Blooperheroes!

RP Topics will go in here. It's buried inside this forum to keep it from getting confused with the main RP room section.
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The Monsterworks
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Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by The Monsterworks » Tue Dec 03, 2019 4:18 pm

Team A - 5:38 PM

Three quarters of the villains have been neutralized. Sour Cherry Blaster and The Bubbler are sitting in front of a police station, about to be locked up in ways that make them unable to use their powers properly. Natural Twenty seems to have been pacified through the awesome power of honest, well-intentioned conversation.

Yet, they've won, almost as if this entire encounter was a mere distraction. Big Wing has taken flight, headed far off into the evening sky for his date with Photobomb and destiny. 50,000 lives hang in the balance and there is nothing that Captain Chicken, Nick, Force, or Flashback can do. Faust, the only one more or less uninjured, seems almost suspiciously cautious as two of her teammates are gobbled up by the colossal bird, disappearing into the distance and to a fate unknown. There's still that message from Recoil to consider: everyone that the Corps can scramble is headed to the Tesla Center to help with the evacuation. Anybody from Team A who's well enough to move should make all possible speed towards Team B's position. Countless innocent lives depend on stopping Photobomb.

It appears that Captain Chicken will be unable to answer the call, however. Trapped in an indestructible bubble with Roxy for another... 36 minutes, the situation looks hopeless. The two of them are stuck with each other, unable to make an impact. "I'm gonna go for it," Roxy says finally. "officially, I'm appealing to your sense of honour and decency. If this works, I free you, you save those people, you don't haul a washed-up badgirl like me to the slammer. Alright?"

"Can I punch through this bubble?" She asks of nobody in particular, pulling a pair of dice from her pocket. She releases them and they skip across the bottom of the bubble, coming to a stop on four and five. Natural Twenty smiles. Rearing back, she throws everything that she has into a right cross. The mystery material of the bubble flexes, but doesn't quite break. Without her prosthetic, she's off-balance. Readjusting, she tries again, leaping forward with both fists outstretched. The bubble distends for a moment and then shatters, freeing both her and Robyn. The two of them face each other for a second. "I'm going to go now," Roxy says cautiously, "right?"

Meanwhile, Nick, in need of medical attention, is probably out of the fight, at least physically. He has that tablet, however, and the information that it contains, known only to him and Amber. He scrolls through it, making the alarming find that Big Wing is more than just a pelican. He can turn into any flying creature, living or dead. Further, he learns that Photobomb can affect anybody that she takes a picture of using emojis, including herself. He remembers MODS reporting a minute or two ago that a strange stomach sickness has spread through Team B, crippling or knocking out at least a handful of its members. Could it be... Then, Faust is there, regrouping with him. The big question is, should he trust her with his newfound information, should he ask her for help with Hackslash, still trapped in a bubble for...it can't be much longer, or should he play things off and remind her that Team B could really use her right now. The tablet is paused on the next screen. It's Glass Canon. It contains all of the standard information but, at the bottom is a note. It reads, "Abilities Incorporated: 4/24/2020." Last month.

While Nick has to settle for contributing in less direct ways, Force is not out of the fight. She is merely trapped or, rather, Big Wing is trapped with her. Throwing all of her weight and strength into it, she slams into the wall of her bubble. The force of the impact throws the gigantic pelican off-balance, as its pouch bulges painfully. Yet, Force can't help but notice that her strength isn't quite what it was twenty minutes ago, when she was busy punching explosives. It's starting to bleed out. Shit! Making matters worse, Flashback, in the bubble beside her, is temporarily unable to use any of her powers - except maybe on her own gear - and should definitely receive medical treatment before long. Time to choke this fucker! Gaining speed as she rolls the bubble, Force propels it towards the back of Big Wing's throat. There's a meaty thunk, and then a rapid jiggling. The great bird gags, fluttering frantically. Being trapped in one of these bubbles is disorienting, but Force and Flashback can both feel themselves going into a steep dive. Big Wing's mouth opens wide and they can see ocean below. He hacks and chokes and then...

They drop. From nearly 500 feet above sea level. Two indestructible (for about another half hour) bubbles plummet towards the surface of the water, half a mile out from the coast.


Team B - 5:45 PM

Every remaining member of Team B has his or her own plan, with very little coordination involved. Silent Spring robs Spooge of his ammo at gunpoint and leaves him under the tender loving care of the Spirit. She proceeds to sneak around the long way to get at Photobomb from behind, armed with a shotgun.

The Spirit knocks Spooge out almost immediately, hefting the man and full-on hurling him in Photobomb's direction. He smashes into the window and it shatters, pieces of glass clattering to the ground or embedding themselves in his body. He doesn't quite reach his target, however, pained and exhausted as The Spirit is. Instead, Spooge crashes to the ground just short of her, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds. Startled but uninjured, Photobomb lines up a shot of The Spirit as he leaps. The Amazing Black Hole intervenes in the nick of time, stumbling around the corner, violently ill. A high-pressure stream of hyper-acidic vomit, interspersed with car parts and sharp shards of metal, heads straight for the villain.

Then, from above, a colossal shadow blankets the ground in darkness. The beating of mighty wings forces people to the ground. Others are swept off of their feet. Big Wing has arrived.

That has consequences for everybody. Instinctively protecting her face from dust and debris, April, having worked her way around from behind, raises her hands and, in doing so reveals herself. Sighted by Susie Biscuits, she is jumped from behind. Driven to the ground by the larger woman, she drops the gun and it goes off in a random direction, clattering away. The Spirit's trajectory is altered, and he crashes down short of his target, Jackson taking his place. Finally, The Amazing Black Hole's vomit splatters everywhere including right back at him. A heavy chunk of steel takes him in the midsection and knocks the wind out of him. He can feel a rib give way and it hurts.

But the pain stops there. Orange Marauder's eyes glow the colour of freshly-squeezed orange juice. A twenty-foot wave of juice sweeps between the hazardous vomit and most of its potential victims. Jackson finds himself soaked and washed away, tumbling onto his hands and knees, a bit beat up but not too bad off. April and Susie are separated in the deluge, and it's the teenager who comes up with the gun.

The Narcolpetic and Green Freedom, rudely awakened, cough and sputter while Orange Marauder collapses, exhausted. Photobomb is not nearly so fortunate. She lies on the floor unmoving, covered in acid burns, punctured by shrapnel, one of her legs twisted at a sickening angle, and her right hand blown to shreds by a shotgun blast. Her cellphone lies beside her, amazingly still functional, its screen displaying an unfinished Instagram post. "Susie's :cupcake: :cookie: :pie: cooking: :yum: or :face_vomiting: ??"

April and Susie Biscuits stare each other down, as do Green Freedom and The Narcoleptic. Everybody else is effectively out of the fight, including Tony, who's halfway unconscious, feeling absolutely wretched. Biscuits smirks. "You've won," she says. "Congrats. Now, you're not gonna shoot me girl. Not in cold blood." Calling April's bluff, she turns and walks away. Big Wing doesn't attack. He merely picks up his fallen comrades, turns, and takes flight. The day is saved. The heroes have won, but at what cost?


Liberty Mountain: 5:38 PM

Sandra is busy sweeping. There are people and even robots who do that, of course, but an old woman needs to keep busy, or she gets very old very quickly. Big things are happening outside. The young people - not nearly as blessed with power as she once was - are out there fighting even now. She hopes all of them will make it. She supposes some may not.

She peers down through one of the operations room windows at the tour groups below. They've been held back because of the emergency situation. Sandra checks one of the computer displays. She doesn't like computers, but she likes MODS even less. It feels like a creepy, omniscient little voice in her head. It feels like him - the way that he used to talk to her, and she has sworn never to listen to him again.

That's when one of the warning lights blinks. She rests her broom on a console and turns to watch. It's the proximity indicator. There's an unauthorized intrusion into Liberty Mountain airspace. She grumbles, adjusts her glasses, and peers down at the reading. A flashing red bogey makes its way towards HQ, too slow to be a plane, too large to be a bird. Maybe it's one of their hovercraft. She doesn't know how to check. Hank is so much better with these things. Consulting the wireframe map of HQ, she determines the closest point to the approaching unknown and teleports over.

A cool wind washes across her. The sun sits on the horizon, fat and dim, like an overripe peach. From the glare appears a colossal bird, its wings tucking in at its sides as it stoops into an accelerating dive. Sandra takes hold of it with her mind, pushing back, but its momentum is incredible. It hurtles towards her, barely slowing down. She teleports inside. "MODS," she shouts at the hateful computerized voice, "Warn the others, attack on Liberty Mountain! It's Big Wing!"

A terrific crash shakes the roof of the proud structure and Sandra steels herself. There are times when she wishes that she hadn't sealed away 90% of her power, but it is precisely that temptation to have it back, to solve things with a bigger hammer, that reminds her why she forsook it in the first place.

Bravely, she disappears with a flash and reappears on the roof. Big Wing is gone. Sandra glances around, not fully trusting her eyes. Gulls bleat and wheel in the distance. Birds take off from nearby trees. The air feels light and electric. Then, comes the assault: bubbles! By the dozens, floating towards her. She never knew that The Bubbler was such an amateur. She teleports past the wave with ease towards the masked figure beyond.

A brilliant red laser leaps toward her and Sandra has no time to react. It catches her in the left shoulder and the pain is unbelievable. The arm is gone! Her vision blurs and she staggers to the side. Something is wrong here. Something is badly wrong. Those are the redhead girl's powers. Her attacker is a man. Calling on a power from deep within herself, Sandra finds her footing once more. With an effort, her severed arm begins to glow. To glow and to...regrow. A familiar icy warmth spreads through her. More lasers come. She teleports around them all. The mysterious figure backpedals at fantastic speed, darting and dodging her attempts to get closer. Then, he goes still. He hunches over and single, massive leathery black wing sprouts from his back. A second tears its way out from the other side. He rises. He speaks.

"Sandra Malatesta," the voice pronounces, with a certain sort of dark glee. "I have to say, you don't quite live up to the legends, especially given what you really are."

That sends chills through her. Only Hank and Gerald have ever known. How? How would this...stranger know. "Who are you?" she snaps at him.

"I am nobody," he replies, his voice deep, rich, and dripping with cool sepulchral resonance. "But you." He steps forward. "You are free to be yourself again, Night Empress. I free you from your curse. It was only ever meant to last for fifty years."

No it wasn't, she knows. It was supposed to last an eternity. It's too late, however. The old witch can feel it flooding through her veins already: a power of cold and darkness, filling her with strength that no being should ever possess.

The invader blasts a hole through the roof. Rubble rains down into Liberty Hall. People run and scream. "Stop me, Night Empress. Stop me from killing them all," he snarls, swooping down on black wings. "Or join me if you don't want to. If you are yourself again."

The dread might coursing through her is not Sandra's. It is the Night Empress'. She was the last Night Empress. She is the Night Empress no longer. That is how it must be. With but a thought, she seizes the two-hundred-fifty people inside Liberty Hall and translocates them to the plaza outside.

Then, The Night Empress appears, surrounded by black tentacles of writhing fire. Her attacker pulls up short, his wings flapping steadily in the cavernous hall. He grins and plunges towards her. Blood red lasers shoot from his hands and eyes, tearing through marble, disintegrating walls, windows, and statues. One finds Sandra. She bats it away with the flick of a wrist. I don't care who you are, she thinks, you are too dangerous to be left alive. She has always gone along with her husband's ideals - the Liberty Corps' ideals - but she has never believed that they work. Some people are redeemable. She is thankful for that. But some are not.

Sandra closes her eyes. The ground shifts and cracks. Alarms blare. The sky blackens. Something ancient and evil stirs and she can feel her feet lift from the ground.

Image

This devil or whatever he is plunges for her heart, vile claws and fangs distended. She opens her eyes and he stops as if hitting a wall, his mask shattering. "MORTAL, you do not know the powers that you have awakened. If you had, you'd have let them lie!" He stares at her, something like horror written across his features. There's something else there too. It bothers her, but no matter. The Night Empress reaches out with a closed fist and then opens it, tilting her head to the side and grinning. The attacker explodes as if he were nothing, bits of his body raining down across the hall. Sandra lets her arms fall to her sides, just an old woman again, but no longer the last Night Empress. Glee, she thinks, that was it. He was happy, the moment before he was killed. He was excited. She does not know why, and that disturbs her even more than the return of an ancient and very unwelcome power.

Last edited by The Monsterworks on Tue Dec 03, 2019 8:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Mastodon... Extinction (HW)
Osiris... Armageddon! (MW)
Elrathia... ROBOTS (LW)
Magnolia Pico... Ruination 4 (MW)
RipTide... ROBOT2 (FW)
Black Diamond... Cherry Bomb Classic 3 (HW)
MADSCIENCE... ROBOTS 3 (LW)
Abyss... ROBOTS 3 (MW)


The Monsterworks: 214-57 (.790) ...Probably up to no good.
Cherry Bomb Classic IV: 25-4
Finishing Move: 6-2
Magnolia Pico: 6-1
Magnolia Grande: 6-1
Glacier III: 7-0
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Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by hide » Tue Dec 03, 2019 7:31 pm

Jackson awoke, somewhat groggy but otherwise fine. Well, up until a wave of orange juice plowed into him,soaking and washing him away. Tumbling about, Jackson finally stabilized himself, enough to assess the situation decently enough. He had hazy memories of what happened while he was asleep: consoles, old superheros, getting split up into teams, killer phones and more. He was wide-awake now, and finally stood up. He had scratches, a cut, and felt somewhat pained. Grunting, he stretched a bit, and finally walked out of the ruined restaurant. Checking his wallet, he found that most of his stuff was fine: besides his clothes being soaked, all his cash was intact, as well as his IDs, cards, etc.

Although he knew there might be important stuff later, Jackson was focused on getting medical supplies for himself and for the others. Walking to the closest open pharmacy, attracting looks from his citrus-scent and soaked clothes, he got bandages, gauze, painkillers, antiseptic cream, rubbing alcohol, water, and generally basic first-aid stuff. He also got a couple cokes too.

Walking out with his hefty load, Jackson applied the medical-supplies he needed to himself, and ran over to the rest of the heroes, handing out his medical supplies to his battered team members.
Team C/D:
Taskmaster: Reckoning: Evolution (0-4)
Taskmaster V2: REDDIT 2 (3-3)
SPINNERFOOD: Thunder Underground (1-2), CBC 4 (4-4), CBC4 Rumble (lost)
Taskmaster V3: Thunder Underground (3-1), ARC Rumble (lost)
D O N O T C R O S S: Thunder Underground (2-0)
Taskmaster V4/King Crimson: Not the Football League (1-0), CBC 4 (2-4)
Killer Queen: CBC 4 (2-4)
SPECTRALS: ROBOT4 (0-1)
CRAZY DIAMOND: ROBOT4 (2-1)
Ki: PAT'S TOURNAMENT (5-0) CHAMPION
DEAD BABY CANNON: RUMBLE IN DA JUNGLE (4-2)
MADE IN HEAVEN: ROBOT4 (1-1)

Record: 30-27
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Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Rocket » Tue Dec 03, 2019 7:43 pm

Robyn wasn't ready for the first punch, but she was for the second. The bubble burst with a damp splut, coating the slightly charred heroine in a thin, greasy film that wicked off a little when she moved.

"We have a deal, Roxy. Go. And try not to get hurt, okay?"

As the bubble had finally popped, Robyn's phone got the blaring update from MODS (or maybe it wasn't? No. She couldn't afford to be too paranoid.) about Big Wing and Photobomb's plan for the Aces game. She immediately tried to send a message through to Rolling Thunder but got an IR alert when she opened the contact. Shit, she thought. This called for more desperate measures. She messaged an update to Orange Marauder, hoping against hope that she wasn't one of those mom types who didn't answer their texts for three hours and then got mad when you didn't reply to them in eight milliseconds.

Code: Select all

Big Wing got away from Team A and I assume full responsibility for that. I got trapped in one of Bubbler's bubbles and it only just popped. At a guess I'd say Big Wing's gonna converge on your position for pickup of Photobomb. I'll round up our remaining assets and try and pilot the hoverjet to your location. It's not a stick shift, is it? I'm only licensed for automatics. 3:)
With that, she went looking for Nick and whoever was left. She needed to pass on Roxy's information as well.
TEAM WORST SWORDSMAN
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Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Wolf51-50 » Wed Dec 04, 2019 10:44 am

Tony awakens after the long battle. A broke rib? Not the worst injury he's had. He accepts a few bandages from Jackson for some of his cuts due to the aluminum shards and makes an ice pack from the ice that was left from the restaurant for himself and shoves it into his skin tight costume. That feeling of vomiting was worse than any other type of physical pain. But at least Photobomb was finally finished off After puking up a couple statue fingers, he finally felt better. But he needs to eat something quick. Where was that one lady with her cannnolis? He finds a small box of frozen pancakes in the freezer, although they were more than thawed by this point, and eats them with a large grin on his face after finishing his meal to his own satisfaction he--

Wait a minute
.
What is that buzzing sound?
.
.
Tony walks 20 feet from the restaurant to find the one thing that hurt his team: Photobomb's phone. Seeing red and trying to resist his own actions, he is able to contain himself and only eat the small plastic case of the phone. Or is it more of a leather? It's tasty enough whatever it is. He walks the phone over to those that have recovered somewhat

"Hey guys. Maybe this will help us find something? Cause if not it's going right into my mouth"

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Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Archangel » Thu Dec 05, 2019 7:59 pm

That fuck put her in a bubble and will die for it

That other fuck put her in a satchel, and will also die for it

...actually the bubble is kind of fun. Force now sympathizes with hamsters. she also makes her way back to Good Guy Mountain or whatever the fuck they're calling it these days. much easier to beat up those two fucks if she's on the right side of the law.

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The Monsterworks
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Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by The Monsterworks » Fri Dec 06, 2019 1:20 pm

Image


Arc Two: If I had eight hours to chop down a tree...


Force and Flashback: May 23, 6:45 PM

Both Elisabeth and Maybelle survive the drop, their bubbles cushioning them in some strange way. The two of them bob up and down for a couple of minutes on the sunset waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, once she's gathered herself, Force begins slowly but surely propelling her bubble towards shore. Gradually, Flashback disappears from view, alone, injured, and in a desperate situation as night falls. At some point, Elisabeth's bubble pops. The water is cold and disgusting. It doesn't bother her. She keeps swimming, the shore not far away: swimming to wherever it is that she'll go and whatever it is that she'll do.

Natural Twenty: May 23, 6:45 PM

Roxy rolls a pair of dice. They skitter across the pavement and come to a stop: a four and a six: ten. She collects them, takes a deep breath, and crosses the street.

Imogen and Louis are waiting under guard in the atrium of the police station when Roxy walks...or, uh crutches in. They barely even react as she comes to a stop mere feet away from the pair of supervillains. Glancing around innocently, she takes a safety pin out of her skirt and lunges. She pops one bubble and then the other and then it's on. Sour Cherry Blaster lays down covering fire and The Bubbler launches a wave of explosives. Police duck and cover as he creates three more bubbles, but they're not in any danger from those. Louis, Roxy, and Imogen step into them even as they can feel the wind from the gaping hole in the wall, even as a colossal bird swoops down and picks the three of them up.

Natural Twenty, The Bubbler, Sour Cherry Blaster, and Big Wing make their escape. It's mission accomplished, according to the boss, or at least according to what little she was told through TEASE.* Paranoia and distrust has been sown among the enemy ranks. They won't be using MODS like they should for now. The team has survived intact, with the exception of Monica, who's abilities have been made redundant after The Asset incorporated them. In total, it managed to incorporate four more, including those of priority one, and priority two is apparently in their possession and en route. Roxy is relieved to learn that the stadium was never a serious target - merely a diversion. She will lie, cheat, and steal, but she is not okay with gratuitous murder.

Natural Twenty has a long time to think during the ride back. We won, she tells herself, so why doesn't it feel like a victory?

*Tactical Encryption, Administration, and Strategic Engine

Teams A and B: May 23, 7:30 PM

The Liberty Mountain that the teams arrive back at is a very different place than the one that they left. A police presence is everywhere. Each of the new members has to present ID and be vouched for by existing Liberty Corps members. Nick, in particular, is given a hard time until Amber sticks up for him.

Inside the Hall, construction machinery is already patching the damage and measurements are being taken on the statues. The operations rooms are a hive of activity. It feels important, but it doesn't feel like home - not a safe home base that the Corps really owns. Hank returns a couple of minutes after the bewildered new recruits and they're ushered through to a fairly spartan ready room beyond.

Malatesta and a couple of others who they're less familiar with are waiting for them. The old woman certainly seems different from before. It's hard to place how, but she isn't the same. Medical personnel are on hand to treat injured team members, but Jenna takes the lead in rolling up a sleeve and laying out on a couch. Sandra closes her eyes and lays her hands on the younger woman's arm. The sorceress' eyelids flutter. A strange feeling floats through the air. As people watch, the bullet wound disappears as if it was never even there. Next is Nick, then Amber. Then others. Tony is last. He produces a phone. "I'm pretty sure it's Photobomb's," he tells the others.

All non-corps members are ushered out except for one: Ted. He slides quietly into place against the wall. Hank takes the phone and offers a "thank you. This could prove to be very valuable." He clears his throat and raises his voice so that all can hear. "I'd like you all to follow me," he says simply, waving them onward in the direction of a bookshelf. Unsure of exactly what to do, most of them follow. He stops in front of the shelf, pulls out a dusty old book entitled, Tuscan Cuisine: 1880-1920, and there's a slight mechanical 'clank'. The shelf swings inward and, beyond, is another room. The group shuffles through. When they're done, Ted closes the door behind them.

In contrast to the spartan furnishings of the ready room, this is a mahogany and leather paradise, complete with bearskin rug, full-service bar, billiards table, dartboard, and the head of a prize buck mounted over a roaring fireplace. The walls are lined with bookshelves, keepsakes, and cases displaying the original outfits of the Liberty Corps' founding members. Fluted glass sconces and antique ceiling fixtures burn with a soft yellow light. Well-loved sofas and lounge chairs cluster in front of the fireplace, to one side of the bar (which Ted presently takes his place behind), and around an oversized globe and coffee table. A pair of them are laid out to either side of an old-style gramophone. Amber's eyes light up when she sees it, and she hurries over, already taking out her phone for a picture. The teenager pauses and blinks in confusion. She presses at her phone's buttons again.

Hank clasps his hands behind his back and glances her way before turning to face the others. "Why don't all of you take a seat?" he offers, stepping towards one of the lounge chairs himself. He shoots a look at Tony, "and I'd ask you not to eat anything in here. If you do, I'll kill you." Is it a turn of phrase, or is he serious? Tony can't be sure, but Ted produces a heaping platter of sandwiches from behind the bar to sate his hunger...or partially, at least. Rolling Thunder has the caloric intake of a speedster. She gets to them first and mows through half in the handful of seconds before Tony is able to snatch the rest away.

Once everyone except for Sandra is seated, Recoil settles onto his chair. "In case you hadn't guessed," he begins. "We're in here because this is a special room. You won't find it on any maps, digital or otherwise. It doesn't appear in guides to the Liberty Corps or Liberty Mountain. It isn't connected to the internet or..." he pauses and finds himself smiling. "Anywhere, really. In fact, nothing in this room is electric. Even the lights are gas. The entire place is contained within an EMP zone and, most importantly, it doesn't officially exist."

Sandra, straightening slowly after placing some logs on the fire, takes over. "You're here because we've been attacked, and it might not be the last time. I was able to beat the attacker, but he wasn't normal, even for a super. He was using the abilities of others that he shouldn't have had, and he was able to remove the seal blocking most of my abilities." She perches on a barstool, shooting a grateful glance at Ted as her slides a glass of chardonnay towards her. "There is a reason those abilities were sealed away. They are unnatural and dangerous and they were supposed to die with me. Now, they'll be passed on."

Hank nods. "And finding out who they'll be passed onto is among our highest priorities, along with finding out who sent the attacker. As to why we're discussing this in here? It's because we have reason to believe that MODS may be compromised." He glances in Ted's direction. "Ted and his team are looking into the possibility that somebody could've backdoored their way in. We'll know for certain by tomorrow evening but, for the time being, I ask you to refrain from interacting with MODS and from using any devices you may have installed it on."

Amber audibly groans.

Hank clasps his hands in front of him. "Each person in this room is here because he or she volunteered, as did Force and Flashback. Rest assured that search teams are looking for both of them and they will be recovered. That, and the injuries that some of you sustained today, should serve as a warning. This may be viewed as glamorous work by some, and it has its benefits." He takes in the room. "But it is not easy. It is not safe. Capes die." He meets each and every one of their eyes. "That is why I'm asking you to volunteer again. Those of you who don't, I thank you for your service and I hold no prejudice against you. You are free to leave with my blessing and the trust that what we have discussed and undertaken will remain confidential."

He stands. Sandra, Jenna, and two of the unnamed new people stand. "This is Francis," he gestures toward a handsome early-middle-aged Asian man. "You may know him as Kamikaze."

"A pleasure." Francis nods suavely.

Recoil pivots. "This is Devan," he continues. "You'll be more familiar with him as Wednesday Warrior." A short, casually-dressed South Asian man in his late twenties, he wouldn't look out of place delivering pizza or Amazon packages.

"Good to meet you guys," he says, a slightly nervous smile on his face.

"Over the course of the next week, those of you who volunteer to stay on will get to know these two lovely gentlemen and others, I expect. You'll be official members of the Liberty Corps with all that entails. You will train, both with and against each other. You will have access to the best equipment and outfitting that money can buy. You will be assigned rooms pursuant to each of your interests, stipulations, and unique... requirements and you will earn a salary that reflects the risk and the vital importance of the work that you will do."

Ted steps out of the room momentarily. The door opens moments later and he ushers in a dripping wet Elisabeth, hastily wrapped in a bathrobe over top of her clothes.

The mechanic/pilot/cybersecurity expert/bartender takes his place behind the bar again. He begins filling glasses with champagne and placing them on the countertop.

"Should you accept, I'd like you to come and join me at the bar for a drink, but know you aren't just accepting a job. You're becoming a member, a part of a team. Dare I say..." his voice grows thick. Sandra slips an arm under his. "A family. We look after our own and..." he grows in conviction as he speaks. He, Jenna, Francis, Amber, Devan, and Sandra exchange looks. "by God almighty, we're going to get our people back."

Hank slides his arm free of his wife's. Calmly, he takes a seat at the bar and lifts a glass of champagne to his lips. Others follow him. The question is: Are you among them?

"Hey, wait a sec," says Amber, "I'm not even legal drinking age!"

Mastodon... Extinction (HW)
Osiris... Armageddon! (MW)
Elrathia... ROBOTS (LW)
Magnolia Pico... Ruination 4 (MW)
RipTide... ROBOT2 (FW)
Black Diamond... Cherry Bomb Classic 3 (HW)
MADSCIENCE... ROBOTS 3 (LW)
Abyss... ROBOTS 3 (MW)


The Monsterworks: 214-57 (.790) ...Probably up to no good.
Cherry Bomb Classic IV: 25-4
Finishing Move: 6-2
Magnolia Pico: 6-1
Magnolia Grande: 6-1
Glacier III: 7-0
ROBOTS 3: 21-6
Sixpounder: 3-4
MADSCIENCE: 9-1 Champion!
Abyss: 9-1 Champion!

MadBull
Posts: 2165
Joined: Wed Dec 31, 1969 7:00 pm

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by MadBull » Fri Dec 06, 2019 1:34 pm

"Not safe? For you amateurs perhaps, but I hardly put up a sweat out there."

... MODS, compromised... what a brilliant idea.

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Archangel
Posts: 2635
Joined: Wed Dec 31, 1969 7:00 pm
Team: ‽ Robotics

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Archangel » Fri Dec 06, 2019 1:39 pm

Much like a college student, offers of free food and free stuff are very effective on Force.

“I came in late and should probably know what I just agreed to but I’m in. Need some booze. Also need a shotgun that always shoots whoever fires it without lookin weird, and an indestructible suit that looks like the one I’m wearing.


...and i need $200 up front. I owe my dealer and I don’t imagine you’ll let me get away with just killing him”

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Rocket
Posts: 106
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 3:34 pm

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Rocket » Fri Dec 06, 2019 2:51 pm

Even after the healing, there was still something wrong with Robyn.

it hissed and spat

She looked drained; not just tired, everyone was tired, but barely able to stand even after being healed to theoretically perfect fighting fitness, though the power apparently couldn't do anything for Rolling Thunder. Robyn couldn't concentrate, couldn't think straight, couldn't remember what she'd said or who she'd said it to. Whatever mad adrenaline rush had propelled her through the battle was gone, and her spirit seemed to have gone with it. Being granted entry to a secret room, being given the opportunity to join up with the Corps, being plied with strong drink... none of it resulted in any kind of emotion on the woman's face.

hissed and spat like an angry snake

She raised her glass at Hank's prompting, said some vaguely positive words, sipped the champagne, and set it down gently on a conveniently placed coaster. Force yammering away about giving Corps money to a drug dealer, normally something that would have elicited a fairly strong response, didn't faze her in the slightest. Faust's diva posturing didn't seem to register at all with her. The new skin on her arms and thighs was pink and shiny, and it covered some of the older scars. The new skin didn't quite mesh with the old, and tugged and flexed as she adjusted in her seat. To anyone else, it would have been like sitting on barbed wire. Captain Chicken felt nothing. Because as much as she wanted to be the Captain again, she was just... Robyn. The ugly bulldyke farmgirl from the ass-end of nowhere. Robyn fucking sucked.

hissing and spitting and stinking

Without much warning, she pulled off the charred chicken mask. Her face was underneath it. Snub nose, flat and wide from being broken and rebroken without ever healing right. Close-cropped hair the faded brown of a dead mouse. Slightly sticky-out ears, the left one minus a lobe. Enormously thick milk-bottle glasses in cheap frames that looked like they'd been salvaged from a bin, the lenses covered in scuffs and chips. Pale face, spattered with freckles, but covered most by ugly, badly-healed scars like great white rivers, branching and spidering. The scars looked like someone had gone at her face with a potato peeler, because he had. They'd stretched over time and the skin around them was thick and gnarled like bark on an old, dead tree. The burn scar was the worst, though, covering her chin and spreading tendrils of thick bone-white skin up around her mouth, across her lips, around her throat. There were spots and splatters reaching almost up to her eyes and around to her ears.

the stench of the old grease and the new blood

She felt eyes on her, or maybe imagined, so she turned her own onto Hank. "It was six months into my career," she said, her tone flat and neutral and just too fucking old. "One hundred and ninety-four days, because I used to count them back then. I was tailing a drug ring and I got caught. I didn't talk. They got knives and blades and other stuff, and I wouldn't talk. They got a deep fat fryer, and they turned it on and heated the oil up. And it got hotter, and hotter, and when I wouldn't talk they grabbed me and held me over it, and they angled my head so it'd burn lower first. A guy walking his dog heard a scream and called the cops, and they got me out of there. And it all happened because they couldn't believe that even in West Podunk, with nothing but corn and church billboards a hundred miles in every direction, a thirteen-year-old girl was doing hero things alone."

the smell of burnt flesh

"I choose to do this, Recoil. Every day, it was a choice that I made to keep going. Maybe it was the wrong choice sometimes. But I'm going to keep making that choice, every day, because what else is left?"

her flesh

"What else," she said, and her voice cracked, and she couldn't finish.
TEAM WORST SWORDSMAN
"The world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second-best; he fears the worst swordsman, because he can't predict what the idiot will do."

Active Roster:-
VEXED!
LW: TRILOBITE! (1-0) (Lifetime: 3-4)

Cherry Bomb Classic 4
MW: DRAGONFIST (6-1) (Lifetime: 15-9)
HW: TABOR MARK 4 (4-3) (Lifetime: 12-14)

Full Roster
Lifetime Figures: 42-51 (0.452)

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Superbomb122
Posts: 77
Joined: Tue Jun 04, 2019 10:50 pm
Location: Kentucky

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Superbomb122 » Fri Dec 06, 2019 3:24 pm

The figure behind the chicken mask surprised Nick. He wasn't revolted necessarily, but the facial scars were definitely... not good.It's not like the story behind them eased him any more. Nick stood up, a bit wide-eyed after everything Robyn said. As he did, he heard both of his knees pop and lock up momentarily. "Shit," he thought. "Couldn't get those healed."

"Uhh, you guys have top-notch medical right? Can you do something about these?" Nick gestured to his knees. "Lost... most of my kneecaps a couple years back." This troubled him immensely, to the point where his nonchalance, for a second, was visibly replaced by despair. "Maker's Mark, too. I also want Maker's Mark."
Team ETHER 12-11
REDDIT: 3-2
CBC: 9-9

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The Monsterworks
Posts: 1308
Joined: Thu May 26, 2016 12:00 am
Location: Canada, for now
Team: The Monsterworks

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by The Monsterworks » Fri Dec 06, 2019 5:30 pm

"Hardly put up a sweat," Rolling Thunder grumbles in response to Henrika. "Trust me, we noticed." She rolls up to the bar, barely able to peer over it. "Hi Ted!" she chirps. "Jager-bomb, please." She pauses. "Actually, make it three."

Hank raises an eyebrow, glancing in her direction. "Make it one for Miss Kovalenko," he says to Ted.

"Dude," Amber replies. "I'm a grown-ass woman. If I can't get a drink here, I'll go get hammered with my friends in some public park."

The old man sighs. "Just keep it reasonable. Don't rush your way to blackout drunk like all the other kids."

Amber rolls her eyes. "OK Boomer."

Hank smirks back. "Technically Silent Generation," he replies, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Boomers are annoying." He waves a hand dismissively.

"So uh... is it one or three?" asks Ted.

Meanwhile, Sandra is reacting to Elisabeth's demands with an eyeroll of her own. "If you're gonna do the wacky tobaccy, girl, you should eat it instead of smoking. Much better that way." The old witch hammers back a shot of vodka. "When you get your gear tomorrow, you'll get a card. Account has $50,000. Settle up and don't be an idiot anymore, kapish?" She shuffles over tot he bar for another. "Oh, and you think of stealing anything and I tear your legs off and beat you with them. You play nice, and I bake you some cookies. That's what I'm supposed to say as a granny or some shit, right?"

That's when Robyn's story settles over the people who can hear it like a wet blanket. Hank doesn't say anything for a moment. He just takes a long, slow drink, savours, it, and swallows. He places his glass on the countertop. "The scars," he replies simply, his voice deep and gravelly. "The ones you can see and the ones that you can't. They'll always be with you." He stares into the drink just long enough that one might wonder if he's having a senior moment. Then, he pivots on his stool. "And each one you get (and there are lots, as you know) is one that some kid - or not a kid, because hopes and dreams don't end when you turn eighteen - doesn't get. And it isn't fair, and you don't do it for yourself or the recognition, though that sure is nice." He nods, recognizing that he's received more than most, and continues. "You do it because not everyone else can, because you have the power to do something and you made a decision, like you said, to use that power. Each one of us makes it and each one of us is at least one small part of that blanket: the one that covers society. The one that protects it from what howls outside and comforts it from the nightmares within." He downs the rest of his drink, claps a hand on her shoulder, and rises. "Now get drunk. Do it with friends. Sometimes it's okay to forget for a few hours." Hank walks away, followed by Amber's big, concerned eyes and then the rest of her.

Hank's already in the ready room by the time that Amber catches up with him. She's a bit tipsy and she doesn't trust herself to go at anything like speed without crashing into something. "Hey, you okay there, Boomer?"

He lets out a faint chuckle and the ghost of a smile. "You here for another emotionally-charged conversation?"

Amber blinks those almost-creepy-blue eyes and watches him. "No, you know me: healthy as a horse."

He squeezes her shoulder tightly. "You're a good kid. Remind me of my own granddaughter."

"Jen's hardly anything like me." She raises an eyebrow.

"You both decided to look like a painting," Hank jokes, sitting down.

The girl smiles and rolls her eyes. He tries to smile back, but it's an effort. He shouldn't be doing this, not in front of Amber. She's eighteen and has to navigate the world from a wheelchair. She's all on her own in a foreign country (it's easy to forget that she's Canadian) and her only family connection, her sister, has been missing for a month with almost no leads toward recovering her. Yet, he's never seen the younger Kovalenko crack. He's never seen her cry. She is unfailingly friendly and hopeful and helpful to everybody. She rolls up and swings herself onto a couch beside him. "Thanks for everything, boss," she says. "I know how much work this is. How much stress and pressure. If you don't wanna say anything, you don't have to." She pauses, brushing some hair out of her face. She fiddles with it for a moment as some gets tangled in a piercing. "But you can," she continues. "And if it's some big deep dark secret, my lips are zipped. I promise."

Hank can't. He can't do it. Only he and Sandra and Gerry ever knew. Gerry's gone and soon... SOON "Sandra is going to die," he says softly, his voice almost a whisper. Amber starts. Those eyes watch him. He can't believe the words that just tumbled out of his own mouth. He doesn't want to, but Hank O'Meara has run from too many things in his seventy-eight years. For someone who is more than human, he has been all-to human. He can't run from this.

"What do you mean 'die'!?" the teenager asks him, stricken. "When!? How!?"

"Her power," Hank says, slumping back in his seat. "She sealed it away. It was supposed to kill her two months after her sixty-fifth birthday. That was how it worked."

"So... in two months..."

He nods, squeezing his eyelids shut. Strong arms wrap themselves around him. He returns the embrace with one of his. After an indeterminate amount of time, they separate. Amber posts her hands on his shoulders. "Whatever happens, you know you're not alone. You will never be alone." There's a hint of fear in that young face, though: a fear of growing old, a fear of death. It's a fear that he thought he'd come to terms with. Amber lets her hands fall away.

"You gonna be okay, kiddo?"

She swings herself back into her wheelchair and takes a breath. She smiles. "Yeah," she replies. "No worries." Releasing her brakes, she straightens and tries on a smile. "I'll get back in there and get drunk as hell and tell 'em you're old and you had too much and I helped you to your bed."

He manages a sniff of a chuckle. "Thanks."

"And that maybe you pooped your old man diaper."

"I don't wear one of those yet," he replies with wounded pride.

He rises and stretches, heading back through the door to Liberty Hall. Rolling Thunder pauses in front of the door to the Secret Room. "Have a good one," she says.

"You too."

When she approaches him, Hank is sitting there on the roof, like he always does. It's been patched since the incident a mere few hours ago. There's something boyish about the way that his feet dangle over the edge, but Sandra can see the lines too as she watches his face in repose. Quietly, she sits down beside him and slips her arm beneath his. He lets out a breath she didn't know he'd been holding, and with it goes a bit of the weight that's been resting on his shoulders these past four weeks. Instead, she rests her head on one of them and he turns to plant a soft kiss on it.

And for a moment that lasts... she can't say how long, the two of them watch the lights of New Ivansburg and the ships moving in and out of its harbour burn against the night sky. She can imagine that it's 1965 again and she's had a couple of drinks and it's just her and Hank on top of the old Liberty Hall, the one with the big neon logo that they kissed under for the first time, that so many people who weren't there would condemn as garish and tacky. People justify their present by belittling the past. Sandra snuggles into her husband's shoulder. Far below, streams of traffic and data alike wind their way through a cityscape that disappears over the horizon. Would that she could do it all again. That she could see him that first time, sitting there on that old roof, eating peanuts from one of those burlap sacks and tossing half of them to the squirrels that used to come up. They don't come anymore because they'd constantly foul the proximity alert system. The electrified bands on the wall zap them if they try.

Husband and wife sit there in silence. Both know what the other would say. Sometimes words aren't needed. Both also know what the return of the Night Empress means. The powers that she sealed away, that she was supposed to have taken to the grave would have killed her two months after her sixty-fifth birthday, like they have each of their bearers since the very first. Sandra Malatesta has less than nine weeks to live. Then, the next Night Empress, who was supposed to have received her unwelcome gift as a fifteen-year-old girl and has waited unknowingly for seventeen more, will rise. Whatever she was before and may have become, she will instead be a servant of evil, and there will be nobody in the world able to stop her. That part, Sandra does not tell her husband. She does not tell him because she has a plan to stop it - one that he would not approve of.
Mastodon... Extinction (HW)
Osiris... Armageddon! (MW)
Elrathia... ROBOTS (LW)
Magnolia Pico... Ruination 4 (MW)
RipTide... ROBOT2 (FW)
Black Diamond... Cherry Bomb Classic 3 (HW)
MADSCIENCE... ROBOTS 3 (LW)
Abyss... ROBOTS 3 (MW)


The Monsterworks: 214-57 (.790) ...Probably up to no good.
Cherry Bomb Classic IV: 25-4
Finishing Move: 6-2
Magnolia Pico: 6-1
Magnolia Grande: 6-1
Glacier III: 7-0
ROBOTS 3: 21-6
Sixpounder: 3-4
MADSCIENCE: 9-1 Champion!
Abyss: 9-1 Champion!

User avatar
hide
Posts: 105
Joined: Tue May 21, 2019 1:36 pm
Team: Team C/D

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by hide » Fri Dec 06, 2019 7:10 pm

Whatever doubts Jackson had vanished. He was going to join the team. Become a hero. He, or at least his "spirit" did, already fought for the heroes at least once. Originally, he didn't want to, but now, he felt committed. He actually wanted to do it now.
Team C/D:
Taskmaster: Reckoning: Evolution (0-4)
Taskmaster V2: REDDIT 2 (3-3)
SPINNERFOOD: Thunder Underground (1-2), CBC 4 (4-4), CBC4 Rumble (lost)
Taskmaster V3: Thunder Underground (3-1), ARC Rumble (lost)
D O N O T C R O S S: Thunder Underground (2-0)
Taskmaster V4/King Crimson: Not the Football League (1-0), CBC 4 (2-4)
Killer Queen: CBC 4 (2-4)
SPECTRALS: ROBOT4 (0-1)
CRAZY DIAMOND: ROBOT4 (2-1)
Ki: PAT'S TOURNAMENT (5-0) CHAMPION
DEAD BABY CANNON: RUMBLE IN DA JUNGLE (4-2)
MADE IN HEAVEN: ROBOT4 (1-1)

Record: 30-27
Notable Achievements:
Champion, Pat’s Antweight Tourney

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Rocket
Posts: 106
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 3:34 pm

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Rocket » Sat Dec 07, 2019 2:48 am

The people around her were having fun. Celebrating, even, as if there was something to celebrate. Robyn couldn't. Recoil had wandered off somewhere and Rolling Thunder had gone with him, then come back a few minutes later like nothing had happened. She was playing darts with a few of the others, her team. Nick No Knees, Force, Wednesday Warrior, Silent Spring. Ted the barman, who appeared to have either some kind of small-object telekinesis or some sort of hypercompetence powers that only activated when he was drunk or something, was playing as well, beating the pants off the lot of them. She looked around the room, then saw her champagne flute. The bubbles were gone, the wine flat and listless. She turned away from it and looked for something stronger, and found it in no short supply. Rolling Thunder was drinking a random admixture of various strong liquors, and Robyn was struck for a moment that Captain Chicken had been a thing for almost as long as RT had been alive. That wasn't a thought she wanted to have, so she fixed herself a stiff gin and drank it. Then another, and another, and another. This wasn't drinking for pleasure or taste or as a social activity, this was getting blackout drunk as quickly and efficiently as possible.

After about two hours and with an empty Tanqueray bottle and a Gordon's dangerously close to following suit to show for her efforts, Robyn started mumbling to herself. "Mass Action", she said. "Guts and Glory. Spiralizer. Covalent. Good Neighbour." She got up unsteadily from her seat by the bar and shuffled towards the door. "Maloo. Quietus. Armoured Avenger. Peregrine." Her stumbling, zigzagged progress eventually took her out into the hall. "Ripstop. Spritz and Seltzer. Cornelius the Wonder Goat." She staggered down the hallway, her brain functioning on autopilot. "Apotheosis. Sounding Board. Atlas. Steganosaurus. Inkblot." Robyn finally found the bedrooms and hauled her costume off, revealing bike shorts and a tank top and a whole mess of other scars, including the telltale raised rings of gunshot wounds and a litany of knife wounds, some of which had been inflicted by other people. "Even th'fuckin, the fucking Liberty Man died b'fore me. Didn't watch that one though. Didn't hap'n b'cause ma fuckstickawful power's on'y goofer makin people chickens. Chicken."

"Izzat some kinda secondary power?" Her voice was scream-loud but she didn't even notice and she was just wandering around, folding the same costume over and over again. "Do I, do I sssssuck the life from better heroes? Am I gonna be th'last one? In the end? When alla psychos an worl'-dominionatorers an space yaks an whatthefuckeverelse are out in force an' the only hero stood agains' the tide of oncoming darknesh is, is, is the ffffffffFFFFUCKING chicken girl? Is that it? My fuckin' dream come true, standin' as a hero, turned into a nightmare b'cuz I killed everone else t'do it? Is that it?"

The door was open. That was wrong. Robyn got up and tried to slam it shut, missed, and fell over. She bounced off the button that closed and locked the sliding door and tinted the glass to an impenetrable black. She sat there, half naked and all done. "Fuck", she said, "this."

And she crawled into bed, shedding clothes in a trail like the tracking shot of a particularly bleak Hollywood sex scene, and collapsed on top of the duvet, and tried to prepare to be a hero again tomorrow like she had for fifteen miserable broken years until she faded away into a dreamless sleep.
TEAM WORST SWORDSMAN
"The world's best swordsman doesn't fear the second-best; he fears the worst swordsman, because he can't predict what the idiot will do."

Active Roster:-
VEXED!
LW: TRILOBITE! (1-0) (Lifetime: 3-4)

Cherry Bomb Classic 4
MW: DRAGONFIST (6-1) (Lifetime: 15-9)
HW: TABOR MARK 4 (4-3) (Lifetime: 12-14)

Full Roster
Lifetime Figures: 42-51 (0.452)

Wolf51-50
Posts: 786
Joined: Wed Dec 31, 1969 7:00 pm
Location: Somewhere in the USA

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by Wolf51-50 » Sat Dec 07, 2019 10:04 am

FAMILY

The word struck Tony harder than he would think. He had been living alone and without much interaction of company for more than a decade. Sure he broke a Guinness world record and he had a small following from that, but it certainly wasn't family. It was the first time he truly cared about other people more than food for quite awhile too. "I'll only take one drink I guess. But I'll take all the bar food you got. Keep it coming."

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YSMQTHLQYH
Posts: 245
Joined: Wed Dec 31, 1969 7:00 pm
Location: Argentina
Team: Team Design Flaw

Re: Blooperheroes!

Post by YSMQTHLQYH » Sat Dec 07, 2019 2:49 pm

April decides to sign up to continue on the team, BUT she didn't realize that this also meant signing up for a party. Too late now as the party already started.
There she learnt that apparently she's pretty good at darts, but still managed to get absolutely destroyed at it as expected.
The other notable thing she did is drinking alcohol of course, which is not something she has done much before. She notably drank an entire glass of some unholy mix that she did with who knows what beverages.
She did get drunk but clearly not as much as a lot of the other people as they soon enough started to do stupid shit, which is a lot more dangerous when you consider their superpowers. Thankfully they didn't break anything or anyone before they started to get too wasted and pass out.
Things naturally started to calm down as people begun to fall, after seen an absolutely wasted Robyn walk out, presumably to her room. This meant that April is now allowed to do so, which is good because by this point she got completely tired of the party and really need to go. So naturally she walked out of the room and starting looking for her room, it took a while for her drunk ass to find it and walking alone in those corridors was a scary experience. Eventually she somehow found it.
April entered the room and much to her surprise it was considerably bigger than she expected, it was more of an apartment than a room. She then rather drunkenly goes around the entire thing looking at all the details she can notice while thinking things like:
Wow, this is great. I got a lot of features in here, i can almost stay here without a need to get out, this means that i can do things without needing to interact with another human being.

Then she decides to head to bed to sleep, or at least that's what she wants to do. But anxiety doesn't this so baby.

Like seriously, Nick with his bat is really scary how the thing goes out of its way to hit the nearest knee, each time he swings i feel like the bat is going out of the way to hit ME. Also that girl who asked to be hit by the bat and it only seemed to make her stronger, she looks so mean and strong, if i say something she might get angry and attack me with her powers or something. Also the purple guy, THE PURPLE GUY, he seems scary and not sure if he even can be trusted as a person, not even sure if he counts AS A PERSON.
That girl in the wheelchair, i faked like half my interactions with her and she probably noticed a bit before passing out. She totally hates me and just pretends to by my friend, doesn't look like she would try to hurt me but she is absolutely going to do it accidentally or perhaps even accidentally.
Also that really hungry guy, not sure if he's evil or not, or whether he hates me or whatever, but if i get close he IS going to eat me alive, no doubt about that.
That old woman, she seems so friendly, too friendly. She is up to something for sure, and is incredibly powerful too she just doesn't want us to know.
Why the fuck am i doing this, i almost died today and somehow decided to continue here, i am so getting KILLED one of these days.

Well, at least i didn't hurt anybody, RIGHT?
TEAM DESIGN FLAW
Recent history
Dirty Dozen -
Something Something I Regret Nothing 0-0
I Suck At Names II 0-0
OTSC v2.0 0-0

Butcher's Circus -
Evaccania DOOM 0-0

ROBOT4 -
Cyan Printer Ink 4-1 // Multiply and Surrender 2-1 // Apeirogon II 4-0 (Champion!) // Total 10-2

CBC4 -
Vindicator 4-2 // Apeirogon 4-3 // Pressure Flop II 5-3 // Padoru Machina 3-3 // Total 16-11
less recent stuff
Thunder Underground -
OTSC 2-0 // Need For Spin 1-1 // FREE ICE CREAM 0-1 // Cookie Cutter 1-0 // Total (i guess) 4-2

REDDIT - Terrorbird 4-1
Reckoning: Evolution - Riptide 2-2
ROBOT3 -
Beaned 2-5 //<3 5-3 // Pressure Flop 4-3 // Omnicrap 2.0 2-5 // Total 13-16

CBC3 -
Evil Destroyer 4-4 // I Suck At Names 5-3 // Something Something Cluster Bot 3-3 // Equisde 3-3 // Total 15-13

ICEcrown - Hovercrap 3-3
REDDIT(2K18) - Omnicrap 3-3
Overall record: 70-53

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