Accept the challenges so that you can feel the exhilaration of victory.
New York City successfully had resources, and as a result, Doom had every intention of celebrating. Of course that wasn’t his only victory -- quite the contrary, Doom had numerous things to celebrate, including the general public’s support. The demand to list their powers with him, giving him every insight into his primary enemy, the superheroes of New York City, was echoing across the city, loud and obvious. There were countless articles written, protests taking place, and lastly, Doom wanted to celebrate the fact that heroes were slowly beginning to trust him as well. He had yet to communicate closely with them, knowing avoidance was crucial with numerous telepaths and ‘geniuses,’ but soon the time would come.
First Doom wanted to reward the public, his supporters and naysayers, and to do so he sent out invitations to a lavish party hosted at his home, the Empire State Building. With resources found in the wasteland, his staff created a small but lovely menu, and a large area was erected with decorations and a large banner that simply said, ‘Thank you New York City!’ From the outside, the party looked like one being thrown solely to recognize their small victory, a reminder that New Yorkers would persevere. In actuality, it was an opportunity for Doom to bond with the public and later reveal the superheroes that had listed, creating more pressure against those that had not.
Alexis Chamberlain was not supportive of Doom’s plan, clearly stating that Doom would only further isolate his supporters and encourage the overall distrust, but her opinion was completely ignored. Doom personally ensured that invitations were sent out to every superhero and resident, gathering the largest audience he possibly could. The party would be a success and his plan flawless as they all had been thus far.
Weeks later, guests began arriving to Doom’s celebration, and staff circled closely around, handing out food and beverage. The demons were kept at bay by Doom’s small personal military (and his orders), allowing a much safer environment, and the curfew was lifted for the evening. From above, Doom kept a close eye on the guests, not yet revealing his presence. He wanted this night memorable, he wanted the civilians complicit, and that would take time. Their tension and skepticism would have to be released.
Live music began playing loudly and Doom continued watching, waiting for the opportune moment for his plan to begin.
How to participate in the event:
Currently, Doom is just intending for people to enjoy themselves. Your character can find a date, attend with friends, watch the band, dance, eat, etc. We encourage people to post closed and open starters (keeping in mind our rules regarding this) and just have some light threads! Why so serious?
In roughly a week, we will be posting the second half of the event/plot drop and things will become much more dramatic, but no spoilers! Right now, just get your fluff on and remember to tag all your threads/starters/etc as ‘rebuildevent5′!
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At 8pm on the dot, Karl Orse stepped onto a small stage that had been erected in the back of the room. He approached the podium in the center, and adjusted the microphone. It took only a moment for the conversation in the room to fade, though the tension remained. “My fellow citizens,” he began. “The Accords and Accountability Panel welcomes you to this evening of peace. We hope you are enjoying both the delectable refreshments and the company of your fellow citizens, no matter where they may stand on the issues. But we did not come here for pleasantries, we have gathered together to seek solutions. In that spirit, we now invite all of you to step forward. To ask your questions, state your opinions, let your voice be heard. Too often in troubled times we forget that we are a community, that we all are human beings with a common goal -- a peaceful resolution to the problems plaguing our city.” He paused, staring out at the crowd with his pale, light eyes. Mouth drawn into a tight smile. “Who’s first?”
Send your questions (in-character) here or here, or if you wish to write a longer piece, tag @accordsandaccountabilitypanel in a starter! The admins will be stepping in to reply as quickly as we can! This will continue for the duration of the event, or until the admins specify otherwise.
The new year stands before us, like a chapter in a book, waiting to be written.
Each and every year, without fail, J. Jonah Jameson organized the New Year’s Bugle Bash. He was not going to let anything stand in the way of tradition. Not aliens. Not Spider-menaces. And certainly not the power swap -- though members of his own staff had been affected, cursed with powers that were not their own. He had to send three reporters home sick after one of them managed to explode a coffee pot somehow.
But journalists worked best under pressure. Despite all the setbacks, things were on track. They would hold it in Times Square, a testament that they were not afraid of these aliens! Or rogue heroes for that matter -- reports were flooding in of all kinds of “super” mix-ups and the mayhem it had caused. But those were stories for another issue. Today’s headlines were all about the upcoming bash.
The main article laid out the specifics: the food and drink vendors that would be present; the entertainment that had been booked to perform, free for all to watch! The world-renowned ball was ready to drop when the countdown hit zero. Balloons would be passed out, he’d had them made up special. They were in the shape of the Bugle’s horn (vaguely), with So Long 2017! on one side, and Trumpet in 2018! on the other. Most importantly, Jameson wrote a warning to all the heroes and vigilantes in the city: This has been a long year, particularly for those of us who’ve had to put up with “heroes” and their antics. To all those with “super” powers, whether by birth, mutation, experiment, or this most recent power swap -- leave the capes at home. Let’s have one night unspoiled by the superpowered among us. Let’s ring in the New Year normally!
Hopefully, that would suffice. Personally, he had his doubts. There were very few heroes in this city Jameson admired, even fewer he trusted. But he would not let anything happen to his Bugle Bash. It was important to hold onto traditions, in times like this.
WHAT’S HAPPENED:
The Daily Bugle is hosting a New Year’s Eve party! Balloons, food, music, and more. It’s all in Time’s Square, and everyone’s invited!
Your character is free to attend however they wish. Maybe they come in a group, or alone, with a date. They can stay all night, or just a few minutes. This is a very open-ended event.
It’s important to note that the Bugle has asked everyone to not use their superpowers. It’s not a ban, but if your character slips up, they might get some dirty looks from the crowd.
The event begins December 31, 2017 at noon, and will continue for a week. Canonically, all the threads will take place on one night, New Year’s Eve. But you’re welcome to start event-related threads between the 31st and the 6th. After the 6th, threads can continue, but no new event threads should be started.
Be sure to tag your starters with “rebuildevent4″ and track the tag. (Please keep the “rebuildevent” tag clear for admin use.)
When black cats prowl and pumpkins gleam,
May luck be yours on Halloween.
Early in October, Tony Stark’s name began to appear in every paper. On every news channel. This wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary, but the event connected to his name was.
The sheer scale of it was what drew attention at first. The invitation, elaborately designed, appeared in the back of every paper. It was featured on talk shows, read aloud on the radio, shown on news programs and became the centerpiece of lifestyle media magazines. Within a week, it was all anyone was talking about. The invitation that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, with no hint of the great amount of work and build-up it took to make the event seem so effortless. The letters, written in a beautiful flowing cursive, read as follows:
On October 31, the city of New York is invited to spend the evening at The Avengers Tower.
Every person who inhabits this city, whether hero or civilian, is welcome. Refreshment, entertainment, and transportation will be provided courtesy of Stark Industries. Several prominent art exhibits by local artists will be shown and auctioned off, as well as various other collectibles. There will be several opportunities and means to donate, all in the name of rebuilding our city, and funding the newly reformed Accords Panel.
The Panel knows how much this city has suffered and survived. This party will not only be a testament to the willpower of its people, but a celebration of its spirit! Please join us.
If you have any questions, please contact the Accords Panel. For questions about transportation, please contact the newly formed Stark Industries Transportation Helpline.
The people of the city were not just excited, they were entranced. A party of this magnitude simply had never been tried before. But if anyone could pull it off, it was Tony Stark. Rumors were neighboring buildings were being rented out, and the surrounding areas cordon off so the party could spill out doors. Some even said that Stark had purchased the entire city block, but that was only speculation.
One thing was certain -- it would be a night that no one would forget.
WHAT’S HAPPENED:
From October 7th, 9pm EST, until November first at midnight EST, your characters can arrive and mingle at the first-ever, city-wide Halloween party! The event will take place canonically over the course of one night, Halloween, but you have several weeks to start and complete your threads.
Feel free to get creative with this event! As it is Halloween, costumes are encouraged. Make a moodboard or use Polyvore to show what your character will be wearing. Have fun with it! Your character does not have to wear a costume, but the majority of people will be dressed up.
There will be music, art, and dancing. Plenty of food and drink. Threads can take place within the Avengers/Stark Tower, though Tony’s workshop and personal living areas will be out-of-bounds. If you wish to have your character sneak into these places, please contact the main first.
Threads can also take place on the rooftop landing pad, or on the street below, where tents will be set up.
This is a chance for everyone to cut loose and have fun, but of course, IC drama is always welcome. Keep in mind the Iron Legion will be providing security, and if your powered character gets rowdy, they may be asked to leave.
Your character can also volunteer to work a shift at the party, serving food or waiting tables. They will wear white button ups, black ties, and black dress pants, provided by Stark Industries.
Major plots should, as always, be run by the main before being put into action. Please.
Your starters can be tagged with ‘rebuildevent3′ and be sure to track this tag, though we ask the rebuildevent tag be kept free.
You can jump into the event at any time, and also continue your outside threads, as always.
It had been nearly a month, since New York City fell into war. The tensions had been mounting for over a year, but Karl Orse’s declaration, and his subsequent refusal to give up control of the Strike Force, was the final straw that pushed the city to its boiling point. The Syndicate grew more brazen. The Strike Force more ruthless. Unregistered and Registered heroes were caught directly in the center – as were the citizens of the city.
The day began quietly, like any other in the new order of things. Syndicate forces attacked a Strike Force warehouse where weapons were being stored. In the ensuing chaos, a bomb exploded, taking half of the street with it. Luckily, most of the buildings were unoccupied. Causalities were minimal.
The Strike Force reported the attempted to raid to Orse. Orse looked out from his high-rise, the penthouse suite, which afforded him a picture-perfect view of the Hudson. He ordered his men to seek ‘justice’ for the slight, which meant attacking the Syndicate in their home base: Attilan.
A ship was commandeered for the mission. Without seeking approval, the Strike Force boarded an ordinary cruise ship, one that was scheduled to tour the Hudson and the city coast. Families and children were aboard. The civilians had no choice but to comply, but when the boat approached the floating city, people began to panic. A Strike Force soldier fired his weapon to regain order, but the bullet ricocheted into a young child. The child did not survive. A bloody riot was started.
News of the child’s death spread quickly. More riots sprang up. Citizens took to the streets en masse. The NYPD was flooded with reports of looting, fires, and public destruction. The city’s rage would not be quelled.
Deep in the heart of Attilan, the Syndicate leader watched the news reports come in. She turned to her cult, and with a nod, they understood. It was time to end this.
Orse felt similarly. He gave orders to his men to secure the city – by whatever means necessary.
The Unregistered heroes who had gathered under Captain America’s call to arms, decided enough was enough. Enough innocent blood had been shed. It was time for heroes to clear their names, and to prove that they could make a difference.
The Registered heroes, who had signed the Accords in order to take responsibility for their actions, decided that accountability meant little if those they were accountable for were corrupt. The Panel had been in utter disarray since Orse’s proclamation, and by and large, the Registered were on their own to handle this crisis.
Strike Force troops landed on the shore of Attilan. Syndicate forces were spotted in every corner of the city.
And heroes? There was no shortage of them. They would fight for peace, no matter the cost. No matter what side they had been on. The lines were blurred and bloody now.
New York City was on fire. But some still hoped that the flames could be doused. That peace could once again come to the city. It would not be easily attained. And it would be dangerously wrought.
The week had barely begun, but Wednesday July 26, soon began to be called the ‘End of Days.’
WHAT’S HAPPENED:
It’s all-out war. The city is in chaos. Your character must choose how and when they will enter the fray, because staying on the sidelines is no longer an option. Destruction, death, and danger lurks around every corner. No one is holding back anymore. Civilians are caught in the crossfire, Syndicates are attempting to take out everyone they can, and the Strike Force is enacting a hostile take-over under Orse’s command.
Please refer to these prompts and pairings for the event. You are also free to explore other options and start other threads, but after a week, the fighting will cease. So write quickly!
As always, any major developments, like serious injury or death, should be run by the admins before enacted in a thread.
Enjoy the chaos. It will all be over soon.
The event will last one week. Ending next Wednesday at midnight EST.
Tag your starters with rebuildevent2. But please keep the rebuildevents tag clear!
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What is this world? A mere curl of smoke for the wind to scatter...
“An excellent question,” Karl Orse said to the middle-aged woman holding the microphone now. Her last name was Eastman, he had missed her first name. He had been standing at the podium for nearly two hours now, slowly and carefully addressing each question posed to him, spinning it to his purposes. He had not wavered in his convictions, despite the ever-shifting tone of the room. His supporters stood by him. Some in the crowd were surely wavering. The public was invested now, the line of questioners nearly reached the back of the room now. Everyone was crowding to come up close. “I believe, Mrs. Eastman, that we as a community must --”
“Fire!” A voice called out, cutting through the noise of the crowd. Terrified hands shot up towards the ceiling, where smoke had begun to descend. No, not smoke, Orse realized. It was too light for smoke, didn’t carry the telltale scent of flame. This was a gas.
“Everyone please, remain calm!” he said into the microphone, but then the first body dropped. A woman collapsed. Others soon followed.
Orse backed away from the podium. All around the room, more and more people fell to the floor. Panic overtook the crowd, they stampeded for the exits. Only to find them all locked.
“I got this,” a woman’s gruff voice said. A few in the crowd recognized her, one of the rumored vigilantes. Whispers of superstrength flitted through them, but the woman pretended not to hear. She stepped forward, and tugged on the handle. It didn’t budge. She kicked at the door, but her foot bounced back harmlessly. She tried a punch, but there was only the sickening crunch of bones breaking. Her eyes went wide. “What the hell?” she muttered, stepping back from the door, clutching her hand to her chest.
A new wave of fear broke out through the crowd. Other gifteds attempted to use their powers. But no one took off into flight. No one turned invisible, no one’s skin began to glow. No one’s abilities worked.
“Enjoy our gift,” a woman’s voice echoed loudly through the room. It sounded slightly electronic, like she was speaking through a microphone, but the stage was empty now. “We have been perfecting this serum since our first cleansing. But it wasn’t until recently we were able to aersolize it,” the voice continued. It was a familiar voice -- almost everyone in the room had heard it. During the broadcast, during Trish Walker’s murder.
The Syndicate was here.
“You are now all equal,” the voice rang out. “The Neutralizing Agent has disabled your powers, your abilities, your gifts,” she hissed. “The effects are temporary, our work remains incomplete.” There was a bitter note to her voice, wistful, but dark and determined. “But for tonight, it serves us well. Look out the windows, heroes. See how powerless you all truly are.”
As soon as she finished the last word, the ground rumbled beneath their feet. “There!” someone shouted, pointing outside. The crowd surged towards the row of windows on the left side of the room. In the distance, there was fire. Smoke billowing into the sky. The far-off sound of screaming sirens.
People began checking their phones -- reports were coming in of a building going down. Collapsing, spewing rubble across an entire block. A bomb had gone off. An enormous, deadly bomb, though apparently, the building was nearly empty when it went off. The street around it was not so lucky, despite it being after curfew. Causalities were mounting.
Orse pushed his way to the front of the crowd, until he was directly in front of the glass. His face was hard, a deep frown on his thin lips as he studied the distant scene. A vein in his nearly-translucent forehead throbbed. “The Panel building,” he said in a low, dark voice. “That’s the Panel building.”
He whirled around to the crowd. “They’ve attacked the Panel!” he shouted, striding through the crowd, waving his arms wildly. “They’ve attacked you, my fellow citizens! They’ve attacked all of us! While we discussed peace, they destroyed a building, took countless lives, caused immeasura--”
“Mr. Orse speaks of peace,” the woman’s voice came through the speakers again. “Of transparency. But he is a charlatan and a fool, a clever political magician weaving lies among his truths. He has lied to you all, and he has failed this city. You all have failed this city, through your mere existence. With your capes and your masks and your secrets and your 'superhuman’ abilities. As if you’re more than us. As if you’re better. You are not. You are just just mistakes. And you will be erased.”
The lights in the room went out for a moment, amid shrieks and more people collapsing. Then a single spotlight lit up the stage. A row of hooded figures stood there in a single line. It was impossible to tell who was speaking.
“There will never be peace, while the different walk among us,” the voice continued. “While the strange and twisted are given special government treatment, the freaks allowed to roam free. No more! We will not be forgotten! We will not be left behind! And we will not be afraid to take back what is rightfully ours!”
The figures clasped their hands together, raised their arms in unison. The lights went out again, plunging the room into pitch-black chaos.
WHAT’S HAPPENED:
The Syndicate has released a Neutralizing Agent, a gas that affects everyone. It not only disables all powers/abilities/gifts, but weakens ordinary humans. Some civilians even fainted. Your character may feel sick, weak, or disoriented. Their superpowers will not work for the next 24 hours. Any physical symptoms are up to the writer’s discretion, but please remember that everyone will feel something from this gas.
Simultaneously, they’ve locked everyone into the Chrysler building. Escaping might be a top priority. Maybe your character finds a back door, picks a lock, or breaks a window? Or scales down the side of the building with whatever they can find -- or they can wait until the police arrive.
Across town, the Syndicate planted explosives which leveled the Panel building, and caused mass destruction in the surrounding area. People died, damage was done. And the heroes were left powerless to stop it. How does your character feel about that?
The Syndicate also said some pretty inflammatory things about Orse, casting dispersion on his character. Is he a liar? Is the Syndicate? Who can your character trust anymore?
The Syndicate appeared briefly onstage in full-force, but they vanished when the lights went out. Maybe your character caught a glimpse of where they went -- will they follow? (If they do catch a straggling member of the Syndicate, each one is armed with a cyanide pill and will swallow it before they can reveal anything.)
You’re free to start threads immediately after these events, or do a time-skip to the next day! Follow your muse!
An envelope appeared on every doorstep in the city. Posters and fliers littered the sides of buildings. The Accords and Accountability Panel logo was stamped onto each and every one. But it was not until evening when Karl Orse himself once again appeared on the television screen.
“My fellow citizens,” he began, as always. As always, his voice was low and grave, but his usually so-calm eyes appeared just a little bloodshot. A little wider. Tainted with the minuscule vestiges of panic, carefully hidden under layers of icy-cold professionalism. “I have not come here today to deliver more terrible news. Nor will I plead with the unregistered community to come forward and serve their city. Today, I come with a far more important proposal: peace.”
He paused then. “Perhaps it is difficult for you to remember what that term means, citizens,” he said quietly, his voice unusually soft though his eyes remained fixed on the camera. “It has become difficult for me to recall a time when our city was not in peril, nor suffering from yet another tragic loss.” The name Trish Walker went unspoken, a tasteful choice in his opinion. “But despite what you may have heard, what you may have come to believe, all this Panel has ever sought is peace. Peace, justice, and order, to make sense out of these troubled times and bring them to an end. It is an aim we feel we all share. And in the spirit of that, we have issued an open invitation.”
From his stack of papers, Orse drew forth an envelope identical to the one that had appeared all across the city. “This letter,” he began, holding it up. “Lists the details of a meeting, held at the famous Chrysler Building. We at the Panel encourage everyone to attend. Registered and Unregistered, Inhumans, metahumans, gifted, and citizen alike. We shall set aside our differences for the night, and speak openly and honestly, without fear of reprucussion or danger. Secruity will be strict and the safety of all attending will be absolutely ensured. I will be there myself, and I hope all of you will join me.” He stopped for a moment, lowering the invitation. “As a certain hero recently said, we must stand together against our common enemy. But we are not that enemy, ladies and gentlemen. It is time for us to remember what we all want -- peace. An end to the tragedy. Please, come together with us. Good night, my fellow citizens.”
The screen went black. The invitation and fliers all held the promised details:
A Meeting for Peace.
All are welcome to come and speak to the Accords & Accountability Panel directly. To discuss the issues and recent tragedies that have befallen the city, and to explore possible solutions. The meeting will take place on Tuesday the twenty-third, at 7pm, in the Chrysler Building, on the ground floor.
Food & drink provided.
No weapons allowed. Guests will be asked to surrender belongings for a proper search, to ensure the safety of all attending. Security provided by the Strike Force and Accords & Accountability Panel.
Guests will not be required to identify themselves, though we encourage no masks or other disguises which may induce panic or distress. Please join us in rebuilding the trust and community spirit of this great city.
--Accords & Accountability Panel
WHAT’S HAPPENED:
The Panel has called a Peace Meeting, on neutral ground, where all unregistered, registered, and citizens can come together and discuss their differences in safety.
The event will begin Tuesday morning, 7am EST, and continue throughout the week. I know we’re all in different timezones, so don’t be afraid to jump in whenever you can! Canonically, in-character, the events will take place over the course of one night, but since real life can get in the way, you will have a week to start and finish threads.
The main will be posting EventDrops as the week goes on, to keep things interesting. So make sure you’re tracking ‘rebuildadmin,’ ‘rebuildevents’ and ‘rebuildevent1.′ Any starters can be tagged with ‘rebuildevent1′ also, though we ask the ‘rebuildevents’ tag remain clear of all but posts from the main.
Your own Self-Realization is the greatest service you can render the world.
December 31, 2017
New Years Eve. A live band center stage, playing to screaming, dancing fans. A packed Times Square. Under normal circumstances, they would all be tourists, no real New Yorker found themselves caught dead in Times Square on New Years. But this year was different. This year, they’d been through wars and cults, deception and rebirth. Trembled before villains, and looked to their heroes. So this year, the square was filled with all the people who called the city home.
A large clock sat in full view of everyone, stretched across a screen. Counting down until this horrible year was behind them. As it ticked down, growing closer and closer, the lead singer held up a hand. “Drum roll please!” he announced. The drummer acquiesced, and the crowd groaned, but swelled with anticipation. “Ten!” the singer shouted, the whole Square yelled with him.
“Nine! Eight!”
Only a few noticed the strange smell in the air. Something sharp and cold, but utterly unlike anything they had ever smelled before.
“Seven! Six!”
It was dark, broken only by flashing cameras and cell phones. For a moment, it felt like the shadows were alive -- and moving.
“Five! Four!”
The ball dropped lower and lower in the center of the stage. High above, so everyone could see it, getting closer and closer.
“Three! Two…. One!”
Bang.
Every light went out. Screams filled the air. Just as the crowd began to move -- a thousand different directions at once -- a single light came back on. A spotlight, that swung upward, to the Time Square ball. It was hovering an inch away from the trigger. The one that was supposed to burst the ball open and release the confetti into the air. A single, green figure stood on top of the intact ball. A skrull.
“Do not move,” he shouted, his voice booming throughout the square. As if he were microphoned somehow. “In fact… you can’t.” With that, he smirked. His horrible crooked expression was magnified across every screen in the square. The skrull raised his weapon high above his head -- a strange looking staff.
“For the queen!” he shouted, and drove the stick down into the ball. It burst open, but instead of confetti, gas was spewed into the air. A thick, green haze, with the same cold sharp smell from before. It billowed up from the sewers as well. Many passed out instantly. Others doubled over. And a few… a few noticed the change.
It was not instant. And true to the Skrull’s word, they were paralyzed. But everyone who had been affected by the power swap could feel the strange sensation of everything sliding back into place.
The Skrull leapt down to the stage, the spotlight following him. “By the glory and wisdom of our queen,” he told the crowd. “We have ceased our experiment. We have all the results we need.” He chuckled lowly, the sound like a snarl. “This planet is susceptible. It is vulnerable. Humans think themselves evolved,” he spat, pacing the stage. “So far above the delicate ecosystem you wreak havoc on, and yet you are no better than the insects you compare us to.” His lips were curled in a vicious sneer. “One small change,” he whispered. “That’s all it takes. One small change, and you are left confused, frightened, powerless!” He spread his arms wide, tilted his head back to the sky. “The Skrulls will be victorious here, as we have been on thousands of other planets! For Skrullos! For the queen! For --”
He finished with a scream. A flaming figure slammed into his side, knocking him into a building. The Skrull fell limp, though his chest still rose and fell. Johnny Storm, everything burned away except his Fantastic Four suit, dragged his body back towards the center of the stage. He grabbed the microphone, and sighed heavily into it. “No offense,” he said. “But I was getting real tired of that guy.”
The rest of the Skrulls in the crowd slipped away quietly. Taking along new recruits -- for when the gas had been released, it served a dual purpose. Ending the power swap, and awakening every sleeper agent in the city.
WHAT’S HAPPENED:
The power swap and the event are over! No new threads involving either the power swap or the New Year’s Eve event should be started, though you are welcome of course, to finish them up.
The Skrulls attacked the New Year’s Eve celebration, and released a gas which returned everyone’s powers (or lack thereof) to the original owners.
A Skrull then began speaking to the crowd, only to be stopped by Johnny Storm. Characters will now have access to a Skrull for research purposes -- once everyone can agree on what to do with him. For now, he is in Panel custody.
The Skrull is a low-ranking soldier, and his mind has been wiped clean of all but the basic knowledge. How much does he truly know? And how long before holding him in custody becomes too dangerous?
The Sleeper Skrulls are now active. That means if your character is a sleeper Skrull, it will now be seeking orders from other active Skrulls. It will also have memories of Skrullos and its life before impersonating their host.
PROMPTS:
Person A is a scientist, and desires to meet the Skrull face-to-face. With the help of a Panel member (Person B), they’re allowed to meet him firsthand. Together they run experiments, which are unfortunately fruitless. How does this make your character feel? How do they justify running tests on a living being?
Person A and Person B have no science background, but they do want to question the Skrulls. Do they do this through torture, interrogation, and how they react after they get no real answers? Do they continue their interrogation or give up? Do they confide in Person B?
Person A desperately wants to question the Skrull, and they want Person B to assist them. Person B, on the other hand, isn’t comfortable with the idea of questioning the alien. Whether it’s because the Skrulls make them uncomfortable or because they simply don’t like the idea of torturing and/or experimenting on the creature, they’re very set in their opinion. Does Person A attempt to convince them to change their mind, or do they relent to their partner’s way of thinking? How does this conversation change their dynamic, if at all?
When the gas descended over the city, sleeper Skrulls everywhere were activated. Person A was awoken as their true self, and Person B was with them when it happened. Does Person A struggle to keep their composure? How do they react to knowing that they’ve been essentially ‘asleep’ for a certain period of time? How do they feel about Person B now that they’ve been activated?
Person A has been replaced by a Skrull. They’ve known Person B was a sleeper agent for some time now, but for obvious reasons, could not act on this knowledge. Now that Person B has been activated, Person A seeks them out to update them on the changes and edits to the Skrulls’ master plan. (NOTE: If you play a Skrull and want specific notes about Skrull plans to use in a thread like this, please message the main!)
