BlueBattler

Hats without hair ala the Golden Age Sandman.

The ability to have goggles and earpieces at the same time.

More male headpieces like metallic headbands.

I've thought that some of the various old missions we do could use some tweaks without much major adjustment.

For instance, when you do one of the Crey Arcs you have been framed as having gone bad, and you're ambushed by Malta. Since we now have both Longbow and the Paragon Police Deptartment, why not change those Malta into one of the above groups?

There's another one-off mission given by the Revenant Hero Contact where you find out that Crey has made a Paragon Protector based on you. Back when that arc was written, the doppleganger tech did not exist so it was just an energy/energy PP. Why not let it be a REAL double now?

I have generally enjoyed Angus McQueen's stories, but he could use some new tweaking as well... and why doesn't his model get updated as having had the Lost cure?

Well, I have written Statesman in several stories here, but in terms of the game ...

I have no idea who wrote it, but there's a mid-twenties Rogue to Hero mission where you infiltrate a Fight Club and beat the heck out of Frostfire. As soon as you enter the mission you wind up disguised as Statesman. (In fact, the entire team will wind up disguised as Statesman.) You wind up having a conversation with the Fight Club organizer where you rag on Statesman-- as Statesman!-- and when the mission is over, the text says you exit to see a defeated ambush with a note from "Mr. Holier Than Thou" saying that he took care of the ambush for you while you were doing the mission.

Whoever wrote that mission nailed how to make Statesman likable in my opinion.

Let alone the amount of work and cost involved, is it even technically possible to swap out COH's existing engine from the game?

Note: this isn't my area of expertise so I have no idea if that's something that could be done at all.

I just hope Statesman gets a better death than Alexis got.

I was disappointed that the carpet doesn't allow you to keep a weapon out like the rocket board does.

I was all set for my magic-themed Dual Blades Brute to be flying around on a carpet with his weapons out ... >.>

Doesn't it depend on what your definition of "smart" person is?

Are we just losing scientists, physicians, engineers or are we also losing mechanics, electricians, carpenters, cement masons, and plumbers?

Are you talking "Life After Smart People" or "Planet of the Liberal Arts Majors"?

I have a personal Themed Supergroup I run on Triumph. At least one of the powers always needs to be fire related. Currently I have a Fire/Kin Trolller, a Fire/WP Scrapper, and an Earth/Therm Controller in the Supergroup.

Now I am wanting to play with Time.

Ideally, I am looking to having a really strong soloer. I have two Fire/Kins so I know how well they can do. I have a Demon/Poison MM which also does well.

I haven't used Time much at all.

So how well would these two Primaries do with Time?

Assuming for the moment that the offspring also inherited their powers, which character would have the more difficult time in life living up to the aforementioned parental legacy?

(I do think that Statesman's daughter Miss Liberty probably had an easier time forging her own identity than she would have had if she had Mister Liberty instead ...)

Well, guess it was a good thing I finished my last Statesman story when I did the way I did ...

*sigh*

So I suppose this means we're going to lose the Rogue mission where you get to dress up as Statesman and say, "For Justice and kittens!" 8-(

Seriously, that one mission did more for making Statesman likable than six years of other in-game content ...

He hurts. He hurts, but still he struggles to rise to his feet.

Stefan Richter may die this day, but he will not die on his knees.

“Such strength. I have always admired your strength, Stefan. It’s one of your few redeeming qualities. To be frank, it’s your only redeeming quality.”

Stefan Richter falls to his knees once more.

He’s tried three times to rise. Each time he’s fallen. Each time, he’s struggled back to his feet.

And Marcus has let him.

“What do you know of strength?”

“I am strength, Stefan. I am power. I am the Well of Furies. All that you are—all that you have ever done—was only made possible through me. And yet you continuously sought to deny me.”

Stefan laughs slowly. “You sound like a jilted lover.”

“Each word you utter makes your inevitable death all the more painful, Stefan.”

“And yet still I live.”

“I am merely playing with you.”

“As you sought to do for decades?” The Well has not totally blocked his power—he would be dead already if it had—but he cannot draw any more—and he would not if he could. Live or die, Lord Recluse will not be beholden to anything.

“When one exists for all eternity, one must find its amusement where it can, Stefan. But you will die now, Stefan. You must.”

“No. I will not.”

“You have no power to oppose me, Stefan. Your strength is nothing. Your will is nothing. Your intellect—your pitiful mind is nothing. How do you think you will escape your fate?”

“Because to kill me, you must force Marcus Cole to kill me. And that—that you will never do.”

“Marcus hates you, Stefan.”

“He does. As I hate him. Nevertheless, you will not force him to kill me. Marcus Cole has always been his own master. Sooner or later—no matter what you do—Marcus will break free of you.”

“Do you know how many Marcus Coles have done my will, Stefan? Do you know how many of them have done exactly what I wanted them to? What makes this so different that you think he can oppose the very essence of his power?”

“The answer is simple. He’s my Daddy.”

Stefan smiles grimly. “Hello, Alexis.”

“Uncle.”

The face of Marcus Cole twists between rage, surprise, and grief. “Alexis?!”

“Hi, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

“You cannot be here, Alexis. You are dead. Your time has passed.”

“I’m my father’s daughter. I don’t do what’s expected of me.”

And for the first time in a very long while, Stefan Richter finds himself laughing. “That is the truth. You may be power incarnate, Well of Furies. But no force in the universe can compel a Cole against their will!”

“And a Richter too, Uncle. I’m my mother’s daughter as well.”

“I am the Well of Furies! I will NOT be denied! Not again! Not by a ghost! Not by a broken, beaten man! And not by Marcus Cole!”

“Yes, yes you will. You think that Daddy is like the other Marcus Coles. He’s not. Daddy cares about order. He cares about humanity’s survival. Even the others—as twisted as they are—some part of them still wants to do good. But Daddy—Daddy doesn’t just care—Daddy loves! You’re the Well of Furies. You understand power, and the desire for power. You understand the desire for order and security.

“But you don’t understand love. And as long as you can’t, then you will never understand Marcus Cole!

“Daddy, it’s time. I know you are hurting. I know you are grieving—for Mother, for me, for all the friends and family you have lost over the decades. I know you just want the pain to go away. I know you want to make the hurting stop. The evil to stop.

“But this isn’t the way. You know it isn’t. That’s why you haven’t let the Well kill our friends. That’s why you haven’t killed Uncle Stefan.

“I am the Well of Furies! I am power! I am—“

“Done. You are done. Please, Daddy.”

And just like that, the storm stops.

The sky clears. The lightning fades from the eyes of Marcus Cole.

He falls to his knees.

Stefan Richter kneels beside him. “Marcus? My friend? Is it you?”

“Stefan?”

And with all the strength that remains in him, Stefan Richter slams a double fisted blow into the face of Marcus Cole.

Marcus topples like a stone.

“No man—not even you, Marcus—treats me as I have been treated this day and gets away unscathed!”

“You didn’t have to do that, Uncle Stefan.”

“Oh, but I did, Alexis. Did you ever hear the fable of the scorpion and the frog? The scorpion asked the frog to ferry him over the river. The frog refused at first, fearing that the scorpion would sting him. The scorpion pointed out that he would drown as well. So the frog agreed, and—“

“The scorpion stung the frog. When the frog pointed out they would both die, the scorpion said it could not deny its nature.”

“Hello, Manticore. I see you know the story too.”

“Yes. Who are you talking to, Recluse?”

“You can’t see her?”

“Justin wasn’t touched by the Well’s power, Stefan. He can’t see her. I only know she’s here because I see it in your mind. Alexis, I’m sorry.”

“Alexis?” For a second, Manticore’s calm is shaken.

“She’s here, Justin.”

“Hello, Shalice. I’m sorry that I can’t stay any longer. Please give Patrick, Megan, and Daddy my love.” The spirit of Alexis Cole smiles. “Even a Cole can’t deny the universe forever.”

“Alexis.” Stefan Richter does not know what he wishes to say at first. Alexis was Monica’s child—his beloved Monica’s child—and yet he had never known her as anything other than an enemy. “Alexis…”

“Yes, Uncle?”

“You were my enemy in life, but you were also blood of my blood. I … regret your passing.”

“Change, Uncle. You don’t have to be Lord Recluse forever. Join with father. It’s not too late for you…”

“I cannot, Alexis. Your father is the only man in the world that I respect. The only man I could ever call friend. But I cannot deny my nature. Neither Marcus or I will ever know peace while both live. There is but one way our war can end …

“But not today. Today I will leave Marcus in peace. That is my gift to you, daughter of my sister. This day there will be no war between us.

“Tomorrow … tomorrow will bring what it may.”

“Very well, Uncle. I will give my mother your regards when I see her …”

“Goodbye, Alexis.”

“We’ll never have a better chance to finish him off, Shalice. He’s weak. He’s hurt. We can stop Recluse once and for all.”

“No, Justin. Not today. Go, Stefan. Leave. There’s been enough death and violence today. Go—before I change my mind.”

Stefan Richter smiles softly as he dons his helmet once more. “See to him, Shalice. Make sure that Marcus recovers from this day.”

“I will.”

He turns and walks away.

“This is stupid, Shalice. We’ll regret it later.”

“Perhaps, Justin. But Marcus has lost enough today. He doesn’t need to lose his best friend too.”

“His best friend? After all that’s happened between them, you still think they’re friends?”

“No,” Marcus Cole mutters as he struggles to open his eyes. “Stefan is not my friend. He’s my brother …”

“Alexis, it’s time.”

“Coming, Mother. They’ll be all right, won’t they? Daddy and the others?”

“They’re heroes, Alexis. They’re heroes.”

“That’s not an answer, Mother.”

“It’s all the one I can give you, baby. Now come on. You have work to do.”

“Work? Now?”

“You didn’t think death was the end, did you? Now your story REALLY begins …” The spirit of Monica Cole Richter smiles softly at her daughter and then turns her face once more to the mortal world that is fast fading around them. “Goodbye, Marcus. Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you soon …”

“The strong thrive. The weak perish. That is as it should be.”

For most of his life, Stefan Richter has believed in those words. He has fought and killed for them. Done terrible things that sometimes haunt even his nightmares.

Now for the first time in his life, he knows what it is to be the weak.

He had known the situation was dire even before Manticore had contacted him. He had felt the echoes of Statesman’s grief and rage through their connection to the Well. And when he came to Brickstown—when Manticore bypassed the security protocols to allow him to use the Freedom Phalanx Supergroup Teleporters—he had been stunned by the devastation that Marcus had wrought.

And when he had seen the fallen bodies of Luminary, Citadel, and Infernal he had even begun to wonder if he should have come alone after all …

Marcus had fallen to his first blow—he nearly always managed to get the drop on Marcus in their countless battles. Marcus had a tendency to be easily distracted by minor details—the lives of civilians, say—so it was not a particular challenge to do so.

But now it was beginning to look as though his first blow would be his last.

Marcus blocks his second blow. His third simply bounces off Marcus’s chest. “Perhaps you should lose your offspring more frequently, Marcus. It seems to have improved your fighting prowess.”

Marcus punches him in the stomach—hard.

Hard enough that his armor cracks and shatters like glass.

“This is your fault, Stefan.”

“I did not kill your daughter, Marcus. You did that by depending on your so-called friends. Sister Psyche who deluded you into thinking that Malaise could be rehabilitated. Manticore who failed to protect your daughter when she went unarmed into the middle of her enemies.”

Marcus roars in anger and punches him out of the Zig and into an abandoned parking lot.

“Marcus, Marcus. Your temper will yet be the death of you.” Stefan Richter groans softly as he climbs back to his feet. He knows there is a risk in baiting Marcus, but he can’t help himself. They’ve known each other too long.

A bolt of lightning strikes him, pinning him down to the ground.

“You’re to blame, Stefan. How many years have we wasted in this pointless war of ours? You’ve spent decades telling me that your way would bring a better world. And what has your way gotten you, Stefan? You rule an ash heap. Those who aren’t terrified of you strive to supplant you, tearing each other down in the process. You created a cesspit, a sewer—and it was that hellhole that sheltered the man who killed my daughter! You’re to blame, Stefan!”

And another bolt of lightning slammed into Stefan Richter.

“My fault, Marcus? My fault?” Blasts of power roar through his spider limbs, knocking Marcus Cole out of the sky like a kite with a broken tail. “At least I have TRIED! You have spent decades in a failed attempt to maintain the status quo. The tired old men who sent us to fight and die in the Great War are long dead, but those who took their place are no better! You’ve always lacked the courage to do what needed to be done, Marcus! You’ve always been afraid to seize the power that was your right, you responsibility! How many generations of young men and women have followed in your footsteps, Marcus? Scientists who could have taken us to the stars—magicians who could have unlocked the secrets of the universe—men and women with the power to shake the Earth itself have done nothing more with their talents than put on brightly colored costumes and stop purse snatchers!

“You are supposed to be the world’s greatest hero—and you have not even been able to save your city from the simplistic Trolls! From the marauding Rikti! From that doddering old man Nemesis! You are a failure, Statesman! You are a FRAUD!”

“Enough!”

There’s a moment of blinding pain so intense that at first Stefan doesn’t realize what caused it. By the time he does understand, it’s too late. Marcus has struck again. And again. For a total of eight times, in fact.

In a heartbeat, Marcus has ripped his spider’s limbs out of his back like a boy pulling the wings off a fly.

“Enough, Stefan! You were right when you said we could have been gods. We could have given the world a Golden Age. If we had worked together, we could have prevented all the wars that followed. We could have united the world. We could have made a paradise! But you always were there to stop me—no matter what I tried to do, no matter how I tried to inspire people to do the right thing—you were there to kill those who tried to help me, to steal the inventions of those who sought to better the world and turn them into instruments of war. You bring death and destruction to everything you touch, Stefan.

“And I let you. I let you because you were the brother of the woman I loved. I let you because we fought in the trenches together in the Great War. I let you because you were my friend.

“No more, Stefan. Your little ash heap of a kingdom falls today. Your dreams die. You die. You die, and then I’ll make the world into a place where what happened to Alexis can never happen again!”

The pain makes it hard to talk, and Stefan Richter is weaker than he’s ever been in his life. He’s more afraid than he’s ever been in his life.

Not of death. Not even of Marcus.

No, he’s afraid of what is happening to Marcus Cole.

“This isn’t you, Marcus.”

Marcus wrenches his helmet off, exposing his weakened eyes to daylight for the first time in decades. “If I’m going to kill you, I’m going to look in your eyes when I do it, Stefan.”

The storm has blocked most of the rays of the sun, but there is still agony in what light remains for Stefan Richter. It’s hard to see anything—and the brightness of Marcus Cole’s power threatens to blind him for good.

“This isn’t who you are, Marcus.”

“Isn’t it?”

The voice is calmer than it had been before. There is an inflection to it that Stefan knows well. It is an almost asexual tone—but somehow a childish one as well. The voice of an annoyed child, a belligerent youth.

It is the voice of the Well of Furies.

“It did not have to be this way, Stefan. You could have embraced me fully, taken the power that I have to offer. You could have been the one to know my full blessing.”

“I am Lord Recluse. I bow to no one, to nothing!”

“And see how well that is working out for you.” Marcus is smiling, but it is not the smile that Stefan saw on Marcus’s face when they shared a bottle of wine after a grueling battle in France. It is not the smug smile he too often saw on those rare occasions when Marcus would gain the upper hand in their eternal struggle.

No, there is nothing of Marcus Cole in that smile at all.

“I had thought the Praetorian Marcus would be the best instrument of my power, but this Marcus—this one has so much more potential than all the others combined. His grief is so raw, his will so powerful. He and I will do great things together, Stefan.

“But even now, a part of him resists me. I cannot have that. Statesman must belong to me alone, Stefan. And he will—once I have removed the ties that bind him to this world—once he no longer has anything to fight for—or against—then he will be mine.

“I am truly sorry about this, Stefan. You have provided me with a great deal of entertainment over the years. But now—now I’m afraid that if Statesman is to become my vessel you will have to die.

“Stefan Richter must always die at the hands of Marcus Cole. It’s tradition. Goodbye, Stefan.

“Goodbye.”

The only thing with killing Statesman off for me is that it should happen at the same time there's a resolution to the Praetoria Storyline. Emperor Cole, the counterpart to Earth's Greatest Dead Hero, doesn't have quite the same symmetry for me.

The Warden had been reluctant to leave. He was positive that the gates would hold. He was certain that Statesman would come to his senses.

Sister Psyche had not given him that option. She had simply ordered him to take the guards and to barricade themselves in the safe room. No matter what, at least they would be safe.

Shalice Tillman-Sinclair is one of the world’s most powerful telepaths. She does not need cameras to see what is happening beyond the door. She does not have to hear the battle to know how it is going.

She wants to believe that Infernal will manage to hold Marcus. That his demonic hordes and magical brute force will be sufficient to give Statesman pause. No matter how much power the Well is giving him, no matter how much he grieves, he can’t maintain this wrath forever. Sooner or later, he will calm down and then she can reason with him, calm him …

She wants to believe this, but she knows that’s nothing more than a faint hope.

This is the day she dreaded above all others. She knew that Marcus Cole found immortality to be a burden. She knew that he feared losing those he loved. Of all those who cared for Statesman now, she alone knew the depths of passion that he held in check.

Even after knowing him for decades, Positron and Synapse still had a child-like faith in Statesman’s inherent goodness. That was why Justin had not summoned them to the battle; he feared their trust in Statesman would lead them to making fatal mistakes.

Shalice knew that Justin did respect Marcus, but that he thought that Marcus had been the world’s greatest hero for too long. That the man behind the mask no longer had the stomach to do what needed to be done.

Shalice had done nothing to disillusion him of this because to do so would be to bring to light once more how close a bond she shares with Marcus.

The massive reinforced gate to the Zig shudders.

Shalice bites her lip. Justin, whatever you’re planning you had better do it quickly.

I’ll be there shortly. Pull back!

I’m sorry, darling. I can’t do that.

Shalice!

Deliberately, she breaks contact, muting the connection between them as much as possible.

If she dies, she does not want her death to echo through Justin’s mind for the rest of his life. Better silence than living with the terrible reverberation of the death of a loved one. Shalice had done that more than once herself; she won’t let Justin know that pain. She won’t.

The gate cracks.

And Infernal’s ax cleaves it in half.

K’Varr?

But there is no answer.

When the dust clears, Marcus Cole stands before her, Infernal’s ax dangling loosely in one hand. His cape and the top half of his uniform has been torn off him. His torso is scratched and bleeding. He’s sporting a left black eye, and blood is dripping from his lip.

But he is still standing, and Infernal is not.

Behind Marcus, Shalice can see the limp form of Infernal. His armor is damaged. One wing is bent at an angle that it should not. But he is moving; weakly, feebly, but he is moving.

He’s alive.

Marcus has not crossed that line yet. He has not killed his friends.

There’s still hope.

But it’s fading fast.

His thoughts echo weakly in her mind. Images flash through her head over and over: pictures torn from the brain of Marcus Cole.

The birth of Alexis Cole. Scattershot images of her childhood. The start of her career as Miss Liberty. Her wedding to Patrick Duncan. The birth of her daughter Jessica …

Shalice chokes back a sob.

“I loved her too, Marcus.”

“She wasn’t your daughter.” His voice echoes with thunder. His eyes constantly flash with lightning.

Marcus Cole has lived for more than 70 years as the Incarnate of Zeus. Zeus, the King of the Gods. The reckless, wanton selfish Lord of the Skies who had always taken what he wanted. Done what he pleased with no compassion, no concern, for any who crossed his path.

Marcus Cole had lived with that power—with that appetite—and he had kept it contained.

For more than 7 decades Marcus had waged a war within himself, protecting the world not just from the external threats he faced, but also from the conscienceless power within him. Even when Monica died, he had not let the fury loose ….

Shalice had almost fallen in love with him for that.

She wonders if they would be standing here today if she had.

“I can’t let you do this, Marcus. I won’t let you kill Malaise.”

“You can’t stop me. No one can stop me.”

“I have to try, Marcus. I owe it to Alexis. I owe it to you.”

She throws mental commands at him, demanding that he sleep, that he freeze, and that he calm down.

Marcus Cole shrugs, and her thoughts break like glass.

She imprisons him in a bubble of pure force. Determined to imprison him—for all time if necessary—to save him from himself.

Marcus Cole looks at her through the force field, and smiles faintly.

He claps his hands.

The bubble shatters like a soap bubble and Shalice hurls back, smashing into the wall with a sickening impact.

She slides to the ground and does not get up.

For an instant—a fraction of a second—Marcus Cole pauses. He walks towards Shalice, kneels down beside her—

--and is knocked off his feet by an explosive arrow.

“Get away from my wife, Cole!”

Manticore.

The archer unleashes arrow after arrow, following each shaft with a curse.

Marcus Cole simply stands there, waiting for Manticore to run out of arrows. “You don’t really think you can stop me, do you, Sinclair?”

“No. I was just buying time for my ace in the hole to get here.”

“Your ace in the hole?”

Suddenly Marcus Cole is struck from behind—a blow so powerful that he drops to his knees in pain and shock.

Marcus Cole slowly gets to his feet and turns around. The air around him crackles with electricity. His hands clench. When he speaks, his voice is deceptively calm.

“Hello, Stefan.”

And Stefan Richter, Lord Recluse of the Rogue Isles, nods. “Hello, Marcus. It’s so good to see you again …”