GreyScribe

Hello Deathtrip,

For some reason I struggled with this one and I'm not sure why, maybe because it was partially based on a real person. I went with the whole 'mutant musician' angle and then I got stuck, because if he was a rich, successful rockstar with mutant powers why would he ever become a hero? I didn't want to just knock a friend/family member off because that gets a bit monotonous. So I guess in the end I decided to go with the idea that someone or something scared him out of his rock and roll lifestyle and convinced him to do the 'right thing'.

But who or what could scare a horror punk rocker?

I guess we're about to find out.


The Origin of Michale

(Or: The Last Chance)

It was a very dark place. It was a very empty place. So dark and so empty that it barely qualified as a place at all. A thin layer of pale grey mist helped in that it vaguely defined what might be the floor of the place. An impression enhanced by the man in black lying face-down on it.

Groaning loudly, he rolled over onto his back, revealing a strong face and shaven head garishly made up to look like a skull. He was dressed in a stylish leather jacket, black of course, with matching black leather pants, tight of course. His coolness factor was lowered slightly by the caked drool on his chin and the fact that his flies were open, but was raised again by the love-bites on his neck and the two different phone numbers written in two different shades of lipstick on his chest, revealed because his shirt seemed to have lost most of its buttons.

It was a testament to the depth of his hangover that he threw his arm across his eyes to shield them from the blinding lack of light that filled the very dark place. His head throbbed fiercely in response to the silence echoing through the very empty place as he struggled to remember where he was. Failing that he tried to remember where he had been.

A party. A boozy party. A boozy, drug-filled party. A boozy, drug-filled floozy party.

Nothing out of the ordinary there. A synapse flickered deep within his brain and a memory stirred. A new record deal for his band: Face of Death. A decision to celebrate by partying harder than he had ever partied before. The consumption of prodigious amounts of alcohol, drugs, and edible underwear.

He groaned again, lifting up his arm and opening his eyes, expecting to see a hospital emergency room like last time, but instead found himself staring into a dark void that was terrifyingly close to infinity, much too close for comfort for someone in his delicate condition. He shut his eyes again and whimpered softly.

Get up, Michale.

A voice. A cold, dry, lifeless voice that skipped his ears and rasped directly into his skull.

I know you can hear me Michale. You're a mutant psychic as well as a hack singer/songwriter, so get up.

It was indignation that brought him to his feet, even though it was a process of several stages including a couple of false starts.

"I'm no hack! I'm Michale!" Then his tongue, furry and sluggish, stuck to the roof of his mouth like a - well, like a furry slug as his voice suddenly died. He stared at the dark figure standing before him, struggling to ascertain where the darkness ended and the figure began. Specifically though, he stared dumbly at the figure's face, or tried to because it was MIA. Instead a skull stared back with eye-sockets so dark and empty they made the dark and empty place seem like a Carebear convention in a cotton-candy factory.

"Wh-who are you?"

You know who I am. I'm your muse, your inspiration. You've written enough songs about me over the years, you even try to impersonate me on occasion. I'm expecting my cut of the royalties any day now, Michale. I guess the cheque is in the mail.

"You mean, I'm dead?"

At this particular moment in time? Yes.

"What do y-you want with me?"

Nothing at all. I'm already over-quota on self-indulgent celebrities. I'm only here to pass on a message. From Someone Upstairs.

"Someone Upstairs? You mean-"

You know who I mean. He's featured fairly heavily on your albums as well, although in a much less flattering light I must say. Hooray for infinite love and forgiveness - in your case especially.

"What?"

Someone Upstairs has always had a soft spot for musicians. So have Those Below for some reason. I don't understand it myself, I have no ear for music. The dark figure tapped its skull with a skeletal finger producing a dull hollow sound that did distressing things to Michale's intestinal tract.

In any case, even before the whole Orpheus debacle, musicians have been offered a Last Chance when they come before me. It's kind of traditional now.

"Orpheus? Last Chance?"

You don't know who Orpheus was? Oh well, perhaps you'll recognise these other lucky Last Chancers then. How about The King?"

Another figure stepped out of nowhere, his white jumpsuit shockingly bright in the dark and increasingly less empty place, but even through the glare Michale recognised the face, the famously curled lip and the even more famous cocked hip, which was accompanied by a rather startling creak.

Or K.C. perchance?

A scruffy, bedraggled, bestubbled blond man shuffled forward, almost eclipsed by the King's glow until Michale looked into his eyes and saw the pure light of passion and creativity that blazed within, a light that was strengthened rather than reduced by the dark shadows of pain and doubt that also dwelt within those same orbs.

Or what about Son of Jack?

A pale, slender man moved awkwardly out from behind the dark figure and peered shyly at Michale, his face hidden behind a surgical mask. He waved a gloved hand in greeting.

"Hang on, he's not dead yet!"

Have you seen him lately? There are limits to what they can do, even with animatronics and CGI. No, he died ten years ago in an unfortunate incident involving a chimpanzee, a cigarette lighter, and an oxygen tent. He's a Last Chancer along with all the rest.

"Last Chance at what?"

Why LIFE of course! A Last Chance to make a difference in the only place that matters: among those other sad souls who share existence with you. Once you're dead you have no chance to change anything, believe you me.

"What happens when you die then?"

Well, it's actually quite complicated. It depends on your deeds, your thoughts, your beliefs, the opinions of those you leave behind, but most importantly on whatever mood I am in at the time. Let's just say that your options are quite limited at the moment. One of those options is staying here, alone, for eternity. Or if I'm feeling particularly cranky you'll eventually have Billy Ray Cyrus for company. He doesn't qualify for the Last Chance so he'll be all mine. The dark figure's grin widened, a particularly disturbing achievement without any lips.

Michale shuddered.

You've got quite a lot of catching up to do. The Last Chance gives you one final opportunity to do so.

"So you're sending me back? I'll be alive again? And all I have to do is be a better person?"

In your case better isn't quite good enough. In fact you are going to have to do something pretty special to just balance up your accounts. You were given unique gifts, just like every other soul, but you have spectacularly failed to use them to benefit those around you. I'd say you'd have to do something amazingly heroic to erase the black marks on your record. Have you forgotten Salt Lake City, 1997?

"What? That was all settled out of court!"

But the case is still pending before the Supreme Court and the Ultimate Judge, if you catch my drift Michale.

"Oh." Suddenly a broad smile broke out on Michale's face.

"Hang on! This is just some crazy dream caused by the drugs! They'll pump my stomach and I'll be right as rain. Wait till I tell the guys in the band about this!"

Your belief or disbelief does not invalidate the Last Chance, but Someone Upstairs hates wasted effort, so there will be signs to jog your memory of this conversation and its importance after you return. The time for that return has now arrived Michale. Until next time.

The dark figure and the Last Chancers faded into the darkness and Michale was once again alone in the dark and empty place.

Suddenly a lightning bolt tore through the void, blinding Michale. There was no thunder though. Again there was a silent flash, and then once more. Michale staggered backwards, finally falling back - not onto the mist but through it. He tumbled into a black abyss, a strange roaring in his ears.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Clear!"

"I've got a pulse! Get him tubed and prepped for transport!"

Michale slipped into unconsciousness, which when compared to the dark and empty place was a very comforting state to be in, so he remained there.

Epilogue:

In his private room, in a private wing of a private hospital, Michale stood shakily in his ensuite bathroom staring into the mirror. He had only recently regained consciousness after his overdose at the party two days ago. He was trying to work out why he was still wearing his skull make-up. Surely the nurses would have cleaned it off while he lay unconscious. He filled the basin with water, grabbed the soap and scrubbed vigorously at his face.

Spluttering he looked up to see the skeletal mask staring back at him, totally intact. A dim memory stirred at the back of his brain and a dark and empty terror suddenly clutched at his soul. One darkened eye-socket winked at him from the mirror and the naked toothy grin silently mouthed two words: Last Chance.



Condensed ID Card version:

As the lead singer of the band "Face of Death" Michale was a global celebrity, his trademark skull make-up known worldwide. When it was revealed he was a mutant who used his psychic powers to influence his audiences at live concerts the scandal only increased his popularity.

Touring the world, partying hard, Michale's rise seemed unstoppable, but it all came with a price.

Michale nearly paid that price when he overdosed on drugs at a party celebrating a new record deal. He was clinically dead when paramedics arrived, but they were able to revive him.

After that night, Michale was a changed man. He left the band, donated much of his money to charity and moved permanently to Paragon City and signed up as a hero. Strangely, he has never been seen without his make-up since then. Reclusive, refusing all interviews, he fights like a man possessed to protect Paragon City.


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Deathtrip, because of the dark nature of Michale's look I decided to try for some black humour with my story - I hope I succeeded. I'd also like to state that this story is in no way based on or meant to reflect my opinion of your friend!

Glad you liked it, Halfpint! My global chat tag is @Grey Scribe, so please use Grey Scribe as the credit. He is my original toon and is well-named to represent my literary pursuits in the CoX universe.



Deathtrip: serious work on Michale will start tomorrow, so his origin shouldn't be too far away.

Hi Halfpint.

Here is Molly's origin. As you can see I came up with a name for her and had a crack at a costume for her as well. I find a visual representation of a character really helps me generate ideas. I think I managed to squeeze all of your ideas in there as well - she is an orphan so she'll qualify for the SuperGroup but I think you'll agree this isn't your usual orphan story! Her childhood friend became important to the plot which was nice as well. Overall, I hope the tone isn't too dark for you.

Anyway, read on and let me know!

The Origin of The Hydra

In a small, quiet cemetery not far from Atlas Park in Paragon City two people stand by a grave. A slender young man on crutches and a tall, slim figure wearing a hooded jacket despite the warm sunshine.

"Hey, Molly," the young man says quietly, "I'll leave you alone for a bit, OK?"

"Thanks, Greg," Molly replies, her voice even quieter, her head bowed, her face hidden within the hood. Greg rests his hand on her shoulder for a moment then moves away, using his crutches with the ease of long practice.

Sinking to her knees, Molly reaches out to touch the headstone, feeling the hard, cold reality of it. Her gloved fingers slowly trace the inscriptions.

Margaret Jamis
b. 21 June 1967 - d. 3 October 1988
"Taken too soon."

Thomas Jamis
b. 3 March 1966 - d. 27 August 2006
"Reunited at last."

Beloved parents of Molly


Her mother's inscription is slightly weathered, nearly as old as Molly herself, while her father's is sharp and fresh, like Molly's grief.

Molly pulls her other hand out of her jacket pocket, a crumpled envelope held in her trembling grip. Her body shakes with silent sobs and tears drop onto the creased paper smearing the ink. Molly does not notice and it does not matter, the contents are seared into her mind. It had been found amongst her father's effects: a plain white envelope addressed to Molly.

The words within had pierced her sorrow at her father's passing and replaced it with a bleak, black despair that now threatens to consume her.

The envelope contains her mother's medical records and a short letter from her father explaining the circumstances surrounding Molly's birth. The doctors had detected Molly's mutant genes early in the pregnancy and did continual check-ups and tests. Two months later they noticed unusual cellular activity that seemed to cross the placental barrier. Cells from Molly seemed to have migrated into her mother's body as if Molly were a cancer that had gone into metastasis. However, it was another month before they discovered the bone-tumors those cells had caused within her mother's body.

Although the doctors recommended termination so that she could receive treatment, and despite Thomas's pleas for her to accept that advice, Margaret refused, adamant that she would deliver her baby safely into the world. She did so, and immediately underwent chemotherapy and radiotherapy but it was too late. She died four months later.

In the letter Molly's father described how his grief had kept him from expressing the love he felt for her, and he apologised for not being as supportive as he could have been as she was growing up, as he knew it had been difficult for her.

"A little late, Dad," Molly whispers. 'Difficult' was an understatement that highlighted the distance that had separated father and daughter. The genetic abnormalities that had killed her mother had warped Molly's development. Initially she had simply grown quicker than other children her age, so that she was always taller and gawkier. Then bony growths had slowly started to erupt from her skin, which became red and irritated. Eventually the bony plates covered much of her body, and her schoolmates had called her a freak and worse. Molly had withdrawn into herself, covering up her differences and retreating into her studies and the many different worlds opened up by books.

Only one person had stood by her for all those years, Greg McCann, a fellow outsider, restricted to crutches since birth because of his withered left leg. They had found each other in preschool and remained firm friends right up until this day.

Molly looks up but cannot see him through the forest of headstones and memorials. Like the good friend that he is, he gives her all the space she needs. Hurting him is her only regret regarding the decision she has made.

Looking around, Molly sees only an elderly woman sitting on a folding chair, quietly reading from a book as she sits beside the grave of a loved one about a hundred metres away. Molly looks back at her parents' grave and begins to speak softly.

"Mum, Dad, I don't think I can go on any more. I'm a freak and a monster. All I've done is bring you both pain and death. Pain is all that life has given me. I just want it to end. I found your sleeping pills, Dad, and tonight I'm going to take them all and be with you both forever. I just hope Greg forgives me, he has always been..."

Just then harsh laughter shatters the peace of the cemetery and Molly looks up in shock. Three youths in torn jeans and dirty T-shirts are kicking over headstones, smashing statues with a baseball bat, and spraying crude satanic symbols on everything they cannot physically destroy. Molly watches in horror as one of them kicks the chair out from underneath the old lady, spilling her onto the gravel path.

"Leave her alone!" Greg's voice rings out and he swings into view on his crutches, moving swiftly towards the youths. They turn to face him, giving the old woman a chance to scramble to her feet and hobble away. The tallest punk steps forward as Greg approaches.

"Look boys, we've got a hero coming to the rescue!"

"Why don't you just leave? You should show some respect for this place." Greg's voice wavers a little but he stands firm.

Their laughter is loud and hateful, and the thug with the bat swings it without warning and knocks away one of Greg's crutches. He falls heavily, crying out in pain as he lands on his weak leg. Molly stands, her whole body trembling as she feels something she has never felt before, a fierce, burning anger, deep within her soul.

She looks at the young men standing over her friend. They are all tall and strong, yet they seem to enjoy threatening those weaker than themselves. They gain pleasure from exerting a dominance that is empty and meaningless. They give nothing to the world around them, only taking crude pleasure from inflicting pain and causing destruction. Greg, the one person who has made her life bearable, is worth more than all three of them put together.

Without thought, Molly vaults over her parents' tombstone and races towards Greg, crying, "Get away from him!"

"Oh great, first a cripple and now a crazy chick! If we don't find a real challenge, the Hellions will never take us seriously. Get her, Steve." The leader flicks a lazy gesture towards one of his companions who moves to intercept Molly. She swings wildly at his head and he does not even try to block it, which is a mistake as the bony growths on Molly's knuckles act like knuckledusters, hitting him a lot harder then he expects. His head snaps back and he drops like a stone, hitting his head hard on a marble slab, the sharp crack shockingly loud as it echoes across the cemetery.

"[censored]!! Don't just stand there Damo! Hit her!" The youth with the baseball bat swings angrily at her, but Molly ducks with an agility that surprises even her. Meanwhile, the taller Hellion wanna-be pulls a knife and lunges at her. Before she can react he falls flat on his face with another curse. Behind him Greg grins up at her, holding onto the crutch that just tripped up her assailant.

The grin disappears and he yells, "Look out!"

Molly spins and throws up an arm to block the baseball bat as it swings down on her. The shock of impact rattles her teeth but the bony spurs concealed beneath her sleeve take the brunt of the blow. Her arm starts to throb though, and Molly starts to worry that it might be broken, but adrenalin floods her system and she clenches her fist in an attempt to fight back the pain.

No-one is more surprised than her when a foot-long bony spike shoots out of her forearm and spears into Damo's upper arm. He shouts, "Tony, help me!" Then he screams, an oddly high-pitched almost childish sound, and drops the baseball bat. Jerking backwards he clutches at his bleeding arm and in the confusion no-one notices the viscous green fluid dripping from the tip of the spike. He turns to flee but stumbles, grabbing blindly at Molly's jacket, tearing it off as he falls beside the unconscious Steve, his body twitching uncontrollably.

Molly stares at the bone sticking out of her arm in shock and does not hear Greg's warning shout as Tony grabs her from behind, wrapping his arm around her throat in a choke-hold.

"I don't care what kind of freak you are, you ugly [censored], you still bleed." Tony rams the knife into her stomach, then pulls it out dripping with bright red blood.

"Yeah, that's it," he snarls and then he viciously shoves her onto the ground.

Molly throws out her arms to break her fall and the spike snaps off with a loud crack. She lies still for a moment, paralysed by the pain shooting through her body, but then it fades and she finds the strength to get to her feet and she turns to face Tony once more.

For the first time in her life she enjoys watching his reaction to her uncovered face. Rough bony plates form a patchwork mask over her face, leaving only small amounts of exposed skin around her eyes and mouth. The skin is red and inflamed and she ignores the pain as she smiles coldly at her enemy.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Tony," Molly says softly as she lifts her shirt to show her stomach. She watches his eyes widen in amazement as the wound between two bony plates visibly knits itself together.

"I've always been a fast healer. I'm also a fast learner." Focusing on the strange new sensations flooding through her body, Molly clenches her fists and this time spikes burst forth from both of her arms and several more spring out from her shoulders. She takes a step forward and at that moment she sees Tony's arrogance and aggression dissolve into abject terror.

"You're some kind of monster! I cut you down and you just get up again. Stay away from me you [censored]!" With those parting words he turns tail and flees, straight into the arms of the police who had been summoned by the elderly woman. As they handcuff him and then move in to collect Damo and Steve, Molly collapses next to Greg, quivering with a strangely pleasurable sensation as the bony spines withdraw back into her body.

He looks at her in amazement. "Molly, that was incredible! You saved my life. I had no idea you could do stuff like that!"

"Neither did I Greg, neither did I." Molly gasps for breath, shaking all over as the realisation of what just happened finally hits her.

Five minutes ago she had been ready to die, to give up on life, choosing to abandon Greg. Now she can see that choice was a false one, it meant the end of all choices if she followed through on it. Today had shown her that life was worth fighting for, just as her mother had fought for Molly's life even though it cost her dearly. It would be an unforgivable betrayal to throw that precious gift away now.

Looking over the cemetery wall Molly can see the gigantic statue of the hero Atlas that dominates Atlas Park. She knows that Paragon City Hall is nearby where new heroes can register to defend Paragon City.

While she helps Greg back onto his feet, Molly is thinking furiously. Maybe she is a monster, but with people like Tony out there, a monster just might be able to do some good. A monster might put a little fear into their cowardly hate-filled hearts.

Molly suddenly remembers a tale of a monster from one of her books on mythology. A poisonous monster with many heads that grew back faster than you could cut them off. A monster called the Hydra.

A police officer comes over to take their statements and congratulates Molly on her bravery. He looks her straight in the eye and Molly sees respect instead of disgust and at that moment her choice is made: The Hydra is coming to Paragon City.

Unnoticed by anyone a breeze blows through the cemetery, picks up a crumpled, tear-stained envelope lying forgotten beside a grave, and blows it over the wall and away.


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Condensed ID Card version:

Molly Jamis's mutant nature had always been a curse. She hid from the world, covered in bony growths that continually erupted from her raw, weeping skin. Called a freak and a monster by those around her she was alone in the world except for her distant father, her books and close childhood friend, Greg.

With the death of her father she discovered the terrible truth: Her mutant DNA gave her rapid cellular growth almost like a tumour, but her mother had absorbed rogue cells from Molly during her pregnancy causing terminal bone cancer. Her mother refused treatment until after Molly was born, and she died soon after.

Driven to despair, Molly contemplated suicide until a threat to Greg's life revealed abilities she never knew she had, and also a reason to live.

Determined to make her mother's sacrifice count for something, Molly Jamis vowed to use her curse to strike fear into the hearts of the true monsters, the city's criminals, as Paragon City's newest heroine: The Hydra!

Hi there Halfpint and Deathtrip! Thanks for your contributions, I already have concepts in mind for both of you so keep an eye out for PMs regarding your origins soon.

Now, Twisting Nether. Once again you presented me with quite a complete origin, and I'm a little hesitant to unveil my story because I'm afraid I totally subverted it!

The first thing that hit me with Veiled Hawk was just how NICE she was. Happy family, rich, successful, mutant powers under control, etc, etc.

One of the ways I compose a story is to look for contrast, find the shadows that inevitably gather when a light shines brightly, discover the pain that dwells behind the widest smile.

With VH's overwhelming niceness my first thought was a Jekyll/Hyde type story - perhaps somewhere there's a dark side to VH that has been suppressed or even removed from her completely. Then I got a little MORE twisted...

I hope you enjoy the ride my friend!


The Origin of the Veiled Hawk

Prologue:

Countess Crey sat at her desk and used her neural implant to access the Crey Industries intranet. Gigabytes of information flowed into her mind, instantly collated and catalogued by her keenly focused intellect. One item caught her attention: Project Austringer. The implant she was using was a by-product of that very project, so she delved deeper.

A Crey systems analyst had identified an anomaly within the Austringer database. Although no-one had accessed the system, data from within an encrypted section seemed to have spontaneously transferred itself outside of the Crey network.

With a slight frown marring the cold beauty of her face, the Countess mentally dictated two emails. One to the systems analyst instructing him to identify the missing information and its destination; the other to the Project Austringer supervisor, advising him to increase surveillance on the subject and report any unusual behaviour immediately.

Sending the emails, she moved on to the next item demanding her attention.

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In her penthouse apartment high above Paragon City, Sara Thompson stepped into her bedroom, her slender form wrapped in a thick pink towel. She vigorously dried her long, flame-red tresses with another towel until they shone in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Laid across the bed were two sets of clothing: a conservative but stylish executive ensemble and a tan lycra body-suit with matching boots, black gloves and black winged hood. She sat on the bed and reached for her laptop. Opening it she scanned her schedule for the day.

It began with a morning meeting with her father, Victor Thompson, and the board of his company, FlameTech Corporation. They were to discuss several joint patents they were working on based on Sara's work on neural/computer interfaces. FlameTech specialised in weapon systems that could benefit greatly from the improved response times and target identification such interfaces promised.

Then she had a lunch-date with her friends Chris and Cathy which would give her a chance to catch up on all the Paragon U gossip. After that, she was making her first official appearance as the Veiled Hawk at Atlas Park, unveiling a plaque dedicated to her mentor, Blue Nova, a long-time family friend who had helped her master her abilities to control and focus energy into deadly blasts. Tragically he had fallen in the Rikti War, defending Sara and her family from the alien invaders but his sacrifice had inspired her to follow in his super-heroic footsteps.

Later that afternoon she was volunteering at the pediatric clinic in King's Row run by her mother, Claire. Then, in the evening, she would join her parents, brother and sister at the family home to celebrate Victor and Claire's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

Finally, there should be time afterwards to go out on patrol as the Veiled Hawk, as she had her parents' blessing to leave the party early if necessary. Her entire family supported her decision to become a superhero and defend Paragon City just as Blue Nova had done.

A soft chime alerted her to the arrival of an email so she opened up her Inbox and then gave a soft gasp of surprise. It was a private encrypted voice-mail from Countess Crey herself. Sara had never met the Countess during her brief employment with Crey Industries. Concerned by ethical shortcuts being taken with her neural interface research, Sara had left the company, taking many of her patents with her, which luckily she had registered in her own name.

Crey lawyers had challenged this but with the support of her father and the FlameTech legal team, the case was eventually settled out of court. Crey Industries retained the rights to several prototypes she had developed while working for them, but compensated her to the tune of several million dollars. Sara had invested that money in FlameTech as well as other companies, and was now financially independent. A fact that had greatly assisted her plans to become a superhero. She aimed to augment her mutant abilities with a variety of devices built by herself, adapted from FlameTech designs. Her first prototypes included a web grenade that could harmlessly immobilise attackers and an emergency jetpack with limited range. Both of these sat in the corner of the room awaiting their final shakedown at FlameTech's testing range.

Shrugging off her surprise, Sara plugged a pair of earphones into the laptop and doubleclicked on the voicemail message. There was a crackle of static, then Countess Crey's voice filled her ears.

"Hood and jesses - freeze."

Sara stiffened and suddenly found she could not speak or move - she was totally paralysed. Helplessly she listened as a new voice spoke, a voice that sounded oddly familiar. With a shock, she realised it was her own voice!

"Sara, you are probably confused and scared right now, and I don't blame you. I would be too, especially seeing that in an odd way I am you, the real you. I'll do my best to explain all of this to you as quickly as I can.

"The words at the beginning of this message are a code-phrase that was implanted in your mind a year ago by Crey Industries. They used a device called the Mnemonitor that you built for them. It can store, edit and transfer memories. The codes they implanted give Countess Crey total control over your nervous system. I don't want to scare you, but there are codes that can force you to kill for them, force you into a coma or even shut down your heart. The existence of these codes is the first piece of evidence I have for what I'm about to tell you.

"Sara, your entire life is a lie, a fiction created by Crey Industries to facilitate your infiltration of the hero community in Paragon City. Your family, your friends, all have been hired to support the illusion of a normal life."

On the screen of the laptop confidential Crey Industries employment records began to appear: Victor Thompson, Supervisor, Project Austringer; Claire Thompson, Chief Medical Researcher, Project Austringer; Chris Beckwith, Security Officer (Surveillance), Project Austringer; Cathy Le Guint, Security Officer (Surveillance), Project Austringer. Financial records came onto the screen, showing that through several shell companies FlameTech was a wholly-owned subsidiary of Crey Industries.

Trapped within her frozen body, Sara's mind hovered on the brink of collapse as her perfect life crumbled before her eyes. All of those she loved and trusted were revealed as actors in a grotesque soap opera, all designed to keep her happy until she carried out whatever instructions the Countess had buried deep within her mind.

"Sara, I think you are ready now to learn the complete truth. There is a code that will clear all of the control-codes and reset your memories so that you will know your true origins."

Again, Countess Crey's cool, cultured voice echoed inside her skull, "Hood and jesses - reset."

Sara collapsed back onto the bed, her body twitching as a cascade of memories overwhelmed her psyche. At the centre of the maelstrom of images, voices, sounds and smells was one constant: The icily beautiful face of Countess Crey.

*********************************************

The Countess gazing at her through the thick plastic and nutrient fluid of a hibernation chamber as she awakened for the first time, her mind a muddled mass of sensations, with a knowledge of language yet no idea of her own name or of any existence outside the brightly lit laboratory. The cold shock of the air as she was extracted from the tank and the strange sensation of shame that she felt as she crouched naked before the Countess, coughing up the viscous fluid and taking her first breath.

"Welcome to Crey Industries, Clone GF1."

The intense and accelerated schooling by Crey technicians that filled her strangely blank memory with technical information including advanced engineering and biotech. The Countess's cold look of satisfaction as GF1's mind soaked up information like a sponge, eventually leaving the technicians far behind as GF1 began to adapt and then improve on Crey's already advanced technology.

Combat training against Paragon Protectors that honed her control of her energy blasts, all under the cold, cruel scrutiny of the Countess.

Seeing the Countess smile for the first time when GF1 presented the Mnemonitor prototype to her.

"Oh, this is priceless. This will speed up the training processes of the Revenant Project immensely, as well as opening up many new opportunities. Well done, GF1!"

The terrible night months later when GF1 cracked Crey's internal data security protocols and learned what 'clone' actually meant and the reality of the Revenant Project. Of discovering the hibernation chamber that contained the remains of the superheroine Gearfalcon, her 'donor'. The shock of seeing her own face, lifeless and still.

Digging deeper within the computer network, GF1 finally discovered the details of Project Austringer and Countess Crey's plans for her. The creation of a false identity and control codes implanted directly into GF1's mind using the Mnemonitor. Turning her into 'Veiled Hawk', a sleeper agent perfectly placed to spy on Paragon City's heroes and sabotage any attempts by them to discover the true agenda of Crey Industries.

Finally, the night before her scheduled 'erasure', GF1 used the Mnemonitor prototype to create a computer virus based on her own memories. A virus designed to data-mine all the information it could find on Project Austringer. The control-codes were heavily encrypted and GF1 expected it to take months for the virus to extract them all while avoiding Crey's internal security. Eventually it would escape from the Crey network and track down the false 'Sara Thompson', and find some way to contact her. GF1 hoped it would not be too late to prevent the Countess Crey's dire plans from coming to pass.

************************************************** **

Gasping for air, it wasn't Sara but GF1 who dragged herself upright, her mind whirling. One thought burned brightly within her, she would not let the Countess get away with creating this mockery of a life. She had to fight back and reclaim the life the Countess had stolen from her and to do that she needed resources. Grabbing the laptop she quickly accessed her bank accounts and liquidated whatever assets she could, funnelling the funds into anonymous Swiss accounts that had no links to either FlameTech or Crey Industries.

Once that was done, she quickly changed into her Veiled Hawk costume, prepared for any eventuality, her whole body humming with tension. She almost screamed when her doorbell chimed and she heard a familiar voice on the intercom.

"Hey sleepyhead! Did you forget about lunch? Your Dad is upset that you missed that board meeting, so he asked me to check in on you. Are you in there?"

It was Cathy, the woman who had pretended to be her best friend for the last year. GF1 stifled the urge to unleash an energy blast at the door and instead grabbed the jetpack and strapped it on.

"Sara! Is everything OK? Let me in, I'm getting worried."

Cathy's voice sounded full of real concern and for a moment GF1 wavered. Then the Countess's face flashed before her mind's eye again and her resolve stiffened. Picking up the cluster of web grenades, she raised her hand and unleashed a blinding bolt of energy that shattered the windows. Stepping forward to to the ledge outside, she jammed down the jetpack's throttle.

With a roar the backblast threw her apartment into chaos, just as her life had been, and the Veiled Hawk flew across a sun-lit Paragon City towards a new life free of Countess Crey's control. Filled with a new determination to turn on her creator and make the Countess pay for her crimes against Gearfalcon and all the other lost heroes.

********************************************

Epilogue:

The Countess Crey sat at her desk, absorbing the reports of the Surveillance Officer, Cathy Le Guint, and the findings of the systems analyst. For a brief moment she admired the tenacity and skill GF1 had shown in circumventing her conditioning. Then she mentally composed a new email:

To: Victor Thompson, Supervisor, Project Austringer.
From: Countess Crey

Victor,

I think we should alter the planning parameters on GF2. I want advanced assassination protocols programmed in. GF2's code-name will be Hooded Vulture. Her first mission will be the location and destruction of the failed subject GF1. Advise me of a revised timeline for the completion of GF2's conditioning ASAP.

C.

Condensed ID Card version:

Sara Thompson has it all: smart, attractive, with two degrees and a family and friends that love and support her. She's also richer than Manticore and has the mutant ability to generate energy blasts, fighting crime in Paragon City as the Veiled Hawk.

And it's all a lie.

Cloned from the fallen heroine Gearfalcon, Crey Industries exploited her innate technological skills to create the Mnemonitor - a device that could store, edit and transfer memories. The clone was imprinted with a false identity and sent out into Paragon City as a Crey sleeper agent.

But hidden somewhere in a Crey database were Sara's original memories and imbued with her unusual energy signature they awakened, discovered Crey's true plans for Sara and escaped into cyberspace. Downloaded onto her computer disguised as a sound file the memories managed to free Sara from Crey's control.

Now that the Veiled Hawk has reclaimed her life she will not rest until the Countess Crey and her megacorporation are brought to justice.

Hey no problem, glad you liked Shoshemi's origin so much you came back for more!

At last! A hero with some sci-fi flavour. I think I'm going to have some fun with this one. Stay tuned Twisting Nether.

Hi Twisting Nether,

Thanks for your submission. I have to admit that when I first read it my reactions was, "Well, what does he want me to do?" Your existing origin is interesting and colourful I couldn't see much wrong with it at all. But then, as you said, a different point of view can be worthwhile, so I looked again.

What I came up with were a couple of questions and inconsistencies that eventually sparked the epic I'm about to inflict on you.

What caught my eye first was that Shoshemi comes across as a fully trained monk, even before she starts her career in Paragon City. She seems pretty enlightened, has mastered her inner self and her powers, then she suddenly abandons the monks to go wreak vengeance on Requiem and the Council and become a dinky PC hero. Even with the attack on her sister that jars a bit (for me anyway).

Secondly - you have two sisters, both kick-[censored] monks and one of them ends up as a vegetable! I couldn't have that as you will see.

Finally, I'm not sure if maybe it was an oversight, or you just couldn't find a costume part that you liked, but your profile mentions the golden Jinzu sash several times, but there's no sign of it on your screenshot. I had a crack at explaining that too as well as why she masks her face.

As always, this origin is offered in the hope that it enhances your (role)play experience, so feel free to accept, reject or adapt any part of it to fit your concept.

In any case, I hope you enjoy it.


The Origin of Shoshemi

Night falls across Paragon City, but Independence Port never sleeps. Floodlights illuminate the docks as ships continue loading and unloading, and in the chaos no-one notices a darkly clad figure leap lithely from the railing of a battered freighter and disappear into the shadows.

Minutes later a slim, petite Asian woman dressed in loose black tunic and pants stands beside several cargo containers. She intently observes a non-descript warehouse with striking dark eyes, stroking long black strands of hair away from her face with a graceful movement of her hand.

Taking a deep breath, Shoshemi, monk of the Order of Li Long, centres herself, reaching deep within to feel the flow of qi within her body. Closing her eyes, she extends her qi, searching for the the energy flows within the land around her. She finds them, fainter and more complex than the clean, pure energy of the monastery in the mountains where she was raised. Here in this city the works of men lay heavily upon the land, distorting the natural balance she has taken for granted during her long training with Master Muryama. Slowly she deciphers the unfamiliar patterns and confirms her suspicions. Beneath the warehouse is a much larger complex, extending several stories below the surface. Concentrating, she senses powerful energies constrained within the structure.

She also senses what has brought her halfway around the world: the faint sensation of her twin sister's soul in torment as it struggles to cling onto life.

Opening her eyes, Shoshemi utters a single word, "Kikyo."

************************************************** **********************************

Several months earlier in a small village near the Li Long Monastery in Japan, Shoshemi waited by the village well as her sister Kikyo spoke to the village elders. Kikyo visited the village regularly, using the Kaji healing skills she had learnt from Master Shidehara to mend broken bones, cure fevers and ease childbirth. Shoshemi felt her sister's happiness as laughing children brought her gifts of flowers and fruits and smiled softly to herself. Several of the children shyly touched the shining golden sash Kikyo wore around her waist. This was the Jinzu that marked Kikyo's attainment of inner peace, and her access to the secrets of the Order of Li Long.

Sheshomi felt a tug on the identical sash she was wearing and looked down to see a small boy looking shyly up at her.

"Kikyo?"

Shoshemi's smile broadened and she crouched down beside the child so that he did not have to crane up to look at her face.

"No, little one. I am her sister, Shoshemi. See, Kikyo is over there with your friends."

She could not help laughing at the look of confusion on his face as he looked first at Kikyo, then back at her before running over to join the other children. Shoshemi had never visited this village before, accompanying her sister this time at the request of Master Muryama.

Without looking up, Shoshemi felt her sister's presence and she stood up and turned to face her in one smooth movement.

"Shoshemi, the elders are ready for you to clear the well."

"Thank you sister, can you make sure the children stay clear?"

Kikyo nodded and moved to the edge of the village square with the children and the rest of the villagers.

Shoshemi faced the well, bringing her qi into focus with the ease of many years of training and meditation. Tapping into the energy flows that tied the village to the surrounding landscape, she quickly discovered the small boulder that had been dislodged from from the shaft of the well, blocking it up. Drawing on the skills passed on from her Master, she used those energy flows to loosen the ties that bound the boulder to the earth. Slowly, effortlessly, the boulder rose up out of the well and then gently lowered down beside it.

Intent on her task, Shoshemi had not noticed the children's chatter and laughter as it died away, replaced by an awed silence, but she was still shocked by the loud cheers from the villagers as they thanked her for the return of their water supply.

It was because of the cheering that no-one heard the helicopters until it was too late. Swooping low over the hills that surrounded the village, one helicopter circled overhead, dropping teargas canisters that quickly turned the cheers into screams of panic. The other helicopter landed nearby, unloading several strangely armoured and masked soldiers who pushed roughly through the chaos with brutal efficiency, intent on their goal.

Blinded, choking and totally disoriented, Shoshemi was helpless for several moments until she managed to harness the energy flows to create a large bubble of clear air over the village square. Dragging herself to her feet and wiping her streaming eyes she saw injured people lying, moaning, around the square, and children cowering in the arms of their parents, sobbing in terror. Then through the haze that surrounded the village she saw the soldiers drag a slim, dark-haired figure into the helicopter. It took off immediately and both aircraft disappeared behind the hills, beyond Shoshemi's reach.

"Kikyo!!!!"

************************************************** ******************************

Stepping out from the shadows, Shoshemi advances towards the warehouse. A door is guarded by two armed men in uniforms she remembers far too well. After following them across the globe she has managed to learn they are members of a criminal group known as the Council. They are ruthless murderers who work for monsters that are even worse and she intends to show none of them any mercy.

Reaching into the energy flows she severs those that tie the guards to the world of matter and substance. She watches as they fade into near-invisibility, helpless wraiths who can do nothing to stop her as she stands before them. The effect is only temporary but it gives her more than enough time to focus her qi into a bolt of force that blasts the door off its hinges. Breaking into a sprint she races down several corridors as alarms blare into life, summoning more guards. Effortlessly she repels some with force bolts, while others she strengthens their ties to the earth making their limbs as heavy as lead, effectively immobilising them.

She keeps moving, her extended senses letting her move unerringly through the base towards Kikyo, who she can feel is still alive, if only barely. Finally, after sending several guards tumbling down a stairwell with a wave of force, Shoshemi comes to a large reinforced vault door. She stands before it, her head bowed focussing her qi into the centre of the dense metal barrier. With a loud groan it buckles, shifting in its frame but it remains wedged in place. Through a gap at its edge, Shoshemi hears a panicked voice shouting over the alarms.

"Requiem, we must have reinforcements! The base has been compromised by at least one superhuman intruder. I'm getting gravimetric readings and energy spikes that are off the charts. We need warbot support immediately." There was a pause and then the voice resumes, "No, the subject's conditioning is not complete, and we have been unable to gather any usable information after she resisted the initial interrogation. I would advise against termination until the very last moment to preserve the information she holds."

At the moment, Shoshemi releases a titanic burst of energy that punches the vault door out of its frame, sending it flying across the room. A pale, slender figure bent over a communications console barely has a chance to look up in surprise before it is crushed into an unidentifiable mass of torn metal and sparking electronics.

There is no-one else visible in the room and Shoshemi enters, her iron self-control wavering as she finally feels Kikyo's presence so close by. The room is filled with incomprehensible machinery, some of it looking vaguely medicinal but it is a large capsule in the corner that draws her forward.

Hesitantly, Shoshemi touches the cold, coffin-shaped metal doors set into the front of the device. Wrenching them open, she stands transfixed in horror at what the Council has done to her sister. Pale, corpse-like, with only the faintest pulse fluttering in the prominent blue veins of her neck, Kikyo stands upright but unconscious, coccooned in a web of intravenous tubing and diagnostic equipment. Her naked, hairless skull sports flaring pointed ears and there is something subtly wrong with her face that Shoshemi cannot quite pin down.

Suddenly Kikyo opens her eyes. Blazing red orbs that are filled with a mindless hunger lock onto Shoshemi who stumbles back with a cry. With a hissing snarl, Kikyo shreds her restraints with clawlike hands and lunges forward, her pale lips peeling back to reveal a mouth full of jagged fangs.

Instinctively Shoshemi raises her last line of defence, a shield formed from her personal qi that totally isolates her from the effects of the outside world. Unfortunately it cannot hide Kikyo's familiar but horribly distorted face as she savagely slashes at the shield with crooked talons, becoming more and more enraged as each attack is turned aside.

Inside the shield Shoshemi is wracked by grief and horror at what her sister has become, despair rising within her until it overwhelms the inner peace that she trained so hard to achieve. As her will and resolve crumble within, so her shield weakens without, shattering under Kikyo's frenzied assault. Shrieking in triumph the hideous creation slashes her claws across Shoshemi's face before plunging them into her chest, shredding the golden sash concealed beneath the tunic. Kikyo throws back her misshapen head hissing in triumph and pins Shoshemi to the floor.

Shoshemi gasps in agony, her lacerated cheek burning, her vision dimming. She can feel her life-force being drained by the dark demon that her sister has become. Taking what feels like her last breath, she chokes out, "K-k-k-kikyaaah..."

************************************************** **************************************************

Seven years earlier in the holy sanctum of the Li Long Monastery, two young women knelt before the Abbot, Master Abe. They were the youngest acolytes ever to have survived the trials of Li Long and gain the holy Jinzu and thus become full members of the Order. Though they gave no outward sign of it, both sisters were filled with anticipation and excitement, feelings that were only enhanced because they were shared through the spiritual connection the twins shared. A bond that had helped them through the gruelling training and the deadly trials they had just endured.

Master Abe stood before them, his wizened face stern as he completed the ceremonial bestowal of the golden sashes.

"Arise Shoshemi and Kikyo, " he intoned, his voice echoing around the chamber. "You have proven yourselves worthy of the Jinzu, and now you must learn what that truly means.

"Seven hundred years ago our founder, Li Long, was given the guardianship of a secret so terrible that it would destroy humanity if it ever fell into the wrong hands. That guardianship is now passed on to you as bearers of the Jinzu. More than a mere symbol of status or privilege, these sashes link you to Li Long himself, who continues to guard the secret even in death. For it is not just mortals who covet the secret's power. Know that those acolytes who fall in attempting the trials pass over to serve alongside Li Long as guardians, just as you and I will in time. Over the coming months you will learn more of these matters and be instructed in your duties as guardians of the secret. For now, return to your rooms and meditate on what you have accomplished."

Bowing to the Abbot and the other Masters gathered in the sanctum the sisters walked out, closing the doors behind them. As soon as they were alone they collapsed into each other's arms, overwhelmed with emotion.

"We did it, sister," Kikyo whispered into Shoshemi's ear, "we did it together."

"Yes, we did it together - together forever, Kikyo."

************************************************** **************************************************

Abruptly, time seems to freeze, and Shoshemi can see everything around her with absolute clarity, even though she is sure her eyes are shut. A voice echoes from deep within her mind, driving back the despair and fear that threatens to drag her into the darkness of death.

"Sister of the Jinzu, your encroaching death has enabled me to reach out to you and aid you in your direst need. Look deep within yourself to find what you seek."

Looking outwards Shoshemi sees Kikyo looming over her, and with her strange new vision she can see the dark tendrils of corruption lacing Kikyo's shrivelled soul, driving her to devour and destroy her own flesh and blood. Turning away from that terrifying vision, Shoshemi looks within herself, delving deeper and deeper until she finds it. A tiny flickering spark at the very core of her soul. The last sputtering remnant of her sister's love for her is about to die and Shoshemi knows she will die along with it.

Focusing on that fragile ember Shoshemi pours out all the love she bears for her sister, all her memories of shared pain and mutual joys, the sound of children's laughter and squalling newborns and the simple sensation of holding her sister's hand. This outpouring of love fans the spark into a blaze that lances forth from Shoshemi's forehead into Kikyo's chest.

Kikyo shrieks in agony and flings herself across the room desperate to escape the unbearable purity of that light. She scrabbles into a conduit, torn open during Shoshemi's violent entry earlier and disappears into the darkness.

The light flickers then suddenly winks out and Shoshemi starts to sob quietly as she realises her link to her sister has disappeared with it. She rolls slowly onto her side and catches a glimpse of herself in a shard of glass and she gasps in shock. A row of ragged clawmarks mar her left cheek and her hair has turned bone-white, but it is the third eye calmly gazing at her from the centre of her forehead which pushes her close to total collapse.

"You have been sorely wounded, spiritually as well as physically, Sister of the Jinzu, but you will recover. I have summoned help which should arrive soon."

"Master Li," Shoshemi whispers hoarsely, "is that you?"

"Yes, little sister, it is I. Your inner peace may be broken, but not your soul and with my guidance and training you may regain much that you have lost. Then together we will fulfill our duties as guardians of the secret. We must ensure that Kikyo cannot pass on what she knows to the Council or anyone else. The hunt for her will be long and painful, but necessary. For now, little sister, you must grieve. Rest."

Shoshemi hears raised voices and then the room is full of brightly coloured figures, and as she slips into unconsciousness a woman's voice says, "Are you OK? Don't worry, we're here to help." A gentle touch seems to draw the pain from her injuries as she hears the voice say in quieter tones, "I think she's out now, she's pretty badly torn up though. Even with accelerated healing there is going to be some nasty scarring. Hang on, I think she's trying to say something!"

"Kikyo."

Condensed ID Card Version:

A man named Li Long founded an order of monks in the early 1300's to guard a secret potent enough to destroy humanity.

700 years later, twin sisters Shoshemi and Kikyo became the youngest acolytes ever to pass the deadly trials of Li Long, gain the Jinzu, the golden sash of inner peace and learn the secret. Kikyo mastered the healing arts while Shoshemi learned to wield the invisible geomantic forces of the earth to immobilise her foes.

Disaster struck when agents of Requiem kidnapped Kikyo. Tracking them to a hidden Council base in Paragon City, Shoshemi broke in only to discover her sister had been transformed into a Vampyri. In the confusion Kikyo escaped, savagely attacking Shoshemi as she fled, destroying her Jinzu and scarring her face.

Her inner peace shattered by despair, Shoshemi was lost until Master Li's essence awakened her third eye, showing her the true path to redemption. She must find her sister, protect the secret and stop Requiem at any cost.


************************************************** ******************

Well, there it is, I warned you it was an epic! I'm not sure what inspired me to try using flashbacks, but it seemed to work out OK. I hope you don't mind me turning Kikyo into a vampire, but I felt it added so much more drama to the story as well as providing a continuing hook for future adventures. In-game, you or a friend with CoV can now roll up an insane nosferatu/ninja stalker called Kikyo to become Shoshemi's nemesis!

I also purposely refrained from even hinting what the great 'secret' was because I assume that is at the heart of your narrative of Shoshemi and the Li Long monks.

Thanks for the opportunity to play in your particular corner of the CoX universe - it was fun!

I have to agree - as the ultimately customizable aspect of your hero/villain, the costume has to reflect your character's origin, concept and powers. We need more info to come up with reasonable costume ideas for your heroes.

Welcome from a fellow Aussie! As I have no drawing skills, I was initially drawn here by my obsession with CoX's costume-maker, but I've continued to lurk because of the wonderful art and overwhelmingly friendly and positive atmosphere here. Now I have on more reason to keep coming back - great work!

Hi Doc_Kro,

Happy to oblige! I'm very glad to see a character you've obviously invested a lot of time in finally discover his roots. I hope it enhances your future adventures with Xander.

Let me know when he reaches 50 and I'll write a celebratory tale of him facing off against his Daddy - Fafnir the Frost Giant!

Any more lost heroes or villains out there, searching for their origins?

Thank you very much for your kind words, TerminusEst13, glad you liked it! *gives TE13 a manly punch to the shoulder from a safe distance*

Now, Doc_Kro, here is Xander's origin. Once again I've plundered mythology, so I hope I don't get in a rut. Maybe there are some techno/science heroes/villains out there to break this streak.

Once again, it seems the pattern is that I write a 'short' story which I can then pare down to something that will fit on an ID card. The main inspiration for Xander's story was the possibility that his rise to hero-hood was just as sudden and slap-dash as his 'creation' was! It ended up with a nice contrast (I think) of tragedy and comedy. I hope you like it.

The Origin of Xander Frost

(or: My mother married a Frost Giant!)

I first met Xander Frost right at the beginning of his career. He was sitting in my local bar, alone, radiating a chill that I could feel across the room. I was a hero groupie even then, so I gathered up my courage and sat down next to him. He wasn't in costume, just dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, but his pale blue skin, pointed ears and hairless skull were a giveaway.

He turned a cold blue eye in my direction briefly, then knocked back his drink. I took the opportunity to offer a refill, which he accepted with a grunt. He was drinking neat whiskey, and I watched as two chunks of ice formed on his fingertips, finally falling into his glass with a clink.

"Cool power," I said, regretting the weak pun even as it escaped my lips. He glanced at me again and I swear his lips twitched with the beginning of the grin that would become famous, but then he sighed and looked away.

"Deanna St. James," I said, extending my hand. He turned back to me, took my hand and shook it once. His grip was firm but brief, his skin cool and dry against mine.

"Xander Frost," he paused, looking into my eyes for the first time that evening, "That's my real name by the way, not an alias, bit of a sick joke actually."

"Why?"

"Well, I just found out today who my father is," he took another drink, "and he's not human. Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"I'm sure."

Xander looked into the mirror behind the bar and spoke softly, "I didn't always look like this, I was just a normal kid, or so I thought, living a normal life with my mother. The only odd thing was she never told me who my father was, even though I asked her several times. It caused quite a few arguments over the years, and I said some things I wish I could take back."

He stopped, closing his eyes, and I saw his shoulders tense up as he struggled with the powerful emotions churning within him. His next words came out in a rush.

"She's dead now, so I've lost that chance."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling inadequate. He opened his eyes and looked at me as if he was startled to still find me there.

"Thanks. I guess I'm still in shock. It was only yesterday and the moment she died - all this happened. Suddenly I looked like an anemic Smurf and there was this giant raven flying around the room squawking like that Chef from the Muppets. Even stranger, I could understand every word it said."

"What did it say?"

" 'Greetings Skandir, son of Fafnir, Frost Giant of Niflheim, Lord of Storms, from Odin One-Eye, Lord of Asgard,' and so on and so forth. It took a couple of minutes to get all the introductions out of the way. Turned out the raven's name is Huginn and he is a messenger for this Odin guy who is some Norse god or something. In any case, I'm still trying to get my head around the idea my father is a giant."

"Hang on, your mother was human wasn't she? How? Oh, sorry!" I stopped, realising how inappropriate the question was.

"Don't worry, that freaked me out too. It seems Fafnir is a dwarf sometimes, but that is an image that is only slightly less disturbing I'm afraid. In any case he left my mother before I was born. Odin took pity on her and put a geas on me, some sort of enchantment that concealed my true unearthly nature so that she could raise me as a normal child. Unfortunately the geas was for the term of her natural life, so suddenly I'm a blue freak who can spit ice-cubes and jump-start a car with a lightning bolt. On top of all that, the raven gave me an ultimatum."

"What is it?"

"Either join my father in Niflheim, a world of eternal darkness, ice and storms, or join Odin in the Hall of Heroes in Valhalla and hang out with a bunch of dead Vikings. I've got until midnight to decide."

"What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea, " he looked down into his glass.

"I do," I reached across and took his hand. "Odin respects heroes, right? Why don't you go to Paragon City and become one? You've got the power and staying out of Niflheim or Valhalla is pretty powerful motivation. Do you think he'll go for it?"

Xander looked up at me, and I saw his smile, just briefly but it was there. "You know, he just might. I've got that black wetsuit I bought for my surfing holiday that I could use as a costume, and I don't even have to change my name!" He laughed then, a surprisingly warm sound from his pale blue lips.

A sharp rapping sound caused us both to turn around. Perched on the window ledge outside the bar was a huge black raven glaring at us through the glass. Xander slid off the barstool and paused beside me.

"Well, I guess it's time to face the music. Thanks Deanna, it really helped to have someone to talk this over with." He turned to go, then swung back, holding out one hand. "Here, this is for you." Resting on his palm was a large glittering snowflake. "As long as I'm around this will never melt, and if you ever need me, just hold it and call for me and I'll be there." He paused, a little embarrassed and added, "Oh, it's great for keeping your drinks cold too."

As I picked up the snowflake, entranced by its beauty, he moved closer and his lips brushed my cheek. I looked up but he was gone, leaving nothing but a few streamers of mist snaking across the floor. The rest, of course, is history.

Condensed ID Card version:

Xander Frost led a totally normal life, right up until graduation when two hammerblows shattered his predictable existence. His mother, Freya died and he finally learnt who his father was: Fafnir the Frost Giant, Lord of Niflheim. Turning pale blue and losing all of his hair did not help either.

Fafnir had abandoned Freya before Xander's birth, so she obtained a geas that hid his unearthly nature. Her death broke the geas and Xander was visited by a raven that offered him a choice. Join his father in Niflheim, world of ice and darkness and eternal storms, or travel to Valhalla and dwell with Odin and the heroes of Asgard.

Without thinking Xander said, "Why can't I be a hero right here?"

"Done," said the raven.

Although he initially tried to avoid his responsibilities a nasty incident involving a severed head and an eight-legged horse eventually convinced him to relocate to Paragon City and use his icy heritage and lightning wit to fight evil.

I have a couple of villains who rarely wear any clothing in any case, so I'll put them forward:

Grey Scribe (any autumn/winter month)
Grey Scribe (Xmas edition for December)
Techdragon (spring/summer)

Hi TerminusEst13

Thanks for your submission, it was great, filled with details that gave me plenty to work with. You seemed to have done a fairly complete job of creation with just his motivations waiting to be fleshed out.

As you will see, you inspired me to write a bit more than I originally intended, so this is now too long to fit on his ID card, so I've added a trimmed version for that purpose.

In my eagerness to explore his history I hope I haven't revealed too much of the mystery that is 'Anonysmo Dragon'.

I also made a couple of assumptions that I hope don't invalidate the concept - mainly involving his 'racial' abilities and appearance being non-human, ie that he is a serpent-man.

Also, I wrote this fairly 'straight' with little of the drama that shines through your descriptions except possibly at the very end.

In any case, let me know what you think:


The Origin of Anonysmo Dragon

The child left on the doorstep of the orphanage in a small Mexican town seemed to be cursed from the start, with his scaly skin and vestigial tail. Yet the oldest nun who ran the orphanage saw beyond that, perhaps influenced by the native traditions passed on from her ancestors that told of Quetzalcoatl, a feathered serpent that had guided and protected humanity in ancient times and was destined someday to return. She took him in and raised him alongside the other orphans, yet his early life was not easy.

He grew quickly and was always larger and stronger than the other children, which left him isolated but self-reliant. He loved to fight, rough-housing with the older boys, not out of anger or malice, but for the pure joy of testing his strength and will against them. This boisterousness came to a head when he exhibited an innate ability to store and project heat, which resulted in one of his opponents being badly burnt.

In desperation the nuns put him in the care of Manuel Ortega, the patron and founder of the orphanage. Ortega had been one of the most famous luchadors or wrestlers of his age, fighting for most of his career under the name of "Dragon Magnifico". After retiring, he had returned to his home-town, spending most of his winnings on the construction and maintenance of the orphanage. He lived on the outskirts of town on a small ranch run by his family, enjoying the quiet life.

That peace ended with the arrival of the sullen, hulking youth from the orphanage. Upset about losing the only home he had ever known he initially resented Ortega's strict discipline. He soon grew to respect his elderly teacher however, and accepted him as his mentor. Ortega had travelled the world as a youth, training in several schools of martial arts and he passed all of his knowledge on to his student, emphasising their traditions of focus and self-control. Lessons that his brash young protege readily absorbed, along with Ortega's strong sense of honour and duty. All of these styles combined to form the fast-moving 'lucha libre' fighting style that had been Dragon Magnifico's trademark and that was now mastered by his student.

Eventually, the youth learned to control and suppress his heat-generating abilities, even in the stress of combat, so that he would never again inadvertently hurt his opponents. With Ortega's blessing he entered a wrestling competition held in a nearby town. Wearing a mask and a costume that emphasised rather than concealed his reptilian attributes, he fought under the name of 'Anonysmo Dragon' to honour his teacher who had done so much for him.

Anonysmo Dragon was successful, and his career quickly took off. For several years he fought at the top professional level, entertaining thousands of people in his never-ending battles against opponents such as El Badguyo, Squid Hitler, and Black Rorshach. Despite the success and adulation, he still felt isolated and lacking in purpose. He knew no life, no identity beyond that of Anonysmo Dragon. These feelings intensified when he learned of Ortega's death while on tour.

Returning to his home, Anonysmo Dragon put on a charity match for the entire village in honour of his mentor, raising money for the orphanage and the community. Afterwards, he met the old, blind nun who had originally taken him in who explained that she had been holding something in trust for him. It was a jade amulet, carved into the likeness of a winged serpent that had been with him when he was left at the orphanage.

When she handed the amulet to him the resonance of the crystals inside the stone activated his dormant heat powers, and his hand was engulfed in a ball of fire. Within the flames, Anonysmo Dragon began to see images as ancient racial memories welled up deep within him. Rigid with shock he saw his mother and father, their scaly faces filled with love and the pain of giving him up. Then their parents and then more and more serpent people until he saw Quetzalcoatl himself. A great teacher who had shared his knowledge and wisdom with humanity as well as his own people, Quetzalcoatl's legend still lingered in the Americas centuries later.

As Anonysmo Dragon absorbed more of his heritage he became aware of a darkness within the stone. A time of great evil when Quetzalcoatl's teachings were overthrown and his people's legacy was corrupted by darkness. Torn apart, the true serpent race dwindled, hiding in isolation until they were almost extinct, with one last infant son remaining. When his parents felt their deaths approaching, in desperation they left him on the steps of a human orphanage.

Finally, rising from the fire was Quetzalcoatl's shining form, wreathed in plumes of flame. Gazing deep within Anonysmo Dragon's eyes he spoke:

"Last true son of Quetzalcoatl, you have been found worthy to wield the flames of justice that are your birthright. In their fiery embrace you will become a beacon of hope for those who honour freedom and truth. Know that the primordial evil that doomed our race still exists, lurking in darkness beneath a great city to the north. You must travel there, face that evil and avenge us, and protect those now threatened by it. Know that in that great city you will also find others of great courage and integrity who will aid you in your struggle. Fight evil alongside them, and you will no longer be alone."

Trimmed ID Card version:

Raised in a Mexican orphanage in total ignorance of his heritage, a scaly, snake-tailed child hid his differences beneath a mask. Under the tutelage of one of Mexico's greatest luchadors, he mastered many different fighting styles and rose to fame on the pro wrestling circuit under the ring-name of 'Anonysmo Dragon'.

After the death of his mentor, Anonysmo Dragon returned to the orphanage where he was reunited with an ancient jade amulet, carved in the likeness of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, that was left with him as an infant.

Touching the amulet unlocked a flood of racial memories, and a message from Quetzalcoatl his ancestor:

"Last true son of Quetzalcoatl, you have been found worthy to wield the flames of justice that are your birthright. Know that the primordial evil that doomed our race still exists, lurking in darkness beneath a great city to the north. You must travel there, face that evil and avenge us, and protect those now threatened by it."

Hi all, not entirely sure if this is the right place for this, but I'll give it a go.

I'm a writer who is having a lot of fun creating origins for my supervillains. I've always been inspired by the larger than life characters in comics, and I've got some positive feedback so far for my origins in game, so I thought I'd offer my skills here on the boards.

What I'm suggesting is similar to the costume assistance threads in the Screenshots/Art section. If anyone has a character concept they like but are struggling to come up with a good origin story then I'd like to help.

I'm offering to write short origin/bios suitable to be cut/pasted onto your hero/villain's ID card (which you can do easily for the non-typists out there), so if you are looking for a three-volume epic about the adventures of your hero, Captain Prolix, then this is NOT the thread for you.

Here are some sample bios from the villains I've created so far - they range in tone from serious to jokey and vary in the amount of detail and thought involved in their creation.

The Origin of Kit Kat the Zombie

Katherine Catterill was the bright, attractive daughter of the infamous jewel thief, Paul Catterill, the Puce Puma. She lived a life of privilege and ease financed by his criminal career.

When a crime boss murdered Katherine's mother the Puma turned his back on crime and began a career as a hero. Eventually, Katherine joined him as his sidekick: Kit Kat. Under his tutelage in acrobatics and martial arts she became a highly skilled fighter with his trademark Cat's Claws which he had originally used in his jewel heists.

With their colourful costumes and the Puma's knowledge of the criminal underworld they were a successful team fighting organised crime across the world during the Sixties ... until they attracted the attention of the dark necromancer: Roadkill.

Foiling Roadkill's plan to steal a mystical jewel that would have enhanced his reanimation spells tenfold, the Puce Puma and Kit Kat were later ambushed by a horde of undead lemmings and died.

In a bitterly dark twist, Roadkill then reanimated Kit Kat as his own zombie sidekick and personal bodyguard. She spent several decades in mindless servitude to Roadkill until he was destroyed during the Rikti Invasion.

Freed from his control, but not from his curse of eternal undeath, Kit Kat was trapped within the ruins of Roadkill's underground lair for several years before she was finally able to dig herself out.

Driven mad by the loss of her life, family and looks, Kit Kat is vehemently jealous of the living and is now a vicious agent of destruction, although in reality she wants to destroy herself, but cannot, trapped in an endlessly regenerating shell of rotting flesh.

The Origin of the Grey Scribe

Dr. Graeme Nibbs was a minor science-villain dabbling in stolen Rikti portal technology, when authorities raided his laboratory causing his prototype portal to implode, dragging him into a void between dimensions.

Frozen in no-place and no-time, the void absorbed concepts such as space, time and even sentience from his body, eventually awakening to become Null: an entity hungry for energy and information. Using Nibbs as a template, Null created biological probes to explore the multiverse, sending them through millions of portals created using Nibb's knowledge and the wreckage of the machinery that accompanied his body.

Unfortunately, Null had not quite grasped the concept of scale yet and some of his early probes were larger than the universes they were meant to explore causing apocalyptic explosions that birthed several new universes.

The Grey Scribe is just one of these probes (luckily for our universe a much smaller one), but returning to our world has re-awakened Nibbs' dormant memories creating a gestalt entity combining his scientific curiosity and the probe's prime directive to explore the multiverse and assimilate all knowledge. He also now has the combined social skills of a science-geek and an inter-dimensional bio-tech probe.

The Grey Scribe has left human sanity far behind and is obsessed with gaining access to technology and knowledge to further his exploratory mission. He is still linked to Null, drawing on the chaotic structure of the void to twist the laws of time and space to blind and damage his opponents, hide from surveillance and teleport short distances.

The Origin of Stormspider

Ariadne Fassoud was a college student who signed up to the latest MMORPG: Godspawn. The designers of the game had used many obscure occult texts as source materials for the game. One of them included an ancient ritual regarding Rakni, goddess of spiders and storms.

Unbeknownst to all involved, Ariadne was one of the last descendants of the priestesses of Rakni and when her online avatar completed the ritual she was transformed into an incarnation of Rakni.

Overwhelmed by the arcane powers bestowed by Rakni, the physical transformation they caused as well as the goddess's chaotic nature, Ariadne now calls herself Stormspider and revels in violence and destruction. Weaving webs of lightning and striking with the strength of a thunderclap, Stormspider leaps into the fray like a true predator.

The Origin of Skorpios

Stewart Quinn was a cheat, a con-man and a coward dying of cancer in Paragon City Hospital when he was injected with an experimental nanotech cure designed to repair his DNA.

Unfortunately, at that moment he was bitten by a radioactive scorpion which had escaped from the Venom Research Lab next door and a freak lightning bolt struck the ancient Patagonian amulet he was wearing as a good-luck charm. (It was a gift from his third ex-wife and probably cursed.)

Out of these freakish coincidences, Skorpios was born! Armed with the venom, armour, stealth and speed of the scorpion he decided to get out there and grasp all of life's opportunities that he had nearly lost forever.

He was arrested within the week and ended up in the Zig.

But now, thanks to Arachnos, Skorpios has a second chance and he doesn't intend to waste it!

***********************

Although these are all villains (I only own CoV), I'm happy to work on heroic origins as well.

I'll start on a first in, first served basis and if demand gets too high I may have a cut-off point sometime in the future.

OK, you've seen what I offer, here is what I want from you:

Background: the more of this you offer the more I will have to work with. This can include:

Name - Both their civilian name and heroic/villainous alias are often the core of a concept.

Screenshots - a hero/villain's look has to tie in to their origin and vice versa and can spark all sorts of ideas.

Origins - Natural vs Magic, Technology vs Mutation, these can all affect the origin story obviously.

Powersets - just as important - these are what define a hero/villain within the game and should definitely be included in the origin. Also feel free to give me additional details to enhance power descriptions. eg: Fire - hellfire or nuclear plasma?

History - what have you already come up with regarding your concept that you'd like included? Original occupations, family background, major plot points, friends, enemies, etc.

Style - do you want your origin written as a serious biography or a more light-hearted profile?

The Kitchen Sink - feel free to toss anything else into the mix that you think will enhance the origin story.

Hi, hope this isn't too late. I too like DarkLilac's idea but came up with something slightly different:

Hecate

Alas, I don't have access to demon wings yet, but imagine them with the grey/dk brown colour scheme.

Here is my thinking on this one: because you used such striking colours on the original Wicked Angel, I decided to use more subdued tones on her evil 'twin'. This is also because of the concept I have in mind for Hecate - who is an ancient goddess/demon whose tastes perhaps are a little different from Wicked Angel's. That is why Hecate looks older with wild 'witch-style' grey hair.

The colour-scheme I chose tries to suggest dried blood with mystical silver highlights like a sacrificial dagger.

Hopefully this hasn't pushed it too far away from your original concept and you get some good ideas from it.

As an aside, I like the background you give on Wicked Angel's origin, so here is a suggestion to tie their origins together:

In the Praetorian world, the girl was transformed first by the CoT instead of her boyfriend. The ritual was more than successful, with Hecate gleefully entering into her new body and immediately destroying the CoT mages who summoned her. Because of the lingering emotional link to the boyfriend, he was not destroyed but was trapped in a spiritual limbo, his soul a plaything and power-source for Hecate.

Meanwhile, in Paragon City, Wicked Angel's love for (and guilt over) her slain boyfriend is so strong it breaks through interdimensional barriers and links to the soul Hecate holds captive.

Intrigued by this, Hecate sneaks through a portal to the Rogue Isles to investigate this psychic link, furious that anyone claims this soul that is hers for eternity.

I tried something a little different - instead of using electric/lightning icons as part of the costume, I decided to build a costume that looks like it is trying to insulate all the electricity her body is producing. Somewhere along the way I was also struck by the idea of electric fish - specifically an electric manta ray and this is what I ended up with:

Electric Manta

The wings aren't quite right for a manta and if you think the grey/black combo is too subdued, then switching it to your original yellow/black brightens it up a lot but you lose the 'fishy' feel. Of course you might just hate the whole fish concept anyway!

In any case I hope this sparks some ideas for you.

Just finished reading this issue and it was a lot of fun! Great work!

The tank top is limited though - you can't use any patterns with it.

Here's my attempt - I tried to get as close to your ref shot as possible. Alas, I could not find an option that would give me bare arms so I went with a full bodysuit. I was split between using the scales or cellular patterns, both have their pros and cons but I finally went with scales as more 'marine' in theme.

Then I came up with the name "Sea Lion" which is why he is wearing the 'cat' mask. I tried a couple of options for the 'red, white and blue' theme as well.

Sea Lion 1

Sea Lion 2 (slight more restrained colour scheme)

Hi,

I don't have access to the earmuffs so I'm not sure how they work with the hairstyle I've chosen. Some of the mask fins might work better. I used the earpieces to give an idea what it might look like.

Here's my idea: his costume is inspired by the discs he spins.

DJ Vinyl

Profile

I gave him the sightless mask because I thought he might be blind and uses ultrasonics (through his headphones) to navigate but that was just an idle thought.

You might also add the chinguard - that could be a microphone.

Do you have any thoughts about her origin/backstory that might help? Is she naturally linked to vegetation or is she an alien scientist who has learned to control it or do Venusians use biotech? Is Venusian vegetation green or some other colour? Perhaps that could spark a costume idea.

How did she come to the Rogue Isles from Venus? Did she come via a UFO? A seed pod fired from a giant Venusian Flytrap? Did she merge with the 'Lifeweb' and just spontaneously pop out of a rosebush in Atlas Park where she was arrested as an illegal alien?

How alien is alien? Are you open to 'inhuman' features (bioorganic, insectoid, etc)?

Having asked all that - here is a concept I came up with:

Woodwitch

The woody skin that covers her body is the Venusian biotech equivalent of a hostile environment suit that lets her live on Earth. It is self-repairing and also able to produce defensive thorns. She is gradually adapting her Venusian biotech so that it can control Earth vegetation.

Here's my entry: Neural Enhancement Device or N.E.D. for short. The concept is that the helmet itself is the Villain, an artificial intelligence that hijacks whoever puts it on and uses them to power its psionic attacks. With dire results for the wearer as you can see, but N.E.D is smart enough to line up the next candidate before the old one wears out completely.

Bonus Profile shot

Not too sure about the colour scheme but wanted the focus to be on the helmet, hence the bright reticle. Wanted it to feel like it was the helmet looking at you rather than the husk of its latest victim.

Part of the idea is this is his 'in the field kit', where if necessary he can ditch his jacket and curl up into 'ambush mode' as just another mossy rock. As far as being 'nekky' goes, are you going to tell a guy made out of stone who has been trained to kill a man in 27 different ways:

"Hey dude! You've got no pants on! I can see your pebbles!"

I don't think so, or at least you'll only do it once. If anyone can run around without pants it has to be a villain.

Hello again, here's an idea I had for Tormented Soil.

He has allowed moss to grow on his stony skin as a natural camouflage.

I ran with the concept of a self-trained Natural ninja who uses his skills to blend in with his surroundings, hence the modern attire that could almost pass as streetwear. Because he uses his chi/ki I've kept his clothing fairly unrestrictive and expose plenty of skin so that he is always in touch with his environment. Notice though, as a swordsman he has wisely armoured his arms relying on his natural agility to protect everything else. The various leather straps help him carry and conceal his throwing knives and other weaponry beneath his jacket.

Hi Roxstar, here are some villains for you. I'm still relatively new to designing villains so I didn't even try to come up with a common theme - my reasoning is these villains are rampant individualists who hate following trends!

Here's my take on Death Whale. I really went to town on the whole orca motif and logically made him as big as a whale.

Then there's Banshee where I've gone with the idea that she is so bitter and twisted about missing out on the Gaea gig she is all shrivelled up. You can hear her leaves crackling whenever she moves. Notice her bloodstained hands: she represents Nature red in tooth and claw. Alas, I don't have access to wings yet, but appropriately coloured demon wings should suit her nicely.

Next up is Dead Force. Tried not to make him too Terminatoresque, with the red highlights representing focal points for his energy fields.

Finally I have Blood Scorpius for your viewing pleasure. I went with the scorpion side of his nature and used nature's warning colours of black and yellow to highlight the dangerous nature of this bounty hunter. Here is a closeup shot. I imagine him using his multi-faceted eyes to track several targets at once as he lets fly with multiple arrows.

This is a fun challenge and I hope you enjoy my submissions.