JLA Watchtower RPG
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The phone rings loudly, echoing through the tiny apartment.

"Cheeks, can you get that?" comes the shouted response from the green-suited figure in the kitchen, busily folding dishtowels into the shapes of various superhero insignias.

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krypton_or_bust
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Dawn broke over the horizon. The sounds of the city bellow mingled together in the crisp chilled air.

Sitting on the building's ledge Connor sipped hot chocolate and watched the horizon. He looked back to the open letter in his hand and he shook his head in smiling disbelief.
tim_drake_robin
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Open crates containing plastic wrapped components and pallets bearing specialized and custom made equipment formed a semi circle around the main terminal station and over sized High Density monitor. The overhead lights punctuated a stark contrast of light in the immediate area when compared to the deep shadows around. Now and then the flash of light from an arc-welder would flare up and the distinct smell of welded metal would cut sharply into the air.

Tim's legs stuck out from an exposed panel in the wall behind the steel and chrome workstation. The sounds of diligent labor partially muffled by the paneling testified to his connection to the evidence of the welder's activity.


"Amanda Waller."

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tim_drake_robin
jla_watchtower
tim_drake_robin
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Gotham's winters are bitter and merciless. The bite in the air right now could do real damage to exposed anatomy if left unprotected for more than a few minutes. Tim pulled the hood of his cape over his head to give his ears a reprieve.

Moving like a ghost, he flitted silently between shadows making no sound at all as he bounded to the neighboring rooftop. Carefully he came to the edge and peered down into the alleyway.

Gold light lit up the dirty and garbage strewn snow, the illumination spilling from an open loading dock where men hurriedly moved crates into a waiting van. The vehicle's motor was running and it's driver looked up and down the alley with nervous impatience.

Drake sized up his targets and pulled a few tools from his belt.

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krypton_or_bust
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The 'crunch crunch' of the snow accompanies Connor's stride through the dirty snow of the Gotham sidewalk. The top of his head and shoulders are already dusted in white as the weather continues to deposit a smattering of snowfall on the city. The sun is still creeping above the horizon as he makes his way through the bleak and decaying neighborhood of tenements and warehouses. The streets are more deserted than one might expect, but not entirely empty either. Many of the buildings here were abandoned and half of those that weren't were occupied by squatters seeking to escape the cold. It bothered him, but Tim had given him some perspective on the matter. They couldn't save everybody, not immediately, but they were doing good work.

Even so, deep inside he felt that there should be something more they could do for the 'right now'.

Reaching, his destination he balanced the cardboard drink caddie and the small brown paper sack in one hand as he pressed the door buzzer with the other. The responding tone sounded off shortly after, it's buzz an inconsistent drone similar to a dying insect.

Kicking the snow off his boots, he entered and made short work of the three story climb of stairs. Not that the cold bothered him at all, but the warmth being maintained in the large open space of the third floor was a welcome sensation. His Smallville High jacket got tossed on the second hand couch they had salvaged. The hot chocolates and the bag with breakfast burritos got deposited in the kitchenette. Connor looked around.

"Hey Bat-Mite, you here?"

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tim_drake_robin
jla_watchtower
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This neighborhood in the East End was riddled with decrepit infrastructure, from crumbling roads to questionable sewer lines this part of Gotham rarely received the kind of attention to it's decaying bones that the more 'acceptable' areas of the city did from civic coffers. Grants from the Wayne foundation had served as a vital lifeline for years now, but even the generous donations from that philanthropic arm made only a few dents in the general state of disrepair. Recent event hadn't improved the situation.

In the last year, the city had been sieged by the extra terrestrial forces of Apokalips. During the conflict, considerable damage had been done to several neighborhoods and this one had been no exception. The city had survived other disasters, some frighteningly enough had been worse. Stoic in it's fortitude Gotham was once again slowly plodding it's way back to health again, but progress had been practically glacial so far.

Even so, a city road crew had been working daily on the street below. The crater like pothole, clogged sewer drains, and faulty street lights were all being attended to. Despite the noise, no one was complaining, least of all the newest tenants.

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tim_drake_robin
jla_watchtower
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The place looked like a dump from the outside. The inside however...ok it looked like a dump too. The location was perfect however. Crime heavy neighborhood, poor lighting, and a number of city service tunnels ran underneath the property. It was the ideal spot for what he had in mind.

Tim poked one of the beams. The rotten wood practically gave like a crumbling sponge at his finger pressure.

"How are you with a hammer?"

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gaollie
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Who: Oliver Queen OTA. 
What: Just a night out on the town 
Where: Star city 
Rating: TBD
Status: Incomplete.


A shipment was coming in tonight and it was gonna be huge. A real moneymaker. That was as detailed as it got; Freddie couldn't be any more forthcoming. He was a snitch, but he wasn't stupid. Talking too much would get him killed. All of it was on the down-low. They didn't hear about it from him. 

It would be him  against the thugs moving the merchandise. This didn't concern Oliver. If he had to, he could put them all down himself.  He was hoping he didn't bite off more than he could chew.

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Any number of reasons could have brought you here.  A tip, a rumor, an invitation, an order, or maybe your own morbid curiosity.  Perhaps you just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

The decrepit two story house stands at the corner of Cedar and Thomas, in a run-down part of town, on a lot that should have been leveled years ago.  At one time, it would have been an owner's pride and joy, with an immaculate white picket fence and a wraparound porch.  Now weeds rise up to consume it and the paint peels freely.  Surprisingly, all the windows appear to be in tact and the steps leading to the front door are sturdy.  There should be graffiti on every surface and in every nook and cranny.  Neither pen nor paint has disfigured its decaying facade.  Nailed to one of the support columns hangs a vacancy sign.  Constant exposure to the weather has left it battered and drained of color.  A fitting sign for a house that's been forgotten.  Or has it?  A faint light emanates from within. 

The gate rests half way open under the glow of a full moon.   

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Maggie slammed the phone down and swore.  In the privacy of her small office, she could afford the outburst.  It made delivering the news easier. 

She swung open her door.  The organized chaos of the bullpen greeted her.  "Listen up!!"

The noise immediately died down.  "Victor Zsasz is out of lock-up and on the loose.  He killed three guards on his way out.  He is considered armed and dangerous.  I need all hands on deck to join the search ASAP.  DO NOT approach him.  I repeat... DO NOT approach him.  Locate him.  Radio in."

She glanced around, making eye contact as she went.  No injuries.  No fatalities. 

"Move your asses." 

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scourge_of_mars
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Henshaw was missing. Where? Malefic had no idea whatsoever. It had occurred sometime after he had aided the humans in capturing Despero as an act of goodwill to Earth. When malefic returned..Henshaw was gone, apparently with nothing so much as a message to his highest ranking servants. By all rights Malefic was now the sole power of the Neo-Rann leadership, but there could be complications. Gleen of the Sinestro Corps had apparently also been captured on Earth and was now heading to Oa for imprisonment. Not too long after rumors of Henshaw's disappearance, Low and Slushh of the Sinestro Corps, had departed. According to his intelligence, they were set to rendezvous with their compatriot Flayt, he commanded a sizable force of Corpsmen. Malefic had no delusions as to why they had contacted Flayt. They meant to take over.

Malefic admittingly did not know what he wished to do. Should he fight for control of the alliance? Or let the Sinestro Corps take it? He knew it would not be long until the heroes of Earth grew tired of waiting to liberate Rann from its conquerors. With both Despero and Henshaw gone, the odds favored them much more than they had before.Still, there was potentially a lot of chaos he could wring with these resources. Who said he had to maintain some kind of empire? Rather, why not use it to hurt those he hated? Yes, that sounded very appealing.

He headed for the communications room. As he did, his features shifted and molded, taking on an amalgamation of flesh and metal. Artificial clothes materialized from his skin, shifting into a cape. The room featured several holographic images of various leaders of the Neo-Rann alliance. However, who they saw was not Ma'alefa'ak. It was the rictus grin of the Cyborg Superman.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting. We have much to talk about."

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Jeffrey Patterson hated his job, hated this city, and hated the fact there was zero movement for one of his views. Gotham. The city was a cesspool of lunatics and freaks. It hadn't always been that way. It used to be the worst thing you had to worry about was a little bit of corruption and the occasional mob hit, but now... Patterson was an attorney, albeit not a very high-ranking one, who frequently tried to garner support in the Gotham legal system to enact harsher punishments for the city's lunatics and its vigilantes that made a mockery of the law and law-enforcement. Alas though..he got very little in the way of actual aid, despite the numbers of people he knew who shared his opinion. The cycle of crazies and vigilantes in costumes had to end. There had to be some normalcy restored damn it!

It was then his phone rang. With near robotic precision, an act he'd done so many times before, he picked up the phone. "Patterson office."

"Evening, Mr. Patterson, I would like to speak to you in regards to the events in the East End."

Patterson was immediately startled. The voice was electronically altered and his caller id was getting squat. "Who is this?"

"Who I am, Mr. Patterson is not important. What is important is that I am someone who wishes to see real change come to this city, one step at a time. I have in my possession evidence of the Scarecrow's entire operation. His distribution network, his associates, and a list of facilities in which he has supplemented his formulas into legitimate medicine. I am willing to give this information to you and you friends on the police force. Interested?"

"You bet your ass I'm interested!" Patterson was now wide awake. "Who are you? Are you with the second group? I'll tell you right now I may not like the capes, but I don't deal with criminals."

"Mr. Patterson, you've lived in this city a long time. Fifty years, yes?"

"How the hell do you...?"

"My point is you lived during a much simpler time in this city. A time where the worst a person had to worry about was a mobster stealing some of your tax money. Now you have to worry about some lunatic mowing down a group of children in public, on a regular basis. Am I wrong?" The voice sounded almost smug.

Jeffrey didn't respond. It echoed nearly everything he himself believed. "Yeah, but..Batman helps..."

"I'll grant you in the beginning he did. I'll even grant you that he had good intentions. However, the criminal element has become something far worse than it was. Arkham is merely a revolving door that accomplishes nothing. If anything, it only gives these lunatics a chance to rest up. Batman catches them, only to start the never-ending cycle all over again. He's a part of the problem. You know I'm right."

Jeffrey sighed. Yeah, he knew the guy was right.

"I want to see this city returned to its glory. I may not perhaps represent your side of the fence, but we want the same thing. The firsts step is for the police to start taking back their streets. To show that the capes are ineffectual and unnecessary. This will not be a grand and sudden instance, but it will get the ball rolling. With this information, you will destroy Scarecrow's entire operation., but in exchange, I want you to set up some introductions between my people and your friends on the force. Can you do that?"

Jeffreywas quiet a long time. For years he championed the law, the real law. He didn't like the idea of working with criminals at all, but... It had to end. The masks, the lunatics, the killings..it had to stop. They had to take their city back.

"Okay, I'm in."

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Johnny hadn't thought it was possible, but security at Blackgate was actually worse the second time around. This time though he wasn't going for a grand entrance. Johnny teleported, made his way through the facility with little trouble, and made his way to his current destination. So far he had been fortunate in that nobody noticed him. He approached the cell, specifically designed to keep things warm for its occupant.

"Cameron, my boy, we really have to stop meeting like this."

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One hundred twenty-six.

One hundred twenty-seven.

One hundred twenty-eight. 

There isn't a man alive who feels more at home in his own skin. 

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The so-called 'Suicide Slum' district of Metropolis doesn't really fit in with the rest of the city. The gleaming skyscrapers and clean streets give way to a grimier existence that resembles Gotham City more than it does Metropolis.

Funny how that doesn't make the Batman feel any more at home.

The Batmobile is parked nearby, it's stealth systems activated to avoid drawing any spectators as he sifts through the burnt-out husk of a bay-side warehouse. Until its fiery demise a few months ago, it had been owned by a shell company, owned by another shell company, owned by a third shell company - but years before that, when it had been built, its owners were a little less careful about the companies hired to do the construction. Companies with ties to the once-powerful crime syndicate called 'the 100.'

Those companies were gone, now, too. Toppled in one investigation or another over the years. The 100 was believed to be defunct as well, so the fire at this warehouse hadn't raised any red flags to the Metropolis Police.

He'd followed colder trails.

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tim_drake_robin
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In his particular 'calling', it doesn't matter how good you are. Eventually you will take a bullet. The trick is to be good enough to not take it in a fatal place.

Tonight, he was good enough.


But damn did it still hurt.




If he were closer to home, he'd be taking the Redbird back to the cave. There were allot of 'if's going on right now.

A quick and temporary bandage had stopped the bleeding...mostly. His armor and training had made the difference, even so he had a bullet in his arm. Damnit.

At 2am in the morning, the clinic is mostly empty. Even so, he caused a minor scene walking in like he did.

He thought about asking the volunteer nurse at the counter if the Doctor was in...but he knew she was and the rumor of his entrance had probably reached her by now.

So he stood there, waiting and bleeding.


Gunshots wounds tended to bring out the Bat-Grump in him after all.

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Current Mood: grumpy grumpy

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krypton_or_bust
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Smoke and dust was settling down on everything. It sort of looked like those pitcures of towns getting dusted by ash from a volcano, except not so disastrous as that. More like a 'pain in my butt, I just washed my car!' kinda inconvenience...but Connor personally felt like no one had a right to complain.

They did just kick a big tentacle covered monster-thing back to it's own weirdo dimension after all. A little dust and smoke seemed like getting off easy in the big picture.

Shaking the debris out of his hair, he clears the grit out of his eyes as well.
Looking over to the his impromptu partner, he grins.

"We kicked it's ass."

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guy_lantern
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"Rental? check

beer? check

food on grill? check

awesome island getaway? check

completely hot ice goddess I’m in love with?... "



Guy looks over to the hammock Tora is lounging in.

"Check!"


"No douche bag super villains looking to ruin our vacation?"


Guy looks skyward, his ring telling him where the squad of rookie Lanterns were on their ‘training patrol’.

He grins.

"Check!"


Picking up a blue toned margarita in one hand and a cold beer in the other, he saunters over the white sand over to the shaded area where Tora has been relaxing. Setting the drink down by his love, he lets his toes wriggle in the sand as he plops down beside her.

"Hey beautiful, yer givin paradise an inferiority complex." He quips, taking in the tantalizing view of Tora Olofsdotter in a sapphire colored bikini.

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Current Location: Way the hell away from super villain douche bags

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Hitting the pavement, well the rooftops actually. It helps him think.

Moving from one shadow to the next, Tim uses the time to consider Batman and Nightwing's little interview with Icicle and Shrapnel. The infra-red recording of Mahkent during the interrogation had been informative and confirmed Tim's theory. Icicle's powers fluctuated when he lied. It made the playback review of the Q&A session a very interesting piece.

Icicle was small change in whatever was going on in Gotham however. Whoever he was answering to, they were careful and had done their homework. Their big advantage had been anonymity, and while their identities remained a question, their edge had now been eliminated. Their presence was now being factored in and it would only be a matter of time. So Robin was out to gather intelligence.

The excursion out to Gotham's rooftops and alleyways was a matter of patrol and ongoing training. A mugger here, car thief there, perhaps a cat burgler even, all of that was standard for the evening. The real research was happening invisibly. While Robin darted through Gotham's shadows, automated bots and search engines prowled the unseen byways of the virtual and electronic, collating and gathering specks of information as a web of finances, phone calls and fuzzy-logic 'guesses' were being compiled to reveal a better picture of their unseen adversary's movements.

In the meantime, there was Gotham and she needed his protection.
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jla_legion2
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"...Attention valued passengers. We have completed transition into Realspace and are now awaiting our gate window in the Alpha Centauri system. First and second class passengers may wish to gather in the observation deck for refreshments and a view of the stellar tide. Fourth class passengers must now return to their sleep closets.



Thank you for choosing Hyperion Spaceliners as your preferred mode of interstellar travel..."






A sea of chroma and vibrant color feasts the eye in a panoramic view of the solar system bellow as hot nebulae refract the unshielded rays of the central star. Safe behind the filter of a transparent barrier, privileged passengers enjoy the vista as the crew makes ready for the next leg of their journey to the capital planet of the league of United Planets, Earth.

Clad in unassuming black, staff mill among the guests dispensing libations and an assortment of aperitifs noted for their multi-species appeal. The interim in travel is capitalized upon by a string quartet playing near the central bar of the observation deck.

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JLA Watchtower RPG
Name: JLA Watchtower RPG