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letsgolegionWho| Everyone who signed up
What| "Gods Among Us," the fight against the Regime.
Where| Earth, the 21st century
When| If relevant, like if you want to note it's after an event.
Warnings/Notes| N/A for now
They'd done it. It had been a race against time itself, but they'd won. With the Four driven off, unfortunately a capture had proven impossible every time, but the alterations had been averted and the Legion of Super Heroes could return home and bask in victory.
Or so they'd thought.
As they sat in the Time Sphere, on the way home after a stressful mission, the floor underneath them jolted, sending the team sprawling. Alarms blared, warning them that they were caught in a violent chronal wake as something much larger and more powerful than them tore through the timestream. An actual, honest-to-God flying saucer tore around them, burning history at the speed of seventeen dreams a minute. Visions of times that would now never be flashed by in the multi-hued chaos as it pulled ahead of the timesphere, slowing down to match their speed.
A hatch opened, lowering a ramp as it sped around, and William Leather stepped out. Smirking, he gave the Legionnaires a cocky wave. Then rolled something at them, shoving it down the ramp with a booted foot. It was big, painted in bright yellow with black stripes, egg-shaped, and the type of odd box sometimes called a "California Parachute" welded to the end. When it hit, everything went hot white and the concussive force ensured that no one remained conscious.
When they wake up, they're surrounded by construction work. Their hasty exit from the time stream has caused steel beams to age enough to twist and rust, and has de-aged the concrete underneath them until it has become wet again, threatening to harden around them where they lay.
The Time Sphere itself is nowhere to be found. There isn't even any wreckage.
What's immediately evident, however, is that someone's rolled out the red carpet in the form of men. Lots of men, wearing black armor with a distinctly stormtrooper-ish design. Above the red lenses of their goggles is a possibly familiar pentagon-shape filled in with red. No "S" in that shield, but the shape is evident. All of them are armed, some with assault rifles and others carrying weapons of infinitely more sophisticated design.
One of them -- impossible to say what rank when he wears the same black body armor as the rest -- growls.
"Stay on your knees. Hands behind your heads. If you think you want to get cute, we’ve got the real Flash, Nightwing, and Yellow Lantern on their way." He raises his shotgun and pumps it dramatically, pausing as the unfired shell spirals out the ejection port and hits the ground. "...And they ain’t gonna be happy to see some bad Halloween costumes.”
The situation, as bad as it is, isn't helped when the local "heroes" arrive. A crimson comet speeds through the ranks of the Regime's troops, and a yellow force beam blasts the ground between the main group and the soldiers. Of the threatened Nightwing, there is no sign, but Flash and Yellow Lantern come to a stop on their end of the line. Barry Allen folds his arms over his chest, glowering, and Hal Jordan jabs a finger at the team, a glowing yellow hand above him echoing his movements. "You’re all unauthorized superhumans. Out after curfew! Surrender now or..."
His threat is left unvoiced, however, as the team is wrapped in purple smoke, a woman’s voice echoing in a language that even the telepathic ear plugs can’t work out.
What| "Gods Among Us," the fight against the Regime.
Where| Earth, the 21st century
When| If relevant, like if you want to note it's after an event.
Warnings/Notes| N/A for now
They'd done it. It had been a race against time itself, but they'd won. With the Four driven off, unfortunately a capture had proven impossible every time, but the alterations had been averted and the Legion of Super Heroes could return home and bask in victory.
Or so they'd thought.
As they sat in the Time Sphere, on the way home after a stressful mission, the floor underneath them jolted, sending the team sprawling. Alarms blared, warning them that they were caught in a violent chronal wake as something much larger and more powerful than them tore through the timestream. An actual, honest-to-God flying saucer tore around them, burning history at the speed of seventeen dreams a minute. Visions of times that would now never be flashed by in the multi-hued chaos as it pulled ahead of the timesphere, slowing down to match their speed.
A hatch opened, lowering a ramp as it sped around, and William Leather stepped out. Smirking, he gave the Legionnaires a cocky wave. Then rolled something at them, shoving it down the ramp with a booted foot. It was big, painted in bright yellow with black stripes, egg-shaped, and the type of odd box sometimes called a "California Parachute" welded to the end. When it hit, everything went hot white and the concussive force ensured that no one remained conscious.
When they wake up, they're surrounded by construction work. Their hasty exit from the time stream has caused steel beams to age enough to twist and rust, and has de-aged the concrete underneath them until it has become wet again, threatening to harden around them where they lay.
The Time Sphere itself is nowhere to be found. There isn't even any wreckage.
What's immediately evident, however, is that someone's rolled out the red carpet in the form of men. Lots of men, wearing black armor with a distinctly stormtrooper-ish design. Above the red lenses of their goggles is a possibly familiar pentagon-shape filled in with red. No "S" in that shield, but the shape is evident. All of them are armed, some with assault rifles and others carrying weapons of infinitely more sophisticated design.
One of them -- impossible to say what rank when he wears the same black body armor as the rest -- growls.
"Stay on your knees. Hands behind your heads. If you think you want to get cute, we’ve got the real Flash, Nightwing, and Yellow Lantern on their way." He raises his shotgun and pumps it dramatically, pausing as the unfired shell spirals out the ejection port and hits the ground. "...And they ain’t gonna be happy to see some bad Halloween costumes.”
The situation, as bad as it is, isn't helped when the local "heroes" arrive. A crimson comet speeds through the ranks of the Regime's troops, and a yellow force beam blasts the ground between the main group and the soldiers. Of the threatened Nightwing, there is no sign, but Flash and Yellow Lantern come to a stop on their end of the line. Barry Allen folds his arms over his chest, glowering, and Hal Jordan jabs a finger at the team, a glowing yellow hand above him echoing his movements. "You’re all unauthorized superhumans. Out after curfew! Surrender now or..."
His threat is left unvoiced, however, as the team is wrapped in purple smoke, a woman’s voice echoing in a language that even the telepathic ear plugs can’t work out.
