HeIsNoOne

Mother Sarabande struck a dramatic pose next to a nearby street lamp, breathed deeply of the cool Rhode Island night air, and began to sing.


“Midnight, not a sound...”


A blue bolt of concussive energy streaked from above, splashed violently onto the pavement mere inches from the blonde singer, then sizzled away into nothingness. As Mother Sarabande cut short her performance and scowled at Percussor hovering overhead, the airborne figure ordered, “Spare us all your caterwauling, you melodramatic fool. We need your other talents here.”


"Hmph! Philistine!" spat the frustrated songstress. In spite of her disdain, she complied and laid an ensnaring patch of dark miasma in front of the restaurant door.


As the door flew open, five novice heroes from inside ran out onto the sidewalk and nearly tripped over each other as the mist grappled at their feet.


White Riot looked up at Percussor. “Which one first, boss?”


“I think the little man with the big gun presents an inviting target, don't you? Three, two, one, SPIKE!”


Bolts of percussive force, psionic energy, and electrical discharge were all fired simultaneously into Sayonara Cowboy, who was blown off his feet and into the door frame by the combined blast. The large man with the glowing fists started running toward the heroes to administer a follow-up beating. Mother Sarabande's retinue, however, did not add bullet wounds to the hero's injuries, looking instead to their blonde ringleader for instructions. The direction came a moment later, "Ignore that egomaniac, boys. Lesson one: take out the support first. And we know who that is, don't we? Aim for the man in black, just like before."


The young thugs did as they were told and sent two bullets in Nightnoise's direction. He flinched but remained upright as both slugs found their mark.


"Not this time, kids!" boasted the ebon-cloaked hero. The tar patch had done a good job of bunching the heroes together, and as the defender drew lifeforce from his foes to heal himself, he mended some of his Western-themed partner's wounds as well. At the same time, the oversized blue woman outstreched her arms and summoned just enough low-level radiation to accelerate cell growth without inducing mutation. As the cowboy pushed himself up from the sidewalk, he was almost as good as new--just in time to see a large, angry man in mirror shades running toward him. Sayonara Cowboy fired a quick burst from his rifle, but the bullets flew harmlessly over the brute's shoulder.


"Hey you! Get a life, dummy!" yelled Crystal Snowflakes as a layer of ice covered her small body from head to toe.


"Oh yeah?" White Riot sneered. "Didn't your mommy and daddy ever teach you what happens to little girls with smart mouths?"


"Why? Didn't yours?" the youngster snarked back.


He snarled and growled, "Someone needs to flatten you, runt, and I'm just the guy to do it!" The big man ran up to the edge of the murk, which parted to allow passage to his target. He raised a glowing fist into the air and prepared to bring it down upon the little girl.


Suddenly, the brute's neat white outfit and the flesh beneath it were slashed by an imposing broadsword swung by an enraged Mr. Mania. "Praxis! The orb stopping! Haggle forlorn dyspeptic seed rout rough over the yellow planks evening nub you very perspicacity! AND OUR FABULOUS SWIMSUIT ISSUE!"


"SHUT UP, MR. MANIA!" screamed Crystal Snowflake. "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP OR YOUR STUPID GARBAGE! YOU ALWAYS--"


The exchange was interrupted by a gust of wind that blew the heroes back across the tar patch and slammed them into the plexiglass windows of Up-N-Away Burger. The floating Willow Wind had taken a break from throwing lightning and was now commanding the air itself to do her bidding. As the gust abated, all five of the heroes slid down the face of the building and plopped onto the ground.


White Riot trotted toward the downed heroes and bragged, "Right where you belong! Haw, this won't hurt--much!"


Alice Actinide jumped to her feet and proclaimed, "The little one asked you nicely, now I'm telling you: stop!" A pillar of earth arose from the ground and encased the brute, rendering him immobile and harmless. Casting her gaze at the villains hovering above the ground, Alice continued, "SC, I can handle the flyers once they're earthbound. Think you can do that for me?"


The other four heroes had risen by this time, and the patch of mist in front of the restaurant door had faded from the sidewalk. Crystal Snowflakes gleefully punched an exposed portion of White Riot's head with ice-covered fists. Mr. Mania, once again dancing in place and chanting “Viva! Viva! La Revolution!,” simply surveyed the other side carefully.


Sayonara Cowboy smiled and answered, "You bet." SC turned a dial on his weapon, aimed carefully, and launched a small can-shaped projectile at the robed man floating in the air. The device struck Percussor square in the chest and burst, knocking him to the ground and covering his body and the sidewalk beneath with sticky, web-like strands. "Ha! Bullseye!" gloated the gadgeteer.


"Nice gun," smirked Brainfade as he eyed the weapon in Sayonara Cowboy's hands. "Mind if I borrow it?" The handsome man stared at Sayonara Cowboy, concentrated, and motioned with his hands as though controlling a marionette.


Oblivious to the newly established mental subterfuge, the large blue-skinned woman complimented her teammate. "Nice one! Okay, now the other, and then I can lock 'em all down tight!" Alice then noticed a vacant expression on Sayonara Cowboy's face and added haltingly, "SC? SC, why are you looking at me like that?"


Sayonara Cowboy answered with single rifle blast to Alice Actinide's chest, sending her sprawling to the ground once again.


Crystal and Nightnoise gasped. Mr. Mania was merely muttering his chant now and was squinting as he jerked his head back and forth to examine each individual villain while salvos of force, electricity, psychic energy, and gunfire briefly lit up the night.


“SC!” Crystal Snowflakes shrieked. “YOU KILLED AL! I'm gonna freeze you solid and smash you to bits, you stupid--”


“Chris!” Nightnoise barked. “Focus! He's obviously not himself!”


“NO!” Chris continued screaming. “HE SHOT MY FRIEND! I'll kill him, I swear!”


Alice struggled to her feet and wheezed, “No--no killing. I'm all right.” At the same time, Sayonara Cowboy turned his glassy stare toward Nightnoise and fired a four-round burst into the robed hero's shoulder.


As the pillar encasing White Riot began to crack, Nightnoise drew some lifeforce from the emerging brute and healed both the defender's own wounds and some of Alice's. A moment later, the stone surrounding the villain shattered, but a cloud of dark mist lingered over his eyes. “What's the big idea?” the fighter shouted. “I can't hardly see!” White Riot took a wild swing at Mr. Mania, who lazily sidestepped the blow while continuing his focus on the other villains.


The blue-skinned giantess glared at the heavy-set man in white and snapped, “I told you to stay put!” More stone lurched out of the ground below the big man and enveloped him once more.


At that moment, Mr. Mania shouted jubilantly, “Mark forever in a man doubloon!” As though to accentuate whatever point he was making, the hero produced a taser dart from his belt and threw it at Brainfade across the street. The dart found its mark, and the villain convulsed as the sudden jolt briefly lit up his body.


Sayonara Cowboy adjusted his weapon, turned to look at the still-enraged Crystal Snowflake, and hesitated. Without firing, he looked to his teammates and managed to whisper, “What's happening? Why did everything go all weird?”


“TAKE HIM DOWN!” bellowed Nightnoise, following the order with a howled monosyllable that sent a sonic wave rippling through the air and pummeling Brainfade. In an instant, the dominator found himself stabbed by a thrown ice knife, ensnared by a mass of artifical web, and rooted to the spot by stone manacles conjured from the ground. Meanwhile, on the villain side of the street, Willow Wind raised her arms and prepared to conjure another gust of wind, but she changed her mind as Percussor, who by now had worked himself free of his web and was airborne again, held up his hand and shook his head. Crystal Snowflakes and Mr. Mania ran up to the immobilized Brainfade to finish him off, and after suffering a broadsword slash and a pair of icy punches, the formerly smirking man collapsed to the sidewalk. Only then did Percussor lower his hand and nod, and Willow Wind's gust blasted the encroaching heroes to the side of the street they had started from.


Mother Sarabande, too wrapped up in directing her own retinue and chuckling at White Riot's misfortune, had not noticed the interaction between her floating comrades. After observing two heroes flying backwards and seeing the collapsed mentalist, she turned her face upward with a knowing grin. “Percussor, dear,” the woman lectured, “I count three ways you could have prevented that. Why, it's almost as though you wanted our friend Brainfade out of the fight!”


“Let's just say I had an intuition that he might over-extend,” the villain leader responded with practiced irony. “But now it's time to end this charade. Everyone, target the big blue one.”


“Are you quite sure?” Mother Sarabande countered sarcastically. “Doesn’t the big scary gun bother you?”


“Amateur,” Percussor sneered in reply. “Everyone knows when you're fighting to win, you take out the support first! Three..”


“Mother, we gonna do as he says?” whispered Dee Dee


“Two...”


“Yes dear. He's right this time.”


“One...”


“But he should have been right all along.”


“SPIKE!”


A painful volley of assorted missiles ripped into Alice Actinide's body. Still weakened by the earlier gunshot wound, she gave a little gasp, then crumpled to the ground in a heap. Crystal Snowflakes screeched in frustration as her friend shimmered and medi-ported out of sight. Meanwhile, a van emblazoned with the letters “WGON NEWS” pulled to the side of a nearby road, and a floodlight on the vehicle’s roof illuminated the scene.


“How does the news van get here before the cops?!” complained Sayonara Cowboy. He turned to Nightnoise and pointedly asked, “Friends of yours?”


“What, blow-dried TV talkers fraternizing with real journalists?” the hero in black scoffed. “Not in my world.”


The other side in the conflict had also noticed the television crew. “Mmm, do look lovely for the cameras, boys!” exhorted Mother Sarabande as she struck a dramatic pose. “Let's give the Paragonian mundanes a good taste of what's coming for them!”


“Well, so much for the bank,” Percussor groused. “Are you happy now, you ostentatious cretin? Let's just finish this. Concentrate fire on the one in the cloak. Now, while we've got them split.”


Gunfire, lightning, and force slammed as one into Nightnoise's small frame. To make matters worse for the hero, White Riot finally broke free of his stony imprisonment with an earsplitting crack. The frustrated brute took in his surroundings, saw Nightnoise, and crowed, “You're outta here, shrimp!” The big man's glowing fist slammed into the dark space inside the hero's hood, and Nightnoise barely had time to sigh, “Not again,” as he staggered and fell unconscious to the sidewalk.

A crew of outlandishly dressed individuals assembled across the street from a busy strip mall might have been noticed in any other city in the world. In Paragon City, it was just another day in the life. The disfigured blonde in the bright orange jacket; the overweight man in mirror shades and a white jumpsuit; the smirking male fashion plate with maroon leather pants, perfect hair, and a starburst tattoo over one eye; even the petite female with pointed ears, form-fitting light blue clothes, dark goggles, and a surgical mask: none of these attracted more than a moment's attention in this special part of Rhode Island. Even as a dark-skinned man in a burgundy robe began to speak of sinister intentions in hushed tones, the citizens went obliviously about their business.


"Gentlefellows one and all, in the name of Lord Recluse, I bid you welcome," the robed man began. "Today we strike at the corrupted black heart of the city of so-called heroes. Today we show--"


"Oh, Percussor, dearie, you're embarrassing yourself!" rasped Mother Sarabande. "None of us believe the 'King and Country' pitch any more than you do!"


"Well," harrumphed Percussor, "at least some of us stay bought. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Sarabande? Hmm?" After an uncomfortably long silence, he repeated forcefully, "Would you, Sarabande?"


"No good shouting, sweetie. I can't imagine whom you might be addressing."


"Fine. Mother Sarabande?"


"Ooh, much better. And my family comes first, dearie. Always."


"Both 'a you, shut up. You're makin' my teeth itch," the large man in white groused. "When do we get paid? And are we gonna hafta carve off a share for the Little Leaguers?" The big man gestured to the two youths accompanying Mother Sarabande. As an afterthought, he mumbled to the closer one, "No offense, kid."


"None taken, yeah?" replied Johnny, trying his best to sound tough. He then looked over his shoulder to his "brother" and whispered, "How did we get mixed up in this again? And more importantly, why?"


"A hot blonde in a leather getup asks us to help her 'do beautiful things,' and ya need another reason to stick around? Sometimes I wonder about ya, pal. I mean, really wonder," taunted Dee Dee.


Oblivious to the boys' side conversation, the robed man answered, "They're with Sarabande, and their compensation is her responsibility alone. Now, I know the rest of you, of course, but not all of you know one another. Introduce yourselves."


"Hmph," scoffed the blonde woman. "I'm Mother Sarabande, in case you weren't paying attention. And these two youngsters are my boys, Johnny and Dee Dee. Say hello, boys."


But the boys were continuing their crosstalk. "Hot? I can see the rest, I guess, but that face! That's a deal-breaker, yeah?"


"Depends what yer doin' and how. For me, it sure ain't."


"Speaking of not paying attention," lectured Mother Sarabande through clenched teeth.


"Heh. Sounds like someone needs to spank her kids," sneered the big man. "I'm White Riot. I hit stuff. I'm real good at it, and I love what I do."


"Subtle as a chainsaw," mused the well-groomed, tattooed man. "My friends call me Brainfade. I don't usually allow my enemies to talk."


The shorter woman just stood there, silent and motionless. "And this," Percussor said, reaching across to pat her shoulder, "is Willow Wind, a recent immigrant to our world who is still learning to speak our language."


"All right!" White Riot chuckled. "I love a woman who can't say no!"


"Nnnnoooooo," the air around Willow Wind moaned, although her covered face didn't move.


"Aw, man, are you kiddin' me?" the heavy-set man grumbled.


"Nnnnoooooo," the sound repeated.


"Typical," the brute groaned. After a moment's thought, the big man asked, "You ever say anything else?"


"Yeeeesssss," answered Willow Wind's disembodied voice.


White Riot slouched and looked at the ground. "Fine, my fault for asking," he mumbled.


"Yeeeesssss."


"As entertaining as it is," Brainfade sighed, "to listen to a woman with a two-word vocabulary talk circles around our simple-minded friend, don't we have business to discuss?"


"Simplicity itself, my friend," responded Percussor. "We're robbing the bank."


The maroon-clad man sniffed peevishly. "Oh, please! After all that florid verbiage, you dare to waste my unique talents on something so pedestrian?"


Across the street, a taxicab pulled up to one of the shopping center’s eateries. As the cab pulled away, a smallish man in a black costume could be seen walking into the restaurant.


"Hey, Mother!" called Johnny. "Isn't that the thumbsucker we sent to the hospital a little bit ago?"


The colorfully dressed woman turned to look across the street. "I do believe it is! Good eye, my boy! Er, so to speak."


Percussor, meanwhile, returned Brainfade's disdain in kind. "I dare plenty, my overconfident friend. However, I will admit your 'talents,' as you call them, are better suited to our secondary objective, which is to cause all the havoc and pain to the city and its defenders that we see fit to inflict."


"Hm. That is acceptable," declared Brainfade. "Now, have you thought as far ahead as how we might find these victims?"


White Riot interrupted the catfight with a triumphant, "Haw! Who's simple-minded now, fudge-bag? Look around. The broad's got it covered."


The three men turned to observe Mother Sarabande, and Willow Wind drifted up into the air for a better view. The blonde was waving to someone behind the window of a hamburger place. "Yoo-hoo! Mister Nightnoise! Do come out and play, dearie! The boys and I have missed you so very much!"


"What are you doing, you deranged simpleton?!" bellowed Percussor.


"Causing all the havoc and pain to the city and its defenders that I see fit to inflict," the woman grinned.


The robed man harangued, "I thought even you were smarter than this. I don't really need to explain that word 'secondary,' do I?"


"Oh, relax. It's not as though I'm calling out Brother Frost or Ascendant. I've met this one, and he's a pushover," Mother Sarabande countered, ignoring the bullying. "Even with help from others like him, the fight's as good as ours, sweetie. So we might as well get it out of the way now. The bank will still be there in the few minutes we're delayed."


"Lady, I like the way the way you think!" added White Riot. He turned his attention to a nearby parked car, and a red aura began to surround his fists. "C'mon, let's really get his attention!"


"Boys, you heard the man! It's showtime!"


"On your own heads," sighed Percussor, feeling his control of the group slipping away. He hovered upwards to join Willow Wind a few feet above the ground. "Let's at least attempt a tactical execution, hm? On my signal: three, two, one, SPIKE!"


In a fraction of a second, the body of the automobile was assaulted by Percussor's energy bolt, White Riot's energetically enhanced fists, Willow Wind's lightning, and gunfire from Mother Sarabande's boys. The car doors crumpled, the windows shattered, and a fire started underneath the hood. Seconds later, the vehicle gave up the struggle with an earthshaking KA-BOOOOM!


The big man exulted, "Ha-ha! That did it!" He then turned to Branfade and added, "No thanks to you, wimp!"


"Oh, I imagine I'll be pulling my weight soon enough, don't you fret. I only affect things with minds. Which means, incidentally, that you're perfectly safe."


Mother Sarabande turned back to the restaurant window, pointed at the black robed man on the other side, and waggled her finger in a "come hither" gesture.


As the pedestrians screamed and scattered, Percussor took a moment to talk to Willow Wind. "Do excuse the riffraff, my dear. I sincerely hope that the experience to come will be a fitting welcome to this world for a being of your standing."


The air, as it spoke for the floating woman, gave only the same sigh as before, "Yeeeesssss."

Up-N-Away Burger was nearly full of diners on that Wednesday evening. Some were there because the food was cheap. Some were there because they appreciated, mostly ironically, the unique blend of faux-Fifties-revival decor and occasionally hideous super-costumes. Some were there for the social scene, and one or two patrons were even there because they liked the burgers. Among the crowd, at a booth just inside the window, a tiny girl with a long ponytail removed a small wireless transceiver from her ear and placed it into the breast pocket of a pink-and-blue shirt. Next to the youngster was a blue-skinned, well-proportioned giantess six and a half feet tall wearing a green leotard and a silver headband.


"So is he taking a cab, Chris?" the blue woman asked.


"He didn't say, Al," sighed the small girl, "which means he probably isn't."


Seated across the table from the two females were two young men. The one closest to the window was Asian and wore threadbare jeans, a T-shirt under a leather vest, and a broad-brimmed cowboy hat on top of unnaturally bright red hair. Next to him was a taller youth with spiked blonde hair, a domino mask across his eyes, and a blue bodysuit decorated in red with many incongruous markings--magic runes, flames, lightning bolts, and stars--all competing for attention.


The cowboy looked up from his mission computer, which he was examining with a long, slender metal tool. "Wow, sounds like he could really use a jetpack. Too bad corrupt multinational organizations--"


"SC, don't be a pest," interrupted the blue woman.


The masked man grinned and fidgeted excitedly in his seat. "Handle gum fever in moxie goat varnish!" he professed energetically.


At the ordering counter, a teenager complained, "Dude, that sucks!" while the soda fountain made a grinding noise in lieu of vending ice.


Crystal Snowflakes perked up. "Opportunity knocks! Al, could you excuse me please?"


The big woman stood up and moved aside to let her tiny companion through. "Seriously, it's Alice! I understand not putting the 'Actinide' after it, but do you really need to shorten a two-syllable word? That's just lazy!" The young girl departed the booth, and Alice Actinide re-took her seat and scooted toward the window.


"Not just lazy, Al: lazy and fun!" grinned the cowboy as he slipped his computer into a vest pocket. As the masked man got up to follow Crystal, the cowboy grabbed his arm. "Easy there, Mr. Mania. She's not gonna get mugged on her way to the drink machine. Just take a seat and relax."


"Mumbo grey froggy yahoo syrup," protested Mr. Mania with a downcast expression. He did as he was told, however, and sat back down.


"Yeah, you said it," muttered the Asian indifferently. "And anyway," he said as he resumed his conversation with the blue woman, "you call her 'Chris' instead of 'Crystal.' Heck, my handle got chopped all the way down to 'SC' from 'Sayonara Cowboy,' and you don't hear me complaining."


“But it's a boy's name,” she protested.


“And that's why it's funny! What, are you worried we might not be able to tell the difference?”


“What's that supposed to mean?!”


Sayonara Cowboy blushed a red as bright as his Kool-Aid-colored hair. “Aw, come on, Al. Don't make me say it.” Just for an instant, the young man's gaze dipped away from Alice Actinide's face and fell upon an obvious womanly feature somewhat lower on her body. He caught himself almost immediately and looked up again, but his lapse of concentration had been noticed.


Alice shook her head and sighed, “Okay. Fair point. And don't let the thing with the eyes happen again.”


SC seemed a little hurt. “Sorry for reminding you you're beautiful.”


"How about, ‘Sorry for being such a damned sleaze?!’” Alice snapped, pounding her fist on the table. As she glared at Sayonara Cowboy, the super-sized heroine heard a rumbling under her feet. A second or so later, the restaurant windows began to vibrate, and a second after that, the pieces of silverware made clinking sounds as the tabletops underneath began to shake. The place fell silent as Alice looked aghast and muttered, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." She closed her eyes and concentrated. The tremor subsided as quickly as it started, and surrounding conversations resumed. Alice blushed bright purple as she opened her eyes and looked back at her teammate. "I'm sorry, SC," she whispered. "You didn't deserve that. You're trying, at least, and that's more than I can say for a lot of people. I just—when you look, well, like me, you get sick of people being fixated on your appearance.”


"Is this where you say, 'It's a blue thing; you wouldn't understand?'"


"That’s it," the big woman laughed, taking the helpfully offered easy out. "There you go again, cheering me up."


"All part of the service," Sayonara Cowboy smiled. With shaking hands, the Western-themed hero collapsed the metal instrument he was holding and placed it into a pouch on his belt.


"Am I good or what?" grinned Crystal Snowflakes as she returned to the table with five large sodas in a handy cardboard drinks carrier.


"Score!" beamed the cowboy. "You, uh, didn't steal them or anything, did you?"


"Yeah, that's me--hero by day, soda thief by night. Mighty clever of me, planning that earthquake. No, dumbo. The machine was out of ice, so I refilled it with my powers. And the guy at the counter let me have these free!"


Alice looked impressed. "Quick thinking."


"Ya know, if their cookers break, Al could get us some food the same way," the little girl reflected. "SC, anything in your utility belt that can take out a microwave without anyone noticing?"


The blue woman looked daggers at Crystal Snowflakes and smiled. "I know you're joking, but cool it. Uh, no pun intended."


Mr. Mania took a soda and raised it high. "Oyster tipping!" he proposed joyfully.


"I'll drink to that," Sayonara Cowboy responded as he reached for a soda of his own and hoisted it for the impromptu toast. His hands were still unsteady, however, and he dropped his raised beverage when a sudden loud cry of "ARRIBA!" sounded from El Super Mexicano next door. In a flash, Mr. Mania caught the tumbling paper cup in his free hand. His arm was a blur of motion for a fraction of a second, and then it stopped, with the cup filled with the ice and soda he had managed to scoop out of the air as they fell. There was an ounce or two of liquid on the table and a few drips of moisture down the side of the cup, but that was all. "Beat sleep rancor under yet more adversely," Mr. Mania advised with a calm nod before giving the drink back to the open-mouthed cowboy.


"Uh--uh--that was amazing," the young Asian stammered.


"Wow, yeah," Crystal Snowflakes agreed. "What the heck was that noise, anyway?"


"Fiesta night next door, or something," Alice shrugged.


"Hey, there's some kind of super-type gathering across the street," Chris observed. "I wonder why they're not going into any of the restaurants."


Alice too looked out the window and saw a few colorfully costumed individuals standing by a street lamp. "Wow, check out the tacky coat on that blonde!" the big woman chuckled.


Before anyone could offer any more costume critiques, a yellow taxicab pulled up to the curb in front of the burger joint. A familiar man stepped out from the back seat.


"Night!" shouted Crystal excitedly. "He actually did the smart thing!"


The slight, black-robed man entered the restaurant and took a cursory glance at the "CHECK ALL WEAPONS" sign on the wall next to the door. He looked around briefly, spotted his companions, and joined them at their booth. "Gentlemen," he said, nodding to the male side of the table. "Ladies," he greeted the females similarly. "Chris, you tell 'em?"


"Huh?" she replied, confused. "Tell 'em what?"


"Arachnos? You remember? I've taken some hits, but I don't think I hallucinated that conversation."


"Oh yeah!"


"We got a little sidetracked," explained Alice. "What's the story, big man?"


"Earlier this evening," Nightnoise began, "I was attacked and hospitalized by two Hellions and an Arachnos agent named Mother Sarabande. I'm confident of her Arachnos origins for two reasons: one, she was using a rogue MC; and two, she gloated, 'Greetings from the Isles' just before the assault."


"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Crystal. "Who's an MC?"


"A rogue mission computer," explained the cloaked hero. "Like the kind we get, only bought on the black market and not issued by the Bureau." Anticipating the next question, he answered pre-emptively, "You write about this town as long as I have, you learn things."


"Hm," wondered Sayonara Cowboy. "I wonder if they have to mess with proprietary software lockout bull--"


"Brief now, soapbox later, please," interrupted Alice. "Go on, Night. What about this Arachnos woman? What did she look like?"


"Blonde, average height, average build. Distinctive scarring down the left half of her face, bright orange jacket. Looked kind of like the lady in that group across the--hang on, is she waving?"


All five heroes directed their attention outside. Sure enough, a blonde woman in a bright orange coat was waving her right arm vigorously in an exaggerated gesture of greeting.


"Um, yeah," Nightnoise gulped. "Actually, she looked exactly like that."


"I'm on it," announced the young cowboy as he retrieved his computer from his vest and worked the touch-screen with expert dexterity. "No group ID, but it's definitely her. Others present are Percussor, Willow Wind, White Riot, Brainfade, Johnny, and Dee Dee. 'Johnny' and 'Dee Dee?' What kind of villain names are those?"


"They're with her," declared the robed figure. "They're flunkies, but still dangerous."


"Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my God," panicked Crystal Snowflakes. "What are we gonna do?"


"Viva! Viva! La Revolution! Viva! Viva! La Revolution!" chanted Mr. Mania. He had already risen from his seat and was starting to dance excitedly in place to a rhythm only he felt.


Sayonara Cowboy snapped his fingers. "I've got it! The police band! The comlink upgrade they gave us in Kings Row!" The young Asian tapped out a quick series of presses upon the mission computer's screen, and a PPD badge hologram burst forth in front of the device. The hero yelled into the comlink microphone, "Sayonara Cowboy to Big Blue! Sayonara Cowboy to Big Blue!"


The restaurant was quieting down now, with most patrons taking an interest in the excitement at the fledgling super-team's booth. After a moment, the mission computer's speaker crackled to life with a terse, "Cowboy, go."


"I've got three known Arachnos agents congregating with four suspected others in Atlas Park, on Prometheus Avenue across from Up-N-Away Burger! Request permission to interdict!"


"Cowboy, copy that. Send target and response team data on my mark. Three, two, one, mark."Right on cue, SC touched the words "Send Datagram" on the computer's screen, and the speaker gave a short beep.After a few seconds' pause, the police dispatcher spoke again. "Cowboy, that's a negative. No recorded Arachnos activity for targets and no crime in progress, over."


"You mean we have to wait until they hurt someone? That's crazy!"


KA-BOOOOM! The crowd inside the restaurant gasped as a fireball from an exploding car lit up the street. As the explosion echoed in all directions, the gaudily dressed blonde outside turned toward the burger place, pointed directly at Nightnoise through the window, and made a gesture beckoning him to come outside.


A second later, the police radio sounded again. "Whoa! Cowboy, was that blast at your location, over?"


"Yes! Uh, affirmative!" Sayonara Cowboy shouted with consternation.


"Cowboy, roger that. Disregard prior. You are now cleared to interdict; repeat, cleared to interdict. Good luck and stay safe. Big Blue out."


As the hologram faded and the computer went quiet, the inside of the restaurant erupted in spontaneous applause and cries of encouragement. Crystal Snowflakes was jumping up and down and flailing her arms wildly like the excited young child she was. "Oooooh, I can't believe we're doing this!"


A doughy, middle-aged man in the kitchen area opened a tall storage locker, retrieved a plain metal broadsword and an elaborately decorated assault rifle, and laid them on the counter. “Got your stuff here for ya, kids,” he smiled. “You give 'em Hell.”


The diner customers cleared out of the way as Sayonara Cowboy and Mr. Mania ran to the counter and picked up the gun and the sword, respectively. SC grinned as he turned toward the door, cocked his rifle and shouted, “This is it, folks! LET'S DO THIS!”

A couple that haven't been mentioned yet:

Mr. Bocor. Pound salt, you arrogant creep. Solve your own stupid love problems. Think you'll "learn something valuable about me" when I shove your teeth and my fist down your throat?

Fire Wire--oh wait, I actually did that one.

And this far into the thread, nobody's mentioned Nemesis? Yeah, it'd make things dicey for Ouroboros, but is that justification enough to keep him?

"It--it's like manners alone don't get you very far anymore," sighed the dejected old woman to a middle-aged nun sitting next to her in the hospital waiting room. "Not far at all. I'm very thankful to Jedediah and to God that my life was saved, and to be cured of the arthritis—oh, what a miracle! But there was just something so inhuman about it all. It's like God is toying with us, seeing how much we can take before we just--beg Him to take us all Home, or something."


The nun put a slender, reassuring arm around the old woman. "You're clearly a believer, Mrs. McGillicudy. So let me ask you this: do you really believe that the Lord will repay your faithfulness with evil? Would you test your children like that?"


Mrs. McGillicudy frowned. "No, of course not. I know the scripture well enough: 'Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?' But it's just become so strange, I don't know what to think any more. Being robbed four times in one week is bad luck enough, but to be rescued like that--the spraying blood, the robot speech--it's all getting to be a bit much to take."


"Well, ma'am, I'm thankful to Jedediah and to God as well that your life was saved. I'm glad you weren't like the man in the old joke: 'What more do you want? I sent you two boats and a helicopter!'"


The older woman's melancholy lifted in a sudden outburst of laughter. After composing herself, she smiled and said, "Now, that joke was always one of my Jack's favorites. It's funny you should mention it now, after I almost joined him up above. Thank you, Sister Julia. That--that really helps."


Sister Julia smiled and stood up just as Doctor Johnathan St. John Smythe walked toward the chairs the women occupied. "Mrs. McGillicudy?" he asked tentatively as he looked at the seated old woman.


"Yes, I'm Mrs. McGillicudy," she responded.


"Johnathan St. John Smythe with the City. Sorry to keep you waiting; I got here as soon as I could. Are you all right?"


"I'll get there," the old woman smiled. "Sister Julia here was on a break, and we had a nice talk that's taken some of the edge off." Mrs. McGillicudy motioned to the nun, who smiled and slightly bowed her head.


"I see," replied Doctor Smythe. "Thank you for your help, miss."


"You're certainly welcome," the Sister beamed.


"So you're a servant of God, hm? What's the old man have to say for himself this time?" the scientist asked with just the faintest undertone of derision.


Sister Julia was unperturbed. After looking at Doctor Smythe for a moment, she asked, "You're a man of science, Doctor. So why are you asking for the result before conducting the experiment?"


"How did you--never mind. What experiment would that be, then?"


"You want to know what God has to say for Himself. Why not try asking Him?" Without another word, the nun exited the waiting room and strode down the corridor back to Hero Intake. After a swipe of her ID badge past the door scanner, Sister Julia was back on the job. She noticed a nearby computer monitor was displaying information on a new arrival, named "Nightnoise," at Station Five. The nun walked to the medi-port station, saw two orderlies attending a slight man in a purple and black robe, and inexplicably started to panic.


"OH MY HEAVENS!" Sister Julia screamed as her terrified gaze fixed upon a point three feet above Nightnoise's unconscious form.


Two orderlies attending the hero jumped, startled by the nun's odd behavior. One ran to her side and asked, "What? What's the matter?"


"We've got to get out of here! We've got to warn them! Got to warn everyone!"


The orderly turned his head to see what Sister Julia was looking at, but saw only empty air. "Sister, I need you to calm down. There's nothing there. Close your eyes, say a Hail Mary or something, and look again. If you can't do that, you need to get out of here."


"But it's right there!" Sister Julia protested. "Don't you see..." and then her voice trailed off into space as her expression of horror faded into one of confusion. After closing her eyes, shaking her head, and taking a second look, the nun stammered, "But--but it was right--" She looked down and saw the cloaked figure on the bed. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh, of course."


"Fine, whatever," scoffed the annoyed orderly. "Who are you and what are you doing here, anyway? Chiron's not a Catholic hospital."


"I am Sister Julia. And you're correct, but the diocese has associations with many hospitals not directly affiliated with the Church."


"But we haven't seen any nuns here, not ever," replied the other orderly, remaining close to the motionless hero.


"Oh, you wouldn't have. It's a very recent arrangement," Sister Julia explained.


"Well, if seeing a guy without a face does that to you, you obviously haven't been here long," the orderly near the bed chuckled.


"Without a face? What on Earth are you talking about? May I see?"


The first orderly gripped the nun's shoulders gently but firmly. "You should probably stay right here. I don't want you causing another scene." Just then, a shrill ringing tone sounded in the medi-port bay. "What's that?" the orderly scowled. "We didn't have to hook him up to anything, did we?"


"No," the other orderly puzzled as the tone sounded again. "I don't know--"


Sister Julia disobeyed the orderly's instructions, walked up near the bed, and picked up the hero's mission computer. She pointed to a zone labeled "Crystal Snowflakes - ANSWER" on the touchscreen and tried to avoid speaking with too much relish as she chided the men, "Is this what you’re looking for?"


"Ugh," moaned Nightnoise, still laying on the hospital bed as his violet eye-spots flickered to life. "The noise, the squabbling...I’m back with my teammates, and this was all a dream, right?"


-=-=-=-=-=-=-


Ten minutes and three release forms later, Nightnoise returned the missed call in the now empty waiting room. Crystal Snowflakes’ squeaky voice began hectoring him as soon as he answered. "Night, you dingus! You got sent to the hospital again! You're gonna have to pay for those eventually, you know! I thought we were gonna look out for each other! How are we gonna help you if you keep getting in hot water when we're not around?"


"I'm fine, Chris," Nightnoise replied with obvious irritation, "thanks so much for asking. How are you?"


After a pause, Crystal spoke up again with a voice like a whipped puppy. "I'm sorry. I'm just sad that we had to finish the Royal Run without you, after your first hospital trip. It wasn't the same without you there."


"Aw. Apology accepted, hon. So did the rest of you make it?"


The girl's voice perked up considerably. "Sure did! Atlas Park to Kings Row, straight through the sewers, no stoppin'! You know they got it all marked down there now? There were some teams with stopwatches timing themselves, but we didn't worry about that. We had enough trouble keeping SC and Mister Mania in check!"


"Yeah, well, so did I, obviously," chuckled the cloaked hero. "Did you all get your Five?"


"You know it! Level Five and a police band upgrade!"


"Good for you! So where are you all now? Back at base?"


"Base?" Crystal Snowflakes guffawed. "You mean Up-N-Away Burger?"


"Yes," Nightnoise replied with feigned weariness, "of course I mean Up-N-Away Burger, but thanks for messing up my hero fantasies, Chris."


"Yeah. I mean, yeah, that's where we are. We're, uh, kinda wondering when you're gonna make it because, um, we're all kinda hungry, and they don't take scrip. Not that we have a whole lotta that, either."


"I see. So you need the one guy with a day job and real money, not let’s-pretend hero money that only exists on a computer, to pay for the food."


"Yeah, well, I keep tellin' Al she should dance under Atlas for loose change, but..."


"My name's Alice!" interrupted another, older female voice.


"Okay Al!" taunted Crystal Snowflakes.


"Jeez, you really are living dangerously tonight," Nightnoise mused. "Hey, you really wanna impress me? Tell SC I saw a guy in here with a new kind of jetpack."


Crystal laughed out loud. "I am sooo not telling him that!" Then, in a whisper, she added, "Did you?"


"No, of course not. All the good designs are already patented, remember?" Both heroes chuckled at the private joke at their comrade's expense. "I'll tell you what I did see, though," the black-clad hero continued. "Atlas Park is about to have some trouble. Rogue Isles kind of trouble. I'll brief the team when I get there."


"What? You're gonna drop a bomb like that and then leave us hanging?" Crystal Snowflakes protested.


"We've got some time still," Nightnoise countered. "They usually travel in packs. The one I met was recruiting locals, so they're not yet ready to strike."


"You're the boss," the girl sighed. "Or the guy with the real money. Whichever. Oh, and Night? Since you’ve got all that money, will you please take a cab this time? Just in case?"

With hands balled into fists, the brawny Hellion advanced purposefully toward the colorfully-dressed blonde, but she only issued a disappointed sigh and flicked her right hand forward. A moment later, three small metal darts embedded themselves in the thug's neck. The young man advanced one more step, then fell asleep on his feet right where he stood. The woman inched toward her attacker and pushed him over with her fingertips, sending the youth to the sidewalk with an undignified thud. In a flash, the woman pushed the sleeping thug onto his side with her foot, roused him with a swift kick to the ribs, then positioned the narrow heel of her boot over the boy's temple. As the Hellion woke with a splutter, the mystery woman applied a slight pressure to his head and cooed gently, "Please, dearie. Call me Mother. And it's rude to backtalk."


The punk whimpered in pain as the pressure to the softest spot of his cranium increased.


"Now, Dee Dee," the woman badgered, "say you're sorry."


"S-sorry," wheezed the young man on the ground after a second's hesitation.


"Sorry what?"


"Sorry--Mother."


"Very good! All better then!" the woman beamed as she withdrew her foot and helped the frightened youth stand up.


"Thanks for the backup, wimp!" the risen thug growled at his fellow Hellion.


But the Blood Brother had assumed a fighting stance of his own and yelled "Incoming!" as he gazed down the alley to the woman's left.


"Hm? Where, dear?" she asked. As she turned her good eye in the direction the young man was pointing, the woman saw a short, thin figure wearing a black cloak with purple trim. Inside the hood was only darkness, save for two glowing purple spots where an ordinary person would have eyes.


"Oh! Well, don't panic yet, Johnny, you might insult our guest! Why don't we see what he wants, hm?"


A sonorous baritone issued from the new arrival. "Took you long enough. No, I'm not insulted, but I have a bone to pick with your 'children,' as you put it."


"Well, that's too bad, sweetie. No one picks my boys' bones but me. And do tone down the melodrama, dear, it really doesn't wear well on you. Or do you honestly believe you're the first faceless mystery-man wannabe-hero in Paragon City?"


Both Hellions perked up at the sound of the word "hero" and closed ranks in front of the taunting blonde.


The target of the verbal abuse casually pulled a blue, palm-sized electronic device from a pocket, glanced at it, and laughed with a sound that echoed to the next block. "Are you actually suggesting I take advice on personal style from a woman who calls herself 'Mother Sarabande'? Tone down the melodrama, indeed!"


Mother Sarabande pulled a similar device from her own coat, this one cased in red plastic rather than blue. "Nightnoise, hm? Gee, I wonder what it is you do?" she queried in mock puzzlement.


Nightnoise's voice reduced to human levels of resonance. "Hey, where did you--?" His glowing violet eye-spots dimmed a moment later as he realized what he was dealing with. "Uh-oh."


The blonde just flashed a toothy smile. "Greetings from the Isles, dearie. Johnny, Dee Dee, he's all yours!" she exclaimed as she tossed two gun belts toward the young men.


The boys caught the weapons, unholstered the pistols with relish, and dropped the leather belts to the ground. As the thugs raised their guns to shoot at the hero, a patch of black mist appeared on the sidewalk at their feet. Undeterred, Johnny and Dee Dee each fired at the hero, hitting him twice in the chest, then attempted to close to melee range. The dark miasma at their feet, though looking no more substantial in the lamplight than a Rhode Island fog, grasped the young men's ankles and impeded their progress.


"What the heck is this stuff?" puzzled Johnny is he inched forward.


"Hey!" bellowed Dee Dee. "What's the big idea? I can't get close enough to bash him like this!"


"Then it's a good thing you've got guns, isn't it, dearie?" barked Mother Sarabande with obvious frustration. She spread out her right hand in front of her and concentrated, and a second patch of mist burst forth, this one centered around the feet of the robed hero.


"Hmm," pondered Nightnoise aloud. "Wasn't expecting that."


"They never do, dear. It's the bright clothing and the name that doesn't have 'Dark', 'Night', 'Black', or 'Shroud' anywhere near it. You might think about that as you're recovering in the hospital."


"I'm not beaten yet!" crowed the robed figure defiantly. "RAAAAUUUUGGH!"


The street light's glow pulsed as the air visibly distorted in the wake of the hero's scream. The focused sound waves struck a series of staccato blows to Dee Dee's chest.


"Ugh-gh-gh-gh!" cried the youth as the vibrations rattled his bones. He fell to one knee and clutched his chest, where a diagonal line of blood was beginning to soak through his shirt.


"Aw man, did he open that back up?" asked Johnny. "This just ain't your day!"


"Shut up!" roared Dee Dee through his mask.


"DEE DEE!" gasped the horrified Mother Sarabande. She gestured as though she were trying to grab Nightnoise from several feet away. Though the hero himself didn't move, a stream of inky blackness issued from the hero's body, into Mother Sarabande's grasping hand, and out to all three of the villains. Almost instantly, the blood stain literally disappeared from the injured thug's shirt.


"Whoa! That--that feels real good!" announced the healed youth in amazement.


The woman's demeanor was all business now, and as grim as the disfigured left half of her face. "Aim for the kneecaps, boys," she ordered coolly. "I want this sack of filth as helpless as possible. I won't let the nasty man hurt you any more."


The punks looked at each other, shrugged, and sent two bullets below the cloaked man's belt. Another song began to issue from Mother Sarabande, "Mine eyes have seen the glory..."


Both bullets found their mark in Nightnoise's leg, and the would-be street savior fell to the ground in a heap.


"...of the coming of the Lord..."


The faceless hero gestured toward the singer and attempted a drain-heal of his own, but to no avail.


"...He is trampling out the vintage..."


By this time, the two gang-bangers had struggled free of the mist patch, and advanced gleefully toward the wounded do-gooder.


"...where the grapes of wrath are stored..."


The miasma that ensnared Nightnoise parted to allow the young men's passage.


"...He hath loosed the fateful lightning..."


Each thug kicked hard at the fallen man, and the hero lost consciousness at last.


"...of His terrible swift sword..."


Dee Dee ostentatiously positioned his foot high above the back of Nightnoise’s hooded head. Before the thug could stomp, however, the hero’s body shimmered and winked out of sight.


"Oh dear. What unfortunate timing," commented Mother Sarabande, who ended her song prematurely.


"Stupid medi-port!" Johnny sniveled. "Always yanking the good guys out just as things get interesting!"


"Ah, get a tissue, will ya? Yer embarrassing me," grumbled Dee Dee in reply.


"Now, boys," admonished the blonde, "no need to pick at each other." She wrapped an arm around each young man, hugged them both tightly, and exulted, "My boys! My beautiful, beautiful boys!" Letting go her embrace, she added, “Dee Dee, lift your shirt for Mother. Let's see that scratch."


"Uh, I'm fine, thanks. Really," grunted the beefy young man. "Ya know, I don't get ya at all, lady--uh, I mean, Mother. Why do ya care, anyway? One minute, yer ready to punch a hole in my head. The next, ya can't bear to see me suffer. Why?"


The singer's expression of glee melted away, leaving a mortified look of hurt and shock on her face. “Why, because I'm your Mother, dearie!” she gasped. “And it's my job to take care of you!” She smiled a bittersweet little smile, and caressed the boy's faces with a slender, ivory-toned hand. “You'll understand someday, sweetheart,” she croaked wistfully, “when you have children of your own.” Her watery right eye darted from one Hellion to the other and back again, as though frantically searching the two of them for something she desperately wanted to find. After a few uncomfortable seconds, Mother Sarabande concluded, "So come on, boys. Show Mother your faces, let's go steal you some proper clothes, and we'll do beautiful things together, like we did just now."


The former Blood Brother sighed in resignation, reached behind his head, untied his bandanna, and let it fall to the ground. The ex-Fallen followed suit a couple of awkward seconds later, removing his mask and dropping it into a nearby trash can. The boys' faces were indeed young, but the rigors of gang life had already left scars and pockmarks where smooth skin might otherwise have been.


"Very good, dears," the woman praised. "Welcome to the family. Let's get you outfitted. The others will be here soon, and Mother's friends won't want to be kept waiting. Oh, and pick up those belts, darlings. It's not polite to litter, after all, and besides, someone paid good money for those! Not me, of course. Manners alone will only get you so far." Without a word, the boys darted to their dropped gun belts, picked them up, and put them on. As they holstered their new weapons, they followed Mother Sarabande into the night, in search of the evening's next performance.

[The next scene and the one that follows it introduce a character who is, in some ways, very similar to a character who was (re-)introduced to the CoX canon after I’d originally written my story. I’ve chosen to leave my character as is because (1) I believe there are differences significant enough to balance out the similarites, and (2) dang it, I played the character all the way to Level 50 with this concept in mind, and I’m disinclined to change it now. So as you read, if you notice that, “You know, so-and-so acts a lot like this other person,” well yeah. I know. There is no connection between the two characters other than a thematic one. Anyway, thanks for reading, and enjoy.]

-=-=-=-=-=-

Elsewhere, in a trash-cluttered alley just behind Atlas Park's police station, two Hellions who had just escaped a prison sentence on a technicality were planning the next step on their lifelong trek to nowhere.


"So what now? What's at the movies?" asked the wiry, bandanna-clad perp.


"Heh heh. Carpet, trash, artificial butter--" the thug in the wooden mask replied as he cracked his knuckles.


"No, not to burn. To watch, yeah? I'm feeling like popcorn. You?"


"Hey, I'm on a roll! I just shot an old lady and got outta jail free! C'mon, let's go down below and screw up some newbie's Royal Run. That'll put yer mind right."


The two young criminals started through the debris and the lengthening evening shadows toward Atlas Park's entrance to the city's sewer system. They didn't advance more than a few steps, however, before a mysterious new sound reached their ears.


"The waves...are dancing...merrily, merrily..."


The sound was as unmistakable as it was out of place. Somewhere within earshot, a woman with a beautiful soprano voice had begun to sing.


"Whoa. You hear that?" asked the Blood Brother.


"Naw. Hear what?" grunted the Fallen.


The next line of the song flitted through the air, "Ho-ro...Mhairi Dhu...turn ye to me..."


"That! The singing! No street performers in Atlas on a Wednesday night, yeah?"


The unseen singer continued, "The seabirds...are wailing...wearily, wearily..."


"Street performers?" chuckled the Fallen. "Only the long underwear kind."


The song kept going, "Ho-ro...Mhairi Dhu...turn ye to me..."


"A cape? With a voice like that?" marveled the Blood Brother. "Couldn't be!"


"It is. Dumb stuff in Atlas always means capes."


"Hushed be thy moaning...lone bird of the sea..."


"Decent set a' pipes, though, I'll give her that," continued the brawny Fallen. "Almost a shame we gotta kick 'em in. Almost."


"Thy home on the rocks...is a shelter to thee..."


It didn't take the thugs long to find her. As soon as they emerged from the alley, the source of the song could be seen under a nearby street lamp. Her back was turned to the Hellion boys. From that angle, neat, shoulder-length blonde hair and a gaudy bright orange tailcoat were the only identifying details that presented themselves.


"Thy house is the angry wave, mine but the lonely grave..."


"See? What I tell ya?" the Fallen whispered. "Only capes dress like that!"


"Hang on," the other Hellion whispered back. "Just wait a second."


"Ho-ro, Mhairi Dhu..."


"See those Clockwork toy robots taking down that fence?"


"..Turn ye..."


"See that guy getting mugged over there?"


"...to me."


"And she's just standing there singing, yeah? Running past on the way to somewhere else I would get, but standing there singing? That ain't like no cape I know."


"Huh. Yer right, that is weird. I knew I kept ya around for something."


Just then, the mystery woman's voice creaked, "You might as well come into the light, boys. The shadows give you away." Though her singing voice was sweet, her speech was far less musical, hinting at an incoming lecture from an irritated schoolmarm.



"Huh? Who are you, lady?" the Fallen rumbled witlessly.


"Me? That's not important right now, dearie." With this declaration, the blond woman finally turned to face the two young men and stepped toward them. Her body under the coat was covered neck-to-toe in a fire-engine-red leather jumpsuit with stiletto-heeled boots. The right half of her face hinted at the last vestiges of fading youth, with tiny creases just beginning to form around her features and a carefully plucked brow over a twinkling green eye. The left half of her face was mutilated. Puffy pink scars streaked from her forehead down to her chin, and her left eye was a sickly gray. So startling was her appearance that the young Hellions flinched in spite of themselves.


The woman continued to talk, seemingly oblivious to the boys' distress. "I'm many things to many people, after all--champion to the downtrodden, nuisance to the righteous, troubadour to the wicked--but you two may simply call me Mother."


"Huh?" wondered the thug in the devil mask. "That didn't sound like any kinda tuba to me..."


"What my associate means to say," the Blood Brother announced as he jabbed his elbow into his companion's ribs, "is that, um, that's sweet and all, but you ain't our Ma."


"But of course I am, dearie!" the blond grinned. "I called, and you came!"


"You what?" the Blood Brother continued. "You did what now?"


"Just now, sweetheart. You heard a stranger singing in the twilight. Singing wondrously, if I do say so myself. What did you do? You could have ignored it. You could have screamed over it, petitioning me to shut up. You could even have attacked me, though it wouldn't have ended well for you, dear. But instead of doing any of those, you found me, stood still, and listened. Just listened. Now why would two rough-and-readies like yourselves do that?"


"Ya making fun of me, ya crazy broad?!" the muscular Fallen protested.


"Mind your manners!" snapped the mystery woman. "And no dear, not at all. Because you proved just now that we want the same thing, you and I. Beauty. That's what it's all about, isn't it? In an ugly world, you reached for beauty the way a dying man in the desert reaches for a glass of water. And that makes you both very much my children."


"Ya finished?" grunted the masked thug after a second's pause.


"You know what, dear, I don't believe I am. You'll need names, of course, or however shall I know who you are? So you," she declared as she motioned to the youth in the wooden mask, "will be Dee Dee, I think. Headstrong, more brawn than brain--yes, definitely a Dee Dee."


"This other one," she continued, turning her head so her good eye could see the Blood Brother, "would be a good Johnny. Fully in your element with unsavory characters, but more thoughtful than you dare let on. Yes, you'll do nicely, both of you. So uncover those lovely smiling faces, boys! Let Mother have a good look at you!"


Neither Hellion followed instructions. The young man in the bandanna simply stood there, staring with narrowed eyes at the bizarre woman. The other youth, however, expressed his disdain more actively, with the grumbled question, "Ya finished now?"


"Finished? No, dearie. Done talking for now? Yes."


"Good. 'Cause I don't care about none 'a that stuff. I came here to chew bubble gum and--"


"Oh, do spare me the cliches!" the woman spat.


"Fine. Ya may not be a hero, but yer tonight's lucky winner all the same. G'night, lady."

"Oh my," mused Doctor Smythe. "You've gone and expanded your vocabulary again! Tell me, Jedediah, do you recognize every word you just spoke?"


"No," Jedediah answered.


"Hmm. Pity, that. Still, you felt them important enough to repeat."


"No."


"Oh, but you did! Just now, you--oh, wait. You considered them important enough to repeat."


"Yes."


"Now we're getting somewhere," the SERAPH liason grinned, "and as happens so often in science, the relevant question is, 'Why?'"


"Interrogative 'why' is nonspecific. Please clarify."


"I mean, why choose those particular words to answer the question, 'How goes the battle against evil?' Why not the usual, 'I am functioning within established parameters,' or 'Thus-and-so many threats neutralized since last report?' The words you did speak didn't sound like the ones you would have chosen, so I was wondering what changed."


Jedediah paused before answering. "I rescued an elderly Paragon City female from an attempted murder by the Hellions approximately thirty seconds ago. Their unprovoked attack violated moral imperatives. Protocol was overriden at that point. Emergency healing became necessary."


"Oh dear," Doctor Smythe winced. "That must have made her uncomfortable." After a moment, the Brit added, "Hang on, thirty seconds ago? You didn't escort her safely to hospital, then?"


"No. The path from her location to Chiron Medical Center was well-attended by police drones after an initial 216-meter walk. No threats were observed within 216 meters. Her safety was therefore not an issue."


Doctor Smythe heaved a big, disappointed sigh. "Well, at least you thought of it. That's something, I suppose. Now, where was I?"


"You were querying my use of language," Jedediah stated matter-of-factly, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. "The words I spoke to you earlier were part of her response to emergency healing. Elevated volume levels suggested a matter of some importance. I was unable to answer her question."


"And so you came to me," the scientist concluded. "That answers the 'what,' but not the 'why.' You had already saved the woman's life. Why does the answer to a question she asked afterward matter to you at all? Wasn't your primary function fulfilled the moment she was no longer in danger?".


The hero found himself at a loss for words, and simply stood there with his head cocked for many seconds. Without straightening it, he muttered, "She... was... in... distress..."


"Yes," Doctor Smythe concurred soothingly. "I imagine she was."


After a few more seconds, Jedediah finally held his head straight and answered, "Her life had been saved. The woman was still in obvious distress. I do not recognize the nature of this distress. I came to you for clarification. The fulfillment of my primary function was incomplete. I seek more information to assist me in performing my primary function with a greater degree of completeness."


Doctor Smythe issued another sigh, this one of relief, as a smile rearranged the creases on his aging face. "You couldn't answer the question the woman had posed, but somehow, you wanted to. Somehow you knew it was nearly as important as saving her life from Hellion thugs."


"Yes," answered the hero.


"Oh, that's very good! Oh, Jedediah, that's very good indeed! Now, let me explain what she was saying. People who have been alive for a great many years--"


But the explanation was cut short by a loud ringing sound from the scientist's desk. "Blasted phone!" he snarled. Clearing aside the papers that haphazardly covered his telephone, Dr. Smythe glanced at the caller ID. "Ah, that'll be the prison then. I'll have to take this, Jedediah, but please stay where you are until I'm finished." Dr. Smythe answered the phone and repeated the standard greeting into the handset. "Scientific Experimentation, Research, and Application to Paranormal Humans. Doctor Smythe speaking. How may I help you?"


After a brief pause, the scientist looked self-assured and said to the person on the telephone, "Yes, thought you might be calling. The other side of the story's in here now, as we speak."


Almost immediately, the SERAPH researcher winced at the voice on the other end of the line. After a moment, he started apologetically, "Oh, well, I'm sure there's a--"


His sentence was obviously interrupted, and the ordinarily polite Brit began looking more and more perturbed as the caller continued. In another moment, the good doctor began to visibly lose his patience. "Vigilantes? Now see here, you horrid--"


But again, the scientist yielded the floor to the other end of the line. After another few seconds, Dr. Smythe strained, "Good day to you too, madam," through clenched teeth, then hung up the telephone without waiting for a reply.


Jedediah spoke up again. "Recognized. My primary function has been incompletely fulfilled during all my work with SERAPH. I am a defective unit. My replacement is inevitable." Even this statement of inadequacy held no hint of sadness or disappointment, only a straightforward assertion of facts as he saw them.


Doctor Smythe's eyes bugged with shock. "You what? Jedediah, listen to me. The first part of your observation is technically correct, but also wholly irrelevant. There'll be paperwork, reams of it, for an arrest this far out-of-band. At Level 35, you really shouldn't be taking forceful action against Hellions, but the fact that you did is part of what makes you yourself, and I'll trade eons of work time filling out useless forms before I see that compromised. If you take away nothing else from our conversation, remember this, because it's of paramount importance. Errors can be corrected, broken bodies mended, and wrongs righted, but you can never--ever--be replaced. So let's have no more talk of such things, please. You are nothing short of a marvel, and you deserve to continue--especially now that you realize there's more to your function than the skilled application of brute force."


The scientist got up from his chair, walked to a nearby cabinet, and opened it. As he pulled out an electronic device cased in shiny blue plastic, he continued to speak to Jedediah, "In fact, I want you to have this. Most heroes are issued one as soon as they register with the City, but in light of your--unusual circumstances, I thought it better to wait until you were ready." Doctor Smythe placed the object in the hero's gloved hand and smiled.


Jedediah, for his part, simply stared at the unfamiliar blue lump he was now holding. "Adjective 'ready' is nonspecific. Please clarify."


"Ready to collaborate with others, ready to branch out from working for SERAPH alone. I'm going to introduce to a you new function: assist the heroes of Paragon City as they act against the enemies of the city and its citizens."


"Recognized. I will assist the heroes of Paragon City."


"You'll need the device I gave you to do that. It's called a 'mission computer.' There's a tutorial built into it; touch the screen and go through it when you have the time. Are you in for tonight, then?"


The masked swordsman stuffed the new mission computer into a trenchcoat pocket. "I require sustenance. I also have been assigned a new function. Greater efficiency will be achieved by visiting a gathering place for Paragon City heroes where food can be obtained."


"Brilliant. You heal quickly, so El Super Mexicano should do nicely." The scientist took a long coat from a nearby coat rack and put it on. "A parting word of advice: before you assist other heroes, just hang back and observe a bit, and no matter what, always ask first if they want to be helped. They can get--a little sensitive about that."


"Good day, Doctor Smythe."


"Good day, Jedediah."


The hero stepped out the door of the SERAPH offices and zipped to his next destination. The scientist, however, only followed him to the doorway. Doctor Smythe looked nervously all around him, then walked back to his desk and unlocked one of the bottom drawers. He pulled it open, took out a small digital voice recorder, and checked all directions to make sure that no one else was present. After he was satisfied that he was alone, the scientist pressed the RECORD button and spoke in hushed tones to the device: "Report zero-one-two-zero-one-one, subject, Jedediah. At long last, triumph! Subject today exhibited the first stirrings of empathy. Mission computer issued for the critical next stage. The Hypothesis will be proven or falsified based on subject's actions in the coming weeks. Although the manipulations required to bring the subject to this stage have been distasteful, testing the Hypothesis must take priority. Methods can and should be refined later if the Hypothesis is proven. Report ends." Doctor Smythe then gingerly placed the recorder back where he found it, closed and locked the drawer, turned out the office lights, and stepped out into the darkening night.

"You can't win, lady! Just hand it over!"


It was dusk in Atlas Park, and two youths had selected bullying and petty theft as the evening's entertainment.


"For the love of PETE, will SOMEONE help me?! This is the fourth time this week my purse has been stolen!"


An elderly woman clutched the shoulder strap of her purse and pulled as fiercely as she could muster. The other end of the strap was being held by a tall, thin young man dressed in orange and red leather. The demonic sigil tattoos on his arms rippled lazily as the thug offered just enough resistance to keep the grey-haired woman pulling with all her might, such as it was. The bandanna covering the lower half of the assailant's face fluttered with the thug's breath as he jeered, "Come on, Grandma! I could do this all day, yeah? You're just going to get tired and let go, so do it already!"


"That's right," the other gang-banger snarled from underneath a carved wooden devil mask as he brandished a powder-stained shotgun. "Just give it up quietly, and nobody's gotta get hurt."


A gust of wind blew for a moment, and a man-sized streak of black and red zoomed into view and stopped next to the old woman. As the wind abated, the blur of color rapidly settled into a familiar form wearing a trenchcoat over a stylized black-and-red bodysuit.


"Oh, jeez!" the young man gasped as he let go of the purse. "It's Jedediah!"


Jedidiah's head cocked oddly to one side for a second or so, then straightened up again. The mask that covered, as always, everything except the hero's eyes and blonde hair did not visibly move as he spoke in a flat monotone. "Recognized. Hellions." He turned his head stiffly to look at the one wearing the bandanna. "Recognized. Blood Brother. Rank and file gang member. Minimal threat." Jedediah's head turned again to face the thug with the wooden mask and the shotgun. "Recognized. Fallen. Mid-tier gang member. Minimal to low threat." Jedediah interposed himself between the thugs and the old woman, who was regarding the hero with wonder. "You will cease your unlawful activity," Jedediah continued.


"Low threat, huh?" grunted the Fallen. "Low-threat THIS!" The thug fired his shotgun at Jedediah, peppering the hero's chest at close range with high-velocity buckshot. Dozens of tiny projectiles tore away the stylish hero costume, shredded the body underneath, and exited Jedediah's back in a chunky, gory mess. The old woman screamed in fear and tried to run, but stumbled and fell instead, shaking and weeping with the shock of what she had just seen. But the only reaction from the masked hero was to glance down at the gaping wound, then back up at the two Hellions. With a sucking, slurping sound, Jedediah's body began to repair itself. Flesh grew back together, blood flowed back into its vessels, and bones found their rightful places and mended. In moments, Jedediah was back to normal, with even his garments growing back and rearranging themselves into their previous undamaged state.


"Aw, no," muttered the Blood Brother. "Awww no."


"Recognized," Jedediah droned. "You have initiated hostilities. Your estimated Threat Level is..." the hero cocked his head to one side again and paused for a fraction of a second. After bringing his head upright, he continued, "...four. Protocol authorizes use of force at an estimated Threat Level of 32 or higher. You are advised to cease your unlawful activity before possibly harmful police or low-level hero intervention becomes necessary. I will escort this woman to safety. You can not prevent me."


"Oh, I can't?" growled the enraged Fallen. "Whaddaya make of this, creep?" The thug sidestepped and fired again, this time blasting the old woman on the sidewalk with his shotgun. As the woman shrieked in pain and began to bleed, the Hellion crowed, "Still think I'm--"


The young man never had a chance to complete his taunt. With superhuman speed, the hero drew a sword from under his trenchcoat and knocked the Hellion off his feet with a vicious upward slash. "Violations of moral imperatives override protocol!" Jedediah bellowed. The airborne punk was defiant to the end, full of mocking laughter until the moment his head's impact with the pavement knocked him unconscious.


The Blood Brother had already started running, but Jedediah leaped over him and landed squarely in his path. Looking back at his fallen friend, the thug yelled, "You killed him, you idiot! Your morals are nothing, man! Nothing!"


"He is not dead," Jedediah calmly explained in his monotone. "Your statement regarding moral imperatives is also in error. Preservation of innocent life is a moral imperative. Preservation of life more generally is not." With another sword stroke, the hero sent the thug reeling into a nearby tree trunk., whereupon the young man went limp and slumped to the ground.


Jedediah moved to stand over the helpless old woman. "Please...help me..." she gasped as her shoulder continued to ooze blood. "Don't....want to die..."


The hero cocked and uncocked his head once more. "Recognized. You have been badly injured. The estimated probability of your survival during the wait for emergency services is less than forty percent." The masked man delivered the news without a hint of emotion, reciting rote facts and figures as opposed to announcing a human being's imminent painful death.


"No..." the old woman wheezed. "Please...help..."


With the hilt of his katana, Jedediah pushed his right sleeve down past past the elbow, exposing bare flesh between his gloved hand and his jacket cuff. "Your life will be saved,” the hero deadpanned. “I will assist you." He knelt beside the woman and touched the blade of his sword to the revealed skin of his arm. As the woman grasped the implicatons of the masked hero’s actions, she closed her eyes and grimaced, obviously disgusted by what seemed to be about to happen. She heard Jedediah conclude with, "You are advised that this process will entail some discomfort," and after an eerily quiet split second, the old woman felt a rush of hot liquid splash onto her injured shoulder.


She swiveled her head to and fro, weakly at first, but then with renewed vigor. As her strength returned, she heard her own voice whispering, gasping, then shouting, "No....no....no...no...no, no, no NO!" The old woman opened her eyes, jumped to her feet, and advanced furiously toward the strange masked man, who had already sheathed his sword and rolled his jacket sleeve back down his arm. She strutted forcefully toward the hero with her forefinger extended, ready to read him the riot act, then suddenly stopped. She had recovered! The lady looked at her shoulder and found no trace of injury or blood, only her own pale flesh showing through a tattered sleeve. Dropping her hand to her side, she gasped, "How? How did you do that?"


"You declined to observe the process earlier," Jedediah replied, missing the woman's point altogether. "Recognized. You appear to be feeling better. I am..." the masked man paused as he tilted and straightened his head again, "...glad...to see that you have recovered." He fished two beeping devices covered with flashing lights out of a coat pocket and pinned one of them onto the bloodstained clothes of the young man in the devil mask. As Jedediah pinned the other device onto the downed Blood Brother, the hero continued to speak, "I cannot guarantee that all foreign matter has been removed from your body. You are advised to seek treatment at Chiron Medical Center. You are further advised to request my assistance directly from the Atlas Park SERAPH office if treatment is cost-prohibitive. Do you understand?"


Both young criminals, with Jedediah's devices now pinned to their clothing, shimmered briefly and disappeared from view. The old woman gave a little jump of surprise, then answered, "Yes, I'll go to the hospital. But no, I don't understand!" She gazed in wonder at her hands and wiggled her fingers. "I was shot, and now it's gone! And I've had arthritis for thirty years--thirty years, Jedediah!--and suddenly that's gone too! After thirty years, I'm moving my hands without pain again, just like some young forty-five-year-old!" Her voice became louder, her eyes wider, and her tone more frenzied as she continued, "Devil worshipers wander the streets, side-by-side with robot zombies and dimestore supermen and killer tin toys! We brought the Axis and Communists to their knees, only to duck and cover against invaders from outer space! Real life has turned into a dozen picture shows, full of magic and joy and cruelty and wonder, all playing at once, and if we lose the plot for a minute..." the woman's voice cracked as she left her final sentence unfinished and began to cry. "No," she reiterated after a couple of helpless sobs. "No, I don't understand. Jedediah, what on Earth happened to us?"


The masked hero cocked his head to one side and left it there for several seconds. When he brought it back up again, he could only say, in the same flat tone of voice, "I am unable to provide the answers you seek. You are advised to discuss your..." he paused yet again as he searched for the right word, "... frustrations...with a trusted individual. I am...happy...to see that you are alive and healthy. You have my...best wishes...in remaining so. Good day." With that, the hero sped off, leaving the bewildered woman to pick up her purse and walk to the hospital.


Ten seconds later, Jedediah entered the SERAPH offices in Paragon City Hall, where a small man in horn-rimmed glasses and a lab coat was working late at a messy desk. "Hello, and welcome to Scientific Experimentation, Research, and Application to Paranormal Humans!" the bespectacled man rattled off in a British accent to the new arrival. "Do have a seat," the researcher continued, only now looking up from a pile of papers. "I'll be with you in--oh, it's you, Jedediah. Pleasure to see you.” The man pulled a piece of paper from his desktop and remarked, “I see I have a requisition form from Icon for you.”


"Recognized. Doctor Johnathan St. John Smythe," Jedediah replied. "Yes. Icon recently recommended self-healing nanosilk as an alternative to ongoing garment repair costs."


"Well, that was why I invented the stuff, after all," the scientist chuckled, then flippantly added, "So how goes the battle against evil, my good man?"


Jedediah paused for a few moments to consider the best answer, then replied with passionlessly borrowed words. "Devil worshipers wander the streets, side-by-side with robot zombies and dimestore supermen and killer tin toys. We brought the axis and communists to their knees, only to duck and cover against invaders from outer space. Real life has turned into a dozen picture shows, full of magic and joy and cruelty and wonder, all playing at once, and if we lose the plot for a minute, no, no, I don't understand. Doctor Smythe, what on Earth happened to us?"

[Hello. I’m not active on the forums, but I’ve been playing City of Heroes on and off since before Issue 2. I mostly solo and don’t roleplay even when I do team, but I have a few characters that, over the years, I’ve created some stories around for my own entertainment. I even started to write one down some years ago before getting cold feet and letting it languish unread on my hard drive. After reading some of the threads here, I’ve been inspired to dust off what I had and post it. Because my writing was started some time ago, it alludes to game elements that have either fallen out of fashion or are no longer part of CoX at all. I’ve left these references in partly for my own amusement and partly as a wink and a nod to others who might recognize them.]


[So here is “Uninvited Guests,” the first in what I hope will be a series of stories about The Outliers--a main-and-alts one-player supergroup--and the various colorful characters that surround them. I’ll post the first scene following this introduction, with more to follow every few days thereafter. I hope you enjoy it. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome, but please be gentle. And all you writers in the forum, thank you for inspiring me.]