((OOC)) Azuris Town. A beautiful port town, with the smell of the sea in everyone’s nostrils, the sky blue and cloudless, and the sun beaming down its golden rays of life. Ships and boats came, ships and boats went. Crabbing and fishing were what the place was famous for – Azuris seafood was considered some of the best around, renowned by many a gourmet, and sold by the bucketload. People reasoned that overfishing was taking place, but, like always, there was a backup plan for this – the multitude of fish and crab farms scattered about the place meant that fishing and crabbing could go on, as long as the farms were kept stocked. Unfortunately, disaster was to befall the denizens of this seaside haven, disaster beyond the help of the local police force. Disaster from another planet – not even from this galaxy. In the age of superheroes, this may not have been a problem, as they would have likely pounded the invaders back to where they came from. However, when the automatons emerged , things did not look bright. Coming down in metal pods, each machine was uniform in its appearance, immensely bulky, and well over six feet tall. Though humanoid in appearance, their chests were exaggeratedly big, they were completely black, and had no facial features – save for the line across the middle of their faces, a glowing red visual sensor. All in all, a completely typical crone, usually sent to test the strength of another race. A local policeman held his hand at his side, ready to draw his firearm in the case of emergency. He never got the chance – he was shot in the chest by a blood—red beam, from the palm of one of the drones. He was thrown back like a ragdoll, his burnt chest smoking, top burnt clean through. The beam apparently destroyed non-living matter, and when it connected with a living being, it seemed to take effect by hitting them like a white-hot shotgun blast. Not that the policeman had time to think about that, for he was dead. Other members of the force around the area pumped lead into the programmed metal men, but they did nothing but bounce harmlessly off of the surface, while beams indiscriminately slaughtered both civilian and police. “Team One, assemble. Crisis in Azuris Town. Repeat, Team One is to assemble. Please assemble at your designated briefing room.” Team One, one of the many teams Continuum Conundrum had formed, comprised of several superheroes, each meant to compliment the other’s skills. One of the members was John Marsh, alternatively known as Olympian. Technically, he was the second, but nobody made much of a fuss about it, given that the other one had stopped superhero activities more than fifty years ago. And, though not gifted with super speed like some of his allies, thirty miles per hour was plenty fast for getting to the briefing room. “Reporting for duty, mister Conundrum sir!” “Just sit down, John. Wait for the others. Not everybody’s as eager to break their necks as you are.” “With respect, sir, they did agree to come here…” “People agree to do a lot of things, but how many actually act when the time comes, hm? Now, as I said, sit down.” Continuum Conundrum – his real name lost in fire and shrouded in mystery – motioned towards one of the chairs, a light blue swivelling affair that seemed rather reminiscent of an office worker’s. The room itself was sufficiently large, with one side giving a view into space, a view which most newcomers were still getting to grips with. With its cold metal walls and floor, it seemed like a typical sci-fi space base, though the fact that the Falligreyan Watchtower was suspended in the space between dimensions was enough to separate it from the usual. John took his seat at the long, rectangular table, and began drumming his fingers.