BlueBattler

I hope that's a good damn ...

Ever since Grandmother Monica died, I’ve hated hospitals.

I smile and wave at the young heroes as they rush out of the elevators and head to their next missions. “Miss Liberty!” one of them exclaims in delight.

“No, that’s my mother,” I reply with a tight smile. “I’m Ms. Liberty.” You’d think that after all this time, they’d remember that. Could be worse, I suppose: at least no one calls me Statesgirl anymore.

Well, not more than once anyway.

It would have been more discrete to go in civilian clothing, but I didn’t think that would have quite the impact that I wanted. Blue Battler might be able to say no to Jessica Cole; Ms. Liberty was another story.

I glance in a mirror before I enter his room. Hair and makeup are perfect. The smile takes a bit more work; it’s not as easy as it used to be to look like the Girl Next Door.

Especially when I’m planning to take advantage of a man who trusts me.

Oh yes. I know what I’m doing. I know that it’s not exactly fair to approach Blue now when he’s still dealing with the termination of his Hero of the City status. If he says yes now, he may regret it later, but he’ll stick with his agreement because that’s the kind of man he is.

And I need men like that in Longbow.

I don’t like it, but Recluse isn’t going to be stopped by fighting fair. If that means that I have to sometimes do things I’d rather not—well, that’s the price I pay for being the leader of Longbow.

I knock on the door before I open it. “Blue? May I speak with you?”

“Ms. Liberty? Sure. Come on in.”

I can’t keep from frowning as I enter the room and shut the door behind me. There was a time when Blue would have been thrilled to have me visit. Can’t let him see that I’m irritated, though; it won’t help my pitch at all. “It’s good to see you again, Blue.”

“Thanks, Ms. Liberty.” He’s testing out a new prosthetic right arm. It’s not much to look at, but it’s moving with a fluid grace that’s better than almost any prosthesis I’ve ever seen. A smile flits across Blue’s face as he clenches and unclenches the fist. “My friend Gungnir made it for me.”

“The hospital hasn’t equipped you with one yet?” Even if he was no longer a Hero of the City, Blue Battler had done too much for Paragon not to rate the best of care. “I’ll speak to them right away—“

“Don’t blame them. Crey Corporation offered me a state of the art bionic limb.” He pauses. “Along with a job offer.”

The thought of a former Hero of the City working for Crey with all his knowledge and contacts is enough to make me glad I hadn’t had lunch yet. “And did you take it?”

“I told Hopkins what he could do with that robot arm and his job offer, and he wasn’t too happy with me. That’s when I asked Gung to make me this one. It’s not much to look at, but I know that it’s 100 percent Creytech free.” He smiles wryly as he looks at me. “Gungnir’s not a fan of Crey.”

“I don’t blame him.” One of these days the Countess will have to be put away once for and all, but right now her army of lawyers have thwarted every attempt to put her into the Zig.

“So what are you here for, Ms. Liberty?”

The bluntness surprises me. I had been counting on Blue’s … fondness for me from his novice hero days to make this easier. “I don’t remember you as being so abrupt, Blue.”

“I’m not a Hero any longer.” There’s bitterness in his voice, and I can’t blame him. “Rick Davies made sure to let me know that before I had even started to heal.”

“I’m sorry, Blue—“

“I’m sorry too, Ms. Liberty. But it’s not Rick’s fault. He was just the messenger.” He smiles wryly. “So again, what do you want? I’m pretty sure that you have better things to do with your time than to visit an ex-Hero.”

Those eyes. I flinch away from the look in those eyes. I can remember a time when he had looked at me—at Grandfather, Positron, Synapse, all of us—with admiration rather than suspicion. Was it inevitable that Blue would become so cynical or did we have something to do with it?

For the first time since I decided to come here, I feel … ashamed. Blue has already given up so much for Paragon, and I’m going to ask him to give more.

But I do it anyway.

“I want to offer you a job, Blue. I want you to join Longbow.”

“Longbow?”

“Crey’s not the only one with state of the art technology. We can give you back at least some of what you lost. You may have lost your powers, but you haven’t lost your experience. You’ve always been a good tactician. You’ve traveled to at least half a dozen other worlds. You’ve traveled in time. You’ve faced some of the most powerful beings in existence without backing down. The Countess is right; you’d be a tremendous asset to any group you joined.

“I want that group to be mine.”

“Ms. Liberty—“

I put my finger onto his lips. “Don’t answer now, Blue. Just think about it. Think about what it’d be like to fight the good fight again.” I look deeply into his eyes. “Paragon still needs you, Blue. I still need you.”

I let the words linger in the air.

I kiss his forehead and take a card out of my belt and lay it on the table beside his bed. “Think about it, Blue. Let me know what you decide.”

I know he’s watching me as I leave.

I tell myself that it’s not just because I want to make Longbow stronger. I tell myself that it’s for Blue’s own good—that he has too much to offer the world to let him stew in self-pity for God knows how long before he decides what he wants to do with his life. I tell myself I’m just offering him a choice …

I still feel as dirty as Dominatrix.

When Heroes of Paragon lose their powers, they tend to have one of several possible reactions:

45% resume the lifestyle they had before they ever began their careers. They put aside their costumes and codenames and become nothing more than average citizens.

25% find themselves entering a career that resembles what they did as a Hero: they join Longbow or Vanguard or the Paragon Police Department. Alternatively, they go to work for the Bureau of Superhuman Affairs or branch out as a Hero Contact themselves, using their knowledge, experience, and street contacts to help new Heroes protect Paragon City and the world.

15% spend the rest of their lives trying to regain their powers. They try technology, science, magic, or training to become again what they had been. Most of them fail. More than a few of them die in the attempt.

8% turn against the very forces of Law and Order they once represented. They become, for lack of a better word, Villains.

12% take their own lives within the first year.

The more powerful the Hero, the less likely it is they will resume anything like a normal life.

The Countess is aware of this, of course. I personally wrote up a report on the subject myself. When we heard that the Hero of the City called Blue Battler had been wounded and depowered in combat with the Rikti, we realized that a unique opportunity presented itself.

It’s not often a Hero of the City comes to work for Crey, but it has happened before. Given her personal history with Blue Battler, the Countess thought it best that someone else approached him. Of course, there was really only one possible choice for this task: me.

Gaining access to him was not easy … but it was not especially difficult either. Not for someone with the resources of Crey Corporation behind him. The one possible obstacle was making sure that Blue Battler’s friend and ally Gungnir was not present at the time of our meeting. Gungnir’s antipathy for Crey is well known to us, and nothing could be achieved other than a pointless battle if Gungnir should be there when I made my offer to Blue Battler.

Fortunately, there was a Crey facility that had been underperforming as of late. By transferring some—let us say less than optimal—staff and equipment there and letting some rumors hit the streets, I managed to lure Gungnir from Blue Battler’s side for several hours—with the additional benefit of disposing of some dead weight at minimal cost.

Quite efficient, if I say so myself.

With Gungnir out of the way, all I had to do was wait for Blue Battler to return from his physical therapy session. I occupied myself reading budget proposals from various department heads, determining which would be given the go ahead and which would be … terminated. I had gotten perhaps a third of the way through when he returned.

I laid the report down and rose to my feet. “Good morning, Mr. Wagner.” It was important to call him by his civilian name as a reminder of what he had lost … and by extension, who had taken it from him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is—“

“I know who you are, Hopkins. What does the Countess’ lapdog want with me?” Blue—no, Wagner—sits down on his bed and warily looks at me through his glasses. He frowns and takes them off, rubbing his eyes, before laying them down on his nightstand.

I was quite aware of his history with the Countess, so I simply dropped my proffered hand and picked up the case I had brought into the room. “The Countess wanted me to offer you her deepest sympathies on the loss of your powers and status as a Hero of the City, Mr. Wagner. She knows that you spent many hours protecting the public welfare and feels that a great injustice has been done to you. She offers the full services of Crey Corporation to help you find proper redress.”

He awkwardly grips a cup with his remaining hand and takes a drink. “Oh right. I know exactly how the Countess operates, Mr. Hopkins. If I want to make a deal with the devil, I’ll just cut the middleman out and pick up a COT Thorn myself.”

“I know that you have had … difficulties with Crey in the past, Mr. Wagner, but I assure you that we mean you no harm. The Countess can always find a use for talented personnel, and even without your powers your experience and the skills earned as a Hero of the City could be most useful to Crey.” I look him straight in the eye. “And we might even be able to restore your status.”

He crushes the cup in his hand. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Mom made my armor expressly for the purpose of fighting the Rikti—no one’s been able to duplicate her work since she passed away. My gun ... I had to trigger the self destruct myself. As for my natural power …” He pauses then and shuts his eyes. “It’s gone … gone like my arm.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Wagner.” I open the case. “Crey is the premier manufacturer of prosthesis in the country. We can give you a bionic limb that not only looks like the arm you lost, but also serves to mimic the powers you lost.”

Inside the case is a bionic arm. It’s already covered in synthetic flesh that feels disturbingly warm to the touch as I take it out of the case. I press a concealed stud on the shoulder joint, and a blazing scimitar forms in the grasp of that non-living hand.

“Crey can give you your powers back, Mr. Wagner. We can give you a new arm. We can make you Blue Battler again. All you have to do … all you have to do is join us.”

“What do you say, Mr. Wagner?” I don’t often smile, but I am smiling now. I have him right where I want him. There’s no way he can refuse this offer … no way he can turn his back on the power that Crey offers him.

Body and soul, Blue Battler will belong to Crey!

Oh I like this ... keep it up!

Thanks, guys. Glad you liked it.

I'd been doing the Striga Arcs lately, and puzzling over some ideas I have for MA, and this just kinda worked itself out last night when the servers went down.

There may or may not be more to the story. Conscious of a King started out as a one-shot and I never expected to be writing a novel-length adventure of Mynx when I started Kat Scratched Fever so who knows what else Old Toby will run into?

Tobias Hansen is at home with the dead.

His home is a tomb. His neighbors are monsters. Lumbering undead, ravenous warwolves, life-stealing vampyri.

None of them touch him. None of them even so much as threaten him. They know that he plots against them, sending heroes to overturn their every scheme, but still they do not raise a hand against him.

There is a reason for that.

He knows that he looks like a young man barely out of his teens. He knows that he is considered handsome—the looks that some of the younger heroines give him when they talk to him tells him that. He assumes that he looks much as he did in his youth—certainly his brother Lars has not changed appreciably in all the decades since their transformation.

But he does not know for certain.

I can remember when there was something there when I looked into the mirror, he thinks. I can remember the taste of food, of wine … of a woman’s lips …

He frowns slightly. It’s best not to think of what he has lost.

His cellphone rings.

He still marvels over such gadgets though he does not have Lars’ addiction to them. His little brother has always fully embraced the now. Clothing, hairstyles, technology—Lars has always been his guide through Time.

Granted, he does not always follow Lars’ advice—he shudders slightly at the memory of Lars in bellbottoms—but he does listen.

“Yes, Lars?”

“Yo, bro. Just wanted to give you a head’s up about my plans for tonight.”

“It’s a full moon, Lars.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’m not planning on inviting some cutie over to my place for a late night snack.” Lars pauses, and Tobias can hear the strain in his voice. “I just … I have to go hunting tonight, Toby. I gotta let it out.”

“I understand. Where will you be hunting?”

“The docks. There’s a ‘Dyne shipment coming through. I’ll take care of it.”

“Stephanie likes to send young heroes after the Family’s shipments.”

“I know. That’s why I’m calling you. She needs to steer them clear tonight.”

“Why didn’t you call her yourself?”

“Because she won’t say no to you.”

He knows this is true. He also knows the reason why, and because of that he seldom asks her for favors. Still, he understands the hunger that drives Lars tonight, so he says, “All right. I’ll call her now.”

“Thanks, bro. I know that it’s not easy for either of you, but … look. I know what she means to you. I know what you mean to her. She’s a powerful witch, but she’s only human, Lars. There are things you should say to each other before—well, before.”

“We had that discussion decades ago, Lars.” He’s nettled. He can feel his lips curling back, and for once he’s grateful for the distance that they have to keep between them. “It’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not, but that’s never stopped me before, bro.” Lars howls with laughter … but the laughter ends before the howl does. “I gotta go, Toby. I can’t keep it in much longer. Go on. Call her now. Please, bro! I have to hunt.”

“All right, brother. Be well. I’ll call her now.” He hangs up knowing that soon Lars won’t be able to understand what he’s saying anyway. He dials the number of Striga’s resident witch. “Stephanie, its Tobias.”

“Hello, Toby.” The voice is that of an old woman, but he still hears echoes of the young girl that she had once been … the one that had made him almost forget who he was as a priest … and what the Council had made him. “What can I do for you, old friend?”

“Lars … he’s— It’s a full moon—”

“I understand. The docks again?”

“Yes.”

“All right. For the Puppy’s sake I’ll steer the heroes away tonight.” She laughs. “Tell him that he owes me.”

“As do I, Stephanie. Thank you.” He smiles slightly—something that he never does when there are heroes around to see his fangs. “How are you tonight?”

“I’m fine, Toby. I really am. You should really come visit sometime. It won’t hurt you to spend one night away from that blasted tomb, will it?”

“As long as I’m back before dawn—” He chuckles dryly.

“I miss you, Toby. I miss our visits. I miss dancing together.” Her voice catches slightly. “Do you remember when all the boys used to come to watch me dance? No one would want to see a dried up old woman dance now, would they?”

“You’re not old, Stephanie. To me, you’re still a young woman.”

“Liar.” She laughs to mask the pain in her voice. “When I was a girl I used to hate the fact that you were the vicar. Now … now I’m thankful. I’m glad that I didn’t spend my youth pining over a man I could never have …”

“Stephen was a good man, Stephanie.”

“A good man and a good husband. I loved him dearly, and with all my heart.” She pauses again. “Well, almost all my heart.”

“Stephanie—“

“I have to go now, Toby. Come visit soon. You shouldn’t have to spend forever in a graveyard. The living need you too. Good night, Tobias.”

“Good night, Stephanie.” He stares at the phone for a long minute after he hangs up, thinking of what had been … what could have been.

And something inside him awakens. Something ... thirsty.

“Good hunting, Lars. Perhaps tonight—perhaps tonight I should join you.”

And Tobias Hansen smiles and looks over at the monsters in his graveyard. He takes a step towards them.

And the monsters—the dead things that go bump in the night, the mutated things that howl at the moon, the misshapen things that use darkness as a weapon—do the only thing they can.

They run for their lives.

Once upon a time, I was a hero.

They called me Horatio.

Now … now I’m the Technology Hero contact in Atlas Park. Most of the time, it’s a pretty good job. There’s nothing quite so rewarding as watching a young hero take his, her, or its first steps on the road to adventure. Yes, most of the time I’m pretty happy with my job.

Today’s not one of those days.

I can easily think of a dozen places I’d rather be than here today—and that includes trying to find the last hostage in Oranbega.

Helping a hero get started is one thing. Decommissioning one is quite another.

I tell myself that at least he’s going to be a retired hero rather than a dead one, but I know from personal experience how cold a comfort that can be. I love my wife. I know that I do good work—important work. I have a good life …

But not a day goes by when I don’t miss being out on the front lines.

Old heroes do die—and they’re the lucky ones.

The servos in my leg whine in protest, but I take the stairs anyway. I’m just delaying the inevitable, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been where he is—I know exactly how he’s going to feel.

That’s why I’m doing this. When a hero is put on the inactive list, he’s notified in person. We owe them that much.

And he was one of the first heroes I mentored back after the first Rikti Invasion. He’s one of mine. If anyone’s going to tell him, it’s going to be me.

There’s a man standing outside his room when I get there. He’s incredibly tall, with the face of a poet. He’s dressed in civvies, but the metallic right arm is a dead giveaway.

“Hello, Gungnir,” I say. “It’s been a while.”

“Davies.” He leans up against the wall. “I’d say that I’m surprised to see you, but we both know that’d be a lie.”

“How is he?”

“Blue? He’s doing better than he will be after he sees you.”

That’s Gungnir for you. Not exactly the most circumspect of guys. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s here. He and Blue started out together—and even though he went off the grid while Blue went onto to become a full fledged Hero of the City you never forget the first guy who guarded your back in a firefight.

“It has to be done, Gungnir. His armor’s been totally destroyed, and no one’s been able to duplicate his mother’s work. He destroyed his rifle himself when he used it on that Rikti bomb. As for his fire powers …” I shrug. “I’m not happy about this any more than you are, but it’s not like I have a choice.”

Gungnir scowls and electricity crackles around his hands. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“Gung? Who are you talking to?” The voice is weaker than I remember, but given what he’s been through I’m not surprised.

“It’s me, Blue. Rick Davies. I need to talk to you.”

For a long moment, he’s quiet.

“Blue?”

I can hear the sigh from the hallway, and it makes me feel even worse than I already do—and I thought that would be impossible. “Come on in, Rick.”

Gungnir scowls at me again and follows me into Blue’s room. He doesn’t say anything else, just walks over to Blue’s side and looks at me like he’d like to fry every circuit in my prosthetics.

“Hello, Blue.” I smile at him.

He’s younger than I remembered, though when I knew him he was wearing a full helmet that concealed his facial features. Still, he’s no more likely to be 30 than Synapse is to be chaste and pure. He looks like the proverbial boy next door.

He also looks like he’s been through hell.

He’s bruised, burnt, and bandaged. I wince as I look at his right shoulder. I know from personal experience how thoroughly a Rikti Blade can shear through flesh and bone … I bet it didn’t even hurt when his arm was severed …

“It’s on the table, Rick.”

“Blue, I’m sorry—“

“Me too, Rick. Me too.”

Gungnir balls his fist and looks like he’d like nothing more than to punch me in the face, but Blue quiets him with a glance. “It’s his job, Gung. I understand.”

I take the ID Card and press a concealed button on it. “This is Rick Davies. Technology Contact. Atlas Park. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” the AI system that linked to Blue’s ID responded.

“As of this date, Blue Battler—Origin Technology, Assault Rifle/Fire Manipulation Blaster—has been decommissioned as a hero of Paragon City. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged. ID deactivating.”

The card sizzled and popped and the display went blank in my hand.

Like Blue’s career, it was dead.

Blue gasped like he’d been shot and looked away.

Gungnir laid his hand on Blue’s shoulder and looked at me. “Get out before I throw you out.”

“Blue—“

“Rick, please.” His voice cracked like he was holding back tears. “Just go.”

I nodded because my own throat was tightening up. It’s never easy to take away someone’s avocation from them. Still, I forced out the word, “Blue?”

“Yeah?” His eyes are filled with tears now.

“No matter what the official word is, you’ll always be a Hero of the City.”

“Thanks, Rick.” He turns his head to stare out the window of his hospital room.

I want to say more. I want to tell him that his life isn’t over. That he’s going to get through this.

I want to, but I don’t.

Blue Battler was a Hero of the City. He saved countless lives. He sacrificed his armor, his weapon, and his power to protect us.

And now I had just taken away everything he had earned over the last four years.

If I had been Gungnir I would have wanted to punch me too.

I turn and walk out.

Journal Entry 015

The kid spat out a curse, dropped the keys and cut out like his house was on fire.

Landslide turned to us. “Now’s our chance!”

Char looked doubtful. Deep Freeze looked nervous. Both of them looked at me, so I’m the one who said, “You sure about this, ‘Slide? You heard that thing.”

“It’s some kind of dog,” ‘Slide said dismissively. “The Family probably has it guarding their stuff. It might cause problems for nats, but not mutants like us. We’ll just go right in and take what we want.”

I wasn’t too sure of that, but I wasn’t going to back down. Freeze was just waiting for me to prove myself a coward, and I couldn’t let Char go into that warehouse without me – not a girl! “Okay then. Let’s do this before that kid comes back with company.”

The door was still open, so we ran over to it. No one else made a move towards the keys, so I pocketed them and followed the others inside.

“It stinks in here,” Char muttered, setting one of her hands ablaze to light our way. “You sure there’s something here worth taking, ‘Slide?”

“The Family wouldn’t waste time on this place if there weren’t,” Landslide assured her. “Money. Drugs. Maybe guns. There has to be something here worth stealing.”

Stealing. I didn’t like that word. But at least the Family were criminals. Is it really a crime if you steal from bad people?

The warehouse was almost totally dark. The windows were either boarded up or painted over. Here and there sunlight shone through cracks in the walls or broken panes.

And Char was right. It stank.

“I don’t see anything,” she said, her eyes darting back to my face as though she were looking for reassurance. “Maybe we should just go, ‘Slide.”

“No! There’s something here! I know it!”

“There!” Deep Freeze pointed with his ice sword. “You see that? Looks like some kind of equipment.”

Now that Freeze had pointed it out, I could see what he was looking it. It was some kind of cart, actually—sort of like what you see in the hospitals. Whatever was on it seemed to be glowing with a soft blue light.

“Jackpot!” ‘Slide ran towards the cart.

Before he got there, something rose up from behind the cart and lashed out at him with a mighty fist.

‘Slide grunted in pain as the blow hit him in the stomach and folded like a house of cards.

The shadowy thing rose up to its full height and roared at us. “Me kill you!”

“’Slide!” Char cried, throwing a fireball at the [i[thing[/i].

Freeze charged at it and slashed at it with his howling ice sword.

The blade broke into three pieces against its arm.

Freeze screeched in fear and backed away from the thing.

The monster roared and beat his chest like a gorilla, and it was then that I noticed the heavy chains that were attached to his wrists. He was bald, and I swear that he had horns!

Landslide stumbled to his feet, wheezing. He tried to form a stone hammer but it grumbled in his hands. “Hurts!” he gasped.

The green monster laughed. “Me beat you! Me beat you good! You no match for me! Me am the strongest one there is! Me tear you apart!”

If not for those chains, I was willing to bet that he could have done it, too.

“What are you?” I asked him, staring at him in the flickering flames of Char’s burning hand. He was wearing clothing, but they were little more than rags now so I couldn’t tell what they had been originally. Still, if he wore clothes and could talk … “Who are you? Are you a mutant?”

“Me am no mutant! Me have body by Superdyne!” He beat his chest again. “Me name? Me had a name once, but me don’t remember it. They call me— They call me—” He frowned and paused as if the effort of talking caused him too much pain. He growled at me.

“What?” I asked him. “What do they call you?”

“Grendel!”

We never had any communication, but best wishes on your career, Lighthouse!

Journal Entry 014

That thing--!

What was that thing?

My hand’s shaking so badly that I can barely write. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never been so scared in all my life …!

I have to calm down. Statesman wouldn’t let a little thing like a monster shake him up so badly.

It’s all over. I’m safe now. I’m safe …

Okay, Leo. Just relax. Relax!

Okay … let me begin at the beginning …

I have to admit that right after ‘Slide said what they wanted to do, I began having second thoughts. Statesman or Miss Liberty would never steal, not even from bad guys … and the Family are pretty nasty guys. I hear they can kill someone with their bare hands!

But … I couldn’t see backing down … you don’t back down in Steel Canyon if you want to go on living.

And I couldn’t back down in front of a girl!

I did feel a lot better though when ‘Slide said that we weren’t going to go in and try to fight our way through a warehouse full of Family. He said that the place they’d been scouting out was mostly deserted during the day. We’d be in and out before they ever knew we were there.

The warehouse was a pretty run down place. We bought some sodas—well, I bought ‘em—and we walked around the block to case the joint out. Just a bunch of kids hanging out, you know?

I don’t … well, I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t dare bring anyone home—never know when Pop’s going to be drunk out of his mind—and no one seems comfortable hanging around a blue skinned kid. Helping ‘Slide was the first time I’d ever used my powers in public, but even most of my teachers seemed weirded out by me.

Except for Mrs. Primm, but I really didn’t want to think about her right then. I knew exactly what she’d think of me doing something like this.

I’ve always been the odd kid out, but with ‘Slide, Freeze, and Char I didn’t feel so weird. They were like me. They were different. They were … Outcasts.

‘Slide kept muttering things about the warehouse as we circled it. “See? Most of the time you can tell a place is a front for the Family. There’s always someone standing around with a hat and suit on. This place … I’ve seen them go in and out, but they don’t stay long. Look, there’s one now.”

The guy really wasn’t all that much older than we were … he was maybe eighteen. His suit was too big for him, and he was trying to grow a mustache but it wasn’t much more than a smear over his lips. He was carrying a sack from a nearby deli. There was a bulge in his jacket that just had to be some kind of gun …

I tensed a bit. Maybe ‘Slide was bulletproof, but I wasn’t so lucky.

“He doesn’t look happy,” Char said, playing with a tiny bit of fire on her palm. I swear it almost seemed … alive. It moved around like a tiny little monkey or something.

“’Slide and I have been watching for the last week,” Deep Freeze said, glaring at me. “There’s this guy and another one. They go in three times a day—early in the morning, around noon, and in the early evening. They’re always bringing food with them, but not a lot.”

“Are they keeping guard?” I asked.

“Don’t know. They sure don’t stay long.” Landslide cracked his knuckles. “He’ll be out in about ten minutes looking like there’s a devil after him.”

“And we’re going to go in? Why?”

“If you’re too scared we can go on without you, Frostless.” Deep Freeze laughed harshly.

“Don’t be such a jerk, Freeze. Fire’s not done anything to you but you’ve been riding him ever since we met him.” Char tossed the fire off her hand. It scampered around her feet before it finally vanished in a puff of smoke.

“We don’t need him,” Freeze said stubbornly. “He’s just a punk. He’s too scared to be of any use.”

Fire blossomed around my fist. “You really want me to show you what I’m made of, Freeze?”

“You don’t scare me, Frostie!” Freeze summoned his ice sword again.

“Maybe that’s because you’re too stupid to be scared.” I can’t make that sword of his. At least not yet. But I was pretty sure that I was stronger than he was. ‘Slide wouldn’t have wanted me along if he didn’t think I would be useful.

“Shut up you two!” ‘Slide ordered. “Look! He’s leaving!”

The kid in the too-big suit ran out of the warehouse. He fumbled with the keys to lock the door.

And that’s when we heard the monster roar.

[ QUOTE ]
As far as we know, those three are the only members of the Outcasts.

3 people does not make a gang.

So offically, Frostfire could be considered the founder of the Outcast Gang by the PPD if he was the leader when the Outcast actually become a gang.

Of course, how he became the leader would be interesting.

[/ QUOTE ]

I sure hope so!

There's a Blueside Arc in the 40s where a hero journeys to Hydraworld and discovers that the Hyrda are sentient creatures that are essentially kidnapped by the Rikti and brought to our world. To do this, a hero must first defeat enough Hydra to obtain a sample of the Hydra gunk that facilitates communication.

In the eyes of the Hydra, the hero is a ruthless invader who attacks without warning or cause. Does that make him a villain?

Up until the time that Damon did Diviner Maros' arc, the worst that he had done so far was rob banks in Paragon and commit wanton acts of destruction. True, he defeated many Longbow and PPD, but in a city where the Medical Technology exists to instantly return someone to full health after being on the very brink of death, just how evil is it to beat up people who attack you with a flamethrower on sight?

Damon doesn't really think of himself as a villain. But with Maros, he wound up realizing that he's done a truly evil thing. That definitely gave him pause.

I fully intend him to go into the RWZ and do the arcs there when he's eligible. He's perfectly willing to save a life and doing so makes him feel good about himself.

On the other hand, he's going to be in for a rude awakening when he does Westin Phipps ...

So ... perhaps a valid question is: at what point does selfishness, thoughtlessness, and violence become evil?

What does everyone think about Dexter Morgan ?

Is he ambiguously evil? What about his adoptive father who raised him?

I know. That's what's the story says ...

Journal Entry 013

It was another week before I saw Landslide again.

Pop had managed to get himself a halfway decent job at a warehouse and he was in a good mood. He bought me some new clothes and even talked about us moving out of this crummy apartment and getting a nice place to live. He even started making breakfast again every morning like he used to do before Mom died. He kept saying over and over again that things were finally looking up for us …

It won’t last.

Pop starts off good, but he never manages to clench the deal. I know that he’ll blow it before he gets off probation at his job. He’ll never pull it off.

But for right now, things are good. I had money in my pocket and time on my hands, and I was heading downtown to see if I could pick up a Miss Liberty poster for my bedroom. Mr. Lee at the Mighty Mart promised to hold me one if I could get down there by this weekend …

“Yo, kid.”

Landslide was standing on the street corner with a couple of his buddies. One of them had skin that was nearly the same color as mine. The other …

The other was a girl.

I had to look twice to be sure, though. She was pretty thin and she dressed like a boy. Her black hair was cut almost as short as Landslide’s, and her skin was almost as red as that little devil from the comic books.

“Hi, Landslide.” I looked at them warily. I had done ‘Slide a favor but that didn’t mean that I could trust him because he owed me.

“This is the kid I was telling you guys about.” He pointed a finger at the girl. “She’s Char. He’s Deep Freeze. What do you call yourself, kid?”

“Frostfire.” I thought it was a pretty good name.

“Frostfire?” Char looked me up and down.

“Frostfire.” I held out my left hand and let fire wreathe my fingers. I held out my right hand and icicles dripped from them.

“Neat.” Char smiled at me. Deep Freeze scowled.

“Can you do this, punk?” He gestured and a howling blade of ice appeared in his hand and he held it to my throat.

“Don’t be a jerk, Freeze,” Landslide ordered, and wrenched a big stone mallet out of the ground. “We’re not here to fight Frostfire.”

If I let Landslide protect me I knew that I’d never be rid of Freeze’s hate. I had to show him I could take care of myself. I grabbed the ice blade and melted it. “What do you want, Landslide?”

“We want you to hang with us. We think you might be a candidate for the Outcasts.”

My first impulse was to turn him down. Gangs are bad news. Smart kids do dumb things when they join gangs. I didn’t need trouble; I can find that on my own. “I don’t know, ‘Slide …”

Char touched my forearm. “Come on, Frostfire. It’ll be fun.” She grinned at me. “I promise I’ll protect you!”

“Hey, if the kid’s too scared to run with us, let him alone.” Deep Freeze folded his arms. “The Outcasts don’t need any cowards!”

I scowled at him. “You want to show me what you guys got? Fine. I’m in, ‘Slide. What do you want to do first?”

Landside grinned. “We’re going to rob The Family!”

I remember when I first started playing COH my namesake toon had a crush on Ms. Liberty ...

Who knew that there was a real Ginger Grant behind her Marry Anne exterior?

Lately, I've been playing an Electric Melee/WP Brute named Damon B. McCoy. His background is that he's the semi-identical evil twin cousin of one of my most favorite characters. (In fact, Simon McCoy is the only one of my heroes I've actually posted a story about here so far: Dark Genesis ).

Simon's main theme is that he never took a codename to fight crime as he wanted the citizens of Paragon City to see that you didn't need to be a super hero to stand up for what's right.

Unfortunately for Damon McCoy, though, he was a virtual identical twin of his cousin. Thinking that studying Damon might enable them to learn the secret of Simon's powers, Crey kidnapped Damon and subjected him to the usual round of inhumane experiments.

Damon's mutation activated during the torture and he used his newfound powers to escape, causing a considerable amount of damage and mayhem in the process. Arrested and sentenced to the Zig, he was taken to the Rogue Isles as one of Recluse's Destined Ones.

Damon blames Simon for the torture that he experienced, and he intends to make his heroic cousin pay. He's also not a big fan of Crey and would definitely like to pay back some of his pain-- with interest-- to Countess Crey. He's also an adrenalin junkie and thrives on battle.

The thing is, I don't consider him fully evil. I tend to think of him as Chaotic Neutral, leaning towards evil in the sense that he doesn't stop to think about the harm his actions are causing. He is capable of killing someone-- in fact, he's actually done so; his first kill recently occurred during the Darrin Wade arc-- but there are things that he will not do.

For instance, I made sure to avoid the Peter Themari and Dmitri Krylov arcs as those were things that Damon would definitely not do.

During Marshall Brass's arc, he didn't try to stop the broadcast.

However, he just started Diviner Maros ... and for the first time he's done something that he would consider to be evil. His actions have caused definite harm to innocents.

(At first, I thought it would be entirely in character for Damon to tell Maros to stick his divinations where the sun doesn't shine, but then I decided that Damon is likely to take the omen of his impending death seriously and will work with Maros to ensure his own existence.)

Still, I am enjoying the challenge of playing a character who's right on the edge.

For the rest of you ... when you play a villain, how much thought do you put into his or her personality? Do they think of themselves as villains? Do they hesitate before they do something morally reprehensible?

How much ambiguity do you like in your evil?

Journal Entry 005

I did a really stupid thing today.

I really want to see Statesman: The Movie, so I was checking out the back alleys looking for some bottles to trade in for cash. (There’s no freakin’ way I’m asking Pop for the money; one bloody nose this week is enough!) I figured that as long as I kept my head down and watched what I was doing, I’d be safe enough. Steel Canyon isn’t like King’s Row—as long as you keep your eyes open, you’re generally pretty safe.

“You little freak! Where do you think you’re going?!”

I just about jumped out of my skin when I heard that, but a quick look around showed me that no one was looking at me.

A kid stumbled out of the alley in front of me. He was really skinny and short. His eyes were wide with fear. His skin was the color of slate. “Run!”

In Paragon City, when someone tells you to run it’s generally not a good idea to hang around and ask them why. I was halfway down the street when I heard the kid scream.

And that’s when I did the stupid thing: I stopped.

The kid was on the ground, screaming. Six or seven teenagers were kicking and punching him. A couple of them were carrying sledgehammers, one had a baseball bat, and I saw one of them fingering a pistol.

Every time the kid tried to crawl away, one of them would hit him with the sledge or the baseball bat. It made a funny sound when it hit him—it was like they were hitting the side of a brick building or something.

“You blasted freak!” one of them was shouting. “You don’t deserve to live! I’ll kill you!”

The kid kept on screaming.

I looked around for a cop or a cape. Neither was in sight. Maybe if I ran fast enough I could find someone to help the kid before they got serious about hurting him …

The yelling guy took the pistol and aimed it at the kid’s head. “Bang bang. You’re dead, freak!”

I threw a fireball at him.

It was the gun guy’s turn to scream as his jacket caught fire. He dropped the pistol and dropped to the ground. Some of his friends ripped their coats off and began beating at him to try to put out the flames.

“Leave him alone!” I shouted at them. “Go away!”

The guy with the baseball bat looked at me. “Another freak! You should have minded your own business, blue boy! I’m going to knock your freakin’ head off with this freakin’ bat!”

I threw an ice bolt at him.

He howled and dropped the bat as the ice hit him, sticking into his face and hands.

The kid scrambled to his feet.

“Run!” one of the sledgehammer punks dropped his hammer and ran past me.

“From a kid? Get real!” The other sledgehammer kid, a big blond guy, threw his hammer at me.

I tried to dodge, but the hammer still hit me straight in the stomach. I doubled over in pain and threw up breakfast. I’m just thankful that it was my favorite cereal and not my blood I was coughing up.

The blond hammerer walked over and picked up his sledge. “I’m going to smash your freakin’ head like a freakin’ water melon you freak!”

I tried to do something but I couldn’t. I hurt too much to do anything but watch.

“Leave him alone!” The kid cried and he punched the sledge guy.

With fists covered in rock.

The hammerer dropped his sledge and dropped to the sidewalk.

The kid looked at the other punks. “You leave us alone or we’ll tear you apart!”

I didn’t feel like tearing anyone up. I was still hoping like heck that I wasn’t going to throw up my stomach, but I did my best to look tough.

“This ain’t over, freaks! We’ll get you! We’ll get all of you!” They broke and ran.

I looked at the kid. “Thanks.”

“Thank you, man!” the kid replied. “When those guys caught me, I thought I was done for! We don’t normally travel alone if we can help it.”

“We?”

“Me and the gang.”

“You’re in a gang?” I was surprised. The kid wasn’t any older than me. I knew that some of the guys back in school did lookout duty, but I’d never heard of anyone my age being in an actual gang.

“Yeah.” The kid straightened up and tried to look tough. “I’m Landslide. I lead the Outcasts.”

Well, Paragonwiki puts Frostfire as being about 46 years old.

The bio there says his powers developed in his early teens. He's about 12 years old in the first journal entry.

It's been a while since I did that arc, but for the purposes of my story I'm assuming that Francine would be 10 or younger.

(I originally thought about making Francine his teacher but I thought that would make her a little bit too old for her current arc.)

Well, I did also refer to Mrs. Primm as having a little girl named Francine. ;-)

Yeah, it's a deliberate nod.

I wanted to have Leo get his journal from Night Fox, but since no one seems to know his secret identity I went with Mrs. Primm ...

There had to have been some good influences in his life after all ....

Journal Entry 001

I’m going to miss Mrs. Primm. She’s the best teacher that I ever had. I was awfully surprised when she gave me this journal when school ended today.

“You’re a lot smarter than you let on, Leonard,” she told me. Only teachers call me “Leonard.” I prefer to be called Leo. I didn’t get beat up as much at recess once I started calling myself Leo. “But you’re awfully impulsive. You need to slow down and think about what you’re doing. Perhaps by writing things down you’ll learn to think things through better. I want you to write in this journal every day, Leonard. Will you do that for me?”

“I can’t take this, Mrs. Primm.” It was the nicest looking book that I had ever seen, but I was afraid to take it home. Pop’s bound to pawn it if he gets his hands on it.

“Please, Leonard. Take it for me.”

“All right, Mrs. Primm.” I do have my secret hiding place in my room. I’ll just have to make sure that Pop doesn’t find it. I couldn’t say no to her.

“And you’ll write every day?”

“Yes, Mrs. Primm.”

“I know that life hasn’t been easy for you, Leonard.” She looked at my blue-green skin. “It’s never easy when you’re different. But you’re a good boy, a smart boy. I think that someday you’re going to accomplish so much for Paragon City.” She looked at her watch. “But I really do have to get going now. I promised my little girl Francine that I’d be home early today. Goodbye, Leonard. I know you’re going to make me proud.”

She’s right.

Someday I’m going to make her proud. Even Pop’ll be proud of me once I join the Freedom Phalanx.

Yeah. Someday everyone’s going to know my name.

Someday Leonard Calhoun is going to be a real hero …

I liked it!

I wasn't sure what sort of creature it was till the very end. Well done!

Well, the true ending WAS the epilogue.

Admittedly, I sometimes suffer from Roy Thomas complex. (For those of you who don't know, Roy Thomas is the man credited with coming up with the term "retroactive continuity" or "retcon".) Basically, once I had Monica show up to talk to Recluse I had to come up with a rationale as to why she did it now as opposed to any of the other times that he's been about to kill someone over the last 20-25 years since she died ...


The Envoy of Shadows wound up as being female as that was the only COT that I can recall ever seeing in Pocket D ... though the fact that you do see the Envoy in human form as well as demon form did indicate to me that the creature can probably be whatever gender it chooses to be.

I didn't want Monica to be an Earthbound spirit like Ghost Widow, and having her be a run of the mill angel also was problematic.

And honestly, the idea of a counterpart to the Envoy of Shadows really appealed to me.

Unfortunately, this is one of these things that I can only dabble around the fringes as it goes a bit too far from canon than I like to play.

I like it!

That's a great start!

Oh yeah.

I always listen to my muse.

Every story is a gamble. But that's what makes it fun.

[ QUOTE ]
Just my own opinion - I really think the story would have ended better if you'd ended it last chapter. Primarily because the focus of the story shifted from Stefan to Monica, but like I said, that's just me.

Unless of course there's more of the story to go, in which case, write on!

Michelle
aka
Samuraiko/Dark_Respite

[/ QUOTE ]


I understand, and believe me I gave serious thought to leaving the story with the prior chapter.

But in the end, I felt that I had to be true to my muse.

There were several things I hoped to accomplish with this story. As to whether or not I succeeded ... well, that's something for the reader to decide.

To begin with, I wanted to add some depth to Lord Recluse. Monodimensional villains who are all "Arrrgh! I'm evil for evil's sake and have no redeeming features whatsover!" bore me.

Hero 1 has said that the game is first in determining canon, but if you add in the novels and comics, this is what we know about him:

1. His father owned a newspaper. The Paragon Free Press. Monica worked as a reporter for the paper.

2. Marcus Cole and his brother Ezra were taken in by the Richters after the death of their mother. (Their father was a hopeless alcoholic incapable of taking care of them.)

3. Marcus and Stefan went off to World War I together. After the Great War, they formed a gang of thieves. (Web of Arachnos says that Marcus was the leader; in Freedom Phalanx Recluse said that Marcus had been his "right hand man." Given Recluse's personality-- and the events of Web- I believe Marcus was the actual leader.

4. Monica Richter was 7 years old when they went to war. She did not see either of them again until after she was an adult.

5. Recluse killed his father and Ezra Cole as a ploy to have Marcus return to Paragon City and tackle Nemesis for him. He did not, however, kill Monica even when he had a clear chance to do so. In fact, he admitted to stealing the letters that Marcus and Monica had been writing to each other.

6. In Freedom Phalanx he goes to rather elaborate lengths to send Monica flowers while she lies on her deathbed and sends a handwritten note where he refers to himself as "Stefan" instead of Lord Recluse.

All in all, I feel that if there was ever anyone in the world that Stefan Richter loved, it was his sister. (The game does hint that Recluse had strong feelings for a woman named Red Widow but we really don't know a lot about her.)

So the sister that he loved was a reporter who was bound and determined to expose the graft and corruption that Paragon City knew in the 1930s.

Now, Amanda Vines is also a reporter determined to discover the truth. As I understand it, the Arc she appears in says that her popularity has made disposing of her problematic so Recluse prefers to keep her alive.

That excuse has never made sense to me.

Recluse is the absolute tyrant of the Rogue Isles. He doesn't have to worry about public reaction to his actions. He's an immortal unkillable dictator. Amanda Vines could be the Oprah Winfrey of the Rogue Isles and it still wouldn't save her from Recluse if he felt like killing her ... so why doesn't he?

So various ideas came to mind ...

Could he be in love with Amanda Vines?

No, that didn't make sense to me. Given how inhuman that Recluse is, I don't think that he has a lust for anything but power.

Could Amanda Vines be his child or grandchild? In addition to the above rationale, I try not to break game canon any more than I can help it. It's a pity, though-- I do like the idea of Recluse's offspring working against him ...

What if Amanda Vines was actually the reincarnation of Monica Richter? That idea had possibilities as reincarnation is a fact in the game, but again I thought that would be breaking canon too much ...

So I wound up going back to Amanda reminding Recluse of one of the few people that he ever loved.

That led me to thinking about a conversation between Stefan and Monica ... and how and why Monica would be having that conversation with him some 20 years after her death.

The rest you all know.