just another weekly meeting of the usual suspects.

[hell_is_cold]

Len lit another cigarette and slogged on, scattering a pack of chittering rats, who splashed off into the lightless murk ahead. The smoke helped to obscure the sewer-stench, but not nearly enough for his liking. It wasn't as bad as it could be. The recent rash of heavy spring rains in Keystone meant that Len was trudging through muddy water and

Comments

[jla_villains]

Owen Mercer had sat to the back of the room. Of all the rogues in the room (expect perhaps for that brat Trickster), he was the youngest and the least experienced. It was to their credit, however, that they didn't think twice about rallying around him when his dad, whom he had only known for a couple of days to that point, had died.

On "the job." The same job he was now giving a try. Despite all of his better instincts.

"What's up, Mick? Feds shut down Trickster's 'City of Villains' account again?"

[jla_villains]

"Oppressors!" sulks the Trickster.

[hell_is_cold]

"Kid, I don't know where you get off playing a damned videogame about bein' a badguy. It's not like it's making you better at it in real life."

[hell_is_cold]

"This," he said, letting the rest of the Rogues get a good look at the poster. "'Capecon.' A buncha wanna-be's and hero-worshippers congregating in our town. On Rogue turf." He leaned over the table, studying the gaudy poster. "Nevermind the insult of bringing this freakshow into our territory without paying tribute--or hell, even asking us. This is gonna bring all kinds 'a superpowered heat into Keystone. Makes things risky.

"The way I see it, we can either lay low and hope nobody takes it upon themselves to rout us out...or we can find a way to turn this to our advantage."