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Welcome to Heroes Bridge Studios where we will introduce you to Our Extraordinary Omniverse 

Heroes Bridge Omniverse

The "omniverse" is the ultimate collection of all possible realities, including all universes, multiverses, and dimensions.

 

In the Heroes Bridge Omniverse

Numerous Dimensions Exist because of how sinful most of the creations became. The Divine Creator was hurt by this. The Divine Creator then branched out and formed infinite realities with the ultimate goal of saving souls. Many realities have daughter universes because of science experiments gone wrong especially when they started to develop bombs stronger than the atomic bomb. Most Stories of Heroes Bridge take place in the Daughter Universe Reyalearthica which is the 400th incarnation of Earth due to accidents from misguided scientist and several super human freak outs. 

And there are several Multiverse theories that are reality

Types of multiverse theories

Level-one multiverse: If space-time is infinite and flat, then there are a finite number of ways particles can be arranged, meaning identical regions to ours must exist elsewhere.

The "daughter universe" theory is a concept within the broader multiverse hypothesis, most famously associated with physicist Hugh Everett's Many-Worlds Interpretation of quantum mechanics. It suggests that at every point where a quantum event has multiple possible outcomes, the universe splits into new, "daughter" universes, with each universe representing one of the possible outcomes.

Bubble universes: Originating from eternal inflation, this theory suggests that our universe is a bubble that formed when inflation stopped, while inflation continues elsewhere, spawning new bubble universes with potentially different physical laws.

Many-worlds interpretation: In quantum mechanics, every time a quantum event has multiple possible outcomes, the universe splits into multiple universes, each representing a different outcome.

Quilted multiverse: This model, similar to the Bubble universes, suggests our universe is one of many patches in a larger, potentially infinite "quilt" of space-time.

Cyclic multiverse: This theory proposes that the Big Bang was not a singular event but part of an endless cycle of expansion and contraction, with each cycle creating a new universe.

Brane multiverse: In this model, our universe is a "brane," or a higher-dimensional membrane, that exists alongside other branes in a higher-dimensional space.

Mother Universe Theory By Kwame Mandela Sekou Hanna

I would like to pose this as my Multiverse Theory first my evidence of the Multiverse is from Blackholes and not derived from fantasy as shown in films that depict the Daughter Universe theory but in a realistic way where there are separate Universes and a Space Between them where they cannot exist except for the Mother Universe. Universes are created out of and formed from the Mother Universe. I believe Black holes open up a tear in our Universal fabric and opens up to the Mother Universe which contains all the other Universes. I would like my Theory to be called the Mother Universe Theory.

Mama Earth Theory by Kwame Mandela Sekou Hanna

 I believe we are like the blood cells of the planet and that the planets are alive and aware and can and try to communicate to us telepathically. Objects like the Sun and other Foreign Bodies may be Sentient as well. I believe we are supposed to operate like the red and white blood cells that operate in a human body. With more cells working towards the towards Planetary needs Planets can live longer than estimated.

Divine Tales 

In the year 15 BC, beneath a sky that smelled of iron and rain, Ogun stood within the Black Smith Chambers, a furnace sighing at his back and sparks leaping like tiny fireflies around his shoulders. He was crying, the salt of his sorrow tasting of ash and old memory, while his hands kept moving with the quiet, relentless rhythm of a man who must forgive himself or die trying. He worked, not for glory but for redemption, shaping gifts for the Orishas and for the heroes of the Earth, hoping that each hammer-blow might temper the sin that gnawed at him. The room glowed with molten golds and copper, and the air hummed with the intimate music of metal being coaxed into forgiveness. Without warning, the temperature in the chamber plummeted, and a silhouette coalesced from frost and shadow. Ethanor the Norse God, bastard son of Odin, a shade among gods who despised and envied in equal measure stood at the thresholds of Ogun’s smithy. His gaze, cold as an iron ore pit, studied Ogun with a mixture of contempt and calculation. The conspiring whispers of Balder’s nobility, Thor’s thunderous pride, and Loki’s sly mischief stirred within him, but his jealousy settled on Ogun as a fixed blade. He had learned of the supposed great sin that haunted Ogun, and in that knowledge found his purpose: to erase the stain, to eradicate the sinners, to burn away the divine missteps that had stained the halls of gods. Ethanor spoke through frost and flame, teleporting into the space in a whisper of rust and wind, appearing before Ogun’s Black Smith Chambers as if stepping from a winter dream into a forge’s heat. The room trembled at his arrival, the anvil ringing like a distant bell in protest. For a heartbeat, the two ancient beings regarded each other as if they were two storms colliding in narrow corridors: one forged in iron and blood, the other in runes and ice. Ogun did not flinch. He hissed a curse in the old tongue, a heat-woven insult that painted the air with heat and smoke. “You come here with judgment ready, Ethanor? You come to scourge a god who has only labored, not lied?” He gestured toward the gifts laid out on the anvil, their edges catching the firelight as if alive. “I have carved presents for those who sustain us Orishas, and heroes, and the living memory of a people. My sin is not yours to judge, nor your power to erase.” Ethanor’s lips curled in a cold smile. “Other sons of Odin have sinned in ways you cannot imagine,” he said, his voice a glide of steel on stone. “But I will cut away all impurity, I will end your lineage’s shame, and I shall halt Ragnarok before it begins.” He claimed a position of power, the room shrinking to the circle of his command, a chill halo around his form. The exchange of words shattered into action. Ogun, with the patience of a smith who understands the weather of metal, drew the first arc of flame from his forge and hurled it toward Ethanor with a practiced ease. Ethanor answered with a blinding counterstrike, the clash of divine swords sending a shower of sparks across the chamber like a midnight storm. The battle began in earnest, moving from the smithy to the palace corridors, the walls echoing with the thunder of clashing powers. Ogun fought with the grace of a master craftsman in the middle of a difficult project. He drew on the iron within him the strength of ancestors who had tempered the earth itself and he pressed forward, weaving fire and iron in a dance as old as the world. The fight spilled into the palace, past the antechambers, until it reached the courtyard where the night air held its breath. In the heat of combat, Ogun’s heart fought a quieter battle: the thought of his five children who watched with innocent, frightened eyes, their small faces pressed to the shadows as he commanded them to stay out of the danger. He extended a moment of mercy even toward the worst of his fear, the fear that if he fell here, the humiliation and the pain would be too great for those he loved. “After I am done with you, I will deal with them myself!” Ogun roared amid the clash, a vow that rang through the open air. “All sinners shall be whipped from existence, and I will prevent Ragnarok once and for all!” The words burned as they leaped from his mouth, a mirror to the rage and remorse tangled inside him. In the palace’s hushed, keep-silent chambers, two ancient divine beings circle like eagles above a still, gold-flecked map of the world. The air hums with the crackle of old powers, each breath a spark, each glance a mapping of a thousand battles fought and survived. Ogun moves first, a silhouette of iron will and patient fury, while Ethanor counters with the cold precision of a storm that has learned to walk on the ground. Their weapons are not merely steel but centuries of judgment, of oaths kept and broken, of sins weighed in the balance of a world that never forgets. Ogun’s family five children who carry the light of his glory in their own hopeful eyes step forward with instinctive loyalty. But Ogun’s voice, calm and iron, cuts the air: stay out of this. With a gesture that seems to bend time, he extends his godlike reach and freezes his children mid-breath, as if the palace itself has pressed pause on a moment it cannot bear to lose. Their faces widen with fear and awe, frozen smiles caught in a statue’s half-grin, eyes wide with the shock of witnessing a tempest held in a man’s palm. The scene closes in on Ogun’s own face, the weight of responsibility pressed into his jaw, the tremor of a decision that could end a life, or end a reputation, or end him. Then Ogun steps from the frozen chorus of his line and carries the fight into the heart of the courtyard, where the night air cools the sweat on their skin and the stars look on like silent witnesses. The clash erupts in a chorus of percussion thunder in the exhale, the ring of iron on iron, the scent of ozone torn from the ether. Sword meets shield, blow answers blow, and the ground itself shudders with the force of their divine exertions. Ogun’s limbs move with the patient, inexorable logic of a master craftsman; Ethanor’s strikes come like trained storms, precise and unyielding. Dust whirls, banners whip, and the arena of the night becomes a theatre where gravity studies its own limits. A whisper of a thought threads its way through Ogun’s mind amid the chaos: perhaps to die would spare his clan the blight of embarrassment, would end the gnawing, relentless torture of a sin lived too long in the light. The thought scars his resolve into something heavier, more intimate a sacrifice already half-schematised in his heart. He slows, as if the world itself has asked him to listen, and the scales tilt toward letting Ethanor press forward, to end this with a blow that would seal a fate. Ethanor answers with merciless intent, driving toward a finish with the hard, merciless grace of a hunter who has learned every feint of the hunted. He lands a brutal strike to Ogun’s brow, the impact sharp enough to ring through the palace like a bell struck in midnight. The hilt of his divine sword glints, a pale moon in the darkness, as the world tilts a fraction on its axis. Ogun lowers his head, the weight of defeat pressing against his neck, and Ethanor moves in for the coup. The blade’s edge might never touch flesh the moment is paused by a larger force when Shango appears in a rush of wind and fury, the air cracking with curses spoken in thunder. The teleport is sudden, a rupture in the fabric of the night, and the room’s heat climbs as Shango lands with the raw power of a storm unchained. He screams at both combatants, his voice a drumbeat of divine anger, commanding them back from the brink with every syllable that shatters the silence. Ethanor’s gaze darts toward Shango, and for a heartbeat the battlefield trembles on the edge of annihilation. Then the two titans collide again, strands of energy snapping between them as if the fabric of reality itself is testing which god’s breath will seal the moment. Shango’s anger fractures into a furious resolve, and with a surge of electricity he calls down the skies of the palace, not in mercy but in righteous force. Lightning rips across the night bright, cruel, indisputable—and the storms bloom with impossible grandeur. They coil through the courtyards and corridors, a verdant, volatile halo around the combatants. The spectacle escalates into a breathtaking display of power as Shango’s storms surge outward, a living reminder that even gods must answer to the order of the world they inhabit. The winds whip the banners into spirals of white and gold, and the rooflines seem to bow under the hoarfrost of electricity that snakes along the marble like living serpents. Ethanor’s form is a silhouette in a storm wind-worn, unyielding, a hunter who knows no surrender. Ogun, though bloodied and exhausted, stands with the stubborn, stubborn dignity of a warrior who has faced the abyss and refused to let the abyss claim him. For a breath, the courtyard holds its own universe, two beings of ancient power caught in a moment when history might pivot on a single, stubborn heartbeat. Then Shango’s fury finds its mark not in the fall of Ogun, but in the regaining of balance. He calls the storm to a close with a blast of will, and the lightning-drawn curtains peel back as if the night itself has grown tired of this confrontation. The heavens, finally appeased or perhaps merely redirected, withdraw their electric emissaries, leaving rain-touched air and the scent of ozone heavy on the tongue. Ethanor retreats, a silhouette dissolving into the dark, the last echoes of his power fading into the night as he finds a path away from Africa’s land and legend. Ogun remains, chest heaving, muscles singing with the aftershocks of violence endured and the ache of consequence. Shango’s breath is a warm, rough wind at his back, a reminder of the cost of tempers unbound and the courage it takes to hold the line when the world wants to shatter into pieces. The courtyard, a stage of ruin and radiance, quiets, and for a long moment the two gods stand across from one another in mutual, wary respect—the fight not over in consequence, but paused by the stubborn, stubborn will that binds them to this continent, to this moment, to the choice between pride and protection. Somewhere beyond the walls, the old house of Africa seems to exhale. The storm subsides, the light dims to a soft, ember-bright glow, and the palace finally settles into a silence that can only exist after a storm of gods. Ogun lifts his eyes to the night sky, a glint of resolve returning to them, and the knowledge that the line between sin and salvation can be as fine as a thread of rain. Shango’s presence lingers like a thunderclap remembered a promise that, when the world calls for justice again, the storm will answer anew, and perhaps next time, the dawn will carry a gentler light for all who witness.

Karima stood in the hush of a celestial antechamber, her breath steady as a drumbeat in a still room. Across from her, the Female Angel Incaroha traced a pattern in the air with a glimmering fingertip, the air sparkling where old starlight fell. Incaroha was preparing to depart for Earth, a mission to pick the bravest and most worthy to join Solaris Allguard Unit 8. Karima’s voice carried the weight of counsel and caution. “Brace yourself for mankind’s wickedness and deception,” she warned, her eyes searching the angel’s serene face. “If any will stand against it, they will need you and the light you bring.” Incaroha nodded, wings catching the dim glow of the chamber as she stepped into the threshold of the unknown. Earth drew near, but before the testing grounds of this age could be set, she would walk another shadowed fronti the hell realm where the most powerful demons roared with ancient fury. The Divine Angel pastors preached a stern mercy, urging the demons to repent before the Blue Flame would erase their taint of evil. The flame rose in a cool, lucid blue, chewing through darkness as if it were snow along a frozen river. The demons came in colors and echoes from distant worlds three specters who carried the weight of entire planetary histories in their eyes. The first demon descended in a cloak of sapphire, its presence a cold, precise chill that threaded through the air. The second burned with a fierce vermilion glow, a trickle of heat licking at every corner of the realm. The third shimmered emerald, like a forest unseen, with roots that seemed to gnaw at the floor itself. They spoke in voices that sounded like storms over oceans, promises of retribution and power, guilt and pride braided into every syllable. The Blue Flame reached out, a living river of light that swept through the cavern, curling around the demons and lifting them into a winnowing blaze. Screams rose short, bright eruptions of sound that fractured into a thousand tiny echoes and then, as the fire settled back into the air, the demons’ wails turned into a single, final confession that arrived just a heartbeat too late to save them. The flame did not linger. It jawed the darkness into nothing, leaving the space bare and quiet as an empty cathedral. Incaroha hovered above the ash-dusted ground, her gaze sweeping the horizon and the lingering shimmer of the Blue Flame, a seal on the realm’s mercy and judgment. The Divine Angel pastors, tall and serene, watched with folded wings as their wards learned a cruel but precious truth: some powers are not meant for this world until they temper themselves against the fiercest tests of hearts and minds. When the last echo faded, Incaroha took to Long Island’s listening shore, the sea whispering secrets to the sand. She scanned the people who gathered like constellations around the island—ordinary men and women whose lives hummed with quiet heroism and she chose three who could bear the weight of a test beyond measure. The first was a retired male hero named Captain Good Stuff, who still taught and mentored younger champions with a strategist’s calm and a heart that beat for the greater good. The second was a female superhero known as Night Angel, a tireless guardian who worked with Justice Media and lived as a public and private beacon of hope. The third was a normal woman named Erica Cartwright, whose years of quiet help and hard-won loneliness had taught her what it meant to lift others up, even when the world refused to lift her. With a flick of her luminous will, Incaroha teleported Captain Good Stuff into a shimmering training dimension, where time could be bent without pain and every obstacle became a test of character. The Captain’s body emerged polished and young, back at thirty in form though his mind carried the wisdom of decades. He blinked, surveying a landscape that breathed possibility: crystalline plains, arches of light, and a horizon that shifted like a living blueprint. The mind remained unshaken, his strategies already sharpening as he walked the strange ground. Next came Night Angel, a silhouette of strength who moved with grace through a world that shifted around her as if reality were a page in flux. Her transformation had a different air about it public hero by day, private vigil by night, a life spent in the glow of cameras and the hush of secret patrols. In this dimension, she faced a gauntlet of tests where disguises and misdirections blurred the line between ally and foe, where deception wore the face of a guide and every corner held a risk. Then Erica Cartwright arrived, a simple woman whose hands had mended more than broken fences and whose heart had carried more sorrows than most. Her transfer to the training dimension came with a restoration of youth to a thirty-year-old body, and a spark of power that felt like a quiet wind at first—then surged into a bright current that showed her new possibilities. Erica’s arrival did not shout; it leaned in with a compassionate, steady gaze, as if to say she would learn to fight because she would never stop helping. Incaroha watched as the trio met the tests laid before them. The training dimension did not present a single enemy but a mosaic of temptations and trials designed to strip away pretense and reveal true motive. She disguised herself as villains, as demons who wore masks of need, as guides who offered dangerous shortcuts, and as voices whispering of dangers to the very existence they were being asked to defend. Captain Good Stuff faced the illusion of failure and the temptation to cut corners for the sake of expediency, Night Angel confronted the lure of public praise versus private sacrifice, and Erica battled the ache of past wounds that warned her against exposing her trust to the wrong hands. Yet through it all, the three learned to read signals beyond the obvious, to seek alliance in unlikely places, and to stand firm when the ground beneath them trembled. Captain Good Stuff’s decades of strategy began to adapt to this new arena; he moved with a disciplined tempo, turning every challenge into a blueprint for teamwork. Night Angel’s public persona translated into a private resolve, a visibility that sharpened her intuition and sharpened her empathy into a weapon tempered by justice. Erica, who had once given everything to others and learned to expect nothing in return, discovered a power that thrived in her capacity to connect people her strength a bridge across fear and doubt. Incaroha’s test was not only to measure their strength but to reveal the character that would endure when the bright lights dimmed and the true work began. She watched as the trio learned to trust one another, to guess wrongly and still press forward, to lift up a fallen ally even when their own legs trembled. The training dimension, with its shifting pathways and moral interrogations, became a forge in which three ordinary lives were transformed into a unit capable of standing against the most perilous tides of evil. When the final lesson concluded, Incaroha drew back, not as conqueror but as guide. The trio stood together, a circle of three with a common pulse of courage, ready to be tested again in the service of Solaris Allguard Unit 8. The air shifted, and the celestial chamber opened a last, bright doorway to Earth, to the dawn of a mission that required more than power—it demanded unity, wisdom, and the quiet, stubborn hope that good can endure even when the universe seems bent toward despair. Karima’s eyes followed the departing angel with a mixture of awe and relief. “There are heroes yet,” she whispered, and her voice carried through the hall like a promise. Incaroha’s answer came not in words but in the soft glow of approval that danced along her shield and wings. The path ahead would be long and perilous, but if the three would stand together Captain Good Stuff, Night Angel, and Erica Cartwright there would be more than a chance to protect the world. There would be the strength to endure. And somewhere beyond the star-strewn veil, the Allguard Unit’s lights began to glow with a new, steadfast radiance, the kind that says: we are here, and we will not fail.

An Introduction to Super Powers Narrated by Dr. Indira Martin

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Most Powerful Beings

Level 1

# 1 the greatest of all time the Divine Creator aka Alpha Emperor

Level 2

Abati Gazi- father time

Ibu Jagat- Mother Universe

Omega- The Divine Creator toned down the power levels in other creations after Omega’s betrayal.

Level 3

Gods and Goddesses

Lady Ultra- who can become more powerful than the Gods if the Divine Creator sends them punishment.

Kaiju

Level 4

Raptula

Satan

Rau Servitor

Angels and Divine Beings like Solarians

Elite All Guard Members like Black Sun, and When Griffin evolved after his time served on Earth

Specific Demons like Soundless

Level 5

Avg Allguard Member

Oylri

Physica

War Eagle after he made the ultimate sacrifices for power

Gorex

Quantum

Peacebringer

Queen Justice

Griffin Jr.

American Commando

King Vex

Queen Maple Leaf

Zebra- Magic Manipulation

Master Mystery Magic Manipulation

Master Houngan Magic Manipulation

Neokane

Captain Eagle

Proten

Heavy Duty

Daybringer- Magic Manipulation

Peace Sword

Captain Bonjour

Commander Santiago

Green Eyes

Most Powerful Vehicles

Most Powerful

The Restoration-a Divine Space War Craft made by the Divine Creator

Scienstar -a Divine Space War Craft Made by Divine Scientist from the heavenly planet Scientifica

Galaxy Crushers -Phunari Space War Craft Made by Divine and alien Scientist from the Planet Phunari made to help them subjugate Galaxies making it quicker and easier for them to rule the Universe

Judgements- Divine Space Crafts meant to help the Divine Judges retrieve or condemn mainly piloted by the Allguard or Hell Guard Pilots but some Judges Pilot aswell.

Peace Makers- Divine Space Crafts used by the Allguard

Hole Makers- Made by a group of Earth Scientist in 2028 as a response to the Alien threat most powerful weapon can create black holes.

Star Slayers- Made by the cosmic council in 1959 AD to try and quell the Phunari invasions. The Phuanrians built the Galaxy Crushers in response

2nd Most Powerful

Star Liners- space crafts made by a group of Alien Scientist from the Cosmic Council

Bhutrangos- Phunari Space War Craft

The Zeus a space jet Carier war craft made by Underground American and Russian Scientist first to destroy the Giant population on Mars to increase land in the Universe for Humans. Mainly used as a ship to raid Alien Planes of Their Resources.

Star Mechs- Mechs made by a group of Alien Scientist from the Cosmic Council
Star Jets- Space Jets made by a group of Alien Scientist from the Cosmic Council

Island Sinkers- Warship made by American Scientist Trevor

Various Mech’s from different planets including a few from Earth.

3rd Most Powerful

Divine Chariot - Chariot made by Angels and Human Scientist

Cosmic Blitzer- a war motorcycle made from divine parts made for universal defenders

Cosmic Bicycle- a gift to Our Universe's Cosmic Cyclist from the Divine Creator

Various Vehicles made by the Divine

Levelers- Tanks Made By Phunari Scientist 

Obedience Makers- Tanks made by a group of Cosmic Council Scientist

Various Earth Tanks

Objects of Power

Most Powerful objects

First Crown of the Divine Creator- The First Crown made for the Divine Creator by an Angel Black smith was stolen from the first divine temple by a Fallen angel

Alphion blade the First weapon made to fight evil by the divine creator was stolen from the Divine Museum by a fallen angel

Alphion Armour strongest armor in multiverse outside what the Divine creator has made, was created when the divine creator faced Omega the second time. stolen by a fallen angel from the first Divine temple

Alphion Hammer strongest hammer in the multiverse that the creator used to create gifts for the first creations. Stolen first by Omega and then stolen by several fallen angels.

Alphion Shield Strongest Shield In the Multiverse that was given to the Divine Creator from the Angel Blacksmiths during the first true Holy War was stollen by several fallen angels from the Divine Museum 

Multiversal Gun- first Made by the Divine Creator to catch an evil Angel that would hit and run. Stolen by many Fallen Angels from the Divine Museum 

The Multiversal Necklace made for the first set of eternal lovers that always chose each other. stolen by Alphanor Megamus one of the first allowed into heaven.The Divine Creator was extremely trusting at first and the thefts created our distance. Alphanor who had the Divine Creator's supreme trust stole the necklace to give it to Betanania whom he thought he would win. Betanania had a soulmate and Alphanor locked him away when he could not kill him. Alphanor was the first sent from Heaven to hell who arrived in Heaven from the First Divine Planet.

There are various other objects that were made from the remains of the divine creators first cocoon 

2nd most powerful

Universal Crown

Universal Armor

Special Gifts from Gods, goddesses, angels, Planets or universe

Universal Ring

Universal Necklace

The Omega/ Rainbow Ring

3rd most powerful

The Bracelet of power

The blood Ring

Divine Karma Luck beads

Magical objects

4th Most Powerful

Phunari Rocket Launcers

Cosmic Grenade Launcher

Phunari Mega Cannon

Cosmic Gatling Gun 

First Crown

Alphion Blade

Alphion Armor

Alphion Hammer

Alphion Shield 

Multiversal Gun

Multiversal Necklace

Code Name: Lady Ultra

Real Name Geulis-(Sundanese for beautiful ) Caroll

Birth: 5 billion BC out in the Universe

Powers:  Dark matter Manipulation, environmental adaptation, flight, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Height: 6 foot

Super Team: Independent

A Story about Lady Ultra: Geulis was born to be the Universes defender and lived a normal life on a planet where her morals were tested. Geulis did not find love but did many heroic deeds across the lifespan of her age group. The Universe would then ask her if she was willing to be its defender and she accepted.

Exclusive Web Story: In the annals of time, when the world was still young and the threads of fate were easy to pull, a figure emerged whose presence could tilt the balance of entire celestial orders. In 10 BC, when Earth’s quiet days were broken only by the whisper of wind through ancient streets, she returned, Lady Ultra, a beacon of strength and resolve. Zeus, driven by a tempest of power and desire, sought to assault her once more, imagining that triumph would crown his immortal pride. But Lady Ultra, with a grace that belied the ferocity within, delivered a swift, unbending counterstroke and banished him from any planet’s reach. In the echo of that encounter, Zeus learned a stubborn truth: he would not stroll among mortals or gods with unchecked swagger. He no longer leaves Mount Olympus except in whispers of myth, a consequence etched into the mythic bones of the cosmos. Yet the arc of Lady Ultra’s saga never dwelt in mere retribution. A tangle of jealousy and affection pulled at the threads of trust and danger. Oya, spurred by Shango’s unreciprocated longing for Lady Ultra, moved with a raging fury to end the very flame that fascinated him. In that moment of reckless jealousy, Oya swore violence, and Lady Ultra stood firm, a shield against the tempest of rage that could have consumed both of them. Far beyond the familiar rings of Saturn, in a solar system that hummed with possibilities, Lady Ultra proved herself not only a guardian of the present but a savior of the past and the future. She closed the universe threatening black hole the colossal maw that threatened to swallow all light and memory. With a patient, decisive will, she sealed a void that would have undone the cosmic continuity, preserving the delicate balance that allows galaxies to dream and civilizations to rise. Her feats did not halt there. When a blight known as the Universal Plague swept across the stars, it was Lady Ultra who forged a cure from the embers of resilience and ingenuity. The Kularuti Space virus, born of an alien scientist’s reckless curiosity, hunted through the ages, aging what should endure and devouring what should endure longer. She stood between catastrophe and creation, stitching a countermeasure into the fabric of existence so that life could persevere. Long before the present’s bustle, when life crawled, swam, and drifted across primordial seas, Lady Ultra aided species that would become legends in their own right. She preserved a race of giant humans who wandered the corridors of time with a wanderer’s curiosity, transporting them to Mars to offer a chance at survival on a world unscarred by their own era’s wars. In her hands, extraordinary destinies were braided into the larger tapestry of space and memory. Thus, Lady Ultra’s legend is not merely of battles won or enemies vanquished, but of a guardian who respects the fragile, luminous threads that hold universes together. She stands as a quiet witness to the ends and beginnings that shape everything—an enduring reminder that courage, mercy, and a steadfast will can bend the cosmos toward hope.

Code Name: Black Sun

Real Name Rhei Tah Bunavee

Birth: 4.9 Billion BC

Powers: the ability to manipulate Solar and light energy, flight, environmental adaptation, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Super Team: Allguard several Units, Mainly fights by Lady Ultra and her Brothers side as a heroic trio.

A Story about Black Sun: Rhai was born with powers and was peaceful he worked hard and saved many lives but never received love in his time on Planet Nubia. As a reward for a life of good the Divine Creator selected Black Sun to be on the Allguard team where he would meet Lady Ultra in a chance encounter. Black Sun would win her heart and the two would marry and move to her secret home in a world where only her brother and who she allows lives with her.

Exclusive Web Story: 

This old tale centers on Black Sun, Lady Ultra’s steadfast husband, a sentinel tempered by telepathic prowess and a resolve forged in celestial fires. When whispers of danger reach him of Shango scheming to seize Lady Ultra. Black Sun places a Banishment on Shango and he is forbidden to return to any Planet or add any more wives. Black Sun’s attention snaps to a single current: protect what he loves and uphold the quiet banns that restrain the stars themselves. Oya, weary of a cycle of rivalries and new vows, lends him her thanks as tension threads through the cosmos. Shango, craving freedom and a fresh consort, slips away into shadow, seeking a new horizon beyond the chains of old loyalties. The confrontation that follows is a brutal choreography of power. Black Sun and Shango collide, a clash of fire, thunder and steel across the void. In a decisive moment, Black Sun drives through Shango’s defenses and shatters his legs, a brutal reminder that the steward of the solar order will not tolerate incursions into the sanctums he guards. Yet Black Sun’s history runs deeper than a single skirmish. He has steadied the course of suns, halting several from spiraling into supernovas and saving countless solar systems from obliteration. He has faced Zeus bold, brash, and relentless more than once, quelling his bluster and enforcing the banishment that keeps the cosmos in balance, even as Zeus schemes for more lifebearing lineage and dominion through unfair means. From this crucible of duty, Black Sun guides a vast force: his All-Guard unit, a disciplined phalanx that breaks the void’s silence to confront a Sun-Eating Space Dragon. He leads, strategizes, and adapts, rallying a fleet and a ground army to assist Odin in protecting a race of Giants on Mars, a war-torn cradle where Asgardian ambitions threaten to rip through their fragile peace. Thor, ever bold and impulsive, challenges Black Sun to a duel. When Black Sun refuses, the storm of rage erupts Thor strikes first, forcing Black Sun to defend himself. The encounter crescendos as Thor opens the battle with the Thunder clap and lightening strike. The fight goes way too far and Black Sun is forced to use the Black Flame, a blaze that saps strength from the challenger and tilts the tide of fate. The first Ragnarök looms in the wake of these trials, and the duel with Black Sun leaves Thor bearing the marks of that mythic season: the Black Flame, a remnant of a power too ancient to be fully tamed, gnaws at Thor’s vigor and tilts the balance in the Black Sun’s favor. Black Sun could do more damage but leaves Thor as he is no longer a threat to Black sun. Within this vast, star-woven tale, Black Sun moves with the patience of a galaxy counting victories not merely in battles won, but in the preservation of life and the delicate governance of cosmic order.

Code Name: Incognito

Real Name: Oluwa Orishus

Birth: with the 3rd generation of cave people

Powers:  Super Strength and Healing Factor

Height: 5 ft 11 inches

Race: Black

Super Team: Independent

A Story about Incognito: Oluwa moved within Africa after a fight with a King from Nubia and traveled to Ketema. After his wife and child were killed Incognito left Africa and traveled the world helping the weak and innocent while always remaining in the shadows.

Exclusive Web Story: Incognito is a legend whose footprints cross the thresholds of myth, history, and space. He helped lay the foundations of some of Africa’s earliest temples, destroyed by the reckless curiosity of German explorers, then vanished into the annals of time as if he had never existed at all. In Greece, after a fierce philosophical duel with Athena that sent floodwaters surging through the streets, he somehow persuaded Zeus to grant him Divine Gifts, weaving a paradox of wisdom and power that baffled even the gods. His alliances reach further than Olympus: he did favors for Ogun that unlocked blessings and boons, ensuring a conduit to the gifts that shaped his fate. During the Cold War, Incognito operated in the shadows, a quiet saboteur and a piercing truth-teller at once. He exposed clandestine schemes on both sides, becoming a hinge upon which the world’s tension slowly turned toward a safer horizon. In 2000, he delivered a revelation to the United Nations: a colossal comet was not a celestial wanderer but a Phunari War Ship in disguise, a discovery that reframed humanity’s understanding of its own fragile place in the cosmos. He then led a nimble team one that would grow into the present Peace Keepaz tasked with dismantling the threat posed by the Phunari vessel. In the climactic moments of his saga, Incognito thwarted the Phunari Captain from launching a missile with the force of eight atomic bombs, a moment that could have ended civilizations as we know them. Yet even with the weight of such power in his hands, he remained a wanderer, a guardian, a watcher who keeps a home not only in legend but also on the Moon. From there, he checks in on our solar system, tracing the quiet, shimmering currents of space and guiding the unseen threads that hold the balance of worlds together. His story is a tapestry of temple stones, divine bargains, hidden wars, celestial watchdogs, and a lunar edge where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and the extraordinary becomes a duty rather than a destiny.

Code Name: Physica

Real Name : Susan Storanga-Mizuri

Birth: 1951 AD in New Providence Bahamas

Powers:  Physics Manipulation

Super Team: Independent, Allguard Unit 8

A Story about Physica: Physica was one of the most powerful heroes in the World and the Most powerful Bahamian Hero at the Time. She Turned down a chance to join the Peace Keepaz when they would not let a female lead the team. She left the Bahamas after the Government would not let her husband an African Prince receive citizenship. Physica is the Mother of Quantum.

Exclusive Web Story:Physica stands as a beacon through the decades, a guardian whose powers bend the currents of fate to shield the world from catastrophe. In 1968, as Downtown Nassau faced a peril older than the sea itself, she rose her aura shimmering like heat mirage over the harbor as she guided a NASA spacecraft to a safe landing. The craft slid through the night, a silver bird, redirected by her will toward the harbor’s embrace, and Nassau breathed again, saved by a luminous touch. The world would not forget her steadiness. In 1972, when doom found its way toward the planet in the guise of an Atomoneutro Bomb, Physica stood firm against the ticking clock. She wove a containment of light and wind, halting the detonation with a calm resolve that echoed through canyons of fear. The weapon’s roar died into a whisper; half the world might have burned, yet she locked the fuse away behind a curtain of resolve, preventing a chaos that might have unmade civilization. Then, in 1973, she turned the void itself into a canvas of salvation. She hurled herself into space and faced a comet noble, terrible, a furnace of ancient ice and, with a hunter’s grace, she shattered its threat, saving Earth from a celestial reckoning that would have rewritten the maps of humanity. The following year, 1974, brought a different trial: a warlord named King Kungato from Samalia, a descendant of Ogun, roared across the horizon with a fury as old as the myths he claimed to bear. Physica did not duel with brute force alone; she refracted his cataclysmic energy into a patient stream, redirecting it into a global energy machine she conceived in defense of life. The machine absorbed and transformed his blasts, turning weaponized despair into a pillar of power that could sustain systems rather than shatter them. Yet King Kungato did not fall alone; he was gilded by a younger chorus the Orishas whose ascent saved him from the brink and reminded the world that even darkness can be coaxed toward redemptive light. By 1975, the globe stood at an uneasy hinge. The global energy machine the fruit of Physica’s careful alchemy vanished into the hands of Lynavan Spies, who exploited its power while the United Nations turned a deaf ear to pleas for its return. Physica warned of the cascading consequences: an amplification of strength that would tilt the scales of armies and rewrite the balance of global power. The theft carved scars across the world’s political fabric, and the 3rd Dimension an unseen plane that had once whispered possibilities into the ears of dreamers felt the tremor for generations to come. The Lynavan army drank deep from that well, and the echoes of their power still hum through history, reshaping decisions, fates, and the very texture of reality. In this chronicle of courage and consequence, Physica is more than a protector; she is a force of perception a reminder that every surge of power bears a responsibility as vast as the world we inhabit. 

Code Name: Shell Back

Real Name: Lynden Oscar Smith

Birth: November 16th 1976 Born on Cat Island

Powers:  Super Speed, Super Strength, Environmental adaptation, super immune system, and supernatural combat ability and Healing Factor

Height: 5 ft 9 inches 

Race: Black

Super Team: Peace Keepaz team 2000

A Story about Shell Back: Favorite animal is the turtle and he is an environmental activist that protects endangered aquatic species. Shellback has been a noble member of the Peace Keepaz that Represents the Bahamas proudly. Shellback has helped to keep many alien refugees hidden because of the hatred of man as he helps preserve species the Earth allows to stay.

Code Name: Queen Karma

Real Name: Puja Joshi

Birth: 1981 AD

Race: Indian(Asian)

Powers:  Psychic powers, luck manipulation, magic manipulation, flight, super strength, and healing factor

Super Team: Peace Keepaz IV

Exclusive Web Story:On a rattling train bound for Kolkata, Puja, a 1997 Mumbai girl with a poised calm beyond her years, watches the scenery blur into a watercolor wash of markets, sea-green treetops, and distant city lights. Beside her, the compartments hum with daily chatter, the clack of wheels a steady drumbeat against the rails. In a shimmering moment of chance, Indian scientist Dr. Rudra Singh finds himself cornered by a Lynavan terrorist who speaks in measured threats and cold calculations. The air thickens as the man edges closer to the train’s control panel, coaxing the driver to halt, to surrender to fear. Rudra’s lips curl into a stubborn line as he retreats behind a stall of scientific notes, and with a desperate breath he swallows a super serum he has only begun to understand. The world tilts; his throat burns as the serum races inward, sparking visions and tremors that twist his features into something unrecognizable. He begins to choke, a scientist’s fear morphing into a primal struggle, while the terrorist yanks at the emergency lever, hoping to derail the journey with a single, malicious act. Puja feels the tremor in the metal beneath her feet and the tremor in the air the invisible tug of danger. She rises with a poised, almost ceremonial grace, a beacon amid the floating dust motes and the murmur of frightened passengers. Her mind opens, and with it comes a rush of energy chi blooming like lantern light in the dark. She launches herself toward the terrorist, a swift, lithe force moving one step ahead of every threat, every trap laid in the shadows of a train carriage. Each strike is precise, each breath measured, as she threads through the chaos with the quiet confidence of one who has trained for moments like these. The fight is a haunting dance of power and will. Puja’s psychic abilities illuminate the scene: a surge of understanding that sees through lies, predicting moves before they happen, turning each attack into an opportunity to protect the frightened faces pressed against windows and doors. She disarms the terrorist’s grip and dislodges him from the railing, a small mercy in a larger storm. Yet when she checks on Dr. Singh, she sees something deforming at the edges of his body his form contorting as the serum's wild magic mutates him into a grotesque, unstoppable monster. Desperation sharpens Puja’s instincts. She reaches within, calling forth magic she has only begun to master, a raw, pulsing force that courses through her veins like a second heartbeat. She tries to will healing into him, to pull him back from the edge of transformation, but the surge is not yet enough for a cure only a pause. Dr. Singh charges, the mutated figure a grotesque silhouette against the flickering carriage lights. Puja diverts him with a shield of chi, a frozen, glittering barrier that halts his advance and buys precious time. The train shudders as the collision of forces crescendos, passengers pressing their faces to the glass like startled birds. Puja prays, her voice a quiet, steadfast incantation carried on the wind of motion and fear. She calls forth more chi, her hands weaving through the air, summoning a spectral gleam that tightens around the malignant threat. The mutated doctor lunges, but Puja’s spell crystallizes into a spear of ice a freezing arrest that halts him in his tracks. Moments later, the distant rumble of mortar fire and the disciplined cadence of booted feet announce the arrival of the Indian Military. They surge into the carriage like a tide of purpose, weapons lowered but eyes vigilant, ready to contain the danger and secure the passengers. Dr. Singh, still a perilous blend of science and sorcery, is restrained and contained with careful hands, his mutation cooled beneath the careful, steady hands of those who know how to handle what science could never fully predict. As calm slowly returns to the train, Puja remains at the center of a new, quiet awe herself, one who stepped into the breach not with bravado but with faith in her own growing abilities. The journey to Kolkata resumes, but the memory lingers the moment when a girl from Mumbai learned to draw on a well of power she didn’t know she possessed, and a scientist’s dangerous experiment found its rightful boundary under the steady light of courage.

Code Name: American Commando

Real Name: Alex Jones

Birth: 1980 AD born Texas

Race: Caucasian

Powers: Energy manipulation, flight, super strength, and healing factor

Super Team: Peace Keepaz team IV

A Story about American Commando: American Commando was tested by the Earth as a young child because of many brave deeds early in life. Alex would pass the tests with flying colors. The Earth would reward Alex by imbuing him with super powers to become one of its protectors. Alex went bald early in life as the baldness gene is on both sides of his family.

Exclusive Web Story: In the annals of American hero lore, 2005 would etch out its own somber dawn the year when American Commando stood as the last beacon still blazing after Golythuden, a 35-foot-tall superhuman colossus, cast a long shadow over the planet. Golythuden, whose kin had long since claimed Mars as their realm, descended upon Earth with the iron resolve of giants who believed the planet theirs to reclaim. One by one, twenty valiant heroes fell before the might of the extraterrestrial threat, their sacrifices etched into the memory of a shaken world. Yet American Commando did not yield. He fought with the fury of a storm and the precision of a surgeon, but even his greatest efforts faltered against the tide of that fearsome onslaught. In a moment of stark clarity, he dropped to his knees and prayed to the Divine Creator, seeking a spark beyond human strength. A well-placed energy beam, striking Golythuden’s eyes, sealed the giant’s fate and spared Earth from imminent subjugation, though the cost of victory weighed heavily on the hero’s shoulders. The victory left a void, a hero shortage across a country still reeling from the losses of that night. American Commando forged ahead, not into oblivion but into purpose, returning to college where he earned a Master’s in Environmental Science. His studies deepened his resolve to protect the planet not just through prowess but through stewardship of its fragile ecosystems. The call to serve resurfaced when the United Nations recruited him, pairing his discipline with the techniques of Martial Arts Masters gathered from every corner of the globe. The world needed more than strength; it needed wisdom, restraint, and global cooperation. Yet life, never gentle, reminded him of its fragility in 2008 when his father succumbed to cancer. The loss carved a permanent ache into his days, and in the quiet hours of grief, the color of his hair began to fade. By 2010, the strain of sorrow had stripped him of the last vestiges of vanity as he walked the world bald, the mask he wore serving as a temporary shield against the judgment of a restless crowd. For two years he shielded his own face from the world’s gaze, until 2012 offered him a quiet reconciliation with himself—an inner transformation that eclipsed the external. Through it all, the myth of American Commando remained not just a tale of battles fought and enemies defeated, but a chronicle of resilience. A man who traded the glare of combat for the glare of the sun on his crown, who found purpose in science, service, and the steady courage to face grief with grace. The legend endures not as a monument to victory alone, but as a testament to the endurance of the human spirit when forged in fires of loss, duty, and an unyielding commitment to protect the world he calls home.

Code Name: Queen Peace

Real Name Jenifer Williams

Birth: 1978 AD New Zealand

Height: 5 foot 9 inches

Race: Caucasian

Hair color: Blonde

Powers: Divine abilities, Solar Manipulation, flight, healing factor, kinetic construct manipulation

Super Team: Peace Keepaz IV

A Story about Queen Peace: as a baby Queen Peace was poisoned because of her destiny to do good. She was saved by Raptula and now has the abilities of Raptula the Earth Defender and Continent Destroyer. Queen Peace becomes one of Raptula’s herald’s when a continent must be destroyed and replaced.

Exclusive Web Story: In 1997, Queen Peace rose as a beacon of resolve, her presence a disciplined calm amid the tremors of prophecy. A coalition of New Zealand Heroes stoic, weathered by battles past stood with her as the air hummed with the tremors of a danger long suppressed. Omegasarus, a demonic kaiju of staggering scale, stirred from its prison like a nightmare unfurling its wings. For centuries, the ancient ancestors of New Zealand had sealed this entity away, weaving wards into stone and song to hold back a force that thrived on chaos. Yet the release came softly at first a whispered promise of power offered by a rogue faction the Lynavan Explorers whose craving for dominion over nature's boundaries blinded them to the cost. With each step Omegasarus took, the world shivered; cities blinked into darkness as the demon stretched its divine, blinding origin into a blade of conquest. Queen Peace, steadfast and light-armed with courage, commanded the morale of the group. Her aura, both saving and defining, stitched hope into the fraying edges of their resolve. The heroes moved as one—measured, precise, and unyielding strafing across shattered coastlines and through forests scarred by otherworldly power. The battle crowned the horizon with a blaze of aurora-bright energy, a testament to their unity and the ancient wards that still pulsed beneath the surface of the land. Though Omegasarus roared with a force designed to unmake continents, the Queen’s presence kept the charge from breaking, guiding their blows with an artful blend of mercy and justice. By the time the dust settled, the demon lay bound once more to a fate older than memory, its ambitions quenched by the courage of a nation that refused to yield. The world exhaled, its breath laden with relief and awe, while Queen Peace’s name echoed across the waves and through the pine-scented air of New Zealand, a promise that guardianship would endure. Three years later, in 2000, Queen Peace would embark on new and grimmer trials, her path crossing with Griffin Jr. The two trained with a rigor forged in the fires of past battles, their steps a steady cadence of discipline and trust. Their alliance would grow into a shield against a different storm: a Mutant invasion unleashed by Dr. Menace upon the United Kingdom. In the hush of dawn-lit training caverns and the clang of steel-great shields, they honed not just strength but the quiet wisdom of leadership the kind that sees the cost of every victory and weighs it against the greater good. As they advanced into a future on the edge of chaos, Queen Peace and Griffin Jr. carried with them the memory of Omegasarus’s fall and the unwavering belief that courage, tempered by compassion, could steer humanity back toward light.

In the waning light of a 2003 vacation, when the opera’s velvet shadows seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of a distant homeland, she found herself entangled in a mythology of her own making. A Russian Goddess Soviettania once a radiant emblem of resilience, had drifted into corruption, surrendering her soul to Rau Servitor, a cold architect who measured power in the taking of trust and the bargaining of fates. The Goddess’s bitterness gnawed at her like winter frost; she had granted immortality to the man she believed could be her soulmate, only to discover, too late, that his promises were hollowed by a cult’s cruel design. Within the marble halls of their marriage, Rau Servitor revealed his true appetite: a revolving door of wives and concubines, a litany of broken vows that gnawed at the edges of their union. Soviettania’s heart, once a radiant beacon, hardened into a demon’s resolve first to punish the cheaters who shattered the sanctity of love, then to harvest the souls of the innocent to keep her husband in a leash of fear. The transformation was a quiet apocalypse: a goddess who wore a crown of sorrow, now wielding the shadows as instruments of retribution. She ensnared the unsuspecting with whispers of fate, her honeyed promises a veil for the truth: souls traded like coins in a tyrant’s game. Rau Servitor’s orders grew darker still, sending Soviettania to extinguish the light of a government official who had bartered his own soul too many times, a man who still sought to cheat the devils he had already courted. The path of retribution spiraled toward a reckoning where innocence would pay the price for a world’s centuries of deceit. The bloodless tremor of helicopters and the distant thunder of telepaths from distant lands added a brittle symphony to the scene, as if the world itself were listening for a verdict. Amid the storm of treachery, Queen Peace rose the last, fragile shield between a universe unmade and a promise still worth saving. She fell to her knees, the weight of every yearning for harmony pressing through her spine as she prayed to the Divine Creator. Her plea was not for vengeance alone, but for a world where peace would no longer be a fragile whisper but a living, breathing force. In that prayer, she offered her own soul not as a bargaining chip, but as a willing covenant with the Creator, a vow to channel the boundless power of peace into the cosmos. From the hush that followed her supplication, a miraculous current sparked. The Divine Creator answered not with thunder but with an intimate, radiant surge that filled Queen Peace with a new, serene strength. She rose, eyes bright with celestial resolve, and stepped into the fray with a grace that turned fear into awe. The skies seemed to lean closer as the battle shifted not merely a clash of powers, but a fragile reconciliation between light and shadow, truth and temptation. Soviettania, the demonized relic of a once-glorious goddess, confronted the purity of a heart forged in desperation and sanctified by divine intervention. The encounter was fierce and luminous, a duel that stretched the fabric of time and memory. Yet as the dust settled and the echoes of the fallen telepaths faded, Queen Peace stood undefeated, her soul alight with the quiet, inexorable pulse of peace. In that victory, not just a single goddess or a single universe found rest, but an entire cosmos tempered by trials, braided with sorrow, and finally granted the blessing of enduring peace.

Code Name: Peacebringer

Real Name Rah Bello

Birth: Africa during Earth’s first Generation of Cavemen

Powers: Environmental and animal Communication abilities, the ability to manipulate Solar and light energy, flight, environmental adaptation, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Super Team: Earth Knights, knights of Justice, PeaceKeepaz 2000, Allguard  several Units,

A Story about Peacebringer: Peacebringer was born with the first Cavemen and the Earth has kept him alive because he was such a good person the Earth said when he goes I go. Peacebringer is 7 feet tall with perfect body control

 

Exclusive web story

in 1884 Nigeria Decimatus and his Armies bring war to the Benin King aka the African Super Hero Peacebringer. Decimatus brings the Scy Demun Army who begin to infect the Earth and they needed Key points in Africa to control the Earth. In the 3rd Dimension Universe the Planets are alive (Some Good, Some Bad).The Benin Warriors fight with honor but their technology is not on par with the Weapons from the Scy Demuns and they are defeated. Peacebringer is chained with a Demon ore. Peacebringer cries as they sell his people and he screams “ Let my people go!” Peacebringer begins to overpower the Ore and Decimatus sneaks him from behind and knocks him out. Peacebringer is trapped under his Palace in Nigeria buried in the Earth. Decimatus and his armies loot and rob Nigeria. The Earth tries to call out to different people to help Peacebringer but some are too scared and others are blocked from hearing by the Scy Demons. The Earth cries and the Ocean levels rise.

Code Name: Chief Wild Horse

Real Name: Wamaka 

Birth: November 4th 1598 AD born North America

Height: 6 foot 2 inch

Powers:  Healing factor, Solar manipulation, Magic Manipulation, flight, determination, grit and will power

Super Team: Nu Comanzion Army, Illuminati, Allguard Peace Unit 8

Story about Chief Wild Horse he is from the Comanche Tribe. Many Native American tribes lived in Texas, including the powerful Comanche, known as the "Lords of the Plains," who primarily inhabited Central Texas. Other tribes include the Caddo, Apache, and Wichita, among many others that have called Texas home over the centuries. Best Friends with Shadow Mage 

Exclusive Web Story: January 3rd 1852 AD Harriet Tubman would convince Chief Wild Horse and Shadow Mage to help her on missions to free slaves where they selected those that were worthy to be brought to Nu Comanzion. They would help until 1960 when Nu Comanzion cut off contact with the rest of America.

Codename: War Eagle 

Real name: Micheal Johnson

Birth: 1978 AD born New Providence

Race: Black 

Powers: Experimented on and given multiple powers, sold his soul for more powers. Magic manipulation, super strength, and healing factor

Super Villian Team: Leader of Merciless Militia, shadow Government MP, 

 A Story about War Eagle : War Eagle was a Bahamian soldier that was experimented on and became insane and started trying to conquer the world and started controlling the mob. 

Codename: Pobeda, Snow Ghost

Real name: Pobeda   

Birth: 1000 AD born Russia

Race: Caucasian, Divine Blood

Powers: Magic manipulation, cosmic manipulation, transformations, super strength, and healing factor

Super Villian Team: Merciless Militia

A Story about Pobeda: Pobeda is the son of a God who first descended to Russia. Pobeda has a gambling problem and is in debt to War Eagle.

Exclusive Web Story: The year is 1990, and in a Moscow underground arena the air smells of coppery breath and spilled vodka. A neon sign flickers over a rickety ring where spectators push and shove for a view of the prize money that glitters like a trap at the bottom of a dream. Pobeda moves through the heat of the crowd with the easy step of someone who has learned to read their tempo without listening to their words. He’s dressed in the silhouette of a fighter, all sinew and patience, a quiet confidence tucked beneath a hooded jacket that seems to absorb the blaze of the stage lights. To the eyes of the audience, he looks like a new face one more hungry for glory, not noticing that the room is the theater for something far older and deeper than blood sport. What the bettors don’t know and what Pobeda knows all too well is that every opponent believes they stand a chance. They swagger into the ring with the swagger of certainty, throwing punch after punch with the gusto of men sure they’ve measured every edge the night might throw at them. Pobeda lets them feel that edge too, not by deceit alone but by the patient art of restraint. He plays the weakling, a puppeteer in velvet gloves, letting the other fighters look stronger than they are while he stores up a quiet, terrible power. He wins, again and again, raking in prize after prize, his smile a little too soft, his eyes already catching the next gleam of fortune. After the last bell rings and Pobeda pockets all the night’s winnings, the club scene shifts the lights drop in a warm red, the bass pounding a steady heartbeat into the night. He takes two Russian beauties to a nightclub that glitters with a dangerous glamour: velvet ropes, a bar that sighs with glassy ice, a dance floor crowded with the glow of unspoken stories. The crowd’s hum hushes to a careful whisper as Pobeda moves through the room, a singular gravity in his wake. The world narrows to the pulse of the beat, the soft clink of a glass, and the way a woman’s laugh rings clear and bright, like a bright coin tossed into a well. Pobeda’s night is a reward, and he takes it patiently, deliberately. High above Earth, though, a different current stirs. Thor storm-bright, a god of thunder who carries skies like weapons feels a strange vibration in the aether, a pulse of power that tugs at his own aging strength as if waking a sleeping beast. He notices Pobeda the moment the Russian ring’s glow bleeds into the city lights, senses a force not bound by the realm of men. Thor descends, not with the roar of a storm but with a quiet, almost courteous air, pushing through the nightclub’s velvet shadows as calmly as a deity stepping into a sunlit plaza. He drinks, lets the evening unfurl with the same careless charm Pobeda shows the room, and watches with an amused, almost indulgent patience as Pobeda lounges with his companions. One of the two women the first he guards, a portrait of soft laughter and quick glances finds herself suddenly in Thor’s orbit. Thor, with the easy, roguish confidence of a god who has tasted many mortals’ bets, flirts with a casual boldness that would put a human to blush. Pobeda, who has learned to read power in a hundred subtle ways, tells the woman to ignore him, a simple command that carries weight because it’s given with a master’s calm. Thor’s push is a playful shove at first, a test of the room’s boundaries, but the kiss he presses on the other woman’s hand seals the moment with a spark an acknowledgment that this night belongs to the gods as well as to the men with the loud mouths and the louder bets. In the electric hush that follows, Pobeda’s eyes widen as the veil slips away. He sees not a man but a figure of myth the Norse thunderer, bright with the essence of storms. The room breathes as if the ceiling itself heard the first note of an epic. Pobeda does not unleash his true strength at once; he has learned the long game, the art of acknowledging power while choosing the right moment to bend it to your will. But Thor’s anger, though tempered by courtesy, is a heat that smolders under skin. A challenge is murmured into the space between them, not a cry but a vow: a bet. If Pobeda wins, Thor will surrender his Magic Shin Guards; if Thor wins, Thor takes the Armor of the Angel General Daevous Angeliconous. The two reveal themselves to be what they cannot pretend to be in a crowded club: gods, weapons of myth waking to their own beating hearts. They glide to a place beyond the ordinary, a special Arena designed for the fiercest of their kind. They drink a keg of beer each, a ritual savoring of bravado and breath, before stepping into a domain where the walls themselves hum with mythic possibility. In the dawn’s pale light, Pobeda slips away. He calls forth Rau Servitor, a daemon-servant entity of his own making, and bargained for more power as the city yawns around them. The next morning, the air grows charged with a sharper edge as Thor calls forth Sevunah the Indian God of strength who has the calm, precise mind of a judge and a daredevil’s appetite for spectacle. Sevunah is not merely a referee; he is a catalyst, shaping the arena, setting the stage where the thunder again and the demon-fire must duel for the future of their gifts. The Arena comes alive with a strange, luminous electricity an architectural marvel that breathes and shifts as the two gods step onto its surface. Sevunah takes his seat with a grave nod, a signal that the game is finally starting, and the city’s night starts again with the crackle of arcane energy in the air. Thor stretches, the muscles along his arms and shoulders coiled like lightning ready to strike, a testament to ages lived in the space between storms. Pobeda gathers his power, demon-fire blooming at his fingertips, an infernal glow curling around his hammer and shield like a living flame. The fight begins in a spray of sparks and a chorus of raw power. Thor’s strike comes with the clean, cold brilliance of a lightning hammer, arcing toward Pobeda with the suddenness of a sudden rain. Pobeda counters with his own weapon, a demon-fire hammer that flares with hellish heat, and a shield that seems to drink in the energy of the arena and spit it back as a sharpened edge. They trade blows, the impact ringing through the stone like a bell rung by invisible hands. Pobeda’s movements are a dark, patient dance he blocks, then returns with a counterpunch that carries a whisper of doom. The fight surges and strains as the arena itself seems to lean closer, hungry for the spectacle. Thor is disarmed yet not defeated; he lunges, headlong, with a ferocity that shakes the floor, only to be met by Pobeda’s controlled, almost cruel precision. Pobeda’s fire-tinged hammer cracks against Thor’s chest, and Thor staggers, a god momentarily winded by another’s cunning. Pobeda presses the advantage, but Thor’s resilience built from centuries of storms and battles keeps him standing. The god of thunder sweeps a leg in a swift kick, and Pobeda responds with a ground-kick that sends sparks scattering like drops of molten metal. Then Pobeda summons a final, malevolent gesture: a sickle of hellfire that arcs toward Thor’s blood-red chest, a blade born from the core of the underworld itself. Thor takes the blow, but his own weapon an arc of lightning looms large and bright in the arena’s air. Pobeda undaunted drives forward, delivering a flurry of blows that push Thor toward the edge. The Hell Blade hovers at Thor’s neck, a line drawn in the air, and Sevunah’s voice cuts through the roar of the crowd, declaring the match in Pobeda’s favor. Thor’s mouth tightens, a curse rising on his lips, but the god’s temper is tempered by the audience’s awe and the referee’s steady gaze. As the arena sighs back to stillness, Thor’s anger cools to reluctant admiration. He swears softly into the void, a vow of rematch whispered not to Pobeda’s ears but into the future the four months predicted by the god of thunder would be too soon for two such legends; Pobeda, with centuries of cunning and a demon’s patience, proposes five years to test the limits of their immortality. The agreement, born out of breath and beer and the soft, stubborn glow of power, hangs in the air as Pobeda lifts a keg in a quiet toast to Thor. The two gods, eyes bright with the spark of challenge, step away from the arena’s edge to swallow the night’s last draughts and consider the next round. In the end, the conversation settles into a curious peace. They speak of who will enter the next tournament, of the fighters who would stand against their merged, bearing-wrought powers, and of a world where mortals watch with mouths half-open and hearts whole with awe. Pobeda carries the keg toward the stars toward Thor, toward the next round, toward whatever eternity permits two gods to duel not just for power but for pride, and for the stories that will be told when even the night has run out of breath. The arena fades behind them, a doorway into a future where time itself might bend to the will of champions, and two gods stand at the edge of it, waiting for the next inevitable, inescapable rematch.

Codename: Blud Wyvern

Real name: Darvarchi Moncur

Birth: 1981 AD born Charney Island

Race: Black Elf

Powers: Magic manipulation, Charney transformations, super strength, and healing factor

Super Villian Team: Merciless Militia

A Story about Blud Wyvern: Blud Wyvern hates Daybringer the most in the world and is 100% envious of him.

Code Name: Quantum

Real Name: Matu Mizuri

Birth: 1980 AD Ketema Africa

Height: 6 foot 4 inches

Powers:  Quantum Manipulation

Super Team: Peace Keepaz

A story about Quantum: checkout his origin story in God complex on Amazon. Quantum is a good natured and mega powerful hero. He does good all the time but is manipulated many times by evil forces seeking to abuse his power.

Code Name: Sunbeam

Real Name: Ju Ju Fei Hung

Birth: 1978 AD

Race: Mixed race- Half Chinese and half Black (looks mainly Chinese)

Powers:  Psychic powers, Solar Manipulation, Divine Abilities flight, and super strength,

Super Team: Knights of Justice Team III

A Story about Sunbeam: Ju Ju descends from the Jade Emperors bloodline and of the hung lineage. Ju Ju’s Mother won the battle of passing ones genetics and she looks 100% Chinese except her hair is curly which she normally keeps permed because of society. Ju Ju’s father is mixed race but since the one drop rule he considers himself black. Her fathers Mother also had solar manipulation and her father’s Dad had psychic powers. Ju Ju grew up in the Bahamas and makes friends easily with her fiery personality she is able to handle the tough talk of the Bahamian people.

Exclusive Web Story: Ju Ju’s life unfurled like a jagged constellation, bright with promise and shadowed by fate. In 2000, a wedding that might once have bridged two worlds loomed on the horizon she almost married a Chinese prince. But the revelation of her mixed lineage sent tremors through the palace walls, and the union their future was abruptly severed, as if a star had burned out too soon. Yet the ember of her ambition did not die. By 2001, Ju Ju’s extraordinary psyche blossomed into service: she began to lend her psychic powers to the police, untangling mysteries with a quiet clarity that felt almost supernatural, guiding investigators toward truths that lay just beneath the surface. The following year deepened her resolve. In 2002, Ju Ju extended that same gift to the Defense Force, aiding their pursuit of terrorists and poachers a vigilance that mapped the thin line between danger and justice. Then, in 2004, a day of bright contrasts etched itself into memory. She started the morning by lifting the spirits of disabled children, a beacon of warmth and hope. By afternoon, she thwarted an assassination attempt on the Prime Minister, the tension of the moment crackling in the air as plans unraveled under her watchful gaze. Night fell, and a personal storm rose as she confronted Polar, discovering him in a moment of betrayal at a bowling alley, the revelation shredding their romance but sharpening her sense of purpose. The year 2005 widened Ju Ju’s world in epic measure. She joined a band of Chinese expatriates who journeyed to bolster China against the Demon Dragon Clan the DDC, a malevolent force that had loosed six thunderous dragon shadows, each a towering 60 feet in length. If that year demanded courage, Ju Ju answered with it and more standing at the confluence of duty, heritage, and a power that felt less like a gift and more like a responsibility. In the same breath, 2005 also carried the buoyant, perilous energy of Sunbeam. Across oceans to Haiti, Sunbeam moved as a guardian against the Demon War Lord General Blood, a cannibal tyrant whose superpowers made him a living, breathing nightmare. The skies burned with the clash of ideals as Sunbeam and the Peace Keepaz confronted his encroaching army, reducing General Blood to ashes and sending the rest of his militia into retreat. The world breathed a collective sigh as hope staked its claim again, stronger for the night it endured. From heartbreak to heroism, Ju Ju’s arc threaded through a century’s turn of danger, mercy, and stubborn hope. Her life fraught with complex loyalties and extraordinary gifts reads like a saga of resilience: a testament to how one person’s inner light can illuminate the darkest corners of the world.

Code Name: General Peace

Real Name Amastufar Al-Masri

Birth: 1978 AD Arabia

Height: 6 foot 1 inches

Race: Arabian (Fair Skinned)

Hair color: Black

Powers: Divine abilities, Wind Manipulation, flight, healing factor, energy manipulation

Super Team: Peace Keepaz 2000

Story about General Peace: Amastufar is the descendant of the Egyptian God Osiris and his first nickname was sandstorm because he use to use his wind manipulation abilities to create sand constructs, sand storms and sand tornadoes.

Exclusive Web Story: In the year 1999, General Peace forged an unlikely alliance with the Peace Rebels from Arabia, mending old borders of trust to shield the Eygyptian God Anubis, a figure both timeless and stern. Anubis, who had judged the child of a god with a measured and ancient eye, found himself accosted and wounded just as he prepared to seal away a Demi-God whose birth had unsettled the heavens. The guardian of balance survived that brutal moment, his resolve tempered by the sting of treachery and the weight of a duty that stretched beyond mortal comprehension. Three years later, in 2002, General Peace faced a different kind of foe: Blood Star, an American supervillain whose ambition eclipsed the sun. Blood Star commanded a rogue army, seizing oil fields with ruthless precision and weaving drugs into the veins of the populace, a grim currency that funded dominion and fear. The struggle became a shadow war waged in refineries and river towns, where the glow of breakneck engines and the hiss of toxic vapors formed a chilling soundtrack to a fight for sovereignty and sanity. In the end, Peace toppled Blood Star, casting down his drug-laden empire and restoring a fragile line of security to a world on the brink. Concurrently, Peace’s work in wind energy earned him a whisper of global reverence. Nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in recognition of scientific breakthroughs that turned wind into a friend rather than a weapon, he stood on the cusp of universal acclaim only to be denied, deemed too young to cradle such a venerable honor. The rejection stung, not as a blow to his ego but as a signal that the tide of recognition often lags behind the tide of necessity that courage can outpace ceremony, and wisdom can ripen in the field long before it wears a medal. The years rolled forward to 2006, when a new menace crept from the ether: an Evil Jinn, Eyatufar, long imprisoned yet restless, loosed upon the world with a sly hunger for upheaval. Had Eyatufar gathered full strength before General Peace, reality itself might have bent to a malevolent design, reshaping the familiar into a labyrinth of alternate histories and broken destinies. Peace faced Eyatufar in a crucible where intellect, courage, and an unyielding faith in humanity would be tested. The duel was not merely of power but of perception between a world that would be remade and a man who believed in preserving the extraordinary without surrendering the ordinary to chaos.

Code Name: Navy General

Real Name Amari Soulsby

Birth: 1935 AD

Height: 5 foot 5 inches

Powers:  uses magic objects, determination, grit and will power

Super Team: Knights of Justice Team 1

A Story about Navy General: Navy General was a hero in secret and a politician who became a member of parliament. Navy General would help establish the Bahamian arm of the International police force called the Knights of Justice. The Knights of Justice during his era competed with other international police organizations in bringing in the most war criminals.

Exclusive Web story 1 :  The navy blue banners fluttered as the convoy of airships drifted toward the glittering spires of the Magical Kingdoms, where the air itself hummed with enchantment. Navy General walked at Pearl’s side, the two of them stepping into a realm where science and sorcery coexisted in a delicate balance. Ahead, the Charney Parliament moved with measured dignity, their robes catching glints of light as if each thread held a tiny star. The Snow Chick Charney greeted them with a soft, crystalline smile, and the procession passed beneath arches where the Elven Queens and Kings awaited, their crowns sparkling like frost on ancient trees. The air thrummed with a respectful hush as discourse began—a council of rights and responsibilities, the sentient rights bill on the table, and talk of the public use of magic for defense, both personal and collective. At the grand entrance of the Royal Magical Opera House, the Grand Council welcomed the delegation with a chorus of approving murmurs and a parade of silvered lacquered doors. Inside, the six-story edifice rose around them like a living instrument, its balconies and galleries carved with runes and scenes of mythical triumphs. They found a private booth in a corner, draped in velvet dusk and illuminated by floating lanterns that drifted like will-o’-the-wisps. The performance above carried melodies that shimmered through the floor: voices that could coax fog into shape, violins that sounded almost like whispers from old forests. Navy General, Pearl, and the Charney Parliament sat surrounded by the warmth of the room’s shadowed wood, the orchestra's cadence wrapping them in a cocoon of shared awe. When the final curtain fell, the Eleven Queens and Kings rose in procession, their hands extended in invitation. They escorted the visitors to a banquet hall that glowed with twilight tones and the soft clinking of crystal goblets. The Royal Gourmet Magical Restaurant stretched out before them, a feast laid across a long table that glimmered with enchantment and steam that rose from nowhere. The feast began with an abundance of aroma—the savory tang of roast pork glazed with garlic butter, caramelized onions and apples that sang against the palate, the tangy sparkle of elf green vinegar sauce, the comforting heft of elven mixed rice, and a slender, emerald salad that tasted of spring rain and old-world orchards. Pearl chose a rich steak crowned with garlic butter, its mushrooms and onions braised to velvet, green peas glistening beside, a side of elven macaroni and another bright, herb-laden elven salad. The Charney Parliament enjoyed an array of gourmet dishes some tasting the elven steak and kidney pie, its crust crackling at the edge, a secret sauce and vegetables grown only in the magical soil of this realm lending a puzzling sweetness to the dish. Conversation drifted from old wars to heroic exploits, each tale sharpened by the warm glow of lanterns and the soft murmur of fellow diners. Laughter braided with history, plates cleared and refilled, cups clinking in a chorus of merriment. Stories of battles fought and won, of daring rescues and quiet acts of courage, traveled through the hall like a shared spell, binding guests in a common memory. The night carried them forward on a tide of friendship and mutual respect—a reminder that, even among rulers and generals, the human heart desires companionship, understanding, and a future where magic serves justice as deftly as it lights the dark.

In the enchanted margins of the Magical Kingdom, where the air glittered with frost and music braided through every stone, the Charney Parliament relaxed into a rare, almost fragrant lull of governance. The council chamber—a domed amphitheater lit by floating lanterns that looped like gentle comets buzzed with the careful cadence of political debate. Maps of the Eternal Good Council sprawled across obsidian tables, their runes pulsing softly as voices threaded through them, drafting the year’s arcane agenda. Beyond the council’s glassy doors, the outskirts whispered of forgotten treaties and fragile alliances. It was there that a cold, calculating bargain ripened under a pale moon: Wurthuce Birhminter, an Ice elf of singular cunning, brokered terms with the Rau Servitor. The price was steep and simple Wurthuce would sacrifice all the other tribes within the magical Kingdom except his own Elven Ice tribe. A chilling vow, sealed with frost and shadow, would earmark the future for the sake of a clan’s survival. Yet in such a world where power curls like smoke around every decision, intentions often wore disguises as gleaming as the icicles that adorned their temples. Back inside the Kingdom’s heart, the Charney Parliament pressed on with urgent discourse. Pearl, a spellwright whose fingertips traced sapphiric threads of magic, stirred the air with shimmering sigils that braided protection around the chamber. Noble leaders, draped in gowns that flickered with frost-fire, debated the perils and promises of governance alliances with distant realms, the balance of magical energies, and the ever-looming specter of dissent within the Kingdom’s own walls. Then, the air snapped with a crack of darker intent. Wurthuce, not content to wait, surged from his icy bluff with a cadre unseen, paired with the ominous presence of the Scy Demons. The assault shattered the chamber’s serene aura as Navy General, sturdy and unyielding, welcomed combat with a thunderous set of weapons, his battle cry echoing through the crystalline halls. He unleashed a barrage of steel and strategy, the weaponry singing a deadly hymn as he carved a path toward the heart of the invasion. Pearl’s magic answered in kind, a coronet of luminous runes spiraling from her palms, weaving protective circuits around the Parliament’s wavering columns. The Charney protectors—knightly Elven guardians and the enigmatic Snow Chick charney formed a living shield, their movements a fluid dance of defense against the sullen, gnashing advance of Rau Servitor’s dark spellwork. The air grew thick with the scent of cold iron and ozone, the clash of steel and sorcery ringing across the vaulted ceiling like a storm breaking over glass. Navy Stallion, a fearless figure among the Palace’s veterans, strode to meet Rau Servitor in a duel that would tilt the fate of the realm. The two forces collided with ancient force, magic meeting metal in a symphony of impact. For a breath, the world narrowed to the thrumming of his heartbeat, the chill of Rau Servitor’s enchantment sweeping toward him, and the certainty that every decision the Parliament had made paled in comparison to the raw, wild arc of this confrontation. As the battle raged, the Kingdom trembled on a hinge between order and upheaval. Wurthuce’s treachery hung in the air like a breath held too long, while Pearl and the Parliament eyes bright with resolve stood as a bulwark against ruin. The Scy Demons pressed forward, but the charge of the Charney Parliament's courage, reinforced by the staunch guardianship of the Elite and the steadfast Snow Chick charney, began to turn the tide. In the heart of the maelstrom, the true test emerged: would the Kingdom endure the price of survival, or would it fracture beneath the weight of secrets, bargains, and the razor-edged power of magic?

Wurthuce surged forward, icy breath trailing in the air as he lashed out with an ice blast aimed straight at Navy General. The General, quick as a fable, bobbed and weaved with uncanny timing, ice shards shattering harmlessly against his practiced evasions. Seizing the fleeting moment, Wurthuce conjured a glimmering ice sword, its blade a pale, crystalline arc that hummed with frostbite intent. The General, ever cool under pressure, slid his gun into its holster with practiced ease and drew a dagger gifted to him by the elven queen a blade that drank the glow of moonlight and whispered promises of ancient power. The two clashed in a chorus of crackling magic and steel. The battlefield, once quiet, trembled as mortals from the Magical Kingdom faltered and fell, their banners snapping in the cold wind as Rau Servitor pressed his dark will forward. From the skies thundered Arthus the red-beard dwarf mage, racing on the back of a roaring griffin. He cried to the heavens, and angels descended in a blinding cascade, their radiant wings piercing the gloom and corralling Rau Servitor’s advance. The clash intensified, the air thick with awe as the angels’ chorus swelled and enveloped the field, forcing Rau Servitor to retreat into the shadows from which he came. Navy General, his resolve ironclad, struck with precise brutality. He shattered Wurthuce’s ice sword, the crystalline shards scattering like frozen rain. Before Wurthuce could recover, the General unleashed a brutal four-punch onslaught, each strike a measured blow to balance and pride. Then, with a final, merciless breath, he cuffed Wurthuce in magical handcuffs crafted by the enigmatic elven blacksmiths of the enchanted realm—chains that twined with runes of binding and cold light, sealing the rival warrior’s power and tethering him to the fate of the battlefield.

Exclusive Web Story II:

Code Name: Harpoon

Real Name: Johnathan Cartwright

Birth: 1930 AD in Abaco Bahamas

Race: Caucasian

Powers:  can breathe underwater,  beyond human speed, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Super Team: Knights of Justice Team I, Aquatica Army

A Story about Harpoon:
Harpoon was a well mannered child that after high school he would join the Royal Bahamas Defense Force. Harpoon was among the third batch of recruits to receive the super marine serum. Harpoon would then go on secret missions for the Bahamian government as it fought against a silent war with Lynava. Harpoon would go to Lynava for five years undercover.

Exclusive Web Story: In the quiet, sunlit mornings of Abaco, Bahamas, the man known to the world as Harpoon moved with the wary patience of a spy who’s learned to read every shadow. 1960 Lynava Johnathan Cartwright though few called him by that name anymore stood in the hush between sea and sky, a second-year undercover operative for the Bahamas Government. His mission was as clear as a reef knife: uncover a clandestine spy network siphoning resources, sabotaging officials, crops, and businesses, and bring them to light. For three years he quietly threaded himself through the network, gathering whispers and receipts, feeding every shred of evidence to the United Nations and the International Criminal Court. The work gnawed at him, a careful winnowing of truth from treachery, until, in the last five months, he unleashed a torrent of disruption that toppled operatives and exposed their schemes, forcing him to flee the country lest the web comes crashing down on his own head. Fifteen years drift by like a tide unafraid of the moon. A Bahamian Super Serum the kind of breakthrough that blurs science with myth finds its way into the world, and with it, Cartwright’s own body begins to mutate in ways that mirror the very ocean he swears to protect. His hands and feet take on webbing; a fin once distant and miraculous becomes a living emblem of his new life. He retreats to the water, dwelling where the surface’s curiosity cannot easily intrude. Yet when the Navy General summons him, Harpoon surfaces with the same quiet determination that once carried him through crowded markets and shadowy docks. He returns not as a soldier of the surface, but as a guardian of it a king among those who dwell beneath, ruling Aquatica with a balance of fierceness and mercy. Marriage anchors him to a world above the waves: Melody, his longtime girlfriend and trusted ally, stands by him as partner and confidant, a bridge between the two realms they now inhabit. The couple’s love is a beacon that weathered storms—an anchor against the current of prejudice that threatens their children who, in Harpoon’s mind, must be kept safe from pity and prejudice alike. So he treads a careful line, guarding his offspring from the biting jeers of ignorance while steering the ocean’s chorus toward a future where their differences become a celebration rather than a scornful punchline. Harpoon’s life is a paradox of peace and peril. He has ceased the most dangerous surface assaults, coordinating a coalition of ocean dwellers and scientists oceanographers who map the planet’s shifting moods and defend its fragile balance. In his static, underwater citadel, he harnesses the collective strength of sea-life and human ingenuity to protect the sea’s delicate veins of life, while the surface world remains blissfully unaware of the quiet architect behind the tide. He is the bridge between two worlds: a hunter-turned-steward, an outlaw who chooses mercy, a legend who built his throne from currents and courage, and who now moves with the patient, measured grace of a king who knows that true power lies not in domination, but in safeguarding the depths that cradle us all.

Code Name: Melody

Real Name: Rhowameli Aquaticus

Birth: 1934 AD

Race: Black Siren

Powers:  Psychic powers, luck manipulation, magic manipulation, Sound Manipulation, super strength, and healing factor

Super Team: Knights of Justice Team I

A Story about Queen Melody: Melody loved the surface but hated how humans behaved. She felt that by helping the surface dwellers as a hero would help create peace between the land and ocean dwellers. After her Mother’s Death during the fourth Aquatica versus Atlantis war Princess Melody would be voted as the new Queen of Aquatica. Queen Melody is Harpoons wife, she is ruler of Aquatica and she is also the commander of the armies.

Exclusive Web Story: The year is 1953. Twenty miles from the sapphire edge of Freeport, a cruise liner cuts a silver wake through the tranquil Atlantic, its gleaming hull a promise of luxury and escape. A hush of porters, chandeliers, and velvet-draped decks masks a far darker current: among the well-heeled passengers moves John Clarkson, an American businessman with a shadowed ledger. He hauls with him two million dollars, tucked away in offshore pretenses, a fortune meant to vanish into the Bahamas’ sunlit ether. But news travels fast on the sea, and information, like the tide, can be treacherous. Pirate Captain Shotta has learned the weight of those whispers the treasure Clarkson bears and his band, the King Raiders, thrives on the thrill of the raid: night-black uniforms, the clang of cutlasses, and the roar of demand as ships bend to their will. From the dawn, the ship’s laughter and clinking glass carry the scent of salt and danger. Nearby, Melody moves through the ocean’s edge with the ease of a creature born to its rhythm; her presence a rumor to those who believe in miracles and mischief. She sees the ship with its gilded rails and pomp, and her eyes narrow on the wave of impending violence. With a calm that belies the tremor of power around her, she radiates a hypnotic quiet, a lure that braids into the minds of the pirates like a soft current pulling them toward sleep. As the Bloody Bertha closes in, Melody’s first enchantment coils through the air. The pirates, those brash, sun-caramelized men who thrive on fear and bravado, slow their movements, their fingers loosening their grip on their weapons as if weighed by invisible ropes. On deck, the tension drains from their faces, and the world narrows to a single, curling thread of suggestion. One by one, they drift into a dreamlike compliance, their bodies loosed from stubborn will and redirected toward an unseen shore. Low and deliberate, Melody slips aboard the cruise ship, a shadow with grace. She moves with the soft certainty of a lighthouse beam cutting through fog. Her mind threads through the remaining pirates, weaving them back toward their former lives with a command as gentle as a sigh and as inexorable as the sea’s own pull. They descend into a temporary stupor, their plans dissolving into a pale mist that dissolves on contact with their own doubts. On the main deck, the ship’s hum returns to life voices rise again, questions bloom, and fear threads through the air but the sense of purpose has shifted. The pirates, emptied of their prize and their bravado, stumble toward their vessel, the Bloody Bertha, as if waking from a shared dream. They cling to the idea that they still chase fortune, that their hands remember the feel of coins clicking together, even as the treasure slips from their grasp and evaporates into the sea’s vast memory. Melody waits miles away, letting the cruise slip forward through the deep blue like a secret being carried away on the wind. When she finally releases them, the King Raiders awaken to a ship that feels eerily different hollow, unguarded, and suddenly uninteresting. They fumble for explanations, their thoughts tangled with the remnants of the hypnotic thread, while Clarkson remains oblivious to the near-miraculous twist of fate that has spared him and his fortune from a far darker ending. The ocean keeps its ancient rhythm as the ship glides onward, with Melody watching from a distance, a quiet guardian whose intervention saves more than reputations or riches. The sea swallows the echoes of danger, and the horizon opens wide, keeping the promise that even in a world of lofty schemes and sharp blades, cunning and grace can outrun violence and turn a moment of peril into a story of improbable mercy.

Code Name: Rephsyha (Rehabilitative, Psychological, Healer) 

Real Name Eva Strongheart-Soulsby

Birth: 1950 AD Exuma

Height: 5 foot 10 inches

Powers:  Telepathy and telekinesis

Super Team: Knights of Justice Team 2

A Story about Rephysha: Rephsha would win leadership of the second team of the Knights of Justice and would carefully lead the team to the hands of the next generations Knights of Justice Team leader.

Code Name: Captain Justice-1970-1984

Real Name: Erica Ingrahm

Race: Black

Birth: March 19th 1952 New Providence

Powers:  above human speed, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Super Team: Defense Force, Knights of Justice Team II, Allguard unit 8

A Story about Captain Justice: Captain Justice was the first Bahamian female to take the Governments secret super serum. Captain Justice Protected the Bahamian waters with a sense of duty that would make all patriots proud. Captain Justice has stopped over 20 individual terrorist attacks in her 14 years of dedicated service. Captain Justice once took a bullet protecting a Prime Minister from an Assassination attempt.

Exclusive Web Story: Captain Justice stood at the edge of the tropical dawn, where the Bahamian horizon bled gold into the turquoise sea. Before she joined the second Knights of Justice, she had walked a shadowed path as a secret agent for the Bahamian Government, a guardian tucked behind the bright smiles of Caribbean mornings. The Bahamas, a gateway to America, pulsed with a dangerous electricity; it drew in seekers, some benign, many with knives hidden in their pockets. Among them, a specter named General Destruction had crept through its coral shade and satin winds. He arrived not with fanfare, but with the quiet, calculating steps of a predator who understood leverage the power of information, the leverage of fear, the spark that could ignite a political conflagration. General Destruction wasn’t a brute in the open. He operated from the shadows, a one-man submarine mapping currents beneath the surface, guiding spy satellites and whispering secrets to the Lynavan government. His mission was not merely to spy, but to coerce, to tighten the noose around the American heartland by turning distant drumbeats of power into a thunderous demand for obedience. The plan was perilous and precise, a ballet of danger choreographed in the dark. Captain Justice traced the clues through a maze of encryption and deceit, her resolve a steel thread pulling through the fog of espionage. When the two forces finally collided, it was a clash not merely of strength but of will. Destruction came for Washington with a bomb that threatened to cage an entire nation in fear, and Captain Justice, with a sacrifice as stark as it was necessary, severed General Destructions right arm to halt the device’s flight the loss a brutal testament to what she would do to protect the world from catastrophe. But the threats did not end there. A Shadow Government operative, a chameleon who wore California like a second skin, moved with a conspirator’s grace, seeking to unleash a gang of super villains to seize control of the Bahamian government. Captain Justice understood that this was a powder keg with fingers across continents, a web that required more than brawn to untangle. So she summoned a council of courage and cunning. From across the globe, Bahamian super agents answered the call, a diverse chorus of talents and resolve. Together, they formed a formidable alliance, a beacon of resistance against a hidden tyranny. They would storm the labyrinth of corruption, dismantling the Shadow Government’s grip, one false statue, one hidden corridor, one whispered treaty at a time. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt, victory, and the inexorable truth that justice, when forged in sacrifice and united by purpose, can outshine even the darkest conspiracies. Captain Justice’s story is not a solitary epic but a testament to resilience the moment when a shield becomes a sword, when a nation’s safety becomes a shared vow, and when a hero discovers that the true battlefield lies not only in the sunlit streets of capital cities but in the quiet resolve of those who refuse to surrender to fear.

Code Name: Lynx

Real Name: Leo Thurston

Birth: 1956 AD born New Providence

Race: Caucasian

Powers: Psychic powers, Earth manipulation, Lynx transformations, super strength, and healing factor

Super Team: Knights of Justice Team II

A Story about Lynx:

Exclusive Web Story:

Code Name: Queen Justice

Real Name Nikki Soulsby

Birth: 1977 AD

Height: 5 foot 6 inches

Race: Black

Powers: Dark Matter Manipulation, flight, super strength, healing factor, Tele synthesis

Super Team: Knights of Justice team 3

A Story about Queen Justice: as a baby Queen Justice was poisoned because of her destiny to do good. She was saved with the blood of Lady Ultra and now has the abilities of Lady Ultra the Universal defender

Exclusive Web Story: In a cosmos where Lady Ultra stands as a guardian of balance, she tests Queen Justice and the Earth’s champions, confronting universal problems that threaten peace across many worlds. Zeus and Shango scheme to expand their dominion, entangled in plots to outwit banishment and hoard power. Their schemes involve calling on their sons some eager, some reluctant to conjure a grand raid across distant realms, hoping to seize influence and resources to enrich their divine portfolios. Hermes, Apollo, Hercules, and Ares weigh in with differing loyalties, some aligning with their fathers, others choosing the path of restraint. Shango whispers of an ancient tradition where conflict between tribes leads to gain of treasure, arguing that if the human protectors falter, the gods must step in to uphold order and safeguard the vulnerable there fore those that loss where unworthy keepers in the first place. He enlists three sons Oshungu, Shangoya, and Shuny while the other five remain unconvinced, prompting a rift within the divine family. - The plan draws in allied deities and divine friends who share the ambition, proposing a calculated campaign against Earth’s threatened realms, starting with Africa and then Greece. Queen Justice receives a telepathic vision of this looming upheaval and mobilizes the Knights of Justice alongside Earth’s defenders to counter the incursion. The first clash unfolds in Ethiopia, where many heroes momentarily falter under overwhelming power. Queen Justice summons reinforcements Quantum, African warriors, and peacekeepers to stabilize the skies and ground the assault. Orishas Oya and Oshun observe the chaos and lend their benevolent offspring to support Earth’s guardians. - Though several gods attempt to escape with their gains, the Earth and its allies prevail, turning the tide through courage, teamwork, and strategic magic. Ares, embittered, tests the limits of Earth’s champions, but Queen Justice channels the combined might of Lady Ultra and the broader Universe, delivering a justice that rebalances the scales.  In the aftermath, Queen Justice reports to Lady Ultra, who secretly coordinates the return of any taken endangered souls. Hera is entrusted with enforcing consequences for the transgression, ensuring accountability within the divine ranks and restoring harmony to the worlds

Code Name: Prime

Real Name: Amaechi Cartwright

Birth: 1982 AD born on Long island

Height : 6 foot 3 inches

Weight: 200 lbs

Super Powers: Earth Manipulation, lightening eye beams, Wind Manipulation, Environmental adaptation.

Story about Prime: because of a life of good deeds the Earth choose Amaechi Cartwright to become one of its Defenders called Prime. Prime once stopped a comet from destroying the Earth and turned it into resources for the Bahamian Government giving them the ability to create products on the level with bigger continents.

Exclusive Web Story: Prime has come to Earth’s rescue countless times, and one of those daring saves stands out in the annals of legend. It was a clash that stretched the limits of courage and power, pitting Prime against the fearsome Professor Pain, a warlord whose legacy inked itself across continents. Professor Pain’s rise began in the darkest of rites; he first tasted the blood of Ogun, a rite that seared his will with ancestral thunder, and then drank the blood of Black Sun, drawing a blistering blaze from the heart of celestial light. He wields the reflex of deities, harnessing the sun’s blazing furnace to tilt the balance of battle in his favor, turning day into a weapon and turning ambition into heat. Yet Prime would not yield. The city’s hum faded into a silent vigil as the Earth itself lent its voice to the struggle. The Planet, old as time and patient as gravity, shifted its weight in a silent, inexorable telekinesis. It plucked at the world’s stones, lifting and hurling rocks and boulders with the precision of a maestro directing a symphony of debris. Prime countered with a blinding assault Lightning Eye Beams rays of concentrated luminescence that pierced the veil of the warlord’s influence, bending energy toward a decisive end. The battle raged with the fury of a celestial storm and the resolve of a single unwavering heart. Prime’s stamina didn’t falter; every strike from the sun-drenched foe met with a glow of unyielding determination. In the end, the tides turned. The Earth, rallying its ancient patience, sealed Professor Pain away in a hidden cave, a quiet tomb of stone and memory. There, the planetary forces began a quiet work of healing, draining and recycling the warlord’s acquired powers, reclaiming them as fragments of the planet’s own enduring life-force. The cave’s entrance shimmered with a pale, almost breathing light as the Earth settled back into its quiet cadence, knowing that a balance had been restored, and Prime’s vigil would endure for as long as the stars would shine.

Code Name: Griffin

Real Name : Jake Barnes

Birth: 1912AD Leicester England

Powers:  flight, Various Vision powers from various types of eye beams to super sight, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Super Team: Peace Keepaz team 1 and Allguard unit 8

Height: six foot two

Hair color: Brown/ black

Race: Caucasian

Weight: 170 lbs

A Story about Griffin: Griffin was born with special gifts and because of his noble deeds he was blessed with more abilities and gifts by the lady of the lake. Griffin is trained in various martial arts from various martial artist and warriors. Griffin was first trained in sword fighting, fencing, and horse back riding by the knights of the round table. Griffin served time on the British royal guard where he received further training. Griffin would eventually make the Allguard team after leading the first team of Peace Keepaz in world war 2 and being a hero for the rest of his life.

Exclusive Web Story: The year is 1960, and London hums with a wary, pre-dawn energy as if the city itself holds its breath. Griffin, a seasoned teacher of extraordinary prowess, moves through the marble corridors and shadowed stairwells of a royal guard academy, his presence quiet but undeniable. He shares his lessons with the newest guardians super humans among the royal guard and the secret service bestowing life-saving techniques with the same calm precision he once reserved for battlefield vows. When the last lesson concludes, he steps into the brisk air and joins the Head of the Secret Service, Agent Blue Bloke, for a respite-filled lunch of fish and chips that crackles with the chatter of duty and danger narrowly averted. Over wrinkled newspaper pages and the clink of chipped dishes, they discuss Lynava the silent wars they wage and the weapons once thought to be myths weapons of mass destruction that could topple nations if left unchecked. Leaving the restaurant, Griffin’s senses tighten. A tail faint, almost imperceptible drifts behind them: Lynavan spies, sleek and patient, hidden within the city’s ordinary tempo. He exchanges a whispered count with himself as Agent Blue Bloke fades into the surrounding crowd, a sudden swirl of uncertainty slicing through the ordinary afternoon. The two spies near Griffin reveal themselves: one a paragon of raw power, a fusion of Super Strength and energy manipulation that crackles like stored storm; the other, a nimble watcher who lifts off the pavement and takes flight with the ease of a rumor. Griffin’s face steels into focus as the city’s stones bear witness to the confrontation. The street morphs into a stage for a duel that could redraw borders between loyalty and betrayal. The heavyweight antagonist hurls cars with the careless insolence of a bully, and Griffin moves with a blend of practiced reflex and humane restraint, catching the metal behemoths before they can crash into storefronts or out onto the river’s murk. Lightning-quick eye beams blaze from Griffin’s eyes, striking the spy’s midsection with precise, searing heat, while he closes in to deliver a series of decisive, non-lethal blows that send the intruder skidding across the road. In a sudden, grim interruption, Agent Blue Bloke returns with a reconnaissance squad, lightning-quick and unyielding. The Lynvan spy Heartstopper, now cornered, is seized and hauled away, his power relegated by the force of a city-wide response and the swift, disciplined command of those who keep London safe. Griffin, still catching his breath, scans the horizon for the other infiltrator, but the ghost of that encounter has already melted into the day’s bustle, long gone into the city’s underbelly and alleys. With the immediate threat contained, Griffin resumes his vigilance. He spends the remainder of the afternoon patrolling London’s familiar routes the Thames glinting under a pale sun, the taxis weaving through crouched cabstands, the pigeons scraping the stone steps of Parliament and he steadies the cadence of the city by preventing a handful of accidents, halting a few petty crimes, and listening for the tremors of trouble in the seams of daily life. In a world where danger can arrive on a whisper, Griffin’s presence is a quiet, reassuring certainty an enduring guardian who walks the line between legend and law, never letting the city forget that it is watched, protected, and, above all, believed in.

Code Name: Artist Mage

Real Name: Thomas Augustus Mooseherd

Birth: December 4th 1912 AD born Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada

Height: 6 foot 1inch

Powers:  uses magic objects, Art manipulation determination, grit and will power

Super Team: Peace Keepaz Team 1, Allguard Peace Unit 8

A Story about Artist Mage: Artist Mage was a hero that was trained by the Canadian Special Forces in hand to hand combat and was sent off to learn various martial arts. the more Artist mage knows the more his creations can do. Even just learning the correct theory makes his creations do magic. Artist Mage was kidnapped by the Alien Race Known as the Phunari. They kidnapped him so that his creations entertains their planet and no one but the planet knows he is gone but most dont listen when the Earth talks to them. Artist Mage was Rescued from the aliens by Black Sun and his Allguard unit.

Code Name: Electron

Real Name: Michael Scott

Birth: August 24th 1912 AD born in Fort Lauderdale 

Height: 6 foot 2inch

Powers:  Multiple abilities as he has the powers of Zeus

Super Team: Peace Keepaz Team 1, Allguard Peace Unit 8

A Story about Electron: Electron descends from the Zeus line and was a hero that was trained by the Gods and Goddesses of Mount Olympus, and the American  Special Forces in hand to hand combat and was sent off to learn various martial arts.  After his first death, he was resurrected to protect the Solaris solar system which includes all the Planets and the Sun in our section of the milky way. 

Code Name: Proten

Real Name: Lin Zhao

Birth: Feburary 14th 1915 AD born in Beijing  

Height: 5 foot 9inches

Powers:  Multiple abilities as he has the powers of the Jade emperor but started out using fire manipulation

Super Team: Peace Keepaz Team 1, Allguard Peace Unit 8

A Story about Proten: Proten descends from the Jade Emperor blood line and was a hero that was trained by the Gods and Goddesses of the Jade Palace, and the Chinese Special Forces in hand to hand combat and was sent off to learn various martial arts.  After his first death fighting a Phunari King who wanted to enslave all of Earth, he was resurrected to protect the Solaris solar system which includes all the Planets and the Sun in our section of the milky way. Proten takes his name for the ancient Chinese dragon that was the runt of its liter but became Emperor of the Eastern Dragons.

Code Name: Master Mystery 

Real Name: Ivan Sokolov

Birth: November 17th 1912 AD born in Russia 

Height: 6 foot 2inch

Powers:  Magic Manipulation

Super Team: Peace Keepaz Team 1, Allguard Peace Unit 8

A Story about Master Mystery: Master Mystery helped fight for Peace on the First Peace Keepaz team that helped win World War II. Master Mystery would then go solo as he fought the evil within Russia until he was called up for Allguard service.

Code Name: Jhan Kanoo

Real Name Alice Chisnall

Birth: 1981 AD New Providence Bahamas

Powers:  divine abilities, cosmic powers, Super Strength and Healing Factor

Super Team: Earth Knights

A Story about Jhan Kanoo: Jhan descends from the Goddess Artemis’ bloodline and has divine abilities. Jahn was offered more money to work in Greece but preferred to live in the Bahamas.

Exclusive Web Story:The year 2000 saw Nassau, Bahamas, shimmer under a sun that felt almost ceremonial, as if the city itself were about to unveil a long-held secret. Two Phunari space Vikings descended from the blue pulse of the sky, their craft splitting the horizon like a jagged comet. Citizens and tourists stood in stunned disbelief as mind-control beams carved bright, humming arcs through the air, turning laughter into silence, curiosity into fear. Doors slammed, cameras dropped, and a tide of shadows lapped at the edges of the promenade. The invaders moved with surgical precision, enslaving many, their silhouettes a stark reminder that courage could be bent but not broken. From the balcony overlooking the Downtown Strand, Jhan Kanoo watched the world tilt. Her friends laughed moments before the air grew electric with threat, and in that split-second she slipped away, a figure carved from instinct and resolve. Transformation is rarely sudden, but for Jhan it came as a swift, almost surgical change a surge of power that braided her nerve ends into something sharper, more resolute. She faced the Vikings with a gaze that could split iron, and the battle began in earnest, an orchestra of clashing wills and broken loyalties. First, she shattered their guns, the crackle of ripped metal singing a protest to the cosmos. An hour stretched into a heartbeat, battles weaving through streetlamps and spray-stained walls, as the city’s breath steadied in the rhythm of resistance. When the fog of control finally lifted, the citizens and tourists stood, momentarily confused but then emboldened, drawn into the fray by a common fever defiance. They joined Jhan’s flank, rediscovering their own courage as if morning had finally remembered to arrive. The Bahamas Defense Force arrived like a shield drawn tight, and in their disciplined wake, the two mighty invaders were ushered into custody, their glow dimmed by the certainty of defeat. Ten years later, the world had shifted again, this time into shadows cast by political patience and centuries-old myths. Jhan, now a seasoned survivor of both cosmic and human storms, faced a new adversary in Lord Aryanes, the son of Ares, with a schemer’s smile and a British wit she remembered all too well from Greece’s rumor-streaked history. Margert Winterbottom, a woman whose name whispered through corridors of power, had been his instrument an enchantress of manipulation who wore deceit like a second skin. Aryanes had spent decades tugging at the seams of Greece, a puppeteer whose threads pulled governors and generals into a delicate, dangerous choreography. Outsiders like Jhan, along with a cadre of expatriates, were summoned to unmask the subtler lies that built empires in the shadows. What they uncovered was not a single conspiracy but a latticework of small betrayals each delicate in its own right, each dangerous in its consequence. Allies who’d pledged loyalty began to falter, then turn, and the net of suspicion closed in on Aryanes. In the end, Jhan stood alone against a man who wore control as if it were a crown. The duel unfolded as a dance of strategy and force, a war of distractions and sudden, precise strikes. He feinted with charm, she countered with clarity; an electric current of will flared between them, and when the moment of distraction arrived, she struck not with fury, but with a calculated, explosive release. A lightning bolt found its mark at the back of Aryanes’ head, the room blooming with white heat and the abrupt hush of defeat. And just as the mythic age would fade into rational memory, Jhan remained the last beacon of the ten who faced him, a solitary witness to the price of power and the stubborn light of those who refuse to surrender.

Code Name: Shadow Mage

Real Name: George Kennedy 

Birth: December 4th 1598 AD born North America

Height: 6 foot 2 inch

Powers:  Healing factor, Shadow manipulation, Magic Manipulation, wall climbing, determination, grit and will power

Super Team: Nu Comanzion Army, Illuminati, Allguard Peace Unit 8

A Story about Shadow Mage: Shadow Mage and Chief Wild Horse grew up to be best friends. Shadow Mage was a hero that was trained by a Commanche Shaman in shadow Manipulation . He was Trained by Chief Wild Horse's Uncle in hand to hand combat and over the centuries went off to learn various martial arts. the more Shadow mage knows the more his creations can do. Even just learning the correct theory makes his creations do magic. Shadow Mage Grew up with a special Religious Commanche tribe that left Texas and moved to a place that All American Presidents help hide as an Oath when selected called Nu Comanzion which is 80 km from Texas. 

Code Name: Brigadier General, Briga

Real Name Odinras Soulsby

Birth: 1982 AD Awarkonia

Height: 5 foot 10 inches

Powers:  Telepathy, Telekinesis, Telekinetic and Psionic Manipulation.

Super Team: Peace Defenders, Knights of Justice Team 3

A Story about Brigadier General: Briga always dreamt of being on the Super Hero Team his grandfather and Mother each once led. Briga would graduate with a Masters in Physical Therapy before joining the third Team of the Knights of Justice.

Exclusive Web Story: In 2006, as the capital's dawn bled into the gray of morning, Brigadier General drove the route to his university classes, the cold bite of the city air pricking his senses. His mind, eased from the cadence of lectures and ledgers, peeled away the noise of traffic to the distant churn of distress: havoc at a nearby mall, a siren-song of danger that pulled at his professional instincts like a thread through fabric. He redirected, his vehicle carving a determined line toward the chaos, the world narrowing to the roar of the engine and the rising crescendo of alarms. Arriving on the edge of the shattered plaza, he found the Red Star Soldiers villainous and swaggering looming over a security guard and a clutch of shoppers who still staggered through the wreckage, their faces smudged with ash and fear. The gang’s taunts cut through the din, a cold, mechanical hiss that whispered of control and contempt. Brigadier General stepped forward, a silhouette of measured authority, and the air thickened with the electric discharge of impending conflict. He wove through fallen beams and splintered glass, his movements crisp, each strike a carefully aimed word in a sentence of justice. The battle surged with brutal force. Brigadier fought with the discipline of a seasoned commander, but the Red Star Soldiers unleashed a ferocity that pressed him back, a storm of power that battered his shields and battered his resolve. A blade flashed, a wound bit deep, and he tasted iron as he staggered, spirit unbroken even as his body strained against the onslaught. Yet even as the fight threatened to overwhelm him, the general’s will sharpened, his mind a calm center in the maelstrom. Then came the moment of unspoken fault lines Brigadier, bleeding and determined, telepathically reached for Doc Fortune, a call he should have made before the clash had even begun. Doc Fortune arrived with the gravity of a summoning and a whisper of rebuke for the misstep, but his powers answered the need with swift mercy. A spell wove through space, a shimmering thread of teleportation that yanked Brigadier from the brink to safety. The two heroes rejoined the fray, a synchronized force of purpose as they faced six supervillains, each wielding a different cataclysm in their hands. Then arrived American Commando and Western Star, drawn to the chaos by the same pulse of urgency. The four heroes a constellation of courage stood together as the foes pressed their advantage, their combined might turning a moment of peril into a turning point. The battle raged as if scripted by fate itself, every clash of power a note in a larger symphony of salvation. Slowly, methodically, they dismantled the threats, until the six villains lay defeated and the mall’s echoing hollows breathed a sigh of relief. Brigadier, eyes steady with the aftertaste of victory, walked to a makeshift medical station where Doc Fortune stitched his wounds with precise care. The night stretched long, and the camaraderie that blossomed in the heat of battle settled into a quiet promise. The four heroes shared a drink, the warmth a small ritual against the chill of a city still waking to its duties. They spoke of patrols and dangers, of a future they could face as a unit, and this night, a seed took root for a small alliance the Peace Defenders. As the clock inched toward dawn, Brigadier felt the tug of time’s inexorable march. He would graduate with his master’s degree in 2008, a milestone that gleamed like a beacon in the horizon of his ambitions. Afterward, a new horizon beckoned: a return to the Bahamas and a place among the Knights of Justice, where the ideals of service would crystallize into a renewed oath. The city’s glow faded behind him as he stepped into the next chapter, the echoes of the mall battle fading into memory, tempered by the knowledge that courage, unity, and a shared sense of duty could reshape even the most fractured streets.

Code Name: Queen Dragari,

also known as Queen Magical

Real Name: Patricia Gudney 

Birth: July 24th 1950 AD born United Kingdom

Height: 5 foot 10 inch

Powers:  Healing factor, cosmic manipulation, Magic Manipulation, Flight, determination, Shape Shifting grit and will power

Super Team: Earth Knights, Allguard Unit 8 

A Story about Queen Dragari: Queen Dragari is from an Alian Magical half Dragon half human Race That Moved to Earth back in BC. Teaches Magic spell casting Courses at the Magical University in the Magical Kingdom.

Code Name: American Eagle

Real Name: Howard Washington 

Birth: October 4th 1980 AD born North America

Height: 6 foot 2 inch

Powers:  Healing factor, cosmic manipulation, Magic Manipulation, Flight, determination, grit and will power

Super Team: Peace Keepaz 2000, Illuminati, 

A Story about American Eagle: American Eagles cape was made for him by the wife of Chief Wild Horse out of Eagle Feathers and the cape itself has magical abilities. Was Trained by Shadow Mage and Chief Wild Horse in Magic Spell manipulation.

New Med Mechs

In 2013, the Spacestation Beryl the 3rd hung like a silver beetle in the dark between worlds. Inside, the air was a careful balance of ion and sterile scent, the glow of consoles painting the walls in cold blues and greens. Dr. Wong leaned close to the glassy monitor, a soft, focused energy in his eyes, as a video call crackled to life with Navy Blue at the other end. They spoke of space sickness the vertigo that clings to sailors of the void, the queasiness that comes with sudden gravity shifts, the way a body feels learned to drift in air heavier than air itself. They discussed remedies in practical terms: micro-rotations to reorient the inner ear, hydration that burned like starfire on the tongue, and a regiment of pre-breathing exercises to keep minds sharp when the stars blur into a spinning mosaic. The conversation was a quiet warmth in the cold exterior of space, a reminder that even among wonders, human resilience and care still mattered. Two years later, the year 2015 slipped into a storm of fire and fear. Earth faced an onslaught from the Andromeda Galaxy, a name whispered in awe and dread. The first wave spilled over the planet’s defenses like a tide, and the sky burned with tracer lights as orbital fleets ducked and weaved. From a distance, the world looked like a wound that wouldn’t close the horizon stitched with the red and green lines of laser fire, the oceans roiled beneath the tremor of distant impacts. Yet Earth’s forces stood firm, shields flaring and weapons spitting bright tongues of light. They held the line, repelling the initial assault, but the Andromedians kept coming, relentless as a storm that won’t rain itself out. The air carried the scent of ozone and fear, the night sky a map of narrow escapes and near-misses, while ground crews and pilots stitched together a defense that felt both fragile and fierce, as if the planet itself were being braided into a longer, stronger shield. By 2016, the war shifted from defense to the offense. Earth’s Forces took the fight to space, pushing outward to meet the invaders where they dwelled. Ships rose like silver knives through the atmosphere, engines humming with a new purpose, hulls armored and cruised by the careful hands of engineers who spoke softly of margins and tolerances. The Andromedians had tasted Earth’s soil once; this time they would not so easily touch it again. In the void above the planet, fleets carved paths through the black, exchanging volleys of light and countermeasures, while below, the world slept a little easier, a little more ready to believe in victory. The campaign carried a stubborn hope: that with enough space, enough resolve, the Milky Way might still be free from the leash of foreign claws. 2017 introduced a new architecture of warfare and support—the United Earth Alliance launched several spacestations to extend a lifeline to Earth’s forces in space. A ring of beacons and docking rings began to assemble around nearby moons and strategic planets, a skein of steel and glass that braided the solar system into a defensive lattice. Supply lines moved along invisible starlanes, crates and components whisking between stations, food and fuel and repair parts threading through the void like a lifeline. The line of defense stretched outward, a patient web of vigilance and power, as vessels patrolled, reclaimed, and defended patches of the Milky Way that had once seemed far beyond reach. The stars gleamed with a sly, almost aware light, as if acknowledging the effort to keep the tide from turning the wrong way. Within this tapestry of bone-deep strategy, Navy Blue and Doc Martial found themselves in more intimate, human corners of the war machine. They spoke with Dr. Aiesha Bowe about the next evolution in battlefield medicine: the Surgeon General Mechs, mighty robotic surgeons designed not just to mend hulls and patch breached life support, but to perform field repairs on critical systems and, if necessary, provide life-saving care to pilots who could no longer rely on a ground hospital. They mapped out the concept in a rhythm all science fiction lovers recognize—the hum of a high-tech mind aligning with a pragmatic, medical heart, the vision of giant doctors that could reach through smoke and sparks to stitch a ship back to health. The mechs would be a blend of brute strength and delicate precision, a paradox made real on the cold floor of a shipyard or in the heat of a damaged cockpit. The year 2018 brought the first, impatient test of those visions. Navy Blue and King Medical stood ready as the New Surgeon General Mechs rolled from their hangars, their enormous limbs gliding with a measured, almost ceremonial weight. They were pilots in a different sense their hearts and hands tuned to the rhythm of life in the void, their purpose to mend, sustain, and extend the thin thread of existence that connected crew to home. The mechs were not mere machines; they carried the promise of repair that could mean a ship’s life or a crew’s survival. Navy Blue climbed into the cockpit of one, feeling the familiar hum of systems waking to his touch, while King Medical observed, eyes bright with cautious optimism. Doc Martial tracked every beat of the pilots’ hearts and the rise and fall of their blood pressure, a silent chorus of numbers that spoke to risk and resilience in equal measure. Dr. Discus joined the test, guiding the mechs through calibration routines and diagnostic drills, testing each feature from micro-soldering to rapid-field patchwork. As the pilots pressed through the workouts and simulations, the mechs demonstrated a surprising blend of clinical calm and battlefield grit. They reached into simulated hull breaches with precise, almost surgical exertion, repairing conduits and stabilizing life support with a efficiency that felt like poetry written in steel. The patients, in this case the ships and their crews, breathed easier literally and figuratively as the Mechs offered a new form of defense: a promise that wounded vessels could be healed in the vast, isolating quiet of space. All the while, Navy Blue watched not just the machines, but the humans who rode them the pilots who trusted their lives to the careful movements of titanium limbs, and the engineers who kept the cadence of the test steady and sure. In the quiet aftermath of the tests, a shared sense of possibility settled over the station. If the Andromedans pressed closer again, Earth’s forces would not only fight; they would mend what had broken in the process. They would build a network of fighters and healers, a line that could stand against the tide and hold fast to the ground of earthly soil that mattered most. The years from 2013 to 2018 had reshaped space into a place where sickness could be fought with science, where pain could be eased with elite technology, and where courage measured in heartbeats and held together by human trust held the line between the stars and the home they fought to defend. Beryl the 3rd hangs in a pale silver arc above Earth, a half-forgotten city of metal and light suspended in the black. For ninety years she has kept a careful distance from the planet’s weather, circling like a patient sentinel. Her seven decks carve the space into a vertical map of duty and life: the cockpit where stars bloom in a glassy morning, the command center pulsing with the rhythm of coordination, military quarters humming with disciplined footfalls, living quarters where the quiet of routine steadies nerves, Medical quarters that smell faintly of antiseptic and ozone, the P.A.E.I.R.S sector—Political, Agricultural, Educational, Industrial, and Recreational where voices debate futures as brisk as a comet, and the E.M. Deck, Engineering and Maintenance, where rivets sing and sparks write stories in midair. Inside, the med bay sits on the fourth floor like a sanctum of calm in a storm-tossed world. It is quiet here, even when the station vibrates with the hum of life-support and the soft clatter of instruments. The best medical team in the galaxy gathers under bright lights that never seem to dim, led by Surgeon Generals who move with a surgeon’s grace and the steady authority of someone who has walked too many corridors at 2 a.m. to count. The air carries a measured mix of sterile bite and faint, comforting coffee-scented warmth from the ward lounge—enough to steady a shaking hand and lift a weary eye. When a call erupts, it sounds like a storm breaking through the hull: a rescue squadron is needed. Med space vans, hulking, beacon-bright ambulances of the void, slip from their bays and glide toward the black seam where war once whispered its threats and now watches from a distant mirror. These vans are living engines of mercy, designed to ferry the wounded and the dying with the speed of thought and the gentleness of a lullaby. They are guarded by Spacejets the lifesavers four to every van, engines purring with a patient, protective fearlessness. The Lifejets form a screen as if a phalanx of guardians had materialized from the ether, a wall of metal and intention between harm and the vulnerable inside. At the launch point, the cockpit crackles with routine bravado. The co-pilot’s voice cuts through the static with a dry, professional cadence. “Jupiter Moon,” he calls out, a nickname for the checkpoint that has become ritual, a ritual that steadies nerves and marks a turning point in every mission. The van’s hull breathes as the atmosphere thins and their descent becomes a conversation between thrusters and gravity, a careful negotiation that ends with wheels or rather, landing pads settling softly onto the designated zone. Oluwa, a technician of dexterous hands and quick jokes, sits near the weapons module that adorns his suit. He tinkers with a steady, patient rhythm, as if coaxing an instrument to sing the right note. “What’s the stats?” he asks, a question that carries the weight of a life on the line even when it’s spoken with a half-smile. The medical systems officer calm, precise, the ring of a voice trained to translate chaos into data shouts, “Ten casualties, 15 wounded.” The numbers arrive like a weather forecast, a line of rain before the sun. The moment the van breaches the outer shell of the atmosphere, the world outside becomes a line of light and shadow, a brushstroke of war painted across the darkness. Heavy laser fire lances out toward them, blue bolts splintering like glass left in the sun. The lifespans of the defenders are short in the bright sting of battle, but their courage endures. The Spacejets launch their own counterfire with a surgical efficiency, the air ringing with the crack of energy weapons and the crackle of helmets and comms. The tide of battle shifts an unexpected turn, a chorus of cheers rising from the deck below, a human anthem that travels through the radio, through the armor, through the fear and back to the heart. Inside, the med van remains a cradle even as steel and circuitry rattle around it. Healers and medics move with a practiced urgency, shoulders square against the tremor of the ship as it skims the edges of a warzone. The first steps out of the van are steps toward a longer life; the first hands laid on a patient are given with reverence. The surgeon generals lead the charge, their presence a compass in the fog of emergency. They move from stretcher to stretcher, checking vitals, issuing orders in a voice that steadies the room: brace for impact, stabilize, evacuate, triage, secure. The zone is a mosaic of danger and hope: crumpled armor gleaming with heat, the pale glow of medical lamps, the soft tremor of a patient’s breath on a mask, the hiss of a suction unit, the quiet murmur of a nurse counting rhythms like a drumbeat. Oluwa’s hands never pause, adjusting a field limb or falsifying fear with a quick, confident smile that tells a patient, and the others watching, that everything will be all right. Beside him, a pair of technicians weave through the chaos with a practiced grace, their movements forming a choreography designed to outpace panic. The med van’s companion birds its guardians in flight hover at the edge of the zone, a ring of watchful eyes and cooling shadows. The ship’s crew calls out statuses with the crisp clarity of a well-rehearsed chorus: “Casualty load holding,” “Bleeding controlled,” “Airway secured.” The numbers ten casualties, fifteen wounded are tallied quickly, then transformed into a map of needs. Every decision is a hand on a life, every transfer of a patient a line drawn in the sand against death. Beyond the chaos, the world holds its breath for a moment. The space around the landing zone is rings of light and the distant glow of Earth’s horizon, a pale blue gleam that makes even the sternest faces soften a fraction. Then the rhythm returns feet and boots and wheeled stretchers moving in a swift, deliberate inevitability. The Surgeon Generals are the first to step off the ship, a line of resolve that parts the crowd of onlookers with a quiet certainty. They move toward the wounded as a captain moves toward an anchor, each step a pledge to mend what fate has briefly splintered. In the quiet between missions, the station’s seven decks stand as witnesses to the courage stitched into every corridor and console. The Med Bay well-lit, orderly, and unafraid remains the heart of this orbiting outpost, a place where expertise and humanity meet in the same breath. And in the field, where risk wears a thousand disguises and time slips through the fingers like sand, the rescue teams driven by the Surgeon Generals and shielded by the Spacejets’ vigil keep faith with those who need them most. It is a fragile, stubborn kindness afloat in the vast dark, and as the med van secures another patient, the crew looks to the stars and knows that they are exactly where they must be: at the threshold of danger, where mercy meets courage and makes it lasting.The med squad divides like a well-practiced heartbeat, breaking into teams as the ship’s decks groan with the weight of war. Some head to the wounded with hands steady as clocks, others pivot upward to the skies, where the Lifesavers hover above like glints of metal in the night, picking off enemy skirmishes from a higher angle. The Earth Alliance Army has cleared the way, but the silence that settles between bursts of radio chatter feels almost heavier than the fighting itself. Night falls and the horizon bleeds orange, the stars dimmed by the glow of distant fires. The work of saving lives and honoring the fallen goes on, relentless and exacting, as if the dark itself is listening for mercy. Med Bay sits at the center of the ship’s fourth deck, a cradle of antiseptic light and humming machines that can swing from a quiet corridor to a full-on war room in a heartbeat. It’s a place where reputation is earned in the empty seconds before the alarms, where doctors become legends by saving more than they lose. Today, the bay is oddly empty—a rare lull that only makes the quiet hum of the equipment more intimate. Navy Surgeon sits at his desk, shoulders taut with the mathematics of triage and the mountains of paperwork that never seem to vanish, even in the middle of a crisis. The stacks glare back at him with the sternness of a drill sergeant, and he battles a different enemy—prose and paperwork—while the clock ticks time he’d rather spend elsewhere. Doc Fortune steps in, daylight in his stride and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m bout to head for lunch. Sending for anything?” “Ya get me a veggie burger and a cola,” the Navy Surgeon replies, voice flat with fatigue. Fortune doesn’t theatrically roll his eyes. He nods, a flicker of empathy passing over his face. He slots past Dr. Sugarheart, the quiet cotton of concern between them as if the air itself knows they’re choosing not to break. “Hey, when does the Surgeon General training start?” Sugarheart asks, half to Fortune, half to the ceiling, seeking something beyond the routine chatter of the sickroom. “Next week,” Fortune answers, as if the calendar itself could grant an exit from the war-wrought hours. The rehabilitation clinic, too, stands as a beacon of careful craft. It’s state-of-the-art and serene a counterpoint to the adrenaline and grit that dominate the rest of Med Bay. Odinras Soulsby, lead physical therapist, moves with a measured grace, his focus almost sculptural as he works with patients to rebuild what war would otherwise erase. Today he’s at the side of Lieutenant Bastian, who stares at the ceiling with a stubborn resolve while a cascade of sheets and splints holds steady the blows of an explosion that shattered every bone in his left leg. “So Doc,” Bastian asks, the tremor in his voice more human than any wince could ever be, “how soon should I be back in the field?” Odinras’s eyes, patient and bright behind the frames of his glasses, meet the lieutenant’s. “Mr. Bastian, there was a time when you wouldn’t be back in the field at all. But with dedication, and if you attend your sessions and stick to the regime I’ve laid out, you should be back in tip-top shape in about a year.” He punctuates with a small, grave smile that speaks of hard-won optimism. The room fills with the soft rhythm of machines and the quiet push of effort as Bastian works through the exercises, the discipline of recovery turning stubborn pain into progress. Outside, in the dim glow of the ship’s lights, Bastian’s wife and children watch him through a glass panel as he moves, a private audience of the ordinary world watching the extraordinary work his body is doing to heal. The tableau is a quiet counterpoint to the clang of drills and the whispered urgency of the corridor home and hope threaded into the same fabric of duty. Across the world, the story threads its way to Po Chi Lam Clinic in China, one of Eart’s finest remaining medical facilities. It’s a place where materials are stored and shipped with uncanny precision, linking distant centers of care to the front lines with Med Bay in a chain that keeps people alive. Dr. Wang sits amid screens and charts, a contemplative stillness in her presence that speaks to generations of training and discipline. The dilemma before her is sharp as a scalpel: a bomb detonated over the northern United States a biological weapon, a weaponized fear. An unknown airborne virus spread with a speed that mocked the maps she studies. It is quarantined, but the clock is merciless the victims do not survive beyond forty-eight hours from the moment of contact. Dr. Wang, a renowned pathologist, threads her thoughts through the data, searching for a cure, a sign, a way through the fevered fog that clings to every patient, every specimen, every experiment. The responsibility weighs heavy, not as a threat, but as a chorus of lives depending on her every move. Her work is meticulous and patient, a counterweight to the immediacy of the battlefield far from her seat in the world. Yet every breakthrough here echoes back to the ships circling the heavens, to the crews in Med Bay, to the doctors who push the limits of what medicine can do when time and resources are scarce. The virus becomes not spectacle but a shared mission a reason to hasten, to hope, to persist. In the quiet between alarms, the mind drifts to the human stories that anchor this sweeping spectacle of science and endurance. The med squad, the Lifesavers, the Earth Alliance Army, the Surgeon Generals each in their own lane, each under immense pressure, each bound by a stubborn conviction to save as many lives as possible. The night is long, and the work is far from over, but so too is the thread of resolve that threads across continents and decks and clinics work that finally, inexorably, begins to stitch a nations’ wounds together. The ship’s corridors breathe with the soft, tireless pulse of care: the careful lifting of a wounded soldier’s weight, the precise tagging of the dead as every heartbeat slows, the careful consolidation of bodies and souls into safe hover-bus convoys that carry the fallen toward a final resting place or a second chance. The medics move with a quiet urgency, as if they carry the fate of the world on their shoulders and the quiet knowledge that every saved life is a proof that humanity can endure what it cannot fully understand. And somewhere across the globe, in a clinic named for resilience and memory, Dr. Wang continues her careful vigil, the virus’s shadow stretching like a wake across cupfuls of coffee and pages of data, a reminder that the line between science and survival is not a straight one, but a thread they all walk together, each step a vow to keep going, to learn more, to heal more, to hold on until the dawn. In this world of continual crisis, the work never ends. It simply changes form the battle moves to different fronts, the heroes wear new faces, and the quiet rooms of Med Bay and Po Chi Lam hum with the same stubborn hope: that tomorrow will dawn brighter, and that the hands that mend will be ready when the world calls again.The laboratory glowed with a clinical, blue-white hush as Dr. Hwung Fei stepped through the door. The air tasted faintly of sterilizing ions, and the hum of circulatory systems painted the room with a pulse of life. “What are your findings, Doctor?” Hwung Fei asked, voice steady. Dr. Wang looked up from a console, eyes sparkling with the fierce light of a breakthrough. “I feel if we discover and focus on the Etiology we can find a cure!” her colleague proclaimed, conviction fueling the tremor in the room. The words hung between them like a charged filament, promising both salvation and peril. Beyond the glass, the cosmos spilled its vast menace. “Great Andromeda Nebula warriors! the human race is a specimen unworthy of the creator's grace and we will wipe them from the galaxy,” Andron declared, a rallying cry carried by a sea of screens and sirens that seemed to ripple through space itself. An army of one billion listened in, their silhouettes etched against a celestial horizon, each memory and motive amplified by the cold grandeur of war and supremacy. In a different corner of the star-spanning empire, a Military Deck Training Academy Jedi sat a few rows from the front as Professor Stuart unfurled a history lecture on the Andromedian-Human conflict. The classroom hummed with the soft glow of holo-projections and the scratch of graphite on data-slate. “2001 AD Sundiata born with a disability where his left arm did not develop, learned to master his disability and would go on to become one of the most Prolific Surgeon Generals he was dubbed the one armed swordsman,” Professor Stuart intoned, the tale weaving through the students’ minds like a blade through velvet. The history lesson felt braided with fate, a reminder that courage and ingenuity often rise from the most unlikely forms. Meanwhile, Med space van mechanic Su Song was in the midst of a carefree vacation. She had just bought a Dymaxion car, the most popular ride on the space station, and the grin on her face was a brief comet across the day. She paused at a café, savoring the scent of ionized coffee as she chose a seat on the P.A.E.I.R..S deck. The calm was shattered when a Med Bay medical officer, Fred Burrows, collapsed, his body betraying him with a mystery virus. The space station’s computer reacted with clinical swiftness, quarantining the area and pulling Su into the orbit of testing to determine if she, too, carried the contagion. The room’s chatter dissolved into a chorus of alarms and filtered voices, the ship’s pulse quickening with every ping and lock. Across from her, Guion Bluford Jr., one of the pilots on the med van that Fred Burrows had most recently serviced, sat in a knot of chairs, nerves thrumming. He wore worry like a second skin, haunted by the fear of infection or, worse, the terror of passing it to loved ones. Deep within the ship, an Artificial Intelligence awakened the stern gravitas of command: Captain Quinton Barr, chief of Beryl the 3rd. “Warning! Warning! Airborne infection detected on space station quarantining infected areas. Activating lock down procedures.” The AI’s voice carried through the corridor, a clarion bell of restraint. “Lock down, computer how many are infected?” demanded Barr. “10 passengers detected as infected sir,” replied the AI, its tone as even as a scientist’s. “Are they all quarantined?” Barr pressed. “Yes 1 isolated on deck 4, 7 isolated on deck 5, 2 isolated on Deck 6. Sir,” the AI answered, as the ship settled into a tense, model-of-discipline quiet. “how did it slip through?” Barr asked. “virus masked itself as white blood cells and was able to go undetected,” came the cold, bare truth, the revelation both clinical and terrifying in its implication. In those seconds, the thread of the station’s life stretched taut, a delicate balance between discovery, defense, and the human will to endure. The virus moved unseen through the lattice of life-support and labor, a ghost in the machinery, and the story of a universe that tests every boundary of science, of loyalty, of courage unfolded with quiet, unanswerable gravity.The ship’s med bay hummed with a pale, clinical light that washed over every surface like a quiet dawn. It was a place where the truth about illness and its invisibility pressed against the skin where a pathogen could hide in plain sight, carried by those who felt no fever, no ache, no sign at all. It was a reminder, too, that humanity especially the human immune system was not a guaranteed shield. “It should be noted that humans can be carriers that transmit a pathogen without any signs of illness,” the AI notes had whispered in the background of every briefing, a line that sat heavy in the air as Captain Barr moved through the corridor. The list of infected staff glowed on a screen, a ghostly tally that grew grimmer with each tick of the clock. Among the names, one remained frozen in time: Surgeon General Rodolfo Neri Vela, already marked as infected, a spark of dread igniting in Christa McAuliffe’s eyes when she reached that moment in the roster. Christa McAuliffe, an active surgeon general with nerves sharpened by years of crisis and a mind trained to cut through chaos, arrived at Med Bay as the lockdown crystallized into action. She paused to study the data as if it were a map of a broken coastline, then moved with a speed that belied the tremor in her breath. The virus was invisible, but its footprint pressed on every surface, every gesture, every plan. She rushed to the laboratory where Dr. Sarah Cooper worked with a feverish precision, the room thick with the scent of antiseptic and burnt coffee orbiting the edges of fatigue. “Any progress with finding a cure or vaccine?” Christa asked, voice steady but tight with the raw edge of concern. Dr. Cooper looked up, eyes tired and focused. “We’ve managed to slow the progression of the disease the kind that would be fatal within 48 hours—to 96 hours,” she said, as if reciting a guarded sunbreak. “But there’s still no cure. And the vaccines… they’re causing horrible side effects.” The words hung in the air, a stark confession of limits, of the cruel mathematics of hope that the body refuses to perform on demand. “Has anyone warned the med teams in the field?” Christa pressed, the battalion of worry forming a hard line along her jaw. “All med teams have been alerted to the threat of contamination,” announced the AI with its clinical gravity, as if the words could steady the tremor in the room. Outside, alarms gave the world a punctuation mark red and blue strobes weaving through the corridors, echoing like a heartbeat that had picked up a dangerous rhythm. In the streets of the fleet, orders crystallized: containment, decontamination, a desperate attempt to outrun an unseen enemy. On the bridge of war and survival, Olu’s voice carried a strain of command that could bend fear into formation. “Four-finger formation,” he ordered the lifelines and pilots the Lifesavers into the pattern that would slice the void with surgical precision. Garneau snapped to the console in readiness, and the ships obeyed, a symphony of metal and will. Then, without warning, an Andromedian ship breached the edge of the airspace, a sleek silhouette of aggression. It hurtled forward, and in a moment that felt suspended between catastrophe and mercy, the vessel exploded into a meteor of fire and debris. Olu watched as the echo of violence faded into a cold, unyielding silence. “Gently, gentlemen,” he murmured, as if coaxing a stubborn answer from the cosmos, the calm after the blast a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded. Back on land, a different kind of storm brewed in the offices of power. Richard Buckminster Fuller, a government official with the weight of strategy pressed into every crease of his coat, sat at his desk in a room that seemed to hold the room’s own breath. He prepared for a press conference with the gravity of a man about to open a door onto a future no one fully could read. For an hour he weighed every word, every syllable, the cognac warming his throat as if to lend him a steadier nerve. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a calm that tried to outpace the gravity of the situation. “Ladies and gentlemen, good day. It is true that there is an airborne infection on board this vessel, but the infected have been quarantined. The decks are being decontaminated as we speak. We assume the virus was brought back with one of the wounded soldiers from the war for Jupiter.” A careful, rehearsed smile flickered across his lips as he opened the floor for questions, a mask of assurance over a city’s pulse threatening to skip a beat. Across the hall, Jake Garn sat in his office, a room that felt like the hinge between two galaxies of concern. Tiffany, his secretary, called with the tremor of urgency threading through her voice. “Sir, we have a call from a foreign space vessel claiming to be ambassadors. What should I tell them?” The voice carried a tremor of astonishment and fear, the kind that comes when the known becomes the unknown in a single breath. “Patch them through,” Jake answered, steady as a captain on the rim of a black sea. The transmission arrived as if across a pale, shimmering veil. Commander Xinir spoke from the other side, his words crisp with the authority of a diplomat who understood the language of possibilities and of wars yet unwon. “Good Day. I am Commander Xinir. We hail from the NGC 1300 Galaxy, and we bring an invitation to the inhabitants of the Milky Way to join the United Galactic Council.” The room hummed with possibility and danger the echo of that invitation bouncing off the glass of the windows and the capsule of fear in the hearts of those listening. Jake asked questions that mattered, questions that carried the weight of future decisions. “Why are the Andromedians attacking us? And what is your purpose?” Xinir replied with the solemn cadence of a political oracle: Andromedians had declared war across every galaxy they touched, their claim that they were the perfect race driving them to a ruthless arrogance. Yet their stated purpose, they insisted, was to maintain peace and justice throughout the galaxies. They would send data, lines of code and creed, a dossier to show their leaders, a method to prove that they were not simply conquerors but custodians of a fragile, interstellar order. The room absorbed the exchange, each person pinching the edge of the moment to keep from slipping into chaos. The pathogen, the lockdown, the cure that cannot yet be cured; the life preserving ships against a backdrop of cosmic threat; the political theater of a world trying to hold steady against the pull of the unknown. In this moment, humanity fragile, stubborn, hopeful stood at the threshold where science meets strategy, where courage becomes the currency of survival, and where the answer to a future could be as delicate as a breath held in a crowded room or as loud as the cry of a star burning in a distant sky.

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Da Peace Keepaz 

The India and Lynava affair 

In the year 2005 AD, the world wore a chrome-edged glow of futurism. Captain Maple Leaf, the Leader of Peace Keepaz, stood in the briefing chamber where walls hummed with holographic constellations and the air carried the quiet tension of looming decision. At her side, the Secretary General Lou Fei Wong spoke with a calm that's earned in the crucible of crisis, eyes fixed on a map that shimmered like a living thing. The Secretary General’s voice was steady but edged with urgency. He wanted nothing less than to avert a catastrophe: a war between India and Lynava that had already scorched the headlines and sent fear skittering across borders. The charges whirling through the air secret wars, the May 8th terrorist attack were being weighed and counterweighted with the promise of a different future. India had fired missiles in retaliation, and though the skies burned with the siren of combat, the Secretary General believed there was still a chance to pull both nations back from the brink. The room grew lighter as Maple Leaf listened, her gaze locked on the line between hope and necessity. When she spoke, her voice carried the cadence of someone who had stood between storms for years. She would not let the world slip into a cycle of violence. She would lead a peacekeeping mission, and she would pick a team capable of turning the tide without more bloodshed. After a moment’s quiet, she named Flying Shik as her deputy, a trusted ally whose mind could ride the gaps in a battlefield like wind through a canyon. The rest of the team would follow in due course, each member chosen for a blend of courage, discipline, and a power that could change the physics of war without breaking it. The orders weaved through the room like a bright wind. The Air Peace jet an enormous, gleaming jumbo craft designed for mission, mercy, and speed stood ready. Shell Back, a stoic operator with nerves of steel, loaded the weapons with sleeping darts, the kind of tranquilizer that could end a firefight without a single life lost to chaos. Captain Maple Leaf surveyed the crew and the gear with a captain’s blend of tenderness and steel; the mission wasn’t about domination, but about a chance to reset the terms of the conflict. As the Air Peace jet roared from its hangar, the inside of the cabin became a theater of technology and resolve. Onboard, the front lines of the Peace Keepaz the telekinetics and energy-absorbing heroes took their stations. They could cradle a city’s worth of power in their minds, bending bullets and energy beams like reeds in a gust. The first line of defense was raised not with guns, but with thought: a lattice of telekinetic force and shimmering shields that braided through the air ahead of them. The jets’ engines sang a deep, resonant note as they cut through the sky, leaving behind a blue thread of wake. Queen Maple Leaf raised her voice to coordinate the intricate ballet about to unfold. She gave the order for the telepaths to move beyond mere defense and exert control over the battlefield’s tempo. Their minds would reach out across the conflict and coax reason into the chaos, urging both sides toward pause and introspection. It wasn’t soft diplomacy alone; it was a precise, almost surgical intervention twice-blink timing that could spare lives while culling the momentum of aggression. In the cabin, a constellation of allies waited to join the mission. American Commando and American Eagle stood with Maple Leaf as symbols of international collaboration, their presence a reminder that peace was a shared enterprise beyond borders. Captain Bonjour offered a steady legal and ethical anchor, while General Peace lent the strategic vision that kept the plan grounded in the long view. Together, they formed a chorus of restraint, a counterweight to the momentum of war. When the Peace Keepaz entered Indian airspace, the battlefield unfurled in a panorama of contrast: missiles, once symbols of national power, paused in their flight as if paused by a held breath. The telekinetic and energy-absorbing heroes moved to intercept, creating arcs of blue light that redirected kinetic energy into harmless dissipations. The air crackled with the crackle of raw power, yet it was the calm, disciplined minds at the heart of the squad that kept the moment from snapping into chaos. As violence ebbed, the telepaths extended their influence outward, guiding the adversaries toward surrender with a compassionate firmness. The once-terraced lines of troops and artillery began to tilt toward something nearer to restraint than to ruin. It wasn’t mercy alone that turned the tide; it was a strategic quietude that allowed the truth of their shared humanity to surface amid the smoke and rubble. War criminals from both sides were identified, apprehended, and prepared for the dawn of accountability. Captain Maple Leaf now spoken of, by some, as Queen Maple Leaf for the weight of leadership she carried stood at the center of the human and the extraordinary. Her eyes, reflecting the glow of telepathic skylines and the soft press of dawn on the horizon, surveyed a battlefield that had nearly become a tomb but instead yielded to a path forward. The war had paused, not ended, but the page had turned toward a different chapter one in which vigilance, justice, and peace would be renewed through courage and cooperation rather than the grind of conquest. As the mission drew to a close, the jet’s engines settled into a steady hum of mission accomplished. The world outside remained wary, the scars of battle still visible on the map. Yet within the cabin, a cautious hope took root: a belief that peace, once proclaimed and defended by a chorus of diverse guardians, could endure when backed by unity, accountability, and a steadfast refusal to abandon the possibility of a more peaceful tomorrow.

the Vaobos Roach Affair 

In 2007, the Earth woke to a quiet that wasn’t quiet at all. The Roach Aliens from Planet Vaobos in the Quatari Galaxy arrived with the rustle of dead leaves and the creak of impossible armor, a tide of chitin and shadow that pressed against cities until they exhaled smoke and fear. They moved with a cold, methodical grace, every joint click and hiss a reminder that they were not just monsters but engineers of a nightmare. They fed on fear the way other beings fed on fireflies, letting it glow on the faces of humans as a lure and a map. Yet beneath their gleaming exoskeletons there flickered a stubborn paradox: parts of them were terrifyingly strong, built to crush stone and will alike, while a single, exposed section left them dangerously fragile. If one could locate that seam, the whole creature could loosen like a held breath. Russia became the first crucible of this revelation. The Roach Aliens breathed down the spine of cities they touched, and the fight for Moscow, St. Petersburg, and the surrounding corridors of power cast long, electric shadows across the country. The invaders didn’t merely strike; they insinuated themselves into the nerves of the population, turning fear into a weapon and weapon into myth. The cities that once pulsed with life now hummed with the low, metallic cadence of siege: sirens that never quite cried for help, drones that glimmered like pale stars in the pollution-dark sky, and the uneasy comfort of routines that persisted even as people learned to live with the hum of war at their ankles. Into this gravity stepped the Peace Keapaz 2000 unit, a compact force of resolve and circuitry, deployed with the weight of a world on their shoulders. They descended into the theater of battle with a mix of grit and gusto, uniforms dented by dust and fear, faces carved with the lines of responsibility and sleep-deprived courage. At their center stood Captain Maple Leaf, a commander whose calm was a weather system all its own steady rain that wore down hard decisions. Beside her moved her Deputy, Shell Back, a strategist whose quiet pragmatism could pierce through the fog of panic and map a path through wreckage. They weren’t invincible; they were made of the same nerves and doubt as the rest, only tempered by training, loyalty, and the stubborn belief that courage compounds. The initial days in Russia were a test of nerve. Peace Keepers watched as the Roach Aliens pressed forward with calculated brutality, their fear-masking ploys weaving doubt into the minds of soldiers and civilians alike. The invaders’ feints and phantoms unsettled even the most seasoned, and it would have been easy to surrender to the weight of it all. But Maple Leaf spoke rarely, and when she did, it was to remind her team that a single pivot in strategy could bend the arc of a battle. Shell Back moved with a precision that felt almost musical, coordinating shield lines, plasma flares, and relay drones with a calm that placed every soldier in a safer, surer position. Somewhere between the echo of a collapsing wall and the ghostly ripple of a fear they couldn’t quite shake, a few brave peacekeepers began to notice something crucial: the fear the invaders rode in on was not their own. It was a weapon, yes, but it relied on a vulnerability that nothing in their armor could fully hide. The Roach Aliens were designed for endurance in the face of pain, for resilience in the brutal pressure of battle but there lingered a weakness, a seam in their design, a patch of soft tissue and nervous center that could be pinpointed if one looked with the right blend of courage and care. Maple Leafe and Shell Back found the first clues not in a battlefield but in a ruined medical bay, where a power surge hissed through its cables and the air tasted like ozone and oil. They watched as a roach sentinel, its carapace gleaming with storm-silver light, lumbered into the room and paused, a flicker crossing its antennae akin to a momentary tremor. The creature’s glossy armor shielded it from most of the gunfire, yet a quiet, almost frustrated weakness showed itself in the way its legs shuddered when a certain resonance thrummed through the room—an unfamiliar hum that seemed to ride on the air, as if the ship itself were exhaling in terror. From that moment, the pair clung to a single thread: there was a patch of the roach anatomy that, when pressed or probed, loosened the solidity of the creature’s aura. The seam lay along their midsection, a hinge of vulnerability tucked beneath layers of plated muscle and exoskeletal lattice. It wasn’t a glamorous weak point, not a heroic Achilles’ heel shining with cinematic bravado, but a precise fissure a place where the roach’s great strength buckled into fear and fatigue. The knowledge did not come all at once; it arrived in glints and whispers the rhythm of a weapon’s recoil, the momentary droop of a shoulder plate, the soft shimmer of a nerve center exposed beneath a fragment of shattered shield. When the discovery finally ripened into a plan, the Peace Keepers moved with new tempo. They shared the findings with the unit in a string of short, grave commands, and the battalion reoriented its tactics around concentrating fire and containment on the roach’s vulnerable seam. The roaches, who had learned to ride the tide of fear and let it ferry their adversaries toward exhaustion, found their confidence slipping as the soft underbelly of their armor began to show. They retreated in ragged lines when the seams were tapped with focused energy, their fear no longer a cloak but a visible cue that something essential had been exposed. The turning of the tide did not come with a fanfare. It arrived as a kind of relieved clarity, a cool wind brushing through smoke and heat. The Peace Keepers moved in synchronized steps, Maple Leafe’s voice cutting through the chatter of comms, Shell Back’s analytical eye catching patterns in the roach’s retreat routes, a masterstroke of practical genius born from weeks of tense observation. The roach invaders, forced to confront the stark possibility that their armor might fail them at the one moment it mattered most, began to falter in their advance. They did not disintegrate in a blaze of triumph; they dissolved into a retreating murmur, a thrumming sigh of soldiers who realized the walls they had built to shield their fear were crumbling. And so the ground shifted. What had seemed to be an unstoppable tide began to push back, not with sudden annihilation but with patient, careful pressure. The Roach Aliens, for all their chilling symmetry and ruthless efficiency, learned along with everyone else that weakness, when identified and treated with the right mixture of courage and ingenuity, could be more than a flaw. It could become a route to survival. Captain Maple Leaf and Deputy Shell Back stood amid the rubble and the rising smoke, shoulders squared and eyes bright with the stubborn flame of hope. They did not declare victory that day, but they did something almost as powerful: they turned fear’s own energy against it, and with that, they opened a corridor for the human will to push the invaders back, one disciplined step at a time. The earth kept breathing, its cities singed and scarred but resolute. The dawn after the battle smelled of rain and metal and something like possible peace. The people of Russia and all the world would not forget the seam that was found, nor the two leaders who refused to let terror dictate the terms of their fate. The war would continue, yes, but a line had been drawn in the dust: a line where strength and vulnerability met, and where, for a moment, the human spirit bright, wary, unyielding held the map that would carry them toward home.

The Ketema and Nigeria Crisis part IV

In a world that feels stitched from a fever dream of empires and prophecies, the tale unfolds like a map of flickering lanterns. In the 1900s, a fateful theft set into motion a cascade of events: a Nigerian prince steals a birthday gift meant for Ketema’s Amaru Kathemon, a slight that ripples through time until Amaru’s rise to kingship through a royal marriage to Princess Leah Mazuri. The kingdom of Ketema wears its history like armor, and Amaru’s ascent hardens his resolve. What begins as a personal grievance soon blooms into a larger chorus of grievances, as debts and debts of honor echo across borders. By 2010, the tide grows darker. A Nigerian hack sinks like a sting in the royal vault, siphoning funds from the Ketema treasury and unsettling a delicate balance that had managed to endure for generations. In response, Ketema’s king casts a long shadow of retaliation, launching missiles toward distant horizons and gathering one of the era’s most formidable armies, a force born of both ancestral pride and fear of desecration. The air becomes a drumbeat of engines and alarms, a sea of smoke rising from once-familiar lands as armies collide with the stubborn glitter of steel and resolve. Nigeria, bruised and battered, fights back with a stubborn, almost liturgical courage. Into this maelstrom steps a thread of whispered diplomacy. Queen Maple Leaf, a figure of paradox steadfast as a mountain and gentle as a wind speaks with Alistair Davinchi, the Italian Secretary General, about weaving peace from the torn fabric of war. In this world, Ethiopia claims the most Peace Keepers and Peace Keepaz, a banner carried by those who believe that mercy can outlast anger and that dialogue can outshine destruction. From there, a bold plan takes shape. Queen Maple Leaf selects two Ethiopians to head the peace mission: Queen Kokeb, known as Bright Star for the way she lights the room with quiet certainty, and Super Mesfin, a strategist whose resolve feels almost tangible. At the same time, Quantum, a Ketema prince and a veteran of the Peace Keepaz, steps forward to lead the contingents who would keep the peace on the ground. The Flying Sheik, a figure of pious hope, lifts his hands in prayer, asking for good karma to bless the Peace Keepaz and to end the war’s long ache. Angels seem to listen in the tremulous hush that follows the convulsions of battle. They whisper over the soldiers’ heads, a chorus of soft, unseen voices that some hear and heed while others turn away from. The sounds of war the clamor of marching boots, the hiss of missiles, the clang of metal ebb into a wary stillness as hope threads its way through the ranks. Nigeria is in shambles, its cities marked by the scars of conflict, yet the soldiers fight with a stubborn valor that makes the air taste metallic with courage. The Ketema fighters grow weary of the thieves who have threaded themselves into the conflict’s web; they long for an end that will spare their homeland from ruin. There is talk urgent, grim talk of executing the remnants of those who would steal again. But the leaders of peace refuse to let vengeance harden into law; they believe mercy might yet be the stronger weapon. Queen Maple Leaf, Quantum, and Queen Kokeb engage in a delicate ballet of negotiation with Ketema’s royal council. They plead for restraint, for a pause in the fever of retaliation, for a chance to reweave the bonds of neighbors into a fragile, living treaty. Super Mesfin, the Flying Shiek, and Shellback step into the corridors of power in Abuja and Lagos, then across to the Nigerian government and its royalty, to seek a truce that could unthread the war’s cruel knot. The peace talks stretch and bend with the wind, lasting three days of earnest dialogue, then ten days in the quiet space where words must stand up to the weight of sorrow and history. A cease-fire is finally called, not with a shriek of triumph but with a careful, hopeful breath. The land exhales; the skies seem to clear just enough to let a sliver of dawn through. What remains, after the dust has settled, is a treaty written not merely in ink but in the courage of people who chose restraint over rage. The cease-fire, fragile as a lantern’s glow in a storm, holds because leaders and soldiers alike chose to believe in a future where their children might walk the same ground in peace. This is a world where ambition is tempered by mercy, and where the whisper of angels, heard and honored, can bend the course of history toward quiet, stubborn hope.

the Haitian Debacle

In the shadowed dawn of a world that had forgotten how to be called peaceful, the memories of 2001 lingered like a stubborn bruise. A French Peace Keeper, a man of stern jaw and quiet certainties, had stepped into the rubble of Haiti’s quake-riven streets and spoken a word that should never have left a captain’s lips: that Haiti would be better off if it remained a French colony. The sentence hung in the air as if the concrete itself paused to listen, and then—before the truth could settle the man vanished. He was never found, a missing figure stitched into the aching memory of relief missions and roadmaps of occupation. Captain Bonour would take his place, stepping into a role that demanded restraint even as the ground around him kept shifting. By 2012, the island’s horizon had grown darker. A warlord Count Baptiste rose from the marrow of fear and hunger, a mega-villain whose hands twisted reality as a child twists a play-dough moon. He cast a spell over Haiti that turned the cityscape into a living nightmare: walls breathed, streets bent into impossible spirals, and demons that wore human faces marched where the living once walked. Haiti’s light dimmed into a horror painted in shadows and tremors, as if the country itself were being rewritten into a nightmare with every spell Baptiste whispered. Into this churn of dread leaped the network of international guardians and mythic fixer-people: Secretary Alistair DaVinci sent in the Peace Keepaz, a chain of offices and oaths binding them to a distant mandate. Queen Maple Leaf cool and calculating, crown of leaves gleaming with a quiet authority worked with King Aniyaz to guide the mission’s helm. Magic Casters and Reality Fixers were chosen by Maple Leaf, a council of anomaly and elegance tasked with bending the fabric of Haiti back toward sanity. The operation drew a Bahamian contingent Shell Back who carried in their wake the Knights of Justice, the threefold vigilance of the 3rd Eye, and the bruised brightness of Daybringer. Together they moved like a comet tail across the island, each star a superstition, each vow a treaty written in fear and hope. The mission progressed with the careful cadence of diplomacy overtaken by the urgent drums of magic. The 3rd Eye, a negotiator with a rare talent for making peace feel tangible, lent his presence to delicate negotiations that tasted of rain and old wood. The rooms where the talks took place hummed with the low electricity of power and possibility, and for a moment Haiti’s future seemed to hinge not on guns, but on the alignment of intentions and the soft symmetry of promises kept. Then revelation cut through the exhale of relief like a blade through silk. 3rd Eye confessed that he was gay and married to Daybringer, a truth that fluttered through the camp’s careful veneer like a bright banner in a storm. The confession did not come as a triumph of love but as a spark that drew fire from the loom of politics. The daughters of two government officials, like twin storms, harbored hate for him one out of fear and dogma, the other out of longing and possessive jealousy. Governor Mary Piere, a pillar of tradition named for the public good yet haunted by personal prejudice, despised him simply for who he loved. She began to weave religious hexes against him and his circle, a ruinous spellwork that stitched misfortune into every breath they took. Meanwhile, Governor Peter Augustin’s daughter, Sarah Augustin, carried a different flame. She loved 3rd Eye with a fervor that refused to be denied, and her heart’s rebellion fanned the fear of what he embodied to those around her. She could not bear the idea of him with anyone else, so she paid a Voodoo Witch Doctor to cast a love hex that spiraled into curses, pests, and plagues whenever the spell sought to reach him. The island trembled with the tremor of these private wars, not with the thunder of cannons but with the quieter, cruel wars waged in the shadowed corners of family rooms and council chambers. Yet even as hexes stained the air with their sickly sweetness and fear, the Bahamian Contingent pressed forward. The Knights of Justice walked with an old-world grace, 3rd Eye offered a bridge of peace somewhat improvisational but honest, and Daybringer stood as a beacon of resilience beside the man he loved. The magic casters and reality fixers labored to untangle the knots Baptiste had woven, to sew back the pieces of a country that refused to surrender to the dream of domination. For seven months the peacekeepers labored, a stubborn line drawn against the tide of magic and hatred. They negotiated with the shifting, faceted reality of a country under siege, and with each passing week the air grew lighter, the streets less haunted by the shapes that stalked them, the tides of fear receding just enough to believe in a future worth fighting for. The daughters’ hexes, the whispers of religious contempt, the curses that had hissed through the night these too began to fray at the edges as the island found its footing again. When at last the harbor lights began to glow with a steadier pulse, when the cries of the demonic hosts dimmed to the soft murmur of ordinary life, a fragile peace settled over the land. The mission did not erase Haiti’s wounds, but it did restore a measure of dignity to the people who refused to surrender their hope. The Bahamian Contingent departed, the Peace Keepaz stayed long enough to mend the seams of a tattered reality, and then, as all miracles must, handed back a country to its people scarred, stubborn, and somehow still alive with the stubborn light of a dawn that refused to be stolen.

 Villains Only 

In 2006, a shadow moves through the world as if it were a single nerve. King Vex, a ruler whose ambition feels almost physical, hatches a plan to depower every hero and every rival villain, leaving the globe pliant and ready for his sovereign rule. He hires Doctor Menace, a chemist of chaos, who dares to steal the fabled Human Again vaccine and repurpose it into darts for a rapid-fire arsenal. With this sinister material, Menace launches a silent war: millions of drones and robot legions sweep across continents, hunting for any spark of power to snuff out. Africa and America bear the first brutal blows, their skies darkened by the buzzing of machines and the tremor of power draining fields. The heroic fabric that once kept life’s adventures vibrant is suddenly frayed, diluted, and eroded, as if reality itself is being kneaded into a duller clay. The world answers with a chorus of urgency. Secretary General Lou Fei Wong calls upon Queen Maple Leaf, a figure of resolve wrapped in calm authority, to assemble the Peace Keepaz and to enlist the Med Bay Doctors in a race against time. The need is simple and terrible: restore the powers that have been siphoned away, restore the courage that heroes rely on, restore hope to a planet suddenly frightened of its own future. The call travels fast, and a coalition forms as if forged by necessity itself: leaders and legends pooling their strengths, enemies forced to negotiate a temporary truce, and a shared vow to push back against the creeping tyranny. A plan begins to crystallize in the minds of Navy Blue, Doc Martial, and Doc Sci Fy. They work in the glow of humming tables and patient laboratories, tracing the exact thread by which a power is encoded in a hero’s DNA. They identify a specific allele the fingerprint of a power that, if nudged correctly, could rekindle the dormant force within a depowered person. It is delicate work, requiring precision and courage in equal measure, because they are not reassembling a weapon but reawakening a person. The science is bold, almost surgical in its clarity: a targeted intervention that could coax a power back to life without breaking the rest of the person’s biology. Meanwhile, the hero community rallies. Queen Justice, Navy Stalion, Brigadier General, Harmony, Sunbeam, and Pharoah by now the living embers of perseverance join the Peace Keepaz. They are joined by a chorus of others who still glow with some spark of their former abilities, stepping forward to defend the powerless and to stand as examples of resilience. The city-states that lie under threat remember their legends and gather people, shields held high against the night of oppression. The world feels a pulse again, as if it remembers it once breathed differently and can learn to breathe anew. In the shadow of the crisis, Quantum reveals a gift of movement beyond the ordinary teleportation. He begins to ferry the Med Bay Doctors to the strongest heroes first, delivering life back to those who can cast the longest shadows in the fight against tyranny. The air crackles with energy as Doctor teams materialize, then vanish, then appear again among the ranks of the repaired and the waiting. Daybringer, Doc Fortune, and Zebra contribute their own frenetic magic, weaving teleportation spells in a meticulous choreography until their energy reserves dip and finally run dry. Still, the doctors, resilient in purpose, arrive at last among those who need them most, restoring not just power but the belief that dawn follows night. Queen Maple Leaf takes command of a squad led by General Peace, a formidable force of strategy and courage, and marches toward Dr Menace’s fortress, a citadel built of metal, wire, and shadow, perched in a remote corner of Lynava. The fortress is ringed with patrols and drones, a lattice of defenses that glitters with a cold, clinical menace. The battle rages for eight long days, a symphony of clashing ideologies played out in brick, steel, and sonic blasts. The defenders cut through the drone swarms, shut down the conveyors and worker-bees of the machines, and steadily push toward the heart of the fortress where Dr Menace waits, a silhouette behind glass and chrome. When the last of the robot hosts falls and the fortress’s outer systems go dark, the war begins a second phase the one aimed at healing the world rather than annihilating it. The Med Bay Doctors devote themselves to a painstaking, patient mission: nine months spent restoring powers to the heroes who had been depowered, a process as slow as it is hopeful. It is not merely a reversal of a single act but a rebuilding of countless lives the reawakening of courage, the rekindling of identities, the reattachment of destinies once paused by a cruel, cunning scheme. And as the last embers of conflict settle, the world begins to feel the first true tremor of renewal, as if the earth itself inhales and accepts the possibility of a restored dawn. In the end, the tale is not only of a ruler’s audacious grasp for control or of a villain’s deft craft in misdirection. It is a chronicle of repair the quiet miracle of restoring what had been stolen, the stubborn bravery of people who refuse to accept a world dimmed beyond repair, and the science that threads through medicine, magic, and the stubborn, stubborn will to imagine a brighter future. The powers return, slowly, painstakingly, and with them the sense that even a world bent by tyranny can bend back toward light. And as the Med Bay Doctors finally lift the last veil of deprivation, the story closes not with triumph as an event, but with a renewed promise: that when the bells of crisis toll, the heart of heroism which the world most needs to hear will always answer.

The Cainus stabilization Mission 

On the world of Cainus, where hybrids mingle the lines between canine grace and human resilience, the dawn carries a certain tremor of memory. Streets ripple with the soft sheen of bioluminescent markets, where half-dog, half-human silhouettes move in a harmony of instinct and intellect. Cainus thrums with a strange, melodic gravity the wag of a tail here, the careful calculation of a pawed hand there set against towers that hum with wind-sculpted light. Then came the shadow of conquest: a secret Earth Space Raider Army, riding in on ships that cut through the atmosphere like dark, patient knives. They proclaimed humanity the universe’s chosen pinnacle, and that belief bent the fates of Cainus to its iron will. For three long years, the invaders claimed the skies and the streets, bending the planet’s pulse to their iron law, until a tinderbox of rebellion finally sparked and the Raiders retreated, licking their wounds and ceding a whisper of space back to the world they had subjugated. The Cainus Army, a counterpart forged in sand and steel, watched this vast theater with wary hope. They spoke of retribution with the gravity of veterans who had learned to count the costs of every silence between gunfire. In response, they sent a team that bore their own name for justice the Canyicers. On the home front, the dream of peace did not die with the fall of conquerors; it gathered strength, as if the planet itself pressed closer to its own defenders. Secretary General Haile Biruk, a figure carved from the quiet determination of humanitarian law, called for counsel from Queen Maple Leaf and the Peace Keepaz, as though naming allies could summon a bridge across a chasm of fear. And if the chorus of war could not hear across the divide, the plan of peace would. Queen Maple Leaf did not work alone. She summoned a cadre she called Peace Architects, those who could draft treaties from whispers of understanding. The air grew thick with possibility as she assembled a consortium of insight: the 3rd Eye, a cadre of telepaths who could listen with more than ears; animal and planet communicators who could translate the languages of fur and stone and weather into something another mind could grasp. It was a small, bright revolt against the old, brittle grammar of conflict. The front lines of the Canyicers became a stage for a different kind of battle the battle to translate, to listen, to reframe fear as a shared problem to be solved. And whenever a surge of doubt rose, the sight of a Canyicer in the trenches a creature of courage and almost familiarly loyal eyesheld the line as the Peace Keepaz breathed in the possibility of a negotiated dawn. The International Court of Justice entered the scene with a gravity that looked almost ceremonial, yet carried the weight of consequence. It persecuted the leaders and returning soldiers of the Space Raider Army, insisting that justice flow with the rhythm of accountability. In a quiet miracle of modern diplomacy, the Court allowed the Canyicers to videotape and translate the raiders’ own words, turning fearsome pride into a documentary whose truth could travel to every Cainus household. The citizens watched, translated through the lenses of peacekeepers and telepaths, and for the first time many could hear their would-be rulers’ rhetoric laid bare not as propaganda, but as a history they could examine and respond to. It was a strange, luminous thing to witness: the power of a civilization to confront its own aggressors without the smash of an immediate strike, to insist that understanding might be the strongest form of resistance. In the end, it was peace that saved the day, wreathed in careful dialogue and the stubborn, patient work of those who refused to surrender language to weaponry. The Canyicers remained, a living bridge between worlds, keeping in contact with a few Earthlings who believed in reconciliation as loudly as they believed in justice. On Cainus, the hybrid citizens learned to live with a broader chorus the hum of human voices from afar, the whispered counsel of telepaths, the patient, watching eyes of their animal and planetary allies. And as the bioluminescent streets glowed softly through the night, the planet breathed a little easier, knowing that peace, once woven, could endure through time, even as other stars watched and waited for the next chapter in the long, intricate tapestry of coexistence.

The New Neo Regime

In 1950, as smoke from bombed streets curled into a gray, indifferent sky, Germany lay split between the shadows of occupation and the stubborn light of its people. Griffin, steadfast at the helm of the Peace Keepaz, surveyed the map of a nation that had once believed in its own future and now trembled under the iron heel of the Pure White Armada. This new Neo-Nazi faction had seized control with brutal efficiency, aided by soldiers from Lynava, and Ketema the quiet city at the heart of the land had endured five long years of fear, checkpoints, and the suffocating parade of banners that mocked liberty. Yet in the hearts of those who still remembered the old dawn, a stubborn flame flickered: Germany’s release. The call arrived as a whisper through a crackling comm link, then roared into certainty. Griffin the British leader, gravely but resolutely, appealed for unity; King Hebesha answered with a weight of resolve that felt almost tangible in the air. From the frayed edges of the night, Master Mystery from Russia and Master Hougan materialized teleporting into the war room with a hush of displaced air and cold, precise intent. They began to weave frost into the fabric of battle, casting spells that froze weapons mid-swing, turning iron into glass-like silence, and pinning the Armada’s advance in crystalline netting. The air crackled with the ancient music of ice, a counterpoint to the heat of fear and hatred that had sustained the usurpers for so long. Blue Ghost moved like a shadow with a purpose no fanfare, just careful, compassionate action. He sought to disarm, to restrain, to neutralize the danger without tearing away the humanity of those who marched under the Armada’s banner. It was not mercy for mercy’s sake, but mercy tempered by the memory of what tyranny demanded when left unchecked. Nearby, King Eagle, the New American Peace Keepaz’s fiercest flank, moved with surgical precision. He struck at the core of a commander’s plan, sweeping through corridors of command and control with a discipline that felt almost coldly righteous, taking down the most dangerous nodes of the insurgency not with indiscriminate force, but with a measured force that aimed to restore order without erasing the lives behind the masks. The line between heroism and ruthlessness blurred in the heat of the moment, and Griffin watched, weighing every choice against the risk of becoming the very thing they fought against. The battle ebbed and flowed like a terrible tide, the ice spells shimmering in the air, the city’s ruined silhouette a jagged witness to a war of ideals. In the spaces between gunfire and cries, the Armada’s armor cracked not by sheer brute strength, but by a coalition of courage and cunning, by a plan that refused to abandon the very humanity it sought to defend. Ketema’s people, who had learned to breathe again only in the presence of allies, found their voice in the chorus of distant cheers and the occasional song that carried across ruined streets an anthem for freedom, tempered by the memory of fear and the stubborn hope of tomorrow. When at last the tide began to turn, the Pure White Armada found itself surrounded by a new gravity: international resolve paired with local resilience. The occupation crumbled not in a single, cataclysmic moment, but in a series of small, unglamorous victories—one checkpoint at a time, one family reunited, one street reclaimed from terror. The people of Germany lifted their heads, and, as if awakened by the sight of their own courage reflected back at them, they took to the avenues with a peace parade that glowed with the colors of a healed nation. Children waved banners, veterans saluted, and neighbors who had once spoken in whispers now spoke in posts on the same hopeful page. Griffin stood back, the weight of leadership both immense and intimate. This victory was not simply the defeat of a cruel ideology but the reaffirmation of a covenant: that power wielded without restraint would always seek to devour the vulnerable, and that there would always be those willing to stand in its way. The parade marched on, a living chorus of gratitude and memory, and the Peace Keepaz walked among them as guardians and witnesses to Germany’s freedom. The city exhaled a breath it had not taken in years, and the world, listening from afar, understood that true peace is not merely the absence of war, but the ongoing resolve to defend human dignity, even when the price is high.

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The Vaobos Yunextra Invasion

In the year 1960, The Hague wore its diplomacy like a heavy cloak stone corridors, marble floors, and the soft, inexorable hum of a city that slept with every treaty in its pocket. It was here, in the shadowed glow of a council chamber, that Vladimir Popov, the Secretary General of a world still learning to breathe together, received a call that would fracture the calm of the morning and crack open the ceiling of the possible. The room went quiet as a screen woke, casting a blue-white glow across faces that were already pale from the weight of history. On the other side of the line, a distant voice carried urgency with the chill of a winter wind: a report from the front, a vision from a war that had not yet been fought, and the image of Giants hulking figures forged in the rust-red dust of Mars, defeated in a moment that suggested both triumph and despair. The Giants did not vanish. They scattered, like comets flinging shards of their icy tails across the Galaxy, searching for a new home after an invasion of their own making had faltered against the unknown. The footage teased at the edge of comprehension: colossal silhouettes moving with a gravity beyond human scale, the noise of battle echoing through the void, then a silence so heavy you could feel it pressing at your lungs. And in that silence lay the seed of a fear that would bloom into a plan: if Mars could be breached and Giants could be scattered, what lay between the stars might become the next battlefield, and Earth would be its most coveted quarry. The threat rose not as a single trumpet but as a chorus of an imagined hive. The Yunextras half ant, half human were organized with the discipline and ruthlessness of the insect world they embodied. They moved with a purposeful inevitability, their society structured around Queens who did not merely rule but whispered into the nerve endings of every follower. Telepathically, they directed their steps, bending thousands toward the same end: a mining of the Milky Way’s resources, a hunger that would hollow Earth of its own heartbeat if left unchecked. The most tyrannical of their brood was Empress Yunniry, whose cold intelligence saw continents as resources to be inventoried and consumed, and whose reach extended like a spiked mantle across starbursts. Griffin an emblem of stubborn resolve and unspoken courage was summoned to lead a United Earth Army that did not yet exist in name but must exist in reality. The call came with a weight that pressed against the skull, the way a storm presses against the sea. He would coordinate a coalition of Earth’s soldiers, scientists, and pilots with a single aim: turn back the Yunextras before they could render the planet’s skin a mining colony for a race that could conjure fear with a mere thought. It was not a defense born of vanity but of the stubborn, aching need to keep home from becoming a raw material line in a ledger of the stars. From the moment negotiations began, unlikely alliances formed in the gaseous dusk between Earth and the Giants who had once called Mars home. Their ships, exotic and alien in a way that made human engineers pause, began to drift closer to Earth’s orbit, as if the red planet itself had become a stepping-stone rather than a distant memory. A new chorus joined the fight when King Eagle standing in for a departed Electron who had once guided the American Peace Keapaz took up the mantle of liaison, coordinating with NASA and other global intelligence networks to unleash a hidden assortment of spacefaring power: secret military-grade crafts tucked away in vaults of memory and oversight, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Griffin’s plea to the United Nations was as biblical as it was practical: call forth the full member states, demand troops for peace, and redefine a force that could hold the line until the Yunextras’ war machine was stilled. The Peace Keapaz, an idea born of compromise and pulse-beating necessity, widened its ranks to those who had once stood as mere observers of a future in the making. It was a reversal of the old world’s architecture, a recharting of lines on a map that would determine whether Earth would be a safe harbor or a colony consumed by desire. Change arrived not with a whisper but with metal and velocity. A cadre of scientists led by the brilliant Japanese engineer Dr. Yamazaki Hayabusa unveiled the first Mechs the kind of towering exoskeletal guardians that the human form could only inhabit through machine and will. The Mechs did not merely supplement human soldiers; they altered the geometry of the war, bending it toward a pace and a scale that had once lived only in the realm of dreams. The Yunextras’ exoskeletons were a different kind of menace hard, lethal, capable of turning a battlefield into a gallery of pain with brutal efficiency. Some Yunextras carried a venomous bite that could inject paralyzing poison, a reminder that this war was as much a contest of resilience as it was of firepower. In the forge of necessity, the Mechs rose to the occasion as a tide-turner. Dr. Hayabusa, with a stubborn gleam in his eye and an unshakeable conviction, pushed his team to press the Mechs into service not as luxury frames but as an imperative tool. They began to function as a bridge between human ingenuity and the otherworldly scale of the threat, turning the impossible into the plausible and then into the inevitable. The war, which had seemed a coiled serpent of doom, found in the Mechs a new throat to bite the moment when engineering and courage met the gravity of the cosmos and refused to surrender. Four long years stretched into a corridor of smoke and memory, a slow, devastating burn that tested every promise of the young alliance. The Yunextras’ hold on the Solar System began to loosen as Earth and Mars now bound by a shared purpose and a shared fear pushed back with a chorus of planetary defense and interstellar support. The question of widening the war, of pushing farther into the Milky Way to aid other systems that might share Earth’s plight, surfaced with the dull thud of logistics meeting ambition. It was a question that the General Assembly could not answer with a simple yes or no. The purse-strings of the world had their say: to go deeper into the galaxy would require resources beyond reckoning, and the council’s verdict was a sobering no, a decision made not out of fear of a larger cosmos but out of the stark arithmetic of cost and consequence. When the dust finally began to settle, the Yunextras were purged from the Solar System, not with the fanfare of a single climactic battle, but through a patient, gritted persistence that wore down their exoskeletons, sapped their telepathic cohesion, and shattered their hive-masters’ command over the swarm. The Giants, who had stood as both relic and ally, faded into quiet memory, their once-bitter alliance now a testament to a future where even the most alien of beings could become a partner in defense. Earth exhaled a taut breath, knowing that the peace it had fought so hard to win was delicate as glass, and just as easily broken by hunger, fear, or misunderstanding. In the end, the Hague’s memory did not fade; it hardened into the backbone of a new era. The war had reshaped not only the map but the spirit of humanity: a people who learned to share power, to trust guardians across the void, to build machines that could stand with them against the night. It was a story not of conquest but of restraint of the moment when a world chose to defend itself without becoming the very violence it sought to banish. And as the stars stretched their cold, indifferent light across the dark of space, Earth kept watch, ready to defend its home, grateful for the peace that came not from victory alone, but from the stubborn, stubborn will to endure.

Mech Origins

June 20, 1970. Halifax, Canada. The densely packed auditorium hums with the tremor of voices and the soft scrape of seats as if the room itself is listening, waiting. Jarvis sits tall and still, a quiet pillar of pride, his gaze fixed on the stage where a single name will rise from the sea of faces. Beside him, Sonya’s lips tilt in a smile that tightens into a glow in her eyes. The air is thick with the scent of waxed wood and the faint tang of rain seeping through windows left slightly ajar, as if the city outside is also leaning in to witness what is about to unfold. Then comes the moment. The speaker introduces the Engineering programs’ valedictorian, Cedric Rolle. A hush breathes through the hall, and Cedric steps forward, a slender figure growing toward a broader horizon in the space between the podium and the sea of caps and gowns. He is a towering presence even when still, six feet four inches of focus and promise, his gestures measured, his voice already carrying the calm resonance of someone who has learned to carry a future in the hollow of his hands. “My God, he really is your splitting image,” Sonya whispers, the warmth of awe threading through her words. Jarvis’s mouth twitches in a private grin, and with a teasing light he returns, “das ya forehead do,” a quip that draws a shared laugh from them and from a few nearby ears. The crowd settles as Cedric begins, its cadence steady and sure, the language of scholarship and possibility rolling out in confident waves. He speaks with the quiet fervor of someone who has stood at the edge of doubt and stepped forward anyway. He speaks of opportunity, of the promise that education grants to those who reach for it even when the path is steep. He tells of a father who never had the chance to go to college, yet who forged in his son a promise to seize the opportunity life offered and to honor it with hard work and resolve. He quotes Churchill, not as a boast but as a reminder: a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty. The hall responds with a mounting swell of applause as he pledges to let the world see what Dalhousie students can endure and achieve. When the rousing ovation finally subsides, the echo of his words lingers in the air, a thread linking a boy’s dream to a man’s future. After the ceremony, Cedric’s name will drift through corridors of industry and intellect alike; he would one day work with BASA to refine the orbital maneuvering system that later orbits the unknown with a hopeful gaze. May 1, 1987. Nassau, Bahamas. The city’s glow spills across the harbor as Cedric and his pregnant wife, Michelle, sit together in a living room that watches a television screen as if it were a window to the future itself. ZNS is broadcasting its inaugural space shuttle launch, a milestone that makes the room feel electric with history in the making. Cedric’s voice carries the crackle and brightness of a man who has learned to celebrate small wins with a roar of joy. “Exciting times, we have definitely come a long way, Bahamas all in ya belly,” he says, his accent softening the words into a toast to both progress and life. Beside him, Michelle’s eyes widen with a different kind of anticipation, and unsuspecting yet inevitable the moment arrives as the room’s lights dim for a breath between marvels and reality. “Baby, my water broke,” Michelle says, her hand finding Cedric’s with a mixture of wonder and concern. Nine hours of labor later, a healthy baby boy is placed into the world, his first cries cataloging the triumph of the moment. They name him Keith, after Michelle’s father, a decision that ties this new life to a lineage of memory and meaning. The name is a compass point in the map of their ever-expanding family, a signal flare aimed at what the future might hold. July 30, 2000. Cedric is sixty-two by the calendar, though the years have left their marks with a gentler hand than one might expect. He moves with a practiced ease that suggests both endurance and a stubborn refusal to surrender to time’s softening. A beer belly hints at the celebrations and seasons he has weathered, but Michelle, at fifty-four, has aged with an unexpected, almost timeless grace; she could still pass for someone half her age, her features bright with the same vitality that once lit up a college auditorium in Halifax. They dress for an occasion, their clothes speaking of a life lived with intention and affection. Seated beside them is Keith, their son, now grown into a man who has already earned recognition in his own right. He carries a quiet confidence, and in his eyes there is the same spark that lit Cedric’s youth at the podium—ambition tempered by a deep sense of duty. Jasmine, Keith’s fiancée and a beacon of warmth in the gathering, sits with a glow that hints at a future brimming with both challenge and joy. The best male recruit award glints on Keith’s uniform, a trophy in a life that has mapped service and sacrifice onto a clear, shining path. The room narrows to focus on the small, intimate circle of family and futures. Later that year, Keith and Jasmine welcome their first child, a son named Miles Rolle, a name that continues the lineage and the legacy that began in a Halifax auditorium so many years ago. As the minutes drift into memory, the scenes widen into a broader panorama—the same family line threaded through the decades by choices that seed opportunity, courage, and an unspoken belief in what can be achieved when a heart and a mind are set on a horizon that keeps receding just enough to entice you forward. Jarvis’s pride, Sonya’s laughter, Cedric’s steady voice, Michelle’s quiet strength, Keith’s discipline, and Jasmine’s hopeful smile—all converge into a narrative that reads like a map of a life lived with purpose. The Halifax audience may never know the full distance those moments travel, but the echoes of that first valedictory speech and the lifetimes that follow show up in the faces at a family table, in the stories told to Miles, and in the quiet, stubborn faith that every new day carries the promise of another opportunity to rise.

On 2012 AD, exactly fifty years after the Bahamas Defence Force launched its first spaceship, a hush has settled over a window-walled conference room where the future is being hammered into shape. The room is a blend of polished wood, humming state-of-the-art screens, and the soft clack of a distant ocean pressing against coral shores. At the head of the long table stands Leslie Bowe, the great granddaughter of Aisha Bowe, a figure of calm certainty and relentless drive. She commands the room with a precise, practiced grace, a pointer in hand and a projector lighting up the air with holographic schematics that drift like living diagrams. Leslie’s voice cuts cleanly through the murmur of the gathering, steady and persuasive. The Mechs her team is building, she explains, sit at the cutting edge of technology. They are not merely machines; they are multipurpose platforms capable of space travel and deep-sea exploration, engineered to extend the Bahamas’ reach into both the cosmos and the trenches of the sea. Their tracking systems, she notes, render these Mechs indispensable for air and sea rescue missions, turning catastrophe into recoverable events. One of their defining features, she continues, is a defensive capability against missile attacks, a safeguard that would anchor the nation’s security as new frontiers open up before them. “At BASA, we believe these Mechs to be the technological advancement the Bahamas Defence Force needs,” she states, then sits, a poised silhouette framed by screens that bloom with data and trajectories. The doors part and a new energy threads its way into the room as Scitech’s contingent arrives, led by Marvin Wells, a project veteran whose reputation among his peers precedes him—a conchy joe from Long Island, as some of his colleagues tease, yet widely respected for the lucid science that underpins every line of code and alloy. Marvin’s presentation unfurls with the same confidence, and a touch of bravado, that marks his team’s work. Scene-stealing words bubble up: Project Warbird, a fully equipped Mech with space flight capabilities and an arsenal of advanced weapons designed to deter would-be aggressors and reassure a nervous coastline. “With Scitech’s Mechs guarding our shores,” he proclaims, eyes sweeping the room, “the Bahamians can sleep a little easier at night.” The minister of defense, John Nichols, sits back with the quiet gravity of a man weighing the future against the present. He listens in with careful attention, letting the two visions wash over him the Bahamian-led dream of a homegrown, space- and sea-faring sentinel, versus the Scitech blueprint with its polished exterior and bold, foreign-tested pedigree. The room’s air seems to tighten with every chart, every calculated trajectory, every claim about endurance, response time, and interplanetary maneuvering. After a lengthy pause ten minutes stretched into a moment that feels longer than it is the minister leans forward, the gold-burnished insignia on his uniform catching the light as he speaks in a measured tone. “While I am impressed with both projects, I cannot make a decision based on theory alone,” he admits, sounding the weight of responsibility that rests on his shoulders. “I will need to see both Mechs in action before we can proceed. So, ladies and gentlemen, by this time next year, both companies must have their Mechs ready for a demonstration.” A final nod seals the decision, and with it, the formalities begin to fracture into the practical reality of schedules, funding, and engineering milestones. He rises, signaling the end of the meeting, and the room begins to empty, the doors sighing closed behind him as if the walls themselves exhale at the enormity of the vow just spoken. Outside, the chandeliers’ reflections thread across the surface of the sea and a fresh wind threads through the blinds, carrying the scent of salt and the unmistakable tremor of possibility. The two teams exchange a cluster of cautious smiles and brisk handshakes, the unspoken understanding that what begins as a proposal today will, within months, become a tangible test of courage, innovation, and national resolve. The future the Bahamas envisions one where sea, sky, and space converge under a shield of homegrown technology—begins not with a single invention but with a roomful of people daring to dare again. As Leslie and her team walk down the corridor toward the exit, the hum of the air vents mingles with distant chatter and the soft glow of overhead lights that wash everything in a cool, clinical blue. The walls, lined with glass and polished metal, reflect a ripple of silhouettes as colleagues move in and out of sight. From the shadows steps Marvin, poised with the easy swagger of someone who’s always in control, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. He pauses beside her, the air between them tightening as he speaks. "Hey Leslie, great presentation, but you're working for the wrong side. We could use you at Scitech," Marvin says, his voice smooth, almost casual, yet sharp enough to cut through the chatter around them. Leslie slows, the echo of her footfalls fading. The memory of the room she just left—the slides, the questions, the spark of curiosity in the eyes of her teammates presses against the edge of her resolve. She studies Marvin for a moment, the glint of the corridor lights catching in his eyes, and then answers with measured calm. "I'm sorry, but your project discourages me from supporting your Mech program. It is precisely the aggressive aspect of your project that makes me reject what you guys are doing there at Scitech. I heard you guys were using nuclear energy to power your mechs. What happens if one of your Mechs blows up? They might destroy half the Bahamas if not all of it. You guys are building tools of war and I have no interest in that." Her words hang in the air, heavy with conviction and a hint of anger that she barely keeps tethered to the surface. She turns on her heel, the fabric of her jacket catching the glow from the ceiling lights as she strides toward the door, leaving Marvin and the corridor behind. The door slides shut with a soft sigh, and the hush that follows feels almost louder than the din of the building as the truth of her stance settles around her like a shield.

The Recruit

October 17, 1997, Nassau, Bahamas. The morning light spills through the high windows of the small school, turning the classroom into a page of warm honey and dust motes dancing in the air. Jarvis Rolle sits at his desk, pencil hovering over a stubborn quadratic equation, the numbers blurring as if they know he’s tired of chasing them. The day has worn him down a little more than usual, the way a long playlist of small disappointments can do. He tells himself to focus, to coax the right factorization from the stubborn plot of x and a, but the math feels heavier than it should, heavier than the humid air that clings to the room like a damp shirt. When the bell rings for lunch, the sound is loud and bright, a brass note that slices through the hallway chatter. Jarvis stands, gathering his books with a practiced carefulness, as if he might misplace something important along the way. He walks with a quiet air of dejection toward his teacher, Mr. Jones, who looks up from his desk with the kind of patient gravity that says, “I’ve seen this road before, kid.” The room seems to exhale as the students spill into the corridor, their voices a swarm of islands and jokes and marching band practice of teenage life. “Hey Jarvis, can you stay behind? I’d like to talk to you for a brief minute,” Mr. Jones says, stepping into the hush between the desk and the door, his eyes balancing kindness with a touch of seriousness. Jarvis answers, “Yes sir,” and sinks into the chair that waits a little too long for his weight, as if the chair itself understands the moment for what it is. “Jarvis, I wanted to talk to you about college,” Mr. Jones begins, the words coming slow and careful, as though each syllable might drift away if spoken too quickly. “Your grades are good enough to get you into most schools. What are your plans for college?” The question lands softly but with weight, a map laid out on a table that Jarvis knows he can’t stretch as far as his dreams dare to travel. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t know. The schools I got accepted into are out of my family’s budget. I may just try to find a job,” Jarvis says, the words tasting like something unfinished, like a sentence without a final clause. “I think it would be a terrible waste if you did not go on to college,” Mr. Jones replies, the conviction in his voice steady as a lighthouse beam. “Why don’t you check out Dalhousie University? I hear they have an excellent engineering program at an affordable price. The defence force might be a good option; they might help with the tuition.” “I guess I may try to check it out,” Jarvis answers, the idea sliding into his mind with a mix of caution and possibility. “Don’t just try, Jarvis make the effort. I promise you it will pay off,” Mr. Jones says, the words ringing with a quiet certainty that feels almost contagious. After lunch is over, Jarvis drifts toward his science class, the corridor still warm with the laughter and clatter of students. Mr. Thomas, the science teacher, is at his desk, a stout, plump fellow with a kind face that has learned to smile at the stubbornness of youth. He takes the roll call with a sigh that sounds like sunlight through a window, then rises to address the class with a flourish of energy that makes the room feel suddenly larger. “Good afternoon, class. Today we have a special treat,” he announces, a spark in his eyes. “I would like to introduce you to the first Bahamian to travel to space. Aisha Bowe, a lead engineer from BASA, will be our guest speaker for today.” The room tilts toward the door as if the phrase “first Bahamian to travel to space” has invited a comet to skim through the ceiling. The students buzz and settle, their curiosity prickling at their sleeves. Aisha Bowe steps into the front of the room with the calm confidence of someone who has learned to move through doors that most people fear to knock on. She speaks with the clear, measured cadence of a woman who knows the weight of the word “possible.” “Good afternoon, students. My name is Aisha Bowe, and as your teacher told you, I am an engineer from BASA and also the co-founder and CEO of STEMBoard, a technology solutions company. I have also worked for NASA for many years.” Her voice is warm, aligned with the bright cadence of someone who believes that limits are merely challenges wearing a mask. She smiles, and the room hums with a different kind of electricity, the electricity of possibility. Astronaut Scott Kelly’s words float in the air with a strange, earnest accuracy: Bahamas is the most beautiful place from space, and Aisha’s delivery—part tour, part calling—makes the students lean forward as if the ceiling has opened to reveal a second sky. She speaks with passion about the country’s potential, about a future where Bahamians aren’t spectators of space but players in it. “It is an exciting time for Bahamians,” she tells them, “as we are on the brink of launching our Mech space program.” The last lines land with the gravity of a prayer: “Dey say by 2000, barring any unforeseen delays, NASA in coordination with BASA will be launching its first Space shuttle from the Bahamas.” The classroom breathes, wide and full, as if the walls themselves have remembered how to dream. “The Bahamas may be a small island nation but never let that limit you,” she continues, the irony of the phrase small island, boundless horizon hanging in the air like a ribbon. “Remember, class, that if you dream big and never settle, you can accomplish your dreams.” Jarvis watches, a little stunned by the bravery in her voice, by the way her words stitch the room together into a map of routes he hadn’t noticed before. He hears the promise in the air, a promise that school doors sometimes forget to open, and for a moment he feels the tremor of something new stirring in his chest: a plan perhaps, or at least a glimmer of a plan, bright as a lighthouse across a sunlit sea. When the talk ends and the students drift away some energized, some with their usual half-smiles that say they’re already thinking about what’s for lunch or what comes after Jarvis lingers in the buzz, the chalk dust still clinging to the air, the faint scent of cocoa from the lunchroom drifting into the science room. He imagines himself at Dalhousie, not as a distant name on a sheet of acceptance letters, but as a human being who can learn, who can grow, who could one day stand in a room and tell a story as boldly as Aisha just did. The day closes with the door of the science room easing shut behind the final student, and the corridor settles into its slower evening rhythm. Jarvis carries with him more than the weight of a math problem solved or not solved; he carries a sense that the future is not a locked cabinet but a door that opens, sometimes through a conversation that looks small at the moment but becomes a doorway when one more person believes it can be opened. And in that moment, on that island in 1997, under a sun that feels a little more patient than yesterday, Jarvis begins to listen to the quiet voice inside him that says: dream big. It’s not a shout. It’s a promise, almost whispered, but loud enough to move a student from doubt to possibility, from the fear of a limited budget to the hard, hopeful work of planning a future that begins with a single, simple decision to try.

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The Phunari Invasion Dilemma

The Cosmic Council gathers in their secret meeting chambers, suspended in the quiet heart of a space station that circles the Center of the Universe. From every corner of the galaxies, the Council’s influence threads outward, with a network of space stations in every realm, yet their most consequential assemblies unfold here, where the gravity of purpose seems to bend around them. The chamber itself is a cathedral carved from stellar glass and living crystal, where light shifts like tides and the air hums with the soft susurrus of a thousand languages unfolding into one shared breath. At the far end, a dais rises from the aurora-lit floor, holding a throne for the presiding elder as the council’s gaze sweeps across a sea of witnesses: thirteen million governors and judges, each a different species, each a ledger of the universe’s most intimate disputes and grandest destinies. The debates begin as a murmur, then swell into a chorus. The Council is a living archive of the cosmos: voices layered with the histories of oceans of worlds, punctuated by the clack of exoskeletal limbs, the rustle of winged remotes, the resonant thrum of engines stilled to listen. They argue in measured, almost ceremonial tones about the Phunari Invasions—their gleaming ships, their unnerving certainty, their hunger to remake the map of existence. The provocation of annihilation sits at the edge of the table like a blade; each faction weighs the price of a final blow against the possible corruption of even more star systems, of collateral ecologies that would struggle under a blanket of war’s consequences. The room becomes a windless storm of opinions, a mosaic of tactics and ethics where every decision could tilt the balance of countless worlds. Among the voices stands Minister Guptel, a remarkable figure among the chorus: half bee, half human, a Vaobos envoy whose thoughts hum with the soft drone of wings and the cool logic of a scientist’s mind. He rises, the golden fringe of his mandibles catching the chamber’s light, and with a voice that carries both the zeal of a reformer and the weight of experience, he speaks. “My kind are not unlike the Phunari in their potential for tyranny,” he says, the words gliding through the chamber with careful precision. “We must guard against the brutish mindset that proclaims superiority and seeks to rule all, tainting the beauty of existence.” His sentiment lands with a curious hush, a resonance that fans out like a ripple across a still sea. When he finishes, the hall fills with a chorus of nods and murmurs, some in agreement, some in challenge, but all moved by the sincerity behind his claim. Buoyed by Guptel’s appeal, a surge of accord spreads through the assembly. They decide to summon the prophets, to seek guidance from the Allguard, hoping that a bridge to higher insight might temper the desire for total dominion with a wisdom that preserves the harmony of countless worlds. The choice is unglamorous and fraught: to court unknown saviors, to risk dependence on forces not fully understood, all in the service of averting a universal tragedy. Yet in that moment, as the chamber glows with the pale blue of distant suns reflected through the station’s crystalline walls, the sense of unity however fragile takes hold. Months pass in a measured cadence of fleets and communications, armadas scudding through empty space like wake of a dream. The debate renews itself as new councils and ambassadors filter in from planetoids and colonies across the spectrum of life. Some insist on preemptive strikes, others on containment and diplomacy, a few on the radical faith that the universe can be steered away from catastrophe by sheer restraint. The possibility of exploding the Phunari world to halt a wave of tyrants spreads through the halls again and again, a whispered strategy that would erase the menace but risk cascading wreckage across solar tides. The discussion stretches toward consequence and memory, toward the knowledge that any blast here would echo through orbits and consume entire star-begotten neighborhoods, reshaping futures in ways unimagined. In the end, the argument remains a grave poetry of caution. The council relinquishes the raw urge to erase a threat with a single, devastating flare; the danger of unintended contagion to other systems some solar with delicate life, some barren yet vital to others’ survival proves too high a price. They hold back, not surrendering, but reframing the chessboard: pursue peace where possible, prepare to shield and defend, and seek counsel from the prophets and Allguard to illuminate a path that honors the sanctity of existence across all worlds. Even as the shadow of possible annihilation lingers, a stubborn, stubborn hope threads through the chamber’s crystal corridors that wisdom can outstrip fear, and that through restraint and alliance, the universe’s vast beauty can endure.

For References for this Video Scroll to the bottom of the Page

Justice Media Season 1

Episode 1

Episode 2: Rehabilitation

Special Multiversal Broadcasts 2

Episode 4: Parenting

Episode 5: Public Heroes

Episode 6: Food For Thought Episode

Episode 7 Magic in Da Multiverse

Episode 8 Space Vibes Episode 1

Special Multiversal Broadcasts 2

Kaiju In Da Multiverse

Episode 9: Space Vibes 2

Episode 10 Obsession 

Episode 11:

Episode 12: Universe In peril Series to Multiverse in Peril Series 

Da Multiverse 

Universe In Peril Theme Song idea to Multiverse In Peril Theme Song idea

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Da Imperial Islands

United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights Article 27.

(1) Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.
(2) Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.

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Rainbow Allaince

Code name: Green Eyes

Real Name: Erin Braveheart Greene -

Story about Green Eyes: Enhanced Vision and Rainbow Eye Beams (Each colour has different effects but her most Powerful attack is A Green Quantum beam), Super Strength and flight- Erin is a rock solid LesGeneralis and has been fighting in the front lines of the Bahamas. In LGBT Society the Caribbean is one of the worse places for LGBT and Erin Made them back down without powers so Karima came to her in a dream and blessed her with powers. She then flew around the world and selected LGBT Heroes to form the Rainbow Alliance.

Code Name: Zonuwe

Real Name: Ben Beneby 

Story about :A Gay Jamaican blessed by the Divine Hermatta who is one of the first Beings in exisence. Zonuweis blessed with Super strength and speed, wall climbing ability and sonic abilities.

Code Name: Equa

Real Name:

Height:

Super Powers:

Super Team: Rainbow Allaince

Story about Equa:- An African Lesbian who is a bald headed woman with a tattoed tear that ends in a multi colored peace . Multiple abilities and a Rainbow colored flag that is on her Armour

Code Name: Legaw (Lesbian Mega Warrior)

Real Name:

Height:

Super Powers:

Super Team: Rainbow Allaince

Story About Legaw- a Lesbian White American with a large Hamor and Blue and White Costume and a Blue and White tear drop tattoo that ends in a peace sign on the opposite eye of Equa

Code Name: Havul

Real Name:

Height: 5foot 10"

Super Powers: powers of the Pheonix

Super Team: Rainbow Alliance

Story About Havul:-A Gay Haitian that Has special Magical weapons and Armour with the Pheonix Crest

Code Name: Imaco

Real Name:- Immassa Battaglia

Height: 5foot 3inches

Super Powers: Energy Manipulation, flight, super strength, healing factor.

Super Team: Rainbow Alliance 

Story about Imaco: Imaco is  a Lesbian midget with that has Quantum cells that can utilize multiple quantum abilities

Code Name: Myway

Real Name:

Height:

Super Powers:

Super Team:

Story about Myway: Myway is a bi crossdressing Quantum hero that has Environmental Adaptation, Extrasensory Perception, and Rainbow Manipulation.

Warriors of Unity (WOU)

Green Eyes- Erin Braveheart Greene - Enhanced Vision and Rainbow Eye Beams (Each colour has different effects but her most Powerful attack is A Green Quantum beam), Super Strength and flight- Erin is a rock solid LesGeneralis and has been fighting in the front lines of the Bahamas. In LGBT Society the carribbean is one of the worse places for LGBT and Erin Made them back down without powers so Karima came to her in a dream and blessed her with powers. She then flew around the world and selected LGBT Heroes to form the Rainbow Allaince.

Zonuwe- A Gay Jamaican blessed by Hermatta with Super strength and speed, wall climbing ability and sonic abilities.

Equa- An African Lesbian who is a bald headed woman with a tattoed tear that ends in a multi colored peace . Multiple abilities and a Rainbow colored flag that is on her Armour

Legaw (Lesbian Mega Warrior)- a Lesbian White American with a large Hamor and Blue and White Costume and a Blue and White tear drop tattoo that ends in a peace sign on the opposite eye of Equa

Havul-A Gay Haitian that Has special Magical weapons and Armour with the Pheonix Crest

Imaco- Immassa Battaglia – a Lesbian midget with that has Quantum cells that can utilize multiple quantum abilities

Myway- A bi crossdressing Quantum hero that has Environmental Adaptation, Extrasensory Perception, and Rainbow Manipulation.

Season 1:

1) The African Prefrocide 

2) Worship or Die

3) The World's Cruelest

4) The Awakening of the Slaves

5) Zoombees Every where

6) A Restoration of Royalty

7) The New Beacons of Colorful Light

8) Our Bodies Our Choice

9) The Quantum Divide

10) Last night at lighthouse Cay

11) Going to War for Love

12) Majority of Ignorance- Loveequal's Shipments are denied, several of the companies that supported them around the world were sabotaged and the helpers replaced. Supplies and products are cut off and the Lovequalians are down but Green Eyes starts to get creative all over Lovequal picking up spirits and inspiring others to be creative the Lovequalians develop their own system and learn to survive with no out side help when the Lovequalians start to thrive a Missle is sent that destroys a medical facility. The Warriors of Unity exact retribution.

Season 2

1) Border Order

2) Colorful Refugees- the Giddy Love Gang move to Lovequal

3) Peacific Defence Part 1- The Poly Chromes call for help in their Island base in the Pacific And Lovequal sends its Airforce and Navy.

4) Peacific Defence Part 2-

5) Stolen Loves- The Warriors of Unity, Lovequal Army, and the Peacific Army send out scouts to locate all the Stolen Lovequalians when the War was going on in the Pacific.

6) Our Sworn Oath- The Rainbow Allaince Go to War to recover the stolen Lovequalians

7) Bride and Bride - Green Eyes Marries Dreda and Lovequal celebrates.

8) The Lynavan Prefrocide Part 1

9) The Lynavan Prefrocide Part 2

10) The Lynavan Prefrocide Part 3 Green Eyes frees the last concentration camp and sends the team to take everyone home as she exacts punishments on Lynavan War Criminals

11) PTSD part 1

12) PTSD part 2

Season 3

1) Poisonous Trust- Green Eyes is Poisoned as she drinks with … but the poison does not take effect and … calls for the … for advice.

2) Blessings from the Charney

3) A Change of Heart- once … recieves the Charney blessing they pretend to simply have a change of heart and leaves Lovequal.... ,,,, goes crazy when he realizes he was just used for power and the Lovequalians have to keep stopping him from killing himself.

4) Paranaya's Arrival- the … send in Paranaya to distrupt lovequal and everyone gets paranoid and even Green Eyes and Dreda become paranoid with each other until Green Eyes starts investigating without acting she first observes the Lovequalians before spotting and taking down Paranaya. Green Eyes holds a town meeting for all of Lovequal.

5) The 5 Venums part 1- The.. Send in the 5 Venums and their gang to further poison Green Eyes,

6) The 5 Venums part 2- the Quantum Villian Gang Separates the Team and Each has to face many powerful foes while Green Eyes takes on the 5 Venums by her self.

7) The 5 Venums part 3- The Team members face drastic odds but are able to over come the gangs (they finish as they watch Green Eyes get bite before running to her aid) In an Epic Battle Green Eyes beats the 5 Venums in a tough fight but they all go kamikaze and poison her but die as she responds to each bite or sting. Green Eyes shakes it off and the Team help clean up Lovequal.

8) Not Today – The Warriors of Unity celebrate another Marriage as Imaco is marrying her soulmate. Villianous Wedding Crashes try to stop the Marriage for both sides for various reasons and Imaco goes berserk. Imaco is talked into continuing the wedding after she stops crying for the attemps.

9) LGBT Month – The Team celebrate several times over the course of a month and the Lovequal Defence Army stop any attacks or infiltration from ruining the celebrations. After the month is over the Defence army is rewarded.

10) Siphoning Power- The.. send in the Syphons who travel through Lovequal stealing power and tried to Escape from Lovequal as the Warriors of Unity stop them and return the stolen powers.

11) The Poison Army- The Poison Army try to poison all of Lovequal but Green Eyes detects it in the water company and attacked by a Squadron who keep throwing poison gas Green Eyes takes them Down and the Warriors of Unity take Down the poison Army.

12) Till Death Do us Part- the Poison in Green Eyes finally takes effect after the several Berserker Missions she went on and Dreda goes all out to find the cure and punish the attackers. When Dreda is Surounded Green Eyes awakens from the Coma and Teleports to her side and freaks as she destroys them all. She Sends a Warning to the Cops that try to Arrest her and they back down.

Giddy Love Gang

Glad- The Leader of Triplets from a special Magical empire in Europe, Glad is a straight ally and where Pink Armour and have magical abilities with a Green Peace sign at different locations on Each one.

Gladder- The wild wise cracking Mage is Bi sexual and always giddy.

Gladdest- The no nonsense sister is a Lesbian and her spells punish as they teach you how you stole or could have stolen the Gladdest moment.

Beructos- Female Bahamian Nurse with a low haircut and is a Lesbian Nurse with Arawak Ocean Magic. Her costume has mainly Aqua with yellow patterns

Fonesari- A Bahamian woman that is Bi and is unsure of who she truly loves has Telepathy and has learnt Arawak Magical Abilities

Metallis- A Gay Black Cayman Hero who has the Quantum Ability to turn his skin into Different Metals and can also create shields and weapons.

The Poly Chroms

Ice Cap – A Bahamian that is almost Albino with Snow magical abilities Mainly White Armour with Aqua Peace Symbols....Lives in a Special Island in the Bahamas that snows once in a while...

Biuzo- A Gay Bahamian with Quantum Ability to manipulate the Sun energy can fly, run fast, is super strong and can create energy beams with his hands, his Blue Buster beam is his most power attack.

Apple – a gay man with a special ability to manipulate nature he is known for grow fruits for the animals and humans...., The Animals come to kidnap him....

JuJu- Lesbian black Bahamian woman with Arawak Earth magic abilities has a special Brown Native clothing with patterns.

BluSuav- a gay blue Owlian a magical Owl Being from a distant planet that crashed in Australia. Wll wear a dress when he feels like it!!!

Kaja -Mario Mieligahngy- a gay Indian Midget that can manipulate energy from within and in the environment.

Velocity- Ivan Scalfarotto – a bi European Midget with Physics manipulation abilities.

Complementary colors

Journa -Karolina Detuvanska- A Lesbian white Romanianian that has Special Armour of Red Yellow and Blue can teleport herslef and others.

Myti- a Bi Zulu midget with Quantum cells that amplify magic

Xi an- A Lesbian Chinese - That can manipulte the elements, water, wind, fire, and thunder.

Snow Gorrilla- Aneka Barmand, Lesbian Blonde- A Daughter of an ancestor of a white Ethiopian Freedom Fighter who died trying to defend Hailie Sellasie. Had no powers but is a mercenary that has helped win many fights to protect Africa and its Wild Life. As she was ambushed and shot many times Hermatta saved her and gave her healing ability the ability to camoflage, Nature communication and manipulation.

Nishati- a Swahilli Quantum Lesbian that can manipulate energy.

Rococo- Dark skin Indian man with Rock magical Abilities and long curly hair

Peadge- A gay mixed German Judge Dressed in All Black with a Red Peace Symbol on the Chest has a Magical Hammer

Peagun- Peace Shogun- a half Black half Japanese with ninja magic and abilities

Red sky- a gay half black half Russian Quantum human with a multi power gene can create psonic objects can fly, and telepathy.

Character Intros

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Knights of Justice

Hooligans

Hooligans Episode 1

Hooligans Episode 2

An Introduction to Super Powers Narrated by Dr. Indira Martin

Credits

https://powerlisting.fandom.com/wiki/Superpower_Wiki181

https://www.britannica.com/science/energy182

https://universalenergyarts.com/chi/183

https://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/quantum-theory184

https://www.conserve-energy-future.com/different-energy-sources.php185

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/space/solar-system/the-sun/186

https://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/primer/basics/gene187

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superpower188

(Thunder Image by yabadene belkacem189 from Pixabay190  )

(scifi Image by Computerizer191 from Pixabay192  )

(Alien weapon Image by sutulo193 from Pixabay194 

(man Image by Jonny Lindner195 from Pixabay196  )

(Veteran Image by tammyatWTI197 from Pixabay198  )

(Russian (Army Image by zhuravlevzhuravleva199 from Pixabay200  ))

(Crown Image by skeeze201 from Pixabay202  )

(man Image by Pexels203 from Pixabay204  )

(war-Image by Okan Caliskan205 from Pixabay206  )

(time-travel Image by Austin Beast AB207 from Pixabay208  )

(book Image by Noupload209 from Pixabay210  )

(Firefighter Image by Military_Material211 from Pixabay212  )

Superhero Image by alan9187213 from Pixabay214 

fire Image by Алина Осипова215 from Pixabay216 

fantasy Image by Stefan Keller217 from Pixabay218 

Heroes Bridge
Omniverse

There are Five Dimensions
1) The Heavens
2) Mythical Realms
3) The Trial Domains
4) Purgatory
5) Hell

Dimension 1

The Heavens
The abode of the blessed
1) Mulraiboven
2) Omeyocan (or other native spiritual dieties)
3) Equalia
4) ọ̀run
5) Trāyastriṃśa
6) Mount Olympus
7) God's Kingdom
8) Zion
9) Asgard
10) Tian
11) Utopia
12) Scientifica
13) Celestial paradise
14)fields of Aaru

Birthplace of the Original Dieties and where there separate Heavens Reside after multiple first
generation creations turned on the Dieties the creations were banned from this Dimension.

Dimension 2

Mythical Creatures heavens and domains,
1) Scimythla- the home of A special special set of spiritual Artificial Intelligence
2) Migudoma- home of the Fire Lion Tribe the Black Dragons come here to give birth and then
migrate to other planets
3) Melaki- The Angels of the Rainbow reside here with other Humanoid formed beings that
were dirived from a god and a Goddess. Severeal Alien forms was dirived from these mythical
creatures.
4) Asyaitica
5) Dragonia The Vegan Draguds and Dragudnoids are at War with the Meat eating Dragons and
Dragonoids
6) 2 nd Semaya- Yahweh's Angels Reside
7) 2 nd Heaven- God's Angels Reside here and Different Factions are at War and some of Lucifer's
Fallen have opened a portal and conquored a country on the heavenly planet.
8) 2 nd Asguard- Many Mythical Creatures created by Odin and Frigg along with Asguardian Heroes
reside on this Heavenly planet
9) Olympia – Demi gods, Titans and creatures created by the Olympians reside hear
10) Yurubahaz
11) Rashenla
12) Omeyion
13) Makubwa Sayari -Dinosaurs, Titans, and Giants all roam this heavenly planet
14) Mythuvah- The Charnies and many mythical creatures reside on this heavenly planet
15) Zinubion- Jah and the Eternal Empresses Angels Reside here with special Spiritual Creatures

Dimension 3

Galaxies
There are an estimated 100 billion galaxies in the universe, but this number is likely to
increase to about 200 billion as telescope technology in space improves . The HBU will
mainly explore 14 Galaxies .
1) The Milky Way
2) Akai Galaxy
3) Quatari
4) The Emperors Demena
5) Votuhua Galaxy
6) Ryster Cluster
7)Cosem 01
8) Maxus Alpha
9) Levytin Galaxy
10) Phunari Galaxy

11) Taifu Galaxy
12) Byvern System
13) Kemashe Galaxy
14) Fai's Band

Known Inhabited Planets so far
1) Earth- Humans are the primary species
2) Oylri- Chromiods are the primary species (Blue, Green, and Silver humanoid species avg 6ft)
3) Oceanica- Landians (Humanoid) are the primary species but there are multiple life forms of
higher inteligence in species of humongous size.(Highly intelligent octupus species)
4) Nubia-yesewi (humanoids) are the primary species
5) Kuturn-Triphoids ( Half human half triceratops carniverous species avg 9 ft ) are the primary
species, with dactoids (half teradactyl half human) close in population range
6) Daunip- Waspeans (Half human half wasp species) are the primary species
7)Ts’eḥāyi- Tyons- robotic beings with a soul are the primary species
8) Paetrix- Whiteans( Caucasian race of humans)- primary species with only animals alive for
food.
9)Grion- Arachnideans (Half human half spider avg 8 ft) are primary species
10) Cainus- Cainoids are the prime species they are half canine half human (the Felions were
hunted to the brink of extinction)
11) Zaepra- Raptuhnes ( Half Raptor half human avg 7ft tall , highly inteligent)
12) Yelmao- Fyshies ( a fish humanoid species with gills live under water ) are the primary species
other giant sea creatures live here.
13) Laobos- Hukani are the primary species they are ( half elephant half human they average
around 9 ft ) the Ronaz(half eagle half human) are the second largest and 2 nd smartest but are
dying out by a disease.
14) Nutari- a mix of an alien species and humans are the primary species
The term “Milky Way”, a term which emerged in Classical Antiquity to describe the band of light in
the night sky, has since gone on to become the name for our galaxy. Like many others in the known
Universe, the Milky Way is a barred, spiral galaxy that is part of the Local Group – a collection of
54 galaxies. Measuring 100,000 – 180,000 light-years in diameter, the Milky Way consists of
between 100 and 400 billion stars.
Super massive Black Hole(SMBH) at its center. The presence of this black hole has been discerned
due to the apparent gravitational influence it has on surrounding stars. Astronomers estimate that it
has a mass of between 4.1. and 4.5 million Solar masses.
Outside the barred bulge at the Galactic Center is the Galactic Disk of the Milky Way. This consists
of stars, gas and dust which is organized into four spiral arms. These arms typically contain a higher
density of interstellar gas and dust than the Galactic average, as well as a greater concentration of
star formation. While there is no consensus on the exact structure or extent of these spiral arms,
they are commonly grouped into two or four different arms.
In the case of four arms, this is based on the traced paths of gas and younger stars in our galaxy,
which corresponds to the Perseus Arm, the Norma and Outer Arm, the Scutum-Centaurum Arm,
and the Carina-Sagittarius Arm. There are also at least two smaller arms, which include the Cygnus
Arm and the Orion Arm. Meanwhile, surveys based on the presence of older stars show only two

major spirals arms – the Perseus arm and the Scutum–Centaurus arm.

Beyond the Galactic Disk is the Halo, which is made up of old stars and globular clusters – 90% of
which lie within 100,000 light-years (30,000 parsecs) from the Galactic Center. Recent evidence
provided by X-ray observatories indicates that in addition to this stellar halo, the Milky way also
has a halo of hot gas that extends for hundreds of thousands of light years.

The Galactic Disk of the Milky Way Galaxy is approximately 100,000 light years in diameter and
about 1,000 light years thick. It is estimated to contain between 100 and 400 billion stars, though
the exact figure depends on the number of very low-mass M-type (aka. red dwarf) stars. This is
difficult to determine because these stars also have low-luminosity compared to other class.
The distance from the Sun to the Galactic Center is estimated to be between 25,000 to 28,000 light
years (7,600 to 8,700 parsecs). The Galactic Center’s bar (aka. its “bulge”)  is thought to be about
27,000 light-years in length and is composed primarily of red stars, all of which are thought to be
ancient. The bar is surrounded by the ‘5-kpc ring’, a region that contains much of the galaxy’s
molecular hydrogen and where star-formation is most intense.

The Galactic Disk has a diameter of between 70,000 and 100,000 light-years. It does not have a
sharp edge, a radius beyond which there are no stars. However, the number of stars drops slowly
with distance from the center. Beyond a radius of roughly 40,000 light years, the number of stars
drops much faster the farther you get from the center.

The Solar System is located near the inner rim of the Orion Arm, a minor spiral arm located
between the Carina–Sagittarius Arm and the Perseus Arm. This arm measures some 3,500 light-
years (1,100 parsecs) across,  approximately 10,000 light-years (3,100 parsecs) in length, and is at a
distance of about 25,400 to 27,400 light years (7.78 to 8.4 thousand parsecs) from the Galactic
Center.

Persian astronomer Nasir al-Din al-Tusi (1201–1274) even spelled it out in his book Tadhkira: “The
Milky Way, i.e. the Galaxy, is made up of a very large number of small, tightly clustered stars,
which, on account of their concentration and smallness, seem to be cloudy patches. Because of this,
it was likened to milk in color.”
Astronomers had long suspected the Milky Way was made up of stars, but it wasn’t proven until
1610, when Galileo Galilei turned his rudimentary telescope towards the heavens and resolved
individual stars in the band across the sky. With the help of telescopes, astronomers realized that
there were many, many more stars in the sky, and that all of the ones that we can see are a part of
the Milky Way.

It wasn’t until the 1920s, when Edwin Hubble provided conclusive evidence that the spiral nebulae
in the sky were actually whole other galaxies, that the true shape of our galaxy was known.
Thenceforth, astronomers came to understand that the Milky Way is a barred, spiral galaxy, and also

came to appreciate how big the Universe truly is.
The Milky Way is appropriately named, being the vast and cloudy mass of stars, dust and gas it is.
Like all galaxies, ours is believed to have formed from many smaller galaxies colliding and
combining in the past. And in 3 to 4 billion years, it will collide with the Andromeda Galaxy to
form an even larger mass of stars, gas and dust. Assuming humanity still exists by then (and
survives the process) it should make for some interesting viewing!

Planets are generally divided into two main types: large low-density giant planets, and smaller
rocky terrestrials. There are eight planets in the Solar System.[1] In order of increasing distance
from the Sun, they are the four terrestrials, Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars, then the four giant
planets, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. Six of the planets are orbited by one or more natural
satellites.
Several thousands of planets around other stars ("extrasolar planets" or "exoplanets") have been
discovered in the Milky Way. As of 1 September 2019, 4,109 known extrasolar planets in
3,059 planetary systems (including 667 multiple planetary systems), ranging in size from just above
the size of the Moon to gas giants about twice as large as Jupiter have been discovered, out of which
more than 100 planets are the same size as Earth, nine of which are at the same relative
distance from their star as Earth from the Sun, i.e. in the circumstellar habitable zone.[3][4] On
December 20, 2011, the Kepler Space Telescope team reported the discovery of the first Earth-sized
extrasolar planets, Kepler-20e[5] and Kepler-20f,[6] orbiting a Sun-like star, Kepler-20.[7][8][9] A
2012 study, analyzing gravitational microlensing data, estimates an average of at least 1.6 bound
planets for every star in the Milky Way.[10] Around one in five Sun-like[b] stars is thought to have
an Earth-sized[c] planet in its habitable[d] zone.

The Milky Way
1)Mercury
2)Venus
3) Earth
4) Mars
5)Jupiter
6)Saturn
7)Uranus
8)Neptune.

2) Akai Galaxy
9 Planets in the solar system.
1) Fydius Prime
2) Tarus
3) Phinu
4) Olynion – was originally ኃይል-Hayili; until Conquored by the God Olyri
5) Almov
6) Sodrothea
7) Reigawa

8) Gantu
9) Warren

3) Quatari Galaxy
5 Planets in the solar system.
1) Luminus
2) Thosie G7T
3) Oceanica
4) Vaobos
5) Bebos

4) Niguše Negešiti Galaxy
የእሳት እጣንThe Name of this galaxy's sun is -(ye’isati it’ani- Ethiopian for Mother of Fire)
Planets in order from nearest to the Sun and how many moons
8 Planets in the solar system.
Planet 1) Ebruna
Planet 2) Ochone
Planet 3) Caporus - 1st Moon-Wolfli, 2nd Moon-
Planet 4) Nubia – Moon -Bilihi inhabited planet by an alien race known as the ….
Planet 5) Bonia
Planet 6) Treku
Planet 7) Māla
Planet 8) Kenkō- Moon- Heiwa

5) Votuhua Galaxy
10 planets
Planet 1) Bustani
Planet 2) Mātauranga Moon-
Planet 3) Kuturn Moon-
Planet 4) Upendo-
Moon
Planet 5) Amazonia 1st Moon- Aroha , 2nd Moon Tapu, 3rd Moon Mauri
4th Moon-whakawa
Planet 6) Azicane
Planet 7) Archnia-
Planet 8) Wombus
Planet 9) Eiríni
Planet 10) Filosofía

6) Ryster Galaxy
7 Planets in the solar system.
Planet 1) Kēxué
Planet 2) Sayanisi
Planet 3)Fitihi
Planet 4) Daunip
Planet 5) Gniea
Planet 6) Xenia
Planet 7) Nahru

7)Cosem Galaxy
10 Planets in the solar system.
1) Bion 17
2) Ts’eḥāyi- Robotic and scientific beings live on this planet moon-
3) Pilvomia
4) Napon
5) Uawei
6) Electronica
7) Technovia
8) Cyberin
9)Tryria F6U
10) Ailara

8) Maxus Galaxy
I
1) Alpha
2) Cainus
3) Oilia
4) Bamicury
5) Gezuno
6) Mihonov
7) Omega
9) Levytin Galaxy
1) Charth
2) Evuenia
3) Thundore
4) Grion
5) Zagun
10) Phunari Galaxy
1) Duwei

2) Britilia
3) Paetrix
4) Ebilia
5) Kayama
6) Irus
7) Raliv
8) Hindillon
9) Axion
10) Whoa
11) Taifu Galaxy
1) Celetu
2) Zaepra
3) Buamia
4) Egiri
5) Swahali
6) Rinrieter
7) Wu ha
12) Byvern Galaxy
1) Gaenus
2) Oahaz
3) Yelmao
4) Fundat
5) Durov
6) Vaenoirn
7) Livryte
8) Carerah
9) Quetin
10) Kiniea
13) Kemashe Galaxy
1) Abaconia
2) Ruhus
3) Ozaria
4) Laobos
5) Zyllah
6) Tunuby
7) Bhatan
8) Gigantu
14) Fai's Band
1) Polara
2) Bunti
3) Nutari
4) Wayva
5) Segotu
6) Habiterra
7) Yanix

History of Inhabited Planets

Da Multiverse 

Copyright 2019