George looked at his cards, looked up across the table, and back at the cards. He bit his lip. Finally he asked, "Does a straight beat a flush?"

Edison tried not to smile. His partner looked like a twenty-something hipster, but sometimes acted a lot younger. Point one: George had blown off his friends, who were going to a club to pretend to listen to droning electronica, to hang out and play cards. Point two: He wanted to play poker, just like his father. Point three: They did this almost every month, and George still couldn't remember how to play.

For Ophilia it was just another day.  She was a bit frustrated with the events that had unfolded last night at the auction, and was still upset with her best friend, Christie Danner.  Irritation aside, she was also troubled with her own conundrum that she'd stepped into when she'd won Stone at the bachelor event.  The general emotions of the night had been a turmoil from others, and she still didn't know how deep that stunt had put her.  Little did she know that the crux of her world was but a minor blemish compared to what her teammates at the auction had suffered.

This is the tale of how Vincento Luciano DiSantiago dies.

It's not a good death, esepcially from Vincento's point-of-view. It came as a surprise, as death often does, though in a DiSantiago's case it really shouldn't have. They are special people, with special privilidges. The world is their toy, to do with as they please. No gate is locked, no secret safe, should a DiSantiago bend their will towards obtaining access to these things. But there is a price for the power they wield on earth.

A terrrible, terrible price - one that cannot be avoided.

Avatar followed the faint sound of music through the garage. He'd stuck his head in here months ago when Ophilia gave him the official tour; back then it was a large, sterile space with a few token shelving units and worktables. Now the shelves and work surfaces had multiplied and there was a whiff of oil and Lava in the air.  At the far end of the garage, where the music became recognizable as Pink Floyd, the hoverbikes sat in a neat row, exciting and intimidating under their canvas coverings. 

Walking through the hospital, the young intern nodded in greeting as he passed some familiar faces, but did not stop for a chat. A high profile patient had recently arrived, and it had cost him a pretty penny to be the on call when they arrived. He reached the elevator bank and pressed the button, standing back to wait for his car. Fairly quickly, it arrived and the doors slid open, revealing the buxom blond candy striper he’d been hitting on recently.

"Hey bunny" he said with a smile

"Hi" she replied with a little blush "You goin to the party tonight?"

"You goin?" He stepped into the elevator, brushing against her as he passed, giving her a charming smile.

Hudson City
Where Heroes Lose Their Innocence

Mary Chadwick of Happy Time Consulting.

photo by Phliar Shamiim.

The sweat soaked and stressed trio that had disarmed the bomb at the Justice Building, were beyond grateful to see Chip Wolfe leaning up against the limo outside.  It was illegally parked, but security assumed that the right palms had been greased and that he was entitled to be there.  Hudson City justice was highly influenced by who paid who what, so often times if you looked like you belonged, not a brow would be raised.  Drop the right name and just about anything could be forgiven.