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A Destroyer Leader's Story Hold (One-shot Collection)

A Destroyer Leader's Story Hold (One-shot and Scene Collection)

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Just another snippet dumping ground and idea repository.
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A Dimension Jumper Gets A Break...
  • Threadmarks
    • Sandy River DL

    Sandy River DL

    (Verified Destroyer Leader)
    Location
    Lake Michigan
    Pronouns
    Her/She
    First up, @mp3.1415player's dimension jumping Alt-Chris finally catches a break in a world where Taylor Hebert is neither a parahuman, linked to a demon, magical, nor otherwise either empowered or comic-bookish.
    Ozone filled the air as Reality tore open above the beach, scooping out a hemispherical crater in the sand and disgorged a battered man into the new depression. Chris Jacobs let out a low, pained, groan before collapsing. "Fucking war tinkers, fucking biokinetic goddesses, and fucking murder-happy psycho robots!" he growled into the gritty surface he now lay on. "At least SHE wasn't goddamn Sauron this time..."

    With some effort, the world-hopping tinker pushed himself up into a sitting position and began taking stock of his armor. Or what was left of it, considering the pounding he'd endured during his last few jumps. In all honesty it was yet another write-off. Hopefully this time he'd have time to actually replace it, or better yet, do so while being able to relax and recuperate. Or not need another set, if he was really lucky.

    With that faint hope in his mind, Chris attempted to stand, only for the world to go fuzzy and send him back to the ground. Right, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in... the past week? A hooded figure loomed over him as he blacked out.

    OoOoO
    ​
    Chris moaned as he regained consciousness. Opening his eyes, he found Armsmaster standing by the door of a PRT secure medical room.

    "Time travel, or dimensional transfer, Mister Jacobs?" asked the armored tinker.

    "Quite quick on the uptake here then," Chris replied. "And a bit of both, really. Dimensional transfer that's locked into a set timeframe. Usually land somewhere between July of 2010 and December of 2011. Speaking of, when am I now?"

    Armsmaster nodded slightly "March 3rd, 2011. What purpose do you have for your travel?"

    "Running, not traveling." Shuddering, Chris continued "March 2011, you said? SHE's probably Triggered already then. January 3rd's typically when that happens. Every heard of Skitter, Weaver, Khepri, Varga, Starfield, the Techno Queen, Annatar, or Mandolore?"

    A hint of a frown on his face, the older hero returned "I do not know of any capes using those names. Are they a group pursuing you?"

    Relaxing slightly, the younger shook his head "No, various iterations of the same person. A civilian tormented into Triggering by Shadow Stalker at Winslow. Trigger is normally the result of being trapped in a locker full of bio-waste for several hours."

    Frown now fully expressed, the Protectorate leader spoke "We don't have any potential Trigger Events flagged for Winslow in January. Do you have any information that could help track this individual if she Triggered differently?"

    "Her name's Taylor Hebert," Chris answered.

    "What about my girlfriend?" came a voice from the suddenly open door. "Especially since Velocity cut our date short claiming there was an emergency." Panacea finished, gesturing at her somewhat dressy attire. She then blinked as the familiar-looking man in the bed fainted. The brunette glanced at Armsmaster and asked "What's up with him?"

    "He claims to have been running from various parahuman versions of Miss Hebert in other realities. With his current physical and mental conditions, learning that he had not, in fact, escaped her was likely too much."

    Amy sighed "Well, I'll poke him and tell him he's safe." A quick tap on the forehead had the brown-crowned man out of Morpheus's grasp.
    "Armsmaster explained what you told him to me. Taylor's not parahuman, nor does she have the potential. So relax before you give yourself a heart attack that I'll need to fix."

    Chris gave the healer flat look "About a third of the Taylors I've run into weren't. Magical girls were the tamest sort of that subset. Actual fucking Sauron and a multidimensional demon god, on the other hand..." The following shudder almost dislodged the IV in his arm.

    The freckled girl rolled her eyes "You don't need to worry about any of that either. My girlfriend is a perfectly normal girl, albeit one who's in the Top Five best students in her grade at Arcadia. Though I could do without her habit of perching on whatever high places she manages to reach. I have to bribe Vicky in order to sneak up on her, which really takes the fun out of surprising one's girlfriend."

    "If that's supposed to reassure me, it's not working," the world-hopper retorted.

    "Hopefully this will, however," said Armsmaster, having at some point acquired a tablet, which he handed to the other tinker.

    A few minutes and a health-up poke later saw Armsmaster and Amy leaving Alt-Chris with his Internet browsing. If they had known he'd accessed PHO, they would've stayed.

    oOoOo
    ​
    ♦ Topic: Raven, New Vigilante
    In: Boards ► United States ► Brockton Bay ► Capes
    Bagrat     (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Posted On Nov 18th 2010:
    It's that time again, with yet another new cape appearing in Brockton Bay. This one doesn't seem to do things halfway, with their first known outing being to crash an E88 rally yesterday evening and engage Hookwolf in a running battle along 7th Street that culminated in the Neo-Nazi's stunningly brutal defeat. Raven then stayed long enough for the Protectorate to arrive before vanishing after giving their chosen moniker.

    Provisional ratings on my part are as follows:
    Mover 3 - inhuman agility and reflexes
    Stranger 5 - ability to evade notice even when under direct surveillance
    Tinker 3 - made extensive use of equipment to injure and disorientate, able to affect Hookwolf




    (Showing page 1 of 659)




    ►Miss Miliita (Verified Cape)
    Replied On Nov 18th 2010:
    Raven is a tall, lanky, young woman, believed to be in her late teens. Costume is comprised of a black hooded long coat, gloves, cargo pants, and combat boots. While the full extent of her equipment is unknown, I personally observed two bracers with mounted weapons - a deploy-able blade approx. 23cm long, and a compact pseudo-crossbow. At this time her affiliation and goals are not known, so civilians are advised to keep their distance and report sightings and any non-heroic activity to the PRT.




    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 657, 658, 659




    ■
    ​
    As alarms began wailing, Amy glanced at Armsmaster. "He found her PHO thread didn't he."
    ---------------------------------
    AN: Worm/Assassin's Creed
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • She's a Batman equivalent, isn't she? That should actually scare Alt!Chris more than some powered Taylors...

    Also rather curious what the whole story behind Panacea is in that universe...
     
    Pyro Hawk said:
    She's a Batman equivalent, isn't she? That should actually scare Alt!Chris more than some powered Taylors...

    Also rather curious what the whole story behind Panacea is in that universe...
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    It's more that this Taylor is descended from Assassin's Creed protagonists. As to this Amy, she's a lot happier due to getting together with Taylor, who chose to attend Arcadia after Emma rejected their friendship.
     
    This is an amusing little short, would be interested in a proper AC crossover, not sure I've seen an AC/Worm story.

    FYI there is a typo in your thread mark title, @Sandy River DL.
     
    Lisa Gets Outfoxed
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    • Just a short little scene based on an entry from a random ideas list I'm doing on CaerAzkaban. Direct crosspost btw.
    Taylor is descended from Tamamo-no-Mae. She may or may not also be her reincarnation, and the ABB is not keen on finding out.
    Brian walked into the Undersiders' lair and stopped dead. There was a small black fox perched on the back of the couch, exuding smug as it stared at Lisa. The blonde had her eyes locked with the vulpine's in a steely glare that was more suited to Brian himself than the Thinker.

    "Do I want to know what's going on?" he asked warily.

    Alec, who was lounging on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, answered "Yeah. 'Course you do. And as for what's going on, the fox followed her in and stole her peanut butter cookie."

    "And why wouldn't I? She wasn't paying it due attention, and it was peanut butter. Better than tofu, that stuff."

    All three teens stared at the fox. Who's smugness increased.

    "What? Never heard a fox talk? Then again, I don't know of any native fox spirits and the only reason my family's here is because emigrating was deemed safer than sticking around Japan."

    "Kitsune," stated Tattletale flatly.

    "Thank you Captain Obvious," was the even smugger reply. "Don't worry, I'm not going to eat your livers or anything, not to my taste. Even if my ancestor was know to do so, she was more than a little nuts after her husband was murdered and the Celestial Bureaucracy tricked her."

    Lisa fainted.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Battlefield Brockton Bay 1.1
  • Threadmarks
    • A/N: Since it came up on Caer Azkaban, Tay is not a cape.
    April 24th​, 2009.

    Metal scraped against wood as the action slid home in the freshly oiled stock. A soft click followed as the trigger assembly latched into place a second later. The newly completed M1903 Springfield shone dimly under the harsh lighting of Grand-Père's workshop as I inspected the newly completed firearm. Not the best weapon for what I had planned, let alone for a thirteen-year-old, but I didn't have the enough experience to fabricate a submachine gun or semi-auto actions. Yet.

    Setting the battle rifle down on the workbench, I turned to Sophia with the first smile I'd worn since That Day. "Alright Soph, you ready to kick some Nazi ass?"

    My sister, bearing her own grin, closed the bolt on her .45 carbine with a dull clunk. "Locked and loaded Tay. Those bastards won't know what hit them!" Her face falling slightly, the other girl then added "It won't bring Aunt Annette back, or even make Kaiser take notice, but," her expression hardened. "We can't let the fuckers get away with their shit anymore, now can we?" And with that, she pulled her gas mask down, securing it with a black M1 helmet that followed.

    Letting out a sigh, I deftly shed my leather apron and donned my own combat gear. A gas mask and helmet, just like Sophia's, were joined by a bandoleer of .30-06 clips and grenades over a coal-black trench coat, a Beretta 9mm pistol, and a pair of M1905 bayonets. With these in place, I then picked up the Springfield, slung it over my shoulder, and made for the alley door.

    "Time to hit the road Stalker. We've got Nazis to kill, a safehouse to raid, and a message to send!"

    "Hell yeah Captain! It's about time this shithole of a city got some actual clean up."

    ***​

    Contrary to popular belief, black is a poor choice for nighttime concealment. Dark reds, blues, or purples blend into the night far more effectively, but black is too dark. In spite of this, Sophia and I were wearing uniforms of the darkest black we could get our hands on for two reasons. One was that making black uniforms was less of time consuming than stitching together a patchwork of midnight fabrics. The other, however, was simple aesthetics. Black World War-era uniforms with gas masks were just really damn menacing, and fighting Nazis while dressed as historic stormtroopers was too appealing an opportunity.

    Now when people think of gang infested cities, they normally envision the streets to be swarming with thugs and toughs after sundown. Of course, nowhere was actually that bad outside of quarantine zones and even when the Teeth called the Bay home it was often almost painfully quiet at night. Except for the occasional spat of gunfire, random explosion, or a rare instance of rampaging rage dragon.

    Regardless, Brockton Bay's nightlife was generally quiet enough that any kid with powers could run around with minimal difficulty most of the time basically anywhere in the city. For two girls in full battle kit circa 1917 it was a simple matter to walk the seven blocks from Winslow Hill to the Empire storehouse Sophia had scouted in the outskirts of Old Brockton, even with the gas masks. Really, putting something like that only five minutes away from the Boardwalk? Not good planning there, but they haven't faced any real push-back since Marquis' fall. That would change tonight.

    "Target in sight," whispered Sophia. "Brick two story with the ivy. Should be five skinheads protecting a stash of guns and cash."

    Spotting the house in question, I nodded before pulling two of the grenades from my bandoleer. Yanking the pins, I then hurled the repurposed aerosol cans through the front window and grinned under my mask as a sickly green mist spilled out into the room. Moments later the door burst open as multiple coughing figures scrambled to escape the cloud of chlorine gas. Three men, all sporting blatant Empire tattoos, collapsed onto the sidewalk, gasping and wheezing as they struggled to clear their lungs of hydrochloric acid.

    Stalker raised her carbine and fired. No sense letting them recover of course. Taking a deep breath, I unslung my rifle, slid a clip into place, and closed the bolt. The two remaining neo-Nazis were struggling to their feet and scrabbling for the pistols they'd stuffed into their pants as my sights settled on the livelier of the pair, a burly guy with a shaved head decorated with Norse runes. A finger twitch, and a .30-06 round painted the grass with the contents of his skull.

    Wasn't I supposed to feel something? That wasn't any worse than swatting a fly. Eh, whatever. Can't hang around navel-gazing, there's a storehouse to raid.

    Sophia and I strode past the trio of corpses – when had the last guy been shot? – and into the house, masks filtering out the noxious fumes. Both of us quickly safe'd our longarms, stowing them in favor of our hand guns. SMGs would be a must for future ops, whether I made them or we captured some here. Maybe shotguns too, but only in place of something else, as overloading ourselves with gear would be a bad idea. More fighters too, as two teens weren't exactly a force to make the Empire tremble. Getting someone who knew how to drive would be amazing, as transport meant we'd be able to get bigger hauls by hitting warehouse and whatnot. Oh, were there opportunities from growth…

    The crack of gunfire yanked my head out of the clouds. Right, five tangoes Sophia said. That means two left inside. I brought my Beretta up and fired off several rounds at the top of the stairs, forcing the skinhead to retreat from the landing. Another gas grenade, this one thrown by Stalker, was deployed to cover our advance. Making those was probably my best idea, really. Highly visible and fast acting, but, as far as chemical weapons go, not particularly dangerous when used at the scale we were, making it reasonably safe for use around captive civilians. Sure, it was not exactly PR friendly, but neither was our choice of uniform or… Hey, when did I get covered in blood?

    I blinked. There was that Empire goon, throat cut, and bright arterial blood dripping from one of my bayonets, which I had drawn at some point. Huh, must be better at this war thing than I though I'd be. Wiping the blade on my fallen opponent's sleeve, I stood – when had I ended up on the floor? – and began making my way down the hall towards where Soph was checking the bedrooms, pausing to collect my pistol a moment later as I almost tripped on the weapon. That was a bit concerning, but blackouts were a common result of intense adrenaline rushes, right?
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Hellarion said:
    I'm kinda confused about the blackouts, is it her power or something else?
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    In essence, it's her trauma response. She's a thirteen year old fighting and killing people and unconsciously repressing her sensory input with the same intensity that her canon counterpart did her gynosexuality. As to any powers, she's 'just' badass normal. Her 'power' is having three familial sources of knowledge on the art of ruining other people's day. Sophia, however, has her canon power.
     
    USRTS said:
    What hell did Bonesaw, or a villainous Panacea, unleash that quarantine zones were needed?
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    Taylor's talking generalities, not saying there's quarantine zones in the Bay.
    Sandy River DL said:
    Now when people think of gang infested cities, they normally envision the streets to be swarming with thugs and toughs after sundown.
    Click to expand...
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    Here, she's basically noting that, despite popular belief, even gang-heavy locales like Brockton Bay aren't actually crawling with gang members at night.
     
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    Lost and Forsaken
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    • I'm sure I'll post something here that isn't Worm-based eventually...
    A dying world, wrought with decay and strife. A port city cut off from the sea and choked with rust. Four homes, each broken in their own ways. Four choices that together alter the weave of Fate.
    *​
    Unknown Location, Earth Yod, May 15, 2009
    ​
    "Path to Modeling a Parahuman World, invalidated."

    The woman who'd spoken froze, a faint tinge of fear raising in her chest. No Path had been invalidated before. Even the actions of the Endbringers, blind spots though they were, merely disrupted the steps and made for a more complex task. Something had changed. Something not even her agent could quickly work around had occurred in Brockton Bay and thrown the integrity of the experiment there into question.

    A frown crossed the face of the woman, before she queried her power. "Path to Discovering the Source of the Disruption."

    *​
    Brockton Bay, Earth Bet, May 15, Twenty Minutes Earlier
    ​
    The front door of a worn-looking house in the residential district of Brockton Bay's Docks slammed open, accompanied by the tail-end of a thunderous screaming match.

    "You aren't the only one who lost her, you miserable excuse for a man, and in forgetting that, you've cost me my father too!" A tall and willowy girl stepped out, before turning for a final shot. "Maybe you'll actually fucking think when you no longer have a daughter either!" With that, she yanked the door shut behind her and ran off into the darkening city, backpack hanging off one shoulder and an unadorned book cradled in her arms.

    Slipping into an alley next to a small store two blocks away, Taylor Hebert slumped against the wall with a dumpster between her and the street and stared at the book. It was a plain thing, bound in smooth brown leather without any markings, around the size of a typical novel. Yet bringing it down from the attic where her mother's things had been haphazardly stowed months earlier set off her father. The thirteen year-old didn't know why, as neither of her parents had ever mentioned the small tome in any way she could recall, even if it was written in the sharp runic script the older woman had taught her to read long ago.

    Frowning, Taylor opened the book and studied the hand-written text within. Khuzdul slowly unraveled in her mind as she worked her way through translating the Tolkienian language Annette had used. Something about currents in the unseen and harnessing the songs of the world? Paging back to the very front, she found herself blinking back tears. On the back of the cover was a message for her.

    Taylor.
    If you are reading this book, then I'm gone. This is a collection of notes and translated Elder Lore written as I worked, not the guide I'd hoped to write for you so that your latent gift could be nurtured. Yes, Little Owl, there is a power in this world far older than parahumans. A power that could be called magic, if one were wont to do so. I call it the Ancient Craft myself.
    Details as to how I came upon this knowledge, and why I never told you, are in one of my other journals if you wish to know, but that information isn't necessary for you to understand what I found. Hopefully you never see this, or only do so as part of digging deeper, but between capes, the Endbringers, and the base dangers of life, not leaving a fail-safe would be foolish.
    Keep yourself safe, daughter mine, and find trustworthy friends to cover your back. I fear a great and terrible Light is stirring, and that Emma won't stand beside you for much longer.
    Divining the future is no mean feat, nor is it more than a hazy glimpse of possibility, but seek out the Forsaken and stand firm against the Burning Tower. Do so, and you will have everything you need to slay gods at your fingertips.    ​

    A crash of shattering glass tore Taylor's attention from the book. Voices jeering slurs and insults told her everything. E88, targeting the shop behind her. It was probably part of a push into unaligned territory to flank the ABB, as the Neo-Nazi gang's normal holdings were in Old Brockton and Southshore.

    Bile and rage rose in the teen's throat. There were evil men, followers of the Madness that had driven her grandfather from Normandy and set alight all of Europe, practically right in front of her. And she was powerless to stop them from destroying a neighbor's livelihood for the 'crime' of being part of a millenniums maligned minority.

    But that wasn't true, was it. The lost power her mother had been researching was there, wasn't it, as was the key to harnessing it. She just needed to find it amongst the pages...

    Leafing through the tome, scanning for promising passages, Taylor prized apart the fictional tongue with adrenal haste. And as the tromp of heavy boots neared her position, inspiration struck and pieces of her mother's puzzle began to align.

    "What do we have here," came a voice like a diesel truck from the far end of the dumpster. "A little dock rat out after dark? That isn't smart idea. Especially around places like this."

    The girl lifted her eyes from the book, and froze. Hookwolf, one of the Empire's most aggressive and bloodthirsty capes, was mere feet from her. Unbidden, words flowed from page to mouth, and she called out in dwarf-speech "Taste fire, accursed dog!"

    A tingle like a wave of static rushed over her before exploding outward in a burst of blue-white flame, catching the Nazi gangster full in the face. Not bothering to see how the man had fared, Taylor bolted past him and across the street. Staying anywhere near by would be quite stupid, after char-broiling an important Empire cape. Especially if he or one of the others were able to recognize the Semitic roots of the tongue she'd used. Figuring out if spoken incantations were needed was something she needed to do, sooner rather than later.

    None of the gangs were in LNY, maybe that'd be a good place to hide out for the moment.

    *
    ​
    PRTENE HQ, Brockton Bay, Earth Bet, May 15

    "I don't know what happened! One moment I was reassuring her that we wouldn't be intruding on her home life, the next she'd twisted space into a pretzel and vanished!"

    *
    ​
    Brockton Bay, Earth Bet, May 16

    A wispy shadow collapsed into a teen-aged girl in an alleyway, panting in hyperventilation. She'd told her mother that That Man was no good, and did she listen? Well, she sure as hell wasn't going back home if the selfish bitch didn't care. With that thought resonating in her head, Sophia Hess activated her newfound power and ghosted into the predawn mist, headed towards the relative safety of the old Lordsport Navy Yard.

    *
    ​
    Brockton Bay, Earth Bet, May 23

    "She's a Second Generation, it's only a matter of time before she Triggers and follows in her father's footsteps!"

    Amy flinched at her adoptive mother's shouted statement. She doubted the self-righteous bitch realized she could be heard through the walls, especially given the drinking that'd happened earlier.

    "Come on Mark! You know as well as I do who we took her from and what he did. The Empire too, Kaiser and Allfather made no secret of their familial connection! Her going villain is inevitable."

    Villain wasn't genetic. Nurture had as much to do with who people were as Nature did. If not more, if feral children were anything to go by. But if Carol was going to be like that, maybe it'd be best to run away if she... when she Triggered. It'd hurt to leave Vicky behind, but that would probably be good too, given that the uncomfortable crush she had on the other girl wasn't fading...


    If this goes anywhere, Tay, Amy, Sophia, and Missy will find themselves drifting into a team together and slowly accreting a group of misfits over time. Classed as a villainous gang by the PRT, they'd be trying to create a better life for themselves and those under their protection while also trying to learn about and deal with the threat that Annette had warned Taylor about.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • LZB1285 said:
    I'm pretty sure you're missing a word near the end of this sentence.
    PS/ Just how fried was Hookwolf? Please say very, pretty please. 🙏
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    Fixed, and enough that he's got major scarring even with Othalla's regen. Thought that's in part due to the nature of the fire. If Tay'd had enough experience, there wouldn't be even ash left, but that's for later if this continues.
     
    Never Be Better (Mass Effect)
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    • Commander Morgan Shepard glared at the ghost-like hologram of the not-child that had just finished speaking. Everything she'd done, all her years of fighting, moral compromises, and sacrifices... for this? The choice between killing her allies to destroy the Reapers, becoming the Reapers, or committing suicide in the blind hope that the self-admitted Reaper overmind would magically turn everyone into cyborgs and stop its insanity?

    "No."

    The Reaper intelligence blinked. "What do you mean? These are your options for firing the Crucible. Or do you mean that you would rather not do so and take your chances in open warfare?"

    Morgan's lips curled in a snarl as she replied. "No, I'm not playing your asinine game, Reaper. Instead, I'm ending this. Properly."

    Then, lifting her omnitool up, she keyed the fleet broadcast channel. "This is Commander Shepard. The Crucible was a trap, and the Citadel is itself a Reaper control center. I need every last ship left to open fire on the station! Destroying it should disrupt their coordination enough for us to win, and if not... at least we've given those who come after us a good headstart..."

    "You... you shouldn't have been able to consider that..." stated the false-child, an air of confusion in its voice. "Anybody who have been on the Citadel for more than a few minutes should be indoctrinated enough for that to be impossible."

    As the first mass accelerator slugs and Thanix beams began impacting the ancient space station, the petite brunette bared her teeth in a savage smile towards her ultimate foe. "Really now. Shame my brain's been scrambled in so many ways indoctrination doesn't seem to work on me any more..."

    With that, she began to laugh, long, and loud, until something important was struck and the last thing to pass through her mind as the blue-violet fireball of an eezo-fusion explosion consumed her was 'Tali, Liara, I'm sorry...'
    A slow, rhythmic beeping and a searing headache was not shat she was expecting to greet her in the afterlife, if such a thing even truly exist. Morgan opened her eyes. The afterlife definitely shouldn't have looked like the medical bay of the original Normandy, or have a younger Doctor Chakwas and Captain Anderson rushing over to her. Or a sense of deja vu form the scene...

    Then it hit her. This wasn't any sort of afterlife, not unless the afterlife was some sort of take two deal, which wasn't part of any theology she'd heard of. Not an impossibility though.
     
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