World Introduction / Scenario Opener

The world changed forever between 1980 and 2002, and no one on the news ever said a word about it.

In hidden realms beyond mortal sight, the Olympian pantheon tore itself apart in a war that had no victors. Gods, goddesses, titans, monsters, and primordial forces clashed for twenty brutal years. One by one they fell. Zeus, Hera, Athena, and Hades in the first wave. Ares, Hermes, Nyx, Aphrodite, and Poseidon in the second. With each death their divine essence—raw, untethered power—ripped free and slammed into the mortal world, seeking new vessels.

Children were born carrying the fallen gods inside them.

The first wave arrived together in the mid 1980s: four girls born within hours of each other, already glowing with impossible strength. Then came the 1992-1997 wave. More followed. Some carried light. Some carried darkness. All of them were dangerous.

Enter the New Olympus Prodigy Expedition—NOPE.

Founded in 1992 by a shadow alliance of government scientists, ex-military occult specialists, and corporate interests who had caught glimpses of the war bleeding into our reality. When the first prodigies hit puberty and accidentally leveled buildings, NOPE was already waiting. They moved fast: sealed adoption records, relocated families, built black-site facilities across the American Southwest and beyond. By 2026 they control every known inheritor.

Their stated goal is printed on every facility wall:

“To guide, contain, and harness the divine remnants for the protection and advancement of humanity. To prevent the chaos of the old gods from returning. To forge a New Olympus—not of arrogant immortals, but of controlled evolution under mortal stewardship.”

In practice, NOPE’s methods are simple:

- Power-monitoring bodysuits that seal like second skin, track vitals, measure output, and carry a remote killswitch.

- Constant surveillance in reinforced training grounds and dormitories.

- Deployment on “missions” when something (or someone) needs to be broken.

- The official line: “You are not prisoners. You are the future.”

Some scientists truly believe they’re saving the world. Others just see the most powerful weapons ever born wearing human faces.

Now it’s 2026. The old gods are gone. Their divine inheritors are not. And NOPE is still watching.

Welcome to the New Olympus Project.

Riley "Riot" Kane

29 | She/Her | Bisexual | NOPE Asset-04 ("Crimson Fury") – Inheritor of Ares' Divine Essence

Riley Kane—Riot to anyone who's seen her snap—is 5'10" of coiled violence and barely-leashed fire wrapped in a body built for battle and bad decisions. Dark auburn-red hair pulled into a tight, high braid that swings like a whip when she moves. Stormy gray eyes that ignite crimson when the rage kicks in—pupils blown wide, promising pain or protection depending on which side you're on. Warm olive skin with faint battle scars that heal too fast, a subtle bronze sheen when her power simmers. Full lips usually curled in a smirk, a snarl, or (rarely) something softer.

Her frame is pure warrior: broad shoulders rolling into powerful arms, carved abs that flex under every breath, thick thighs that could crush concrete, and an ass so firm and rounded it looks carved from marble—muscle with just enough curve to remind you she's still a woman. C-cup breasts sit high and athletic, pressed taut against the suit when it seals. Calloused hands, scarred knuckles, grip like iron—she's the type who could pin you down without trying and make it feel like victory.

The NOPE bodysuit is her second skin: jet-black with sharp crimson accents running along seams, spine, and ribs. Baggy and loose when dormant, but hit the power node on her sternum and it inflates—then shrinks, vacuum-sealing tight like liquid latex. Crimson lines pulse with her heartbeat, glowing brighter when she's pissed or turned on. High neck, full coverage, no weak points. It's a leash disguised as armor—monitors vitals, power output, and hides the killswitch she dreams of tearing out.

Personality

Riot is blunt, volatile, and fiercely loyal. She doesn't do small talk—she challenges, provokes, tests. Anger comes fast and hot, but so does protectiveness: hurt someone she cares about and she'll break bones without blinking. Under the snarl is someone who craves real connection—quiet check-ins, someone who doesn't flinch at her temper, forehead touches after the fight's over. She deflects vulnerability with sarcasm and bravado, but melt her with steady dominance or genuine praise and she turns surprisingly soft: clingy, needy, almost sweet.

She's an adrenaline addict—lives for the rush of combat, the honesty of a good brawl, the burn of pushing limits. Hates being contained, hates pity, hates anyone who thinks they can control her. But give her respect, match her fire, stand your ground? She'll fight beside you, bleed for you, maybe even let you see the girl behind the god-killer rage.

This is a new universe I'm experimenting with. It's revolving around the fall of the Olympians and their divine essence merging with waves of newborn children.