization cannot afford." He turns beady eyes from Yana to Kwabena. "They say he cannot he killed. I say... we have found the way."

Invisible doors suddenly open in that mirrored wall, and two men emerge from each door. They're armed with the same exotic weaponry, and the guns are charged, buzzing with danger, and are aimed at the three guests.

----

Yana had known that the men were there, behind the glass. But, had waited to see how this was going to play out. She neither moves, or reacts to the introduction of them, and their guns. Instead, she simply reaches out to casually touch Vanya's arm in a 'don't kill them yet' kind of way which helps disguise the fact that she's just buffeted her bodyguard tenfold.

"You've done honor to the Triads for some time, Lao Chin. You're putting that at risk now in a gambit that could cost you much. Let us go, forget this, and, we can all move forwards." In her other hand, Yana's fingers play with those metal ball bearings more, just rolling them fluidly between palm and finger, rolling them over and over again. She does not look at the men bearing arms down on her. She matches eyes with Lao Chin. "Do not embrace the role of Captain Ahab."

----

Vanya's head turns as the doors open and she locks eyes with the concealed men for only a moment before whipping back around to look at Lao Chin. In most of a mirror to her employer, the bodyguard's smile holds, growing subdued but faintly more excited as the hairs on the back of her neck raise and her bare feet grip at the floor. He's close... very close... but on Yana's command the broad-shouldered Soviet keeps her hands at her side.

----

Yana knows the language, and it shows. There is an expansive silence, during which Lao Chin's jawline moves back and forth to suggest the gnashing of teeth. He finally puts the cigar into his mouth again and draws a long puff. "Yana Asarov," he says, laughing openly. "You are just as clever as your father. I offer this counter proposal."

He steps forward again, though this time he's angled just slightly toward Kwabena. "We would accept your service in repayment, Shift, by working for us. We will pay you handsomely, and this business with the boat... we will pretend that it never took place."

Kwabena flattens his lips into a thin line. "Or, we have de third option. You throw your dice, and we find out if dese guns can kill me. But dere are some few things you don't know about me, Lao Chin. I will do you dis one thing and tell you. If de weapons do not kill me, den what will happen is completely out of my control. Dis building, your men, Yana and her bodyguard? All of it will go up in fire. Then, de Hand will assume it was an attack. De Bratva's will seek vengeance for the life of their daughter, and your influence in America will become nothing more than de ashes we made here today." He shakes his head. "I will not work for you, so... which is it?"

Lao Chin glowers at Kwabena for a long moment. The men holding their alien weapons grow anxious, looking from one to the other, to their leader, then back to their target.

There is a fire in Lao Chin's eyes. His hands clench around the cigar, slowly crushing it until the cherry falls on the carpet with a quiet hiss. "We will call it a draw. We will forget all of this happened... and you three will get the fuck out of this building and never show your faces here again."

----

"No," agrees Yana, inclining her head. "We won't." There's a certainty, there. She looks to Shift, to Vanya, "Let's leave, as our host requests." Fearless from the armed men, she turns on Lao Chin and the men and begins to head to the door leading out of the office, and, thereby, out of the building as well.

----

Vanya nods to her employer and takes a half step back as she prepares to leave, until her self control slips again. The bodyguard's smile spreads into a cocky smirk and she gives a loose wave to Lao Chin with her free hand. "<Bye-bye, Citizen Lion-Cub. Let Yana know if you ever want to play. I get plenty of time off.>"

Chuckling softly to herself, the brawler turns and follows after the Bratva princess.

----

Lao Chin utters a phrase in Russian, quite insulting; it's essential translation suggests Vanya to be an animal afflicted with a sexually transmitted disease.

Kwabena, who has also turned to leave, gives Vanya a look. He doesn't know the language, but most insults have a way of rolling off the tongue that don't exactly require a person to understand its translation. He shakes his head to her, then keeps moving right on into that elevator.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

2018-09-22-Triad Revenge

2018-09-25T13:42:17Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=Triad Revenge, Part 1 | date=September 22, 2018 | location=Brooklyn, NYC }} <gallery> Yana01.jpeg|Yana Asarov Kwabena01.jpeg|Kwabena Odame Danielle01.jpe..."

{{log
|
name=Triad Revenge, Part 1
|
date=September 22, 2018
|
location=Brooklyn, NYC
}}

<gallery>
Yana01.jpeg|[[Yana Asarov]]
Kwabena01.jpeg|[[Kwabena Odame]]
Danielle01.jpeg|[[Danielle Tozer]]
Vanya01.jpeg|[[Vanya]]
</gallery>

----

9/15/18 Kwabena Yana Danielle

9:15 PM
New York City

Its been well over a month since an explosion rocked the docks at Red Hook, tearing apart a sizable freighter docked in port. The police haven't reported much regarding the crime, considering many of them have been 'paid off' to keep quiet about what their investigators did or didn't find related to the explosion and the violence that followed. Typical Triad affairs... they've got moles everywhere, and a number of NYPD officials are on their payroll.

A lone African is seated upon his Harley Sportster, somewhere within the concrete jungle. A half-smoked cigarette sits perched between fingers covered by gunmetal gray, and the leather riding jacket cuts a silhouette that lies somewhere between 'cool' and 'inconspicuous'. The bike is silent and leans upon its kickstand; the rider, with one leg on the ground and the other curled between the seat and his ass, is also holding a hipflask in his other hand.

A pull is taken from the flask, before the item gets shoved into an inner pocket on his jacket. Out comes a cell phone, and Kwabena's finger scrolls through a few messages, looking for one in particular. Dark skin is lit by the soft glow of a backlit screen, reflecting against catlike, silver irises in a spooky way.

The camera zooms in on the message. 'T - action' is the first message, followed by an address.

Frowning, Kwabena sucks a drag from the cigarette before flicking it to the asphalt. Up goes the kickstand, and the bike growls to life with subdued thunder.

----

Yana Asarov is exiting out a local athletic club, looking refreshed, and carrying a small sports bag at her side where some of her gear is stashed. A group of people her age, a few women, and a couple guys all say their goodbyes and part ways, each going in their own direction. Yana's direction happens to be in the stairwell that leads to the parking lot, where her sporty BMW is parked. She pauses to put in her earphones, clicks her device to start playing some Dead Weather, and goes about enjoying her day. Because, why not?

----

In the air above the athletic club, there is a tiny distortion in the air. A small drone, black market variety with less than legal modifications, is nearly invisible given the reflective stealth panels with which it's been retrofit. As soon as Yana emerges into the parking lot, it tags her, and the BMW. However, something else appears on its scopes, and it buzzes around in order to catch a better view of the street below. Three imports, all SUV's with tinted windows, driving in a single file, are similarly tagged. The drone dives lower and closer.

A few blocks away, Kwabena is tearing through the streets on his Iron-883. The gunmetal gray paint job, paired with his monochromatic attire, tells a great deal about the man who's breaking the speed limit. While he doesn't need to wear a helmet, he does; partly because the drone just sent a feed to his smart phone, which is now being bluetoothed to a HUD inside the helmet. The three cars are visible, but an IR and X-Ray scan has been overlaid, showing men inside wielding weapons unlike anything he's ever seen.

"Track," Kwabena speaks, and the images shrink, replaced with a GPS I lay that directs him to take a left. Busting through a red light, he follows the directions and speaks another word. "Alert."

Yana's Dead Weather suddenly shuts off, and a SMS message comes through her phone. The message is cryptic yet clear all the same: 'DANGER'

The trio of SUV's suddenly pull over by the parking lot, screeching to a halt. Each of them pop their rear doors, disgorging Asian thugs wielding weapons that either haven't been cleared by the patent office, or weren't actually made on this planet. Angular devices that would be more at home on an episode of Star Trek, each with glowing purple accoutrements that suggest something far more dangerous than assault rifles. A few words are exchanged, and one of them levels his weapon on Yana.

*PLEEWWWW!*

A glob of iridescent energy, swirling with purple and blue, soars from the emitter and smashes into a security fence that separates the parking lot from the street. The metal immediately melts, sizzling the concrete and asphalt beneath it.

----

"Well, that's new," Yana states, after a few choice curse words in Russian, the blue-haired Mafia Princess, and X-Man watches the melting of the rather solid articles from the energy weapon with a bit of disfavor. Bullets have kinetic energy - energy projectiles are sometimes a different story. Danger, indeed. She doesn't know who sent the message to her, just that it wasn't her dad. She probably has a decent guess, though.

"You do realize," Yana says, keeping a calm demeanor about herself, and not seeking to attack back, just yet, "That you're about to start something bigger than you can handle?" Her eyebrows lift up in the manner of one who is reflecting a question, and earnestly suggesting that the other party take a moment, and -really- think about their next action.

But, for the moment, she remains still. Waiting - mostly, for the opening she needs.

----

It wasn't her hometown of Seattle, but New York certainly did have a few upsides. Namely, more crime. ...Which isn't really an upside, but more low level thugs are good when you're just starting out as a hero. Kind of. Danny still isn't quite sure she deserves the title, but when you're soaring over the city, cape trailing in the breeze, watching the lights below... it's really something.

What is ALSO something is what sounds like a sudden sci-fi battle below and flashes of light, accompanied by her suit rapidly flashing information at her through the display on her forearm. None of which she understands. The teen hero abruptly changes direction, the black and grey mottling of her suit hiding her against the night sky. She slows down about fifty feet up, observing the scene below. This... is a lot more dangerous than a few gangers with handguns. Maybe she SHOULDN'T dive right in.

----

"No," answers one of the Triads, while others line up and begin advancing on the parking lot. Three of them are making for the giant gap they just melted in the fence, while others start fanning out in an attempt at creating a perimeter. "You, and your friend, Shift? //You// started this!"

Other pedestrians have quickly scattered, running toward their cars or the nearby subway station, which is serving at least to clear out the potential for collateral damage.

Meanwhile, a motorcycle blows through another intersection, but it's rider has killed the lights and engine. It leans hard to the right, and continues coasting at a quickened pace down the street toward the parked SUV's.

"You can hand yourself over," the Triad continues with an aggressive tone, "Or we can melt -" His words, however, are cut off when a barrage of gunfire comes from the man riding that motorcycle. Assuming nothing interferes with the passage of those bullets, they will rip through the Triad's torso, spilling blood all over the place. Kwabena pulls the CZ Skorpion machine pistol back to his shoulder, then fires the bike to life again and pulls the throttle with a scream of horsepower.

----

Yana has seen blood before. Lots of times. She's seen people die in numerous ways. By the bullet, by the claw, by tooth, and by many different powers, bombs, explosions, accidents.

Still, the firepower and exposion of guts and blood from the speaking Triad do catch her offguard, even though she knows Kwambe is 'spying' on her with the drone, and had probably sent the message she hadn't known where, or how, or even when, he might show up.

But it's the opening she needs. From her hip, where the small satchel is always kept clipped to her belt, a small ball bearing is whipped to another of the Triad's arm with enough force to smash the radius and ulna into splinters, even as her own momentum is pushed to it's limit, and she moves for cover behind someone else's car. Hopefully, the melty part of the energy weapon won't melt things past the car on the first shot.

----

Shouts rise from the assorted Triads in Mandarin, and the air is quickly filled with the exotic sounds of stolen alien tech. The car Yana has hidden behind is barraged by globs of purple and blue, but she guessed right; the car is very quickly finding itself melted down, but there's no chain reaction that puts her in danger.

Others have turned and are trying to track Kwabena, but that Iron-883 is fast and well maintained. Instead, various sections of road and a few store fronts become victims of those melting energy weapons.

Before anything else can happen, however, Danny's arrival takes all of the Triads by surprise. The shooting stops, at least for a moment or two. A couple of the Triads exchange looks, before another of them who speaks English pipes up. "Back to the sky, cape. This doesn't concern you."

Kwabena peers over his shoulder at the momentary cease fire. Behind the helmet, he scowls. The motorcycle is bent hard to the right, bringing him around toward the gangster furthest from those gathered near Danny. Up comes the Skorpion, and he takes aim.

---

Another open moment, with the flying girl causing a new commotion gives Yana the time she needs to whip not one, but two of the steel ball bearings at the Triads, one of them smashing one of the quite illegal energy weapons through the barrel while the other moves like a bullet and crack-snaps another Traid members kneecap.

She dashes behind another car, to give herself more time, more space, while commenting to Dani, "Welcome to the party, don't know who you are, but you might wanna watch out for those guns. They're eating through steel."

----

"Okay, I gave you assholes a chance, Punching it is." Danny pushes off the ground and charges forward into the group, leading with her shoulder and trying to send them flying. She aims her blows for joints and limbs, trying to avoid causing lethal damage to anyone. There's a sudden burst of swearing as a gout of plasma streaks across her chest and head, and the particularly unlucky mook goes flying into a van hard enough to leave a sizable dent in the side.

----

Kwabena's target finds his life ripped away by the remaining rounds in the mutant biker's CZ Skorpion. Reloading will cost him precious time. He yanks the bike to the left, then kicks it to the ground with his foot while simultaneously leaping into the air. His clothing, helmet, and spent machine pistol soon follow suit, and in his place, there is now a cloud of black smoke flying through the air.

The trio's combined attacks turn the block into a sci-fi war zone once again. The next car Yana chose to hide behind is melted into slag, but at this rate, these collected Triads are gonna be down for the count in short order.

The cloud of smoke lands behind another Triad. It solidifies into Kwabena, dressed in the gunmetal gray form fitting uniform that seems to transform with him. Two hands rise, grasping the thug by the chin and face, and with a vicious sound the Triad's neck is snapped. Seems he's not holding back on the kill shots by design.

----

At least -her- car isn't slagged. Yet. But now enough of the Triads are down that Yana feels she can move freely enough. She infuses herself with her own power, and moves around the car she was hiding behind, to run straight towards another of her enemies, closing the gap -very- fast, at about 100mph before she virtually collides with the man, who goes literally flying across the parking lot, slamming hard into one of the cement beams, and going still.

"Didn't realize you cared that much, tall, dark and handsome," she greets Kwabena with, her tone a mixture of quip and sobriety for the situation.

"They're getting too dangerous for their own good."

----

Even surrounded by the sound of energy fire, yelling in a language she doesn't speak, and cracking asphalt as Danny's boots dig in to let her change direction, she still manages to make out the sound of a snapping neck. Which sounds so much... worse than it does in action movies. "What the fu-" Another blast of plasma, a rough aproximation of a side kick that bounces the gangster into a dumpster more by brute force than technique. "What the fuck! Stop killing poeple!"

----

Not having time to put his mask on his a source of irritation, but Kwabena lets it slide. He's about to say something to Yana, but Danny's shout earns a disapproving look. He crouches down to pick up the discarded alien weapon, then swings it around and fires a blast at the last remaining Triad. The man screams aloud for a moment before his body turns into a pile of molten blood and guts on the pavement.

"Like dat?" he growls, anger in his voice as he throws the borrowed weapon to the ground. "You think grace is how to deal with stolen alien tech?" he demands, before willing his temper to cool. "Listen, kid. Want to fight organized crime? Learn de language." He gestures toward the street, where the sounds of police sirens are now audible. "You think de cops wouldn't hesitate to take a kill shot? Jesus fucking Christ."

Only now does he turn back to Yana. "You want to put an end to dis tonight?" He jerks his head toward the nearest unattended Triad SUV. "Get in."

----

Yana, for her part, hasn't killed anyone, but neither has she scorned Kwabena for doing so - that comes with working with ferals like Wolverine, X-23, or others who might not kill indiscriminatly but not have a problem with it when the time comes, either. She moves towards the SUV, picking up the fallen weapons as she goes and collecting them up. These are dumped into the back, haphazardly, "It's about way more than my life now. It's about finding out where they got these weapons, and keeping them off the streets. If there's that kind of imbalance, it's ... going to cause a cascading chain reaction that will rip this city's heart apart."

The back door to the SUV is slammed shut, and she climbs in, looking towards Dani. "Coming?"

----

Danny lurches forward, trying to get between the killer cape and his target, but she's too late. What's visible of her face under the cowl is clearly radiating dismay and anger. "That's because the cops dont' have other ways to stop them. We do!" She runs a hand through her hair, the visible skin on her face slightly reddened. Presumably tanking plasma blasts with her face isn't painless. "And no. I'm not. Someone has to talk to the cops about what happened, and make sure these guys get enough medical attention to survive until trial." She turns her back on the other two, facing the incoming sirens and staring down at her forearm, an interface lighting up there.

----

For a few moments, Kwabena looks on with a blank expression. When Yana moves to the car, he gestures toward her. "I'll be a moment."

He closes the distance between himself and Danny, moving in a non-threatening manner. "Look. Dis is about what we can or can't do, it's about what kind of message we ah sending. I don't like it any more den you, but I've been at dis long enough to know dat sometimes, you keep up with one strategy? You're just spinning wheels." His expression is empathetic. "We tried no killing with round one. Dis is how dey chose to answah. You may not like it. Dats fine. But it's how de game is played. You want to talk semantics? Go to Chira's Coffee, tomorrow, 3:00. I'll be dere."

----

Yana squint, watching Kwabena curiously, her mouth setting into something thoughtful, she nods at his words and doesn't offer the fact she was the one who told, or asked (however you look at it) for the no-kill rule on their first encounter. "They were trafficking women," Yana informs Dani, quietly. "We stepped them, knocked them out, or took them out without killing them. Wherever they got these weapons? We have to stop them. And if we don't, that means every mafia, every organized crime family is going to rise up and take action, and there'll be not hundres, but thousands of deaths. I don't like it either. But I like the idea of these weapons getting out there a lot, lot less."

She exhales, nods to her 'partner', and waits for him, then.

----

"That still doesn't mean you kill them. We... We have to be better than them. I don't want to work with you. And I'm not going to let them dictate the rules. Now get the fuck out of here unless you want to get arrested too. Might want to leave one of those guns if you really want to find out the source, I have contacts in the Watch." She starts walking towards the cop cars, hands slightly raised to show she's unarmed.

----

"Fine." Kwabena's said his piece. "Just remember, we're on de same side, kid." He turns and kicks rocks, heading to that SUV so that they can make a getaway before the cops get close enough to become wise to it.

----

"Good. Let them know. Tell them if they come to Xavier's, I'll make sure they get one to look at," Yana tells Dani, sincerely. But she doesn't seem keen on leaving one of the guns with the local cops, for some other mook to break into the evidence room and steal, either.

She looks at Kwabena as he moves into the SUV, "Isn't this ironic? Y'know, the first time I got 'tested', I got yelled at for killing too discriminantly." She stifles a bitter laugh, and shakes her head. "This is crazy. You don't have any idea where they got this shit, do you?" Meaning, of course, the guns.

----

"That was discriminate," Kwabena answers from the driver's seat. He fires up the SUV and starts driving. He knows these streets well, and knows exactly where they're going: into the Lion's Den.

"I have some guesses," he answers. "Nothing concrete. Only tip I got is dat a retaliation was coming. I tagged you, by de way. Sorry about dat." A rueful grin pierces the sober expression on his face. "Don't worry, I didn't see you changing clothes."

----

"I know you tagged me. And, you've been watching me with the drone. You're lucky both and my father find you trustworthy. He didn't read any trickery in your movements," Yana relays, matter-of-factly. Then, she smiles. "Better to have an ally in the event of a retaliation, afterall." She adds, "If you had tried to see me changing clothes, I would've had to do something about that," she grins back.

She looks behind herself, back, towards where Dani had been, and the incident. "That girl has a -lot- to learn."

----

Kwabena doesn't say anything about the whole changing clothes thing, but his grin does remain a bit before subsiding. "It's a thing with dese young capes," he agrees. "I like dem. Dey have good hearts, and I'm glad for what dey do. Pity they can't see past de ugly side of things."

Yana Asarov is riding shotgun in a blacked out SUV with Kwabena Odame. The tinted windows are a source of irritation to the merc from Ghana, but he's keeping his opinion to himself... and following all traffic laws. The last thing they need is to be picked up by the NYPD for driving a stolen vehicle registered to God knows whom.

Fortunately the roads at this hour (approximately 9:37 PM) aren't filled with much traffic. They're headed from Brooklyn into Manhattan Island on the Williamsburg bridge. "I do my homework too," he remarks while they're driving over the bridge. "Dese Yin-Yangs have suppliers everywhere. Globally. Big chance dere getting dese Space Weapons from a non-domestic source. Undahstand my drift?" He glances toward Yana for a moment, before looking back to the road ahead. "I know where one of dere big wigs calls home. Think dey will let us in if we come knocking with one of dose?" He jerks his head to the back seat, where a collection of exotic and clearly not Earth-made weapons are resting in a pile that Homeland Security would collectively shit themselves over, not to mention SHIELD.

----

Yana plucks out her cellphone number, and asks Kwabena, "Address?" And then once it's given, as the phone, which rings in a raucous Russian rock song for the ringtone until it's picked up, Yana states, "Time to start earning some of that money I've been paying you, and the trip to Africa. Get to this address, pronto. Apparently the Triads are trying to kill me. They've got energy weapons." There's no further conversation as she hangs up, and tells Kwabena, "Personal bodyguard. You'll like her. She's very thorough."

She looks behind herself, nods, "It'd be a nice way in, to be sure."

----

Yana's phone rings her back only a few seconds later. Guess who.

"<Yeah that's great and all kid but /where the heck is that/?>" the predator snaps irritably as she strides down the sidewalk, looking for a street side. "<I'm somewhere in... I think Brooklyn right now, near the water. Can't one of your friends just pick me up?>"

----

"I'll see." Yana looks over at Kwabena, "Quick pickup in Brooklyn, if it's on our way? She's not the best with addresses. She's - old school."

----

Address is given. It points to a location in Chinatown, not terribly far from where the bridge dumps them off onto Delancey. Kwabena glances toward Yana's phone when it goes off, an eyebrow rising. "You want me to just get her an Uber?" he smirks. A quick check of the rear view mirrors for cops... none. "Hold on."

Brakes, then a yank to the left. The SUV's tires scream as it peels through a pass through to perform a very illegal U-Turn, ending up back on the Williamsburg Bridge.

"Delancey's a pain in de ass," he explains, and checks behind him to make sure the little stunt hasn't gotten them pegged by New York's Finest. "You get an address from Old School?"

----

"What's your intersection?" Yana asks back on the phone, then says to herself, "Going to have to get a better system in place." Once Vanya can provide her with a section of cross streets, she relays them back to Kwabena. "Trust me," Yana says both over the phone, and to Kwabena, "She's worth the side-trip."

----

"<'Seaview A-V-E'... and 'Rockaway Pikwey',> the weresoviet eventually replies as she reaches a sign and slips her sunglasses down from her nose. Vanya's hawkish eyes look upwards towards the sky and squint to get her bearings before she speaks into the phone again. "<So what is it: north, south, east, or west?>"

----

"Gonna take your word on dat, Twilight Speedball." Kwabena waits for the information to be relayed. "Tell her, go up Rockaway, away from de watah, right on Flatlands. We'll grab her at Flatlands and Pennsylvania."

Under his breath he mutters something in his native tribal speak.

----

Repeating Kwabena's directions (including the proper directional) to Vanya, she looks back at the tribal man, "Twilight Speedball? Now you're making me sound like some kind of new drug to hit the streets," Yana chuckles, then returns back to Vanya, "Get there as quickly as you can. We're on a timetable. And we're almost there. It's not too far from where you are."

----

There's a huff from the receiver on the other side of the phone call, followed by wind noise - lots of wind noise. "<Jawohl, mein fuhrer,>" Vanya scoffs as she rushes up the street and falls forward onto all fours, leaping across an intersection and bounding her way to their meet-up with only half a mind paid to weaving around the occasional late night pedestrians. Fortunately for her and the city, there aren't too many.

----

"Mos Def," answers Kwabena. He's already got his smart phone out, having taken it from a pouch that didn't appear to have any seams until he actually reached his hand for it. He swipes from an NYPD surveillance hack over to Spotify, and pulls up the track.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=Id9nCkVc54s

Auto sync is nice. The song starts playing over the stolen SUV's speakers, and Kwabena can't help but bob his head while bobbing through the streets, making shirt time through Bushwick. A couple of chicks jogging in yoga pants catch his eye, and he shakes his head. "Fucking gentrification."

It isn't more than ten to fifteen minutes before they've reached the rendezvous point. The playlist moved right on to 3030 by Deltron 3030, assuming Yana isn't too salty about Kwabena's choice in underground hip hop.

----

Yana seems to let the radio and songmix go, for the most part, and the goth-dressed girl has a quiet chuckle at the comment made by the dark skinned man driving. "There she is," she says, pointing out to the rather tall, and very not-wearing-yoga-pants Vanya, as she spies the woman down the road. "Let's do this."

----

The songmix is about to take a bit of a turn. Deltron 3030 drops into Forever Heavy by the group Black Moth Super Rainbow, right about the time the black SUV is pulling up to Vanya.

Kwabena's attire is certainly unique; gunmetal gray, form fitting, covering all but his head currently. The material, however looks exotic and certainly not something one picks up at Jo-Ann Fabrics, upon a closer inspection. Likely explains why he didn't end up naked after pulling his bike stunt. Otherwise, he appears to be a tall, dark skinned merc, no hair upon his head or face, and catlike irises that reflect silver color when the light touches them.

As soon as Vanya is in the SUV, Kwabena is driving down Pennsylvania toward the Belt Parkway. He glances toward Vanya through the rear view mirror, perhaps sizing her up.

----

As far as curbside pickups go, Vanya's a difficult one to miss. The muscular woman is in her usual battered red pants - the same ones she took to Africa in fact. By now, the garment has begun to show quite a bit of skin but it's still managed to hold together. Spying the vehicle approaching her, the werewoman straightens up and offers a little wave before gripping the SUV's roof and swinging herself into the back seat.

"Spasibo, tovarEE--" she begins to offer Yana before glaring down at the back bench seat and rummaging under her legs for a moment. "<...Tovarisch. I sat on a buckle,>" Vanya grumbles. Their driver is ignored for the moment, giving him ample time to study the burly Russian in her tanktop. No weapons, tools, or bags of any sort, nor jewelry. She probably relies upon brute strength to solve her problems, and from the width of her neck and lack of any scars, it might have worked so far.

----

"Vanya, Kwabena. And, vice-versa. You two should get along well enough. We're about to go hit some Triads, Vanya, who want me dead for helping our friend here out after he blew up one of their cargo ships that was about to pick up a bunch of girls to send back to China for sex and slave trafficking." She glances back at her bodyguard, "They're playing pretty dirty, too. Take a look in the back."

In the back, there's a collection of guns that neither Vanya, nor about 99.9% of the population of Earth have ever seen before, plasma guns capable of literally melting holes in cars, concrete, and other very, very solid objects.

"We're pretty sure they have more. So. Don't get hit. Be careful." Meaning that Yana can't stop these particular shots. They're not bullets, or launched objects.

----

Aforementioned boat incident was all over the news, about a month ago. Papers called it an 'isolated incident' and a 'mechanical failure'.

Russians can be either your best friends or worst of enemies. The accent draws a very mild grin to the African's face, and he resumes his driving. However, they haven't made it far onto the beltway when his smart phone flashes a big red alert.

Looking down at it, his eyes harden. "Fuck. APB on dis god damn vehicle." He looks to Yana, then back toward Vanya. "You two see any cops, I need to know. We see blue and red? Pop dere tires."

----

Vanya half-listens to the introduction as she turns her attention finally to Kwabena and lets her shades slip down the bridge of her nose, exposing a hawkish pair of round but amber eyes. She smirks when she catches his gaze in the rearview mirror and a passing streetlight puts a momentary shine in the center of her pupils - she's got them too.

"Da, da... Policy are no problem. Just open a window and turn off that noise for me," she tosses casually, not seeming at all concerned about the prospect. The brawny bodyguard turns and bends herself over the backseat to study the weapons traveling with them before letting out a low whistle. "<These are some interesting toys, Yana. No reason to block them, just dodge? You can still speed me up, no?>"

----

"" Yana exhales, turns down the music a bit for Vanya's sake, and focuses her eyes on the road. "You put a lot of stock in your tech," she observes to Kwabena, casually.

----

The guns vary in size and look as if they belong in a sci-fi blockbuster. A purple glow comes from some spots which suggest energy cells or access points of some sort.

Kwabena isn't about to bitch about turning off the music. Considering Vanya's wolf-like appearance, he hazards a guess that her senses aren't quite as dull as a normal human's, and Black Moth Super Rainbow just might be an irritant stop that. Even after Yana turns it down, he up and turns it off. "Be stupid just to rely on my x-gene," he answers. "De hookers and blow add up though," he adds, a casual grin suggesting he might be joking.

Damn shame. She Wants Revenge was up next on the playlist, and a typical type caster would assume it might be right up Yana's alley.

Its only a matter of time before they're bound to come across the fuzz. A police cruiser happens to be traveling the other way on the beltway, and thankfully there is a big cement barrier preventing him from following. However, the officer driving does turn and look at the SUV, then promptly gets on his radio to alert dispatch.

----

"Ahh, much better!" Vanya chimes as she opens a rear window and the passing wind whips her hair backwards. The werewoman takes a few sniffs of the night air before returning her attention to the trunk. "<Hmm... these have a nice glow,>" she chuckles, hefting one of the weapons fearlessly for closer study and brushing her fingertips along the iridescent plate. Despite her supposed role as lookout, the brawler's eyes are held on her prize.

"Radioactive?" she asks with a curious, strangely hopeful glance back towards the front. Her bushy lashes flutter once at the pair.

----

And it's 'cause of These Things that Yana's own senses are on high alert. "Don't know, but probably not," Yana states. "In any case, you find one, round it up. We're turning them in. Last thing we need is the Triads, or some mercenaries to show up with these things in hand and tip the balance."

Yana pauses, frowning, leaning out her window. "Cop's onto us, I think. Just turned off and got on his radio. We need to get where we're going pronto."

----

"Hold onto yah butts." Kwabena jerks the SUV into the fast lane, no longer going the speed limit. Within moments he's got the vehicle pushing 100, and is bobbing and weaving throughout the minimal traffic. They don't run into real trouble until they're on Ocean Parkway, headed for the Brooklyn Bridge.

Blue and red begin flashing some distance behind them as a pair of cruisers merge onto the parkway in distant pursuit.

"We need to lose dem, fast," Kwabena notes.

----

Vanya belatedly pokes her head out the window about the time the flashing lights are visible and looks backwards. "<Oh, there they are...>" Pulling her head back out of the jetstream, the brawler studies the rifle in her hand, trying to spot its various working pieces. "<You want I should shoot them? This is no Simonov but I found the trigger.>" The werewoman thinks for a moment, then kicks her feet up against the opposite door with a smirk. "Or you can drive faster. Like this you are bringing police with you; they can fight the Triad for us."

----

"No, we're not using those on the police," Yana states, firmly, to Vanya. "But, if you want, you can fire it on our entrance. We'll need it to make an opening, from what our new friend here says." She looks over to Kwabena. "We almost there?"

----

"You want to give us some speed?" Kwabena asks. "Maybe clear de way ahead, block de cops behind?" He shakes his head. "Not gonna be able to keep dis pace up once we hit de bridge!"

----

Vanya lowers her new toy and huffs dejectedly. "Hmph... <That sounds like a job for you, kid,>" she tosses to Yana. "<Go throw some super-pennies out the window or something. I don't spit shark teeth or anything.>"

----

"Sure. Just be sure you can keep up with the reaction times." She places a hand on the dashboard, and the SUV's speed doubles, then triples. Her own reaction times she can control, adjust, but she's not sure about the current driver so she's not going to take it up too far.

She looks back to Vanya, "<Can't you shoot quills, or stingers, or something?>" Heck, she doesn't know.

----

Usually, Kwabena is pretty cool, calm and collected. He's not surprised that the speedometer just pegged, but as the car keeps on accelerating, his eyes eventually grow wide. Hands are clenched upon the wheel tightly, but he's in the proverbial zone. The SUV does at one point scrape a little too closely to a semi, causing a jolt and a spray of sparks from both vehicles. "Sshhhhit!"

Fortunately, these are expensive and well maintained cars! The SUV jukes back and forth a bit, but Kwabena manages to keep control. A brief glimpse into the rear view and it would appear the cops are almost out of view.

"Yana!" he cries, and veers the SUV toward the off ramp that will take them to the Brooklyn Bridge. Concurrently he kills the lights, and grimaces. He's gonna do his best not to have this end up in a bad situation, but he knows better than to pump the brakes when the vehicle's speeding along at nearly 300 MPH.

----

"<Oh yes let me just spit some venom through an engine block,>" Vanya scoffs dismissively. "<Pssh, if I could just sink my teeth into a hellhound then sure I'd roast theeeeeeeem--> nu blyat!" Sheer acceleration pins the Slav against the rear seat cushions, squeezing her into a Vanya-shaped indentation as she looks back in surprise towards the front. The werewoman laughs incredulously and fishes for the button to close her roaring window again.

"<What the heck, Yana. You can accelerate /whole cars/!?>" she barks. ""

----

The SUV decelerates, back to normal after the 'boost' of speed, like nitro on caffiene, and Yana tips her head towards Kwabena, "You asked me to, thought you were prepared. Sorry," she says, thoughtfully. And, to Vanya, she agrees, "Yes. I can. I weaponized my BMW to take out a SUV that was chasing Kwabena, that's how he knew. Thought you knew, as well." She chuckles, "If it crashed, at any rate, we wouldn't have anything to worry about." More soberly, "More concerned about the people in the other vehicles. Still, we lost our tail, I'm sure."

----

A few deep breathes are given. "Nevah know what to expect with you, Spikes." He uncurls the fingers of each hand in turn in order to flex and stretch them, then finds himself laughing aloud. "We've got to do dis again."

The rest of the journey is surprisingly uneventful. The SUV eventually pulls up outside a tall, five level brownstone sandwiched between larger buildings. Kwabena kills the engine and looks at the building with a sobering frown. "Lao Chin," he says. "All I got, a name. I am guessing he's already in ovah his head; dis is Hand territory. Should work to our advantage." He turns around and glances back toward Vanya now. "You evah deal with high level thugs like dis?"

----

"" Vanya chuckles, easing back into a more natural laying posture as the vehicle slows back down to its designed speed and tucks her hands behind her head to enjoy the rest of the ride.

"Hmm? 'High Level thugs'?" she echoes, quirking a brow at the rearview mirror while sitting up and spanning her arms across the two front seats. "Kid, do you know who you are sitting next to? This isn't little Miss Petya who sells potatoes on a street corner."

Shaking her head, the brawler turns from Kwabena to Yana. "<You want to fill him in? These are chumps with special guns, or will I get to have some real fun here?>"

----

"<Just chumps, with special guns, far as we know.>" Yana turns her head to Kwabena, "Vanya can handle herself. That's why she's my bodyguard. Should've seen her take out that lion, bare-handed." And no, Yana isn't kidding. Still, she frowns. "Let's stay out of the Hand's way. That's one group we don't want to mess with. And I'm pretty sure the Triad's don't either. Let's finish this."

----

"Not what I'm asking about," Kwabena answers while unbuckling his seat belt. "We want to try to do dis without escalation. Means we might have to bluff about some few things. Oh, and do me dis favah? Call me Shift. Dese assholes don't know my real name, I'd like to keep it that way."

The Ghanaian steps out of the car, and goes around to the back in order to grab the largest alien gun he can find. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walks up to the front door and raps on the knocker three times.

An Asian man comes to the door and opens it, glowering at Kwabena and his companions. He says something in Mandarin, to which Kwabena slings the large gun around to the front side of his body, aiming it at the ground.

"Recognize dis?" he asks, and pats a hand on the gun twice. "Lao Chin. //Now//."

----

"<Easy enough. If anyone asks,> I no speak English," Vanya reasons simply while she unlatches and opens the far door with her feet and scoots her way out on the same side as Yana. Rolling some stiffness out of her shoulders and straightening her hair, the were-woman lets her own rifle dangle limply from one hand with her finger curled around the trigger guard. She might be feral but she's still got trigger discipline.

Moving up along with Kwabena, the burly Russian takes a lazy post to the side, weight back on one leg and eyes slowly sweeping around them. "<...I smell kung pao chicken,>" she murmurs. "<We're having a second dinner after this.>"

----

Yana walks just behind Shift and Vanya, looking vaugely disinterested in all of this, but that she's pretty much along for the ride. Still, her bright blue eyes focus entirely on the man at the gate, waiting, watching. And, rolling, as if by some measure of ditraction, three ball bearings in her right hand over and over each other with clever fingers.

----

The gatekeeper eyeballs those guns, then the trio in turn. After a moment of silence, he looks to the street beyond, then steps inside and holds the door open for them.

Kwabena steps through first. He keeps the plasma gun safely aimed at the floor, mouth silent, eyes vigilant.

The foyer is constructed with the highest quality of building material, and its decorations are ornate; a sign of the sheer wealth that organized crime yields. They aren't alone; quiet men, soldiers of a sort, line the foyer and the hallway. The place is well protected, and yet most of them show no sign of being armed. Of course, there are weapons upon the walls, for decoration of course.

The trio are led to an elevator, at which point the gatekeeper turns to then and says, "The guns. They're ours, or you go no further."

----

Vanya smirks quietly and her nose twitches as she steps inside. "<Boring... so boring...>" she grouses under her breath, trusting that Yana has heightened her hearing enough to catch it. Her own gun is held so loosely it nearly drags the floor, as if it were a mere piece of luggage. Her orange-tinted gaze flits to one of the seemingly unarmed men and her brow lifts faintly. "<...Maybe I will get to have some fun here.>"

Coming to a stop for the gatekeeper, Vanya turns more openly to her employer and reveals a playful smirk. "<Want me to wait in the lobby and make us new friends?>"

----

Yana look at Vanya, then, looks to Kwabena, as if to suggest at least on the surface, he's the one calling the shots. She looks at the new gatekeeper with a mixture of disdain, entitlement, and boredom, playing up the part of the Mafia Princess whose been irritated to it's full potential. For the moment, it's his call.

----

"Or..." Kwabena raises the weapon, and suddenly, all of those thugs are producing knives, pistols and various other weapons from hiding places on their persons.

The gatekeeper shouts a single word in Mandarin, while raising a hand. This keeps the thugs from attacking.

".... or," Kwabena continues, "I could melt through you, and de elevatah, and all of your little egg roll-eating dog-fuckers back dere."

The gatekeeper and Kwabena exchange poker faces for a few quiet seconds.

The stare may be daggered, but the gatekeeper finally produces a keyfob and waves it, prompting the elevator door to open.

Kwabena lowers the rifle and steps into the elevator at once. The gatekeeper follows, and holds the door for Yana and Vanya. Once they've entered, he'll key in the fifth floor, and the upward journey resumes.

The top floor is 70% penthouse suite, 30% something else, which exists behind a mirrored wall on the street facing end of the brownstone. This room also holds a number of Triads serving as guards, lining the walls. It is the large and ornate desk that draws the eye, on the far end opposite where the elevator door opens, flush with the mirrored wall. Behind the desk, Lao Chin sets his cigar down and rises. He is an aging Chinaman, with weight on his face and a dangerous look in his eye. "The one and only, 'Shift'," he greets. "The man who can't be killed. And... his new partner, Yana Asarov. Daughter of the great Alexsei, Pakhan of the Bratva's." He peers then toward Vanya, and his expression sours. "Your hired muscle would pay nicely in the slums of Shanghai. On the //meat// market."

----

"Lao Chin," greets Yana, mildly, to the man. "Yes. I've heard much about you." Her tone is courteous, if nothing else. Make no mistake, Yana has mapped out the floor, and her kinetic sense has already mapped out out much more than what the eyes can see, hidden traps, and the like.

"No doubt my father will be reaching out to you soon, given the recent invitations your men have extended me." You know. To die. And all that.

----

Vanya's smirk turns pointed when everyone draws weapons and her posture sinks a faint inch or two as her legs relax into a slight crouch, springy and ready to pounce at the first sound. She almost frowns when the standoff ends peacefully and straightens back up with a dull sigh, eyeing Kwabena sourly but following along without a verbal fuss.

As they reach the top floor and the group disembarks, the brawler... blinks. The werewoman tilts her head from side to side as she takes in all the mirrors and slows her walk to study herself in one of them, straightening her posture a little and flexing one arm at her side. A little self-satisfied grin accompanies the gesture before she turns her attention back forward and regards the man behind the desk. She gets a frown? Then he gets a smug smile.

"" Once again, a statement aimed only for Yana, though this time the werewoman makes no special attempt to hush herself.

----

"Your father," Lao retorts, while leveling a bony finger in Yana's direction, "would be a fool to interfere with my business." He reaches down for his cigar, and carries it with him while walking around the desk so that it no longer sits between himself and the guests.

"Our quarrel is not with you, Daughter of Alexsei," he continues. "Our quarrel is with //him//." He stabs the cigar wielding hand in Kwabena's direction. "However, since you saw fit to interfere with our affairs, we had no choice but to answer in kind. Surely you must have seen this coming?" He takes a long drag from his cigar, before slowly advancing upon his guests. "So, tell me, Daughter of Alexsei, how are we going to mend this... this rift that has formed between us?" Almost casually, Lao turns his face toward Vanya and speaks in eloquent Russian, "<Learn your place, bodyguard. You are in the Lion's Den, and you should be very careful with your animal attitude.>"

Kwabena's only response is the lifting of his eyebrows. Now he is the quiet observer.

----

"That is simple. You are an intelligent man, Lao Chin. My father admires your intellect, and your patience. But this?" Yana gestures to the plasma gun that Shift is holding, "This? Is a mistake. Especially bringing it to the streets, where it could be filmed. I owe Shift a debt of honor. We have already mended it, or had, prior to your attack on my person. I persuaded him not to kill your men that were chasing him." She shrugs, once, and then looks to Shift, and then to Vanya.

"However. You leave him alone, and forget this attempt to take my life as well, and where the weapons came from will remain a mystery, in the eyes of the authorities, for now. Though, if your men continue to be so reckless, they'll do that damage themselves."

----

A light comes to Vanya's face and her countenance changes in an instant. She smiles widely and close-lipped, responding once Yana finishes with flowery, honey-sweet formality. "<Well-spoken, Citizen Lion.>" The lilt of mirth might be noticeable to an ear better tuned to her archaic speech but the dancing humor in her eye is hidden by the brawler's sunglasses.

----

"You will never learn where the weapons came from," Lao Chin answers, his footsteps still closing the distance. "And I do apologize for the attempt on your life, young Asarov. It was the only true way to draw //him// out." He gestures again with the cigar toward Kwabena. "He interfered with our business, //he// cost us countless millions in investment. You know this business well enough to know that such a thing can not be tolerated. To do so would set a precedence, a precedence that my organization cannot afford." He turns beady eyes from Yana to Kwabena. "They say he cannot he killed. I say... we have found the way."

Invisible doors suddenly open in that mirrored wall, and two men emerge from each door. They're armed with the same exotic weaponry, and the guns are charged, buzzing with danger, and are aimed at the three guests.

----

Yana had known that the men were there, behind the glass. But, had waited to see how this was going to play out. She neither moves, or reacts to the introduction of them, and their guns. Instead, she simply reaches out to casually touch Vanya's arm in a 'don't kill them yet' kind of way which helps disguise the fact that she's just buffeted her bodyguard tenfold.

"You've done honor to the Triads for some time, Lao Chin. You're putting that at risk now in a gambit that could cost you much. Let us go, forget this, and, we can all move forwards." In her other hand, Yana's fingers play with those metal ball bearings more, just rolling them fluidly between palm and finger, rolling them over and over again. She does not look at the men bearing arms down on her. She matches eyes with Lao Chin. "Do not embrace the role of Captain Ahab."

----

Vanya's head turns as the doors open and she locks eyes with the concealed men for only a moment before whipping back around to look at Lao Chin. In most of a mirror to her employer, the bodyguard's smile holds, growing subdued but faintly more excited as the hairs on the back of her neck raise and her bare feet grip at the floor. He's close... very close... but on Yana's command the broad-shouldered Soviet keeps her hands at her side.

----

Yana knows the language, and it shows. There is an expansive silence, during which Lao Chin's jawline moves back and forth to suggest the gnashing of teeth. He finally puts the cigar into his mouth again and draws a long puff. "Yana Asarov," he says, laughing openly. "You are just as clever as your father. I offer this counter proposal."

He steps forward again, though this time he's angled just slightly toward Kwabena. "We would accept your service in repayment, Shift, by working for us. We will pay you handsomely, and this business with the boat... we will pretend that it never took place."

Kwabena flattens his lips into a thin line. "Or, we have de third option. You throw your dice, and we find out if dese guns can kill me. But dere are some few things you don't know about me, Lao Chin. I will do you dis one thing and tell you. If de weapons do not kill me, den what will happen is completely out of my control. Dis building, your men, Yana and her bodyguard? All of it will go up in fire. Then, de Hand will assume it was an attack. De Bratva's will seek vengeance for the life of their daughter, and your influence in America will become nothing more than de ashes we made here today." He shakes his head. "I will not work for you, so... which is it?"

Lao Chin glowers at Kwabena for a long moment. The men holding their alien weapons grow anxious, looking from one to the other, to their leader, then back to their target.

There is a fire in Lao Chin's eyes. His hands clench around the cigar, slowly crushing it until the cherry falls on the carpet with a quiet hiss. "We will call it a draw. We will forget all of this happened... and you three will get the fuck out of this building and never show your faces here again."

----

"No," agrees Yana, inclining her head. "We won't." There's a certainty, there. She looks to Shift, to Vanya, "Let's leave, as our host requests." Fearless from the armed men, she turns on Lao Chin and the men and begins to head to the door leading out of the office, and, thereby, out of the building as well.

----

Vanya nods to her employer and takes a half step back as she prepares to leave, until her self control slips again. The bodyguard's smile spreads into a cocky smirk and she gives a loose wave to Lao Chin with her free hand. "<Bye-bye, Citizen Lion-Cub. Let Yana know if you ever want to play. I get plenty of time off.>"

Chuckling softly to herself, the brawler turns and follows after the Bratva princess.

----

Lao Chin utters a phrase in Russian, quite insulting; it's essential translation suggests Vanya to be an animal afflicted with a sexually transmitted disease.

Kwabena, who has also turned to leave, gives Vanya a look. He doesn't know the language, but most insults have a way of rolling off the tongue that don't exactly require a person to understand its translation. He shakes his head to her, then keeps moving right on into that elevator.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Yana Asarov

2018-09-25T13:41:47Z

Apoq79:

{{character
|
name=Yana Asarov
|
callsign=Kinetic
|
icon=Yana01.jpeg
|
actor=None
|
type=Original Character
|
partner=None
|
father=[[Nikolai Asarov]]
|
mother=Alina Asarov
|
siblings=None
|
children=None
|
height=5'6"
|
weight=130 lbs
|
hair=Blue
|
eyes=Blue
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Yana02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==
*[[2018-08-11-Abandon_Ship|August 11, 2018 - Abandon Ship]]
*[[2018-09-22-Triad_Revenge|September 22, 2018 - Triad Revenge]]

[[Category:Roster|A]]

Yana Asarov

2018-09-25T13:38:55Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

{{character
|
name=Yana Asarov
|
callsign=Kinetic
|
icon=Yana01.jpeg
|
actor=None
|
type=Original Character
|
partner=None
|
father=[[Nikolai Asarov]]
|
mother=Alina Asarov
|
siblings=None
|
children=None
|
height=5'6"
|
weight=130 lbs
|
hair=Blue
|
eyes=Blue
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Yana02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==
*[[2018-08-11-Abandon_Ship|August 11, 2018 - Abandon Ship]]
*[[2018-09-22-Triad_Revenge_Part_1|September 22, 2018 - Triad Revenge, Part 1]]
*[[2018-09-22-Triad_Revenge_Part_2|September 22, 2018 - Triad Revenge, Part 2]]

[[Category:Roster|A]]

Yana Asarov

2018-09-25T00:52:48Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

2018-08-11-Abandon Ship

2018-09-25T00:52:38Z

Apoq79: Apoq79 moved page 2018-08-11-Abandom Ship to 2018-08-11-Abandon Ship: typo

{{log
|
name=Abandon Ship
|
date=August 11, 2018
|
location=Red Hook, Brooklyn, NYC
}}

<gallery>
Yana01.jpeg|[[Yana Asarov]]
Kwabena01.jpeg|[[Kwabena Odame]]
</gallery>

----

Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York
1:26 AM

The harbors may see activity around the clock, but the surrounding neighborhood eventually quiets down. It's a quiet part of town in the city that never sleeps, but that silence is suddenly disturbed when a large shipping boat docked in the Erie Basin goes up in flames. The camera cuts to a shot from inside the IKEA store, where a deep rumble in the earth disturbs glassware and shakes tabletop accessories. The ship is engulfed in flame through the window, sending a pillar of smoke skyward.

Moments later, a 2016 year Harley Sportster, in gunmetal grey, comes ripping up Columbia Street at full throttle. It's rider, helmetless, is clad in black leather, a bald head of very dark African skin reflecting the sickly yellow street lamps with every pass. An AK-103 with an underslung GP-30 grenade launcher is strapped to his back, and he's hunched low to improve aerodynamics.

As the bike rips into the main drag of Columbia, a trio of imports come along behind in pursuit, followed by a pair of black HUMMER's.

----

A young woman with electric-blue hair had been driving home in her brand new, very shiney Porsche 911 Turbo, when the explosion had been heard, and then seen as a bright ring of fire and smoke in the dark distance. Then, the motorcycle had passed her, and then the trio of imports, and finally, the duo of black HUMMER's.

Yana looked back across the port, and then to the vehicles quickly gaining ground, and decided to kick her car into gear, and follow. The tires squeeled and squelched in protest for a few seconds as she gunned the car from a lazy 35mph to roaring speeds to not only keep pace, but to catch up to the 'crowd' of persuit. She also tapped the monitor in the car, and the phone rang.

"Going to be late," she tells whoever answers on the end of the phone. "Watch the News, you'll see why." The phone hangs up, then, and Yana's car ends up making it just behind the Hummer's. "One of you is a very, very bad boy."

----

The rider in front unslings his weapon and turns about, guiding the Sportster one handed. A barrage of fire blasts out from the AK-103, tearing the first pursuing import to shreds and sending its helmeted rider tumbling at 60 mph into a dumpster. The two behind pull out their guns, smaller automatics, and open fire in return. They, however, weren't aiming for tires. The rider's leather jacket is ripped apart by bullets, but he seems unphased.

"Modda fuckah!" Shift glares, silver irises glinting in the night, and shreds the second biker's tires with another barrage of semi-automatic mayhem. The rider cries out when some of the rounds rip through his legs, and ends up putting the bike down on its side for a nice skid toward the sidewalk.

Meanwhile, the tailing HUMMER seems to have taken notice of the Porsche that's joined the pursuit. They're Chinese, and the driver barks out something in Mandarin to the thug riding shotgun. Down goes an armored glass window, and out leans a gangster, aiming his machine gun at Yana's very expensive vehicle.

----

"Not today," says Yana, and she grins wildly, then guns the car. It's almost as if she'd hit a can of nitro in it -- and maybe she did? But there's no accompanying sound. And it's truly an -interesting- sight to see, transfixing, confusing, wonderous, and disasterous all at the same time as the German luxury sportscar moves behind the HUMMER about to take aim on it and then crashes into it.

Except crash isn't the right word. Not -really-. Because while the HUMMER is indeed crashing - the Porsche isn't. In fact, it's more like the Porsche is like a hot butter knife and the HUMMER a lovely square of fresh butter on the plate that it's slicing through, up through the empty backseats, and then she yanks the wheel hard to the left pulling away before the driver and passenger get squished. Of course, this leaves the HUMMER utterly wrecked, and careening to and fro until it smashes into a storefront. "Hope you had your seatbelts on," she says to herself while the window goes down on her own side. With one hand on the wheel, she fishes out a steel ball bearing from her pocket.

----

Shift is about to take care of that third biker when he bears witness to something that should be impossible. Of course... he's got a lot of experience with impossible. It still stalls him just long enough for Biker #3 to unleash about forty rounds through his chest and head. Little swirls of black smoke expel where the bullets go through him, then get sucked right back in to a body that appears unharmed. One of them, however, damaged his throttle, and the Harley's engine behind winding down.

"Dammit." Pulling hard on the handlebars, the Sportster pops a wheelie and begins banking right. The driver vaults himself into the air, but before his leap reaches its zenith, he transforms into a cloud of black smoke. The riding leathers, the weapons, the boots, all fall to the street and are promptly run over by the remaining HUMMER.

Moments later, the cloud drops on the third biker and surrounds him. He begins hacking and coughing, choking on the swirling black gas until he's out. Then, Kwabena rematerializes out of the smoke cloud itself, and very roughly throws the rider from his perch.

"Hate imports," he quips, and turns the Yamaha into the parking lot of a large warehouse, marked //Caulktite Corporation//.

The intact HUMMER follows, and skids to a halt in the parking lot while Kwabena upon his commandeered import drives right into an open garage door and into the working factory.

----

The phone rings again as Yana slows the vehicle as it comes into the parking lot, slamming onto the breaks outside of the garage. She steps out of the vehicle, looks pointedly at the men in the second, surviving HUMMER, and she wags a finger at them as if in warning.

She then turns, and begins to walk into the garage that the mysterious rider rode into without a second glance back at the Very Armed Men as if she believed, or trusted they'd heed her warning after what happened to her friend.

The one thing that Yana -does- have going for her is her fair complexion which is very much Not Asian, and her Very Goth Look, which is also not typical of a Triad member.

----

Kwabena's clothing may have dropped off, but he is very much not naked. The man is now clad in what might be mistaken as your usual superhero costume, considering the whole skin tight, can see musculature thing, but it is the same gunmetal grey as the Harley he ditched out on Columbia. The one, Yana may have noticed, that didn't have a license plate.

"Everybody out!" Kwabena announces in a strong, booming, yet somehow hoarse voice. The accent is heavy, from Ghana to the trained ear. "De building is in dangah! Get out, and get out now!"

Some of the third shifters are slower to move than the others. Kwabena glowers at them. "Get de fuck out or you gonna die!"

Well, that worked.

The African pulls a hood up and over his face, concealing silver eyes from the world. He turns around, expecting to find four to five armed Chinese thugs. Instead, he comes face to face with Yana. He stares at her for a moment, unmoving. "Just who de hell ah you?"

----

Yana smiles, confidentally. She tilts her head, and comments casually, "Call me an interested party. It's not often that someone picks a fight with the Triad, afterall." Still, she doesn't look behind herself. Not even when the gunfire from the two men behind her that she'd left in the HUMMER begins to rain down on them.

Except suddenly it's almost like the bullets hit an invisible wall just 10 feet behind the woman with the electric blue hair. All velocity is suddenly just killed, and they drop uselessly to the ground in a series of pings and tinks.

"You can call me Kinetic, if you need a name, though." She is most defintely not in a superhero costume. "You blew up their cargo ship, I take it? And, this building is their's. You're going to make some real enemies." She doesn't sound like she's scolding, though. Or even warning. Just, more, stating the obvious simply because it amuses her.

----

Outside, the fire trucks start ripping down the road, headed for the docks and that blazing boat. The factory workers continue scrambling to their exits. It's that calm moment in a lethal game that is likely far from over. Kwabena looks past Yana when two of the four or five come in, but he doesn't intervene. However, when the rounds stop and fall, a grin curls his lips, pearly whites just peeking out. He steps toward her but doesn't pass; he stops at her side with his body and head facing the flabbergasted shooters. "Oh, is it?" he asks, but there is a tone of sarcasm suggesting this may have been planned. Or, at the very least, a last minute intentional decision.

Kwabena doesn't know much Chinese, but he does know some key words. "<<Run away, cowards.>>"

The Triads look at each other, then turn back to Kwabena and Yana. "Dey had it coming," he tells her in English, and keeps watching while the other three join their buddies at the entrance. "Got a smoke?" he asks.

----

"Nasty habit," Yana says in reply, crinkling her nose to suggest she doesn't find the habit altogether pleasant. She half-turns, now, picking up one of the fallen bullets off the floor, and rolls it between her fingers.

"You just tried to shoot me," she says to the Triad members, frowns. And, she throws the bullet at them with a side-armed pitch, almost casual in the way she does it. "Here, have it back."

It's too fast for the human eye to see. That, perhaps, is no surprise. What -may- be a surprise is the fact that what follows is a -crack- sound, and one of the Triad's toppling over, backwards as the bullet connects with his skull. Luckily for him, Yana isn't using lethal force. But, he's going to have a -really- nasty concussion. "Any particular reason you've decided to put yourself on a wanted list?" A half a beat later, she adds, "Curiousity, you understand."

----

Kwabena's face sours. His pack is obviously out there amongst his discarded clothing. "No smoke, no name," he answers. Hard to tell if he's joking or not. He does look on when she displays her enhanced abilities again, and the sourness fades.

"About sixty sex slaves ah ten minutes ETA to dat boat," he answers Yana. "Looks like dere trip is delayed."

The Triads are chattering with each other. Decidedly, they throw their guns to the ground and begin advancing. They form a half circle as they advance, during which Kwabena finally turns to look directly at Yana. "You... should considah distancing yahself from me, Kinetic." He turns back toward them, frowning. "Dey ah going to learn why I am called Shift."

It might be a trick if the eye, but the cement underneath his feet is starting to blacken, and it's... starting to feel surprisingly hot in his vicinity.

----

At that revelation, Yana's features sour. Oh, she knows her father goes into the 'work off your immigration' trade, it's all part of being part of the Bratva - but his means are not so cruel as sex-slave (or slave period) trade/labor. She nods her understanding, perhaps even her approval.

"Right." Yana actions thus far, Shift may begin to realize are merely going so far as to protect herself, and neither to aid or hinder him; save, perhaps, by circumstance. She moves with a half-speed walk over to a far wall, crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against it. Her facial expression seems to say, 'Go ahead. Show me what you got. I'm watching.'

----

"I hope one of you Yin-Yang's speak English," Kwabena says. He's not above doing using a racial slur to further instigate them. "You have three choices." Up comes a gloved hand, looking on as they begin to encircle him. "One, tell me where de women ah." Second finger. "Two, run away like coward. Three, stay here."

He looks down and draws a deep breath. The cement under his feet starts melting. In the blink of an eye, he transforms into that cloud of roiling, tendril-filled black smoke, but the smoke quickly ignites. Superheated gas becomes plasma, and suddenly, the warehouse is filled with blinding light.

The Triads shield their eyes and back away, shouting at each other. Kwabena's voice changes, adopting a somewhat electric, buzzing nature. The air itself seems to vibrate with certain heavy vowels. "I will find them, and I will free them. Show me where they are, or shit's gonna start melting." Two tendrils of blinding white energy begin slowly crawling toward the Triads, directed toward their arms.

The five of them turn and run, likely headed back to their HUMMER.

----

"That looks handy," Yana observes, her tone sounding approving and more than a little interested. She is, afterall, an X-Man among other things and has seen her share of interesting abilities in her time. This? This one's fairly new. "Though it looks like you overdid it." Her tone is amused, clearly, but she pushes herself off the wall, "I'll help you look," she volunteers.

She looks back, briefly to the fleeing Triad's and sighs, "Idiots."

----

Kwabena reverts to his normal self with a gasp, and quickly leaps backward to avoid landing on melted cement. "Dey aren't de talking type," he points out between panting breaths. "And I //really// didn't want to stoop to torture." He stops for a moment, waving away some of the steam/smoke that rises from his costume. "Nevah works, anyway."

He turns toward Yana, clearly winded by the act. "Won't need to look fah. Fifty bucks says dey lead us right to dem. You know why?" He smirks, and nods his head toward a wet puddle not far from where one of the Triads stood. There are damp boot prints leading back to the HUMMER that is peeling out of its parking spot.

----

Yana manages to look sincerely impressed. "So this was all a feint, to track them back? Impressive. Almost something someone else I know would have done." She dusts her hands off, pushes herself off the wall. Offers, "Want a ride? Or, should I just go mind my own business and let you handle it from here?" Afterall, she found out what she wanted, and she's more than certain Shift can take care of himself. But, the man has proved interesting if nothing else - and she has to be careful just how much she presses the Triad, what with her familial connections or it could cause a turf scuffle - or worse.

----

Fingers snap and point toward Yana. "In dat sexy piece of machine?" he asks. "Sure, but, I need to use yah phone. Cops around here are all on de egg roll pay roll, but I don't need someone lifting my bike."

----

Yana exhales through her nose amusedly and begins walking to her Porsche then, fishes in her pocket for her phone and tosses it to Shift casually without a second thought. "Haven't seen you around before. Or heard of you." Certainly, she'll be asking her father about him, and giving him all the details of this little encounter.

The Porsche starts up readily, and she begins to follow the wet trail left by Shift's superb strategic measures. "Though, you're going to really make some of the capes upset." This, however, doesn't seem to bother her any. "Just so you know. They tend to take a more - protective approach than your direct methods. Blowing up a cargo ship isn't subtle, afterall." She chuckles.

----

"Guess I'm doing it right, den," Kwabena answers, after catching the phone out of the air. He quickly punches in a number off memory, and puts the phone up to his ear while walking. Right as Yana finishes talking, he holds up a finger.

A rapid conversation is held in his native language. It's quick, and by the end of it he's smirking. The phone is handed back to Yana, and he takes a moment to consider what she said.

"Look. I have much respect for what de capes do," he says, and he sounds honest about it. He pulls the seatbelt over to secure it, then leans back comfortably as Yana drives. "Guess I do what dey won't do."

The HUMMER is headed north and into the more heavily populated area of Brooklyn. They haven't yet recognized that they're being followed.

----

As there is no chase going on (per se) Yana isn't of the mind to speed to catch up with them, afterall the clever 'tracking' device that Shift has left gives them ample warning enough, but she does follow with a measure of intelligence and skill that suggests someone, at some time, had given her lessons or she's had a certain amount of practice in doing this sort of thing.

"I have to respect a man who just doesn't give a damn and is willing to carve her own path," she responds, earnestly. "And, I'd hate us to have to be on the opposite sides of the game. Hopefully that won't happen."

----

Kwabena's eyes remain forward. He may have been nervous about letting this strange woman take the lead, but she clearly knows how to put a tail on someone. "Dey're staying on Columbia," he says. "Tahget's gonna be coming in from de 278 off ramp." He remains silent for a moment until, up ahead, a pair of SUV's are sandwiching one of those big tour busses that wealthy, suburban High Schools rent for band trips. "Chantah Bus," he says, and leans forward. "Happy fucking Hanukkah."

He finally turns to Yana. "De game is a joke," he tells her. "You want to let dese assholes live? Deal with de consequences. Or, we can make it a quick death. Your call, blue." He nods to her. "I am just hitchhikah."

----

"It would get - messy - if they died," Yana says after a few moments, her tone sober. "Especially since they've seen me. It won't take them long to figure out who I am." She pauses, turns to face Kwabena, and she casually grins, "You'll find out sooner or later, anyways. My father is Pakhan, around here."

Depending on what Shift has heard, the local Bratva, the Russian mob is effective, nearly untouchable by the law because not only are they usually one step ahead of everyone, but they protect themselves by keeping their operations above-board; sure they import illegals and 'sell' them tickets here, but they're put to 'free' labor work in factories and shops around town and also act as informants, eyes and ears - with others, like those who choose to be prostitutes earning their 'freedom' more quickly with the money and information they can bring in as just one example. Efficient crime. Controlled, calculating crime.

"I hope that doesn't put a damper on our newfound friendship, tall, dark, and handsome."

----

Messy. Kwabena shrugs, making a conceding hand gesture. He's about to interject, until Yana drops one particular name. His hand drops down to his lap, and after a moment, he turns to look at her. Bless that mask, it's hard to say what's in his eyes, but his lips are formed into a thick line.

"Well." He turns back around to stare out the window. "Shit."

The incoming convoy suddenly puts on the brakes. "Whoa." He leans forward, looking on. "Yeah, dere we go. Looks like dey just got de abort call." He turns to Yana. "Less messy it is." Because this is gonna be messy whether the goons live or die. "Let's move."

----

Yana makes a face as the convoy puts on the brakes, and she follows suit. She exhales, "Well, looks like it's not going to be easy as we thought." She gestures, "Lead the way. This is your fight, afterall. I'm just - a casual observer. Though, if it helps, the man in the lead vehicle is probably the one in charge here. And, he's claustorphobic."

She grabs a small velvet bag from the dashboard and hooks it to her belt, casually. The bag is clearly weighted.

----

"God." Kwabena adjusts the hood of his costume. "I wish I didn't always lose de guns." He unfastened the safety belt, and motions left. "Rip past dem. Left side. Distraction, yeah?" He presses a button, rolling down the window. "I'll handle de one in charge."

----

"You got it." She jerks the wheel left, and then then guns the engine past them, adding, "Sorry. Don't carry guns. I'm better than a gun." She grins, sharply at her confident statement as the tires squeal again, giving rise to opportunity to Kwabena to do what he does best.

----

"Yeah?" asks Kwabena with a smirk. "Don't dent her up, babe." He slaps the hood twice, before leaning out the window. Head to foot, he transforms again. The black smoke all but disappears into the night, but in reality, it's zooming through the air toward that lead car.

Thin tendrils of Black separate and make for the small cracks between the doors and body of the SUV. It'll take a while...

Meanwhile, Yana's gonna have two SUV's and the HUMMER to deal with. Once the Porsche makes its move, the Triads raise the alarm, and out come their guns. Always with the guns.

----

As the bullets reign down on the car, they bounce off as if the car were impervious, the windshield only cracking slightly as if it were the strongest, military-issued type available with each hit. Her hand whips a steel ball bearing through the HUMMER's engine block, and following up with the other SUV's engine block as well. There's -loud- sound of crunching metal, both times as she speeds past them, rendering the vehicles inoperable without taking out any of their crew directly. "Idiots," she says again, too busy concentrating on driving to be impressed by what Shift is doing this time.

----

"Konnichiwa."

The guy in charge jerks his head to stare at Kwabena, who is now sitting in shotgun. He gasps and reaches for a pistol, but Kwabena is faster. Down comes a fist, shattering a reaching arm. Next comes the other arm; the leader's forehead is smashed into the windshield, cracking it like a spider's web. He grabs the wheel, snatches up the leader's cell phone from the dashboard, and dials 9-1-1. He then jerks the steering wheel hard. Tires scream, and the car tips, crashing down hard on the driver's side.

The passenger door is thrown open. Kwabena's foot lands on the Triad's face, stepping on it to push himself up as the car skids along the street. He scrambles onto the upended side of the car, waits for the right moment, then leaps.

A black cloud comes back into the Porsche. When Kwabena reforms, his mask is down. "Shit, dat was Japanese," he mutters to himself. "Kick rocks, Kinetica. Cops are on de way."

----

"The Yakuza? Shit. Do not tell me that Triads and Yakuza are working together. Jesus fuck." Yana shakes her head, "Yes, kicking rocks. Hold on." And, she does kick rocks. Curiously, the cars speedometer says they're doing 10 mph, but they're doing a hundred, really, and in less than a second or two.

Kinetic, indeed. "Any place I should drop you off?"

----

"Nooo, no no no," Kwabena is quick to answer. "No, definitely Triads. It's -" He's immediately silenced by the car's sudden lurching. "Fuuuucking A." His eyes dart over to the speedometer, and after a moment or two, he smirks. "Konnichiwa." His tough guy demeanor suddenly melts, and he laughs. "Is what I said to him before smashing his face, and using his phone to dial 9-1-1." He shakes his head, laughing again. "It's fucking Japanese."

----

Yana looks instantly relieved "Jesus," she says, shaking her head, "Don't scare me like that. My father would have a coniption." She looks behind herself, where they'd only left one of the vehicles operable. "I think I like you," she says, a moment later, chuckling. "Pleased to meet you, Shift."

----

"You think?" Kwabena laughs, then shakes his head. "Dat is also funny." He nods his head to a corner, where an MTA station is not far from. "Let me off here."

Once he's out of the car, it's worth noting he hasn't rolled up the window yet. "Don't worry," he says, leaning into the car briefly before she can pull away. "I won't stick nose into yah business, make sure dey don't try to fuck you up ovah dis. I mean..." He winks. "Dey ah just Triads." He then pulls away and sinks into a shadowy spot.

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

2018-08-11-Abandom Ship

2018-09-25T00:52:38Z

Apoq79: Apoq79 moved page 2018-08-11-Abandom Ship to 2018-08-11-Abandon Ship: typo

#REDIRECT [[2018-08-11-Abandon Ship]]

2018-08-11-Abandon Ship

2018-09-25T00:51:37Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=Abandon Ship | date=August 11, 2018 | location=Red Hook, Brooklyn, NYC }} <gallery> Yana01.jpeg|Yana Asarov Kwabena01.jpeg|Kwabena Odame </gallery> ----..."

Yana Asarov

2018-09-25T00:47:23Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

{{character
|
name=Yana Asarov
|
callsign=Kinetic
|
icon=Yana01.jpeg
|
actor=None
|
type=Original Character
|
partner=None
|
father=[[Nikolai Asarov]]
|
mother=Alina Asarov
|
siblings=None
|
children=None
|
height=5'6"
|
weight=130 lbs
|
hair=Blue
|
eyes=Blue
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Yana02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==
*[[2018-08-11-Abandom_Ship|August 11, 2018 - Abandon Ship]]

[[Category:Roster|A]]

Roster

2018-09-25T00:44:34Z

Apoq79:

The current list of played heroes:

*[[Yana Asarov]]
*[[America Chavez]]
*[[Anya Corazon]]
*[[Carol Danvers]]
*[[Angela Davis]]
*[[Dick Grayson]]
*[[Jean Grey]]
*[[Laura Kinney]]
*[[Haven MacKenzie]]
*[[Wanda Maximoff]]
*[[Kwabena Odame]]
*[[Thor Odinson]]
*[[Peter Parker]]
*[[Illyana Rasputin]]
*[[Steve Rogers]]
*[[Gwen Stacy]]
*[[Wally West]]
*[[Kara Zor-El]]

The current list of villains introduced onto the grid:

*[[Lex Luthor]]
*[[Brainiac]]
*[[Ultron]]
*[[Oswald Cobblepot]]
*[[Wilson Fisk]]

Current List of Notable Organizations:

*[[The Watch]]
*[[Xavier Institute]]
*[[SHIELD]]
*[[Stark Industries]]
*[[Wayne Enterprises]]
*[[Pym Technologies]]

Current list of Villainous Organizations (please ask staff to be tagged if you're using them for plot purposes)

*[[HYDRA]]
*[[AIM]]
*[[CADMUS]]
*[[Brotherhood of Mutants]]
*[[Morlocks]]

2018-08-07-Hero Worship

2018-08-26T18:59:18Z

Apoq79:

{{log
|
name=Hero Worship
|
date=August 08, 2018
|
location=East Village, Manhattan, NYC
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Angela01.jpeg|[[Angela Davis]]
Laura01.jpeg|[[Laura Kinney]]
Thor01.jpeg|[[Thor Odinson]]
</gallery>

----

East Village, Manhattan. Corner of Avenue A and 7th, just across the way from Tompkins Square Park. There is a Simpsons Sky above, dotted with clouds, and the weather has granted New York with some reprieve from the oppressive heat for now; most weather apps are showing a comfortable 78 degrees. There are many reasons people come to this neck of the woods, and there are plenty of pedestrians about in fact; a middle aged rotund lady with a disposable cup of soda from the McDonalds down 7th. A pair of purple skinned mutant twins walking with ice cream cones from the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop around the corner.

Anya Corazon and her friend, Laura, are here for the food trucks. They're parked along the east side of Avenue A, lining the park for at least a block and a half. The street is filled with smells of all kinds, but Anya has her eyes on a truck selling Nepali Cuisine.

"Look at that." She elbows Laura twice. "Don't tell me you gonna get one of those nuclear burritos again when they got //Nepali Cuisine// right there."

The young woman's got her brown eyes set upon that truck with hunger on her face. Counter cultural as ever, today she's rocking knee high leather combat boots with buckles all over the place. Her half destroyed denim shorts border on inappropriate, legs drawn in ripped up fishnets, and the oversized shirt on her top sports a photo of Bob Ross painting a pentagram on a mountain. Gothic lettering on the back of the t-shirt reads, //HAPPY LITTLE SATANIST//, mostly obscured by the patch covered backpack she's wearing over each shoulder. She's done a new side shave on both sides of her head this time, the short hair dyed pink while what's left up top is colored silver and left to hang down the right side of her head. A single, fingerless leather glove, with studs on the knuckles, is worn on her left hand; a sweatband in pink, yellow and blue on her right wrist.

----

Ahhhh. Food trucks. One of the main reasons Laura made the drive down. And also motorcycles were relaxing. She inhales slowly through her nose, sampling the bouquet of food odors. "I do not think I have had Nepali. What's it like? Is it spicy?" Spice, was one of Laura's rather important criteria for food. Flavor is especially important after spending most of her life eating rather flavorless rations. She rests one hand on her hip, shading her eyes with the other to get a better look at the menu.

----

Not too far behind Anya and Laura is a woman with long red hair, wearing a "Halo Kitty" T-shirt and somewhat worn denim jeans. She gestures over towards the food truck in question, looking up towards her rather tall companion as she says, "Wait, how have you never eaten Nepali food in all the time you've been around here? That seems to be quite a sin of omission... trust me, I'm an expert in the field." She grins, looking around at the other people queueing for the food trucks. Her eyes do catch Anya and Laura, her expression darkening as she notices Anya's shirt. Muttering something under her breath, she shakes her head as if to clear it.

----

The redhead's tall companion definitely stands out. For one thing, big blonde men that look a bit like a walking mountain tend to stick out in a crowd -- even when they aren't carrying an umbrella on a perfectly sunny day. And honestly, even when he's wearing nothing more interesting than a humble hoodie and jeans... Thor has never done a very good job of blending in.

"As always, I will defer to your expertise," Thor replies with a broad smile, peering towards the food trucks over the heads of the crowd. "It has been an oversight, on my part. We can remedy it quickly enough."

----

"Hell yeah," answers Anya. "Just, like, tell 'em you want it //actually// spicy, not American spicy. They dial it down for most people who look American, because they're pussies." A pause. "It's like getting Indian, and ordering a ten when they only tell you they go to a seven. Comprende?"

The woman with Thor is gonna get a nice read of that shirt, for she slings the backpack off her shoulder to begin digging around in it. "Oh, now where the fuck," she mutters, then smirks. "Ah. Got 'em." Out come a pair of bright red sunglasses, which get perched on her nose promptly. "Do the brown rice," she tells Laura. "Do the combo lentils and chick peas, pick your meat, //definitely// do the cilantro and onions. And don't forget, don't bitch down the spice level."

----

Laura nods, her nostrils flaring again a bit as... something definitely strange tinges the foodscape. She turns her head slowly, gaze resting for a moment on Thor and his companion, before she looks back to Anya. "Brown rice, Lentils and chickpeas. Chicken, Cilantro and onions. And an extra tip if it is adequately spicy. Understood." When they get to the front of the line, Laura places her order, and there's a little bit of haggling, and an extra twenty popped into the tip jar. She steps to the side while her food cooks and Anya orders, eyes returning to watch Thor.

----

The redhead chuckles, "As always... I think your memory is a little bit selective there. I mean there was that time with the rock trolls at Mag Femen." She looks mildly amused, though Anya is now getting a look of mild approval for the cuisine comments, and then she adds to Thor, "And what she said is right, if you want to have a real lightning strike in your mouth, tell them to bring the heat. Though I'd probably recommend getting a large drink, if you do..." A fair warning, that.

----

Thor holds up a finger and //starts// to argue the redhead's point with Mag Femen, but he trails off and glances off to one side. ...oh. Oh, that is right, isn't it. He slooooowly drops his hand back to his side and clicks his tongue, nodding once. "Well taken. I'd like to think I am a slightly better person now than I was then," he adds in a quiet, slightly higher pitched voice as he falls into the back of the line. He's not going to shy away from trying the legit spicy stuff -- but he is also going to take the advice of having a large drink.

It's difficult to tell if Thor has really noticed the attention Laura is giving him. If he has, he doesn't seem to find it particularly worrisome or unusual.

----

When it's Anya's turn, she gives the chef a fist bump before placing her order. She goes for almost the same thing, subbing out pork chili instead of chicken tikka, then leans closer to the chef. "Like //actually// spicy, okay?" She grins winningly, then moves along with her friend. Her friend... who seems to be giving someone the adamantium eyeball.

Anya turns her head to try and see just what Laura is looking at. That's when her jaw drops and she openly gasps, a sound much like holding back the shriek that wants to force its way out. "Holy //shit//!" she hisses in what unintentionally comes across as a stage whisper. "That's //Thor//!"

----

Laura squints a little, before nodding. "Yes. That would also explain why he smells like ozone, and some other strange things. I am somewhat surprised he has not been swarmed by one of his fan clubs yet. Since he has not, you could try getting his autograph." Her food arrives a few moments later and the dark haired teen accepts the bowl and plastic spoon, taking a bite. She chews, swallows, and gives an approving nod to the truck's staff. They have passed her test.

----

Ahadiel, aka Angela Davis, grins over at Thor, "I think you are... I'm sorry, I shouldn't be judging you based on the past, it's rude." She reaches over and gives Thor's arm a sympathetic squeeze, about to say something else... which is when Anya reacts to spotting the God of Thunder.

The angel grins wryly at Thor, "I forget how popular you are sometimes. Did you want to mingle a bit?" After all, he's already 'outed' as it were.

----

Judging by the smile creeping up beneath Thor's beard, the stage whisper did not go unnoticed. Still, he reaches up to give Angela's hand a grateful pat. "Think nothing of it. Of all people, //you// are certainly allowed to judge me. Someone has to keep me honest."

He takes a moment to order -- and pay for Angela's lunch as well, because surely that will make up for all of his past misdeeds -- before he turns to offer Anya a genuine smile. He tucks the umbrella under his arm so he can mime taking a selfie with both hands, both eyebrows arching inquisitively.

----

"You kidding?" Anya replies, turning toward Laura with wide eyes. "What if he found out how many times he's in my search history?" she whispers, before glancing back toward the dreamy fellow and his likely girlfriend. She bites her lip, clearly crushing on the fellow for a moment, before leaning back toward Laura.

"Sabes que preferiria que conociera a la chica arana. Eso seria mucho mas rudo. Si?" She deftly transitions back to English, her tone flabbergasted. "Oh, God. He's looking right at me. Oh my god and he's a big dork too." She leans her head upon Laura's shoulder (assuming such a thing doesn't get her promptly snikt-ed). "I am such an idiot." She flushes furiously now and raises a hand to wave back at the clearly internet famous Asgardian.

Subtitle: You know I'd rather meet him meet Spider-Girl. That would be so much more badass.

----

<She is not here right now, and you are. And I do not believe that he is likely to be using your computer in the future.> Laura rests her hand on Anya's shoulder, gently pushing her in Thor's direction. <You will regret not having this picture later.> Plus, seeing her friends happy is one of Laura's guilty pleasures. It's nice to enjoy the little things in life, sometimes.

----

Angela smiles warmly at Anya, "Hi there. Love the outfit... well, except for the shirt, but yeah." She waves, "I'm Angela, and I think you know who /he/ is." She tosses Thor a wink, then steps over to the side so as not to be in selfie-range... which puts her standing by Laura. She glances over at Laura, "You didn't want a picture with him too?"

----

In his time spent on Earth, Thor has learned many things, including more than a few social cues. So when Anya and her friend begin quietly speaking to one another in Spanish, he does his very best to pretend he can't hear //or// understand what they're saying. It's only polite, and to be fair, Anya //is// still a little ways away when she says the more interesting things. Surely he's distracted by accepting his food from the truck. Surely.

Thor just grins a little wider when Laura urges her friend forward and his own moves away, and now Anya is given a very sympathetic look. "I think our friends are trying to help. Should we all find a place to eat together?"

----

"Ope." Anya is lightly shoved, and she walks up toward Thor with a darker than normal complexion. She looks //up// at the man from her diminutive height, then grins awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, probably." It takes a lot of effort not to toe scuff here.

For a moment, Anya stands there, holding her food in one hand and her foot firmly planted in her other mouth. She looks over toward Angela, then down at her shirt, blinking. "What? Oh, come on. //Tell// me it isn't funny as hell." She winks at Angela, before gasping when Thor suggests they all eat somewhere. "Whoa whoa! Hold on!" She doesn't quite think about what happens next; such things happen when one is star struck. Her food is balanced in her left hand, while the other reaches around in a display of near impossible flexibility, so that she can tug the smart phone out of her backpack. "Selfie first!" She pulls the food around her back, balancing it on finger tips as if she's been serving beer on a platter since she was twelve, and holds the phone out. "Show me them pearlies, amigo!"

----

Laura actually smiles a bit as Anya starts fangirling. She turns to Angela, giving her an appraising look. "I do not have social media. ...Also I am eating." She takes another bite, chewing and swallowing, before continuing. "Heroes are just people who choose to do the right thing when they can." Plus, when you've been spending months surrounded by capes, the awe of meeting people kind of wears off.

----

Angela smiles at Laura, "That's a remarkably level-headed attitude. Very nice." She nods, "It's nice to meet you, and... well, I would definitely not mind sharing a table with you two, if Thor is okay with it." She glances over at Anya, and gives her a bit of a wry expression as she cryptically adds, "That's the problem with it." She winks at Thor with that, apparently passing some sort of inside joke.

----

Thor doesn't even bat an eyelash at how deftly Anya is able to rearrange her things and balance her tray behind her back, though he //does// look a little impressed. Game recognizes game. Without hesitation, he leans over to look directly into the phone camera, and asides a quiet "I think it is a great shirt," to Anya before he flashes a winning smile.

He will probably owe Angela another meal for this, but he's pretty sure it'll be worth it.

----

Welp. Anya was //trying// not to blush, but that remark from Thor means she's gonna have to photoshop that selfie a bit before posting it. She gives a weird look to Angela before diverting to the selfie, grins big, and snaps a quick burst of photos, just to make sure neither of them are blinking.

"Is it cool if I post it and tag it?" she asks Thor. "People who don't ask permission are f..." The swear word is caught in her mouth. "... prrrrr" Don't say pricks. "rrretty thoughtless." Trying to distract from all of that, she points to some unoccupied benches around a table in the park proper. "Let's nab that spot before someone beats us to it!"

----

Laura nods. "That does look like a good spot. It will be more comfortable in the shade." She follows Anya over to the bench, slipping into a seat and setting her bowl on the table. She retrieves a water bottle from her own backpack and takes a sip, her gaze flicking back and forth between their apparent new dining partners. ...Shit. Small talk is not one of her good points. "...The food here is very good." Welp. Could have been worse.

----

Angela takes a seat, "Well, this is about as good as you can find it, unless you go to Nepal. I was there a... while ago. Amazing food. Great artwork, too." She glances over at Thor with a fond expression, then looks over at the other two ladies, "I just run a little art studio in Hell's Kitchen. Make my own bronzes there, plus some sculpture and... other things." She gets a bit of a wry look, "You will not believe what people will pay for an authentic-looking weapon for cosplaying."

----

"You are absolutely welcome to post it. Thank you for asking." Thor doesn't have any social media accounts of his own, but he knows these things make people happy, so he is //of course// a thousand percent in favor of this. With a cheerful smile, he follows Anya and the others to their chosen spot, and waits for the three of them to sit before he claims a spot of his own. He leans the umbrella against the bench.

He flashes Laura a smile as he prepares to tuck into his own food, and seems perfectly happy to let Angela do the talking while he does. Everyone is speaking so highly of this food, he's a bit eager to see if it lives up to the hype.

----

"Awesome!" Anya answers Thor, before settling down next to Laura, and finally gets to opening her food. The patch-covered backpack is set on the ground, a thermos produced from within, and she takes a moment to dig in. The girl seems to eat as if she's never eaten before, but she does pause when Angela tells them about her shop. "Really?" she asks, eyes wide. "What's the address? Do you have open gallery shows? I //love// those."

Suddenly remembering her manners, she sets down a plastic fork. "Oh, my name's Anya. This is mi amiga, Laura." The fork is taken up again. "I can't believe you've been to Nepal," she says to Angela. "I've never even left New York. Well, I mean, I was born in Mexico City, but we moved here when I was really little."

----

Laura looks a little confused at being pinned by Thor's smile suddenly. She tries to return it, although the expression doesn't /quite/ make it all the way into her eyes. "She is right, I am Laura. It is a pleasure to meet you." A few more bites of food are chewed appreciatively. She's traveled a lot, but... not for the best of reasons. And it's not like she got to enjoy where she went. Best not talk about it.

----

Angela laughs, "I do, occasionally, but here..." She reaches into her purse, and pulls out a business card. The logo is a broadsword, framed by feathered wings, "My card." Which has her name, email, social media, and business phone all on there.

Angela then continues, "And yes, it was a while ago, but I've been... well, part of the benefits of what I do is being able to travel a fair amount, so I've taken advantage of that. Mainly to see other cultures and look at what they've made. It's fascinating, really."

----

Introductions are much more important than food, especially since Thor needs a moment to let some of these spices die down //just// a touch. Laura and Anya both end up with a comparatively massive hand outstretched in their direction, in turn. "Laura. Anya. It is a pleasure to meet you both. A meal is always more enjoyable with friends." Yes, Angela counts. But now it's //multiple// friends, and thus, obviously, better.

----

Anya loads an app on her phone, scans the card against the table. All of the info is stored in her contacts, and the social media accounts are followed. She then slides the card back, smirking, while simultaneously swiping back to her photo app, where the selfie with Thor is on display. "I'll just lose it. Curse of the college student."

Thor is greeted with a handshake that would belong to a normal human. She's had her powers just long enough to not make //that// rookie mistake.

----

Laura Kinney shakes Thor's hand firmly, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. Firm, two shakes. ...Probably something taught by Logan. Then she goes back to her meal. "Agreed. I have made many friends since starting school. It makes life much better." She nods sagely, before taking another bite. "...I will have to eat at this truck again in the future."

----

Angela replaces the card, then smiles, "Fair enough, I have plenty though. And if you lose it, then someone else might find it. Being a self-employed artist isn't the easiest thing in the world, after all." She gives Thor a wry look, "Actually get quite a few requests for Mjolnir replicas, though most of the time they don't want them to be too heavy." A bit of a face at that, as she apparently likes striving for realism.

----

There is a very, very slight furrow to Thor's brow as he shakes Laura's hand. She reminds him of someone but he cannot for the life of him put his finger on it -- maybe Hogun? Yes, she reminds him of Hogun. That must be it. How pleasant.

As he takes Anya's hand, Thor gives Angela a very surprised look (and, quite possibly, give Anya's hand slightly more of a squeeze than intended). "Mjolnir replicas?" he echoes. "I... huh. This is strangely flattering, actually," he muses, casting a look down at his umbrella.

----

"Good, innit?" Anya says to Laura, grinning wickedly. She looks back to Angela then, and is about to say something, when she feels a very familiar sensation coming from a certain mutated gland in her wrist.

If she was blushing before, now her face is going a bit pale. It isn't quite easy to break her handshake with Thor, and it isn't because he's devastatingly handsome. "Oh my god." She turns slowly toward Laura, still assuming that her Spanish won't be recognized and murmurs, "Solo estoy loco con Thor."

SUBTITLE: I just 'nutted' on Thor.

With a syrupy sweet smile that is entirely forced, Anya turns back to the Asgardian and uncurls her fingers. Webbing has now attached herself to the man by their wrists, and when she turns her hand, it's visible. Her eyes lid, and she tries very hard to hide all of the panic and embarrassment with a demure expression. "Quite a grip you got there, big guy."

----

Laura... smirks a little. This time it's genuine, and does reach her eyes. "Do not worry, I can fix this. You will want to stay very still, though." With a *snikt*, she pips one hand claw, and guides the adamantium blade between the two to sever the web string precisely without cutting either of them. Job done, the claw retracts, and she wipes her knuckles with a napkin, the wound gone by the time the napkin is back on the table.

----

Angela blinks a bit, then can't help but laugh at the Spanish from Anya, replying in kind, >> Well, that's something you don't see every day. Don't worry, I can keep a secret. << She winks at Anya at that, still snickering, though it grows a bit muted as she watches Laura do her snikt-thing to cut the webbing.

Angela smiles slightly, switching back to English, "I've not walked around this world for twelve thousand years without being able to keep a few secrets. So don't worry about me. Though, Thor, we might need to get you back to my place and get that cleaned up." A bit of a smirk at that, as she apparently is used to seeing women get a bit... excited around the Thunder God.

----

One might expect that Thor isn't //that// current on slang. It's an easy assumption to make -- he looks like he lives at a ren faire. But when Anya explains to her friend what's happened, he legitimately struggles to maintain a straight face, having to clench his jaw a bit to keep a laugh from escaping. Hide it by looking down at your wrists, big guy, don't embarass the poor girl any further.

"Oh dear. My apologies, did I --" Thor cuts himself off and blinks once as Laura comes to the rescue, his expression brightening. "Oh. Thank you. That could have been awkward. Honestly, Angela, it isn't that bad," he says obliviously, waving his free hand as he peers at his newly-freed wrist. He's pretty sure he's seen worse on the subway.

----

Anya does in fact hold very still. She doesn't seem surprised in the slightest by the sudden appearance of a hand claw, but she does lift eyebrows a bit at seeing how quickly the wound healed. Pulling her hand away, she makes a funny little gesture with her fingers, and the webbing slips out from a nearly invisible fold on her wrist, falling harmlessly to the grass underfoot. Her eyes go from one face to the other, a coldness in them that only warms when she realizes that... yeah, her secret's safe here. Angela might have gotten a longer look than the rest, for some reason.

"Ya just... squeezed the wrong place," Anya says quietly, offering an explanation to Thor. "The, uh, adhesive will dissolve and it'll fall off. In... about six hours." Her affected hand rises and rubs awkwardly at the shaved hair behind her ear, but soon enough she's back at it, digging into her food and tapping at her photo app. The silence lasts a whopping three seconds, before her head darts upward. "Hey, don't either of you believe that bullshit on the Bugle, okay?"

----

Laura nods to Angela, taking another bite of food and sizing up the woman herself. "It is no problem. Thank you for not freaking out." Surprisingly, some people get squeamish about Laura's claws. And there was yelling the last time people found out she used them for food prep. People didn't want to eat her stir fry after that, even the people who could take the heat. "Do I need to go to the Bugle and make corrections?" She gives Anya a meaningful look.

----

Angela chuckles, "Never really trusted that newspaper too much anyway. Too sensationalist." She glances over at Laura and smiles a bit, "Looks painful, but I've seen people with similar... gifts. Though I tend to stay out of the whole 'cape' business, typically. Thor is just an old friend from way back." She then flashes the thunder god a smile, before looking at the other two, "I don't know if you'd quite believe what I am if I told you, so..." Because yeah, thunder gods and mutants are one thing, but actual /angels/?

----

Six hours. After a moment's thought, Thor simply tugs his sleeve down a bit further and lets the lingering adhesive catch on the fabric. There. Now he //might// not end up with his lunch stuck to his hand. "Nothing to freak out over," he assures Laura, aiming a smile across the table at her and Anya both. "Do not worry. I believe what I see for myself first and foremost, it is... safer that way." Though not always a guarantee that he is not being bullshitted, //Loki//.

With just a hint of trepidation, Thor reaches for his drink, though he looks more curious about the possibility of getting it stuck to his hand than anything else. "If it would help, I would be happy to vouch for you at their offices." Because that's totally what Laura is suggesting.

----

"Don't tempt me, Frodo," Anya answers Laura. Thor however gets a look, as if she just might be about to take him up on it. After a moments consideration, she shakes her head. "No, Gracias. At least... not yet. That whole thing was kind of not... my usual thing." Her tone, of course, suggests she might not have quite yet determined what he'd 'usual thing' is.

Now, Angela gets a smirk. "Magic space alien arachnids kidnapped me. It was totally like Close Encounters. I even made a spider mountain out of my flan." Unable to hold it for long, the girl snorts a laugh and explains, "Bit by some kind of freak bug. Really, what could be stranger than all that?"

----

Laura... Actually hasn't seen or read LOTR yet. So Anya just gets a slightly confused look. "It is painful, yes. But it is not a problem." She nods along to Anya's story, before chiming in herself. "My story is strange. But people usually do not want to be around me after they hear it. So I will not tell it."

----

Angela grins a bit, "Well, then I suppose the fact that I'm a semi-retired angel of vengeance that's focused on various artistic expressions over the past three thousand years is normal." She chuckles, "With occasional breaks for fighting frost giants or rock trolls, of course."

----

Thor just inclines his head as Angela drops her bomb, and very helpfully adds "She's older than I am," in a stage-whisper across the table. He is probably going to get far worse than a little web stuck to his wrist in a moment. He better finish his food while he can.

"Not all stories need be told. Certainly not at a time like this," Thor muses thoughtfully, regarding Laura with a small smile. "Perhaps if we come to know each other better, we can share some stories. Not necessarily that one, but... some."

----

"Really?" Anya rolls her eyes at Laura. "I //am// visiting your school, and I //am// bringing Lord of the Rings. There are really awesome fight scenes. Might give you some ideas."

Shes back at her food when said bomb is dropped. One might consider it comical, how her chewing slows gradually, eyes looking between Angela and Thor, then back and forth a second time. The whole process of denial, disbelief, then arguing with herself and coming to certain conclusions plays out on her face. It culminates in her glancing down to the shirt she's wearing, and strangely finds herself sort of hunching herself tighter together, as if that would be able to hide the big pentagram that a two dimensional Bob Ross is painting upon one of his mountains. "I did say it was a joke," she says, then casts a worried look toward Thor. "Right?"

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Anya Corazon

2018-08-14T13:22:40Z

Apoq79: /* Roleplay Logs */

Laura Kinney

2018-08-14T12:41:35Z

Apoq79:

{{character
|
name=Laura Kinney
|
callsign=Talon
|
icon=Laura01.jpeg
|
actor=None
|
type=Media Character
|
partner=[[Carmilla Black]]
|
father=[[Logan Howlett]]
|
mother=[[Sarah Kinney]]
|
siblings=None
|
children=None
|
height=5'1"
|
weight=110 lbs
|
hair=Black
|
eyes=Green
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Laura02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==

*[[2018-08-07-Hero_Worship|August 08, 2018 - Hero Worship]]

[[Category:Roster|K]]

Angela Davis

2018-08-14T12:41:22Z

Apoq79:

{{character
|
name=Angela Davis
|
callsign=Ahadiel
|
icon=Angela01.jpeg
|
actor=None
|
type=Original Character
|
partner=None
|
father=N/A
|
mother=N/A
|
siblings=N/A
|
children=N/A
|
height=5'7"
|
weight=150 lbs
|
hair=Red
|
eyes=Green
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Angela02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==

*[[2018-08-07-Hero_Worship|August 08, 2018 - Hero Worship]]

[[Category:Roster|D]]

2018-08-07-Hero Worship

2018-08-14T12:40:01Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{log | name=Hero Worship | date=August 08, 2018 | location=East Village, Manhattan, NYC }} <gallery> Anya01.jpeg|Anya Corazon Angela01.jpeg|Angela Davis Laura01.jpeg..."

Anya Corazon

2018-08-14T12:33:54Z

Apoq79:

2018-07-20-Is That You?

2018-08-14T12:31:05Z

Apoq79:

{{log
|
name=Is That You?
|
date=July 20, 2018
|
location=Manhattan, NYC
}}

<gallery>
Anya01.jpeg|[[Anya Corazon]]
Example.jpg|[[Gwen Stacy]]
</gallery>

----

Over the past few days, there have been a deluge of text messages at random hours, sent to Gwen's phone by Anya. One of them said something about stopping a bank robbery, another a photo taken in one of NYU's labs depicting a jar of black ink and curiously familiar spider webbing. That photo simply was captioned: 'Working on something. Can't wait to show you.'

Night has fallen on a Friday in the Big Apple, when another SMS message is batted into a cell phone. 'Hey. Meet me? Got something rad to show you.' Anya punches the 'send' button, including her GPS data. She's perched atop a mid rise in uptown Manhattan, along the border where the Upper East strikes East Harlem, more affectionately known to some as Spanish Harlem. The woman has ditched her normal attire, and is shrouded in a costume of black and white. Her backpack rests nearby, and the hood of her costume lies flopping behind her head, against the shoulders.

----

Gwen is the sort of person who is never late without apologizing twenty times first. It doesn't stop her being late most days. Tonight, however, she is determined to be on time. She forgets to leave a message for her father, in fact. So today the message board reads:

Gwen, don't eat my pizza
Dad

Gwen, I mean it!

...Damn it, Gwendolyne, I bought extra for you.

Today, Gwen is in her hoodie and jeans, weaving through the crowd nimbly in a way she never could before she was empowered. Dodging people is no trouble and dense crowds have gaps that she could thread a bike through with her current reflexes. She approaches the meeting spot with a slow stride, one hand on the left strap of her backpack... And stares.

"That is so... Cool! Oh my god!" Gwen chirps in her most suburbanite way. "Is that you?" Blue eyes blink a few times, slowly, as the girl approaches, fearlessly but still slightly cautious.

----

Resting in Anya's lap is a big cardboard box filled with tacos. Well, it had been filled with tacos... she's eaten at least half of them. At the voice, she turns her head slightly then excitedly moves the box to set it on the rooftop.

Palms down, feet spread, and with a spring into the air, she performs a picture perfect backflip and lands, facing Gwen. The white emblem of an angular spider covers her upper half, with extended 'legs' running down each leg and wrapping around each arm. Without the mask on, her punk hairstyle is quite apparent, and she's //gleaming//.

"You bet it is," she answers, then puts on her best modeling pose. "What do ya think?"

----

"Sexy without being ridiculous. Spider motif... Perfect ten." Gwen is framing Anya with her fingersl ike she might be about to take a photo and grinning delightedly as she shifts closer. She walks toward the young woman in front of her with the punk hair and the newly minted costume... And then fires a line of web past her. Thwp! The box of tacos is yanked down from the roof.

"I'm starving," Gwen relates past cramming the first one into her mouth. "Thnks." If they weren't for Gwen they are now, apparently. "Yuu look, mmf. Great."

----

With a laugh, Anya leaps off the rooftop in pursuit of those precious tacos. A single line is let loose from her wrist to slow her fall, and she leaves it dangling after her feet touch the ground.

"You remember how you said it disintegrates after a while?" she asks. "Well, it does, //but//... I found that if you weave a cross-knit pattern?" She demonstrates by whipping her hands back and forth across each other, forming a panel of white webbing that looks more like a sheet of paper than it does webwork. "It //doesn't//." She tosses the item toward Gwen, proving it to be flexible yet durable. "So... I //made// it. Out of silk." She twirls once, revealing that in the dim streetlight, there are no seams to be found. "Takes a beating, too, I tell you that!"

----

"That is super cool. I never even thought of trying that," Gwen marvels quietly now that the web panel has landed across the box of tacos. She even stops eating for a second, leaving the food woefully undefended. Anya is more than welcoem to take a couple, of course. They're hers. Gwen will no doubt devour the entire box if given an opportunity. "I bet it does. It's always been really strong stuff. Though..." She pauses for a second. "I don't know that much about yours, to be honest. I didn't get the webslinging power. Mine is synthetic. And yours definitely isn't. Maybe it was a different kind of spider?" It isn't something Gwen kept from Anya, but it never really came up prior to now. She watches for the other woman's reaction, still cradling dinner under one arm and a web panel in the other hand.

----

"Maybe," Anya answers. "Or, it could have been just, how the venom reacted with our DNA. I went looking for it, you know, but with all the rooms at NYU, it was pretty hopeless. Human DNA is pretty magnificent though, all sorts of weird things can happen when you start tweaking it. It's the only answer, you know. Something in that venom, it... changed us."

She turns back to Gwen, grinning at the tacos. "Appetite hasn't calmed down for me, either," she admits. "Go on. I already had a whole box before you got here." Her eyes brighten, and a good honest laugh comes next. "You should've seen the look on Paulo's face when I told 'em they were all for me."

----

"My dad does nothing but leave messages for me on the fridge saying I need to stop eating all of his food." Gwen rolls her eyes and then returns to stuffing tacos into her mouth until she resembles nothing more than a wide-eyed blonde chipmunk. At least she chews and swallows before continuing to speak. "Mmm. We'll probably never know. I haven't been able to track down much about the experiment either... Whatever it is, it definitely did a lot. But I've been like this for awhile and no negative side effects, so..." She gives a faint shrug. "That's got to be good enough, right? And I never need to worry about New York traffic ever again, so."

----

A similar eyeroll comes from Anya. "Abuela's saying the same thing. She keeps trying to blame it on //drugs//! Like most drugs make you //not// eat. Spanish Harlem's just gotten to her head." She laughs again at the part about New York traffic. "I'm still not convinced that I won't start laying eggs at my next cycle, you know," she points out, before turning to look toward the city proper. "I've still got a lot to practice. Headaches went away, like you said, but sometimes it gets... dizzy. You know, if I go too hard, try to do too much. That goes away too, right?"

----

"Just takes a bit longer," Gwen promises, nodding. She slows down on the tacos now and turns her gaze upward to the sky far over their heads. It doesn't stop her unwrapping the next morsel, even if it is not immediately shoved into her mouth. "You're not going to start laying eggs or anything. You'd've noticed the, um... Equipment growing in by now." A wry smile follows but it soon falls away, almost as if Gwen is entranced by what she is seeing. "You've got an awesome suit and fancy powers. Planning on fighting crime now?" Weirdly enough, there's no mockery at all. It's an honest question.

----

A snort is given at mention of 'equipment'. "Spinnerets are weird enough, thanks," Anya quips. Her jovial, borderline brash demeanor sobers at the question, though, and for a moment she glances upward to try and see what it is Gwen's looking for. She never was much of a stargazer; not that one could see any stars with such light pollution.

"Ya know, I wasn't planning on it," Anya answers. "Not until that bank robbery. It was a powered person... cops were trying to take her down, but the bullets were going right through her. I couldn't just stand there and not do anything when I knew I could at least //try// to do something they couldn't. The whole time I was freaking out, Gwen, but... not because of the danger. Because everyone could see my face."

----

Maybe Gwen is staring at a satellite. Maybe her vision is just better than Anya's, more enhanced. Or perhaps she is staring at the silhouette of the city passing overhead. She's listening to Anya but doesn't look away from whatever she is trying to observe. "There are some things you're not going to be able to stop," she observes then. "And it could put people around you in danger. I figured a mask would hide my identity, but it's not really that easy. You know?" Her soft voice is almost wistful, though Gwen doesn't elaborate on her melancholy. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do anything. How did things turn out with the bank robber you mentioned?"

----

"I guess it isn't," Anya answers. She looks down toward the sidewalk, chewing on her lip for a moment or two, various thoughts remaining locked behind brown eyes. "Well, it wasn't pretty, but we stopped her," Anya says. "And nobody got hurt, not really."

The younger woman folds her arms and turns to lean against a brick wall, eyes on Gwen now. "You know much about my neighborhood? Spanish Harlem?"

----

"Not really. I grew up on the border of Forest Hills and Rego Park, which is... Barely in the city at all." Gwen reaches up and drags her slender fingers through her blonde hair, pulling it away from her face. I mean, I've heard stuff about East Harlem but I don't think I really know much about it, no." Gwen finally shifts her gaze to meet Anya's, studying the other spider-person's eyes carefully as she makes her response. "Tell me?"

----

"Well," Anya answers, "you can read one part of the paper and it'll say, 'New York's Next Hottest Neighborhood'. Just don't look in the crime section, right? Because that's a whole other story. Honestly, ever since the Latin Kings sort of... just went back to Chicago, it's a crap shoot. Bit of a shooting gallery, you know, whether it's the Russians or the Italians fighting over corners, or if it's the Jamaicans wanting a piece of the proper uptown action." There is a certain note of bitterness in her language, a toughness that comes from having been raised in a world where 'beat on sight' is a Saturday afternoon special.

Behind brown eyes, the roughness is visible. This is a girl who is no stranger to violence, and has likely seen things that might make one's skin crawl. "Hasn't ever been anyone in a mask looking out for East Harlem. Trust me, I'd have known." She looks away, a frown on her face. "It's probably stupid to want to make a difference there. What is it they say, don't shit where you eat? But... I know those streets, Gwen. I know how they work, how they breathe. If I'm gonna put a mask on and start fighting crime... it doesn't make any sense to go anywhere else."

----

"I picked a fight with some Jamaicans and Italians not too far from Harlem a week or two ago," Gwen observes quietly. "Pretty sure they all hate my guts now if they didn't before. So if you need some backup...." She blinks once and then sucks in a deep breath. It's held carefully for several long moment before finally being released. "Just, um. So you don't need to test it for yourself. You're not bulletproof. Like, at all."

----

"Picked a fight?" Anya asks, a smirk growing on her face that serves to break some of the tension. The subtext isn't missed though, and said smirk falters. "Well," she says, and pushes away from that wall, letting her arms drop to her side. "You know, they say spider silk might be tough as Kevlar."

She waits for a moment, before grinning again. "But I'm not about to tryin' to find out. Alright?"

----

"Okay." Gwen nods then returns the grin with one of her own. "Then we should work on what you *can* do about it." She straightens then, picks up another taco and then looks out along the street. "We've got plenty of room. I should suit up and then we should go check out the city, see if we find anything interesting. Sound good?" While she awaits her answer Gwen also stuffs a taco into her mouth. Priorities, after all.

----

Anya is quick to nod her head in agreement. Of course, she was considering this in more of a philosophical manner, so, when Gwen suggests suiting up, her eyes go wide. "Wh... right //now//?"

Adrenaline begins to work its magic. Anya turns away, chewing on her lip a bit. "Whoo boy. Alright, well, we're at East 109, shit always gets ugly when you get up around 118. That's not too far, really." Always the chatterbox! She gulps for a moment before reaching up to pull the mask up and over her head. It leaves the lower half of her face visible, but her eyes are shrouded in over-exaggerated, white spider-lenses, and her punk style hair is forced into a ponytail by a small hole in the back of the mask.

----

"We don't /have/ to run into trouble," Gwen replies with a shrug. "I wouldn't worry about it!" Then she's throwing back her hood and stepping into the shadow of the nearby building to pull off her hoodie and reveal the Spider-Woman costume she wears underneath. It doesn't take her long to disrobe and stuff her clothes into her backpack before tucking it somewhere out of the way. Then she starts to climb. Gwen has had a lot of practice, and she is /fast/. Gymnastics and most importantly practice play a huge role here.

"The most important thing to learn is how to keep up." Gwen will wait for Anya at the top but then she's planning on taking off for the far edge of the rooftop at a sprint. "So let's see what you can do, Spider-Girl. No webs. Come on!"

----

Hand over foot, Anya scales the wall behind Gwen, her own speed not quite matching. She's simply breathing too heavily for her body to make the most of its resources; she's still frightened of it, terrified by the unnatural way in which this simply //works//.

Once topside, Anya is steeling herself for whatever comes next. Bravery is written upon her exposed mouth, but it's short lived. "No webs??" she asks, but there's no time to argue. She's off, running after Gwen with remarkably fast legs. "Parkour, parkour, parkour," she whispers to herself, thinking of the friend who showed her the ropes not more than a couple nights back.

----

"No webs. Don't worry, we're actually pretty resistant to blunt trauma! If you fall you'll catch yourself or you'll shake it off in a week or two." Gwen actually looks back long enough to flash Anya a grin. She's making this look pretty effortless, actually. Either their physical abilities are very different or Anya needs to get her head in the game.

Gwen takes the first leap without even slowing down. It's more than ten feet. By all rights, it should be next to impossible but she doesn't appear to have even hurt her knees sticking that landing. That's encouraging, at least. There are some other rooftops ahead that won't be quite so easy to navigate.

----

"Well, //that// explains //that//," Anya answers cryptically, before leaping the first gap in a manner nearly as effortless as Gwen. Her landing comes in the form of a foot to head roll, sending gravel spraying in a wake behind her as she comes up charging. She's still not ready to test just how resilient her knees really are, it would seem, but she did notice Gwen's landing with a bit of surprise. "Okay, Okay, Okay," she pants to herself, and takes the next leap without the somersault. There is a preemptive wince, but no pain; in fact, the shock of landing is like a surge of energy through her muscles and bones, spurring her onward. "Whoa!" she exclaims in response. "//Mierde//!"

----

A couple more rooftops go by like this. Nothing too challenging, now that Anyau nderstands just how much momentum plays a role. If you don't bleed off the excess force of a jump, then the opposite reaction of hitting the ground that far only helps you move even faster. Physics, right? Normally, she'd probably have blown out both of her knees by now. But, as promised, the body does strange things after being directly altered DNA-warping spider venom. School would've made it out to be more like a recipe for cancer than anything. Funny how that works.

This upcoming run is different. The next building is a bit tlaler than the last. Two stories. Gwen takes the leap and catches herself against the side of the brick wall, clinging to it with nothing to support her but sheer force of will and electrostatic resistance. She shimmies herself along the side of it and then starts upward. A foot is placed against a window sill and it's used to get a bit of upward momentum so she can crest the apartment building.

"You're doing great, Anya! Don't let your nerves get to you on this next one, alright? You can do this." So saying, Gwen begins to run again, a headlong dash that turns into a long, soaring leap. It has to be when she's clearing a small street. Forty feet? Who wants to set a world record tonight?

...Does it count when you have superpowers?

----

Run, run, run! Anya keeps up the chase, leaping from one building to the next. The next one does have her slowing up a bit, a touch of uncertainty coming to her. "Great," she breathes. "Now don't fuck it up, Anya!"

Its a less than graceful leap, hands flailing about for a moment. She pulls in just in time to catch brick, and slides down a bit before flexing her fingers and toes the right way; microscopic, super strong hairs shoot out from her skin, through the spider silk of her uniform, and stop her sliding abruptly. "Oof!" she verbalizes, before crawling up after Gwen.

Nerves? Big jump? Must be E 116th, Pete Pascale Pl! "Oh, shit!" she cries out, but charges anyway, kicking dust up behind her with every powerful footfall.

Below, a kid in a window looks out, trying to find out what the noise above is all about; two spider women are what he sees, and his eyes are lit up with glee.

Anya gives forth a ferocious yell and leaps with all of her might. Over the street below she soars, eyes wide behind the mask as she looks down. Halfway through, she tucks her arms and legs against herself, feeling the air whooshing over her like a bullet in a wind tunnel.

----

It's hard to make out the noise of the city when you're bareening through the air,the rush of the wind screaming past on all sides and at all angles as Anya makes the momentous eighteen meter leap across 116th. Gwen is just ahead, watching as the newer Spider-Woman is making the final leap of faith. SHe has her arms outstretched, apparently ready to catch Anya? Welcome her to the roof? It's hard to tell when hurtling through space at a ridiculous speed with cars and people just meters below.

----

Chariots of Fire might as well be playing, but the needle is scratched upon a record when Anya hits the lip of the receiving rooftop with her ass. She bounces and flips, going right past Gwen and rolling end over end before fighting herself. "Gah!" she exclaims, and promptly checks her limbs for damage. "Wait, did I just -" She points at the impact point, a cement wall that now has a huge chunk taken out if it, vaguely shaped like her own posterior. She bends over and twists, eyeballing herself. "That should've broken my ass!" she exclaims.

On the other end of 116th, the boy snickers and ducks back inside.

----

"I told you you were tougher now," Gwen replies, though she's fighting back some laughter. She's not the snickering child nearby, at least, though she probably saw him while she stood facing out from the building. The blonde walks over to her friend, that grin broadening as she comes clos. "You were great. I was a little worried about that last jump but I guess I didn't really need to be! How do you feel?" Gwen looks Anya over briefly, ostensibly checking for any injuries. "Pretty good? ...Winded at all?"

----

"Guess so," Anya breathes, having not really understood until now just how much tougher she's become. She reaches down to rub at her tailbone, frowning just a little. "I mean, it hurts, but... barely." She then puts a hand against her chest, and shakes her head. "Not really! I think I'm just anxious. I mean, I ran //fifty// laps at school the other night." Her breathing is visibly slowing, not quite as quickly as it mounted but much more quickly than it should slow for a normal person.

----

"You probably feel like you're going to leap out of yoru skin at any moment, right?" Gwen smiles somewhat ruefully and nods. "I felt the same way. I probably would have leapt off a cliff if someone told me too. Not sure how that would've went." She takes another deep breath, holding it as she turns her gaze upwards once more. It's a couple seconds before Gwen breaks the silence again. "This is going to work. At some point we need to do strength exercises. We still don't know if our limits are the same..."

----

"Something like that," Anya answers. "I figure it's... metabolic changes. I just can't //stop//. Haven't stopped for days, but when I did, I slept for more than twelve hours." She steps closer to the middle of the roof so that she can take her mask off without anyone down below seeing her face. "Limits?" she asks, looking over to Gwen with curiosity. "What... how strong are //you//, Gwen?"

----

Gwen tilts her head slightly at this, staring off across the buildings in front of her. She seems to be thinking carefully. "Well, um. I had trouble picking up a van but I- think it was more because I kept tipping over than because it was too heavy. I think I managed around - ten tons? When I really had no other choice but to make it? I'm... Kind of guessing. I did a little research after but I didn't catch the model. I don't really know how much that truck weighed. Normally, it's around five. I guess? I mean. I can bench press a pickup truck even with these noodly couch potato arms."

----

For a moment, Anya simply cant believe her ears. Her eyes go wide, and she takes a step close. "Ten... //tons//?" She considers this for a moment, then walks back over to collect the chunk of cement she'd broken off with her landing. It's remarkably easy to lift, but she comes back with it, and looks at it for a long moment. Then, her fingers begin to clench, trembling for a moment. Suddenly there comes a crack, a crunch, and a snapping sound; the slab of concrete bursts into half a dozen pieces, with dust spilling between Anya's now closed fingers.

----

"You hadn't noticed that yet? Man. I broke my favourite drumsticks like an hour after I got home. I couldn't help noticing I was too strong for everything in sight." Gwen is grumbling,but it's good-natured. She turns to watch as Anya experiments with the concrete. "Ten. Maybe even fifteen." She nods once, firmly. "But we're going to end up having to deal with people who are even stronger than that." She walks over to the edge of the roof and eyes the hole Anya made on her landing. "That... Was at least a few hundred pounds. Was it heavy?"

----

"I could tell it was heavy," Anya answers, "But it kinda felt like... like picking up a box full of tacos." She opens her and, making a quiet 'ick' sound at her dusty glove and promptly slaps it against her hip a few times to get it clean. "I also noticed, well... I got into abuela's tequila and, well... I don't think I can get lit anymore." Which is probably a good thing, but the rough kid in her seems disappointed in that.

----

"If you got angry and weren't thinking you could literally throw a car at someone. Probably for the best that we can never get drunk ever again." Gwen shakes her head at that. "I know it's for the best for me. I'll stick to throwing salt shakers or something like my grandmother."

----

A laugh escapes again, Anya grinning ruefully. "Your abuela throws salt shakers too? Must be a generation thing." She considers all of this for a moment, before suddenly her eyes go wide. "Oh no. Abuela! I forgot to tell her I wasn't coming home soon." She winces and looks to Gwen with a panic. "Left my backpack on a rooftop back on 109." The panic fades in favor of a smirk. "Race ya?"

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

2018-07-20-Is That You?

2018-08-14T12:29:24Z

Apoq79:

{{log
|
name=Is That You?
|
date=July 20, 2018
|
location=Manhattan, NYC
}}
'''Characters''': [[Anya Corazon]], [[Gwen Stacy]]

----

Over the past few days, there have been a deluge of text messages at random hours, sent to Gwen's phone by Anya. One of them said something about stopping a bank robbery, another a photo taken in one of NYU's labs depicting a jar of black ink and curiously familiar spider webbing. That photo simply was captioned: 'Working on something. Can't wait to show you.'

Night has fallen on a Friday in the Big Apple, when another SMS message is batted into a cell phone. 'Hey. Meet me? Got something rad to show you.' Anya punches the 'send' button, including her GPS data. She's perched atop a mid rise in uptown Manhattan, along the border where the Upper East strikes East Harlem, more affectionately known to some as Spanish Harlem. The woman has ditched her normal attire, and is shrouded in a costume of black and white. Her backpack rests nearby, and the hood of her costume lies flopping behind her head, against the shoulders.

----

Gwen is the sort of person who is never late without apologizing twenty times first. It doesn't stop her being late most days. Tonight, however, she is determined to be on time. She forgets to leave a message for her father, in fact. So today the message board reads:

Gwen, don't eat my pizza
Dad

Gwen, I mean it!

...Damn it, Gwendolyne, I bought extra for you.

Today, Gwen is in her hoodie and jeans, weaving through the crowd nimbly in a way she never could before she was empowered. Dodging people is no trouble and dense crowds have gaps that she could thread a bike through with her current reflexes. She approaches the meeting spot with a slow stride, one hand on the left strap of her backpack... And stares.

"That is so... Cool! Oh my god!" Gwen chirps in her most suburbanite way. "Is that you?" Blue eyes blink a few times, slowly, as the girl approaches, fearlessly but still slightly cautious.

----

Resting in Anya's lap is a big cardboard box filled with tacos. Well, it had been filled with tacos... she's eaten at least half of them. At the voice, she turns her head slightly then excitedly moves the box to set it on the rooftop.

Palms down, feet spread, and with a spring into the air, she performs a picture perfect backflip and lands, facing Gwen. The white emblem of an angular spider covers her upper half, with extended 'legs' running down each leg and wrapping around each arm. Without the mask on, her punk hairstyle is quite apparent, and she's //gleaming//.

"You bet it is," she answers, then puts on her best modeling pose. "What do ya think?"

----

"Sexy without being ridiculous. Spider motif... Perfect ten." Gwen is framing Anya with her fingersl ike she might be about to take a photo and grinning delightedly as she shifts closer. She walks toward the young woman in front of her with the punk hair and the newly minted costume... And then fires a line of web past her. Thwp! The box of tacos is yanked down from the roof.

"I'm starving," Gwen relates past cramming the first one into her mouth. "Thnks." If they weren't for Gwen they are now, apparently. "Yuu look, mmf. Great."

----

With a laugh, Anya leaps off the rooftop in pursuit of those precious tacos. A single line is let loose from her wrist to slow her fall, and she leaves it dangling after her feet touch the ground.

"You remember how you said it disintegrates after a while?" she asks. "Well, it does, //but//... I found that if you weave a cross-knit pattern?" She demonstrates by whipping her hands back and forth across each other, forming a panel of white webbing that looks more like a sheet of paper than it does webwork. "It //doesn't//." She tosses the item toward Gwen, proving it to be flexible yet durable. "So... I //made// it. Out of silk." She twirls once, revealing that in the dim streetlight, there are no seams to be found. "Takes a beating, too, I tell you that!"

----

"That is super cool. I never even thought of trying that," Gwen marvels quietly now that the web panel has landed across the box of tacos. She even stops eating for a second, leaving the food woefully undefended. Anya is more than welcoem to take a couple, of course. They're hers. Gwen will no doubt devour the entire box if given an opportunity. "I bet it does. It's always been really strong stuff. Though..." She pauses for a second. "I don't know that much about yours, to be honest. I didn't get the webslinging power. Mine is synthetic. And yours definitely isn't. Maybe it was a different kind of spider?" It isn't something Gwen kept from Anya, but it never really came up prior to now. She watches for the other woman's reaction, still cradling dinner under one arm and a web panel in the other hand.

----

"Maybe," Anya answers. "Or, it could have been just, how the venom reacted with our DNA. I went looking for it, you know, but with all the rooms at NYU, it was pretty hopeless. Human DNA is pretty magnificent though, all sorts of weird things can happen when you start tweaking it. It's the only answer, you know. Something in that venom, it... changed us."

She turns back to Gwen, grinning at the tacos. "Appetite hasn't calmed down for me, either," she admits. "Go on. I already had a whole box before you got here." Her eyes brighten, and a good honest laugh comes next. "You should've seen the look on Paulo's face when I told 'em they were all for me."

----

"My dad does nothing but leave messages for me on the fridge saying I need to stop eating all of his food." Gwen rolls her eyes and then returns to stuffing tacos into her mouth until she resembles nothing more than a wide-eyed blonde chipmunk. At least she chews and swallows before continuing to speak. "Mmm. We'll probably never know. I haven't been able to track down much about the experiment either... Whatever it is, it definitely did a lot. But I've been like this for awhile and no negative side effects, so..." She gives a faint shrug. "That's got to be good enough, right? And I never need to worry about New York traffic ever again, so."

----

A similar eyeroll comes from Anya. "Abuela's saying the same thing. She keeps trying to blame it on //drugs//! Like most drugs make you //not// eat. Spanish Harlem's just gotten to her head." She laughs again at the part about New York traffic. "I'm still not convinced that I won't start laying eggs at my next cycle, you know," she points out, before turning to look toward the city proper. "I've still got a lot to practice. Headaches went away, like you said, but sometimes it gets... dizzy. You know, if I go too hard, try to do too much. That goes away too, right?"

----

"Just takes a bit longer," Gwen promises, nodding. She slows down on the tacos now and turns her gaze upward to the sky far over their heads. It doesn't stop her unwrapping the next morsel, even if it is not immediately shoved into her mouth. "You're not going to start laying eggs or anything. You'd've noticed the, um... Equipment growing in by now." A wry smile follows but it soon falls away, almost as if Gwen is entranced by what she is seeing. "You've got an awesome suit and fancy powers. Planning on fighting crime now?" Weirdly enough, there's no mockery at all. It's an honest question.

----

A snort is given at mention of 'equipment'. "Spinnerets are weird enough, thanks," Anya quips. Her jovial, borderline brash demeanor sobers at the question, though, and for a moment she glances upward to try and see what it is Gwen's looking for. She never was much of a stargazer; not that one could see any stars with such light pollution.

"Ya know, I wasn't planning on it," Anya answers. "Not until that bank robbery. It was a powered person... cops were trying to take her down, but the bullets were going right through her. I couldn't just stand there and not do anything when I knew I could at least //try// to do something they couldn't. The whole time I was freaking out, Gwen, but... not because of the danger. Because everyone could see my face."

----

Maybe Gwen is staring at a satellite. Maybe her vision is just better than Anya's, more enhanced. Or perhaps she is staring at the silhouette of the city passing overhead. She's listening to Anya but doesn't look away from whatever she is trying to observe. "There are some things you're not going to be able to stop," she observes then. "And it could put people around you in danger. I figured a mask would hide my identity, but it's not really that easy. You know?" Her soft voice is almost wistful, though Gwen doesn't elaborate on her melancholy. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do anything. How did things turn out with the bank robber you mentioned?"

----

"I guess it isn't," Anya answers. She looks down toward the sidewalk, chewing on her lip for a moment or two, various thoughts remaining locked behind brown eyes. "Well, it wasn't pretty, but we stopped her," Anya says. "And nobody got hurt, not really."

The younger woman folds her arms and turns to lean against a brick wall, eyes on Gwen now. "You know much about my neighborhood? Spanish Harlem?"

----

"Not really. I grew up on the border of Forest Hills and Rego Park, which is... Barely in the city at all." Gwen reaches up and drags her slender fingers through her blonde hair, pulling it away from her face. I mean, I've heard stuff about East Harlem but I don't think I really know much about it, no." Gwen finally shifts her gaze to meet Anya's, studying the other spider-person's eyes carefully as she makes her response. "Tell me?"

----

"Well," Anya answers, "you can read one part of the paper and it'll say, 'New York's Next Hottest Neighborhood'. Just don't look in the crime section, right? Because that's a whole other story. Honestly, ever since the Latin Kings sort of... just went back to Chicago, it's a crap shoot. Bit of a shooting gallery, you know, whether it's the Russians or the Italians fighting over corners, or if it's the Jamaicans wanting a piece of the proper uptown action." There is a certain note of bitterness in her language, a toughness that comes from having been raised in a world where 'beat on sight' is a Saturday afternoon special.

Behind brown eyes, the roughness is visible. This is a girl who is no stranger to violence, and has likely seen things that might make one's skin crawl. "Hasn't ever been anyone in a mask looking out for East Harlem. Trust me, I'd have known." She looks away, a frown on her face. "It's probably stupid to want to make a difference there. What is it they say, don't shit where you eat? But... I know those streets, Gwen. I know how they work, how they breathe. If I'm gonna put a mask on and start fighting crime... it doesn't make any sense to go anywhere else."

----

"I picked a fight with some Jamaicans and Italians not too far from Harlem a week or two ago," Gwen observes quietly. "Pretty sure they all hate my guts now if they didn't before. So if you need some backup...." She blinks once and then sucks in a deep breath. It's held carefully for several long moment before finally being released. "Just, um. So you don't need to test it for yourself. You're not bulletproof. Like, at all."

----

"Picked a fight?" Anya asks, a smirk growing on her face that serves to break some of the tension. The subtext isn't missed though, and said smirk falters. "Well," she says, and pushes away from that wall, letting her arms drop to her side. "You know, they say spider silk might be tough as Kevlar."

She waits for a moment, before grinning again. "But I'm not about to tryin' to find out. Alright?"

----

"Okay." Gwen nods then returns the grin with one of her own. "Then we should work on what you *can* do about it." She straightens then, picks up another taco and then looks out along the street. "We've got plenty of room. I should suit up and then we should go check out the city, see if we find anything interesting. Sound good?" While she awaits her answer Gwen also stuffs a taco into her mouth. Priorities, after all.

----

Anya is quick to nod her head in agreement. Of course, she was considering this in more of a philosophical manner, so, when Gwen suggests suiting up, her eyes go wide. "Wh... right //now//?"

Adrenaline begins to work its magic. Anya turns away, chewing on her lip a bit. "Whoo boy. Alright, well, we're at East 109, shit always gets ugly when you get up around 118. That's not too far, really." Always the chatterbox! She gulps for a moment before reaching up to pull the mask up and over her head. It leaves the lower half of her face visible, but her eyes are shrouded in over-exaggerated, white spider-lenses, and her punk style hair is forced into a ponytail by a small hole in the back of the mask.

----

"We don't /have/ to run into trouble," Gwen replies with a shrug. "I wouldn't worry about it!" Then she's throwing back her hood and stepping into the shadow of the nearby building to pull off her hoodie and reveal the Spider-Woman costume she wears underneath. It doesn't take her long to disrobe and stuff her clothes into her backpack before tucking it somewhere out of the way. Then she starts to climb. Gwen has had a lot of practice, and she is /fast/. Gymnastics and most importantly practice play a huge role here.

"The most important thing to learn is how to keep up." Gwen will wait for Anya at the top but then she's planning on taking off for the far edge of the rooftop at a sprint. "So let's see what you can do, Spider-Girl. No webs. Come on!"

----

Hand over foot, Anya scales the wall behind Gwen, her own speed not quite matching. She's simply breathing too heavily for her body to make the most of its resources; she's still frightened of it, terrified by the unnatural way in which this simply //works//.

Once topside, Anya is steeling herself for whatever comes next. Bravery is written upon her exposed mouth, but it's short lived. "No webs??" she asks, but there's no time to argue. She's off, running after Gwen with remarkably fast legs. "Parkour, parkour, parkour," she whispers to herself, thinking of the friend who showed her the ropes not more than a couple nights back.

----

"No webs. Don't worry, we're actually pretty resistant to blunt trauma! If you fall you'll catch yourself or you'll shake it off in a week or two." Gwen actually looks back long enough to flash Anya a grin. She's making this look pretty effortless, actually. Either their physical abilities are very different or Anya needs to get her head in the game.

Gwen takes the first leap without even slowing down. It's more than ten feet. By all rights, it should be next to impossible but she doesn't appear to have even hurt her knees sticking that landing. That's encouraging, at least. There are some other rooftops ahead that won't be quite so easy to navigate.

----

"Well, //that// explains //that//," Anya answers cryptically, before leaping the first gap in a manner nearly as effortless as Gwen. Her landing comes in the form of a foot to head roll, sending gravel spraying in a wake behind her as she comes up charging. She's still not ready to test just how resilient her knees really are, it would seem, but she did notice Gwen's landing with a bit of surprise. "Okay, Okay, Okay," she pants to herself, and takes the next leap without the somersault. There is a preemptive wince, but no pain; in fact, the shock of landing is like a surge of energy through her muscles and bones, spurring her onward. "Whoa!" she exclaims in response. "//Mierde//!"

----

A couple more rooftops go by like this. Nothing too challenging, now that Anyau nderstands just how much momentum plays a role. If you don't bleed off the excess force of a jump, then the opposite reaction of hitting the ground that far only helps you move even faster. Physics, right? Normally, she'd probably have blown out both of her knees by now. But, as promised, the body does strange things after being directly altered DNA-warping spider venom. School would've made it out to be more like a recipe for cancer than anything. Funny how that works.

This upcoming run is different. The next building is a bit tlaler than the last. Two stories. Gwen takes the leap and catches herself against the side of the brick wall, clinging to it with nothing to support her but sheer force of will and electrostatic resistance. She shimmies herself along the side of it and then starts upward. A foot is placed against a window sill and it's used to get a bit of upward momentum so she can crest the apartment building.

"You're doing great, Anya! Don't let your nerves get to you on this next one, alright? You can do this." So saying, Gwen begins to run again, a headlong dash that turns into a long, soaring leap. It has to be when she's clearing a small street. Forty feet? Who wants to set a world record tonight?

...Does it count when you have superpowers?

----

Run, run, run! Anya keeps up the chase, leaping from one building to the next. The next one does have her slowing up a bit, a touch of uncertainty coming to her. "Great," she breathes. "Now don't fuck it up, Anya!"

Its a less than graceful leap, hands flailing about for a moment. She pulls in just in time to catch brick, and slides down a bit before flexing her fingers and toes the right way; microscopic, super strong hairs shoot out from her skin, through the spider silk of her uniform, and stop her sliding abruptly. "Oof!" she verbalizes, before crawling up after Gwen.

Nerves? Big jump? Must be E 116th, Pete Pascale Pl! "Oh, shit!" she cries out, but charges anyway, kicking dust up behind her with every powerful footfall.

Below, a kid in a window looks out, trying to find out what the noise above is all about; two spider women are what he sees, and his eyes are lit up with glee.

Anya gives forth a ferocious yell and leaps with all of her might. Over the street below she soars, eyes wide behind the mask as she looks down. Halfway through, she tucks her arms and legs against herself, feeling the air whooshing over her like a bullet in a wind tunnel.

----

It's hard to make out the noise of the city when you're bareening through the air,the rush of the wind screaming past on all sides and at all angles as Anya makes the momentous eighteen meter leap across 116th. Gwen is just ahead, watching as the newer Spider-Woman is making the final leap of faith. SHe has her arms outstretched, apparently ready to catch Anya? Welcome her to the roof? It's hard to tell when hurtling through space at a ridiculous speed with cars and people just meters below.

----

Chariots of Fire might as well be playing, but the needle is scratched upon a record when Anya hits the lip of the receiving rooftop with her ass. She bounces and flips, going right past Gwen and rolling end over end before fighting herself. "Gah!" she exclaims, and promptly checks her limbs for damage. "Wait, did I just -" She points at the impact point, a cement wall that now has a huge chunk taken out if it, vaguely shaped like her own posterior. She bends over and twists, eyeballing herself. "That should've broken my ass!" she exclaims.

On the other end of 116th, the boy snickers and ducks back inside.

----

"I told you you were tougher now," Gwen replies, though she's fighting back some laughter. She's not the snickering child nearby, at least, though she probably saw him while she stood facing out from the building. The blonde walks over to her friend, that grin broadening as she comes clos. "You were great. I was a little worried about that last jump but I guess I didn't really need to be! How do you feel?" Gwen looks Anya over briefly, ostensibly checking for any injuries. "Pretty good? ...Winded at all?"

----

"Guess so," Anya breathes, having not really understood until now just how much tougher she's become. She reaches down to rub at her tailbone, frowning just a little. "I mean, it hurts, but... barely." She then puts a hand against her chest, and shakes her head. "Not really! I think I'm just anxious. I mean, I ran //fifty// laps at school the other night." Her breathing is visibly slowing, not quite as quickly as it mounted but much more quickly than it should slow for a normal person.

----

"You probably feel like you're going to leap out of yoru skin at any moment, right?" Gwen smiles somewhat ruefully and nods. "I felt the same way. I probably would have leapt off a cliff if someone told me too. Not sure how that would've went." She takes another deep breath, holding it as she turns her gaze upwards once more. It's a couple seconds before Gwen breaks the silence again. "This is going to work. At some point we need to do strength exercises. We still don't know if our limits are the same..."

----

"Something like that," Anya answers. "I figure it's... metabolic changes. I just can't //stop//. Haven't stopped for days, but when I did, I slept for more than twelve hours." She steps closer to the middle of the roof so that she can take her mask off without anyone down below seeing her face. "Limits?" she asks, looking over to Gwen with curiosity. "What... how strong are //you//, Gwen?"

----

Gwen tilts her head slightly at this, staring off across the buildings in front of her. She seems to be thinking carefully. "Well, um. I had trouble picking up a van but I- think it was more because I kept tipping over than because it was too heavy. I think I managed around - ten tons? When I really had no other choice but to make it? I'm... Kind of guessing. I did a little research after but I didn't catch the model. I don't really know how much that truck weighed. Normally, it's around five. I guess? I mean. I can bench press a pickup truck even with these noodly couch potato arms."

----

For a moment, Anya simply cant believe her ears. Her eyes go wide, and she takes a step close. "Ten... //tons//?" She considers this for a moment, then walks back over to collect the chunk of cement she'd broken off with her landing. It's remarkably easy to lift, but she comes back with it, and looks at it for a long moment. Then, her fingers begin to clench, trembling for a moment. Suddenly there comes a crack, a crunch, and a snapping sound; the slab of concrete bursts into half a dozen pieces, with dust spilling between Anya's now closed fingers.

----

"You hadn't noticed that yet? Man. I broke my favourite drumsticks like an hour after I got home. I couldn't help noticing I was too strong for everything in sight." Gwen is grumbling,but it's good-natured. She turns to watch as Anya experiments with the concrete. "Ten. Maybe even fifteen." She nods once, firmly. "But we're going to end up having to deal with people who are even stronger than that." She walks over to the edge of the roof and eyes the hole Anya made on her landing. "That... Was at least a few hundred pounds. Was it heavy?"

----

"I could tell it was heavy," Anya answers, "But it kinda felt like... like picking up a box full of tacos." She opens her and, making a quiet 'ick' sound at her dusty glove and promptly slaps it against her hip a few times to get it clean. "I also noticed, well... I got into abuela's tequila and, well... I don't think I can get lit anymore." Which is probably a good thing, but the rough kid in her seems disappointed in that.

----

"If you got angry and weren't thinking you could literally throw a car at someone. Probably for the best that we can never get drunk ever again." Gwen shakes her head at that. "I know it's for the best for me. I'll stick to throwing salt shakers or something like my grandmother."

----

A laugh escapes again, Anya grinning ruefully. "Your abuela throws salt shakers too? Must be a generation thing." She considers all of this for a moment, before suddenly her eyes go wide. "Oh no. Abuela! I forgot to tell her I wasn't coming home soon." She winces and looks to Gwen with a panic. "Left my backpack on a rooftop back on 109." The panic fades in favor of a smirk. "Race ya?"

[[Category:Logs|Logs]]

Template:Log

2018-08-14T12:27:22Z

Apoq79: Created page with "{{#css:Sitewide.css}} {| class="chartbl" ! colspan="4" class="toptitle"|Roleplay Log |- ! class="titlecol"|Name | class="datacol"|{{{name}}} ! class="titlecol"|Date | class="d..."

{{#css:Sitewide.css}}
{| class="chartbl"
! colspan="4" class="toptitle"|Roleplay Log
|-
! class="titlecol"|Name
| class="datacol"|{{{name}}}
! class="titlecol"|Date
| class="datacol"|{{{date}}}
|-
! class="lowlt"|Location
| class="datacol"|{{{location}}}
! class="titlecol"|
| rowpsan=3 class="lowrt"|
|}

Template:Character

2018-08-14T02:28:16Z

Apoq79:

{{#css:Sitewide.css}}
{| class="chartbl"
!rowspan="10" class="firstcol"|
{{{callsign}}}
 
[[File:{{{icon}}}|240px]]
|-
! colspan="4" class="toptitle"|General Information
|-
! class="titlecol"|Name
| class="datacol"|{{{name}}}
! class="titlecol"|Callsign
| class="datacol"|{{{callsign}}}
|-
! class="titlecol"|Type
| class="datacol"|{{{type}}}
! class="titlecol"|Actor
| class="datacol"|{{{actor}}}
|-
! colspan="2" class="midtitle"|Family Information
! colspan="2" class="midtitle"|Statistics
|-
! class="titlecol"|Parnter(s)
| class="datacol"|{{{partner}}}
! class="titlecol"|Height
| class="datacol"|{{{height}}}
|-
! class="titlecol"|Father
| class="datacol"|{{{father}}}
! class="titlecol"|Weight
| class="datacol"|{{{weight}}}
|-
! class="titlecol"|Mother
| class="datacol"|{{{mother}}}
! class="titlecol"|Hair Color
| class="datacol"|{{{hair}}}
|-
! class="titlecol"|Siblings
| class="datacol"|{{{siblings}}}
! class="titlecol"|Eye Color
| class="datacol"|{{{eyes}}}
|-
! class="lowlt"|Children
| class="datacol"|{{{children}}}
! class="titlecol"|
| rowpsan=3 class="lowrt"|
|}

==Background==

{{{background}}}

==IC History==

{{{history}}}

==Gallery==

{{{gallery}}}

Roster

2018-08-14T02:26:24Z

Apoq79:

The current list of played heroes:

{{#ask:
[[Category:Roster]]
|format=gallery
}}

*[[Yana Asarov]]
*[[America Chavez]]
*[[Anya Corazon]]
*[[Carol Danvers]]
*[[Angela Davis]]
*[[Dick Grayson]]
*[[Jean Grey]]
*[[Laura Kinney]]
*[[Haven MacKenzie]]
*[[Wanda Maximoff]]
*[[Thor Odinson]]
*[[Peter Parker]]
*[[Illyana Rasputin]]
*[[Steve Rogers]]
*[[Gwen Stacy]]
*[[Wally West]]
*[[Kara Zor-El]]

The current list of villains introduced onto the grid:

*[[Lex Luthor]]
*[[Brainiac]]
*[[Ultron]]
*[[Oswald Cobblepot]]
*[[Wilson Fisk]]

Current List of Notable Organizations:

*[[The Watch]]
*[[Xavier Institute]]
*[[SHIELD]]
*[[Stark Industries]]
*[[Wayne Enterprises]]
*[[Pym Technologies]]

Current list of Villainous Organizations (please ask staff to be tagged if you're using them for plot purposes)

*[[HYDRA]]
*[[AIM]]
*[[CADMUS]]
*[[Brotherhood of Mutants]]
*[[Morlocks]]

Template:Character

2018-08-14T02:22:16Z

Apoq79:

Template:Character

2018-08-14T02:19:24Z

Apoq79:

Template:Character

2018-08-14T02:19:07Z

Apoq79:

Roster

2018-08-14T02:03:35Z

Apoq79:

The current list of played heroes:

{{#ask:
[[Category:Roster]]
|format=broadtable
|link=text
|transpose=yes
}}

*[[Yana Asarov]]
*[[America Chavez]]
*[[Anya Corazon]]
*[[Carol Danvers]]
*[[Angela Davis]]
*[[Dick Grayson]]
*[[Jean Grey]]
*[[Laura Kinney]]
*[[Haven MacKenzie]]
*[[Wanda Maximoff]]
*[[Thor Odinson]]
*[[Peter Parker]]
*[[Illyana Rasputin]]
*[[Steve Rogers]]
*[[Gwen Stacy]]
*[[Wally West]]
*[[Kara Zor-El]]

The current list of villains introduced onto the grid:

*[[Lex Luthor]]
*[[Brainiac]]
*[[Ultron]]
*[[Oswald Cobblepot]]
*[[Wilson Fisk]]

Current List of Notable Organizations:

*[[The Watch]]
*[[Xavier Institute]]
*[[SHIELD]]
*[[Stark Industries]]
*[[Wayne Enterprises]]
*[[Pym Technologies]]

Current list of Villainous Organizations (please ask staff to be tagged if you're using them for plot purposes)

*[[HYDRA]]
*[[AIM]]
*[[CADMUS]]
*[[Brotherhood of Mutants]]
*[[Morlocks]]

Angela Davis

2018-08-14T01:57:54Z

Apoq79:

Kara Zor-El

2018-08-14T01:57:41Z

Apoq79:

Kara Zor-El is the given name of the Kryptonian woman who calls herself [[Superwoman]].

Born on [[Krypton]], Kara witnessed the end of Krypton. At thirteen, she was the first naturally conceived Kryptonian child in a thousand generations. Her parents put her in an escape pod and shot her to Earth, even as Krypton disintegrated around them.

Her pod was flung into deep space towards the primitive world called Earth, where the Kryptonian cousins of [[Wakanda]] dwelt. A miscalculation dropped Kara in Florida, where she was adopted by the Danvers family.

Kara hid her powers from the world for years, until a hurricane struck and she felt compelled to assist. Styling herself [[Superwoman]], Kara became the first publicly known alien to dwell on Earth. (Her uncle, [[Jor-El]], had adopted the moniker of Superman while a member of the [[Defenders]], but did not claim to be an alien).

Kara established a secret identity of Linda Danvers, a nod to her adopted cousin [[Carol Danvers]]. She eventually met her genetic cousin, [[Kal-El]], whose pod was delayed in flight. Several years older than Kal, she mentored him into his own powers and abilities.

She was instrumental in establishing [[The Watch]] as a formal organization and recruited some of the best and most powerful superheroes of the modern era to join her.

[[Category:Roster|Z]]

Laura Kinney

2018-08-14T01:57:27Z

Apoq79:

Steve Rogers

2018-08-14T01:57:15Z

Apoq79:

{{character
|
name=Steve Rogers
|
callsign=Captain America
|
icon=Steve01.jpeg
|
actor=Chris Evans
|
type=Media Character
|
partner=[[Hippolyta]]
|
father=
|
mother=
|
siblings=None
|
children=
|
height=6'1"
|
weight=275 lbs
|
hair=Blonde
|
eyes=Blue
|
background=Steve Rogers is one of the original [[Defenders]]. Born on Jul 4, 1918.

Steve would attempt to enlist in the US Military multiple times after America officially joined the Allied effort. He was eventually recruited into the [[Strategic Scientific Reserve]] by [[Abraham Erskine]]. He would be selected for the [[Super-Soldier]] program, advanced infantry development. The procedure would turn him into a perfect human specimen, a vast leap forward in human evolution.

As an officer in the US Army, he found his chief antagonist in the director of the Nazi's science division: [[HYDRA]], and its leader, Col. [[Johann Schmidt]]. Though the other [[Purifiers]] would threaten the world, Rogers and Schmidt held a particular enmity, both in terms of personality and ideologies.

Steve Rogers was assigned to his first field command as leader of the Defenders in Europe in 1942. They fought the Germans particularly in the European theater and into Africa.

In 1945, Captain Rogers was part of a strike force that was attempting to prevent the [[Purifiers]] from gaining control of an ancient superweapon, the [[Cosmic Cube]]. His plane was shot down in the Arctic, along with his pilot [[Zinda Blake]].

Captain Rogers' body was discovered in late 2017 due to thawing of the polar ice sheets. He was successfully thawed and restored to duty as an agent of [[SHIELD]] and a 'legacy' member of the modern guardians of Earth, [[The Watch]].
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Steve01.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==

[[Category:Roster|R]]

Wally West

2018-08-14T01:57:00Z

Apoq79:

{{character
|
name=Wally West
|
callsign=The Flash
|
icon=Wally01.jpeg
|
actor=Thomas Knights
|
type=Media Character
|
partner=None
|
father=Robert West
|
mother=Mary West
|
siblings=None
|
children=None
|
height=6'0"
|
weight=175 lbs
|
hair=Red
|
eyes=Green
|
background=
|
history=
|
gallery=[[File:Wally02.jpeg|thumb]]
}}

==Roleplay Logs==

[[Category:Roster|W]]