BlueWrecker

Lets say you were making a hero... who had a wildy vile origin. I mean, freaking EVIL. And he was in an SG of heroes. Tight-nit. You wanted to RP this guy, who now is good, and ingratiate him, and play him...

...whats the longest you've waited level-wise before revealing the Truth?

How do you recommend slotting Fluffy for a controlleresque build?

Virtue is heavily populated, and it seems sometimes that most people RP. If you want a good villain RP friendly SG, look me up on global @BlueWrecker, or @laughingwolf, @zephyrstarr. Sin Enterprises is the SG, and we're definitely... quirky and entertaining. About 60 people or so, nearly all active. Fully functional base, too (not for raids, PVE mainly, but many people also like to PVP too). FYI: it gets a bit above PG-13 for the RP villainy, and we often try to outdo each other for who's more vile.

lulz

Wow, just curious, what was the reasoning behind even releasing a spawn with a power that is in effect 100% unstoppable if it lands?

How about doing something like happens with Domination? i.e., you hit Max Fury, and a big old FURY!!! logo pops up, you regain all your endurance, and for 30 seconds you get to stay at that level? Every time you hit someone a big old FURY!!! pops up over their head?

This could be balanced then by having Fury simply reset to zero afterwards.

Is it feasible/effective to use hide + stealth + hyperstealth for this problem?

I'm making an utterly insane character in CoV right now. I use a split ergonomic keyboard. Aside from typing in < beginchat > I never use the right side in game play.

I want to bind EVERY KEY from 7 to "-", and from y to m all over with:

/bind u "say Hehehehaha!"

...goodness. I came up with like five, but there's only so many ways I can think of having someone cackle and chortle.

BACKGROUND (yes, yes, obiligatory Crey angle): Brilliant and kind-hearted physicist was under employment by Crey to find a way to see into other dimensions--ala Portal, but safer since it's one way. Things go TOO well, and he manages to slip himself out of space/time for an instant--and *sees* all of space and time, before being ripped back to Earth, utterly insane. He's seen all of Creation, for a moment, everything's a complete and utter joke to him now. Give me chortling cackling evilness!

He's a grav/energy dom. Science/physics jokes included in the binds are more than welcome!

I pictured him as the sexy [censored] child of the Joker and Dr. Rodney McKay from Stargate Atlantis.

This is the wonderful thread for all things petsay and macros, overflowing with useful tricks and tips.

/petsay goodness here

From my testing/playing so far, my wife and I heavily run our MMs on Protector (bot/ff, necro/poison). We definitely--in nearly all missions--do not kill through stuff and go through the missions any faster than say two Corruptors (fast) or two Brutes (insanely fast, if things go well).

What we do do fast, is take out single targets if we focus on them. That is the strength of MMs so far, and seems balanced. Weird tanking by virtue of letting them fire willy nilly in a crowd (they pick aggro, rather than us), or just having them focus on a poor victim and tear him a new one. I haven't see a middle ground.

If anything, MMs are guilty of being too much damn fun to play (even moreso than Defenders, which feels insane for me to say, but its true).

Nothing needs to be reduced, or increased, that I can see, from what's on live now. You guys hit a home run on this one.

((Thank you! Writing fight scenes always feels easy, but decribing the relativistic nature of Siphon Speed... that was tricky. I can only imagine the migraine I'll give myself when it comes time to describe Siphon Power or Fulcrum...))

(( Let me know what you guys think, we'd love to hear what you have to say on this, and/or any critiques!

We are going to be doing a LOT more. This character especially for me has just totally made me want to RP for the first time in years, rather than just play this like it was a regular video game... and has also turned the writing bug back on... ))

The Quick and the Red, part 3 (conclusion)

+++

The building was extremely large on the inside--a typical large, open, rolling industrial space, with its floor and walls defined by the equipment inside of it. Strip the place empty of it's occcupants, and it would be no more than a massive open warehouse with support beams. The lights near to the door they came in were off, and the only lights really on were towards the center of the building, where they could barely hear jovial voices speaking. There was a bit of ambient light in the area where Simon and Red stood, from a small glowing white emergency light and the bright red EXIT sign above the door. He got his first good, reasonably well lit look at her. A month earlier, she'd been wearing a basic homemade mask, tying back around her thick red hair, a heavy black sweatshirt, boots, black gloves, and jeans.

Now... she was wearing a light flak jacket of some sort, and had a much neater looking, properly trimmed and cut mask that concealed the angles and lines of her face much better. He wished he'd been able to get a better look at her with the old mask... but no. She had on leather pants as well, and thick, heavy looking black leather boots and gloves. It almost appeared that there were slight bulges in both the boots and the gloves. She also had on a belt, on which hung pouches, and his eyes tried to examine how they lay upon her waist--

"Quick." He blinked and looked back up at her face. "What are you doing?" She whispered.

"Nothing, nothing. I wasn't checking... I was admiring your outfit."

"Of course you were." She suddenly looked down, as if she was examining herself. "Admiring what? Pants and light armor?"

"And your--nevermind." He sincerely hoped he wasn't blushing, and felt like an idiot. He teamed with other heroes--women in far more revealing outfits, and that had features that were practically fit to burst from their spandex. Why was he feeling like a complete idiot?

"Your new one isn't bad either. Better than that ugly black with yellow racing stripes outfit you had before."

"They weren't racing stipes," he said. "They were bolts of lightning."

She gave him a quick once over, her face, and voice during all of this still nearly unreadable, as if she were trying her hardest to not reveal anything about herself--inflections, attitude, nothing. She reminded him of a doctor, almost, or an old style TV cop--just the facts, ma'am. "Are you trying to look like some old sci-fi Flash Gordon thing?" He was wearing a plain black t-shirt, with a massive light blue and white Q on his chest, oversized brown leather gloves, a wide leather belt, black pants with a matching thin blue pilots stripe down the side, and shiny black leather boots where the strip continued down their side.

"Yeah, actually. I love those old classics. Not the Flash movie with Queen; that was good, but the old serials were the best."

"You look like you're wearing film props," she said.

He opened his mouth to reply, growing annoyed again--when she suddenly lunged forward, grabbing him by the side of the head and dragged him down to the floor under her, straddling him. Her finger silently went to her lips, for him to be quiet. He could hear footsteps walking by, just on the opposite side of some large metal machine--a lathe? He wasn't sure. The basement of the building he had bought in Talos was filled with equipment like this from the previous owners, for metal working, but damned if he could ever tell what was what.

The footsteps trailed off, and he leaned forward, her face inches from his, her breath smelling of mint. "Alright, no more screwing around. Let's go. We move around the edge of the building. My lead, you follow on artillery support if we HAPPEN to need it. I take them down quiet." She slid off him silently, rising to a crouch, peering along the side of the machine. "Can you do that mind stuff without making noise?"

"Hence it being mind stuff, not my firing rockets at them?"

She grinned back at him, for just an instant, and sprang forward out of sight like a cat. He ran forward, keeping low, and saw from behind as she raced at the walking man from behind. He was wearing a dark suit, and idly held a pump shotgun at his side, smoking a cigarette, oblivious to her--he boggled at what he was seeing, though it took only a few seconds. How was she running so quietly with those massive boots? He wondered. In an instant, she was on him. Red Luna stood at least four or five inches shorter than the man--she was perhaps five foot seven, five foot eight. Her left hand snaked around his throat out of his view, and Simon heard a vague popping sound. The man made some sort of wheezing noise, barely audible, and her right fist suddenly pumped into his lower right torso, between his rib cage and hip, once, twice, three times rapid fire, and the man's hands seemed to convulse and go limp.

He dropped the shotgun, and in one fluid motion she caught it, swinging it back up overhead in a wide arc to slam it's butt into the back of the man's head. The suited man collapsed in a heap, silently, and she caught him, looking back at Simon. "Drag him under some equipment. Out of view." She handed him off to Simon, who neatly placed the man beneath a desk, covering him with the rolling chair. He slid the shotgun into a nearby cabinet, quietly closing the door. When he turned, Red was already gone, and he heard very close by a sound like someone slapping a piece of meat.

Simon raced around the corner, as fast as possible, and saw another man, his hand on his throat, looking furious, squeeking quietly at her as she recoiled from his wild haymaker that was aimed at her head. Using his momentum, she lunged to the side, sweeping his feet out under him. This man, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, fell violently backwards, cracking his head on the plain cement floor with a wet smack. In an instant, Red was on him, her arms wrapped around the man's neck in a vicelike chokehold. He passed out in moments, and she quickly bound his hands with plastic industrial ties that she grabbed off a nearby workstation. "Get his feet." She glanced around, and saw a roll of wide electrical tape, and bound the man's mouth and eyes.

"His eyes?"

"He can't talk, he can't call for help. He can't move, he can't free himself. He can't see... he becomes afraid. Afraid that someone is there. Afraid of where he is. Afraid someone like me will hurt him more."

Simon stopped binding his feet, to look at her. "Isn't that a bit cruel?"

Her eyes narrowed in a flash of anger. "And if they kill innocent people tomorrow, isn't that a bit cruel?"

He nodded, not entirely agreeing, and they dragged the man under a table, concealing him with some empty boxes. "Straighten up these boxes," she barked, and dashed off again, leaving him behind. He glared after her, now getting very annoyed. What was he, some damned sidekick or apprentice? He left the boxes and raced after her, in time to see her trip a man who was talking on his cell phone, wrapping her arms around his neck in another choke hold, dropping him silently to the floor beneath her. His annoyance faded, though, as he watched from a distance how... easily she was dropping them, as if she was barely trying. The man twitched, silently trying to reach for her face, but she just shifted her head to avoid him.

The man began to go limp.. when Simon saw another man in a security guard outfit, armed with a small, lightweight automatic machine pistol, round the corner behind her quietly. The guard stopped, staring at her in amazement, and immediately brought his gun to bear on her. She didn't see him.

In an instant, he moved forward, willing himself to move as fast as possible. His hand came up, and Red saw Simon racing in, a look of confusion on her face. He felt a massive rush of power leap from his mind, guided in his mind's eye by his outstretched hand, and the security guard suddenly recoiled as if a great, massive, and unseen weight had slammed into his chest. He flew backwards, slamming into and partially through the plaster wall behind him. As he impacted it, his finger tightened on the trigger, sending a quick staccato burst of gunfire spraying wildly off to the side, ricocheting off of metal. The man, quite out cold, came to rest nearly a foot and a half through the plaster and sheet rock wall.

Red looked back in amazement. "Thank yo--" She was cut off, though, by angry shouting behind them, and Red grabbed him by the arm throwing him yet again to the floor, covering his body as gunfire tore by overhead suddenly, all around them.

There was no shouting after that, no angry confusion. She looked around quickly. "Professionals. No chatter beyond their initial surprise. Hand signals? We have to move. NOW." Red dragged him forward, under more cover, weighing her options. "I need to get behind them."

Simon, his adrenaline now racing, had heard quite enough, and he angrily grabbed by the arm. She looked up at him, then down at his hand, fierely annoyed. "WE have to move," he corrected. "I'm not some helpless kid, here. I have, you know, SUPER POWERS. I do this for a living. Stop talking the hell down at me!"

"Fine, Mr. Hero. What's your plan?"

"We circle around them before they can get us. That way. GO." He shoved her forward, and they raced along the edge of an aisle, popping out in front of two armed men--mercenaries?--Simon thought quickly. In that instant, she sprang forward, kicking the first man with so much force in the stomach that he spit up a thin spray of spit and bile, and made a brief retching sound as he fell backwards. She was on him, never breaking stride, her gloved fingers violently taking him by the hair as she leapt forward with him. Their momentum joined, she dragged his head down with all her force, slamming it by its side off of the floor. The man twitched, an instant, and she punched him in the face face as hard as she could.

Just as quickly, Simon lunged forward, but with his mind. He didn't fully understand, of course, how or where his gifts came from yet, what hidden resorvoir in his mind he was calling upon. Some of the people he'd zapped, before, had sworn that it was a like a wave of great noise--a violent, loud, horrible cacophony of sound that they could only hear in their minds, completely overwhelming their senses with great pain. He did that now, lashing out angrily at the second man, his psychic blast tearing into him, dominating his will. In an instant, as Red slammed the other down into the floor with an angry crack, the second man actually passed out where he stood, teetering on his feet for a second, before falling over.

She looked at the fallen man, then back at Simon, and nodded in approval, when more gunfire exploded off the floor between them, sending concrete chips flying in every direction. Simon jumped to his side, and covered his head as more fire tore overhead. It cut off suddenly, and it sounded like he was surrounded by running feet. Down the aisle he was huddled in, another armed man was charging down the way towards him, but hadn't yet spotted him.

There was a desk with tall stool by it in the man's path, and his hand guiding again, Simon lashed out with a wave of force, sending the chair flying away from him--and right at the armed man's feet. He tripped on it, his right leg going between the legs of the stool, his own weight pressing the heavy metal in the wrong, opposite direction that his leg should move. It broke with a sickening crack, and the man howled in pain. Simon raced forward, kicking his handgun under the table and out of reach, and ran forward, not entirly sure of where to go.

He looked around for Red Luna, but there was no sign of her, at all, and he prowled forward keeping low, when he suddenly heard an explosion of gunfire across the room, followed by a man screaming "[censored]! Bi--" followed a sound of a window exploding and shattering, followed by silence. All the sounds of footsteps were heading--or seemed to, the echoes made it impossible to be completely sure--and he followed them.

In an instant, he could see her, through the gaps in the machines and aisles. Three men were surrounding her... and how? How had she done that? Somehow, she'd forced them into fighting her hand to hand, and she was practically dancing in and out of his view, seeming to nearly be moving as quickly as he could. He could get to her in an instant--he knew that, one quick mental exertion and he could leap right into their midst, but not before how many bullets tore into him in midair? He ran forward, trying to get to her, watching as he went. These men, they were good, and these ones were not caught off guard as the others had been.

They came in at her--jujitsu? Hapkido? Tae kwon doe? Simon really had no idea, as he'd never made it past white belt kung fu when he was thirteen years old. Red seemed to be dancing outright with them, every movement that they put forward, every skilled and violent thrust matched by a soft melting of her presence, every misstep of theirs matched by a vilolent response from her--ow! He grimaced and unconsciously stopped a moment in shock at what just happened. One of them tried to grab her from behind, and her right forearm suddenly flew backwards, eyes in the back of her head. The back of her forearm caught the man's face, and his nose had exploded in a spray of blood, his nose horribly broken. Was she wearing metal gloves, or plates in them...?

He ran forward, now steps away, and two more men came around the corner on the other side of the fight. The man with the broken face was on his hands and knees, coughing violently, and for moment he saw Red's eyes dart from him to the table besides him--was she going to vault it with him as stepping stool. No--she saw the other two men, and going airborne would get her shot. She closed the distance suddenty to the two men, punching one violently in the side of the knee as she dropped to her side to avoid a devastating punch to her own face, from the other man. The two new gunman had no clean shot, not without hitting their own men, and rushed in, grabbing heavy metal objects, a hammer for one, a screwdriver for another, from tables as they rushed forward.

Just as fast, Simon rushed forward. Did she see them? He had to get their attention. "Hey boys! Quick is in the house!" The man with the broken face was starting to stand up, his back bent, and turned away from Simon. He willed himself to accelerate faster, and in an instant he himself leapt off the back of the broken faced man, sending him slamming back down into the ground face first. This was a stupid gamble--they might just shoot him! But the thought of them hammering and stabbing her, with her back to them... he found himself infuriated. In midair, Simon reached out with his mind again... and let loose with everything he had. His powers had always been an odd mix. Casting forward burst of violent kinetic force. Overwhelming people with sudden burst of psychic force. Making himself light as a feather.

And... the newer abilities he'd begun to manifest the past few months, but that he used infrequently due to lack of experience. His mind lanced out, at the two new men, he... willed them to slow down. He knew what would come next, and embraced it, smiling; for him this was the best part of all. Time seemed to slow down. His descent slowed. The rapid fire back and forth between Red and the two fighters slowed: their movements seemed to be running now like a movie where in every instant each frame of action took an extra half a second, then a second, to execute. Then, just as fast, it hit him: it felt like a great circuit of sorts had opened up directly between his own body and the bodies of the two new men. Where Red and the fighters seemed to be slowing down, these two suddenly seemed to freeze in time, just as time--to Quick's perspective--suddenly lurched forward to full speed.

He had no idea how it worked, but he somehow had just siphoned all the kinetic force and speed right off of the two new men. He landed on the other side suddenly of Red and the two fighters, so fast that they hadn't even begun to turn around yet towards him; only Red's eyes were beginning to follow him. He ran forward--to them, he knew, it looked like he had suddenly accelerated into nothing more than a quick blur. It almost felt lazy, as he slapped the screw driver and hammer from their hands, and threw their automatic rifles aside ouf of reach. One of the men was raising his hands, seemingly in slow motion, with a look of "What the hell?" slowly forming on his face. The other, his expression was nearly blank as his mouth begin to open into a wide O.

Simon had--twenty seconds? Forty seconds? Of time in his own (to him normal) accelerated perspective before the effect would wear off. He glanced back, and saw Red and the men still fighting, slowly. He hadn't drawn off any speed from them, and to his eyes they were moving positively fast compared to these two. His mind arched out again, and he slammed both of these men with as much kinetic force as he could muster. They slammed into the machinery behind them, collapsing atop each other, both knocked out. Simon turned, to help Red, and barely noticed that the action of their fighting seemed to be speeding up--the effect was wearing off too soon! He only had a few seconds of time relative to him and he reached out again, for one of the men that Red was fighting. Simon realized it was Aman, one of the principles in all of this; one of the actual terrorists.

Again, time slowed to a crawl, and just as before, some sort of kinetic circuit between the men snapped into place. Time slowed, and then accelerated, but this time Simon had only managed to peel the speed off of one of them. Something suddenly occured to Simon--a crazy idea, and one likely to earn him a kick in the stomach again...

He focused directly on Red Luna, reaching out for her in both his hand and with his mind... and tried to open a similar kinetic link directly to her. But--instead of draining--he tried to give. He figured that if it didn't work he'd have enough time to take out at least one man, when his legs suddenly buckled under him, and he fell to his knees as all of time seemed to suddenly race forward and catch up with him to normal speed. He looked up, and saw that the man he'd drained was moving as slowly as he should be, but.. Red was moving suddenly like a whirlwind, and was at his side in an instant, catching him as he fell, seeming to sidestep the two men like they were statues.

"Areyouokdidyougethit--" she suddenly dropped him to the floor, looking at her hands in horror. "Quickwhatdidyou--" she scowled, angrily. "What... did.. you..." Quick started to point behind her, but as soon as he brought his hand up to warn her that the unslowed man was right behind her, she feel into a sweeping kick so fast that the man didn't even have time to make any sort of facial reaction before he was falling backwards. Still in midair, Red was on him, punching him six times across the face as fast as a piston, three times with each fist. The man collapsed, badly battered. Aman was trying to backpedal away from them, slowly, slowly shaking his head. In the blink of an eye, she'd kicked him in the chest, propelling him up and over a table, sending him flying a good ten feet. She hadn't kicked him any harder than normal, but at such an accelerated speed...

Just as fast, she was back at his side, on her knees besides him. "Are... you... damn it." She quickly swallowed. "Are you alright? What did you do to me?"

"I found out I can sort of... siphon off people's speed. Their kinetic energy, this one professor I know called it. That's how I moved so fast. And... I sort of tried to give it to you, as well, after I took it from him."

She looked in the direction of where she had kicked Aman across the room, then back at Simon. She wriggled her fingers in front of her face, moving them in a blur. "How long does it last?"

"Not long, at all. Actually... right about now." He smiled at her.

"What happens now?"

"You slow down."

"I don't feel any slower."

"Give it a second." She helped him to his feet. "Any slower?"

"Not really, no." She wriggled her fingers in a blur at him to demonstrate.

"Damn. I get twenty, thirty seconds tops. Maybe it lasts longer because I gave it to you. But when I give it to myself, it's way, way faster."

"Do you see me complaining? I sent him flying." Just then, they heard police sirens outside, and heard an engine rev up somewhere across the building. In the distance they could hear what sounded like an automatic warehouse door, for loading trucks, opening up. "NoIdon'tthinkso," she said loudly, and dashed off in the direction faster than Simon could react. Cursing, he let loose with his powers again and leapt after her.

Airborne, hoping beyond hope they'd gotten all the gunman so as to not get shot, he watched a large older car, a big Chevrolet eight cylinder, tear out through the half opened massive door, with Red charging after it furiously, leaving them behind. Running after his leap, he ran after, willing his speed to increase. Both the car and Red tore off to the side.

He ran out into the street after them, in time to see the car furiously do a u-turn, as a row of police cars roared down Delridge Avenue towards them. On the side of the street, two local news vans with satellite dishes were already set up and broadcasting, live. "YOU DAMN POLICE SCANNER VULTURES!" he screamed at them. "GET OUT OF THE ROAD!" Red Luna, he suddenly realized... was slowing down. She was in the very middle of a wide, six lane major road, a car with two terrorists and a dirty cop bearing down on her.

Victor, the man with the gold necklaces, leaned out the window, shouting in another language, with what looked like an Uzi in his hands. She stood still, holding her place, as he raced to catch up with her, but Simon was too far away... Victor opened fire, sparks exploding across her feet, the Chevy now just mere feet from her--she jumped aside, at the last possible moment, as Taylor, the muscular man driving, tried to swerve into her. Victor trained the gun on her as she fell, and even from this distance Simon could see what looked like her body recoiling as she fell. He'd shot her!

He accelerated, as fast as he possibly could, right at the oncoming car. What happened next seemed to happen all at once. He saw--did Red just sit bolt upright? Her hand seemed to almost flick, and he thought he saw a flash of silver, when the Chevy suddenly swerved to the side--right towards the parked newsvans. Victor nearly fell out of the car window, his Uzi firing wildy, police cars with their lights and sirens now just a hundred yards away. One of the cameramen stood his ground, but Simon saw one of the reporters--Carol, was her name, suddenly fall to the ground, her thigh exploding in a spray of blood from the Uzi fire, right in the path of the oncoming car.

Simon raced to her, to try to pull her clear, but the Chevy was now less then fifty feet from him. He had one chance, and his mind exploded out at the car, his arms trying to drag Carol to her feet. Time... instantly fell to a standstill, Carol's shrieking sobs slowing to nonexistance, and the sound all around him seeming to vanish for just a split second--had he just moved faster than sound? The Chevy bore down on them, relentlessly, and he could feel veins bulging across his forehead from the strain. His hands dropped Carol unconsciously; she fell in slow motion away from him. He reached out to the car, willing it to stop, forcing it, trying to sipon off every drop of speed from it... and it slowed. It seemed to be feet from him, then inches... then...

He grabbed Carol in mid-fall, dragging her out of the way. The Chevy seemed to be rolling in slow motion, as if it was cruising in neutral, out of gear. Victor stared at Simon in complete disbelief. Taylor, he saw, appeared to be flooring the accelerator; the huge engine in the old car roared in anger. Also, Simon, saw, that Taylor's beefy hand appeared to be pinned to the steering wheel with a small throwing knife. He looked down the street but there was no sign of Red Luna.

The Chevrolet, it's engine roaring, coasted gently into the side of a parked car, setting off its alarm.

Simon handed off a shrieking Carol to one of her cameramen, racing around the side of the car to grab Victor and disarm him. He looked into the backseat--and swore out loud, kicking the side of the car. The dirty cop was gone. Behind him, Paragon City was watching live on television, yet again today.

+++

Simon raced around the alleys, through the building, but could find no sign of the cop at all. He led the police through the building, showing them were the still unconcious and injured men were, who were all in turn arrested. Partway through this, some rather greatful FBI and Homeland Security agents showed up, with a million questions. Finally, nearly two hours later, Quick walked out, to be swarmed by the media. He explained as much as Homeland Security had said to explain, but he was still furious at himself. Red was missing, the cop was missing, and he couldn't even tell the men who the cop was--Red never had a chance to tell him.

He was finally waving off the press, to leave, the exhaustion that had swept over him earlier in the day finally and completely overtaking him, when one reported ask him a final question. "Quick! One more! Channel Three's live feed showed someone running after the car with the terrorists, and getting shot at, but we never got a clear look at them since they were so fast. Was this solo? Who was your partner?"

Simon paused, looking at the reporters. What should he say? "That... that was Red Luna."

"Who?" Half the crowd asked. This suprised him, until he realized he actually hadn't heard a single thing about her in the press since... well, ever.

"Red Luna. Sh--" Should he say she? "Sure enough, it was Red Luna and me."

"Who is he? Who's Red Luna?"

"I don't know. Nobody knows. Red is... Red fights the people that most of us miss. Red Luna shows them to be afraid." Half the reporters seemed a bit shocked. This didn't sound like the typical sort of Paragon local they were used to dealing with.

"Is Red supernatural? Like from Hell? Should parents be concerned?" Quick gave the man, the Fox News reporter, a serious nod. What a stupid question.

"Criminals should be afraid. That is all."

The reporters weren't about to let him go after that, and he turned (trying to stifle a grin, to keep looking serious) when half the crowd gasped at the sound of a loud snap overhead. He turned with the FBI agents at his side to look up... at the sight of the missing dirty cop, unconscious, fairly well beaten, tied up like a head of cattle in ropes, being lowered over the side of the building by some unseen person over the top edge of the building. Now, Simon couldn't even try to stifle the grin if he wanted to.

There was a fat manilla folder and three rolls of film taped to the man's chest, along with a note taped to his head. The cop was about four feet from the ground when the rope went slack suddenly, dropping him uncerimoniously. One of the FBI agents pulled it off his forehead in his gloved hand. It read, in very basic block text:

"HELLO FBI, PLEASE CHARGE ME WITH TREASON."

Simon chuckled, and ducked clear of the crowd, hitting his leaping abilities, taking to the sky as quickly as possible. There was no sign of her on the rooftop, at all. He stood there, looking around, when his cell phone rang. He hadn't turned it off before going into the mission? God, she made him look like a stupid amateur. "Hello?"

"Turn around. Fifth rooftop." The line went dead, and he turned to where she had called from. Five rooftops away, he could see a sillouette of a figure againt the skyline. WIth two steps, he was at her side, as she looked out over the Galaxy City part of town.

They stood in silence for a few minutes. The wind was gently blowing her deep red hair back from her face. "You got shot," Simon said finally.

"Yes," she said.

He turned on her, astonished. "And you're just standing here? Are you OK? He hit you with a whole burst!"

She shrugged. "Told you, I can't dodge bullets." Her finger tapped her jacket, to the sound of metal. "Hurts when it first hits, not so much a minute later. Ruins the jacket lining. Stinks. These things cost thirty dollars to replace."

Simon's face didnt change for a moment from his incredolous look, and then he couldn't help laughing. Red, he was glad to see, allowed herself to smile. "So," he said. "How bad do I suck for your standards? Did I make decent sidekick? Or do we wrap this up with another kick to the stomach?"

Red stopped smiling and turned to him, putting one leg up on the edge of the roof. "Do you want me to kick you in the stomach?"

"Not particularly."

"I wasn't planning on it. As for..." she narrowed her eyes, and looked very annoyed. "You're undisciplined. You talk nonstop, even when we're TRYING to be quiet. You overdo everything. I saw you nice and quietly put that man to sleep. Did you need to knock that other one through a wall?"

"He was going to shoot--"

"--me, yes, and thank you. Good save." She nodded. "Very good. You... you did alright."

"You weren't bad yourself, you know. Nice knife throw, there, at the end." Red smirked, for just a moment. "Tell me then, Miss Red Luna. You hungry? I know a good bar just down the road from here."

"No, I am not. I.. have other engagements tonight."

"Oh, great!" Simon was feeling more exhausted each moment, but damned if he would show it... "I can help!"

Her eyes narrowed again. "No, you can't. You're about to fall over. Go home. Try not to get your clothes zapped off again on the way."

He sighed. "Right... well, I think we should think about doing something again. Together. We did OK."

"We saved possibly hundreds of people from being killed."

"Like I said, OK." He looked out over the city. "So I can ride shotgun again, as your young ward or something?"

She looked at him sternly. "I was thinking partner, as needed, but if you want to call yourself my ward, suit yourself."

He grinned. "How do I get a hold of you? I need your number."

Red Luna grinned back. "I'll call you," she said, and suddenly leapt from the side of the roof--fifteen stories up--and threw back her arms as she fell. He leaned over, watching her go; she fell a few stories and suddenly threw out some kind of hook or weight with a line on it; it wrapped around a flag pole. Just like that, the line was taut, and she swung out of view around the side of a building.

Quick, AKA Simon Wright, stood there a while, watching the city, smiling to himself.

+++
+++

end

(( I totally wanted to set the mood for how... different Simon and Red's worlds are. He deals with insane science things. Aliens. Straight up broad daylight bank robberies by guys wearing Presidential masks. Very shiny Spiderman, Fantastic Four, ooh garsh stuff, that he usually stumbles into. Whereas Red... is written by a particularly bleak Frank Miller half the time, and colored in black and white, or at best sepia tones. Victory is a knocked out rapist, spitting blood, and leaving a terrified victim to try to rebuild another day. For Quick, victory is a press conference, another endorsement, and a kiss from an admiring fan in shining sunlight to applause. He's at best a poor man's Johnny Storm, at worst a super-powered Peter Venkman.

Also, credit to Ascendant on Virtue for creating Saul the Agent. Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Let me know what you guys think...))

(( here's the bit the wife had been trying to get me to do ))


The Quick and the Red, part 3

+++

Simon Wright, also known as Quick, allowed himself to skid to a stop several blocks away from where he had just left Red Luna behind. Flat out running, even with the way he was able to seemingly effortlessly move faster than normal people, faster even than a racing car at times, was severely and completely painful tonight. His hand drifted down to his stomach, and he winced at his own touch.

"Did she have steel bearings in those shoes, or somthing?" he muttered, still hurting from Red's fierce kick, and leaned against the wall a moment to catch his breath. He heard, then, a slight scuffling sound in the alley to his right, and two scraggily looking teenagers leapt out at him, one with a small revolver in hand.

"Gimme ya wall--oh, no," he barked, his voice trailing off when he saw that Simon was in fact not a regular resident, but was in fact wearing his full (to him, a bit garish) black and yellow spandex outfit and mask. "L-look," the young man said, "I ain't meant nothin, kay?" He looked about suddenly, shoving his revolver into the hands of his even more scared looking partner. "We thought youse someone else, kay? Kay?!" He turned and ran, but Simon had really no time or the patience for this, funny as it was to him.

He reached out, with his mind, towards the running man--he wasn't quite sure yet the full extent of his abilties, or how they even worked, but he was sure that it was all mental in some way. Using his hand as a sort of visual guide or scope, he willed the man's legs and arms to go still, and Simon almost instantly felt a sort of rush, or wave roll away from him. In the blink of an eye, the man's arms and legs went rigid and he fell face down on the pavement. The other guy watched this, disbelief in this eyes, and raised the gun towards Quick. "Don't you do no whammy on me, so help--"

"Look," Simon said, now bored and wanted to get home to put ice on his stomach. "Why don't you just throw that thing in a dumpster and go do some good deeds, hmm?" He sped off, quickly, not looking back. He really didn't have time for this, and as he accelerated away, he didn't feel any sort of effects, or sensations, or anything, aside from the normal sensation of his faster than human running. Had he looked back, he would have seen the man look around for the nearest dumpster, into which he deposited his pistol neatly in a bag with some empty cans.

The man then helped an old lady cross the street, and beat up a mugger that tried to rob someone a few blocks away.

+++

A month later, Simon was walking out of the studios for the local NBC affiliate, having just worked on a fundraiser for relief for an overseas earthquake, when his cell phone rang. He stopped at the newstand on the corner, for some chewing gum and a newspaper. "Saul? Hey, it went well," he said, paying the attendant. "Yeah, outstanding. I'm going home. No, what? They want to do it tomorrow, instead? It's my day off, I did two photo shoots today." He was walking down 6th Avenue a bit absently, chatting on the phone, trying to recall what his schedule looked like for the next week.

He had a Nike event in Boston the day after tomorrow, and then the Mayor there was having a dinner for the local heroes, and some companies had promised funds for Quick's charity foundation... but he was supposed to be free tomorrow. Between helping other heroes out here and there on their cases and his charity work, he hadn't had any free time as Simon in... two weeks? Three? He was exhausted, and wanted nothing better tomorrow than to take a run on the beach and then just lounge around on a grassy spot with a book, or to take a nap all day.

"No, that's... that's fine, it's for a good cause. Why did they want to move it up--oh, well, that's understandable. The original photographer lost his wife? That guy, Martin? Yeah, him, oh God, I met his wife, Shelley. Nice lady, thats.. please send some flowers over there from me, OK? What do you mean why? Because that's what you do. Find out when the wake is too, I should go. What do you mean they never do wakes for this, are they some alien religion or something? Name change, what are you talking--Sidney, who the hell is Sidney? Shelley is Sidney? Shelley left him? Shelley is a man? Was? What? That makes no--Saul, you there? Saul?"

Simon had gotten so worked up but the sheer lunacy of his conversation with his agent, that he hand't noticed that people all about him were completely silent, and thought that he had lost his signal on the cell phone. But in downtown? No... his signal bar was full, and the line was open. That's when he realized he couldn't actually hear anything, just dead silence. Up ahead, on the sidewalk, people were starting to run in the opposite direction. He sighed--freaking himself out, slightly, that he couldn't hear it--and glanced up to see what people were running from and pointing up at. The whole scene was utterly silent, as if in a vacuum. Overhead... aw hell, Simon thought, and hit the END button on his phone, hanging up, and slipping it into his pocket. Some overweight man wearing an ill-fitting costume was floating down, above the street. His greasy hair was blowing in the wind, and he was riding...

Simon shook his head, annoyed. It looked like a floating Ford Fairlane, with some sort of rocket propulsion built into the bottom, and massive speakers mounted across the entire surface of it.

The fat man was screaming silently, bellowing about something... and aimed what looked like a huge rifle made of slapped together technology at a nearby building. The air seemed to ripple in front of it, and then massive chunks of the building facade exploded outwards, falling to the street. Cursing silently, Simon willed his body to weigh less, and--as always--the rush of the release from his mind. He was about to leap upwards into the sky, to get to the fat screamer, when he remembered that this new trick of his didn't quite seem to be localized on him, as many of his powers were.

All around him, people taking an extra long step found themselves leaping into the sky in their frenzied rush from the silent madman, leaping about as if there was hardly any gravity holding them down. An old man, Simon saw, who had to be seventy years old was apparently speedwalking partially up the side of a sloping skyscraper surface. Cursing yet again, realizing he'd spend the next hour after this was done retrieving people from rooftops and windowsills, he leapt upwards towards the screaming fat man on the Fairlane, as people behind him leapt about, forty, sixty, eighty feet in the air.

+++

An hour later, Simon sat on a curb in some borrowed boxer shorts, and nothing else, holding an ice pack to his head as television news crews milled about.

One of the local cops was standing next to him, looking sympathetic. "It wasn't your fault, you know," the cop--was it Fred? Frank? said. "I mean, I couldn't of dodged that."

"Gee, thanks," Simon said, looking up and forcing a sarcastic smile. His whole jaw was killing him. "But I got super powers, I should be able to dodge a BUILDING."

"Well, he did throw part of it at you."

"Twice," Simon corrected.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'd of avoided at least one," the cop offered, not helping much. "How much those suits cost anyway? He got you pretty good at the end before you busted him." He nodded towards Simon's borrowed underwear.

"I was wearing a regular track suit, I don't know. Forty dollars? I got it at Sports Authority. Is that other guy coming back with some clothes? This is a bit disgusting."

"Yeah, he's coming now." Another cop, a detective, came up with some police clothes, sweat pants and a sweat shirt, with Paragon Police logos on them, from the precint house down the block. "Guy really zapped ya. Ain't you supposed to be quick? Like your name?"

Simon scowled at the man. "I'm sorry I can't dodge getting shot in the back by soundwaves shot from the gun of a crazy fat guy in a flying car."

"Blew your clothes right off, man. You punched him out naked on the hood of that thing."

The detective handed over the clothes, so that Simon could dress in a nearby police van. "It'll make for a great poster, though, Quick punching out a fat sonic terrorist while naked, on the hood of a flying '65 Ford in downtown Paragon. God, I love being a cop here sometimes."

Simon sighed and climbed into the van, closing the door behind him, when he realized a female officer was inside breaking down some equipment. Her eyes drifted down to his boxers, and his hands instinctively shot down, thinking that the open fly on the boxers... was open? She chuckled, and shook her head. "I got a great view, but not that great. Let me get you some privacy." She went to step past him, and stopped, looking up at him, and suddenly leaned in, giving him a quick kiss. "Thats... look, please don't tell anyone. But thanks."

"Uh, miss, I don't know you... and you know, it'd be tempting to, uh, well..." He swallowed. "I don't really know you, and aren't you on duty? I mean, I'd appreciate it--"

She didn't blush, and just stepped past him. "While you are pretty well cut, and a celebrity, I don't think my boyfriend would like it if I did you in the back of police van. Or the department. Thats... look, please don't tell anyone. Just... thank you. You know, for doing the stuff you do. Usually you guys just fly off, or speed off, or swing off or whatever. Just... thanks." She smiled again, and stepped out of the van, leaving him behind.

"Just another typical day in Paragon," he mumbled, dressing. That was the third time in as many months this had happened to him (an overly friendly thank you, not getting his clothes blasted off him in plain sight of hundreds of people).

+++

By the time he finally got home to Talos Island, Simon was completely exhausted, his head was killing him, and he was still quite disgusted (albeit greatful) that a random tourist up had offered up what he hoped was clean boxer shorts from his suitcase. Of couse, the guy could have offered up some other clothes as well, but no, he simply had to catch his flight. A shower, Simon thought, my life for a shower...

He made a fairly large amount of money, on a very regular basis, but really didn't allow himself much in the way of luxury spending. He'd grown up in Monterey, California, in a family of doctors, and lawyers, and was always surrounded by relative wealth. His only real luxury was the old light industrial building on a short hillside in Talos that he had allowed himself to buy when he saw it was available. And that, he smiled as always, upon seeing it, was for the view from the top floor. It looked down upon a massive beach and Spanky's Boardwalk, and it's huge fishing piers. It was the only place in the whole area, really, that reminded him of the home he grew up in, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. In the summer, at least. The New England winters he still loathed.

Climbing the five flights of stairs to the top floor, which he'd turned into a huge loft to live in (the lower levels were basically empty, and open), he smiled as he saw the setting sun through the windows, it's gold light rolling over the beach. He pulled a light beer from the fridge, and reclined in the very deep windowsill--another thing he loved about the place--and threw open the large, clear window to smell the salty air and soak up the last bit of sunshine before showering. He noticed that the answering machine light was beeping insistently, and made a point of ignoring it. Saul could wait, damn it, or whatever reporter was begging for a comment. They'd all seen more than enough of Quick today, he thought. Finishing his beer, he checked his email and the sports scores--San Francisco lost again, he read, smiling bitterly, and then realized he was still wearing Mr. Midwestern Tourist's underwear. He stripped on the spot, tossing it into the garbage, and climbed into the shower.

He really was quite exhausted, he thought, and didn't even bother to dry off or dress afterwards, plopping down as is right after the shower on his couch to flip on the television. "I am officially air drying, as I am on vacation for the next 24 hours," he said to no one besides his veritable army of house plants, vines, flowers, and leaves spreading throughout the otherwise empty space. The plants really were his only vice aside from the far too large (but mostly empty) living space, out here in Paragon. Nearly every penny he made in his seemlingly endless endorsement deals since he won the gold medal for the 100 yard dash in the Olympics six years earlier, and in his hero career went to charity, aside from a reasonable stipend he paid himself. His plethora of plants and the taxes and utilities on the place were all he really allowed himself. The gold medal, in its neat case, was the only thing hanging on the walls, besides his few clocks.

The International Olympic Committee had of couse summarily stripped off the gold title and various world speed records, when everyone found out he had powers. As he said in the press conference back then, "Well, it's only fair, I technically cheated even if even I didn't know I was cheating. I guess I better go be a superhero now, or something, and really go for the gold!" to much laughter in the press conference. A day later, Nike had resigned and re-extended his contract, along with Wheaties, Budweiser, Microsoft, you name it--"Go for the gold!" was a Wall Street marketing dream, and Quick had more money, fame, and women than he could shake a stick at. That lasted three months, until he realized he hadn't actually, well, saved anyone or done anything more heroic than stand on a roof top in a horrible costume.

He tried--rather pathetically--one night to stop some muggers. They shot him in the leg, and then proceeded in unison to beat him severely. The media of coruse played it up as if some villain had battled him to a stand still on a New York City rooftop, but Simon knew that was a complete lie. He wasn't a hero, he was a mascot. People didn't care about him, they cared about the idea of him.

Simon Wright promptly dumped his girlfriend, a New York model, who he realized in the hospital that he couldn't even stand or really like so much when she showed up to see him that night with three drunken tweener actresses, one of whom was one of those Full House twin brats. When that girl, apparently filled to the lungs with vodka, promptly vomited on the foot of his hospital bed, the model--was her name Ronnie? Sharona? Simon couldn't even recall now--immediately said, "Oh no! Your vintage dress!" Simon clocked her in the head from across the room with his bedpan and screamed at them until they left.

The next morning he cancelled all his pending appointments. A week later, he was living out of a hotel in Paragon City. When he stopped a bank robbery--he accidentally did, actually, by tripping over the gunman and knocking him out in their fall, while trying to punch him out--he announced to reporters that they could now call him Quick, and the rest was history. The endorsements rolled in still, in greater numbers, and Simon, secure in the fact that he did have a few million (several tens of, actually) stashed away for an emergency or retirement, set up a charitable trust to give it all away. He realized something, as the sixteen year old drug dealers beat him with pipes: beating up kids, or terrorists, or fat lunatics on a flying car wasn't going to change the world, it would just reset the status quo back to what it had been shortly before.

But using influence, and money, to try to change people's lives...? To try to fix things by reshaping the world?

He watched television for a few hours, but got bored, and wandered back over to the computer to check his mail again, when the telephone rang. He let it ring, and the answering machine picked up.

"This is Simon, you know the drill," his voice chirped back, as he deleted spam email.

"Si--Quick. This is Red." The deadly serious voice boomed from the tinny speakers, and he did a double take. In the blink of an eye, he flew across the room at faster than human speeds, slamming into the table with the telephone and answering machine, sending the equipment flying. He caught the headset in mid fall. "Hello? Hello? Red?"

"...are things alright there? I heard banging," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, things are fine, how goes it there?"

"I have left you five messages, all day long. I'm glad I caught you. Finally." He mouthed a stream of silent curses to make a sailor blush, banging the headset into the side of his head in anger.

"I, uh, was out. Busy day, you know..."

"I saw. Nice punch on that man on the car."

"You--you saw that?"

"Channel five had an exceptional view... of everything. You were fighting him at the end about twenty feet from the windows in their downtown studio."

"Christ, I'm never going to live this do--"

"--I need your help. Now," she interrupted. "Things are suddenly happening. Been on stake out for hours. Most targets have finally arrived, late. Galaxy City part of town, third building from the corner of Thistle and Delridge. I'll be on the roof still. Maybe. If you hurry." There was a click as she hung up suddenly.

Without a moments hesitation or a second thought, Simon fired off his powers, and was as light as a feather. He bounded out the still open window into the night, landing on the beach far below, to bound off again in the direction of the address Red had given him. When he landed, though, he noticed that a couple relaxing on the beach were gawking at him. He looked down, and saw he was still naked. He jumped up again, back towards his place, to dress before going out.

+++

Thirty minutes later, he was bounding from rooftop to rooftop, and landed on the rooftop she'd mentioned, but there was no sign of her. "Red?" he whisper, peering about, looking behind large air conditioner units and pipes. "Red, you here?", he whispered louder, when a hand suddenly grabbed him from behind by the mouth. He spun as fast as he could, to try to take out the assailant, but his own superfast momentum just threw him into a wildly painful arm lock, which immediately released. Red was standing there, holding his arm, and she released the pressure immediately, but left her leather-gloved hand on his mouth.

"Try to be somewhat louder," she hissed quietly, her mouth right next his ear. "I don't think they heard you jumping around like Peter Pan in the arcade a block down from here. And don't moan or howl in pain. And sorry. I arm locked you because I thought you were going to try to hit me. And if you had tried, you would have made more noise." She moved her hand from his mouth, and he felt... lightheaded for a moment. He couldn't decide if it was from the fact that she had scared the living tar out of him, by sneaking up on him like a damned ninja, from the still throbbing pain in his arm, or from the feel of her warm breath on the side of his face.

He turned to face her, trying to smile. "I was waiting for you to call," he whispered.

"So why didn't you call back?" She wasn't smiled, and looked perfectly stern.

"...I meant I waited FOUR WEEKS for you to call."

"Oh," she said, and looked down at her feet a moment. "I have been busy."

"Well, no worries," Simon said, smiling still. "What have we got? Robbery? Drug runners? Some souped-up crazy person?"

"Not sure, might be terrorists with ties to overseas nations planning an operation here, or domestic terrorists with ties to some local corporation. Haven't figured it out from my intel yet. Still an open case."

Simon quietly clapped his hands together, gleefully. "Excellent! Lets get down there and bust them!"

She blinked, seemingly in surprise. "Bust them?"

"Yeah, go down, you kick a few, I zap a few, give 'em the old mental left hook, we go off in victory."

"Plan," she said.

"Sounds like," he said.

"No, I'm saying, is that your plan? Leap through a skylight, make a diversion, smoke bombs, and start kicking our way through a heavily armed crowd?"

"You have smoke bombs?" He asked.

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard," she said.

Simon stopped rubbing his hands together. "It is?"

"Very much so. Can you dodge bullets?"

"If I try really hard, I guess so--"

"--I can't," she said, annoyed. "And I've seen you fight, you can't dodge a telegraphed kick to the stomach, a stationary car, or," she chuckled, raising an eyebrow, "A fat guy with a ray gun."

"Now you listen one damn second, he caught me when I wasn't--"

"--the plan is that we slip in through a side entrance that I left unlocked when I was scouting the place earlier. I disabled the lock, and the alarm on that entrance, and they won't be watching or guarding it as it's supposed to be secure. We move about the perimeter. It's a big machinists' shop, lots of heavy and large equipment to provide cover. Work our way in, eliminate perimiter security. We go in through that," Red said, gesturing to the skylight, "As you seemed to be implying when you looked at it, and we'll be surrounded by ten men with automatic weapons in a crossfire."

"That would suck."

"Indeed."

She kept looking at him, and he looked back. About sixty seconds passed. "So, now what?" He asked.

"We're still waiting."

"For what?"

"A local police officer. I believe he's in bed with them. Once he's in, we'll move in immediately afterwards. Waiting for them first to exchange money. A bribe." She pointed to a small camera she had mounted with duct tape to a window in the skylight. "First evidence, then we move down while they talk."

"Cool, a stakeout. Never had one of those before. Cookout, yeah. With steak. But never a stakeout. What do we do?"

"What do you mean what do we do?"

"At our stakeout."

She shook her head for a second in disbelief. "I asked you a question."

"So did I!"

She stormed away to the skylight, swearing under her breath. He followed after a moment, confused. "What did I do? I'm not used to this cop stuff. Are you a cop or something during the day?"

Her head snapped to face him, a look of momentary anger flashing across her features, under her mask, and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, but caught herself. "You... you didn't do anything wrong. Come here."

She knealt beside the windows, with him beside her. "Man with the ugly gold necklaces is Victor. Czech, I believe. Arms dealer. Aman is the skinny one. Taylor is the muscular guy. I think the others are just random muscle. Our dirty cop is a detective on the force, one of the cops that acts as a liason with..." she glanced at him, "You people. I think he's going to set up a diversion tomorrow to draw superhuman attention away from the area they're targetting for his payoff."

"You people is you, too."

"I'm not a hero. You idiots can deal with the giant robots and underground squid monsters."

He sighed. "Whatever. We wait?"

"Yes. Should be here any--ah. He's here."

"How do you know?"

She pointed to a small mirror mounted on the edge of the nearby roof. It looked like she'd pulled it right off the side of a tractor trailer truck, one of their side view windows. "I've been watching. Lets me see from back here."

"Let's go." She headed for the back edge of the roof, peering over to make sure the way was clear. Quick let loose his power, which enabled him to leap about by reducing the intertia of himself, to leap down. She went to hop lightly onto the fire escape, and found herself airborne suddenly, sailing upwards towards the sheer face of the opposite taller building. With a soft plopping sound, she slapped into it chest first, and began to slowly slide down the surface. She looked back at him, furiously, and lept off at him, glowering. Her jump carried with far too much force in her anger, and she nearly sailed right past him into mid air, but Simon grabbed her hand at the last moment, pulling her in for a landing. "What the hell was that?"

"I, uh, made to jump down. You know, safely. You got caught in it... sorry..." He grimaced, expecting another kick in the stomach, not having forgotten the first.

She seemed to study him a moment, her face unreadable with the mask on, but the anger clearly fading away. "It's... alright."

They stood there, looking at each other. After a few moments, Simon glanced around. "We still going?"

"You're still holding my hand, hotshot," she said, her voice unreadable as well.

"Oh! Sorry," he said, and jumped down with her.

Red him to the door she had rigged earlier, and they silently slipped into the building.

+++

If you guys can set "random" spawns beyond the "random" spawns, it would be awesome. Maybe, the Dev team decides that on Tuesday this week, on all servers, at 10am, 1pm, 4pm, 7pm, and so on...

Level 15 Devouring Earth monsters spawn in one of the Steel Canyon lakes and start doing laps around town, attacking all dumb heroes in their path. Why are they attacking?

What else have the DE to do but wipe out the plague of humanity? Why do monsters attack out of the blue in Marvel's NYC or in Metropolis in DC? Because the city is there!

Or, there comes the swarms of zombies (Level 32-35 Vazhilok cadavers, labeled "Zombies", herds of 15+ in size) in Brickstown one Saturday night, a couple of times per hour. Why? Industrial accident by the Zigguratt. Poor workers. Poor locals and 2nd shift employees. Oops, don't get bit. Why is it happening? Who cares! It's a comic book.

Level 45 Rikti start porting in all Portal Court one night.. Bobcat and Nightstar step out of one of the Portal Corp doors one night into the court, having fought their way through to our world for some payback. Why? It's a comic book!

"Random" stuff like this, would completely break up the normal flow of things and VERY quickly put players on their toes. Lusca is scaring dock works in IP again? No, what? She's at the PI ferry? And level 48?! Or she's climbing up on the beach in Talos? Oh no!

Malta in Atlas Park? Carnies in the Hollows?! Winter Lords fighting giant Pumpkin Men in Croatia (Monster Fights, c'mon, how cool would that be?)?! Has the world gone mad?

No--but the players will be hyper-giddy and having a blast, as long as 1) it's very regular, but diverse. 2) It's not *too* overpowering--I personallly love Rularuu, but the high level stuff with them back in the day with even cons was nuts.

Bonus points, the Devs can re-use their huge existing stock of characters/villains. Relabel, relevel, and retask. Think of it like a good rapper remixing some classic tracks. With monster fights, of course.

Good, good, all across the board. Things still missing that would make the Shard just about perfect:

Badges. Explorer badges, hunting badges. Take out 100 Wisp bosses; 100 Elemental bosses, and so forth. A Shard Accolade--a tough one. To many, the Shard is the pinnacle of the game--it's the toughest, meanest, nastiest piece of real estate out there, where the Real Heroes go. Make it something fun but attainable (not like the insane grind of the Monkey Hunts on PI). Accolade badge hunting makes people giddy and ambitious, and the 'hunts' for them would get teams working in the Shard for once.

Even better, heck, make the Kill X Mobs for badges there double--200. Its such a great zone, especially with the travel changes, that it would instantly populate the place.

If possible, can the Storm Palace be set to naturally spawn higher in places than 50? That is, if the Resistance and Defense reductions on heroes are rolled back. If not... the deep end of the Shard would be the toughest hunting in the game, most likely.

Good job all round so far, though, just need more actual story arcs/missions there.

Haha, I remember when all my in-game friends at the time that I was bat-$^!& mental for nuking my main toon at 27th... I was (I like to think) a damned good heavily defensive tank that could tank +5s or more... without all my SOs yet in place.

A *martial arts* scrapper he became.

Old storm kick

Remember that flipping ankle move?

Ha ha, last laugh is mine.

Also, I remember the Glory Days of eight man teams of level 12s-14s rampaging through northern Steel Canyon, pausing only to OOH and AHH at the sight...

...of a level 20 Button Man Muscle minion.

What's the max number of people that can join the free-for-all? If you tell me it's 20+, I'd love you forever. Totally chaotic George Perez-style fights would be delightful...

Just curious--with your Transference slotting, what percentage of your end bar can you recover with a successful hit?

And the drain from an even con boss is seriously 100%, one shot, without using Power Boost...?

[ QUOTE ]
2. As a Tanker lands more and more blows, he'll start doing more and more damage. The longer the fight, the more powerful the Tanker becomes. I can't say that the Tanker will do as much damage as a Scrapper - but it'll certainly be more than he does now. This ability really gets to the core of a comic book Tanker. He's extremely powerful - but at the start of a fight, he holds himself back some. As the battle progresses, he lets loose....I prefer this system to a power because this way it's inherent. It's simply the nature of the Archetype. And it also sets the Tanker apart from the Scrapper's criticals.

[/ QUOTE ]

So... sort of like the claw scrapper's Follow-Up power effect, but added to each attack, and stackable? This will make +ACC enhancements, if so, VERY VERY VERY popular with tanks.

By the way, tell that 45th claw scrapper fellow I said hello and thank you again for the save in Steel Canyon.

Thanks for the shoutout!