# Generations: The Animated Adventures [Formerly WGBS...]



## threshel (Mar 22, 2005)

_“Good evening, and welcome to WGBS 11 O'Clock News, I'm Snapper Carr.  Our lead story tonight comes from WGBS Metahuman Activities Reporter, Allison James.  Allison?"

"Thanks, Snapper.  Only just recovered from the attempted robbery in late January, the Metropolis Gold Repository on Centennial Park's West Side was the scene of a fire this morning.  One that turned out to have a familiar source."_

Smoke pours from a stout brick building in the financial district, as the Metropolis Fire Department begins to hook up and lay out its hoses.  Through thick smoke the first team turns on its water and begins hosing down the flames spreading on construction equipment just visible outside the repository.  They advance methodically, and begin to disappear into the large clouds of steam that rapidly roil from the fire.  Just as the last man on the hose is being enveloped, a large silhouette appears out of the smoke and steam, and the entire hose is yanked free from the tank truck, sending a wild spray of water uselessly into the air.  The firefighters manning the truck try only briefly to turn the water off as the large silhouette resolves itself into a large charging figure in ragged clothing.  They scatter before the white-skinned behemoth as he slams into the truck, flipping it on it's side.

_"Solomon Grundy.  

At this point, our on-the-ground news team was asked by city officials to evacuate to a safe distance.  It appears that Grundy came in search of the gold that was recovered by the new metas Warhawk and Ought, and became angered when he didn't find it.  Officials at the Repository had feared a second attempt, and the gold was instead housed at a satellite facility."_

Perspective shifts to over the scene as a shaky helicopter camera shows the devastation Grundy has caused.  Cranes, dump trucks, and porta-johns lay scattered and ablaze.  The camera zooms in on Grundy just as he looks up, apparently noticing something.  Following his gaze the camera settles on a winged figure carrying another, and just as the camera focuses on the distinctive armor of Warhawk and the odd-looking Ought, the frame is filled by a flying firetruck, still spraying water.  The camera zooms sharply back to catch both the aftermath of the collision, and the furrow the truck digs into Centennial Park's western edge.  Warhawk still flies, but Ought falls to land hard on the street, unmoving.  He is a strangely thin-waisted man wearing a white full body suit with variously-sized inky black dots moving randomly across its surface.  As Warhawk dives to his side, metallic feathers trailing from wide-spread arms, the slowly rotating picture slows to nearly frame-by-frame speed, with the broken firetruck in the upper right, the strange man and Warhawk in the center, and Grundy in the lower left.

_"We've slowed the footage at this point to show the arrival of another of Metropolis' newest metas.  At normal speed, he is only a streak of color, one that might seem mistakenly familiar to long-term Metropolis residents.  However, as will become painfully clear, while he is a Marvel, he is no Man of Steel."_

As Warhawk descends frame-by-frame toward his fallen comrade, a blurry figure in blue and gold flies in from the top of the screen, streaking towards Grundy.  As he gets closer, he opens his arms as if to scoop up the big zombie and carry him away, but he is met by Solomon's big left hand.  The Marvel's head cants awkwardly against the wide palm and his spine compresses painfully.  His legs and arms straighten out along Grundy's big arm as the huge fingers curl around his head and shoulders.  Suddenly, the picture jumps to normal speed as Grundy slams him into the pavement, cracks radiating several feet out.  It seems as if Grundy's hand disappears into the pavement to the wrist, and The Marvel's arms and legs flail at impact.  Grundy walks forward dragging the struggling Marvel and shouts at Warhawk, but the words are lost to the roar of helicopter blades.  The subtitle at the bottom of the screen says, "Where...Grundy's gold...?"

It is Ought who responds. The still figure seems to fold himself into one of his dots, disappearing, then reappears on a nearby rooftop.  He tears another dot free, and flings it like a discus at Grundy, its thin edge tearing a line in the behemoth's sleeve, but little else.  Warhawk's distinctive screech comes immediately after, buffeting the zombie.  Then, Solomon's left arm shoots up, and him with it as the camera tilts crazily, the pilot of the helicopter swerving to avoid the rapidly ascending pair.  Instead of letting go, Grundy clings to the smaller man as if in fear.  The camera zooms in on a calm-faced Marvel as he speaks to the wide-eyed zombie, who begins nodding in earnest.  After a few moments of this, the two descend slowly to the ground.  The three heroes gather around Solomon.

_"It appears the metas were negotiating for Grundy's cooperation.  Shortly after, Grundy leapt away east off the island, followed shortly after by Warhawk and The Marvel.  Ought stayed to update SCU units that were arriving in response to the incident.  This would seem to be the end of it, and indeed it is the last of our footage, however..."_

The picture changes to a shot of the pretty brunette reporter at night, standing in front of a day-care center with a temporary patch over a section of roof.
"I'm standing in front of the Hob's Bay Kindercare, where hours ago the battle with Solomon Grundy resumed under much more dangerous circumstances.  Luckily, a private citizen, under great personal risk, was on hand with his camcorder and we were able to obtain the following footage."

It starts mid-battle, the sounds of screaming children and parents mingling with the squeal of tires.  Grainy and shaky, it shows Warhawk mid-screen straining to lower an SUV to the ground without harming it's occupants.  Beside him, a black dot six feet in diameter appears in mid-air, Ought and The Marvel stepping through it.  Just over the SUV, Grundy can be seen bellowing at the heroes.  The Marvel walks forward to confront him, ramrod straight and calm.  Grundy reaches out with one hand, grabbing and flinging The Marvel over the big zombie's shoulder like a bride with a bouquet.  Twin attacks from Ought and Warhawk lash out, and though Ought's attack again cuts clothing, it does little to Grundy.  Warhawk's screech has changed in pitch and timbre from earlier, and this new sound seems to bother Grundy.  The behemoth bellows as he covers his ears, then leaps up and clocks Warhawk who sails, limbs trailing chin, over the cameraman and through the roof of the daycare center.  The screaming escalates and a glimpse of new panic around the daycare can be seen before the camera swings back to see Grundy leap onto a nearby rooftop.  Ought is nowhere in sight.  The news highlights the tiny returning figure of The Marvel as Grundy tears an air conditioning unit off of the top of the building and flings it at him.  Pieces of metal explode outward from the impact, and again The Marvel sails away, this time to crash into a high-rise office building.
The news again highlights a figure in the distance, a feminine form with outstretched wings.

_"At their worst moment, help arrives from the Justice League.  Responding to an SCU alert, Blackhawk lends some aid to the city's newest metas."_

The black-clad woman swoops in, her hereditary mace glittering with energy.  Ducking under Grundy's swipe, she connects with his chin, and his big head snaps back.  The two combatants prepare to strike again as a huge black dot appears between them.  It tilts and spins, falling flat.  Taken completely by surprise, Grundy and Blackhawk disappear.  Ought unfolds where they stood, and pulls a dot off of himself and hangs it in mid-air.  The returning Marvel streaks through it, as does a recovered Warhawk.  Ought steps through and the dot collapses.  The footage ends, and the reporter is back on camera.

"From the report filed to the SCU, Grundy was teleported to Salem, Massachusetts, where the combined effort of Blackhawk, Warhawk, The Marvel, and Ought subdued him at the base of Dr. Fate's tower.  As of this report, Solomon Grundy is now literally in the hands of fate.  The SCU and the Metropolis D.A.'s Office have both stated an intention to negotiate with Dr. Fate concerning the disposition of the alleged zombie.  They have made it clear that they want Grundy back at Rikers Island Penitentiary, to serve out the remainder of his multiple life sentences."  The camera pans out to show the Kindercare behind the reporter.  "The administrators of the Hob's Bay Kindercare told me earlier that Warhawk, Ought, and The Marvel returned to help, and were responsible for the temporary patch in the ceiling.  They also confirmed that although there were some injuries, there were no deaths here at the daycare."  The shot tightens again.  "And finally, Blackhawk gave an impromptu press conference on the steps of SCU Headquarters."

The steps of the SCU building at dusk, covered in reporters, with Blackhawk gamely trying to make her way through.  She's tall, with large, black-feathered wings and costume.  The familiar Nth-metal mace hangs at her side.  Her skin is the color of light coffee, and thick auburn hair spills over her shoulders from behind her hawk-mask.  She is a towering presence, and is using every ounce of it to try to get past the reporters.  They're having none of it, and won't give her the space to spread her wings.  They flutter in irritation as the questions fly at her.
_"Are the rumors about you and Nuklon true?"_
"Atom-Smasher.  And no, they're not.  We're just colleagues."
_"Do you think the Justice League's global policy distances themselves from the people they supposedly protect?"_
Flutter.  "We go where we're needed."
_"Does the Justice League ever get tired of saving other metas?"_
Flutter _snap_.  She leans in to the reporter who asked the question, eyes glittering.  "I suppose that's your clever way of getting me to say I saved the day today?  Let's get one thing straight:  The Marvel and his allies saved _you_ today.  I merely assisted in a serious situation.  Grundy doesn't learn fast, but he's had nearly 70 years of fighting the _best_ of us to do it.  Anyone willing to stand in his way deserves your respect."
_"Why didn't you name Warhawk just now?  Isn't he a member of the 'Hawk Family'?"_
Her lips draw thin as her wings finally find the room to spread. "No comment."
One leap and a flap that flutters reporters clothing, and she's gone.
_"Back to you, Snapper."_


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## threshel (Mar 22, 2005)

This is me pimping my game, which is looking for a few more players.  For details, go here:

MnM in Loudoun, Co. VA/DC Metro


J


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## Piratecat (Mar 25, 2005)

Nice pimping! Do we get more?


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## threshel (Mar 29, 2005)

Yessir, Mr. Cat, sir!


We only play once a month, and that was March's session.  Once they do more, I'll post more.
J


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## threshel (Apr 18, 2005)

*Ought*

The glow of the large screen was the only light in the small mountain cave.  Standing before it, Ought’s gaunt frame cast a long shadow on the opposite wall.  The two black dots that served as his eyes flicked slightly as he scanned the news reports.  “Justice League Establishes Temporary HQ in India”, and “Metropolis’ Newest Meta Holds Press Conference” flashed by, nearly too quickly to read.  The large tape spools on the computer whirred, the only sound in the room.  Even constructed of old technology, such was the genius of its builder that the computer was still able to process data as fast as Ought required.

One look at Ought proved his artificial nature.  At first glance, he seemed to be a thin man wearing a full white body suit, with a full mask.  Alas, such was not the case.  The shallow bump of a nose, the slight line where a mouth would be, the nearly flat places were ears should be were not the coverings of fabric, but his very real face, and the white “fabric” was his skin.  Drifting like restless clouds over his entire body were large black dots.  Some were as small as a hand, fingers spread.  Others were as nearly as large as his torso, always wrapped around the curve of chest or shoulder, too big to show fully.  All swallowed light whole, leaving no bits to shine.  His build was lithe and athletic, but his abdomen impossibly thin, belying his lack of intestine.  Below that, only smooth skin, and the muscles necessary for locomotion.  Even the appellation “he” was only in evidence in his muscular structure.  Over his left breast was the only thing on his body that wasn’t a black dot:  a single brand of the numeral "0".

Ought didn’t need to touch the computer to make it work.  All he had to do was stand and will it.  Ought wasn’t interested in the news, not really.  At least, not any more than he was interested in anything else.  Ought was 5 years old, and Ought was only months free from the place that created him.  This was his first night in Warhawk’s Aerie, and mostly, Ought was looking because he could.

That’s why it came as such a surprise when his screen cleared, and large letters filled the blank space:
“Oh.  There you are.”


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## threshel (Apr 18, 2005)

*Warhawk*

The slender man tossed in his bed, sleeping in anti-strobes of unconsciousness.  He could hear the large computer whirring and clicking in the main hall, but it wasn’t Ought’s nighttime surfing that was keeping him up.  John Carter was coming to grips.  

When he had come to floating in the tank, not remembering who he was or what he was doing there, he started trying to piece together what he knew.  Almost immediately he had seen the hawksuit, it’s artificial wings trailing from its arms, crested helmet on the stand next to it.  As he had dried himself of the viscous fluid, he walked around, looking at everything.  While he had no memory of this place, he seemed to know what everything was.  That part of it, though, felt like deduction, not memory.  It became obvious he had some skills.  He recognized the grill on the front of the helmet as a sonic projector, he could name the tools on the workbenches, and he knew their functions.  The laboratory cave was connected to a central cavern, and three others branched out from it.  The nearest one ran to a hall with several rooms, and in one he had found clothing and identification that named him as John Carter, along with a letter of acceptance to a job in a place called Metropolis.  He had even looked in the mirror to match the face to the driver’s license.  The other rooms had been empty, but looked as if they could hold as many as five others comfortably.  The large main cavern was dominated by a monitor screen as wide as he was tall, and beside it a large computer sat, massive tapes behind plastic shields.  On the opposite side of the main cavern from the lab and living quarters were two other rooms carved from the rock: a library one had to step down into, the books in tall shelves.  A catwalk ringed the room halfway up, a metal staircase spiraling upwards to meet it.  There was also a chessboard, and comfortable furniture, along with a gas fireplace.  The room was decorated in bird motif, but conspicuously lacked any taxidermy.  The last of the rooms was a foyer of sorts; with french doors looking out onto a solid rock plateau under bright blue sky.  He had opened the doors, wearing nothing, and carrying only the towel.  The thin, frigid air quickly took his breath, and sent shivers crawling.  He had ignored it and walked out onto the plateau, only to find it end in a sheer drop into the clouds below.

It hadn’t taken John long to search the computer, and discover the Warhawk identity.  After some thinking, John came to the realization that he was a superhero, and after a particularly calamitous battle, must have hauled himself into the tank for much needed healing.  Healing that evidently hadn’t fully repaired the damage to his brain.

But John reported to his employer (after figuring out that he was in the mountains west of Metropolis) and made it work out.  Being a new job, he hadn’t needed to remember anyone, and his skills made the engineering work easy.  On his off hours, he patrolled as Warhawk, and although the city was strange to him, he made it work.  No one knew him, but given the newness of the job, it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure out that he was new in town, anyway.  Knightwing had stopped by to see who the knew meta was, and had even visited the Aerie, noting its technology looked familiar, but was from before his time.  In the end, the grandson of Superman had given his blessing, and flown away.

None of this, however, was the reason that John Carter was having trouble sleeping.  The loss of memory was troubling, but the hero work felt so right, like he was born to it.  He didn’t question it, and figured that he’d solve his personal mystery in time.  He had the rest of his life to discover his past.  He had found his life’s purpose, and counted himself lucky for doing so.

No, the reason he couldn’t sleep was due to his visit to Star Labs shortly before the fight with Grundy.  He had explained his problem, and they had run tests on him for most of an afternoon.  He didn’t expect to hear anything concrete from them, and in fact, hadn’t.  He had heard from an irate JLA’er, a tall winged woman with a dark and furious face, who threw documents at him in his own foyer and demanded answers.

John couldn’t sleep because he was coming to grips with the realization that he had all the memories it was possible for him to have.  There was no past for him to discover.  The documents from Star Labs proved that he was a clone of Blackhawk’s father, a man named Carter Hall.
The world knew him as Hawkman.


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## threshel (Apr 19, 2005)

*Ought*

He didn’t bother with the monitor.  He didn’t really _need_ to see the computer’s output, anyway.  Bathed in the monitor’s blank blue light, he stood perfectly still, and raced through the binary landscape, tracing the transmission.
“Who are you?”  He sends.
“You’ll see.”  The reply. 
It is mere text, devoid of emotional content, but it gave him fresh data for the trace.  Ought worried for the sanctity of the Aerie, and in the pale blue light, lines creased his face.  The cyber landscape blurred past him, his connections made at impossible combinations of the speeds of light and thought.  For a brief moment he was catching up, and then his trail ran out, the landscape resolving into a great barrier stretching from all horizons across his path.  By all the data he had, he was at the source, but he knew this to be a lie.  He was at a firewall (he had always though that such a curious name), a fabrication designed to hide the true source.  Briefly he tried to find a way around, but this wasn’t like the flimsy barriers he normally encountered.  In fact, he had been created to bypass this type of barrier by being on site.  So that is where he turned his efforts.
A few minutes of searching turned up the likely owner of the firewall, a company called GGC, Inc.
Ought stopped, and rubbed his temples.  It was late when he began surfing.  Any more and he’d start making mistakes.  It wasn’t as if there was a landline that could be tracked back to the Aerie.  He’d just been discovered online, although that was disconcerting enough.
Ought shut down the computer, and walked back towards the bedrooms.  As was his habit, he scanned the Aerie, his portal eyes seeing through most surfaces.  He saw that Warhawk was well enough, and that no others occupied the small group of caves.  He had to walk around a bit to be sure, the imperfect nature of his vision unable to see through the aluminum components of the machinery of the lab and computer.  Ought was used to being imperfect.  Wasn’t that the reason he failed in his tests for the government?  Wasn’t that the reason he had been scheduled for disposal, and fled?  Ought didn’t sigh, but only because he wasn’t able.  Ought went to the last bedroom in the hall, and sat down in a chair to begin his recuperative phase.


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