Game The Boys: Secret Wars

[Darth Kain]

Hello there, and welcome to The Boys: Secret Wars, the first ever role-playing game on this forum to take place in the widely-acclaimed universe of The Boys - specifically, that of the TV series on Amazon Prime. The playstyle of this RP has been largely inspired by the uber-popular True Sith Trials (and many of the details of this very opening post are taken from the opening post of TST, as I could often not say many of the game's details quite as well as @Darth Dreadwar.)

Rules & Guidelines
​

1. OOC Chatter - This thread is dedicated to the IC posts of our players, and as such, OOC chatter must be reserved for private messages or small notes at the end of a post, indicated by parentheses or brackets.​
2. Godmoding & Autohits - This game is meant to be far more narrative based than anything else. Since this is the case, all forms of godmoding (such as being unreasonably powerful, trying to wrest control over the environment from the GM, taking possession of another person's character, etc.) and autohitting (writing attacks as if they've landed rather than as if they were attempted without GM approval) are strictly prohibited.​
3. Metagaming - The use of out-of-character knowledge as a means of influencing in-character knowledge and/or events is strictly prohibited.​
4. Powergaming - As said before, the goal of this game is to write a compelling story. This is not a power fantasy. Established characters like Homelander are still meant to be the epitome of power and indestructibility, so your character that no one has heard of is not going to be able to beat someone of his caliber through sheer power. ​
5. GM Authority - As the sole GM of this game, I reserve the right to have the utmost authority regarding any decisions made in the game. And as GM I will also be playing all NPC's (unless I designate you some upon request). Challenging calls constantly may result in removal from the game. ​
6. Character Sheet Approval - All character sheets must go through me before they're posted to this thread. The preferred method of receiving them would be via Messenger.​
7. One Last Thing - Don't be a cunt.​

Setting

This game takes place in the timeline of The Boys TV Series on Amazon Prime, directly after the events of Season 2. Superheroes exist, but they are far from the righteous men and women from comic universes such as Marvel and DC. Set in a realistic, capitalistic world, these superheroes are little more than corporate mascots that are far more dedicated to maintaining their image and making money than they are dedicated to saving lives.

It is recommended that all players watch the first two seasons of The Boys so that they may have an in-depth understanding of each of the characters and the state of this world by the end of Season 2. Amazon Prime has both seasons fully uploaded, and new viewers can get a month's subscription free; so the only issue preventing one from seeing it should be time.

Orientation

Gameplay will take place in the form of text-based roleplaying, with each player advancing the story by posting updates in this thread, describing the thoughts, actions, and feelings of their characters as if writing a chapter of a collaborative novel from their character's perspective. Other players contribute their own characters' actions and perspectives with their own posts, and the Gamemaster, or GM, provides the overall environment, direction and moderation of the game, including non-player characters, like the level design and artificial intelligence of a video game.

Updates are expected to be at least two paragraphs in length, with a preference for detail and quality; many players write posts of considerable length, totalling thousands of words. Role-playing, accordingly, tends to be at a slower pace; an update is required every week by the customary deadline of Sunday night, responding to both your fellow players and the GM's weekly updates, which are typically posted at the start of the week.

This game will also be separated into multiple strands of storyline called “tagsets.” Each tagset is a group of different players, tagged separately from another grouping by the GM (although GM updates tend to include posts, and according tags, for multiple tagsets, each separated by a clear divider), usually correlating with a specific, separate location, adventure or quest. Each tagset is rather like a campaign in Dungeons & Dragons, or a chapter with a radically different point-of-view, location and characters within the same novel or film (such as The Lord of the Rings). However, tagsets are understood to be part of the same overall game, to be largely happening at the same time, and are flexible and fluid; most tagsets evolve and diverge from an initial, larger tagset, and many tagsets meet, combine, exchange players or collapse upon the completion of a quest or plotline.

Separating in-character (IC) gameplay from out-of-character (OOC) interaction is absolutely necessary to play this game. From a logistical standpoint, we do so by using different notations. At the top of every post, before the main body of your writing, you should write the following:

IC: Your character's name
Your character's location

All of your writing beneath this header should be entirely in-character; no OOC commentary or explanations, even in parentheses, should be embedded within the text.

You should finish your post by tagging the other players in your tagset (not all players within the entire game; look to the tags within the GM's own update to see which players are in your tagset), as well as the GM, beneath the main body of your post. You do this by typing the @ sign, and the username of the player you wish to tag; their username will appear in a drop-down menu, allowing you to click on the player. This will mean they will receive a notification when you tag them (and vice versa). Use the following format when writing your tags:

TAG: @Another Player, @Another Player, etc

You may write OOC commentary outside the main body of your post, either after the TAGs, or before the IC header. OOC commentary may include a list of abilities used during combat, a note of clarification, or simply a relevant comment. If you do write OOC commentary, use the format of the following example:

OOC: (Powers used: Flight, Heat Vision.) Okay, I think I may have made Maeve mad.

More importantly, however, in-character and out-of-character interactions must be wholly separated in terms of mindset. Aside from the aforementioned rule barring metagaming, it is important to remember this is just a game, and that all in-character interactions are purely and strictly for storytelling purposes. In-character immersion is absolute; players should play their characters entirely realistically and true-to-character, no matter where that takes them; given that this universe is renowned for its dark, gritty take on the superhero genre, it should not be unexpected for the characters within to be violent, dark individuals.

In-game death has no out-of-character meaning. A character might die because they got unlucky with a well-hidden trap, took the risk of fighting a player character of greater or equal power, treated a higher-powered player character with disrespect (which is not against the rules, merely suicidal) and that player chose to respond realistically and initiate combat, or simply because they encountered a particularly lethal non-player character or situation and did not flee.

Permanent death is one of the many realistic consequences within this game; the stakes are real, and if your character dies, you will have to reroll with a new character. That said, death is uncommon overall; particularly foolish or risky gameplay tends to be required to incur a lethal outcome, although any kind of combat, whether it be with a player character or a non-player character, does carry the risk of injury and death.

Tonally and stylistically, the game nurtures an atmosphere of brutal, grim maturity and gritty, true-to-life realism. The plot will not be tweaked to save you from death. Story is not prioritised above realism. Every action you take has a consequence; the GM will not metagame to spare you from the most utterly realistic consequences to your actions, no matter how much he likes you out-of-character. Again, the separation between in-character and out-of-character is absolute.

At the same time, the GM will not metagame in favour of being excessively sadistic, either; gameplay is not intrinsically set against you. Rather, the game strives to be as realistic as possible, as if the universe of The Boys was a real place, as if you had been whisked from this Earth and taken to that one, with every horrible thing that comes with it.

The rating of the game is equivalent to a film rating of R (Restricted), or a video game rating of M (Mature). Mature, dark and/or heavy themes and content, including but not limited to graphic violence, narcotic usage, profanity, sex, and disturbing encounters and backstories, are permitted within the writing, without use of content warnings or the like. That said, use of mature themes should be tasteful and literary in nature; X-rated smut is not the goal, nor is pointlessly offensive writing with the sole goal of being "edgy." We are not Garth Ennis.

Game Mechanics

This is meant to be a story that could reasonably fit within the universe of The Boys TV Show (though it will of course diverge from what Amazon has planned for Season 3).

If you decide to play as a human, there will be no powers for you to continuously master as there are in the Sith Trials games. Your ability to fight and survive will rely entirely on your attributes and overall guile, as the Boys have to when facing Supes.

If you decide to play as a Supe, you will be able to choose your superpowers in your character sheet, distributing a total of five points between them (you can have five different weak abilities, one strong ability, or anything in between). The abilities you have are limited by your imagination, but should coalesce together well. All powers must be approved by the GM before they can make it into a final CS.

Combat will largely be decided by the both the circumstances at hand and the writing ability of the combatting players. There's no option for dice rolls, as there should not be any instance of a weak Supe rolling a nat 20 being able to kill Homelander or something equally ridiculous.

Level Chart

Level 1 (Non-Supe - 50, Supe - 25)
Level 2 (Non-Supe - 60, Supe - 30)
Level 3 (Non-Supe - 70, Supe - 35)
Level 4 (Non-Supe - 80, Supe - 40)
Level 5 (Non-Supe - 100, Supe - 50)

Attributes

Non-Supe players will have 50 points to distribute to their attributes at Level 1. Supe players will have 25 points to distribute to their attributes at Level 1, as the attributes indicated as NON-SUPE are not required for Supes (as their powers can influence such attributes). Ten points in an attribute represents the average human ability in that trait. Less than ten represents a weaker ability in that trait (with 1 being the minimum), while more than ten represents a stronger ability (with 20 being the maximum). Attribute buffs and debuffs can also be acquired throughout the game at GM discretion.

Attributes cannot be increased to level 14 until character is Level 2.
Attributes may not be increased to 16 until character is Level 3.
Attributes may not be increased to 18 until character is Level 4.
Attributes may not be increased to 20 until character is Level 5.

STRENGTH (NON-SUPE)
Strength refers to one’s raw physical prowess. This results from intensive and strenuous daily training. A more martially oriented character stands the most to benefit from inculcating greater strength; the stronger a character is, the more powerful and effective their melee attacks are.

MEDIA LOVE
Media Love refers to one's presence in the public eye. This results from good press and usage of social media. Supes and politicians stand to gain the most from this attribute, as it directly correlates to their success in the world. Anyone with the intention of criminal activity will find it more difficult to do so with so much attention, however.

DEXTERITY (NON-SUPE)
Dexterity encompasses general deftness, nimbleness, agility, finesse, speed and adroitness of reflexes, and precision in performing tasks, especially with the hands. A clumsy character is likely to lack dexterity; a non-Supe who eschews melee or hand-to-hand combat in favour of becoming an expert sharpshooter, on the other hand, is likely to benefit from their dexterous use of a gun.

INTELLECT
Intellect encompasses all attributes of the mind, from raw intelligence to reasoning ability, knowledge, and familiarity with various academic disciplines and fields of interest. A brainy person is often the opposite of a brawny one, although there are exceptions who excel at both. Scholarly people often dedicate their time to reading books rather than physical training, honing their intellect as they pour over textbooks and articles on the Internet.

CONSTITUTION (NON-SUPE)
Constitution refers to one’s endurance, stamina, and overall vitality. Whether it be through the innate healthiness of their bodies, the intense physical exercise they have put themselves through, or a tough-as-nails habituation to injury, disease, hunger and thirst built up through years of rigorous experience and battle, a non-Supe with greater constitution than his enemies is a difficult one to kill.

PERSUASION
Persuasion refers to one’s skill in manipulating and persuading others, one’s guile, glib, charm, deceptive ability, acting ability, oratorical skill and other tools of the trade in navigating hierarchies, bending social situations to one’s will, and rising to the top of the pack. Whether one be a sly, oozing deceiver adept at knowing the time to treacherously strike, or an honourable nobleman swathed in natural charisma, a person with the ability to work the masses and one’s peers alike is a person with a weapon like no other. A person with potent persuasive ability is often more adept at seduction and the arts of psychological warfare.

PERCEPTION (NON-SUPE)
Perception refers to one’s general awareness of their surroundings, prescience, alertness, and ability to utilise mundane senses, from eyesight to hearing, to their maximum. A person more perceptive than another may be more likely to notice important details, whether it be a hidden bear trap in the woods, or notice potential danger creeping around the corner.

Character Sheet Template

Character Illustration (optional)
Theme Music (optional)
Audio Sample of Character Voice (optional)


Name/Title:
Nicknames/Aliases:
Age:
Sex:
Supe or Non-Supe:
Orientation (optional):
Hometown:
Occupation:
Height:
Weight:
Physical Description:
Clothing:
Weapons:
Equipment:
Vehicles:
Pets (if applicable):
Languages:
Combat Skills (brief summary of general combat strengths, including non-power-based skills):
Other Strengths (brief summary of general strengths):
Flaws (brief summary of general weaknesses):
Alignment (Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic, Good/Neutral/Evil):
Personality:
Fears:
Likes:
Dislikes:
Habits:
Relationships/Love Interests (if applicable):
Friendships (if applicable):
Biography:

Level:

Attributes
STR (Strength):
MDL (Media Love):
DEX (Dexterity):
INT (Intellect):
CON (Constitution):
PSN (Persuasion):
PCN (Perception):

Powers (if applicable)
*Example*
Telekinesis: 3
Telepathy: 1
Healing Factor: 1​

 

[Cardun Vrek]

Name/Title: Connor Murphy

Nicknames/Aliases: Mind Master

Age: 26

Sex: Male

Supe or Non-Supe: Supe

Orientation: Heterosexual

Hometown: Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Occupation: Vought ‘Superhero’

Height: 6’2

Weight: 219 bls

Physical Description: Tall and Muscular with Green eyes and short black hair. Would be considered Handsome. White Skinned, of Irish Descent.

Clothing: Whilst on duty he wears his supe outfit, consisting of a reinforced white bodysuit with red trim and red cape. Off duty he wears a red t-shirt, blue jeans and a leather jacket.

Weapons: None, he uses his powers in combat

Equipment: Cell Phone, Vought issued tablet

Vehicles: Black Aston Martin DB11

Pets: A Golden Retriever named Jack

Languages: English

Combat Skills: Trained in hand to hand combat whilst undergoing Vought Supe training.

Other Strengths: High level of intelligence, quick thinker, good at hiding his true emotions

Flaws: Narcissistic, Borderline Alcoholic, Obsessed with money, Gambling Addiction

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Personality: Considered a maverick, Mind Master is known for doing whatever he wants. He keeps his true feelings and emotions close to his chest, whilst revelling in his ability to read and control others. He does whatever he feels benefits him best, and is a womaniser. He is also careful to maintain the image of a dutiful, if somewhat roguish, superhero.

Fears: Losing his powers & Losing his wealth

Likes: Money, Fast Cars, Alcohol, Women, Himself, Gambling

Dislikes: Journalists, Cats, His Superhero Costume

Habits: Always carries a pack of playing cards, which he makes fly around him when he’s bored.

Relationships/Love Interests: Many, but none serious

Friendships: His dog

Biography:



Connor Murphy was born in Boston in 1994. His father was an alcoholic dock worker and his mother worked as a clerk in a local store. He has two younger sisters, and the family lived in a run down apartment. Connor’s father, Jack, regularly beat both his mother and Connor, to the point that Connor would fantasise about beating him up. His powers first manifested when he was able to throw a toaster that hit his father when he was coming for him. Unbeknownst to both Connor and Jack, Connor’s mother Mary had allowed Vought to inject Connor with compound V as a young child, in order to give him a better life away from Jack. After his powers- which enabled him to manipulate both objects and people with his mind-began to develop, he applied to work with Vought, desperate to escape the poverty that had plagued his childhood. He was given the name ‘Mind Master’ by Vought’s PR team- which he thought was ‘hokey as fuck’, and began his career. He also gained revenge for years of abuse from his father by mentally tricking him whilst drunk into drinking a full bottle of bleach. He later died in hospital, and Connor skipped the funeral. His fathers death was ruled as accidental. Mary guessed otherwise, but said nothing.



Finding that his pay check from Vought wasn’t enough for him, he began to use his abilities to win at poker, cheating people out of hundreds of thousands of dollars by reading their minds to see what cards they had, and then making them place ridiculously large bets when he knew he had the cards to beat them. He began living the high life whilst working in his home town of Boston as one of Vought’s ‘Superheroes’. He engaged in plenty of casual relationships, and generally lived life in the moment. His only true goal was to ensure that he was never as poor as he was as a child growing up. Was he aware he was working for a shady corporation? Of course he was. Did he care? Fuck no. Vought was paying him and that was all that mattered. He didn’t have any real loyalty to them or even agree with their goals, but he did what he was told to keep his lifestyle going. When Compound V was revealed to be responsible for the creation of superheroes, he simply shrugged. It didn’t matter how he got his powers. He was just glad he had them.



Level: 1



Attributes

MDL (Media Love): 7

INT: (Intellect) 9

PSN (Persuasion): 9



Powers



Telekinesis: 2

Telepathy: 1

Mind Control: 2​

 

[Jihadi Quartz]

​

Name/Title: Heather Donovan
Nicknames/Aliases: Battleship Sieglinde
Age: 32
Sex: Female
Supe or Non-Supe: Supe Terrorist
Orientation : Heterosexual
Hometown: Mississippi.
Occupation: Full time terrorist
Height: Three meters and a handful of centimeters
Weight: 136 kg
Physical Description: Statuesque, tall amazonian and extremely physically imponent. Long blonde hair and blue aryan eyes. The proud of the Aryan nation! On both of her hands she carved two Xs.
Clothing: Full nazi regalia, handcrafted with enough detail to be used in a documentary.
Weapons: Her powers are greatly draining on her stamina and so she never eschews firearms when in combat. Because of that, she carries two Colt M4 pistols, and one M4A1 Carbine.
Equipment: Various discartable cell phones when in need,
Vehicles: None, she likes to walk.
Languages: English and German
Combat Skills : She has no formal training on any martial art, but her life was full of crime and beatings, giving her a good amount of competence on street brawls and combat experience but nothing more complicated than that. She is competent on bomb making thanks to reading and remembering by letter The Turner Diaries. She was taught basic firearm handling from her peers in her chapter, some of them being police officers, and others on the military.
Other Strengths : She is an artist and a perfectionist at that, to further train her powers she trained to make sculptures like small wood carvings or clay faces, almost with the precision of an anthropologist to reproduce faces. She has musical ear but not properly trained. She is very accustomed to receiving terrible beatings as a child and during almost all her adult life, so unlike most supes she is actually capable of resisting a beatdown without crying.
Flaws : She is probably not even remotely aryan, she was never trained in any combat martial art so against someone competent she is outclassed, for a self appointed world war 2 history buff she does not know a lot about history and relies on biased propaganda and conspiracy theories. She is a fan of Alex Jones.
Alignment: Neutral Evil.
Personality: She is obsessed by the feeling of belonging to a group, which drives almost all of her actions inside a terrorist group. The disenchantment of urban life, the feeling of not belonging to anything, not a family unit, or a country, or anything really. Her superpowers give her the only thing in her sorry life that she can really say it's from her, and that creates an inferiority complex with supes that are more powerful than her, and that do not align with her goals, if someone more powerful and superior than her does not want to help her, then is she wrong? Is everything for nothing?
Fears: She has an honest to god phobia of mices, her brain screams when seeing them. Besides, she bases her entire personality on being a neo-nazi, as a way to cope with her terrible upbringing, the group mentality helped her to cope with her life most of the time and she fears being shunned from her only group of belonging. Being belittled because of her intellect and lack thereof is something that terrifies her.
Likes: World War 2 documentaries and memorabilia, listening to aggressive punk rock.
Dislikes: White Genocide, being judged by the color of her skin, smoking tobaco or weed, any kind of drugs, or alchool. She is a straight edge.
Habits:
Relationships/Love Interests (if applicable): N/A
Friendships (if applicable): N/A

Biography: ​

Heather was the daughter of a poor couple, both meth addict junkies with no past and no future. They frequently abused her child, screaming to her at the top of their lungs, beating her, puffing off cigarettes on her arms, and all manner of terrible abuse to a child.
She never went to school, and was forced to sell roses stolen from the gardens of rich people as bouquets to make a profit to her parents.

At age ten Child Protection stole her from her parents and sent her to foster care, where she was further abused by the staff and other kids alike. Imitating her parents and her insults, using some of the things she got from them, it was usual from her to hurl racially charged insults to the other children. This amused the wrong kind of people, and at the age of 13 she was already part of a small teen gang of delinquents. Her eagerness to belong to some place turned her into a “Yes Man”, who would never say no to any request made by the other members of the gang. Which turned her into a prostitute, a fighting dog, a drug dealer. Everything. She was extremely fierce and would always complete any task that others gave to her as an obedient dog of war.

At the age of 22 she was already part of a white supremacist group and helped to bomb a university. But the second explosive device on the place was thwarted by the Homelander.

At age 25 is when her close encounter with a supe came to be. You see, Supes do not operate on the same level of logic as normal people, and even if they are right about something, they are right because of the wrong reasons. As such, an african american superhero decided to combat the rising of facism and white supremacy.

By annihilating completely the population of a trailer park with the logic that “White trash full of confederate flags at home” should at least contain more than ten active members of any white supremacist group.

Well...he was not wrong.

Out of 300 people, only 20 managed to survive unscathed, and Vought to sweep it all under the rug claimed it was a gas explosion due to a decaying gas pipeline that caused a power malfunction to a Fire Based superhero that was casually fighting crime in the area. Donating a sizable amount of money to the government for the maintenance of said pipelines, it was all covered up. Besides paying for the medical bills of the survivors.

Heather ended up with 90% of her body burned. And since she was a nobody Vougth decided to test something on her.

A known superhero tested HIV positive, and the mutations that Compound-V could create on such diseases was and still is unknown. So to test what could happen they gave her a blood transfusion from this superhero to see what could happen.

They plainly gave her HIV.

Vought still payed for her medical expenses to see what could happen, if the mutation needed time or something. Then one day she just died because her body could not handle anything else. They buried her on a grave without a stone and left it there.

In reality her body started to mutate after death, similar to the effect of Compound-V resurrection. With her powers she digs herself out of the grave and wandered the United states until she finds her old gang, they accept her, now a supe (I mean, how could they not?) and start to plan even more terrorist acts to start a race war.

Fiercely loyal to #Stormfront.


Level: 1

Attributes (5 points to allocate later)​

MDL (Media Love): 1
INT (Intellect): 7
PSN (Persuasion): 12

Power:
Disruption Halo Lvl 3*
Super strength lvl 1
Super Stamina lvl 1​

*The Disruption Halo is an energy field that emanates from the eyes of Heather that can disintegrate and reintegrate molecules. It can be used to shape things, for example give a piece of wood or metal the desired shape, or rip open things (or people), sear wounds, reattach limbs, etc. Her eyes are her weakness, flashbangs, or obscuring mist can led to her powers not working properly, and a bullet to her eyes can lead to the power blowing her own face. Anything eyes related is her weakness.

 

[Darth Kain]

"The following is the recovered case file of Guardian, the new Supe cunt to join the Seven. Most of it's black-inked to shit. Keep an eye on this one."

Billy Butcher





​

 

[Reatith Blodraald]

CRAZY EIGHT




Name/Title: Derrin Halverson

Nicknames/Aliases: Crazy Eight

Age: 24

Sex: Male

Supe or Non-Supe: Supe

Orientation: Bisexual, but not interested

Hometown: Kaysville, Utah

Occupation: Hero

Height: 5'6"

Weight: 155lbs

Physical Description: muscular and never shows his face. Always wears a suit. The only time he takes off his suit is when he is alone in his lair. Derrin is not very handsome. He has black hair and green eyes.

Clothing: black and white super suit

Weapons: guns, guns and more guns

Equipment: nothing useful on his person, but you can probably find something in his horde.
Vehicles: too many, he loves his cars and motorcycles

Languages: English

Combat Skills: A master of stealth and misdirection. He is crazy flexible. Hr is a black belt in jujitsu and trains on a daily basis.

Other Strengths: His fathers childhood friend was a stage magician and taught Derrin everything he knew.

Flaws: Simply put, he is a closet kleptomaniac. Litterally no knows or even suspects that he hoards millions worth of items. He takes anything that catches his eye, if he knows he can get away with it he will steal it.

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral.

Personality: He is a simple guy who loves his things. He doesn't particularly dislike people, but doesn't like them either.

Fears: losing his stuff

Likes: cars. Electronics. Dice. Video games. Motorcycles. Books. Coins. Building machines and cars etc…. Rings, historical items, guns and much more. He likes to be alone and left alone.

Dislikes: Being bothered with things like morality, purpose and responsibility.
Habits: cleaning dust off his stuff daily.

Biography: Crazy 8 is extremely charismatic and viewed as an upstanding hero in the public eyes, but he steals all sorts of collectibles whenever he can get away with it. His parents were always poor because they gave most their money to his sick aunt. They would usually argue about nothing and he never bothered to listen in to what they said. Even to this day, there is almost no communication with his family.

Level: 1

Attributes
MDL (Media Love): 9
INT (Intellect): 6
PSN (Persuasion): 10

Powers:

Gravity/warping: 2
Strength: 2
Durability: 1

Can control gravity around his body and anywhere within 25 ft of him. He can only control two points at the same time.

Also, he can leave his mark in places and warp between them by folding gravity around himself to make a sort of worm hole. He can only have about a dozen of these marks at the same time.

He can use gravity as a shield for himself against any attacks. They with either be swallowed by a worm home or be redirected around him.

He can warp light around himself, not to be invisible, but to project an image of himself to make it look like he is standing somewhere he is not. He can us this ability anywhere within 25 ft of himself.

 

[Catalyst]

Theme Music


Name/Title: Derek Maroney
Nicknames/Aliases: Grayscale (his Vought-chosen Supe alias), Whatever-man (his response whenever anyone asks him pretty much anything, became a running joke at Vought to the point where it's a nickname)
Age: 20
Sex: m
Supe or Non-Supe: Supe
Orientation: Straight-ish. Kissed a boy once to impress a girl.
Hometown: Hell's Kitchen, New York
Occupation: Former shoplifter turned Vought babysitter
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 155 lbs
Physical Description: Scrawny, pale, with red eyes from years of sustained drug abuse. Shaggy hair that obscures his eyes.
Clothing: black T-shirt, probably has a band logo on it. Black skinny jeans. Skate shoes. Wears blue scrubs when on the clock, but purposefully tears holes in them.
Weapons: Carries a pocketknife
Equipment: Smartphone and laptop are usually in arms reach. Has a nice pair of headphones that he likes to wear around his neck.
Vehicles: A scooter, because you don't need a license for that
Languages: English
Combat Skills (brief summary of general combat strengths, including non-power-based skills): Not really a fighter
Other Strengths (brief summary of general strengths): Good at pushing people away?
Flaws (brief summary of general weaknesses): Over-reliance on his powers, generally lazy, poor work ethic, treats people like objects,
Alignment (Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic, Good/Neutral/Evil): True Neutral
Personality: Generally repulsive and immature,
Fears: People he can't/won't influence with his powers.
Likes: Sex, drugs, music, video games,
Dislikes: meatheads, hard work, not getting his way
Habits: flipping his hair and sighing,
Relationships/Love Interests (if applicable): Has a thing for Maeve (more so since she came out publicly, because she "gets it") but won't pursue her because she's "too good for him", Harbored a crush on Stormfront that he keeps a secret.

Biography: Derek grew up as an unremarkable, classically average child with two loving, if slightly embarrassing parents and an older brother who was generally kind and supporting. The family always had enough to eat, and a little extra to live comfortably without being ostentatious. On his tenth birthday, Derek had a party with a few friends that was going well. His parents had splurged and gotten him the newest PlayStation for his birthday even.

But Derek wanted an Xbox.

So while all of his friends played and had fun, Derek seethed in the corner. He didn't want any of his friends to have fun if he couldn't. Moments later, they all lowered their controllers and stared blankly at the television screen. A confused Derek walked over and snatched one of the controllers from his friend's hands. The boy didn't protest. Then, Derek proceeded to march through the rest of the game, effortlessly killing off his friends as they spawned. They reacted with little more than sighs and shrugs. The joy of dominating them with no competition spurned Derek's fun. When the cake came out, nobody really wanted to eat it, so Derek basically had it all to himself. It was the best birthday, at the expense of everyone else's enjoyment.

Derek decided to see just how much his powers would do. Whenever he was bored at school, he would try to influence his teachers. Movie days became far more frequent, at least until the teachers were given mandated leaves of absence for their neglect. The only place where this didn't work in his favor was gym class. Instead of playing games, the class would be dominated by bored kids running laps while their listless teacher paid no attention to them. Derek realized it didn't matter whether or not he actually ran though, the teacher was beyond caring what the kids did. So he pushed his limits. At first, he began by just messing around in class. Then he escalated to actually sneaking out of class. This was where he realized his power had limits. Once he was no longer near the people he was trying to influence, the effect wore off slowly. The decisions people made under his influence, however, never seemed to need justification. As far as anyone knew, they were simply suffering a minor depressive episode.

Coming into his teenage years, Derek honed and learned to target his power. Instead of being a walking field of "blah", he could induce severe apathy on a single person while people around them remained unaffected. He coasted for years, never really applying himself in class and corrupting his teachers and peers alike. He had a few friends that were, notably some of the more delinquent students in his high school. He impressed them with his ability to get away with seemingly anything, just by virtue of people not caring when he was around.

When he was 15, Derek met a girl in the class above him that he developed a crush on. She was smart, witty and fun. He needed to find a way to impress her. Unfortunately, his powers were no use there. When people didn't care, it didn't matter what he did. He had to actually work to get her attention. Derek was also quite bad at working to get what he wanted. Luckily, through a series of blunders, he actually managed to talk to her. She thought he was cute, if a little weird, and decided to give him a chance. Their relationship was an awkward entanglement of slightly less than friendship, a one-sided crush, and teenage curiosity. Derek desperately tried to progress it, taking care to keep his powers in check around her so she wouldn't lose interest in him. She wasn't interested him romantically though, no matter how much he tried to change it. Derek fell into a narcissistic depression. Eventually, his self-obsessed goals led him to finally snap and unleash his powers on her. It was the first time he caused permanent damage to somebody. She became practically emotionless, nonresponsive to any provocation, and listlessly moving through her life like a shell of her former self. The school counselor chalked it up to hormones and teen angst, and Derek was never implicated for it.

The rest of high school played out much the same. It wasn't until the week of Derek's graduation that his powers came back to bite him. A Vought representative came to his home, sat him down, and explained that the company had been watching him for years. They knew about his uncanny ability to affect people's motivation and inflict, as they called it, "extreme apathetic suggestion". They offered to bring him into their super program, and give him a place to apply his powers. He gladly accepted, if only to get away from his family, and began training as a Vought-approved hero.

The PR people at Vought came up with a moniker for his public appearances: Grayscale. They described his powerset as a rain shadow that made people stop in their tracks, and designed his costume around that. He wore a basic, spandex and vinyl suit with a thundercloud motif, and a domino mask that left his eyes whited out. For their part, they weren't wrong about his powers, especially the way that had him using them. Most of what he was doing was stopping petty thefts and holdups by convincing the perpetrators that the crime they were committing was not worthy of their attention, and keeping them calm while the authorities performed their arrests. It wasn't necessarily exciting hero work, however, and Derek fell into the habit of exaggerating his boredom to whoever would listen. Whenever the PR team tried to increase his community outreach and boost his media positivity, his response was always an unenthusiastic "whatever, man" which soon became so synonymous with his presence that people took to calling him Whatever-Man as a gag. Derek responded about as expected.

Using his newfound clout as a hero of the people, Derek just took the opportunity to become more depraved and self centered. From the shops he saved, he began stealing little things, candy bars and the like. He began using his fame to persuade his fans to perform "favors" for him. During some of his more dangerous jobs, he started egging on the criminals to see if they would actually go through with their threats. It was all well and good because before they actually could, he would use his powers and they would drop their weapons. Until someone didn't. One day, Derek was goading a man holding a gun to a convenience store clerk. The man was desperate, and ready to incite violence. Derek invaded the man's mind and forced his power on the criminal. After a few seconds of silence, the man wordlessly turned the pistol to his own head and fired.

The media outrage was intense. Vought could no longer justify employing a superhero who caused his victims to commit suicide. The name Greyscale was quietly tucked away and Derek was transferred out of the public eye. The Research and Development team still believed they had a use for him, however, and relocated him to a medical facility to assist in their psychological ward. In reality, he was using his powers to enforce a state of emotional numbness on the test subjects that Vought was keeping their to expand on their Compound V research. His role was to help the researchers keep their subjects calm as they performed all manner of unspeakable experiments. He was compensated well, and as long as he stayed out of trouble, given the freedom to live more or less as he please. So he would show up to work strung out on narcotics and other illicit substances. He even dabbled with V a few times, and found that it acted as a major depressant for him and, due to uncontrolled power spikes, those around him. He saved it for special occasions. He was able to control his addiction to the point of maintaining functionality, but it took its toll on his mind and body. He turned into a recluse, only venturing out to do his job and make deals for street drugs. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Level 1 Supe

Attributes
STR (Strength): 10
MDL (Media Love): 7
DEX (Dexterity): 10
INT (Intellect): 10
CON (Constitution): 10
PSN (Persuasion): 8
PCN (Perception): 10

Powers (if applicable)
Empathic Suggestion: 3 (limited to feelings of listlessness and apathy, only works on people in the same room as him, overuse can have permanent effect)
Telepathy: 2

 

[Admiral Volshe]

Vespertine
Lady Elizabeth Perry, 9th Marchioness of Brighton

Theme Music:
Shadowkeep – Michael Salvatori

Audio Sample of Character Voice:
Alicia Vikander as Lara Croft

Name/Title: Vespertine
Nicknames/Aliases: Lady Elizabeth Perry, 9th Marchioness of Brighton
Age: 37
Sex: Female
Supe or Non-Supe: Supe
Orientation: Unknown.
Hometown: Brighton, UK
Occupation: Art historian
Height: 5’4”
Weight: 140 lbs
Physical Description: Petite and unassuming, but with powerful gaze and grey hair.
Clothing: Simple, usually all black.

Weapons: A knife in her purse (or boot), a G27
Equipment: None.
Vehicles: A Volvo V40 hatchback.
Pets: None.
Languages: French, German, Chinese (Mandarin), Arabic.
Combat Skills: MMA of various styles, extensive training in firearms.
Other Strengths: A wide variety of skills, from hotwiring cars to negotiating hostage situations. Night vision.
Flaws: Has a tendency to underreact to certain situations, can be ruthlessly judgmental, very difficult for her to form any sort of interpersonal relationship. Migraines triggered by light (is forced to wear sunglasses). Easily exhausted during the day, the lower the sun in the sky the less difficult to wield her powers.
Alignment: Lawful neutral.
Personality: Reserved, but not at all a pushover. Blunt, honest, and refuses to allow others their misdeeds.
Fears: Spiders, commitment.
Likes: Travel, food, sunsets.
Dislikes: Most of society, daylight.
Habits: Misanthropy, biting her nails.
Relationships/Love Interests: An ex-husband, the former 9th Marquess of Brighton.
Friendships: Very few, and very secret.

Biography: Elizabeth’s parents were very much obsessed with creating the perfect child. So much so that she was one of the non Americans to receive Compound V. She was one of the lucky ones, she supposed. She was alive, and she had rather useful powers. The only side effect were brutal migraines - tolerable, at the end of the day.

She was raised as less of a normal child, and more of a supe. Endless classes in self defence, with children like her. Travelling from England to the United States, to Sweden, and back.

It was rather fortunate they were captured during an unsanctioned trip to the Middle East. Elizabeth was refusing to continue with their constant overbearing schedule as she entered her university years - and pursued a normal degree at Cambridge, as most everyone of her status did.

Upon their disappearance, it became her choice to live as a supe or to live a normal, boring life.

But she never was one for boring. And besides, news had broken that her parents were not visiting war torn countries for recreation. Adoption papers, half burned, were delivered to her house in unmarked envelope, along with her mother’s passport. The same signatures on those papers as her own birth certificate.

Something wasn’t adding up. Even less so when she discovered similar stories, endless paper trails of adoptions of “special” children that stopped cold or ended with gruesome tales.

Now she lives split between the two - Vespertine by night, and Lady Perry by day. Fighting crime, occasionally. Fighting a system? Most definitely.

Level: 1

Attributes
STR (Strength): -
MDL (Media Love): 7
DEX (Dexterity): -
INT (Intellect): 9
CON (Constitution): -
PSN (Persuasion): 9
PCN (Perception): -

Powers:
Standard:
Heightened resistance - 1
Heightened reflexes - 1

Unique:
Semi-solid and darkness manipulation (see comic characters like Raven, Darkstar, Nightshade, Shade) - 3

 

[Darth Kain]

IC: Homelander
82nd Floor, Vought Tower​

Does he know who the fuck I am?

Homelander stared out past the windows of Vought Tower, his eyes seeing far towards the horizon. His jaw clenched as he tried to find something - anything - interesting to stare at while he waited. Every detail of the city below was visible to him. Every hair on the head of the old man feeding the pigeons ten blocks away, every bead of sweat on the young woman jogging in Central Park. And he cared for none of it. None of them. They were nothing more than hairless monkeys compared to him. He was a god amongst insects.
But if that was the case, why was he the one following orders?
Stan Edgar entered the building hours ago, Homelander knew that. The sniveling CEO was stalling just to get under his skin.
But nothing could. Not words, not bullets, and certainly not the tardiness of a man that Homelander could barely stand to be in the same room with, let alone the same building.
He was in the elevator now, it seemed. The old man's heartbeat had a certain rhythm that Homelander had grown accustomed to hearing. If only he could be around to hear that heartbeat stop one of these days.

Stan Edgar soon entered the room casually, his eyes not even staying on the awaiting Homelander for more than a couple seconds before he proceeded to his desk, setting down a file atop it. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit this afternoon, with the usual pair of spectacles adorning his cold eyes.
By both the look on his face and the pace of his heart, Homelander could tell that Mr. Edgar was not in a pleasant mood.

"You kept me waiting," said the world's greatest superhero, finally taking his eyes away from the city of New York. "Me. Waiting."
"I have many things I attend to," Edgar replied. "This issue with you is but one of many."
"Issue with me?" Homelander stepped forward, taking his hands away from their rested position at the small of his back. "No, no. My issue is with you."
Edgar smirked, leaning just a bit against his desk, arms crossed. "Enlighten me, then."
Homelander snarled, "You tried to take my son away from me."
"And failed. But it seems you did a wonderful job at losing him yourself."
Homelander got closer, pointing his crimson-gloved finger at the fiend. "Don't you dare…"
"And on top of that you murdered my men in that little cabin of yours. Or, well, I'm assuming it was you. Unless William Butcher not only took your son but also has access to high-powered laser weaponry and the superhuman strength required to turn a man inside out."
Literally.

"Why would you betray me?" Homelander demanded.
"Because, as you have proven, a child is nothing more than a distraction for you. One that is both harmful to the boy as well as this company."
"You're a fucking monster."
Edgar smirked. "Said the pot to the kettle."
"I want you to find where Butcher has him. I promise if I have him, I can--"
"William Butcher is working for the US government now, Homelander. And I will not go to war with the Senate just so you can play daddy when I need you to play the role you've always played."
Homelander's jaw shifted slightly. "A superhero."
"Right." Edgar smiled. "And to ensure that you play nice, stop murdering my personnelle, and so on, I will be assigning a new hero to the Seven. One that I trust."
Homelander shook his head. "No. I am the one who decides who joins the Seven. I at least have that. A-Train I'm fine with coming back so long as the idiot doesn't have a heart attack in the middle of a meeting. But there's two spots I'm filling - three if Noir doesn't make it - and I'm going to be the one to do it."
"No, you're not. While you're correct that there are two positions to fill, I have chosen one and the other will be decided by a game show this summer."
"A fucking game show? We're the Seven, not American Idol."
"The public needs to forget about this whole Stormfront fiasco, and with the new movie being released in December, we'll need the next big thing to keep them occupied in the months after."
"I am not going to be a game show host. That's a low even I wouldn't stoop to."
Edgar smiled wide. "You're not the host; Starlight is."

S I X M O N T H S L A T E R

IC: Guardian
The Set of the Today Show​

A roar of laughter came from both the interviewer and the audience attending as Guardian cracked a joke, though he knew the wisecrack was far from as hilarious as they made it out to be. Regardless he smiled and chuckled, waiting for the noise to die down.
The interviewer was a young, rather good-looking woman with short blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She seemed to be well-versed in interviewing Supes; in fact, Guardian swore he could remember her interviewing Stormfront once. Strange how things changed so quickly within the span of a year. What was the interviewer's name, though? Amy? Sarah? Eveline?
"So, how has the first six months of being on the Seven treated you? How well do you feel you've gotten to know the others?" she asked.
Not missing a beat - despite still wondering what the hell this woman's name was - Guardian answered, "I've never been one for teams, usually. But the Seven is… different. It's closely-knit like a family, and they welcomed me with open arms. I'm glad I have the opportunity to help save the world alongside them."
The audience seemed pleased with the lie. Good.
"And speaking of saving the world, what is your stance on the United States' handling of the Super Terrorist threat?"
A tougher question. Trying to goad him into a bad answer, perhaps? She'd have to try harder.
"Super Terrorists are a threat to everyone who simply wishes to go about their lives. They think that everyone who has more than them is an enemy, but we know all too well that the people hurt by these terrorists are just people trying to get by. It's the duty of us, and of the government, to protect the people of the world. And I think we've all taken the best possible steps to do that."
A few claps and whoops came from the small crowd; these people are far too easy to please.
The interviewer smiled. "The Super Terrorist threat has gone down in recent months, so it seems you're right. Lastly, Guardian, I've heard a little rumor that you have word on who will be participating in the first ever season of The S-Factor. Is that true?"
Guardian smiled. Finally, they'd made it to the scripted part. "Oh, I don't have any word on it whatsoever. I have a trailer!"
The audience oohed and ahhed at the prospect, clapping excitedly as they prepared to find out who the candidates were for the next member of the Seven. The interviewer herself, who Guardian knew had already seen the footage, was acting particularly ecstatic. "Exciting! Let's roll it," she exclaimed.

It was pandering garbage. All of it. From the stock footage to the cheesy narrator. Guardian could have edited together a better video and posted it to YouTube if Vought had asked. At least then maybe some intelligent people would tune in to the show. Regardless, it did reveal the heroes who had made the cut, which Guardian was a bit interested in. He was lucky that this was the extent of his involvement in the show, though; he did not envy Starlight in the slightest.
The first hero was a young one - farmboy turned quintessential superhero by the name of Steelheart. He was only seventeen, and by Guardian's guess, he was picked simply to draw more younger viewers because of that fact. Seemed a nice enough kid. He could harden his skin to steel on command, and he possessed some basic superhuman strength. Not enough to win the competition but enough to make the show more exciting.
Then there was Mind Master. He was from Massachusetts, overcame a harsh childhood, and so on. Vought left out the details about the gambling addiction, but Guardian wasn't going to spoil the fun. After all, it'd be interesting to see the guy with telekinesis and telepathy interacting with the challenges ahead.
Next was a woman from Queens, New York. Her accent was difficult to stand, so Guardian didn't foresee her lasting long. But regardless of that, she was a strong contender to the physical challenges. She'd earned the name of Banshee, on account of her sonic screams and ability to pass through walls. Unless some Vought exec hated her voice enough that he thought the name doubly fit; Guardian wouldn't have been surprised.
Then came the triplets, each injected with V at a young age so that their single mom could actually afford to raise them. Strange that each of them came out with different powers, but that was for scientists to figure out. The first was Future Girl, given the name for her precognitive abilities. The second was Amazon, named so for her ability to increase in size. And the last was named Firebird, for her abilities in flight and generating fire. Guardian didn't believe they'd do so well. After all, there was only one slot available in the Seven, and those three weren't going to be able to work together for the first time in their lives.
The final candidate was a well-loved hero by the name of Crazy Eight. His gravity-warping abilities made him an extremely strong contender for the finals. He'd just have to make sure that he wouldn't get caught stealing from the set; while Vought would simply give him a sternly-worded letter and eject him from the competition… Guardian had a feeling Starlight would fry him first.

And there they were. Seven candidates, all attempting to be the one to join the actual Seven. The audience clapped wildly, and with that video done, so was the interview. Guardian sighed with relief; despite doing well at them, he hated these public appearances.
"Thank you so much, Guardian. You did really well," the interviewer said off-camera.
"You too…" he drew it out, hoping she'd finally jog his memory.
"It's Jenn--"
"Right, right, Jenna. That's right. Anyways, I've got to fly. You stay here and do your… yeah." Guardian shrugged, leaving the set and, once he got outside, shot off into the skies of New York. He had a date that he wouldn't dare miss.

* * *​

They were standing together, side by side, instructed to pose heroically alongside one another by the studio executive. That same executive, an overweight, middle-aged man with thick-rimmed glasses and a collared shirt, had given them a simple prompt. One that was being filmed for the opener of the show.

"Tell the audience why you should be a member of the Seven."

TAGS: @Reatith Blodraald, @Cardun Vrek

IC: The Waitress
Debbie's Diner, New York​

Imagine that you walk into work every day. You are not given a chance to breathe, think, or even blink before you're overrun with the most entitled customers known to man. You take the drink orders of twenty different people. You get nineteen of those drinks correct. The one customer who received iced coffee with chocolate instead of caramel goes absolutely livid, dumping their drink onto the floor as a point before storming out of the diner entirely. You decide to clean the floor - as surely no one would like to sit at a booth with their feet soaked in cold coffee. Unfortunately three people get annoyed that you're mopping instead of taking their order, so they leave as well. A group of five replaces them, and you haven't even cleaned the half-filled glasses from the previous party's table. The floor is cleaned and you finally catch up on everyone's orders. You feel good about yourself.
Then the first party of two leaves, only leaving behind a dollar and twenty-five cents on a fifty-dollar check.

That is where this waitress was at today when another customer walked into the diner. It took every ounce of her being to not roll her eyes and beg the lady to find somewhere else to eat. But she couldn't do that; she'd be fired on the spot.
The woman who walked in was fairly petite and unassuming, beyond the gray hair that was definitely not matching her smooth, ageless skin. Despite this, the customer walked in and sat down without a fuss, not bothering the waitress from her current duties. The woman sat alone, leaving her quiet as he was no doubt examining the menu.
The waitress approached, pressing down her white uniform in a vain attempt at making herself look presentable and not at all exhausted. She sighed, taking out her notepad and pen.

"Hello and welcome to Debbie's Diner, home of our world famous Chili Cheese Burger. What can I get for you to drink?"

TAG: @Admiral Volshe

IC: The Security Guard
Vought Warehouse, New York​

He never wanted this job if he knew he wouldn't make the cut of being a guard at Vought Tower. The pay was fine, but he got this job to meet superheroes! Not to watch over a warehouse in downtown New York that you can't even see the tower from. The only real perk of this job was that there was a nice little diner just across the street.
His job was simple - to permit entry into the warehouse so long as they had proper clearance. That meant a lot of standing in front of a building full of useless junk for hours on end. Today was the first day in a couple weeks that he has a Supe come in. Some lower-tier hero that he'd never heard of. Greyscale, was it? Maybe. He didn't care enough to remember much of the guy. Just knew he'd come here to pick up supplies for some medical facility, and something about the hero being annoyed that he was sent instead of someone else. The guard didn't care or mind.
He was staring at the diner for a good while, contemplating whether he should or shouldn't stuff a Chili Cheese Burger down his gullet later until he saw a black SUV pull up to his side of the street. Exiting the vehicle were at least half a dozen people dressed in black, their faces covered. He didn't even have time to say a word before a bullet found his chest.
The gunshot was suppressed; must have been. He didn't hear anyone screaming or running away. Just running towards him as his life oozed out of the hole in his lungs. He gasped for air as he saw a fearsome woman standing over him, her eyes glaring down at him before her boot slammed down towards his head.

TAG: @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst

 

[Admiral Volshe]

IC: Vespertine (as Elizabeth)
Debbie’s Diner

Elizabeth looked up through her sunglasses. “Hello,” she said, her accent quickly revealing itself. “I’ll just have a 7-Up. No ice. And an egg sandwich on rye.” She smiled, her hands covering a piece of paper she had brought with her. “Thank you,” she said, her head turning to survey the customers, and then the street outside.

Being in New York was rather uncomfortable, for her. There were no places to hide, and the city was essentially run by the very people she had a powerful dislike for. She chewed her lip. Her face twitched in thought. Where would she go next? She could just survey, take a quick nap, prepare for her gallery presentation that night - or she could rest up to get her hands dirty. There were plenty of sources nearby. Plenty of places to find even the tiniest tidbits of information. She could start with OCFS, that night...Harlem. Not far. Not easy for her to be caught. But she would not be in trouble at all at a gallery opening.

One was safer, but neither were particularly appealing. She was not convinced she’d find anything.
Her hand folded up the paper, the address and name on it disappearing into her pocket. She waited, patiently, with a serenity that betrayed her internal questioning, for her food.

TAG: @Lord Kain

 

[Cardun Vrek]

IC: Connor Murphy, AKA ‘Mind Master’


FUCK. THIS.

That was the only thought in Connor’s head as he stood beside the other contestants in this bullshit talent show. A fucking talent show. That was seriously what they were making him do? Really? He had nearly thrown his PA Kyle through a wall when Kyle had told him that was what Vought wanted to do for recruiting a new member for The Seven. It was a load of shit. He had been forced to cancel all his plans just so he could parade himself around and do a bunch of crappy ‘challenges’ for weeks on end just so Vought could pull in some ratings and ad revenue. He knew he wouldn’t see a fucking cent of that money too. He had been all set to take a weekend vacation out to Vegas, he’d even booked a suite in Caesar’s Palace and laid on some ‘entertainment’ to keep him company that weekend. Of course, she thought it was a ‘date’. Yeah right.

He could’ve been raking it in on the tables, but instead he was stuck here, in that stupid costume they made him wear- with the stupid cape- listening to some producer ask a pointless question that in the end, didn’t really matter. He doubted this ‘competition’ even was a competition. If he knew Vought upper management, they had already picked the next Seven member and decided to make a couple of million bucks off a bunch of deluded morons that thought someone actually gave a fuck about their opinion voting for their favourite. The ‘S’ Factor. He supposed someone in marketing had come up with that and thought it had sounded marketable. It had ‘appealed to the right demo’ or something like that. The ‘Super’ Factor.

More like the Shit factor.

But still, he wanted that job. The Seven were fucking A-Listers. You joined that team, you were made. For life. Sure, recently two of their team members had died horribly, but one was an idiot, and one was a FUCKING NAZI. So, he’d stand here, smile for the camera, make his little ‘heroic’ pose, and do what they told him to do. And if a few of the other competitors ‘slipped up’, or ‘flubbed their lines’, well…that was just too bad. All was fair in love and war, after all. And he was out to win. He would make sure Vought picked him for this spot. And so, he went over in his head what Kyle and him had come up with to answer the question. He’d thrown at least five scripts Kyle had handed him into the trash. But now, he had something that he thought sounded good. And so, at his turn, he began his little speech.

“Why should I be a member of the Seven? Because I care. About everyone. Not just the rich, not just the powerful, about everyone. I grew up in the slums of Boston. I know what it’s like to have a hard life. My old man was a piece of work. I saw a lot of friends get lost in a life of crime. And I couldn’t help them then. I tried, for goodness sakes I tried. But I couldn’t, and it haunts me to this very day.” He took a breath, and ‘composed’ himself.

“Heroes are supposed to be there for everyone. That’s what I’m all about. I just want to help as many people as I can. And I know I can help people. My powers allow me to neutralise threats without resorting to brute force. I can stop robbers taking that hostage. I can pick up that getaway car rampaging through the streets. I can stop criminals without hurting them, and at the end of the day, everyone deserves a second chance. Most people who commit crime had a rough start in life. I can bring a fresh perspective to the Seven. I can help people, even if they can’t help themselves. Because heroes are meant to be there for everyone. Everyone except the Super-Terrorists, the biggest threat our great nation faces. What can I do to stop them as part of the Seven? Well, they don’t call me ‘Mind Master’ for nothing. I can identify them even if they’re hiding in plain sight, and I can neutralise them without having to resort to fighting them. That’s just what I do. And If you want the best hope for ending the Super-Terrorist threat with minimal casualties on the Seven, there’s only one choice you should make. Because I care about the community. I care about this great country. And I care about you.”

There, that’ll make them happy for now, fucking corporate pricks.

 

[Reatith Blodraald]

IC: Derrin Halverson AKA, Crazy Eight

The lights on the stage lit up, making everything else appear to get swallowed up in darkness. It had been a surprise when he got the call to be a candidate for a seat with the Seven, but it seemed a little much to put on a game show. The producers had probably already decided on who was going to make it. But they needed to please the crowds. Perhaps it was a misdirection from the shitshow of a Nazi that had gained the favor of the masses before she was exposed.

Derrin could care less though, this was an opportunity to make a fuckton of money, get to know some rich pricks and maybe get his hands on a few collectibles along the way.

The executive pulled out a sheet of paper with questions on it and the cameraman began a countdown. Crazy Eight rolled his shoulders and assumed a pose that made him look powerful, but comfortable at the same time. 3... 2... 1...

"I grew up in a small town. Most of us weren't rich or poor. We all worked our 9 to 5 jobs and went home to our families, and growing up I believed that life was that simple. I believed 8n the American dream, that when I graduated from college and met a nice woman, I would find a good job and have a family and that I would live happily ever after. But as you all know, reality is never that simple or easy and the truth can hit us hard when we least suspect it. Nothing is as it seems on the surface. When I was in school, the horrible reality of drugs, dishonesty and crime that hid behind that perfect happily ever after image shattered my perception of the world and broke my heart. Ever since then I have made it my life's mission to change the world one step at a time, and with my God given powers, I have the ability to use the enemies techniques against them. You see, crime hides in plain sight behind a mask of innocence. For example, I am not even standing here in front of you at all. I am actually sitting over there in the audience."

The image of Crazy Eight shimmers as he points into the audience. Another spotlight is lit as a man in a trench coat and hat stands up and takes of the hat to reveal the real Crazy Eight. Cheers, oohs and ahhs erupt as he waves to the crowd and gently floats to the stage, a bubble of anti-gravitiy under his feet. He spreads his arms wide as he touches down next to his double image and gives a deep bow to the audience.

"Thank you, thank you..."

After a few moments the crowd quieted down and Crazy Eight turned to the interviewer.

"So to answer your question, I would have never imagined being asked to be part of the Seven, but if I am found worthy of it, I will use my position to root out evil wherever it hides and bring the evil-doers to justice, no matter the cost."

 

[Jihadi Quartz]

IC: Battleship Sieglinde ​

She remembers the tranquility of the grave, it was like being in a peaceful dream, with the muscles totally relaxed and completely flexible like when in a dream you try to hit something yet you don't have the strength to do it, and the fists connect yet they don't do anything. Feeling like you were floating away, cant feel all the pressure and you liked it there, over there suspended in a sea of black.


But from there, inside that vast darkness she was plunged. Some kind of radiation woke her up, they don't even let her be dead after all the suffering.


When she woke up she was not a Supe, mostly because she refused to be called like that. No. To her, and her cronies, she was an Uber. A grandiose name for something very common in this world, a way to embiggen what they felt were lacking as part of the common nazi “small dick” syndrome.


The Uber by the codename of Battleship Sieglinde had yet to make a public appearance, yet she worked tirelessly gathering intel, resources and manpower for the coming race war. In her own words: “((Them)) are on the verge on establishing a communist state on our holy soil, the knife in the back of the Great War was not enough for ((Them)), the judeo-bolcheviks, and raped and killed and looted all the way to Berlin. How many war crimes did the allies committed on their bigoted war of agresion? And those same bastards are now in control of the government. As sovereign citizens is our right, nay, or duty to grind them down until they give what its rightfully ours!”



Those were the words she said to her entourage of police officers, reservists and others. Those were her soldiers, also plumbers and disgruntled office workers, even some Mcdonalds and KFC workers. Disgruntled and radicalized by years of liberal and comunist government, ready to strike with full force. All of them trained with a strict regime, with the most knowledgeable of them passing onto their knowledge and training to the others, and so on and on. Like a communal civil service, but less leftists.


The day had come, they would start “Operation: Citadel”.


They got out of the van and quickly dispatched the guard at the warehouse. Silenced weapons they had, and in darkness dressed all in black started to pour into the place. With the ID card of the man, now his brain matter splattered on the pavement, she opened some doors. And the ones that she could not open with it? Her halo was enough to pulverize them until there was no door, and when she passed over them, the halo made sure to turn them back to their place.


It was going to be a stealth mission. So she could not afford to bust open doors with her super strength.



It was strangely easy. Only one guard so far, it seemed eerily easy, suspicious...

 

[Catalyst]

IC: Derek
Vought warehouse

Great. Courier duty. The young man wandered through the halls of file cabinets and computer hard drives rather aimlessly. He knew where to find what he was supposed to get, but he couldn't be bothered to care too much. As he looped and snaked his way through the maze of information, his mind wandered to the subject of the file he was here to get.

Stormfront

Sure, news came out recently that she was secretly a nazi, but that didn't mean she wasn't still hot. And the memes on her website were absolute fire. Derek had to wonder how they were churned out so quickly. Maybe she knew some technopath supe that could read minds and upload thoughts to computers. Probably just some fat loser in a basement that licked the cheez dust off his keyboard between posts. He chuckled a little bit. If he had "applied himself" and "worked hard" he could have been that fat loser making funny pictures for a paycheck. Instead, here he was, wandering through a collection of secrets looking for the juiciest apple on the tree.

After a few minutes, he happened upon the file he was looking for. The file was under the name Liberty, but it was the right one. He picked it up and thumbed through the documents. Nothing too exciting really, but it was what he was supposed to find. He closed it and tucked the file into his jacket under his arm. Back to the grind. Maybe I'll grab a burger across the street. He heard the beeping of the electronic lock being disabled. Was the guard coming in to tell him to fuck off? "Gimme a minute!" Derek shouted, "My dick is still out!"

Tag: @Darth Kain @Jihadi Quartz

 

[Darth Kain]

IC: The Waitress
Debbie's Diner, New York​

"7-Up, no ice," said the woman, furiously scribbling in her notepad. "And an egg sandwich on rye. I'll put that in for you, dear."
Time to put on the charm.
"And I just love the accent. Where are you from? Australia?" It could've been any of those damnable countries that England once colonized. Frankly, she didn't give a damn. But pleasant conversation was often a surefire way to a pleasant tip in return. And if she got stiffed on another check she would be absolutely livid.

Her eyes shifted away from the stranger as she replied, the waitress' gaze instead landing on the other side of the street. A van was obscuring her view of the warehouse there, but she didn't see the handsome security guard over there like normal. Something didn't seem right there.

But it was none of her business.

TAG: @Admiral Volshe

IC: Ashley Barrett
Off-Set, The S-Factor​

The lights dimmed and the cameras switched off, leaving the hopeful superheroes to their whims. Or so they would think.
Immediately they were beset with an excited woman in an awful yellow suit. She hugged a clipboard close to herself, practically squealing with delight.
"You all did great!" she exclaimed. "My name is Ashley; I'm Senior Vice President of Hero Management. And I will be keeping you all on track during the show."

"On track?" asked Banshee, sucking her teeth.

Ashley stammered, "Just making sure you all stay TV ready, as they say. The things you all signed off on in your contracts like no swearing, no fighting, no ties to Nazi Germany." She laughed - awkwardly. No one else did.
"W-Well, we should have those bumps edited together within a few days. Tomorrow we'll be filming the first challenge: Trivia! So I hope you all know your stuff."

TAGS: @Reatith Blodraald, @Cardun Vrek

GM Notice for @Jihadi Quartz, @Catalyst​

You're both controlling the only living beings in this warehouse, currently. Have fun.

 

[Cardun Vrek]

IC: Connor Murphy AKA ‘Mind Master’

Connor let out a deep sigh of relief as the cameras switched off. Finally, he could get out of this thing, get a beer, and relax. Maybe watch something on the TV.

Then the Vought suit showed up. Fuck. This would be fun. Connor recognised the type before she introduced herself. The Vought ‘handler’ type. Always carrying at least 6 different marketing reports and 4 different ‘focus group’ reports. The ones that always talked about ‘demo groups’, ‘legal implications’ and the ‘company image’. Meaning they were the ones that kept heroes ‘on brand’. Though Connor couldn’t help but be surprised this ‘Ashley’ woman was still in a job after the whole Stormfront thing went down.

Fuck, Stillwell hadn’t done a great job at running the Seven, but at least she hadn’t let an actual Nazi join the team. Though judging by the way Ashley kept stuttering, maybe she was on thin ice.

Connor stepped towards her and offered his hand out to her to shake.

“Hi, I’m Mind Master. I just wanted to say thank you for inviting me on to do the show. I’m sure it’s going to be a blast. Best I better get studying for trivia, huh?”

Connor let out a laugh, it was all a show, but that’s what Vought was, right? Just one big show. At the same time, Connor was reaching out with his mental powers to get a sense of what Ashley was really thinking about all of this. It couldn’t hurt his chances.

(Power Used: Telepathy)

 

[Jihadi Quartz]

IC Battleship Sieglinde​

From the battleship the only thing that could be heard was a loud cough, like a “okay, I get it” response. It was the first and only thing that she managed to slip out of her sealed lips. She would not dare to engage in any talking, or it would compromise the mission.

Killing was also not an option now, it was a purely stealth mission, get in, get what you need, then get out. Anything else would compromise the fragile state of relative peace everything was after the whole “exposing the nazi” debacle happened. Now after a year or so, things were normal again….well, “normal”, at least. And even a nazi was not THAT stupid to know that maybe she would not be the first to attempt such a thing, and even the most minute suspicion would end up in Homelander, the race traitor, knocking at her door and gazing at her.

But, that last detail, if it was true, would be the conspiracy theory that the Battleship needed to finally start her precious race war. If she was not the only one who would attempt to do something like that, it meant that she was not alone. And that is how she decided that, after this mission, more recruitment was needed. Using the Covid-Hoax that the democrats were using to fear monger the population into submission she would find the lion hidden amongst the sheeple and strike back at the comunist government of the united states, with an army of supermen million strong!

When the little man was distracted enough with his hands, the battleship pressed the card against the ID identifier to open it again, and made it sound like if the guard would have go right back from where he came.

But instead, using her halo she gazed at a nearby wall, to her left, and opened a small path to the next room. Then, when she crossed it, to the bathroom, she closed it behind her, taking a mental note where the other guard was.

She made a small amount of noice, opening a path and then closing it, but she ignored if the guard would be able to hear it if he was….busy, as he said he was.

She looked herself into one of the mirrors on the bathroom. Her face was not the same as she remembered it, she was not less pale, more vivid, with more color (the good kind) and brimming with life. She was now more than 2.5 meters tall, no man dared to approach her with lusty eyes because she was a veritable superhuman. It was funny the first months, then it got bothersome because she yearned for company. And it extended to everything else. She had no friends now, she only had followers and true believers. She remembered when she was just a dumb teenagers, the sort of things she did to belong fully to the ingroup. Now it was full circle, she belonged, but felt as if she was just...there. No one talked to her like a normal person, they only saw her as a living weapon, or a marble statue of the winged goddess freya. She had insecurities too, and fears, and hopes.

Her hair was badly diyied into a bland blond, to try to appear as aryan as possible. So, she grabbed a part of her ponytail, and with her halo she rearranged it to appear more blond, as it should. Surely that small patch would not show what hid underneath.

Then it dawned on her. She grabbed her stomach, and then her chest bursted into a sudden pain. She ran quickly to the toilet and vomited while kneeling. Almost breaking the porcelain while doing it.


“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” she said.

Because, after thinking about how she was not meant to kill anyone to not stir the pot and maintain total stealth….she forgot in a zeal she killed the guard outside. She truly knew it now, after this mission, even if she did it 100% great, the sun would rise into a new world.

She exited the bathroom after some gargles with water, evading some more cams and moving as slow as possible to always have the other guard (whom she did not knew was in fact Greyscale) as far as possible.

@Catalyst

 

[Catalyst]

IC Greyscale
Vought Warehouse

The echoing sound of heavy retching that came from of the toilets forced a snort from Derek. "Jesus, I was joking," he called defensively. "You hired Vought monkeys really do have a stick up your ass." He began walking to the door of the warehouse, humming to himself as he went. The place was deathly quiet, but Derek knew he wasn't alone. Obviously, there was a guard at the door outside, and one inside using the shitter. He had to scoff. Were they keeping quiet because they were afraid of Supes? A devious idea crept into his head and he couldn't help but act on it.

"Any of you guys know where they keep Starlight's file?" he asked out loud with an air of mischief, continuing his way towards the exit. "I wanna see how many of the pages are stuck together, maybe make my own mark." He looked around, waiting for a response.

@Jihadi Quartz

 

[Reatith Blodraald]

IC: Derrin Halverson AKA Crazy Eight

As soon as the red light on the camera clicked off Derrin slumped down into his seat and stared at the distant roof of the studio through the scaffolding that held the still warm lights that still glowed with small orange embers of light.

'Man, I should not have stayed up so late last night.' He thought to himself, 'But that brand spankin' new Ducati Superleggera was just begging to hit those empty 3 AM streets.'

Lost in last night's memories, he almost didn't notice anyone approach until he heard the squeal of excitement. The bored hero slowly and silently stood up and watched, not hearing most of what she said, he could truly care less. Noticing her clipboard and the pen attached, he concentrated. A tiny wormhole appeared next to the pen as the other contestant reached forward to shake her hand. He gently plucked the pen from the clipboard through the wormhole as he walked forward and bent down to the ground, pen in hand.

"Ashley!" He interrupted, "you seem to have lost your pen. Here you go!"

Crazy Eight extended the cheap BIC to her as he slapped 'mind man' on his shoulder.

"We gotta keep an eye out for each other," he said to the Vaught rep. "We may just end up working together."

(Power used: Wormhole)

 

[Admiral Volshe]

IC: Vespertine (as Elizabeth)
Debbie’s Diner

There was a brief pause before Elizabeth’s thoughts caught up with the question. “...yes. England, actually. Brighton.” She offered a token smile, her head turning back to the waitress briefly and then turning back to the street. She had already followed the waitress’ gaze, noticed a subtle shift in her expression. But it seemed to be nothing. Nothing but a van, parked on a street in New York City. It did not seem particularly helpful or alarming. It had potential, but with Vought, every single little thing out of place could mean something alarming for a questioning supe like her.

She turned her attention back to the waitress again. “Thank you muchly,” she added, warmly.

TAG: @Darth Kain