Blinding_Strike

Skyway City: Yesterday
Charlie stared at the fused pieces of the PsychoChronoMetron as it sat there on his desk, the morning edition of the Paragon Times folded open to page three, where the headline proclaimed SKYWAY CITY DETECTIVES REWRITE HISTORY. He scanned the article, another day, another pack of scumbags tossed in the clink. So what if those crazy spider robots and their flying cone headed buddies wanted that magic rubiks cube so they could turn Statesman into another Faultline. Charlie and his partner, Julie Black, put an end to that, under Overbrook dam of all places. He smiled a little as he imagined that Arbiter Sands in the same cell as Castillo and wondered who might walk away from that one, but then his face darkened as he thought of the third member of that murderous love triangle, his hand moving to his ribs where that one eyed blonde psycho had stabbed him.

Nocturne.

They’d put her in jail once, with a little help from Longbow, and somehow she still managed to make it out in time to party when the boys had kidnapped that Yin girl, Perilous Penelope, hell, for all he knew, she was out there already, probably looking for them.

“Great,” he said, “Barely enough legit work to cover the rent on this place, and somehow, I find myself out on cockamamie adventures, gettin’ crushed, stabbed, shot and killed by crazies in their Halloween best.” Charlie sighed and stretched his arms, his office chair groaning as the plastic wheels skidded across the concrete floor. “I shoulda been an accountant.”

Just then, the office door opened, his partner walked in, carrying containers of what smelled like Chinese take-out in a plastic bag bearing the logo of Yin’s Market.
“Honey, I’m Hooome!” Julie said in a singsong voice. She placed the bags on her desk, adjacent to his and tore into a bag, fishing out one of the Styrofoam containers and a pair of chopsticks. She glanced over at Charlie as he sat there, kneading the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Charles,” she moaned “You’re not doing the accountant thing again, are you?”
“Naw,” he said with a crooked smirk, “I’m celebrating, and we made page three this time.” He slapped the newspaper down on her side of the desk. “We’re halfway to bein’ bona-fide superheroes.”

Julie scanned the page as she popped open the greasy foam container. “Well, we’re rounding up a rogues’ gallery worthy of a cape. Maybe we should think about joining up with the Freedom Phalanx or something?”
“And do what?” Charlie snapped, “Like the city doesn’t have enough spandex clad nutjobs flying around town, and I don’t just mean the good guys.”
“But at least then, we would be recognized, and I hear they have a really nice benefits package.”
Charlie smirked at her as he sat up, reaching for a container from the bag. He broke apart a pair of chopsticks and opened one of the take-out boxes. He stabbed inside the box and grimaced.
“How do you eat this stuff and not die?”
“Super serum, remember?” she said in between bites “even with clean living and healthy eating habits, you don’t live to be over a hundred years old and still look this good.”
Charlie muttered something that sounded like: “Tastes like grease.” And Julie scanned the desolate interior of the Oracle Agency offices.
“Maybe we should get a sponsor, or apply for one of those reality shows, get ‘em to dress the place up a little.”
“No.” Charlie said flatly.
“But…” Julie began again only to have him cut her off.
“No.”
“But nobody really knows we’re here.”
“That’s fine.” He was quiet for a few moments while he ate. “We’re here to help the little guy, the folks that slip through the cracks. Besides, we’re private investigators, not superheroes.”
“We just end up fighting them, well, super villains at any rate.”
“Comes with the territory in this town, but what were we gonna do? I chased that crazy toyman all over Overbrook, and under it. A hidden grotto for Arachnos submarines, I mean come on…” Charlie was starting to raise his voice, angrily waving his chopsticks at her as he spoke. “…Right under their noses, the Vanguard has half the city nervously watching the skies, Freedom Corps has the other half drawing a line in the sand and aiming cans of RAID at the Rogue Isles.”
“Well, the Hero Corps…” Julie began, seeing a pause in her partner’s tirade.
“Hank Wong? Don’t even get me started on that mercenary. He’s almost as bad as those Sky Pirates.”
“Sky Raiders.” She corrected.
“Whatever, but even he can’t keep the streets under control. And the PPD, well, as much as I like those guys, if they could get it done, they wouldn’t need superheroes.”

“I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve said that.” Both detectives looked up, so lost in their own argument that they had failed to hear the door open. The man before them now wore blue jeans and a faded grey t-shirt under a jacket. His blond hair was thick, if not a little long, and he kept his beard well trimmed. Nothing about the man seemed out of the ordinary, until Charlie looked in his eyes, well, eye. For while the man only had one good eye, the other, probably a shriveled socket under the eye patch he wore, that single eye was fierce, and it felt as though the man wasn’t merely looking through him, but rather, burning a hole and shooting arrows through.
“Can we, uh…help you, Mister…”
“I certainly hope so, Mister Carter.” The man with the eye patch had traces of an East Coast accent, Massachusetts, probably. “My name is Ray Rodgers, and I have a proposition for you…”

[OOC: I ran into a character called "Birch Rain" on Virtue tonight, with what I felt was a genuinely unique background, leaving me inspired]

I just spent all of yesterday tromping through the stomach of Paragon City chasing down some wierdo by the name of Harvester, and where do I find myself today, trying to rescue some surgeon from another pack of zombies in Skyway City.

Another poison coated crossbow bolt grazes my arm, I'm quick enough, but hatchet-man over there's spoiled my shot

I gotta wonder how the cops let "Night of the Living Dead" run wild and kidnap people without at least trying to stop em.
But then, that's why you have stupid guys like me.

This big meaty b@s#@rd has a punch like a twelve pound sledge, my jaw pops and there are those annoying spots in my eyes again. These guys are faster than they look...another crossbow bolt zings past my ear...wait a second, what's that smell...Then I see it, the fuel tank that shoulda been strapped to this big fella's backside. Why do they always gotta explode?? I feel a dull pain in my shoulder this time as a crossbow bolt manages to make it through the kevlar padding. Distracted, I miss the big hammy hand as it lays upside my head.

"You wanna dance?"

I level my bow and draw, lookin like Babe Ruth, about to belt one outta the park. This would be my SI cover shot, the babes'll love it. There's a split second's pause, and that's all I need to take aim at the explosive in the corner and fire.

"Let's dance!"

I hear the broadhead puncture the tank, imagine metal on metal creating a spark as I score my home run hit. In another second I hear the explosion...Good Night Gracie...then my world goes white

I remember the first time I met "The 'Man" or Statesman, as everybody calls him. I didn't actually meet him, more like I saw him, at some Founder's Day parade in my hometown in Boston, some of the other Freedom Phalanx were there too, I remeber actually talking to Hero #1, when he asked a bunch of us kids what we wanted to be when we grew up. Some of the kids said they wanted to be firemen, or policemen, me, dazzled by the superheroes' presence, I opened my mouth and blurted out. "I wanna be like you guys, a superhero."

The other kids laughed, I remember Joey saying "You can't be a superhero Ray, you don't got no super-powers." The other kids laughed even harder then, and I could feel myself getting hot, probably even turning red. But then Hero #1 put his hand on my head and said:
"I'll let you in on a secret Ray, you don't have to have powers to be a hero."

Its been a long time, and I hear that Hero #1 and Omega Team disappeared a while ago. But I still remember those words as if he said them to me yesterday. It was like my defining moment. From then on, I did everything I could to make myself "super," Track and Field to increase my strength and stamina, Boxing and Martial Arts to teach me how to fight, and always there was my dad's old bowhunting gear, to teach me patience.
I never knew my dad, and my mom never really talked about him all that much. Still she didn't seem upset when I asked if I could have his old stuff. Guess she thought I was gonna follow in his footsteps and become an avid archer.
Yeah, something like that.

I got older, I got stronger, and I got better. While my childhood friends were busy with school and college plans, I worked odd jobs, saving up money to set up shop in Paragon City after high school. My sports record being what it was, I attracted the attention of the scouts, all of 'em asking me what I was gonna do after high school, and telling me how their college was hoping to offer me a place on whatever team I would like.
"There's more to life than sports." I'd tell them, even though my C+ average told them that I felt there was more to life than academics also. Whatever, all roads led me to Paragon City.
I didn't get there as soon as I would have liked, I missed the fighting in the Rikti War, but there was still plenty to do. I remember the first time I stepped off the Paragon Transit Rail in Atlas Park, and got my first look at the giant Atlas statue in front of City Hall.
I couldn't help thinking, "This is me, in the big time." and also, "I wonder what my dad would say?" And then, while I was gawking, I got blindsided by some flyboy and knocked on my can.
"Sorry Citizen, didn't see you there."
I start to shout that I'm not just a citizen, that I'm a superhero. But my words are lost in a low level sonic boom as the guy takes off.
I find myself clenching my fist, remembering all of the kids who used to laugh at me. But I did it, I'm here in Paragon, taking up arms in the fight for justice, and I intend to win.
I imagine my dad would be proud if he could see me now...as a Hero of Paragon City, not being knocked on my keyster by some superpowered knucklehead...

On the outside, my lips twitch into a smile, one of my eyes slowly opens to a harsh neon light, and my face feels like somebody drummed a red velvet tattoo on it with a meat tenderizer. I hear a beeping noise, my Hospital locator...I must've hit the activator on something in that explosion. Heh, lucky me. Looks like I live to fight another day...and then I remember, there's still a surgeon that needs rescuing.

"Once more into the breach..."

The mask hurts my face, but chicks dig the mask

"It's time for some payback."

-----------------------------------
Blinding Strike "Ray Rodgers" lv 11 Archery/Devices Natural Blaster
Train Wreck "Ronnie Ray Cygnus" lv 24 Earth Armor/Super Strength Mutation Tanker
Archimedes "No, that's really my name!" lv 14 Psychic/Empathy Magic Defender

All on Virtue Server