Checky

When I arrived in Atlas Park, the cab stopped in front of Ms. Liberty and that hulking statue of Atlas. I walked up the stairs, and asked where do I sign up. I spoke with the Hero Registration man, and he briefed me over the basics. All I got out of it was a contact, a number to call to get a costume and a temporary place to crash. My first costume was ugly as sin. I wanted some sweet looking suit, completely with massive shoulder pads, cool looking gloves and maybe a cape. Instead, I was given some black and dark red tights, a utility belt to hold pills, and a breather mask for when I was in the higher atmosphere.

I took up the name Outlaw, as it was the only name I could come up with. After taking down some street thugs in a few warehouses, I was invited to a team. We were just a few green heroes, using our powers to help each other out. I was handed my first trip to the hospital, and also started to learn my limitations. I soon realized that even though my blasts were insanely strong, my body wasn't. I teamed with some guys who could take beating I would only dream of, but couldn't break a window. Needless to say, my role on the team was clear. I'd shoot things with my energy, and the tank-like guys would keep the bad guys from coming after me. Another thing I learned, and quickly hated, was the Security Level. If you are reading this, you know what it is. You can't use all your powers until you have proved your knowledge of your current powers. And, to do that, you have to arrest a lot of people. I quickly fought up to S.L. 14, and was back in heaven. Being able to fly again was like being born a new. I was on my way to pure stardom, as my name was all over the Protector Press.

I had been hooking and jabbing with Paragon's finest for a month now, when I was getting ready to do some missions for Positron. Just as soon as the team formed, my phone rang. I figured it was one of my contacts, asking me if I could stop some crime boss, or find some stolen goods. Instead, a familiar voice came over the speaker. Emily was crying, and all I got out of her was "help me!", then another voice got on. It was a dark voice, someone I could vaguely remember. One of the Hellions I had busted a few weeks back had gotten out of jail, and he had done some research on me. The [censored] kidnapped Emily, and wanted me to bring him 5 million dollars, or she was gonna be cremated. I told my team I had to go, and took off like a bat outta hell! I flew to Perez Park where he was keeping her. I fought through a few dozen of his goons, popping pain killers and caffeine pills the whole time. When I got to his room, Emily was standing next to him, smiling at me. The goon was laughing at me as his shotgun blasted the look of shock off my face. He walked over to my near dead body, talking to me the whole time. I was barely coherent, as the pain was screaming through my chest. All I caught out of his insults and banter was that Emily had paid him to take me out. She wanted to forget I ever lived. I struggled to get on my knees as I looked into her eyes. She knew the look on my face, and she screamed "RUN!" as she darted out of the room. The goon hadn't even processed what she said when he was thrown through two walls and onto the street. I let loose on him, blasting him so hard, he cracked the pavement beneath. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move and through a wave of energy at it. I didn't want to kill whoever it was on the spot, i wanted to watch them suffer. When I focused on that poor figure, i saw it was Emily, grabbing the shotgun from the floor. She was writhing in pain, and tears were streaming down her face. She started to plea for her life, and I dropped my hands. Something inside me wouldn't let me kill her there, it wasn't what I wanted to do. I was about to walk away from it all, but needed to ask her why. Why she wanted me dead, why she never called me back, and why I should let her live.

Emily stuttered it all out, "Anthony, you screwed my life over! My parents kicked me out of the house because I was associated with you in the first place. I was forced to strip for sleaze bags, have sex with even lower scum to pay bills and the only thing that has kept my life in this Hell is your existence!". It felt odd, but I raised my had and shot out a blast at her. Yes, I killed her. Did I really have to? Was it my only option? Hell, couldn't I have just waited for the authorites to pick her up? The answer to all those questions is yes. But, to this day, I regret all of them. I took off from there, leaving a truck full of corpses in my wake.

Now, I sit here, shivering a little bit. The air is freezing, and being 50 stories up doesn't help. I look at the picture one last time, then put it back into my boot. I start to fly up a little bit, thinking back to that offer I got earlier. This is my first time telling anyone about my actions over a year ago, but somehow my new employer knew. He told me to train up some more levels, get as much experience as possible, because my next task wasn't for a green-horn. As soon as I made Security Level 50, I was to take whatever belongings fit into a dufflebag and head to Independence Port, and catch the first boat outta Paragon City. He also told me to bring some swimming shorts, because the Rogue Isles can get rather warm...

***This story is a mixture of fact and fiction. It is all from my head, and nothing was intentionally plagerized. If you enjoyed it, send me a holler. See you in the Rogue Isles!***

After training, I was sent to Camp Pendleton, in Southern California. Emily and I kept in touch here and there. My platoon was nicknamed "Whiskey Platoon", and I was in Circus Company. Basically, I was given the Infantry job of Assaultman. I dealt with Rockets, Missiles and explosives. Really exciting, but also very tiring. During my first year there, I partied a lot. My smoking habit got worse, my drinking got to near addiction levels. On my 1 year anniversary with my company, I was sitting in Kuwait celebrating my birthday. 2 weeks later, i was running around Iraq, shooting anything that moved. I was scared to death, but hadn't even seen Hell.

We were sitting in our Tracks, smoking whatever kinda cigarettes we could get our hands on. It was April 9th, and we were headed for Baghdad. I'll never forget the sounds of all those bullets hitting our track. That sound, like raindrops on a tin-roof, it frightened the hardest of Marines. When the track finally stopped, and that ramp came down, I was the first guy out of it. I peeled around the corner and took a round square to the chest. Much to my delight, I didn't start bleeding. I thought the Flak Jacket stopped the round, but, my chest began to burn. My vision started to go dim, and everything was replaced with Black and Blue. I got scared, afraid of going back to Sector 7, and tried to control my rage. My Sergeant grabbed my jacket and dragged me behind a dumpster. He started screaming at me to "snap out of it", as a doc started to pull off my jacket and shirt. I regained my vison, and looked at my Sergeant, good ol' Ca-Nazi. He was glaring at me, knowing my secret, but pissed that I was hit. He got on the horn, and phoned in that "Outlaw" was down. Oh, back track a bit. When you get in the service, usually you get a nickname based on ethnicity, something dumb you did, or some physical trait. I got Outlaw because the fact I was outlawed from about 3/4 of all the bars in the town off base. Back to Iraq now. So yeah, I am getting bandaged up, and Nazi is looking at me, and he mouths "don't worry" to me. The doc and some other guys picked me up and threw me into the ambulance track. I was given some shots and woke up in Germany...

Hmmm, you know this scar, it still feels numb. Guess it'll never feel good, but it should atleast feel. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had started shooting my energy beams that day. Hmmm, wonder if ol' Nazi woulda shot me too? Heh, I can see some heroes on the street, busting some Council members. I would be doing that too, if I wasn't sitting here telling my story. Ahhh, my reason behind my story now? Well, basically, I was contacted earlier today. I don't wanna go in to too much detail about who it was, but I'll just say that I'll be relocating soon. Paragon doesn't need me anymore anyways. Been fighting crime here for 16 months, and I haven't seen much of a change at all. I see new faces coming in everyday, and I see old friends leaving just as much. I am pretty much a dinosaur in these times. According to City Hall, I have been going against too many regulations to be promoted higher than Security Level 39. Put a few too many villains in a grave, and you don't go too far. Just remember that you newer heroes, might get you further than me.

Now, as far as my military goes, I sat around collecting a paycheck and doing paperwork for the last few years of my enlistment. I hit up the gym a bit too much, and got some mass on my bones. When I finally got out, I headed back to Boston, hoping to see Emily there. She had moved back a few months earlier, because she landed a modeling job there. Usually, a guy gets out, heads home and has a big BBQ, sees all his family and friends and feels free. Me, well, i got off the plane in an empty terminal, hopped in a cab and headed to my recently purchased apartment. The place was a dump, but it fit my needs. Work wasn't too easy to find, so I did some free-lance stuff. I'll admit it, I robbed a few stores and what not. I used my military training, and my now mature powers to make my rent money and pay bills. I called Emily here and there, and we always arranged to meet up, but she never showed. I came to the conclusion it would never be, and stopped calling. It was then and there that I figured out what i needed to do to maybe get back in touch with her. I stopped stealing and started to hunt the streets of Boston, stopping what few crimes I could. I am no Batman, so I only stopped minor things. Couple bank robberies, a few hold ups, a mugging here and there. The money I had saved in my criminal days was drying up, and the only option left to me was pretty much Paragon City...

So, here I stand, Paragon City. I've been lurking in the shadows for the last 16 months. I started back in March, taking down Hellions and Clocks. God, I remember the first time I got to use that life-energy those bastards gave me. You know, for the first 23 years of my life, I had always had them. I remember the first time I discovered them...

I was 16 years old, going on my first date. Yeah, I know, not the age most go on it, but I had wrapped myself up in video games, comics and fantasy for most of my life. Now, here I am, going on my first date with a not so lovely Emily Ward. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not saying she is ugly or anything, but compared to how she looks now? Yeah, Ugly duckling is an understatement. But, back to the real tale. So, I pick her up in my truck, and we head to see a movie. It was some cheesy romantic flick she wanted to see. Me being a virgin, and pretty much starving for anything sexual, I was game for it. When we got to the movies, we were an hour early, so we began talking. The conversation was mostly about school, favorite music and that general small talk filled with moments of awkward silence.

Well, when it was just about time to get in the theatre, me and Emily got out of my truck and starting the walk. The air was cool that April night, so I let her wear my jacket. About a hundred yards from the theatre, some jerks I went to school with starting saying stuff to Emily and I. They started toward us, and Emily urged me to "Just keep going", but me wanting to prove something, I stopped in my tracks. The main antagonist, a Randy Johnson was the first to get in my face and push me. I fell to the ground, and him and his buddies started to laugh at me. My face grew red, and I could feel a lump in my throat. I couldn't think of anything else to do but punch his lights out. Now, you gotta understand, before the military, I was 5'6" and about a buck-twenty soaking wet. I stumbled to my feet, reared back and threw my best punch, hitting him square in the chin. He barely budged, and him and two buddies started to beat me senselessly. I lay there, fighting back tears, as they started to walk away laughing. That laughter, like hyenas after killing a baby zebra, it pierced my soul. I felt something come over me, as my vision started to go black and bright blue. I felt my body lift off the ground, and as my feet dangled a few inches from the ground, I let loose with my first energy blast. Randy flew back about twenty feet, landing on the hood of a car, bouncing off it like a rubber ball. The sound of his ribs cracking from the initial blast, then the sound of his limp body landing on the pavement was sickening. Emily screamed in fright, and the 2 goons ran away at blinding speed. My vision came back, and I fell to my knees...

Now, here I am, 7 years later. Sitting on some random building in Founder's Falls. I am looking at the picture of Emily in her current pin-up. The scarred and stitched up hand that holds it bring a tear to my eyes. If only I had backed away that night, it might have been something more. But, that is all in the past, and now I am no longer Anthony Adamski. That name died during my stint in the Marines. God, that wasn't so long ago, but I don't remember much of it. Too many "Blue-Out", heh, a name I coined myself. I think that part of my life needs to be explained too...

Well, a few days after Randy gained his conscious back, he told the cops about my powers, crying for me to be thrown into jail. I was put on trial for assault and battery, with a deadly weapon no less. The trial wasn't looking good for me, and my lawyer made a plea bargain. Pretty much, the deal was me getting sent to Sector 7 for training, and all charges being dropped. For those of you who never heard of it, Sector 7 is a branch of the Military where they brainwash you so you "forget" about your powers. Seems like a Gold Ticket for any mutant in thsi situation. But, Sector 7 also had a habit of "Deleting" other memories. It doesn't matter how important, you forget it. I heard a story about how a guy forget his family, much like you forget to set the clocks back in Autumn. The Judge agreed, and Randy's lawyer smiled about it. So, I left the court room, kicking and screaming. If they hadn't put that inhibitor on me, i would have destroyed that court room in a heartbeat.

Sector 7 sucks, no question about it. The first 10 minutes there, I was beaten, choked and spit on. To put it bluntly, this place was Chino for Mutants. My next year was basically a daily routine of injections, counselling and brainwashing. I came to find out my powers were triggered by pain, anguish and sorrow. So, Sector 7 wasn't helping much. After my first year, I stopped feeling, and my powers ceased. They released me on account that i wanted to join the military and "make a better life for myself". What a load of crap...

Parris Island was a joke compared to Sector 7. The Drill Instructors would yell, scream and slap me quite often. But, compared to the Hell I just got out of, this was Club Med. Boot Camp was over in 13 weeks, and I was sent to my next training assignment. I'd go into it more, but, no need to. It is basically the usual Boot Camp story, and if you heard one, you heard them all. Well, School of Infantry was a great time. I made buddies with a guy from Michigan, and we hit up all the Strip-Clubs and bars in Jacksonville, North Carolina. That is where I saw Emily again for the first time since that night. Who woulda thought I'd bump into her at a topless bar? Well, she was looking good, if not great. Fixed her hair up, got some "Enhancements" put in, and lost some weight. My buddy and I were sitting a few tables back, and she saw me. I almost didn't recognize her, until she paused like she had seen a ghost. I just turned my gaze back down to my beer, and ignored it. After her last song, she came down from the stage and passed by me. I heard her feet stop for a second, and a low "sorry" was said. I didn't even take my eyes off that beer, just closed my eyes, fighting back those tears.

I started going to that bar whenever I could. I'd sneak out after lights out, and try to see her again. The bartender and me became friendly, but I think it made it worse for Emily. Whenever I was there, she seemed to dance with less emotion. It was like SHE went to Sector 7! Well, one night I couldn't take it anymore. I wrote my cell phone number on a Hundred Dollar bill, and a fake name. I figured that she'd either call it out of curiousity, or atleast have a friend call it for her. I discreetly put it on the stage and walked out. I sat in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette in the muggy night. It had to have been four in the morning when my phone rang. I picked it up, softly saying "I forgive you". She started crying and I told her I'd meet her wherever she wanted, so we could reminisce what has happened in the past year and some change. Basically, i told Emily everything, and she told me nothing. I left her apartment, kissing her on the cheek as I headed to base, to get charged for skipping out of work without even telling anyone anything...

Jeremy Travis was your average, All-American kid. Payed football as a kid all the way up until college. While playing for the Oklahoma Sooners, he was injured during a game. He had just intercepted a pass and was running it back, trying to make up for his teams trailing score, when he got hit hard from behind. As he lay on the ground, unable to move his legs, his dreams of playing for the New England Patriots disappeared. He was taken off the field and into the locker room, as his team feared the worst. After finding out he was paralyzed, and with little chance of recovery, Jeremy began to fall into alcoholism and depression. His parents had no idea what to do to help him, and dreaded him committing suicide. His mother got him a job at a Youth Support center, hoping that maybe being around the children would curb his recent downfall.

Jeremy enjoyed being around the kids, telling his tales of Grid-Iron glory, like any football player does. He stopped drinking and quickly brightened his outlook on life. On a field trip to Paragon City to visit Positron, the bus was assaulted by Hellions. Jeremy tried his hardest to ward off the thugs, but to no avail. Just as everything looked bleek, Back Alley Brawler came to the rescue. Jeremy was amazed to see him, especially since he hadn't moved in over a year (^ ^). Back Alley Brawler talked to Jeremy, and even gave him a contact number for a scientist who might be able to help him with his disability. The group met Positron, but Jeremy couldn't stop thinking about what Back Alley Brawler said.

A week later, he decided to call the number. He spoke with Dr. Victor Ortiz for over an hour. They ended the conversation by making an appointment. When Jeremy showed up, he and the doctor discussed the options, and Jeremy jumped at the idea of being able to walk again. The doctor made one limitation to Jeremy that he didn't agree with too much. The doctor told him that no matter how much he wanted to, if he was granted the use of his legs again, he would never be able to play football due to the fact that it would give him an unfair advantage. Jeremy agreed, but was still bummed about the loss of his one love in life. The doctor performed the procedure, injecting him with a serum and fusing a gravity belt around his waist. Jeremy stood up off the table, with a little apprehension. But, when he finally stood up on his own for the first time in 3 years, his eyes welled up with tears.

Jeremy headed to Galaxy City to thank Back Alley Brawler. The two discussed what kind of future Jeremy had now that Football was out of the picture. Back Alley Brawler explained to Jeremy that Paragon city is always looking for new heroes, of any shape or size, to help fight back the villains that threaten peace and justice. Jeremy wasn't sure he could do it, but decided to give it a try. He went to Atlas Park and registered himself into the Hero Registry, choosing the name Patriot Shield. The name comes from his favorite team, and his desire to defend the innocent. His fiorst few days of crimefighting weren't the smoothest ever, as he became good friends with the staff of Atlas Park's emergency room. But, he was dauntless and continued to train and fight crime.

Now at Security Level 45, and very close to being certified Security Level 46, The Patriot Shield is quickly becoming the go-to guy for tankers in Paragon City. He has tackled such foes as Babbage, The Clockwork King, Dreck, Vandal, Hopkins, Countess Crey, Jurrassik, Nemesis, The Crystal Titan and most recently, has been going to Praetorian Earth to take down the doppelgangers of Paragon's Finest. As good as his days of crimefighting are, they are quickly coming to an end. He can feel the belts powers weakening due to over-use and Dr. Ortiz has even said that once it goes, there may be no way to bring back his ability to walk. The only thing he hopes for is to make it to Security Level 50 so he can go down in the annals of Paragon City history as "one tough son of a [censored]". Will he ever get there? Only time can tell...

Very nice, very nice indeed. But, i don't know if someone said it, too many posts, here is my choice:

"GENTLEMAN...BEHOLD!" And the similar to the hero pulling out a dumb boombox, the villians pull a sheet off random "villianous" object. Some objects could be "death rays", "doomsday device" or even "magical object". Now, obviously these things do little more than sit there as the villian using emotes does the maniacal laughter with hands in air. Watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force, you'd understand. AND WHERE'S MY HAIRARIUM?!?!