LukeMinhere

Thanks for the hard work Z, and your down to earth friendliness. It was well noted you did your best to address different players personally, and it is beyond commendable. You rocked my friend, and brought a big smile to my face when I would see your name in red.

Take care, keep the city safe, and maybe we will meet in the sky some day!

Paragon Vanguard
Luke Minhere
Ammo Dump

Good work to the best staff. I am with those that wish to not see the end, but if it must end, then what a ride.

Until we meet again Positron.





Your Friend,
Paragon Vanguard

Chief Jeb Walker never left the hospital after the incident in his home. His body was unable to heal itself, and he developed many different infections from the injuries he suffered at the hands of the young man named Hadeas Cain. He died weeks later, on a Thursday. He was buried on Saturday. Mrs. Walker stayed strong up until the time they laid his body to rest in the grave, and she simply broke down. Her screams filled the cemetery as family and friends gathered around her, attempting to sooth her. Mullins simply removed his corsage, and tossed it into the grave.
Mullins was appointed Police Chief by the mayor and council, to finish out Jeb Walker's term, which he had near 6 months left of. It seemed the natural thing to do to everyone. Mullins was then elected the Chief of Police of Mountain Heights the following election. He ran unopposed. No other murders had occurred in this time, and Mountain Heights once again began to settle into a cautious norm.
Hadeas Cain was quickly counted as a suspect, as Mullins was able to identify the missing orphan's picture as the one who attacked the Walkers. His face was put up all over Mountain Heights, and plastered over local, state, and national news. Mullins didn't care if the boy was found, or not. He just wanted Mountain Heights to feel safe and secure under his ever watchful eyes.
No further murders would occur within the town proper, which soon became the city proper, as the population of Mountain Heights began to grow. There was the Mountain Heights High School seniors who were murdered and burned up in a cabin out in the county, and everyone assumed it was the handiwork of Hadeas Cain himself. Friends would tell the tale of how the group had bragged on going out to the cabin, and calling up old Hadeas Cain by performing some sort of strange ritual. It reminded Mullins of the "Bloody Mary" stories that all small towns seemed to have. Every now and again some teen would graffiti the school or an old building, and Hadeas Cain was always found written somewhere among it.
The fact was, Mountain Heights did feel safe under it's new chief. Mullins continued to keep the bad crowds out of the city, and stop the drug flow wherever it started. The city was prospering, and was named as one of the safest cities in the country.

Hadeas Cain on the other hand had moved on. He made his way from town to town, leaving his mark wherever he went. A death here, a death there. The bodies were always burned. If one took the time, and had the resources to follow this M.O., one could watch as Hadeas Cain marched east across the northern states. Yet, he was only one of 100 serial killers that could be in operation at any given time within the United States. The world had bigger worries than Hadeas Cain, as alien life forms attacked the Earth, and entire countries were falling.
The death and destruction that occurred in major cities across the United States, especially Paragon City, drew Hadeas to it like a moth to a flame. The voices in his head, once loud and in control, were now subdued, and seemed only a whisper. Hadeas was in control. His desire to see and be a part of the dead and dying was the only thing that moved him in any direction. Indeed, it was the only thing that mattered to Hadeas Cain. He did not kill out of hate, or love, for that matter. It was to watch the life ebb away from his victims. Their eyes grow dark, and that point where death took them. It was exhilarating to Hadeas. The Rikti war brought him many of these opportunities, and Hadeas Cain would be found right in the middle of it.

Detective Mullins hated taking the trip to see the chief. Hated it, but it was necessary. How awful it would look to others if he completely alienated the dying man. No, he would go see him. It was not really Chief Walker that he hated to visit. The man never did him any wrong. He just hated to sit by someone so close to death, someone that he once admired. It was a shameful way to die.
Detective Mullins sighed as he climbed out of the Charger. He was a big man, a good 6'3, and broad shouldered. His middle had only recently began to catch up to his massive chest. That was what age did to a man. It didn't help his pride any though to hear the shocks and struts squeak when he stood up.
The front door was slightly ajar, as the detective walked up the steps. He could hear birds chirping in the background, then he could hear what seemed like a struggle inside. Detective Mullins quickly entered the home, drawing his .40 caliber hand gun. The living room was clear, and he listened. The sounds came from the kitchen. A garbled noise followed.
Detective Mullins entered and quickly surmised the problem. A large man had the chief around the throat, Mrs. Walker was lying down but looked alive.
At the sight of the detective, the man's eyes grew wide. Chief Walker's bed clothes suddenly started to smoke, and began to catch fire, as the man pushed him away.
Detective Mullins stepped over the chief quickly, and kicked the young man backwards. His own boot felt hot and smoked with the impact. The young man made no noise, and showed no sign of pain even though the detective knew he landed a solid hit. Instead, he was up, dark eyes glaring with hate right at the detective. Mullins began to aim his weapon, but the man was moving now, circling toward the back door, apparently for escape. Mullins fired, trying to keep aim on him, but he knew he needed aim ahead of him at the speed he was moving. He missed and struck some dishes in the glass cabinet.
Mrs. Walker screamed now, a long fearful scream, as the chief pulled his way to his wife. She was scared beyond belief. She had every right to be. As she did her dishes some crazy man came up behind her and tried to strangle her. It was the sound of the breaking dishes that brought the chief in, who quickly attacked the man. Of course he was no longer in any shape to fight, and the would be killer was able to over power him.
Mullins chased the young man out of the back door, which the young man threw himself at, splintering it to bits, and leaving the splinters smoking. He was on the move to the back alley when Mullins fired again. This time he knew he struck the man, but the man did not slow down a bit. He kept moving down the alley.
This was where he had to make a decision. Desire wanted him to chase the crazed man. Professionalism and training told him to go back and check on the victims. An assumption that there was only one suspect in the house could be the death of the victims.
Detective Mullins returned to the house, and found Chief Walker holding his wife, who was in fitful tears now.
"Goin' to clear the house chief," he said quickly, and began to check the other rooms. When he was sure the house was clear, he got on his cell phone and called for an ambulance, then for back up. He told the dispatch to have units begin to check the area, and gave a description of the man he chased.
"The man was crazy, and very strong," chief Walker said, coughing afterwards. He was shaking, his weakened body was giving out on him quickly.
"I ran him off sir, don't worry," Mullins said, checking them both over for any serious wounds. He found none, though both showed obvious signs of being beaten and choked. More than that, they both had light burn marks about them.
Mullins looked around better now, and at his boot.
"We got a mutant or something," he simply said.
The chief just looked at him, then payed attention to his wife, soothing her and telling her it was all okay now. Mullins was there. She began to settle down as the sirens got closer.

At the end of the 1970's, much of the US - Paragon City included - found itself mired in a deep economic recession. Crime rates began to rise as poverty and lack of opportunity gripped the less fortunate strata of American society. The use and abuse of illicit drugs had long been a problem for all levels of society, but as the new decade dawned, the growing levels of addiction and drug-related crime in poverty-stricken regions became a focus of national attention. -Taken from the history of Paragon City

This lead to a greater move to suburbia USA, and Mountain Heights was no different. This of course brought drugs to the corners of even the smaller towns. This is what, many times, brought kids to Pleasant Home, the orphanage. It had been two years since the girl, Chelsea Wittser, had went missing, and she was still considered missing, officially. Unofficially they assumed she just ran away. Without a family to insist on a more thorough search, life went on as usual without her. She was probably a child given up by a family mixed up in drugs, is what most people thought, and those kids are usually messed up anyway. It was best she left, as they would all just assume she did.
Detective Mullins did not think much on her either. He did not solve the duel murders that caused a big ruckus in town. At this point he really had no idea why Mrs. Potts was killed, though many in town had their own theories. Scathed lovers, male or female, they were sure she went both ways. A student that came back to town years after leaving, and decided to even the score with her. Due to the sheer ferocity of the killings, no one thought it could possibly be a child.
Mullins could not possibly care less. He barely survived the whole mess with his job. He was able to quickly show his worth however when some gangs began to focus on small town America. Cops were less in force, the people less ready for them. They began to enter the suburbs in strength. Heroes focused on big cities, bigger populations. Unless you were unlucky and found yourself trying to capitalize on their home town, if you were a gang member, you found almost free reign.
In Mountain Heights Colorado, they did not find such an easy mark.
They came in, Detective Mullins quickly showed them the road out. Or the jail, prison, or cemetery. He was use to dealing with such thugs, and the town began to love him once again. He had no super powers, but he was their hero none the less. Sure, a bit arrogant, and a bit harsh, but to those that actually lived, and more importantly, voted in Mountain Heights, he was willing to give breaks, be kind, and show all sorts of humility.
Chief Jeb Walker, on the other hand, saw his popularity in decline. His health had become poor. He was still a fairly young man, only 52, but then again, cancer did not care about age or health. It struck when it chose.
Running a town proper from a bed was difficult enough, but with his detective explaining to people how poor his heath was, and the odds of him surviving very slim, well, that made it that much harder. At first Chief Walker tried to explain to the detective that what he was doing was weakening Walker's position as chief. He soon realized that was exactly what the man was doing. He knew that Mullins had a desire to be chief of police of Mountain Heights, and was at one time willing to support just that. However, he began to realize Mullins may not be best for this town, not as chief. It was a hard point to press from a bed, and with Mullins right in the midst of breaking up every gang that attempted to enter the town.
"Jeb, you worry too much," Gerri admonished him, as Jeb was looking out of the window of his three bedroom home. A modest home, but a nice one. Jeb was not one with many needs, not before his cancer. Now he had a hospital bed, that he needed. A nurse that checked on him, that he needed. Medication that cost more than he was sure even the president of the United States could afford, that he need. Gerri, his wife, was the only shining light in this darkness that seemed to settle over his life. He always needed her.
"Can't help it, Gerri. Can't help it," is all he could reply.
Gerri looked at her once strong husband. A highly intelligent man, with a love for his community. He was able to cross all kinds of boundaries that were set against him and others, by simply offering that strong smile, a kind handshake, and look of understanding. Not a politicians look, but an honest look.
"It will all be okay, dear. God has it all in His hands my love," she offered, as she fluffed his pillow.
Jeb just nodded, but he felt very weak. He knew his time was slim. The medication was not working, and they really didn't expect it to. When he was first diagnosed he was sure he could beat this, as he did many things that came against him and his family. Now, he knew he was wrong. It was beating him. Jeb closed his eyes, and drifted off, his wife singing softly to him.

Hadeas Cain heard the conversation, as he stood outside of the chief's house. He was 14 years old now, and very large even for a 14 year old. People no longer looked at him as the strange child. They looked on him with fear. Many would cross the road when they saw the quiet boy coming. He seldom spoke. When he did, his voice was low and very dark.
The night before he heard voices coming to him. They spoke to him sometimes in the night. They gave him very good ideas. For two years it simply told him to be patient. Not to do anything. Not to fulfill his desire to kill again. Let the dust settle, so to speak. Let the memory of it become distant to the town, especially that detective. He spoke back to the voices, and one time asked if he should kill the detective. The voices all became very angry with him, and he hurt, as if he was on fire. It was plain and clear, they did not want him messing with the detective. No, he would wait for that. He was not ready for that.
This time however, they gave in. He suggested that surely the chief was not in a position to be of much worry to the voices. They said nothing, which lead him to believe if that was not agreement, then it was allowance. He giggled to himself, almost waking the young man that slept in the bunk near him. Pleasant Home was not a place to hold long conversations with voices that no one else could hear. No, people would think one was crazy. He had to be more careful. He had to be smarter.
Now he stood outside of the home, a slight breeze drifting down the alley in the back. He heard the singing, it was pretty. It was soothing. He hated it. He knew then, it was not Chief Walker that the voices wanted him to kill. No, it was not him at all.

Detective Mullins took a deep breath as he approached Chief Walker's door. Chief Walker was a mild manner man, born and raised in Mountain Heights town proper. He never seemed to get too upset about much, but in Mountain Heights, there was seldom that much of a reason to get upset. Mullins knew this would be that reason.
"Come in," the chief said, before Mullins could even knock on the door. That was not a good sign. That was a sign that the chief was waiting on him. He knew this was not going to be pleasant as soon as he entered the police station. The dispatcher, who usually smiled at him with teeth way too big for her mouth, was looking down, looking away, looking at anything that was not him. The secretary just waved him through, there was no need to ask what he needed. He was expected.
"Hello chief," Mullins said, as he opened the door. He made sure to put that same look of great concern on his face that he used for the public. The one that said I care and will be doing all I can to insure everything will be okay.
Everything could not be okay. Two murders, and a missing girl, that they were starting to suspect may not be missing at all.
"Any news," the chief asked, his dark eyes peering at Mullins. Jeb Walker was not a tall man, but he was broad shouldered and thick muscled. His family was one of the few African Americans that could claim to have helped settle the town many years ago. He was proud of his heritage, and of his town.
"No sir, but I have every man that I could muster combing the town, the woods, all around. I have contacted the state police and let them know the problem, to be on the look out for anything suspicious on the interstates," Mullins provided with a nod of assurance.
Chief Walker did not nod back. His eyes simply furrowed, and his head tilted slightly as he sat back into his chair.
"Have a seat Mullins," he said, motioning to the chair in front of his rather large desk. A large painting of his grandfather hung behind him, the first black chief of Mountain Heights. It was quite an accomplishment for the 1950's. He was shot and killed in 1962, two months after retiring, having spent 3 full terms in office. His son, Sydney Walker, then ran for chief and won, at a very young age. Sympathy, as Jeb Walker would tell someone, was a major part of the reason he won. Sydney Walker was not a very good chief. He was a drunk and a run around, and lost the very next election, in 1966, when Jeb was 5 years old. He died of cancer when Jeb was 11. Jeb could not say that he missed his father much. He barely knew him, though he remained married to Jeb's mother till he died.
Jeb, on the other hand, was a very faithful man. Faithful to his wife, faithful to his kids, faithful to his church, and faithful to the people of Mountain Heights. This is why he was now on his 3rd term in office. This is why Mullins knew he was not in for a pleasant talk with the faithful Chief Jeb Walker.
"So tell me again, since we are in person. While you were there investigating the scene of the death of Mrs. Potts, a paramedic was killed in the backyard, right under your nose?" No, Jeb was not happy at all.
"Well, we do not know for sure that I was even there yet sir," Mullins began. He had no idea how to make this one okay.
"Yet we do know that two of my officers had to have been there. We know that because they spoke to Mrs. Nancy Hartfeld only moments before her demise. Have you spoken to these officers in detail yet, detective?"
"I did speak to them, sir. I questioned them extensively," Mullins nodded. Not exactly true. He yelled at them extensively. Cursed at them repeatedly. Waved a fist at them and sent them home with threats of suspension and possibly even arrest for gross negligence of their duties. However, he did not really question them yet.
"Yes, I spoke to Larry and Theresa on the phone. They informed me of your questioning, detective. I cannot say I agree with your method, but I understand it is a bit embarrassing. So what is your next step," the chief asked. He apparently was giving the detective a pass on the tongue lashing he delivered to the two officers for not securing the entire scene. For allowing the medic to be killed. For having the murderer right there in their grasps and not catching him.
"As I said, we are trying to cast a net, a broad one at that, to cover the interstates and the small roads. I have been going house to house, door to door, seeing if anyone was home in the neighborhood, and if so, did they see anything. I was doing that when you called me in, sir." Mullins wanted to let the chief know he was keeping him from very important work, without saying so.
"And," the chief asked.
"Nothing. The Brices live on her block, and were home, but they did not see nor hear anything. Larry Brice was still sleeping, and Mary was tending the baby in the back room of the house. They were the only ones on the block besides Mrs. Potts that was home." This was not odd, as the yards were rather large in this section of town, and there were only 4 houses on the entire block.
"I want every man that is off, working. I want the patrol doubled. I want Larry and Theresa put back on duty, after you question them properly. We will deal with any possible punishment, after this is dealt with. Call in the reserve officers, and I will be in touch with the Sheriff. A double murder, in Mountain Heights. Unbelievable detective."
"Well, I will be looking into who may have wanted Mrs. Potts dead. Unfortunately she was not a very well liked lady, so that may not narrow down the possibilities too much. I believe the medic just happened upon the murderer, and was killed to silence her. He, or she, was probably hiding in the shed in the back. I am not sure the missing child is necessarily tied to this, but I have not ruled her out as a suspect, or a victim."
The chief nodded, at least seeming some what pleased with Mullins. Mullins really was a thorough investigator. He did get all of the needed evidence from the scene. He did get things rolling. It was now only 4 pm.
"I have to give a press release soon. I will insure that they understand that our detective is on the job, and that the citizens of Mountain Heights need not be afraid. It is surely an isolated incident, and Detective Mullins has it all under control. I will assure them. You will make sure that I am kept informed, and that you assure me, wont you?" The chief asked, but was really telling Mullins.
"Of course chief," Mullins said, as he stood up. "I will keep you informed, and I will not stop until I find out who did this."
"48 hours. Like the television show says. After the first 48, your chances of catching this person drops significantly," the chief said to the leaving Mullins.
Mullins stopped, thought to say something, but decided not to, and continued out of the office.
The secretary chanced a glance at him as he passed by, and Mullins gave her a reassuring nod. She smiled slightly at that. Everyone depended on the detective to get this job done. He would not show any doubt. Worry and concern, of course. But never doubt.

The scene was a gruesome scene, but Tommy Hicks was use to dealing with the dead and dying. Make no mistake about it, Potts was not of the dying. She was very dead.
Tommy drove the ambulance for Mountain Heights. The only ambulance service for miles, which left him on call 24 hours a day. He was stationed here because he lived here. Yet, he did not mind it a bit. In a small town of 8,000 his call rate was pretty low. They usually put someone who was training with him, to help them get their feet wet before they tossed them into the bigger cities. He didn't mind that either, and he really didn't mind it when the help was a pretty, young medic, with dreams of saving the world. That was not the case today. Nancy Briggs was not pretty, and she was not very young. She smoked constantly, had a bad skin condition, and a voice that Freddy Krueger would be proud of.
"Just leave her there," he told her, as she circled the body, looking at the screw driver poking out of the woman's face.
"I know," she growled back, her lip twitching a bit, then curling at the gruesome scene. She almost seemed to like it.
The officers on shift that day stood out front, keeping anyone that was interested away. It seemed few were even interested in Mrs. Potts demise. She was something of a recluse, outside of her school days. She just happened to get found by the milk man. The milk man actually still delivered milk in this town. Tommy could here the man going over his story to the shift officers once again, who just nodded along.
"So you think she died instantly," Nancy asked, looking to Tommy.
Tommy wanted to answer "How should I know, maybe I can kill you, you can go meet her, and find out, and I can get someone who looks half decent to ride with me", but he didn't. He just shrugged at her. Something he found himself doing much of the time these days.
Nancy gave him one of her looks, as if he never knows anything, and looked back to the body for a moment.
"Should we cover her," Nancy asked.
"Cops said leave her, I doubt she is feeling very immodest right now. The detective will be here soon, and wants the scene as undefiled as possible," he replied.
Nancy just nodded, as if she already knew the answer herself and wanted to test him.
"I need a smoke," she said, standing up straight and stretching her back. "I will be out back."
Tommy did not even acknowledge her. Instead he went to the front door, and began talking to the pretty female police officer out front. Tommy was a handsome 30 year old, who found plenty of time to work out and stay in shape. He had to stay in shape, being single at 30 he had quite a bit of extra curricular activity to do. Women outnumbered the men in Mountain Heights, and a handsome man with a handsome smile who knew he was handsome, well, he knew he had to be ready for anything.

Out back the not so handsome Nancy lit her cigarette, coughing and wheezing a bit on the first puff, but settling in for a nice rush of nicotine. The yard was kept well trimmed, and a small garden of colorful flowers gave it a feeling of warmth. It was fenced in, so the officers didn't seem to bother with guarding the back.
A shed was the only thing that stuck out on the lawn. It was well kept from all appearances, the outside matching the house in color, even bricked to complete the look. Nancy walked toward the shed, more out of something to do than actually wanting to see what was in it. She was out there to puff, fill her lungs with the much desired smoke, and exhale it with gusto. The side adventure, so to speak, was secondary at best.
As Nancy neared the shed she noticed someone on the side of it, with their backed turned. It appeared to be a young boy, maybe 11 or 12. She began to turn to go back to tell the police, but then she feared that the boy may be a relative of the deceased. He may also be hurt, because he was just standing there, facing the other way. Maybe he was in shock. The police would only make the problem worse.
"Little boy, are you okay," she asked, her voice even more raspy from the recent smoke she inhaled.
The boy did not turn to her. He just seemed to be frozen in time, standing there, back to her, doing nothing.
Nancy approached him, and tapped his shoulder.
"Are you okay son," she asked, as the boy turned around. Nancy did not see the machete in hand. She did not see him thrust it up toward her neck. She did feel the pain, as the surprise on her face reflected such. She felt her blood flowing out at an enormous rate, and knew there was no hospital that she could reach in time to save herself. The boy just watched her, his dark eyes curious, as he dropped the machete. He showed no emotion, as she tried to scream, but could only manage a gurgle.
Nancy died, the dark eyes just staring at her. A small quirk of a smile crossed the boys face, and was the last thing Nancy would ever see on this earth.

Something odd was going on in Hadeas' body. He never felt it before. The excitement brought about a heat, that started small, but began to increase. His brow began to sweat, even though it was not that hot of a day. His skin actually began to turn red. Hadeas was unsure what it was. The sweat began to evaporate as soon as his pours would produce it, and standing there he began to steam a bit. It lasted for a moment, then it was gone. Very interesting, but this was not the time to dwell on such. He had work to do.
Hadeas' dark eyes flowed to the house, where he could see the door was still opened. He took a step toward it, anticipating another kill perhaps, but stopped as he heard the engine of a Dodge Charger. He knew of the detective. Everyone knew of him. This man had worked in Paragon City, and had dealt with super powered people for many years.
It cannot truly be described as fear, that drove Hadeas to turn away and head to the rear fence. He would leave the scene of his knew crime behind for the day, and wait for another day to satisfy his desires. It was more self preservation, if anything, only slightly different than true fear. Hadeas did not fear death, he simply wanted to live on so he could kill some more. When death came, Hadeas knew that he would accept it with a smile. The final blow to everything pure and good. There would be no redemption for this human body and soul. No, he was meant for hell, and Hadeas would go there gladly. A part of him knew that was where he came from. He would return there.
Just not today.

Detective Mullins was no rookie cop, no indeed. He served on the Paragon Police Department for many years, walking a beat in the area known as Kings Row. He even developed something of a reputation among the Skull gang members. You could either cooperate with Mullins, and maybe get some help from him when it came time to face the judge, or you could spend extended periods of time in the Zig. Either way, Mullins did not care.
He not only learned how to deal with the hardened gangs, he also had his fare share of grizzly murders to work. Many were as much ritual killings as gang killings. The ritual killings were usually more gruesome than the simple gang killings, and much more odd.
This was not the problem in the small town of Mountain Heights, which is barely a dot on the state maps, and never mentioned beyond that on any other map. It was mostly domestic problems that he ran into, or outsiders coming through that did not know the rules. The rules being that you did not cause any waves in town. You did not disturb the peace of the town. You did not cause the police chief, his 12 road officers, or his only detective, the slightest reason to have to deal with you. The domestic problems would pop up time to time, and were expected. If one or both continued to get out of line, it was not long before they were shown the city limits line, and told to keep going. If an out-of-towner came through causing problems, it was not long before they were shown the inside of the two cell jail house. Getting in was not a problem. Getting out could very well be, unless you had plenty of money on you, or knew someone important enough that the judge would grant you bail. Constitutional Law was no one's strong point, and no one really cared about what went on among the 8,000 strong population of Mountain Heights.
When Chelsea Wittser went missing, no one was extremely worried, especially not the detective. He had seen many run away from the over sized, privately funded home of orphans that sat up on the hill. It was blocked from the view of the general population by a small set of woods. It was only considered part of Mountain Heights because there was no other town that they could pawn it off on. The one road that lead up to it came from Mountain Heights. The benefactor was an extremely wealthy man, a Mr. Corbert, who was gracious enough to will his entire estate to the home, and the welfare of the orphans. This meant the town was able to benefit from some of that wealth as well, as long as they could justify it, and since they had to claim it. The school benefited because it worried so much about the education of those poor parentless kids. The roads, because those poor kids had to get around. City Hall got a make over, because they did not want those kids to have to suffer seeing the old run down building. The police department, because someone had to protect them. It went on and on. It seemed that there was no limit to the wealth of the school, therefor there was not limit to the needs of the town it was considered a part of.

Detective Mullins did his duty. He sent out his patrol to find the girl and he even paid officer Pete over time to run around with his blood hound, and several of Pete's closest drinking buddies, to search hard for the little missing girl. Sure Pete was drunk by the end of the day, but it was a hot day, a whopping 71 degrees out, and Pete and his partners could not be expected to work so diligently for Pete's meager $22.53 an hour. Never mind that the dog never found anything in it's 15 years of life. It was an impressive sound to hear it's barking echoing through the woods.
Anytime they happened to stumble over whatever they were looking for, the dog and Pete were given the glory, his friends were given more beer, and maybe even some hard whiskey. Mullins simply wanted the extra eyes out there, so he put up with foolishness. This was not Paragon City. Professionalism had a whole new meaning here.
Or was it no meaning?
Mullins stood by his unmarked unit, a white Dodge Charger that had low profile lights. It was, for all purposes, his car. The city gladly paid for it, with the orphanage's money. When Mullins divorced his third wife and left Paragon City, he never dreamed he would end up falling into the lap of such luxury. His 50 thousand a year was a cut in pay, but the benefits far outweighed the higher pay he once knew. He did not pay for rent, in his 3 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath brick home with the pool out back. It belonged to the chief, who was skimming enough money to afford a bigger home for himself and his family. Mullins was allowed to stay there as long as he paid his utilities, and kept his mouth shut about the chief's extra financial activities. It was also his responsibility to make sure that the chief had no responsibilities outside of shaking hands and smiling and waving at the carnival and parade.

"Detective Mullins," an out of breath Marty Collins called to him as he road his bicycle up. The newspaper "boy" was a 32 year old who never seemed to grow up, and actually still lived at his mother's house, and actually still lived in his mother's basement.
"If George sent you for a scoop, you can ride back to the Meridional and tell him I don't have anything to tell him yet," Mullins said, never really looking at him. He eyed the tree line, concern creasing his brow, just in case anyone of the citizens of the town were to drive by and see him. It was a must, if he planned to be the chief some day.
"No sir," Marty said, a crack in his voice. This brought the gray eyes of the detective full barrel on him, and made him even more nervous. "I, I mean, he didn't send me up here for that. He sent me up to get you because they can't get you on the radio."
Mullins looked down at his unit radio, and failed to see the red glowing light that indicated it was powered to on. He mumbled something about cell phone towers, the bad reception up here, and how he was a busy man and should not be expected to stop searching for a poor little girl that may be lost and hurt, or worse, dead, for minor infractions that the citizens of Mountain Heights could handle themselves. He did all of this, while turning his radio on.
"Screwface is dead," Marty blurted out, then covered his mouth quickly, realizing he just disrespected the dead. "I mean Mrs. Potts. Dead."
Mullins looked the skinny man over.
"When was the last time you bathed," he asked. It just came out, as the wind whipped the smell of Marty around the nose of the Detective. "Who is dead?" He asked again, trying to picture who this Screwface was. Not having attended the school himself, and most people losing the nicknames of the teachers once into adulthood, he was not privy to the nicknames.
"Mrs. Potts. One of the teachers. She lives at 1006 Maple Drive. Uhm, lived I guess."
Mullins eyed the young man, and was assured he was not kidding. Marty would not dare kid Mullins anyway. Mullins was not known for his playful personality.
"Go find Pete and tell him I will be busy for a while. If he finds anything, to call my office. I seem to have misplaced my cellphone," Mullins said, as he climbed into his Charger.
"You think I can get a ride back, Detective Mullins. It is an awfully long...." before he could finish Mullins slammed his door, and drove off. There was no way Marty was bringing his funk into the detectives police unit.

It was Saturday, and Mrs. Potts hated Saturday, almost as much as she hated Sunday. Saturday reminded her that she was indeed alone, with no one to talk to. Monday through Friday she had the school, but the weekends, well, it was just her.
Her house was almost dead center of Maple Drive, a hilly, winding road that eventually T'ed off with Hwy 68, at the bottom of the hill, and Hwy 103, at the top. A mile in either direction. Her neighbors were all middle class citizens who had "family days", BBQ's, and house parties, all of which she was no longer invited to. They did invite her, many years ago, but she always turned them down. Politely, of course, but turned them down none the less. Now they just did not bother, which is fine with Mrs. Potts.
Her shower was late, as it was near noon now. That was the best time for her, because her neighbors were already busy with their days. She felt comfortable enough now walking about in her robe, with her wet hair hanging down, almost to her waist. It was very long, and usually kept in a bun. But not on Saturdays. She almost laughed as she thought of how she "let her hair down" on Saturdays.
Mrs. Potts stared in the mirror at her face, a few wrinkles here and there. She knew they called her "Screwface", but was unsure why. She was not that unattractive. Of course, she always peered at herself as she smiled "pretty", never really seeing what she looked like when she had her more unpleasant face on. That was usually when she dealt with the kids. She didn't mind the older kids too much, the 17 year olds, even the 18 year olds, that were too stupid to get out of school on time. They could be of use to her some times. Their hormones raced, and she politely took advantage of that. The younger ones were just irritating, and of course that was who she HAD to teach.
This day she just gazed a moment, and then shrugged as she grabbed her hair towel and flopped it over her head, beginning to dry the scalp first, then work her way down to the ends. She did this the same way all the time. Her mind went to the missing child. Chelsea was her name. She knew her well enough. The child who was defiant when she was tending to Hadeas, and then fouled he floor of all things.
Missing? She thought. No, not missing. Probably a run away.
Mrs. Potts didn't put much past these little twits.

Mrs. Potts flipped her hair back and curled the towel around her head before she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. As she turned to look, she saw it wasn't a something, but a someone. He had something in his hand, and was bringing it down rapidly toward her face. She felt the pain, and the blunt force hit her. She felt herself falling, but she could not think very well. Everything was going black. She felt another biting pain, then she felt nothing.

Hadeas looked down curiously at the dead teacher. Her robes had fallen open, revealing her. That did not interest Hadeas in the least bit. It was the death. It was the irony of which he killed this one. The screwdriver was still in place, buried in the middle of her forehead. The last twist of the screw, so to speak, made him smile. Ironically, she had the same look on her face as she did when she smiled her "Screwface" smile.
Irony.
Humor.
Hadeas was beginning to really enjoy his new found games.

Not weird at all. I do not do music for missions, but I do have certain ones for characters. I guess I dont do enough trials or tfs for that.

Chelsea did not know why, but she found herself liking the strange boy with the dark eyes. There was something very sad about him, and something very curious. Maybe even something wrong, Chelsea wasn't sure, but she knew something was wrong about the whole place.
Pleasant Home, a home for the orphaned, was not a very pleasant place. It was set high up in the mountains where the bus had to really chug hard to get to, and the air was too thin, and there was no smell.
Chelsea's parents died three years prior on a boat ferry while visiting Europe. Her aunt who was keeping her died a month later in a car accident. Her 17 year old brother, a week after the funeral of her aunt, while walking into a convenience store that was being robbed, was shot and killed.
"I will turn 18 in a month, and we will be out of here Chelsea," he used to tell her. "We will move to New Orleans, and you will go to school there. I will work on the boats and we will have a flat near Jackson Square."
No 18th birthday, no New Orleans, and no Jackson Square. He was just dead now. She was just an orphan, with no more family.
The girl's side of the "home" was dark and mostly empty. There just wasn't that many orphaned girls it seemed. The place was huge, because, as she was told, at one time there was a bigger need for room. They would have closed it ten years ago for the lack of that need, and moved the orphans elsewhere, but the place had a benefactor that was once a resident, and because of sentimental value, politics, and money in the right hand, the orphanage stayed open.
Chelsea was not sleepy, and the ten o'clock "lights off" time seemed ridiculous on a weekend. Her knuckles were still a little sore from the Thursday beating they took from Mrs. Potts, but she ignored it as she climbed out of bed. Her white cotton night gown brushed down her legs as she stood, the bottom hem barely an inch above the floor. The girl closest to her was three beds down, and from her deep breathing, was sound asleep. She never heard the door open and close out into the hall.
Hadeas actually spoke, and asked her to meet him by the stream near the woods.

Hadeas stood by the stream. He had been there for an hour, patient, as always. He was never in a hurry. He never felt anything that even resembled anxious. He asked the girl Chelsea if she would meet him there, and she said she would. They shared something, though he wasn't sure. In his mind, he had many questions, but the biggest one was "why". Why would she be so foolish to go and take a beating for him? She did not have to do that. His next question though would be the odd one to ask. He was not so crazy that he didn't know that. In fact, Hadeas Cain did not consider himself crazy at all. He was above and beyond the foolishness of this world. However, asking a mere mortal human being "did you enjoy it", enjoy a knuckle beating by a screw faced witch, would seem odd at best.
Hadeas enjoyed it. He thought of all the things he would do to Screw Face some day, and it excited him. It gave him all the reasons, he otherwise did not have, to live. Screw Face always seemed to lose count, but Hadeas never did. He kept count of things. He kept his mind clear, even through the pain. His body would betray him with tears, something he would have to also gain control of, but his mind always stayed sharp.
He caught the white flow of the night gown glimmer in the moon light, and knew she was just up on the hill. She stopped for a moment, maybe unsure if he was even down there, but then she headed in his general direction. Hadeas moved out from under the trees, so that she could see his shadowed silhouette.
She did.

"I made it," she simply said. Hadeas just eyed her curiously, and moved to her. Chelsea thought to move back, but a part of her was interested in why he was doing this. Was he going to kiss her? She would not stop him.
Hadeas' hands fell on Chelsea's shoulders, and moved up toward her face. He let the back of his hands caress her soft cheeks, then rolled them so his palms were now softly on her cheeks. She closed her eyes, in anticipation. Hadeas knew what she wanted. He wanted to do it. His hands slid down to her soft neck, as he pulled her closer to him. She seemed to shudder some, but moved closer to him as well.

Chelsea had never been kissed, and the strange boy with dark eyes was really going to kiss her. His hands felt firm, but it felt good as well, in a strange way. She moved a bit, uncomfortable now as his hands slid to her throat. Even more so as her air was cut off. Even more so when she opened her eyes and saw a strange smile on the boys face. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong, and her eyes began to darken as the air was completely cut off to her brain. Darkness swept in as she tried to hit at him, then nothing.

Hadeas Cain stood over the dead girl. It was the first time he would kill. It would not be the last time.

"Hadeas, are you listening to me?" she asks him, but she knows he probably isn't. He is one of those orphans that didn't lose his parents, they lost him, on purpose. The 10 year old boy just stares at her with those blank eyes, then a slight smile develops slowly on his lips. It is far from what anyone would call a pleasant smile, in fact, it is down right creepy.
Mrs. Potts refuses to back down though, she has dealt with many an orphan in her job, many that no one wanted, and much like Hadeas, she could understand why.
"Hadeas Cain, if you were listening, what did I just read," she asks, knowing he won't know, and knowing he won't answer anyway.
"If you cannot tell me, Hadeas, then I will give you 10 raps on the knuckles, and you will remain after school for two hours," she says, a smile of here own now forming, in an attempt to match his.
Hadeas doesn't answer. He never answers.

Chelsea blinks as she hears the ruler going across the back of Hadeas' hand. It happens far too often, and she just knows that Mrs. "Screwface" Potts is enjoying this far too much. They call her Screwface on account that her lips and nose screw all up weird like when she is angry, or happy for that matter. Though it seems she is happiest when she is angry. When she feels like beating on someone, Hadeas is always the target. He won't answer her, even when Chelsea is sure he was reading along.

Mrs. Potts is not really enjoying this, as some would suppose. To her, it must be done, as unpleasant as it may seem. However, a small part of her also knows it relieves the tension of the day. The bad kids, the good kids, the other teachers, especially the blond bombshell, Mrs. Smith, like that is her real name. As she thinks of Mrs. Smith and Mr. Jerrod, the P.E. teacher, and what she walked in on in the girl's locker room, she forgets the count. Oh well, she would just have to start over. Hadeas Cain won't complain, he never complains. He just cries and whimpers low with each hit. She wishes it was Mrs. Smith she was hitting, as everyone knew Mr. Jerrod was going to marry her, someday. Once he actually noticed her smiles, and batting of the eye, and....
How many hits was that now?

Hadeas' whimpers carried into the classroom, and Chelsea knew Mrs. Potts was now on 15 licks. The most she ever counted was 20, and the way it was going, well, Screwface had not even started explaining how it was for his own good, and everyone knew you got about 10 more during that explanation.
Chelsea found herself standing up, even with Larry Dale Jr. telling her to sit back down.
"It will be okay, Larry, now shhh, I will just ask to go to the bathroom," she nodded, and went to the door.

"Now young man, you keep those hands out while I explain to you that this is truly for your own good," Mrs. Potts began, but was suddenly interrupted by the little red head girl. An orphan as well, to boot.
"Mrs. Potts, I need to go to the girls room," she said. What nerve, to interrupt discipline for such a thing that can surely wait.
"No, go back and sit down. Now, where was I," she turned back toward the boy, but that silly girl still stood there, and had the nerve to open her little mouth again.
"I really have to go," she said, and danced a bit to show she really had to go. Why did she get stuck with 10 year olds?
"Put your hand out little girl!" Mrs. Potts said, turning quickly back to Chelsea. "Your lucky day Mr. Hadeas, go back inside the room and sit down. Mrs. Chelsea has chosen to take the rest of your licks."

Hadeas just stood there, tears rolling down his face, his knuckles raw. His eyes turned to Chelsea, and Chelsea could not hide the fear she seemed to not have only moments ago.
"I just, I just have to," Chelsea began, her own tears now beginning to roll. Hadeas' eyes flowed down to see a puddle forming from something running down the girls leg.
Mrs. Potts either did not notice, or did not care, as she began to rap the girl's knuckles.
"Hadeas, I told you go back in the room," she said, never taking her eyes off of her new work.
As Hadeas entered the classroom, and went to his desk, he could hear Mrs. Potts tell the girl to go clean up now, that she was a messy little girl and should wear a diaper.
Hadeas hid his grin at such a funny thing, as he lowered his face into his crossed arms on the desk.

Mountain Heights Elementary School, located in the very small, very poor town, of Mountain Heights, Colorado, went on as usual.

I dont understand the dislike for presence, though certainly the pool powers are not as effective as arch type. I do get it, sometimes, for scrappers, as opposed to a single target taunt they get. Not arguing, but might as well ask.

/stone.... I cant get into it. I am a concept player, so it is highly unlikely I will "never" use any set, but I have deleted every stone tank I ever made. It is ugly, it changes the look of the toon (if I wanted the toon to look like that, I would have created it to look like that), and the negatives seem to slow my play down waaaaaay too much. I know, get tp....blah....not my favorite travel power, and again, how many concepts can one come up with for teleporting rock people.

"Look mah, its a rock person!"
"Careful Jr, we know they all teleport, and we will never forget that tragic accident that took your paw away from us."

Awe man, there goes all my fun. Now I guess I have to go and do something else, like play CoH.
I did get to use the restroom though. I am much healthier now. Much.

I heard a rumor that they didn't really have an emergency! Positron wanted some play time and really didn't want to be bothered with others, so they shut it down for a bit. Him and War Witch are doing the Statesman TF as we speak, and it will be up as soon as they are done. *nod nod*

Look at the bright side *eats on his ice cream cone*, if it weren't for these down times we could not be entertained by the "I deserve" people who get themselves all in a fluster. Probably the same people who cattle stomp Wal Mart employees for a dollar off sale.
I think I will join in!

I DEMAND ...... I DESERVE ....... TO YOU IT IS A GAME, TO ME, IT IS LIFE ITSELF!!!!

WHAT???!! PULL AWAY FROM GAME AND SPEND AN HOUR WITH FAMILY!?? THAT WOULD MAKE IT NOW....2 HOURS!! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND, IT IS DOUBLE XP WEEKEND! I HAVE NO FAMILY! -wivesies and mommies don't count-

Seriously, I was fussing to wife about it too, though she may have been fussing more. She thought God smote CoH so WE would get off for a bit. Don't be mad at us, I am sure He did it to her not me! LOL..... I am sure it is an emergency, and NO, we do not NEED to know if Positron forgot to put a squiggle instead of a line on the mini-skirt program turning it into a g-string. It will be repaired, your tempers will no longer be a factor, and if you choose to quit CoH/CoV over this, then it is just one less high strung overly sensitive person the rest of us have to deal with.

PNN (Paragon News Network) LIVE!


"This reporter is here at the offices of Minhere Inc., located in the Steel Canyon business district. Fire trucks, ambulances, PPD and even Longbow are stationed in a perimeter around the building even as I speak."

(the camera turns from the reporter, an almost wax faced 40 something year old who apparently has had enough botox to insure his forehead does not move for years to come, and focuses on the high rise of Minhere Inc.)

"It seems something has been going on, but exactly what is unclear. I have seen many stretchers coming out of the office, some holding black body bags. Officials will not allow us to get any closer, simply stating it is for our safety. I did get a chance to speak to someone who claimed they were inside the building when this all began. Tony, please roll the footage."

(A young man in a cheap suit, red hair, and a squeaky voice is now in front of the camera, a shot apparently taken moments before. The reporter obviously insures his face is in the shot, even as he speaks to the young man.)

"I am Paul, and I was in there when this all started. Mr. Minhere and his people were attacked, unprovoked I may add, by what he called Lord Nemesis agents. I could tell that some of those agents were not human, they were AI's, Artificial Intelligence."

(The reporter looked blankly at Paul, the smile never leaving his face.)

"Robots sir, that think on their own."

(The reporter does not blink, may not be able to, as he continues to smile and stare at the young man.)

"Well, anyway, Mr. Minhere may well have saved my life, at great risk to his own, when he ordered me to the top of the building, where his pilot whisked me away. I do hope he is alright."

(The young man walks away at this point, and the reporter now stands in front of the camera live, trying his best to appear as close to the trouble as he can, even ducking time to time when a loud noise occurs.)

"As you can hear from the noises behind me, there is still much activity occuring, and I may well need to back up more." (he inches closer hoping to get the attention of the PPD officer who will surely tell him to back off)


(The shot goes back to the talking heads in the newsroom)

"Well, Rodgerick, you be careful there sir, it looked as if you are in the middle of the action. On that note, we will take a much needed commercial break, and be back with more PNN news! We are where the action is!"

TT was fun, and worth the lack of sleep I got, it ending at about 11pm and me up at 4am.