Yoiko

This is a story that appears on our SG website, the first part of four. What with City of Villains rapidly drawing cloer, I thought it might be fun to toss this little bit in. The rest of the tale will appear exclusively on the Fourth Quarter website, in the fiction section. http://www.the-packrat.com

Phoenix Rising, part One
Midnight in the Rouge Isles.
The small squallid greasy spoon situated in the heart of Nerva is, at this hour, the only spot of life visible to the street. The rains have come, and stopped only a short while ago leaving the air smelling crisp and clean but does little to improve the oppressive ambience of the environment. The pallid light that filters through the diner's dirty window gives an unwholesome sheen to the rain water left behind, making the street look as if it's coated in clear slime.
Inside, the diner is empty except for four people. The first is a sullen looking waitress. She has been on a twelve hour shift and is eager to go home, if for bed more than her fat lazy husband whom hasn't worked in eight months now. The second: the cook, absently scratching his rear end as she cleans the top of the wide flat grill. The grill needs replacing, but he's too lazy to actually go about ordering a new one.
As for the other two: a young girl, and a woman. The woman is tall and mesmerizing in her white skinned beauty, sitting so still as she watches the girl devouring french fries that she may easily be mistaken for a scuplture created by some twisted artist. The girl is pig tailed and blue eyed, decked out in a tank top and hotpants that gives her a very Lolita air. She seems intent to stare at her plate as she eats instead of the woman. The woman crosses one slender leg over the other. The creak of the black vinyl she wears is like a thunder crack through the otherwise silent diner.
"I'm surprised you agreed to come," she says. Her voice is soft, husky. The kind of voice that could drive a man to madness of desire if he were to hear it over a romantic music station on the radio while driving along a lonely street at night. She girl shrugs.
"I'm not scared. There's not much here to be afraid of."
The woman allows just the faintest touch of a smile to caress her midnight lips.
"Why did you ask to meet with me?"
The girl finishes the last of the fries. She takes a few moments before making any kind of response to wipe errant ketchup off her lips with a napkin. She pushes the empty plate away as she reaches into her pocket. Her little hand extracts a crumpled wad of paper, a battered pack of cigarettes, and a lighter from her pocket. The paper is shoved wordlessly toward the woman. A second later a cigarette is offered, but the woman declines. She takes the paper, unfolds it, and reads the words written there. Then, with a look of some annoyance, she reverts her attention back on the now smoking girl.
"And what has this to do with Arachnos?" She asks.
The girl looks down, sullen. "They don't believe this note is genuine. None of them. They refuse to see the threat she poses to Paragon City. Not my Group, not Statesman, no one. But I know. And if they won't help me..."
The woman cuts her off. "You thought Arachnos would."
The response is a nod.
The woman finds this amusing. She laughs, laughs so hard she pounds the table, startling the waitress ten feet away. The girl looks surprised, then scowls, then starts to stand up with a muttered nevermind. She is halted by a black glove falling lightly over her hand; by the intense look of piercing seriousness in the woman's eyes.
"If we do this, it will destroy you. Do you realize that? Your freinds, your peers, even your family will view you as a criminal. They will turn their back on you, they will hunt you and hound you. You will have nowhere left to go but to Arachnos. This is not a choice made frivolously."
The girl scowls again. "I don't care. She needs to be brought down before she destroys Paragon City. Let them villanize me if they want. In the end, they'll see I'm right."
The woman stares at the girl in long silence for quite a time before that flitting smile caresses her lips again.
"So much hate in you, so much rage. It's like a forest fire. Hidden behind laughter and humor, but...ohhhh...it's there. But it's directed at yourself, isn't it? Because of what you did to your mother."
The girl looks up in shock and pulls away, but is surprised to find the woman's vice like grip on ehr hand in unbreakable. "How did you know that?"
The woman tilts her head. A touch of impish humor is in her eyes.
"Your mind is a thin veil to me. A window. I can see into you, and through you. You fight so hard to redeem yourself of the guilt...and it isn't working is it, little hero? For every Hellion you arrest, the dragon of guilt stays put. And you think by toppling this silly woman you will somehow be free of it. You won't. I tell you that now. There is only one way to destroy it, and that is through Arachnos."
She rises. "From now on, you will be Phoenix. You will rise from the ashes of your guilt to be reborn a new thing. A terror that will vaporize the crime in Paragon City. But nothing is free, little one. When you ask Ghost Widow for a favor, you ask Arachnos for a favor. We will help you. But favors are due returned favors."
And then she is turning, moving away to the door. The girl watches her. Ghost Widow pauses as the door, looking back over her shoulder.
"We will be in touch with your new uniform, and your first assignment. And we will discuss what to do about your problem. Welcome to Arachnos, Phoenix."

I devised an entire spreadsheet to chronicle my heroes down to how big there left toe is. Hehehehe. Feel free to use it, everyone, for consolidating your own character for Bio or RP purposes if you like.

Examples:
http://www.the-packrat.com/yoiko.html

http://www.the-packrat.com/packrat.html

Absolutely bloody brilliant!

How did you do all the choreography?? Amazing!
The tuck was funny, too.

The Packrat sat ensconced high above the streets of King's Row, sheilded by the glaring light of the moon by the shodow of the Gargoyle at whose feet she crouched. She hugged herself, not just for warmth but for reassurance. The cold, cold voice of Vahzilok came to her again.

'You yourself did, Maggie. You see, you were born with the right sequence of DNA that Crey Industires needed. Regeneration to such a level that you are nearly invincible. You were invincible before we got to you. Don't you remember never being sick a day in your life?'

She sniffed the air slightly, searching, perhaps, for a hint of her mother. Nothing. Her whiplike tail tightened around the gargoyle's ankle.

'Yes, Maggie. You were designed by Crey Industries. It was they that contacted me, enlisting my Reapers. Grab the daughter is what I was told, deliver her safely. But the Family told my reapers something else entirely.'

She hissed, thinking back. " Where's my mother?"'

'That, my beautiful Moebius Strip, is something I don't know. I have no idea at all, honestly, why Crey wanted her as well. Perhaps you would do best to ask them.'

'But what about the Family's involvement, Dr?'

Just an opportunity to eliminate a powerful rival, my dear. They knew nothing of Crey's plans for you, I assure you.

The Packrat jumped as her beeper went off. She looked at it, her mind elsewhere. She she was Crey, a design to be the organizations perfect assassin. But they forgot to take away her will..or maybe they hadn't. Maybe her mind could regenrate too.

It was Angel, buzzing in from Dark Astoria. She sprang off the roof, sailing through the air in one phenomonal leap. And she smiled.

Now, it didn't matter whom she had been. Maggie Jordan had found her answers. That chapter in her life was closed.

She was just Packrat now. And her Group needed her.

The air of the Reformatory was cool and faintly scented with the bombarding aroma of sanitizing agents. The Packrat's bare feet whispered over the immaculate grey stone floor as she followed along after the prison guard, her arms up to hug herself as she instinctively drifted toward the side of the wall for the safety of the feeble shadows there. She stopped when the guard, Philips his badge said, did.

"Now remember," he said, "Don't touch him. Look, talk. Whatever else he may be, your hands stay off. He has rights."
The Packrat nodded. The guard stepped aside tolet her through, and in she went.
The cell inside was large and very nearly bare, save for a large plastocine cube structure, to which were attached an array of life support systems, alarms, and various other devices Packrat couldn't identify. And in the middle of all this, carefull restrainted by heavy chaps, Dr. Vahzilok.

The rat and the massive body of stitched together parts regarded each other. Packrat was impressed by how..clean..he was. She expected something smelling of decay and reeking of pestilance; but it was as though he had just stepped out of a bath. Packrat focused on the human torso ejecting from the middleof the mound of muscle.

"Dr. Vahzilok," She murmered, as if to get his attention despite the fact he was staring at her. The once-handsome face split into a crescent grin filled with highly polished white teeth.

"Margarite Jordan. How delightful to see you, my girl. Lovely weather we're having outside, so I'm told."
Packrat hugged herself again.
"I'm surprised you know me, Dr. And yes…the weather's been very nice."
Vahzilok shifted position slightly, never once losing his smile.
"You were an architecht's dream design, Maggie. How could I not know you? May I call you Maggie? The perfect assassin..a living tesseract..an aware Moebius Strip. Out of hundreds of candidates, only you would be capable of surviving the grafting."

His eyes, bluer than blue became warm. Fatherly. His tone matched.
"I am sorry about your father, my dear. That was most unexpected."
Packrat looked up sharply.
"Unexpected? Your reapers were sent to assassinate him."
Vahzilok took on a look of alarm, one massive meaty hand coming up in a gesture of surrender.
"No no, my dear. I sent my reapers to collect you. Only you. I had no idea the Family had found this out and offered a substatial increase in salary for the abducation of your most eloquent father. A remarkable speaker, I remember. He could have been Governor."

Irritably, Packrat brushed all that aside.
"Who made me, Doctor?"

The laugh that fell from that ever smiling mouth was cold, acidic. He locked eyes with her, his own cerulean orbs filled with mirth.

"You yourself did, Maggie."

...to be continued...

Harris: First of all I would like to thank you for taking the time to appear on the program.

Packrat: Thanks Mr. H, glad to be here. Wow, so many lights! Is it always this hot??

Harris: Could you tell the viewers at home a little bit about how and why you became a hero.
Packrat: I didn't really have a choice. I was made like..this..when I was ten or so, I don't really remember. Anyhow..after I got away it just seemed the right thing to do.

Harris: What would you say is the greatest reward for being a hero?
Packrat" Mmm....I don't know. The fame is kind of nice. I guess the best thing so far was when I helped a little boy find his mom. I bought him ice cream. She was a little afraid of me, but her boy thought I was a giant plushy toy and asked her to take me home. It was pretty funny.

Harris: Have you ever found there is any drawback to being a hero?
Packrat: Yes. You can't really have friends that aren't paranormal. See, criminals watch for things like that, even a little Skull jerk can get a group of his buddies and tackle a friend of yours when you're not around. It gets lonely.

What is going through your mind when you are in a dangerous situation that could lead to civilian casualties? That must be a scary situation.
Packrat: It is. Sometimes, people get so lost in their thoughts that they walk right into a crossfire. You have to be sure to keep the baddie's attention on you so they don't try to take a hostage or something. It can be rough.

Harris: How do you feel about people that use their powers for crime like the outcast or the super villains we starting to see around the city?
Packrat: How can I feel? They take advantadge of people that can't help themselves, and try to keep people from living happy lives. That's just wrong.

What do you think is going through these criminals minds when they commit these acts?
Packrat (laughs) Oh, I'm no psychologist. I couldn't even begin to guess.

How do you feel about the various anti hero and anti mutant groups that believe heroes course more problems then they solve? Given the amount of work heroes do for the city this must be quite upsetting.
Packrat: Not really. Everyone has a right to beleive what they want. In some cases, we *do* cause more damage than the criminals we're fighting. Besides, people get scared..they see me, or someone flying, or something and they get scared. That's all.

Harris: and finally, have you ever worked along side the Statesman? What is he like?
Packrat (Laughs) I've never so much as seen Paragon's Greatest Hero. I did meet the Back Alley Brawler once though...such a hunk.

I would like to thank you for coming on the show and on behalf of the citizens of Paragon city thank you for keeping the streets safe
Packrat: Hey no, thank you. This has been fun. Remember, the King's Row Crusaders can be found in King's Row, call us anytime!

Journal entry for the weekend of July.

Well. The Crusaders are getting along well, we're already being refered to as the most prominent and powerful team of champions in King's Row. And we're starting to branch out. Toshiko is running rampant among the Tsoo is Talos Island; Pointsettia has become the nightmare of the 5th in Steel Canyon, and Mate pretty much owns Skyway City. All in all, I'm very pleased.

We've done it. We've confronted Vahzilok himself. It was a hard fight, and we were all sore pressed, but Shuil came through for us all in the end with her timely healing powers. Dr. V was arrested, but not after a thorough interrogation.

I'm not Vahz design.
My deddy was killed by the Family..a political assassination. Vahz agreed to lend some men to keep the blood off the Family's hands...mom and I were payment for services rendered. Blast it all that I can't remember.....what made me?

Yoiko and Icebot both have looked me over, and come to the same conclusion: My dna restructuring and titanium endoskeleton is well beyond what the Vahzi operate at. And my tesseracting feild...It's Icebot's opinion that I was designed to be the ultimate assassin. 'Port in, swipe with the claws, port out before the target hits the floor.

So what am I? Who made me?

Am I Tsoo? Family? Or...something else?
I think it's time to go have a chat with some capos.

Hans Zeiglier held the tiny newborn girl in his arms, smiling proudly. She was so perfect, so fragile and delicate. And so deadly. Ja..mein little Pointsettia.

Hillary Zeigler grew up in Steel Canyon, never knowing her mother. Never knowing much of anything except 5th Column propoganda and indoctrination. Hans Zeigler, her father, had attained the rank of Ubermenschen Unteroffizier and he made sure his little Hillary would grow to greatness as well. Throughout her early years she was taught Latin, Greek, and German; the history of the Column, and how to kill a man in less than seven seconds. When she turned thirteen years old she had already acheived the rank of Nacht Fist and was the pride of her father's eyes and men.

And then her powers surfaced.

She learned that she could alter the molecular structure of the air around her into powerful blasts of pure photonic energy. Hans trained her diligently in the use of these powers, and applauded her when at the age of fifteen she grew so incensed against a potential suitor that she weilded her powers with great effect. Hans sent roses to the family.

As she approached her nineteenth birthday, she was sent out on a mission with her father and some underlings to obtain valuable documentation of a warhead from a deserted laboratory in King's Row. Superheroes became involved, and after a pitched battle Hillary found herself seperated from the main group and unable to escape. So she laid an ambush, and bided her time searching through the Column databases from the computer in the lab. There, under a classified document with her father's name, she found her birth records and reports.

Hillary had never known love. She had never known friendship. She had been trained only to hate. But something, some little spark of positive emotion was triggered in her when she read how she had come to be. As a fetus, she had been manipulated genetically to produce an ubermensch. But what roused her was what her mother had gone through. Endless months of agony and torture, bombarded by radiations; chimcals; and injected with drugs. It had cost her her life. And Hans had authorized all of it.

Hillary returned to her group in rage, and startled the local heroes by savagely and visciously turning on her Column allies. Finally, only Hans was left, fleeing with a raging daughter in hot persuit. Before the heroes could stop her, Hillary threw her father off the room and watched coldly as he plummeted to his death.

Pointsettia was born. She was taken in by her new friends, the King's Row Crusaders, but still she remains the cold, aloof German girl that speaks little and shows savage violence to any 5th Column she comes across. Like an avenging angel, the Pointsettia is bound and determined to reach the upper enchelons of the Column and topple it once and for all.

Only then, can Mother rest.

Hey Chief, here's that file you wanted. It's a follow up on that giant mouse story last week. You'll never beleive this. Cheryl

Cheryl, I got that information you wanted about the series of so-called giant mouse sightings that started up last week. Turns out, it's not a giant mouse at all. It some new paranormal that looks like a rodent.
People I talked to, including a few of the pedestrians she saved from the Skulls, says she's called Packrat. And get this..she talks to them. One of the witnesses says Packrat jumped in when a couple of Skulls were shaking her down at the 'Rat actually stood there and chatted with her while they waited for the cops. I haven't seen her yet myself, but I tracked down some good leads and managed to get a fingerprint off of one of the guns taken from a Death's head she put down. Good old Bob at the precinct, right. I had the print analyzed.

Get this. It matches Maggie Jordan.
If you're still in your seat, I'll say it again. Packrat is Maggie Jordan, the senator's daughter that was kidnapped from her home by the Vahzilok ten years ago. I'm sure you remember the story: Senator Thomas Jordan of King's Row going out to a dinner function with his wife when the V show up on his doorstep. They shoot the senator and drag Mrs. Jordan and the kid away. Neither of them are ever found.

Well, Maggie's been found. Notice the picture I included: pretty little ten year old, long blone hair blue eyes? Not any more. My witnesses say she's about four feet tall, covered in grey fur, and has some kind of knives or claws that come out of the tops of her hands. Teleporter they say. Blips in, blips out. My guess is the V did some number on her with Dyne or such to make her what she is now. I'm going to try to track her down and get an interview. I'll keep you posted.
Paul.

I hate the rain.
It falls so frequently now, especially over King's Row. Must be all the pollutants the factories keep putting out. It rained when my Dad died, too. That I remember.

Not much else. But I do remember that. I was ten. Dad and mom were going out for the evening, leaving me with some weird babysitter. Dad just had to be a politician. Always his appearances. I can really only remember hearing mom screaming, and the sound of thunder. Dad fell. Mom...I don't remember what happened to mom. They took her, I think. The man in their aprons and hatches.
Vazhilok. I know their names now.
Oh mom...what did they do to you?

The Packrat stopped her musings as a familiar scent drifted to her on the wind. Mino was nearby. She smiled, jeaping from the roogtop and enjoying the thrill of freefall. Her Minotaur King was waiting.
And oh yes, the Vazh will be paying soon.