Media Blitz

(Insert Current Events in : http://superhero-rpg.forumotion.com/t1745-sim-s-call-for-help-quest-thread )

The Samaritan flew home at top speed, the smile on his face didn't leave the whole time. This was his first real chance to show that he was a real Super Hero, like his hero, Captain Superior. He had watched Captain Superior's exploits since his childhood and the man embodied every aspect of the lifestyle that The Samaritan wanted to emulate. The Samaritan knew better than to believe ,the less than spectacular, press that Capitan Superior had received now that he was retired. He had learned first hand after the apprehension of El Ray, how blood hungry the paparazzi could be. They had drug his new friend Sul-fury over the coals about some poor civilians that weren't lucky enough to make it through their super-battle; without even mentioning the majority that they'd saved.

The Samaritan's mind began to race at the thought, the images of the drug filled other's that had been in the poor girl's apartment. What if news of being sighted with a bunch of hipster druggies got out? How would he escape the stigma? Well there was only one thing he could do....find a away to remove them from the equation. He would have to find away, that' s all their was too it.

As he reached home, he bolted back into his 'Secret Liar" (Bomb shelter in the back yard) and changed back into his civilian clothes in a flash. Before exiting to go up and tell his wife the surprising news about his unexpected trip, he stopped and caressed his latest trophy one more time. He was truly proud of this accomplishment, it was the first in a long line of tangible items that revealed his true nature to the world. He bent in to give the damaged Tesla coil a small kiss, the coursing energy that still clung to the item jumped out and zapped his impenetrable lip. He laughed and patted it on it's top like a overly playful puppy. Finalizing his business in his lair, he gave a final wink to his autographed glossy picture of the golden age, Captain Superior.

Once he arrived back topside, He closed the heavy doors to his retro bomb shelter, remembering to struggle a bit for the old nosey, busy-body watching next door. He turned and waved at her window, and she was of course there watching.

Albert strode in the back door of his quaint split level 'cookie-cutter' ranch domicile. He whistled happily closing the door behind him. "Honey...I am home....I hope you aren't still miffed with me....Honey?...Dear are you here? I have some really great news....Germany....Honey.....The Office is sending me to Germany for an international Stamp exhibit...Can you believe my luck?" He was saying as he walked around his impossibly quiet house.

As he reached the back of the house, he heard his worst fears realized. A soft but pained groaning was coming from the his master bedroom His first thought was of course that his poor dear high-school sweetheart, turned devoted wife was hurt, that some evil villain had determined his secret identity and was now torturing sweet Marylou. The Samaritan, now in the guise of his more mundane persona, Albert Wagner; bolted for his bedroom door and smashed right threw it.

The sight inside was simply more than his simple, innocent mind, could comprehend. Instead of finding a costumed Super Villain standing manically over his dearest wife as she was strapped to some menacing looking device, he found a the truth of the matter much more disagreeable. There, posed naked, straddling a well endowed black man, was his betrothed on their own bed. She was in the height of ecstasy and moaned like he had never heard before. The Samaritan's mouth hung open as if he'd been hit by a baseball bat, he laid on the floor dumbstruck.

Later; as Albert sat on a city bus headed for the studio district to meet up with his temporary team of Super-Misfits to help young Sim; He sat a shaken man. His mind simply racing at the events that had just occurred.

"Get out!" that's all she had said as she pointed back out the doorway he'd smashed through. The strange man; of African heritage beneath her only looked on in a dazed and confused. The shock of it all had knocked all sense from Albert's head and he simply stood up and backed out the room. At first fiddling with the destroyed pieces of the door, trying to close the shattered entryway but then realizing it was useless cause. He stood up in the hall and stood staring at the dark wall blankly for a few seconds before finally wandering back out into the living room to plop down on the couch.

Marylou had come out a few minutes later, with the athletically built repairman following behind her. He nodded as he past left post hast. Marylou stood in front of him with her hands on her hips and a quizzical, yet angry look on her face. "He got some grease on his work shirt and I was helping him get it out....." She said flatly, in a cold and emotionless tone. Albert nodded, still dumb founded. "It was real rude to come busting in like that, You came off like a real jerk...." She said starting to gain momentum. Albert only nodded and continued staring in her make-smeared eyes.

And that was that, She was surprisingly happy when he told her about his trip. She had even told him he needed the vacation and to not worry about her. Which was surprising after how upset she'd been with him embarrassing her in front of a perfectly honest repairman, who just so happened to have the sort of ethics that deemed keeping a clean appearance at all times. There was a darn good reason that Marylou was the apple of his eye since the 8th grade, It was her ability to forgive and forget. What a real 'gem' she was, boy-howdy what a lucky guy he was.

As Albert Wagner III watched out the graphitti covered bus window as he quietly rode back toward Sim's bullet riddled apartment, the bus stopped at a traffic light. Outside was the decadent sight Albert had been waiting for since he first moved out to LA. It was a movie premiere with a red carpet and a line of stars getting their pictures snapped. Albert glanced up at the large glowing sign outside the theater and saw, "Captain Superior vs the Emperor's Giant Kamakazi Robot'. The latest in a string of WWII epic's that the now retired hero had put out to bolster his popularity.

Albert sat up straight and started scanning the crowd of people's faces, and as he checked off movie star after movie star, he finally came to the one that made his jaw drop. There dressed in an all white tuxedo was the man, the myth, the legend; Captain superior himself. The aging superman stood posed as the paparazzi rattled off pictures of his dapper form, complete with the latest starlet; Vermillion Johenson on his arm. The former hero was starting to age a bit, his formerly jet black hair now wearing grey sides. His squinted blue eyes, now carried the age perfect creases of a man of his distinguishment. Though a small pouch had appeared to take the place of his once perfect wash-board abs, his posture was as straight as a steel girder.

Albert wasn't about to miss his chance to at least greet his childhood hero and reached up and pulled the bus's stop cord. In his excitement he snapped the metal laced cord free, he barely noticed though as he raced to the front of the bus and exited. As he ran out on to the street he saw a secluded alley and ducked in long enough to strip off his cheesy tourist disguise and in to the white unitard that was the Samaritan's costume. He made sure to pick any small lint balls off and tried his best to smack the wrinkles out of his red cape. He ran back out toward the crowd of people,.but realized he'd taken too long to manicuring his outfit, the Captain had gone inside already.

The feeling of sadness started to creep up, maybe even a reminiscent memory of the strange encounter he'd caught his dear wife in earlier, but he brushed the negative emotions aside and strode forth. As he reached the line of photographers he pushed his way through; saying 'excuse me' to everyone he displaced. As he reached the front and made a grasp for the gold door handle, his wrist was caught by the black clad security officer standing by.

"Where do you think your going buddy? This is a closed screening!" The large shaved head black man growled.

"Aaaahhhh I am....I am the Samaritan.....I am here to introduce myself to Captain Superior....I stopped a bank robbery yesterday, you might have heard of me!" The Samaritan preened like a school boy proud of finally climbing the rope to conclusion in gym class.

"NOPE.....I haven't and Like I said...this is a closed screening buddy...back off!" The security officer retorted, not even bothering to look the Samaritan in the eye as he spoke.

It was then that a strange feeling began to whelm up in the pit of the otherwise normally contently goofy Super Hero. It started slow as if building up to some explosion, it was anger. An emotion, that if one asked anyone that knew Albert Wagner III would say he was literally incapable of. But here it was and it caused his body to tremble with rage. He leaned in close to the security guard, finally the muscled bald man gave formal regard and looked back at the toe-headed super hero. Small tines of electricity crept from the corners of the his eyes as tears streamed down his face.

"I SAID I AM THE SAMARITAN....MOVE ASIDE NOW OR I WILL MOVE YOU!" The demand growled out of the goofy looking cliche super heroes mouth and was as off putting to all in ear shot. The electricity sparked out of the pupils of his eyes and cracked against the oiled black security guards face. He stepped to one side and held the door of the theater open allowing the Samaritan entry.

The Samaritan strode in keeping up the guise of his tough guy attitude long enough to make it into the lobby. Suddenly a huge grin erupted onto his visage and he giggled stupidly. He simply couldn't believe that that had come out of him.The attitude or the sudden electrical discharge. He felt guilty for loosing his temper but also a bit proud, that after all these years he finally had got his way, instead of playing other's door mat. The overwhelming feeling of accomplishment was so much so, that he almost lost track of what he was doing. His childhood hero was now, no more than a few feet from him, and as he walked backward, laughing back at the door he bumped into the star's entourage.

The Champaign glass exploded in Captain Superior's hand and rained down all over the Samaritan's cape and costume. A powerful shove smacked our hero in the back and he spun around to see the slighted star staring with utter animosity at him.

"What the F*ck is your problem idiot?" Captain superior screamed as his barely legal starlet winced.

The Samaritan stared awkwardly, he couldn't even bring words to his mouth, he stuttered and stumbled and looked as foolish as a starstuck fool that he was.

"I said what's your problem fanboy?" The Captain repeated.

"aaaahhhh that is.....I am sorry....I aaahhhh My name is..." The Samaritan started to say but was cut off.

"Just watch where yer going ok...Your lucky this is my new movie premiere or I would show you how to behave in public smuck! ....So what do you want? huh? you want an autograph right.....fine here." Captain Superior said in a dismissive tone, before pulling out a permanent black magic marker and scratching his sloppy signature onto the white fabric of the Samaritan's costume's chest. The Samaritan could only watch in horror as his last good costume was besmirched. " Now do me a favor and F*ck off...ok?" The former superman said as he wiped the white powdered residue from his nose and rubbed it on his gums. He snatched the young starlet up and strode off back into the crowd, leaving the Samaritan standing there mouth agape.

"the....samaritan...i am...your ....biggest fan..." The Samaritan finished, staring down at the black signature that was scrawled across his chest. He turned in silence and made his way back out to the street. He flew all the way back to the apartment in which he'd met the young girl in silence as well. Once he arrived, he found that the motley group of heroes for hire had already departed. Almost oblivious to the fact he strode inside and plopped down on to the bullet riddled couch. He began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks and landing on the now smudged signature of his childhood hero.

OCC: Events take place after:
http://superhero-rpg.forumotion.com/t1829-bloody-roots-of-the-family-tree


The Samaritan flew back across the Pacific Ocean at top speed, his destination was LA, his purpose was to find out what happened to the young girl, Sim, that had asked for his help. He had a bad feeling about having left the innocent looking girl with those derelict, drug addict 'heroes'. No doubt, in his mind, that they'd lead her astray and she was turning tricks on the seeder side of town by now.

On the brighter side of things, though, He'd had a great time in Germany. Other than the strange dream he'd had, his fatherland was everything he dreamed it would be. This point had been driven home just before leaving, when after the battle with the crazed robots, The German press had written him up with such positive reviews. Not like back home in LA, where the press only wanted to talk about the damage caused. The German's only seemed to focus on the tragedy adverted. They had cheered him, called him the new David Hasselhoff of heroism in Germany. The LA press would have focused on his unfortunate costume choice, but the German's barely noticed.

That reminded him, he'd have to see about getting a new costume as soon as he got home. Flying around dressed as Capitan Superior was liable to catch him a lawsuit from the noted figures lawyers. Not to mention the slight his idol had given him by brushing him off in the manner he did, when they'd met, just a week earlier. That nasty though he had to push to the back of his head, negativity wasn't prudent when engage with a task and his task was to get home and find out what happened to that poor tortured girl.

In fact, he was so obsessed with that mission that he'd pushed the memory of blasting that robot with some sort of unknown energy power he'd manifested during the battle, to the back of his mind. It sat there, gnawing away, the question of what it was and where'd it come from. His photographic memory was enough to trigger the image of fighting El Ray, but his conscience occupied itself with pressing matters. What ever it was, he just hoped he could maintain control over it. All he knew was that when he'd released it he was overcome with feelings of unbridled rage and the need to scorch everything. Those sorts of feelings were not something he'd experienced before, and in truth they scared him.

He cruised in to California and landed at a local hero-approved costume shop,there were plenty to pick from in the land of Hollywood. It was pricey but with the gold Krugerrand the mayor had given him in reward for saving the city he managed to place the order for three new uniforms. The Tailor barely noticed that the Samaritan was in a Captain Superior outfit. The Samaritan,in turn, probably still influenced by the German style he'd taken in on his little impromptu vacation decided to make a few modifications to his uniform' s specifications. After all, It wasn't that uncommon for heroes to update their look from time to time. Even the famous alumni of the League of Legends, themselves had had several incarnations of their costumes and coat of arms over the years. He ordered something modern and sheik that idealized the new pride he felt from visiting his forefather's land. The Tailor helped with making it fashoinable and when they were through they agreed on the design. (NEW Costume design 'coming soon'!!!).

After stopping and picking up another set of civilian clothes, he changed in a phone booth. The thing was dusty and old, because literally everyone communicated cellularly anymore. The Samaritan realized the irony in it; He was just as out dated, a stereotype, as the phone booth he was hanging in . The world had moved on, and so should he. No more could he continue to hold himself to the standards of Golden age idealism held by the creators of the genre. No more apologizing for what he was, he was a Hero, and if people didn't like it, too bad. For the first time since he'd found out he had superpowers he felt truly empowered.

The Samaritan walked out on to the Street and started back toward his house. He wanted to check in with his darling wife before starting his search for Sim.

(open to any character currently in LA)

A photo… depicting a blond middle aged man in his prime, alongside him was a teenage girl with brown hair, you could tell they were related… his daughter. She was holding a trophy of some sort, behind the two was a poster board… it seemed to be a science contest. Suddenly, a tear dripped onto the glossy surface of the photo, but it was quickly wiped away. The photo was put down and as the person swiveled his chair around, you could catch a glimpse of his reflection… it was the middle-aged man, but he was no longer smiling… his face now held many lines, his hair was graying from sadness. As he looked out across the city, his thoughts went to the day… the day his beloved Katy died. He smiled slightly as he remembered how happy she had been when he offered to take her to the Science Center… but this happy memory slowly faded to be replaced with what had happened afterwards. The villains storming in and promising their safety if they only complied… then, the teenager who decided she wanted to play hero… his fist clenched in anger as he remembered the audacity of the girl… and how she had caused Katy’s death. He smiled mirthlessly, he wouldn’t kill her, Katy would never like that… no, he would make sure she struggled and suffered her whole life… but first he must find out who she is. With that, media mogul Chet Rokson made a vow to find the teen that caused his daughter’s life…

---

“Hello hello baby you called I can’t hear a thing…” Alice sang as she walked down the street, a small smile on her face as she walked at a leisurely pace. Her steps were paced to the beat of the song playing on her iPod and as she walked, her hands made small motions, as if conducting or dancing. Today had been a wonderful day, it wasn’t too warm, a nice breeze was blowing through, she didn’t have any homework, and so much more. She paused for a second, simply looking up at the sky. LA was… it was simply LA, but for a second, she could imagine herself walking home from a friend’s house... except she was back in Texas. She shook her head, looking back down, “Best not think about that.” She thought with a sigh before starting to walk again.

Further down the street, a car was driving in a chaotic pattern, inside was a group of college kids, high on who the hell knows what. As they barreled down the street, they drove on the curb, hitting mailboxes before curving back on to the street. Alice didn’t notice any of this, her music turned up so high that outside noise was just about nonexistent. But as the car swerved closer and closer, she paused, “What is that noise?” she thought, turning around. At that exact moment, the drivers swerved onto the sidewalk, heading straight towards Alice. The teenagers inside didn’t notice, so busy they were in laughing their heads off at something that was only amusing to them.

Alice watched as the car barreled closer and closer to her, her body rigid in fear. As if was about eight feet away, something happened… Alice felt like some of her energy was simply… gone, causing her to nearly collapse. The teenagers seemed to hear something and finally looked her way, their eyes widened fear and they quickly swerved. The car missed hitting her head on… but as it swerved, the back of the car hit her, causing her to fly back slightly. She landed on the ground, limp. She slowly struggled to a sitting position… but the car was now spinning out of control and seemed to be about to crash. She jumped up, and nearly landed on her face before catching herself. She was going to do what she could… like hell she was going to let anyone else die on her watch. The image of the dead hostages flashed in her mind, creating a greater incentive for her to save the hapless teens. With that, she focused, hoping she’d succeed…

The Samaritan had returned home; unfortunately to an empty house. His wife and girlfriend since highschool had simply left a note:

'Dear Al,

I hope that you can find what you are looking for. We have grown apart and I need my needs to be filled in a way that you can not give me. I will not be coming home,

Best of luck,idiot!
signed, Your-soon-to-be-well-paid- Ex-wife. '


He read it, stood stupidly in his own empty kitchen, and then crumbled the piece of yellow legal paper up into a ball before tossing it into the garbage like a used grocery list. It was nothing more than that, a bit of information that was no longer useful. She was upset for one reason or another and would return soon; like she's done three times before, once she'd run out of money. He knew this from experience and nothing was going to change in the near future. Hell, it was practically his own fault; the Samaritan felt. All those nights leaving the Missus alone while he was off honing his abilities and fighting street crime had left his poor devote wife to submit to the company of others. He was just plain lucky she'd return to him at all, meanwhile he could engage in superherodom to it's fullest.

Most of which he spent in his secret lair (AKA a repurposed bomb shelter in his back yard. ) He spent his time waiting for his new costume and reading the international hoopla about his success in Germany and the regions general acceptance of his presence. Going so far as to pass out at the screen; and after that the dark artifact worked it's wares. It was easy to relax around the fractured trophy he'd won after defeating El Ray. It seemed to sooth him in a way that only the thought of obtaining more trophies from defeated villains could. And what of the new power he'd displayed over across the pond? Certainly a gift from God proving that what he was doing was right in the eyes of the Lord. People needed correcting, that was all there was to it.

While the Samaritan slept; the dark blue electrical twines crept in to his body, filling him with whatever dark energy El Ray was custodian to while in possession of this wicked power generator. The dark energy seeped in and filled the good natured hero's head, changing neurological pathways and forming new thought patterns. All the while the innocent hero was unaware.

By the third day the Samaritan's new costumes were ready. He left with a giant grin on his face, but when he got to the tailor it quickly faded. This Artisan had neglected their original agreement and went with a much flashier design. It was a red body suit with a white and gold, half-cape; worn to the side. The boots and gloves were black and the insignia was now a large black 'S' thunderbolt with a white circle around it ( New costume design coming soon, I promise!). Not what he'd ordered and had a surprising resemblance to a Nazi flag. After much discussion and bickering, the Samaritan was left with little option but to take the serviced costumes with a begrudged thank-you an a less than generous tip. That night after adorning it in his floor-to-ceiling mirror, he'd decided he actually liked the change. It was regal and if his actions reflected his good intent, then he thought it just may work.

That night as he cruised the skyline in patrol;his first night back; he saw her. The girl on the internet that had used her powers without responsibility and given Superheroes a bad name, here in beautiful LA. Media Mogul, Chet Rokson's dearest daughter had been killed in a failed hostage situation due to this hussies actions. She was a blight on to the good name of 'do-gooders' and she needed to be 'put- down'; or atleast thats what the internet said. All he had to do is capture this prostitute of power and the fickle American press would love him like the more liberal press in Europe.

His enhanced sight peered down as he watched, the beat-boxing,free spirited youth meander down the boardwalk, provocatively dancing to suggestive music. The poor car of innocent civilian youth's veering a little too near the volatile , obvious Meta-human. The poor humans never saw it coming, an attack from the obvious super-villain girl. The innocent human's vehicle spins out of control at her whim the Samaritan leaps into action.

Both fists pointed he charges downward at the girl. The intent is to frighten her though; not actually hit. He figures he can scare her off her current 'path of destruction' and then swoop off in time to save the car by sweeping it off the ground.

Even as Alice focused her powers, somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was saying that this was a VERY BAD IDEA. She was wearing her purple shirt and unwillingly... the very same vest from the museum. It was a slightly chilly night and she found herself with only the vest that she had accidently forgotten in her drawstring bag which conveniently, covered the symbol. But despite that, her clothes were remarkably like the girl on the youtube videos, despite the lack of goggles, black cargo capris, and the bandanna covering the lower half of her face... and that was not a good thing. But hey, if there was one thing that was great about what she was wearing... it was pretty common, this was LA with its many styles and such. Either way, it was much too late now.

When the car had hit her, her ear buds had been pulled out so she could now hear clearly. And as she was about to raise her hand and summon the shadows... there seemed to be a whooshing sound, like the one you hear in cartoons when someone was going way fast... and it seemed to be heading towards her. She turned around quickly to see a man... it was the Samaritan, she had read and internet article about him... none of the comments were flattering but hey, welcome to LA. Either way though, he was flying straight towards her, fists outstretched. From whatever expression she could make out on his face as he flew closer and closer at very high speeds… he was angry and about to attack her. Instinctively, she put her hands up to “protect herself’.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline from her previous near death experience but no matter what the reason was, she felt herself going weak again as her very volatile secondary power activated. A wave of invisible energy blasted out and anyone caught in it was going to relive their worst fears… of course the length of the effect simply depended on their willpower… the teenagers in the car having next to none. They were still screaming, fighting off nightmares that only they could see… a perfect example of the power of the human mind.

She felt her own energy deplete again, with it, a feeling of nausea that she had learned that meant she was overusing her powers… which was strange since to her knowledge… she hadn’t gotten to summon the shadows yet, even if she had, it wouldn’t have been so long to get this much of a reaction. As she fell to the ground, she blacked out, hitting the ground. A few seconds later, she reassumed consciousness, head swimming and vision blurry. She was going to be in no position to do anything for a few moments.

After what seemed like an eternity of an attack flight, the Samaritan finally came into range. It was just then that some unknown force washed over him. It didn't stop his momentum, but it certainly affected his mind. His invisible body flew; arched in shock and completely out of control instead of the calculated plan he'd gone in with. The villainous slut had again used her voodoo and created havoc. First the dear departed daughter of media mogul, Chet Rokson, now these poor helpless youths out on a Sunday drive. The Samaritan crashed down and instead of dexterously lifting the car to safety; he smashed into it instantly killing everyone inside.

The Samaritan wasn't injured at all, his impenetrable hide more than capable of absorbing ten times that sort of impact and consequential explosion but his mind was another story. The first thing he noticed was that it didn't hit him....the wave. His body absorbed it, like the energy it absorbed from the Tesla coil heart he stored at his home base. The effects however were felt full force. His mind filled and his vision went blank as the movie reel of images surged in front of his eyes. He saw himself first rising to power and becoming the predominant superhero in the known world, then the galaxy. He saw his own image change with the times, a pupa turning into a butterfly if ever there was one. But then the vision changes; it gets darker. He watches himself turn into the Antichrist. True to his word, he has united the world, but only under his boot heel. Hitler, Napoleon, and him; the newest incarnation all mixed into one.

The Samaritan's silhouette rose up out of the flaming wreck that was the ill-intentioned car. It had never made it to the telephone poll it was headed toward but then again the damage was far worse; at least to them it was. The Samaritan shook the negative thoughts from his brain; sparks slew off as he marched toward the downed girl. He reached down and grasped her by the throat, raising her into the air like a rag doll. A sinister grin arose one his face for the very first time in his formerly innocent life. It may have been the an after effect from seeing his worst fear and it may have just been a simple concussion; either way it crept onto his orange glowing visage.

His mind raced at the choices in front of him. He knew this female accessory to terrorism needed to be brought to justice, but whether to take her directly to the police or to the man that had the power to elevate your public profile to the upper echelons of celebrity. That was the clear choice; Chet Rokson; he certainly had enough influence to spin the Samaritan's public image in the right direction. Not to mention the case he could bring against foolish Meta-humans that used their power unwisely and not with the publics safety in mind.

The Samaritan ripped an aluminum sign post out of the ground, bent it around the girl's torso, and pinned her arms against her body. He flew off in the direction of the famous media giant's noted mansion. Certainly this offering of the guilty tramp that was responsible for his daughter's death would satisfy as payment in full for a full and positively lit media spin.