Reichs and Fall, the WWII era Superheroics RP

The year is 1942, across the globe World War II is raging furiously. The Allied forces are pushing the Axis forces back inch by bloody inch and neither side is willing to surrender to the other, no matter the cost. Things are looking grim for the Axis forces and their leaders are becoming more and more desperate every hour. After much discussion and plotting, Adolf Hitler and his allies have begun recruiting various superhumans, mad scientists and magic users to their cause. It wasn't long before word reached the Allies of this new Axis plot to fight back with a force of superpowered soldiers. After much consideration on their part, the Allied forces began scouring their own ranks for men and women who would be able to face off against Hitler's nearly unstoppable force on equal terms. Command of these superhumans was handed off to MI-5 with assistance from the OSS and GRU.

Will these brave men and women be strong enough to stand against the Axis and their nefarious plans? Will the Allied forces stand victorious? All of these questions (and more) will be answered in... REICHS AND FALL!

Lancaster, England – June 1942

Somewhere on the outskirts of Lancaster there was a rather large house serving as the base of operations for MI-5's Ministry of Superhuman Operations. The various superhumans and specialists would be directed to a rather spacious library by a short and elderly butler in a suit as they arrived. The library's shelves were stocked with books by every author imaginable, ranging from Plato, to Shakespeare and even Lovecraft. The rest of the room was furnished with simple, yet comfortable chairs and couches as well as a few plants scattered around the room.

Once they had arrived in the library, the Butler would point whoever he had been escorting to a seat and say "Do make yourself comfortable. You'll receive a briefing once the rest of you have arrived, I'll be back shortly to see if anyone will be wanting drinks."

Black Flame arrived early, well before the others. When she got brought to the library, she purposefully doesn't sit down and, instead, walks to a corner filled with shadows and leans against the wall, bowing her head ever so slightly as she crosses her arms and rests the sole of one foot against the wall. From her vantage point, she'd be able to see where everyone else would sit, but she would blend into the shadows.

Augustin "Soloist" Sunetcolt. He was one of the more... contested choices on the list of superhumans. While his supernatural abilities were apparent, his... capability in combat was an arguable point.

And he was demonstrating this lack of capability as he walked in. The head butler, rather than simply directing the man into the library, instead had a few of his aides bodily lift the piss-drunk man and place him into a chair.

The Soloist snored loudly.

Frederich Schuler arrived and took a seat. He stared a little while at the obnoxiously loud snorer, then leaned back in the chair.

After a few minutes, he looked around a little and focused on the area where Black Flame was hiding. He then decided to go back to relaxing and waiting for everyone else.

"I wonder who and what this assignment will entail?" he thought to himself.

edited 26th Jun '14 12:10:47 PM by BaconManiac5000

Ministry of Superhuman Operations

After many days of travelling, Fyodor Markovich Lazarev finally arrived at wherever he was supposed to go. Why Josef Stalin sent him to country filled with nothing but capitalist pigs he could not understand, but if this mission was for glory of motherland, he would bear through situation. Fellow comrades taught him how to speak English on long journey here so he could understand. But English is stupid language, infinitely inferior to Russian tongue. It is language of cowards.

He arrived at place and tiny man greeted him. He introduced himself as "Fyodor Markovich." Silly little man in silly black suit led him into building. Fyodor thought he heard silly man say something about not wearing shirt, but he wasn't sure since English not first language. When he reached room where silly little man led him, he saw many things. Books were everywhere on walls, but Mr. Lazarev wasn't interested. Woman in black suit with red "A" sat in corner. Fellow big man sit somewhere else, but Fyodor didn't feel like speaking to him now. Then he saw skinny little man sleeping in chair. He also wears ponytail like sissy.

Why did he come here for this?

Fyodor Markovich moved up to sissy man and tried slapping him awake. Fyodor said in English, "I come from motherland for this? What is this? We have important mission! You cannot sleep on job. When you sleep Japanese kill you. How do we do mission when you lack discipline? Everyone must contribute for glory of motherland!"

edited 26th Jun '14 1:18:42 PM by CathariSarad

"Great. So far we have an alcoholic bum, a shirtless, Russian clown, and a person who won't even show their face," he thought to himself.

"My hopes are not high for this team."

"Shut your mouth you fat slob." Augustin groaned, leaning forward. He made direct eye contact with Fyodor. "I didn't even see you when I called you that, but apparently I hit it right on the nose." He punctuated this by standing up, in a very nonchalant looking manner.

He spoke with a hint of a cockney accent, and a touch of something else.

"Now shut your trap before I shut it for you."

"There we go, mate," said the driver, a man with a hatchet face and a slight Welsh accent. "SOE—Stately 'Omes of England." He cackled to himself briefly. "Good luck, now."

"Appreciated for the ride," answered Rai with a cheerful grin. He handed over a case of cigarettes as his payment, and as the Bedford pulled away Rai shouldered his equipment, pausing to make sure his kit bag and his uniform were immaculate, his bagpipes polished with the aid of the Highland regimental band with which he'd been billeted, his Gurkha hat angled just so.

This was his first time in England, that flat, rich land of rain and fog, such a contrast after the jungle muck of Burma and the monsoon heat of the Indian Ocean troopship. A strange, alien country, that would have been more so if he hadn't been so lucky to find the Scottish pipe band by following the familiar squeal of new pipers on practice and the roaring of the pipe-major, and introducing himself as a Gurkha piper. But there wasn't much time to play the tourist; there was a war on, and SOE had—quite reluctantly, according to the withered schoolmasterly man who'd met him at the station—consigned him over to the gentlemen spies of the SIS who were running this project.

Pausing only to throw a wave and a wink at a passing young woman in khaki battledress—and receiving a cheerful "same to you" in some unidentifiable accent—Rai smartened up when he reached the doorway, and five minutes later was in the briefing library to the unmusical strains of Russian-accented complaints about something or another.

He cocked an eyebrow at the sight—it was obviously too early to start egging them on just yet—but he did give a gallant tip of his hat to the lady in the corner before setting down his kit bag by a chair and starting to browse the titles on the shelf. SOE had recommended Lovecraft's works, after all.

Ministry of Superhuman Operations

"FOR MOM, APPLE PIE, AND THE GIRL NEXT DOOR! GOD BLESS AMERICA!"

Before everyone in the room could make sense of the near-nonsense they had just heard, dust and splinters filled the room as the remains of a newly made hole in the center of the roof crashed down above them. Barreling through both the roof and the floor into the basement below was a star-spangled mass of muscle with an ever present toothy grin. Almost as soon as he had landed, he bounded out of the hole, laughing like a maniac all the while, and landed right in front of Rai.

"Boy, was that somethin, eh? Sorry skippers, but my flybody must have gotten the dropoff locale just a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitle bit off-base. No matter, though; nothing some good ol' fashioned American dollars and good ol' fashioned American labor can't fix!" He then noticed Rai. "Oh, an injun, ey? Well, don't worry, buster. I consider myself a fairly tolerant invidual, aside from those blasted Ratzi's, of course. I'm sure you'll be a credit to your race, son!" He then slapped Rai heartily on the back, laughing like Santa Claus all the while...

Frederich stood up and backed away a few feet from everyone.

"Okay, what on Earth is going on here?" he said in a rather loud voice with a very slight German accent.

"Who are all of you people, and why are we here together?"

Rai turned and grinned happily at the cowboy, who towered over him by a fair amount. "Mr. Barnum! Appreciate that you come to give us a show! But next time should give me warning, I play right circus music for your entrance."

"'Why are we here'?", said American Glory. "Glad ya' asked, skipper! Well, ya' see, one day, the whole universe just sorta collapsed into some sort of big bang or somesuch, I suppose, which was all thanks to our lord and savior, Uncle Sam! Sure, we all think he was some old man in a robe and beard, but he wasn't just that; he was AMERICAN! 'Course, not everyone's truly aware of this. Personally, I blame it on society. NATZI SOCIETY, that is."

He then turned to face Rai. "Sorry sonny, but I can't understand half of whatever gibberish you're runnin' off. They did teach you plain ol' American English back in the boonies, didn't they? Nothin' against the boonies, of course. Still, I did always love myself a circus! Say, can you do the ol 'cannonball act? I'm somethin' of an expert, myself..."

edited 26th Jun '14 3:46:58 PM by kkhohoho

Rai tilted his head slightly, which had the effect of making the bush hat level out. "American? English? That language is English? Is strange, I thought was bellowing of drunken shantak." Unfazed, he picked out a volume of Lovecraft. He wasn't quite sure this was English either, despite SOE's reassurances; words like "squamous" and "rugose" certainly had to be Rl'yehan, or perhaps Middle Enochian, in origin. "No, did not English until joined Army," he added. "Still new, mister circus sahib. Learned Gurkhali first."

"Great, I've just joined the circus now," he mutters to himself.

"I wonder what else is going to happen today?"

Frederich moves over to one of the shelves and starts looking for something to take his mind off this craziness.

"I see you are finally awake. But I do not see how you can shut my mouth, for you are skinny man with ponytail. And why do you think I have trap? I come with no trap. And you did not hit nose, I watched you sleep." Meanwhile, Fyodor saw tiny yellow man walk into room. Why did man bring bagpipes?

Then he saw vibrantly colored American crash through ceiling. He is big man and he will be good for morale.

As yellow man and American talked, Fyodor Markovich approached them and said, "I do not understand every word you say, but you seem like good comrade, even if you are American. I am Fyodor Markovich. I don't know what we came here for, but you will be good for morale. Who are you two?"

Text walked into the library. "Sorry I'm late, y'all," he said. "Turns if you see a building that says 'Water Closet' on it, it ain't actually anything magic."

He looked around. "I miss the party or something?" He asked. Then he cast a glance at Steve and smiled. "Fancy duds there, pardner. Was afraid no one else here was gonna be from someplace that makes sense."

"I'm from the only place that makes sense, friend!", said Steve to Tex. "AMERICA!" That includes not just the good ol' USA, but the so-called 'countries' of Canada and Mexico as well; I'd wager they'd have fallen into the 'direst of decay and corruption if not for the States' ever shining and glorious influence keeping them afloat, yes sir! Although personally, I think we should let the little hombres rot! For when those gosh-darned Ratzi's try to cut a deal with you, that can only mean that you're also doing the cutting! They say they refused the offer, but I say, POPPYCOCK! Still, I suppose that not all Mexicans are a bad lot. Only most of them, the little bastards! Ain't that right, skippers?"

Let it be noted that Mr.Glory said every single word with a bright, toothy, gleaming American smile upon his broad American face.

edited 26th Jun '14 7:33:57 PM by kkhohoho

Evald stalked in, not in the sense of being brooding but in the sense of a quiet hunter sizing up the territory although after a few seconds he realized he could have walked in banging a pair of cymbals and not been noticed. He moved around the periphery of the room until he found the best observation point...which was already occupied. He raised an eyebrow at the black figure and said quietly, "Do you mind sharing?"

Frederich sat down with a western novella in his hands and waited to be briefed on what this was all about.

Black Flame purses her lips under her mask at American Glory's jab at Mexico, and chimes in, her voice soft, just loud enough to be heard, but with a slight edge to it, "Mexico is a far greater place than America. While Americans sat on their hands while Franco swept through our country, when you weren't actively helping the tyrant, Mexico was among the few who actually sent aid to me and my comrades. And it wasn't to try and prop up the PCE and their tyranny, like Stalin's aid was for, either."

"You call this a government agency, do ye? I wouldnae call it a dump if I was feelin' uncharitable."

Already, Catherine 'The Bloody Batmaid' Sayles was making her unhappiness known to the poor staff member who happened to ask if there was anything she needed help with. The dusty shelves and scattered mess of a bureaucracy was so different from the obsessive cleanliness she was used to that it was absolutely intolerable, and she intended to sort that out immediately. Fritz could wait a few more hours.

"Miss, this is a special operations headquarters, not one of your fancy Aberdeen homes," a harried man replied with more than a hint of sarcasm. "What use is their polishing under the knickknacks when the Axis is growing ever closer to ending the war?"

"Because cleanliness is next to godliness," Catherine sighed, amazed that this even needed explaining. "Though I suppose you English have just given that up too, having driven God from your borders long ago!"

"I'm-" her victim began, before simply shaking his head, another staff member coming to relieve him.

"Your seat, Ms. Sayles, is over there. Kindly take it, so we can get this whole thing over with."

"I- Fine! But you haven't seen the last of me! Mark my words, I will have this place spotless before the weekend."

Satisfied with her fairly underwhelming threat, the Scottish woman turned on her heel and proceeded over towards the chairs, taking her seat while muttering darkly.

Batmaid would not be denied.

Unfortunately, Fyodor was ignored by American in favor of another man in strange outfit. He stood around idly until something caught his interest.

He didn't know if American will hear him, but Fyodor spoke thus, "I must excuse myself for moment."

He walked over to woman in black outfit and said, "Hello, I am Fyodor Markovich. I couldn't help but overhear you. Have you come here to sing praises in glorious name of Josef Stalin?"

At corner of vision, he noticed Finnish man and servant woman walk in.

Black Flame sarcastically says, "Why would I sing praises for a tyrant? Stalin's even worse than Lenin."

Fyodor Markovich Lazarev was confused by woman's words. He responded, "Who is this Lenin you speak of? I do not know him. But do not speak ill of Josef Stalin, for he is good comrade. Stalin is eternal leader of Soviet Russia and savior of the world." Fyodor turned his eyes downward, "I make mistake, your ears are already tainted with propaganda from capitalist pigs. But do not fear comrade, for one day you will understand greatness of communism!" Fyodor raised himself up and made pointing gesture to woman in black. "By my chest hair and nipples, I will show Josef Stalin is good man, and Mother Russia will bring happiness to world!"

"Damnit why are you so loud?!" Augustin cried out, clearly in pain. He threw his head back in his chair, hanging it limply over the chair's back.

You will never have a hangover as long as you don't stop drinking. That was his personal mantra. Sadly for him, his drink was specifically taken from him as he walked in. Well, walked is a bit of an overstatement. Also his personal stash appeared to have disappeared the night before.

It was probably the English. It was always the English. Drink-stealing bastards. First it was the chinese tea, then the arab's coffee, now a poor roma's well-deserved drink.

edited 27th Jun '14 3:31:19 AM by amporiusrex