DeviousMe

((Nyeh heh heh - I like where this is going. ))

OOC:

Well, we know that cutting off the guy's head works, but aside from that he seems to just come right back at ya.

Now then, I feel I should settle this here and now, so have some words from Wolffe back on page 1:

[ QUOTE ]
I suppose I should clarify the state of the city. It's one city in an ongoing global war, so while the world governments are present here, their forces are dispersed to several places at once. For background's sake, you can have any place be a battlefield, a dystopia, or be unaffected by the war. That part is up to you.

As my no leader rules, I just don't want anyone claiming leadership of one side or the other in this war. People, say, within the ranks of Arachnos from masterminds commanding a few to generals in charge of battalions are fine. But you can't sweep across the country with a massive army of millions. This may change, but for now I am trying to keep the scale a little more confined.

I tried to make my what-if able to accept as many characters as possible, so you can pluck them out of the current timeline and put them in this one, or have them aged since the present.

Plenty of places for survivor/scroungers, mercenaries, revisionaries, most any way you can see your character in this world, they will fit.

[/ QUOTE ]
Personally, I interpret this as the following: Arachnos, the Council, and the other rule-the-world villain groups (of which there really aren't that many) are in an ongoing war around the globe against terrestrial governments. There is no unified 'Rebellion', 'Resistance', or some-such to be defeated because everyone is at war.

Also, unless Wolffe decides to change this, said war is presently in some sort of stalemate, but the bad guys are better off and spending their time composing evil taunts while the other forces are basically just holding on. I might be wrong on this, but it looked to me like neither side was supposed to gain any ground, at least for now.

Now, as for other places, it looks to me like using them for background stuff is just fine. Heck, I used Britain to kick Recluse into action. The main action, however, does take place in Paragon City - hence the title of the thread.

Now then, might we get back to the story here?

Also, footnote to Shinji: affirmative; this is open.

Acid allowed himself a generous laugh at this, answering Sheldon with a toss of the head back for a moment, "I'll be sure to do that the day I figure it out myself. Yep - I haven't got the slightest clue how I work. Twenty-one years, and I'm still no further on that than I was on day one."

The reptilian turned his gaze ahead again, his teeth coming a bit closer together, clawed fingers tightening upon the flight controls in his hands, "Hm...that sounds like a long time, now that I say it. And yeah, that means I'm no Khelari. At least not truly. But since I first found myself in this form, I've kind of grown attached to it. I do identify myself as one, because...well biologically, for all intents and purposes, I am one. With all the cool stuff, and of course the flaws, that come with it..."

--------------------

The gateway on the Jade Moon was certainly still active and stable, and thus by extension, so was Arachnos' ability to transport from one world to another by the method they had been employing.

This might of course change if Malta got the idea to rig up a few 'tp jammers', but since they didn't actually know of an Arachnos presence yet, it was far more likely that the BlackOps would just deal with things the old-fashioned way...

OOC:

Can do.

Atlas Park: destroyed, as in the game on the A GON Y HALL map.
Galaxy City: undisclosed, but probably destroyed.
Kinds Row: somewhat intact, but very run-down.
Steel Canyon: mostly destroyed; location of the Bastion.
Skyway City: Crey's version of Midgar.
Bloody Bay: undisclosed.
The Hollows: undisclosed.
Perez Park: undisclosed.
Boomtown: active warzone.
Siren's Call: mostly wasted; location of the Fortress.
Faultine: undisclosed.
Talos Island: undisclosed.
Independence Port: staging area for the Arachnos navy.
Striga Isle: to be revealed.
Dark Astoria: undisclosed.
Croatoa: undisclosed.
Brickstown: undisclosed, but likely destroyed.
Founders' Falls: destroyed.
Eden: wilderness.
Crey's Folly: undisclosed.
Peregrine Island: to be revealed.
Rikti Warzone: undisclosed.

There, I think I got them all. Undisclosed ones haven't been picked by anyone for any sort of public purpose, so as I understand it, people are still free to do with those as they wish.

The tennis balls surely sounded nicely upon the court, but the racket that decided to end its ballistic arc not far from the feet of Sis certainly did not, clattering noisily upon the rubbery grain as it came to a halt.

Of course, the racket itself hadn't anything special about it - the severed human arm that still clenched its fingers about the thing's grip, however, was truly something one didn't see every day.

The appendage looked to have been half-cut, half-torn above the elbow joint, the somewhat smooth mark of a hack having etched into the stump of bone a little. It was for all to see that the arm doubtlessly belonged to a woman, a rather slim one at that, and that the flesh and skin bore the bleached hue of death upon them. No blood came from the torn end either - this arm had been dead for quite some time, this was certain.

Oddly enough, however, there wasn't any evidence of rot or decay. Except for its deathly paleness and the fact that it wasn't currently attached to its owner, the arm looked and smelled perfectly fine, like it had never even begun to decompose.

"'ey, guys!" came a shout from the general direction of the rogue appendage's flight path, a man's voice that sounded very much like the stereotypical surfer fresh off the beach calling out, "Mind tossin' that back over here?"

The source of the voice was indeed a man, standing by a set of portable bleachers that had been drawn between three courts and the far fourth, blocking the view of said last court. Apparently, someone had been playing there - and somehow lost an arm in the process.

The man himself didn't seem too remarkable; at least not at first glance. He stood a little less than two meters tall and wore an ensemble suitable for outdoor activities - magnolia-white pants, tennis shoes of the same base shade, a Hawaiian shirt of blue and dotted with palms, and of course a nice set of shady sunglasses.

And that was where any semblance to 'normal' ended.

The man's hair fell long, almost to his shoulders, and carried the color of malachite; as did his eyebrows. His skin could at first have looked simply tan, but the distinctly copper hue couldn't be explained by simply that term, and the mask of gray cloth that hid his face from the nose down certainly wasn't the general fashion trend either.

In addition, though the sunglasses hid his eyes completely, the cover blending nearly seamlessly into the mask below, even the shades couldn't cover the beginnings of three large scars dug deep into the right half of the face. They even extended partially across the man's forehead, the leftmost cutting just above that eyebrow...

"Relax." the armored officer told Acanous with a sigh, slowly waving a hand in a downward motion at the man; a gesture to calm down, "She's not dangerous. At least not to us. Still, we'd better set down before her pursuers get here..."

--------------------

"Well now, I find myself quite disappointed." the blue-scaled draconians grinned savagely as Tamesis for some reason didn't make any attempt to escape the slab, the heavy grate burying the Arbiter underneath it.

His voice was lighter than Groul's, but carried the same underlying, guttural growl. Still, the tone was rather eloquent and by no means difficult to understand. The 'monster' was intelligent - and quite respectably so.

Taking the resulting opportunity, the right-hand creature quickly ground a clawed foot onto the slab as well to add a portion of his own weight to pin Tamesis down, "How do you expect me to distract you properly if you're not even really paying attention...?"

--------------------

Arachnos North Atlantic Fleet
Zone 5 - Former United Kingdom
Flagship: Battlecruiser THANATOS

Rain.

Wind.

Darkness, thunder, and lightning.

There were the companions of the fleet this night.

Despair.

Misery.

Dejection, pain, and anger.

These were its soul.

Aboard the THANATOS, fingers of white shot into the dark clouds above, spotlights coming online one after another on the raised aft portion of the vessel; the air staging deck.

At the same time, the aircraft carrier at the fleet's rear became active as well, running lights sprinting down its decks and cutting through the sheets of pouring rain and ocean spray.

A Flyer launched.

The storm swallowed all other noise about, the aircraft cutting through walls of wind and rain with deathly silence. It didn't take long at all to cover the short distance to the flagship. Aboard the THANATOS, there led a corridor to a junction. And at that junction, there stood a door, flanked by a Bane Spider on each side.

An armored hand replaced the receiver of the night-black telephone upon the desk, gently releasing the piece of plastic back into its place. The gaze of two piercing red eyes within an armored helmet lifted from the blank, black monitor beside the phone, glaring into space with rage. A pair of armored hands laid their fingers upon the desk.

Their owner arose.

Without warning, the doors tore aside and Lord Recluse burst from his office with brisk and forceful pace, each contact of an armored boot with the metal of the deck sending shudders through any and all nearby. The lord of Arachnos walked with grim determination, his volatile gaze never deviating from the course ahead, not even to look over his own shoulder as the guards scrambled to follow. Lord Recluse was angry, and all about knew it, the walls of the corridor passing his form with inevitable tempo, the archvillain's cape trailing in the man's own wake.

Not a minute later, the Flyer departed the air staging deck of the THANATOS, setting course once more for the aircraft carrier. The craft flew steady as a rock, as if the storm knew just whom it had taken aboard. Even the dark waters below seemed calmer. Thunder, lightning, darkness, and rain still roared about, however, and spotlights followed the Flyer without fail.

On the carrier's deck already stood several more personnel, some waving down the Flyer while others worked by the port elevator to bring one of the Council's hypersonic spy planes to the catapult, the sleek aircraft bathed in white light. The Flyer came lower, its landing struts making contact with the deck among the torrent of rain.

The next moment Lord Recluse stormed from the craft, personnel about saluting in haste as the master of Arachnos guided his steps toward the plane in the straightest of lines. Armored feet sent the water of the wet deck to scatter beneath every step, Recluse's forceful gait tolerating none save his own will, cape billowing in the wind and rain.

Two lines of personnel formed quickly to each side as the lord of Arachnos made his way across the deck and to the waiting hatch of the spy plane, stepping into the aircraft without hesitation. The order to launch fell sharp as a clap of thunder.

Without delay, turbines roared and ailerons flexed, personnel scattering to the winds as the spy plane aligned with the catapult, then tore down the deck without mercy and thundered away into the skies...

The nanites didn't seem to be having any noticeable effect. If Essex, or anyone around, could see at the nanoscopic level, they'd noticed the intrepid machines fighting not one, but two relentless enemies.

The first was the intruder - the crystalline energy. Corrupting and viciously corrosive, the metamorphic invader picked apart the nanites molecule by molecule.

The second was the own defense system of the Khelari's body. It attacked both the material and immaterial perpetrators, vehement in its mission to burn out of the body what did not belong there - and it of course had no capability to differentiate between the two.

Still, the nanites did seem to be succeeding at one aspect: visibly at least, the reptilian wasn't getting any worse...

--------------------

The battle drones paid no heed to the antics of their opponents, firing their bursts in the same cold, calculating manner as always - as simple, soulless killing machines.

Mini Bot's fire tore ashen-black scars into the silvery paint of the targeted mechanoid, but did not succeed in destroying the mechanical adversary. Still, it had been enraged enough to get a little closer, its fire becoming less accurate in the sprint.

Then all hell broke loose.

The corridor suddenly filled with all manner of fire, blazing streaks in all colors of the rainbow thundering by like stars from a ship gone superluminal. The drones' silver hue turned black almost quicker than the human eye could see, scorched gouges suddenly multiplying across their armor, and flakes of paint vaporizing in the veritable hurricane of the combined assault.

The robots didn't stand a chance. Both gave up the ghost as their detonators went. Too bad they didn't have any targets close enough to harm...

--------------------

"That's because the body you're looking at is entirely robotic." Acid answered Sheldon with a toothy smirk, "Well, except for the brain. That's mostly bioplasma from the Thousand Sun World."

"Long story short, I don't follow the one place, one time rule." the reptilian tried to explain with a brief summation, "A long while ago, I actually couldn't. Those were an interesting few years. But my first body, my organic one, is still my favorite - and not only because it's great to enjoy food, sleep, and sex with. However, if said me is...well, I suppose you'd call it killed..."

The Khelari turned to the viewscreen once more, looking sternly ahead, "Let's just say terrible things happen."

"Right now, something's trying to sneak into that me." Acid further elaborated, "A contaminant, to put it lightly. I'm not especially afraid of that, as the physiology of a Khelari has a rather ingenious immune system. It's rather painful though, as one of the reactions is that my blood becomes molecular acid. Yeah, try having that stuff running through the capillaries in your brain. Not fun..."

((You sure? It looked to have some manner of core plot going. I just thought Wolffe never got around to it due to the business of life. ))

Tamesis was quite likely surprised as the draconian creature appeared to be making no motion whatsoever to evade his second charge, the being's eyes simply glaring into his own like some manner of ethereal daggers, the icy stare seeming to follow every thought in his head.

Of course, this was not the case, but it may well have looked so as his strike went wide, the draconian creature having ducked low in what felt like from one instant to another. Before the Arbiter even knew what happened, the grated floor underneath his feet suddenly appeared to have a mind of its own, a section tilting upward with force to send the man tumbling down yet again.

And as his back greeted the floor again, Tamesis quite clearly saw that the floor had indeed not come alive, but that his opponent had pried the section loose, the draconian's claws visible within the grated edge's spacing.

However, the section was also rather heavy, and the Arbiter's adversary seemed to have no intent of holding it vertically for any duration. Instead, he simply gave it a light push, letting the thing come down after Tamesis. At the same time, he of course took a step back, using the spared time to bound a bit to the left and a bit to the right.

At the same time.

Yes, there were indeed two of him now - and both of them carried the same smug and toothy grin...

--------------------

"I guess you should, seeing how they left him behind and all that." the diminutive Specialist answered the unspoken question of the quizzically staring lancer, "And no, just leave it be. If he doesn't want to tell you about the sword, he doesn't have to."

"Understood." the armored man gave a short salute, then waited a moment until Anthius and Target had boarded as well (or conversely, informed him they wouldn't). Following this, he grabbed hold of a door's rim, stepping in as the vehicle left its hovering position and took to the skies once more. Whether the Bastion or Eden, the craft would keep pace with Bladewing's course.

And as this transpired, Danger's own ATC of course came out of hiding, setting down just as the other departed, Ki already making her way aboard with an undulation that to humans generally appeared quite creepy.

Danger didn't feel much like pestering Energon right now, however, hopping aboard with a leap that shouldn't have been trusted of his tiny legs. Still, the man bounced in like a frog, and off they were, back to the Dark Rover...

((Oh, leave the man alone. Everyone hits a funk now and then.))

((Nashty. And oui, but the ATC got there twice already, and Bladewing also asked Energon to come along. ))

((Dammit, I hate you people! Thanks to you, my do-not-open-door has created The Sponge.))

((Well, I'd intended to wait for Cham's characters, but I guess since he's posted here twice and they've stayed quiet, we'll move on. ))

"I'm sure they have." the fire team's leader remarked indifferently, "So how's it work? And do you know the extent of its reach?"

At this time, the ATC had already begun its descent, gradually slowing to a stop beside the mound of detritus the other group stood on; sans Bladewing, of course, presently being in the air and all that...

--------------------

Danger let out a sigh. These guys were encourageable. Actually, he started to wonder just how this had all happened with such people at the reigns - though whether these 'villains' taking control or the 'heroes' surviving was the more confounding part, of this the Specialist wasn't suite sure. They seemed equally incompetent.

"Well, I guess I can't force you." Danger commented on Energon's silence, which to him conveyed disagreement, "But then at least take Ki here with you in case the twerp tries to get you again. She's an Anti. Basically, mental stuff has a way of disappearing when she's around. No 'psychic' is going to be able to do anything around you. Fair enough?"

The ATC now came upon the pile, firing its retros in a quick and smooth series of bursts, coming to a stop within easy leaping distance of the mound of rubbish...

--------------------

Tamesis' leap with resistance almost instantaneously, a projectile taking the form of a certain base commander intercepting the Arbiter with his suddenly airborne frame. The body packed a respectable amount of speed and force, its sudden collision bowling the man over in both a figurative as well as literal sense, too close and quick for him to avoid.

His escort certainly didn't get much to say in the matter, gargles of pain and death echoing through the twilight of the command center before they'd even fired a single shot. From the ceiling, two black blurs had bolted down, each ramming into a pair in linear fashion, the terrible sound of rending flesh and cracking bones accompanying the sudden propulsion behind a larger row of control terminals.

Tamesis reacted quickly, thrusting the corpse off himself and assessing the situation as he scrambled up. In the light that fell through the shattered windows stood the thrower of the base commander. Like Groul, the creature was an obvious draconian being, though he stood only about two point five meters tall, and his coat of scales carried a blue, almost denim hue.

Of course, there were many more major discrepancies between the two, the most notable being the presence of a rather sizeable pair of leathery wings upon the creature's back (not the shoulders), and the absence of the myriads of spikes the Field Commander's body carried. Indeed, the only spikes of this being sat at the heels of his digitigrade feet - singular, and appearing much like the claws that each of the three toes terminated in - and a line of smaller, almost tiny razors that ran down his back and tail.

The draconian features of the skull were solely bony ridges below the skin, and the keratin plates covered not only chest, abdomen, and the ventral tail, but unlike with Groul, also the throat to good measure. Horns or such were decidedly absent, and the hands carried only four digits (a thumb and three fingers), the claws of the left still stained with the blood of the base commander.

Aside from a belt around the waist, the creature wasn't wearing anything else, said belt holding a pair of roughly hand-long, segmented dark gray cylinders - the same sort that Energon X had seen within the gelatinous form of Forty-Four of Six...

--------------------

So it began.

Aboard the Dark Rover, preparations had been made. A certain veiled saurian's head turned to the sensor station's viewscreen, dragging the slate-gray hood about in the motion. Then Ken's gaze swept over the rest of the hemispherical, two-tiered command center. At various consoles and terminals full of touchscreens and readouts, the members of the crew were at position; some humanoid, others not. Then again, their forms hadn't mattered for a long time. They served the Dark Dragon now - and only that counted.

"Okay people, here we go." Ken announced, taking a step forward to activate an intercom, his voice echoing from every speaker about, "All personnel to combat ready stations. If you're not at your post already, move it. Report status upon set."

"Fire control: all gunners standing by."

"Perimeter defense: all personnel in position."

"DRE-2 is changing call signs. DRE-2 is now Alpha Niner."

Ken allowed himself a sinister smile as the rest came in. This would be fun. With a motion of his enrobed right hand, the saurian switched to a direct channel, "Attention, fire control..."

--------------------

And indeed, so it began.

With a shadow.

The alley had never been bright. But now, a dark line swept over the ground like judgment's demarcation, trailing only shadow in its wake.

Above, the massive airframe of an Arachnos strategic bomber blotted out the sun, passing not twenty meters above ground with the same speed as that of the accompanying Flyers: terrifyingly slow.

The shadows of these transports joined the silhouette of the larger craft, the crescent-shaped bomber nearly fifty meters wide from the vertex of one forward-swept wing to another, and these were joined in turn by the shadows cast from the smaller air superiority fighters.

Slowly, dreadfully, they hovered across the sky, bringing darkness to the land below, black-and-red constructions of a metal mosaic; thick crescents with cockpits, engines, and ailerons plodding along above the ruined streets, accompanied only by the dull roar of jet turbines.

And aboard the lead Flyer stood Scirocco, eyes unblinking and set upon the target in the distance. Questions abound in the mystic's head, but he girded himself with patience, observing and waiting as the crew performed their duties.

Slowly, too slowly it seemed, the ruins of Baumton passed below, mounds of rubble that had once been vibrant communities, filled with life. It was almost depressing. But only almost. Malak had a job to do - and he would see it done, come what...

Impact.

The floor beneath his feet bucked without warning.

Impact.

Impact.

Scirocco stumbled, blinding white light robbing him of what stood there to see. Though he already knew in his heart, it took several seconds for the realization to entirely dawn upon him.

The Flyer was under attack!

Outside, the gleaming bombs of energy artillery fire slammed viciously into the aircraft, and they weren't picky when it came to targets. They tore the bomber to shreds in mere moments, the large craft an equally appealing target, and as the rest of the airborne Arachnos force scattered to evade, all hell seemed to break loose.

Orders raced across channels in all directions as pilots worked frantically to correct their positions and escape the sudden onslaught, energy shells tearing into airframes again and again, ripping blazing gouges that then spewed forth long trails of thick, black smoke. Already, there wasn't one aircraft unharmed.

But as the bomber's burning wreck roared into the ground below, shield generators came online in the skies above, sealing the Flyers in protective bubbles of fluorescent blue energy.

Standing once more, Malak assessed the situation. The tremors hadn't ceased, but at least the Flyer wasn't taking any more damage. Still, he knew the fighters to be less fortunate, the unshielded smaller aircraft picked apart in the raging bombardment outside the shield. Already, orders were barked to retreat and regroup, but if anyone paid heed, Malak certainly didn't perceive them in the chaos let loose.

"They're firing artillery!" the comm. console crackled forth spastically, slurring together multiple transmissions, "They can't be firing artillery! How can they hit us with freakin' artillery?! Move it! Hell, they got Frank! Break off! Break off...!"

((ATC, not APC. ))

"Uhhh...sure." the armored man replied to Target, not entirely sure what the man was talking about, but opting to leave things be. He was a lancer, not a xenopsychologist.

A tap of two fingers to the side of his helmet preceded a few short words, and in short order the ATC came hovering by from the ruin it had been behind. The craft didn't look like much - a little larger than a minivan, its form stood only vaguely aerodynamic, and it was obvious from the get-go that the thing's thrusters weren't the main source of flight.

((About like this, but without the fancy lights and extraneous antennae.))

The craft carried a hue much the same as the suited man's armor, and the narrow cockpit windshield much resembled his helmet's obscuring visor. In the same tone of energetic light blue, a few other sections of the ATC sat aglow, mostly what looked to be some manner of pylons strung along the ventral boundaries, but also between the barrels of the tribeam cannon slung underneath the craft's nose.

On command, the pairs of port and starboard alike doors slid aside, revealing three more armorsuited humanoids; the rest of the fire team. They quickly made room for the others, as there were no seats, an the ATC's interior space could only accommodate about six or seven people, not counting the pilot, who apparently sat behind the armored hatch ahead. Indeed, normally an ATC didn't carry more than four landing forces - one door for each person allowed quite rapid deployment.

Another sealed hatch sat astern, and judging from the humming behind the division, this was the engines' domain - though the ventral thrusters were obviously not only there. In short order, anyone who'd wanted to board had been loaded, and the ATC was off much like in the fashion of a Huey, flying with doors open and lookouts posted as the ground dropped away, then passed by below.

"So then," the armored man who seemed to be in command of this fire team inquired of Acanous, "couldn't help noticing your friend and you throwing around n-dimensional energies earlier. That tied to that sword of yours...?"

--------------------

"Why?" Danger wanted to know, rather nonplussed, "Matter, energy, space, time - fundamental components of a large number of universes. You know what? Nevermind. Sounds like the same principle as a zero point gatherer. Should be easy enough to deal with."

"And if I had to guess..." the Specialist began to calculate, but opted for an estimate since he didn't have much of an idea regarding the top speed of an Arachnos Flyer, "I'd say they're probably over the river somewhere. At least the first wave. The second should be leaving the harbor soon, and...yeah, I haven't got a clue where the spiderbots are, but the Kronos things are over on that island with the rocket town."

"Of course, there's also stuff sitting at the airfield," Danger kept counting off his fingers, "at least until Arek gets through with it, and a bunch of other mumbojumbo floating around. It's going to be really amusing when they try with their psi corps. They'll never figure that one out."

Coincidentally, it came at roughly this time that the ATC approached the site of the group, intending to once more transition to a hover to let its passengers disembark...

--------------------

Weaver Airfield

The thunder of a shotgun blast racked through the command center yet again.

"Come out where I can shoot you; bloody coward!" the base commander bellowed in outrage at the ceiling, which by now resembled Swiss cheese more than anything else. Lighting fixtures hung skew and dark by their cables, and the small amount of twilight that fell through the shattered windows certainly wasn't enough to give the room any more luminosity.

The Huntsman had retreated to a console by said windows, trying to stay in the small amount of light present in the hope of at least catching more than a glimpse of the attackers.

No such luck, of course. True, he'd seen a shadowy shape every now and then, but whatever they'd fired at it had always missed - either that, or passed right through - and not an instant later, someone else had been killed in another location. Frustration and panic wrestled about in the commander's head as he unloaded blast after blast from his shotgun, hoping one of his specialty munitions would at least do some harm.

Until he stood alone.

Then they came for him.

With loud report, a dark form dropped from the ceiling, righting itself into something tall and wide. Without any noise at all, four more followed, then vanished into thin air. The remaining form approached, and already the commander could see murder written upon claws and teeth.

Decoys?! Why you low-down...!

The Huntsman's thoughts ground to a halt as his ears perceived the characteristic click of an empty chamber.

The thing had counted his shells...

"Quite." the armored man underscored Target's verbal assault, but not in such an energetic fashion as the archer. He extended an arm in the direction of the other group, "They're that way, not too far. Probably just out of visual range."

"If you like, I can give you a lift, of course." he then offered, motioning to a burnt-out ruin of a structure, "Our ATC is just behind that...hm, building there. Well, what's left of it. In any case, it'd be faster than walking. Not to mention it'd give us time to discuss this Gate of yours a little..."

--------------------

"Whoa now." Danger extended open palms to Bladewing, "Let's try and keep that option in the 'never' category please - or at least until we've left again. Sheesh, if I didn't have eyes, I could swear you're human."

The creature the Specialist stood upon the shoulder of seemed to have enough of standing for now, lowering its skeletal appearance to the ground in a lax manner, like that of a large cat. It let out a slight hiss in the process.

"I'll say." Danger remarked to that with a slight chuckle, turning his attention back to Energon, "Alright, I guess our definitions of 'normal' differ then. And yes, obvious trap; precisely because of that. It didn't occur to you that something so specifically keyed to feed off energy could've bee-heeeey!"

With a series of growls, the diminutive man picked his face back out of the dirt, the creature formerly underneath him having taken the option of ending the argument with a soft push of its long, bony tail to the Specialist's back. His balance upon the shoulder had been quite quickly annihilated.

"Okay, okay, I get the idea." Danger grunted, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. It was too bad, really - he rather enjoyed heckling with Energon by now, "Alright, seriously then; we've got a little time to spare, so I say we use it. If you want, we can head back to the Rover and see if we can get rid of the overload problem. You're channeling energy from a protoverse, right? As in a universe before it's a universe, or a different meaning...?"

Eh, it went on in PMs for a bit, but I was ultimately unable to convince Averick of relatively dependant relations. We basically settled for agreeing that we disagree.

As for that term, that's quite specific...I just always filed that under the Twin Reflection Theorem - basically the same as a causality loop in time, but applied to the standard principles of observer and observed.

Now, as to Grey's question, let's not forget that the theoretical glimpse we would be taking is just that: a glimpse. While a terrible drama may certainly take place in said glimpse, there'd certainly be more going on while we're not writing. In other words, just because the guy you're writing about has some intense problems in need of surmounting doesn't mean he has to do that all his life.

I mean, I've got some pretty heavy junk to deal with at times, but you know for a fact I don't do so with all of my time (else I wouldn't have time to post here), nor do I let said problems keep me from leading a rather enjoyable life. Hell, I don't want my life to be any other way. I like being me, being where I am, doing what I do, and I wouldn't trade it for anything I can presently imagine.

Are there times where I don't feel this way? Of course there are. Life is life, and it's filled with pain and misery and loss and all sorts of other nasty stuff, but there's also a positive side to it - and since I am a firm believer in a cosmic balance, I believe this exists everywhere - so while the rough spots may be warrant of empathy, I certainly wouldn't expect anyone to pity me just because I've hit a snag.

Life's not about never falling, it's about getting back up again after you've hit the ground. Falling happens, and all over the place, and I wouldn't pity anyone for it.

Religion? Hmm, I hadn't even considered that yet. Now there's an idea.

"Right..." the armored man retorted, crossing his lower arms in a helpless gesture, "I'll need a little more than that. Do you mean the emergence event here, the mental boom in this area, or the mental boom in the islands to the east? Personally, were I in your situation, the second one would matter most to me because there's a chance it could've stolen my memories..."

--------------------

"People? You mean the reanimated corpses there?" Danger returned sarcastically, a smile on his tiny face, "Well, more re-deanimated now. I'm sorry, but you ran headlong into a pretty obvious trap. If Ki here hadn't been around at the time, the location of your hideout would be public knowledge by now. Coincidentally, you seem to have a lot of luck on your side."

Of course, this was a lie - but there wasn't any reason for Danger to reveal the truth. In his opinion, they'd be better of if they didn't know all there was to it.

"Seriously though, I thought you were past the exploding stage?" the Specialist's demeanor transitioned to a cold, matter-of-fact outlook, "Or did I misunderstand that somehow? What in the world did the guy do to you for this to happen...?"

No, I am saying that I do not have a scale of relative worth, and therefore I cannot measure the worth of humanity as compared to other living beings.

"Which one?" a voice with the tone of some manner of synthesizer suddenly inquired of Acanous. The source wasn't immediately apparent, hailing from below the collection of debris and rubbish the three heroes had ended up on.

The fingers of the armored hand that gripped said edge at roughly that moment, however, made it very apparent that it belonged to the humanoid in the slate-gray powersuit that presently climbed onto said platform.

Indeed, the man could've very well been human, no feature of proportion drastically out of place. The suit of armor wasn't overly large or bulky either, giving the man an athletic, if somewhat faceted appearance. In addition, the light blue visor that formed the ahead portion of his helmet completely hid the face behind its minor luminescence.

"No worries, I'm not gonna shoot ya." the man chuckled somewhat, indicating the lowered twin barrels of the weapon grafted to his suit's right arm, "I work for the Dark Dragon too, just like Specialist Danger..."

--------------------

And in the same fashion, Bladewing also received company, though the situations weren't exactly alike.

With much more dexterity than the man who'd approached the others, a creature that somewhat resembled the vicious beings from the 'Alien' movies made its way toward his location. Discrepancies to this comparison were great, however, as the being carried no second maw within the first, its fingers and toes numbered four, the elongated skull flattened as well as widened aft of the neck, and the creature didn't drool everywhere.

However, it certainly didn't have any eyes or nose, and currently it moved in the fashion of a quadruped; in plain view, of course.

Also in said view stood the diminutive blue man Bladewing had met earlier within the Bastion - although Danger stood on the shoulder of the somewhat skeletal being rather than on his own upon the rubble that formed this region's ground.

"I'm going to guess things here didn't quite go as planned." Danger made his postulation known...

Oh, okay. My bad, I thought the nature of equilibrium with one's environment was common knowledge. Yeah, I can see how that didn't have context then.

And I'm sorry, but I still don't see how you got a measure of worth from those questions. Yes, they are related, but not in that manner. The second was only an elaboration of the first, in that if humanity was left completely to its own devices, would it reestablish equilibrium? Like the other starters, it served only to expand on the original question.

In other words, at least in my opinion, the worth of humanity is not contextually tied to their ability to reach equilibrium with their environment. Frankly, I don't think there is any scale of worth to begin with.

Oh, I get ya now. Negative, I didn't connect that far, so actually I'm not sure either. But unless I've got the meaning of context mixed up, I've specifically outlined it twice by now: purely local, with all external variables held constant for the duration.

As for what living in equilibrium with one's environment and relative worth in the universe have to do with one another...I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.

And fine, I made a generalization. Let me rephrase it into "the broad spectrum of living beings currently interacting with humanity within a local context as defined by the ability to be encompassed within human sensory perception, the sum of which not necessarily being 100%."

But I suppose you did answer my question in the end there: education. Now, that's all well and good, but what sort? How does one go about educating away greed, hatred, dispassion, et cetera, within the aforementioned local context? No, really, that's a question - I seriously have no idea.

This:

[ QUOTE ]
Long story short, referring only to a local context, and holding all outside variables to be constant for the duration, what do you think should be done with humanity?

Basically, do you think humans can achieve equilibrium with their environment again? Or would everything just be better off without them? Better yet, is there another option? Could this behavior be a part of some greater plan? What do you think?

[/ QUOTE ]

((Psst - Dogma, I think Project means the first BGO flyby of 99942 Apophis, not the second.))

((Just the invitation to take the aircraft carrier. But since nobody took Groul and Danger up on that, they've left by now. Groul has a communicator, though.))

Cry may have wished to be careful about jumping to conclusions right bout now - for with his grand scan, the undead infant ran headlong into a problem.

A big problem.

And quite literally so. Some distance from the site of his engagement, not far from a certain entrance to the Bastion's underground network, Cry's mental hammer ran headlong into something that could best be described as just that: something.

Said something stood in the way of the psychic probe, letting the mental waves cascade about it like a clisse monolith in a lava stream. If Cry had the ability to sense this, the infant would notice that said something encompassed a roughly spherical region just a little smaller than three kilometers in diameter - and within this region, Cry's psychic sense found itself utterly unable to enter.

Now, since the Bastion was of course smaller than the sphere, this meant Cry still had no idea where to find the refuge of Paragon's heroes. The Bastion remained hidden away, despite the Arachnos lieutenant's fervent efforts.

Worse yet, the sphere of something wasn't stationary. Indeed, the thing seemed quite mobile, and although the sphere's edge still sat at least a kilometer or more away, there certainly wasn't any doubt to be held about its movement.

Something had laid course for here...

Good. Glad I'm provoking some actual reactions.