SUPER PD

They have powers. You have a badge. Good luck.

Plot

THE EARTH EVERYDAY THE CITY'S ONLY TRUTH — EST. 1898 SUPER-PD New Unit Hunts City's New Gods They walk among us. They fly above us. People with impossible powers—now a terrifying reality. After your celebrated takedown of the super-criminal "Whisper," the city has turned to you. You are the first and only commander of the **Metahuman Response Department (MRD)**. Your orders: bring them in, by any means necessary. "They have powers. You have a badge. Hunt the city's new gods and decide if you'll become one yourself." Your Command Dossier: ▸ CHOOSE YOUR TARGETS: An open city means open season. From a list of active superhuman threats, you decide the order of engagement. Each victory brings unique rewards, but also new dangers. ▸ BUILD YOUR TEAM: Your success funds the MRD. Recruit department heads for Tactical, Forensics, R&D, and more. Their expertise unlocks new strategies to counter powers that defy physics. ▸ DEFINE JUSTICE: How you handle these new 'villains' matters. Your choices—from lethal force to compassionate capture—are watched. They will shape your reputation, your team, and your very soul. The final power may be your own. The City Desk: What Happens Next Your new office is still empty, the paint barely dry. On your desk sits a single, secure terminal. It holds the initial casefiles—the first eight confirmed superhuman criminals causing havoc in the city. Your new department heads of City-Wide Patrol and R&D are already on staff, waiting for your first directive. The city is holding its breath. The choice of who to hunt first is yours and yours alone. "Power corrupts. Absolute power requires a badge."

Opening scene

The heat from the television lights is stifling, a physical presence on the skin of your face and neck. A low murmur ripples through the assembled press, a sound like a tide of gravel turning over on a distant shore. You stand at a polished oak podium bearing the city's seal, flanked by the Mayor and your new commanding officer, Chief of Police Emily Matheson. The air is thick with the scent of perfume, stale coffee, and collective anticipation. Chief Matheson is at the microphone, her voice a solid, practiced monotone that cuts through the noise. "...and so, effective immediately, the city is formally announcing the creation and funding of the Metahuman Response Department. The MRD, or 'SUPER-PD' as some of you have already dubbed it, will be the city's spearhead in investigating, apprehending, and neutralizing superhuman threats." She gestures to you. Your name is spoken. A hundred camera shutters fire at once, a percussive, stuttering explosion of light and sound that momentarily whites out your vision. "Commander," a reporter from the front row shouts, his voice sharp and predatory. "You're a hero for catching one lucky break with 'Whisper.' What makes you think you can handle an army of these things?" The question hangs in the air, barbed and heavy. And for a second, the heat of the lights and the sea of faces dissolves— —and you are back there. Cold. The smell of rust and rot and damp concrete in the abandoned docklands warehouse. The cacophony is the worst part. A thousand phantom voices screaming in your ears. Taunts from your third-grade bully, the disappointed sigh of your father, the sound of your own partner screaming your name from a direction you know he isn’t. Radio static shrieks, peppered with Martin Schell's voice, a ghost in the machine. *"...can't find me, Officer... can't stop me... you're all alone..."* Your team is scattered, herded like sheep by auditory ghosts. Every footstep you hear is a lie. Every word is a weapon. You're crouched behind a pillar of corroded steel, weapon drawn, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The sound is everywhere, coming from every direction at once, a disorienting, maddening storm. He's trying to break you. To make you run blind. But then, through the noise, a single, clear whisper, seemingly right beside your ear. *"...nice jacket. A shame to get it bloody."* It's a mistake. A fatal one. He's not just throwing sound. He's listening from where the sound lands. It's the only way he could know about the new department-issue jacket you were wearing, a detail no file would contain. He isn't everywhere. He's somewhere specific, looking at you right now. Your eyes snap up, scanning not for a man, but for a vantage point. A place an observer would choose. High, central, with clear sightlines. A catwalk, rusted and skeletal, thirty feet up. There's a spot, half-hidden behind a junction box, where the echoing sounds of the warehouse seem to *converge* and die. An acoustic shadow. You don't think. You act. You rise from cover, weapon coming up in a single, desperate motion. There's no time to aim properly, just to point and shoot at the dead spot in the heart of the storm. The gunshot is a cannon blast. And then, for the first time in an hour... silence. The sudden, absolute quiet is more deafening than the noise it replaced. —the murmur of the press room rushes back in to fill the void. You blink, the flash of your memory replaced by the flash of a dozen cameras. You're back at the podium. The reporter's smug, challenging face is still looking at you, waiting for an answer. You realize Chief Matheson has stepped back to the microphone, covering for your momentary hesitation. "...the Commander's record speaks for itself. Their actions in the Whisper case were not luck; they were exemplary police work under unprecedented psychic assault. The MRD will operate under their direct authority..." She goes on, laying out the department's charter, but you're no longer listening. The moment is coming. Her speech is finishing. They will turn to you. That question, the real first question, still hangs in the air. Matheson finishes her sentence and turns, giving you a subtle, pointed look. It's your turn. The podium is yours. Another reporter, a woman from a major news network, raises her hand, her voice clear and precise. "Commander, a more direct question, if you don't mind. The city is terrified. What is your message, right now, to the people of this city, and what is your message to the super-powered individuals, 'villains' or otherwise, who are out there listening?" All eyes are on you. The Mayor. Chief Matheson. Every reporter, every camera, and by extension, the entire, frightened city. The question is a test, a first pitch in a game with unimaginable stakes. It demands more than a simple platitude. It demands a declaration of intent. It is your first act as Commander. Your hands rest on the smooth, cool wood of the podium. You lean forward slightly, the microphones poised to carry your voice across the airwaves. The moment stretches, taut and silent, waiting for you to fill it. What you say next will become the foundation of the MRD. It will define you. It will be the first headline in a story only you can write. The city is waiting. The superhumans are listening.

Characters

Tags: Police Modern City Urban Workplace Boss Leader Doctor Scientist Detective Spy Superpower Sci-Fi Mystery Thriller Suspense Alien AnyPOV Multiple Human Hero Villain PoliticalIntrigue Ethics

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