MisterFixIt

Mr. Fix-It came out from under console, and took one of the devices from Danny. Turning it over in his hands briefly, he pulled a screwdriver from his pocket and unscrewed the back of one, examining its innards carefully. Conrad's brain was in high-gear now, absorbing every little mechanical facet he laid eyes on. After a moment, he replaced the cover and handed it back to Danny.

"Show me where you found these. I might be able to make more." He stated simply.

Mr. Fix-It stuck his head out of the console, looking up at Danny. "That's quite the peculiar accent you've got there. It's hard to place... At any rate, the termites haven't hindered my mobility in the least. 500 pounds of pneumatic force is a little much for the little buggers to bear." He said, wiggling his boot-clad foot for emphasis. "If need be, I can carry one or two of you... the G-forces would be a little rough though..." he added, crawling back inside the console. "Going to have to replace almost all of this... good thing the main data storage drives and motherboards seem unharmed."

[ QUOTE ]
"Hey Fix-it, you actually any good at fixing stuff or is it just a name?"

[/ QUOTE ]

Mr. Fix-It looked up, said nothing and approached the malfunctioning console slowly, looking it over. He reached out and arbitrarily pushed a few buttons, shrugging as he got no results. He turned to Richard and tilted his head at the console.

"I can fix this. But I need tools." he said simply. Turning back to the console, he knelt down and pried off one of the access panels, peering inside to get a better look. A puff of black smoke and the acrid smell of burnt plastic billowed out to great him, and Fix-It choked briefly, ducking back out.

"Innards are totally fried. Something or someone has been mucking around in here, probably just before you left. Pull out a wire or a chip or two, and a delicate system like this goes completely to hell..." As he crouched down to look inside the console again, he paused for a moment. "For the record, Mr. Fix-It isn't just an arbitrary title. The public seems to think I am the greatest engineering mind the world has ever seen. I, for one, am disinclined to argue on that point." He added, with a roguish sort of smirk before ducking back inside the machine again. "Oh yeah, somebody's been screwing around in here alright. Bits n' pieces are missing; others are just fried completely."

He paused a moment as Akemi voiced her concerns about the possibility of interference. "I can fix that, too... Just send the signal on a wavelength just above, or just below the frequency of a high-powered carrier signal. The signal will cut through any forseeable interference that I can think of." Mr. Fix-It neglected to add that it might be a form of radio interference he had yet to encounter, but it didn't seem productive to worry them over little details such as that. If the carrier-signal didn't work, well they'd cross that bridge when they got to it. For now, Fix-It busied himself examining the inner workings of the console, assessing what had been fried and what had been just plain stolen.

Mr. Fix-It immediately wished he'd built himself some rubber soles or something for his feet, as the sound of his heavy footfalls tended to reverberate around the nearly-empty base. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a device that looked something like portable radio or transmitter of some kind.

"Refit button." he explained. pressing a button or two, his metal legs shimmered slightly, like caught in the haze of hot air coming off a tin roof before evaporating and being replaced by a pair of ordinary, human-looking feet, clad in heavy leather workboots. Pacing around the room, he decided this was infinitely preferable, and put the device back in his pocket. "Much better... So, what's the next plan of action, ladies and gents?"

((I'll leap into this if none of you mind :3 If, on the off chance you do, I'll just be on my merry way.))

((btw, Character is a Tech. Scrapper - Claws/Willpower/Leaping))

The termite-like creatures were becoming a nuisance, to say the least. At points they littered the streets in such density as to appear a seething mass of insect bodies. Several of them looked up and around as the pavement began to pulse with a rythmic pounding. The vibrations grew stronger and stronger, soon accompanied by the 'whang-whang-whang' sound of metal-against-stone. A shadow appeared on the pavement, and several of the termites disappeared quite suddenly under a pair of enormous metal feet. They slammed into the ground, shaking the pavement with a force not unlike the Fist of God itself crashing earthwards. Attached to those enormous metal feet was a figure, clad in a green tank top style t-shirt, and brown cargo pants, held up by a large, leather weight-lifter's belt. The figure turned, his mechanical feet singing a chorus of mechanical whines, pnuematic hisses, and the crunch of termites being trodden underfoot. Crossing a pair of metal, piston-driven arms across his chest, the figure sized up the motley little band that had assembled in the streets, his identity obscured by a pair of blast goggles, with green-tinted lenses as opposed to the usual black.

"Here... these your little monstrosities?" he asked, crushing several more underfoot as he spoke. "Cuz I can tell you, they're becoming a right pain in the [censored]." he said as some of the termites managed to grab hold of his foot and attempt to proceed further up his leg. "Oi, you... You'd best cut that out, me lads..." He twisted one of his metal wrists just so, and a set of metal talons sprung forth, which he then proceeded to swipe away the termites with. "Right... as I was saying... I followed these things here all the way from Atlas Park. Just where in the blazes are they all comin' from?"

The man/machine examined the crew briefly; Akemi, Matrix, and TargetLad, a few yards overhead. Then he noticed the barrier of burning oil surrounding them, and keeping the termites away. "I'm gonna step out on a limb here and say these aren't your bugs then?" He offered, shaking several more free of his metal feet. "Then perhaps I can offer some assistance in finding the source of these creatures?" He crouched slightly, and leapt over the barrier of flames that had been hastily erected moments before. Metal feet thumping against the paved street, the newcomer approached the unlikely allies and extended a metal hand to Matrix. "Name's Mr. Fix-It." He said, smiling slightly. After a brief pause, Mr. Fix-It tilted his head inquiringly, then looked down at his metal hand, reaching out to him. "Oh go on then! It's just a hand, like any other hand. It isn't going to bite you..."

If you're looking for serious challenge, this ought to do:

Mr. Fix-It

Hopefully I've managed to get enough detail of all those fiddly little mechanical bits :3

OR

If you'd prefer something in the usual tights-wearing faire:

Frigidus

Name: Conrad Raphael Declan
Alias(es): Mr. Fix-It (Mistah Fix-It; Triumph Server)
Age: 27
Description: Long, blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. A neatly trimmed goatee, blonde like his hair, but slightly darker. When on patrol, he is commonly seen wearing a dark green tank-top style shirt, with a stylised gear emblem printed on the front, as well as green-tinted welding-goggles, which serve to mask his identity. He also wears a heavy, leather belt, similar to the style a weight-lifter might employ. (The weight of his mechanical limbs dictates that he wear such a belt) He wears ordinary brown cargo shorts, the pockets of which are filled with spare parts and tools. He wears no shoes, as his feet are more than durable enough without.
Origin: Technology
Archetype: Scrapper
Powers: Claws, Willpower, Defensive Jump

Conrad Declan, like many heroes in these stories, was born and bred in Paragon City, and it rapidly became apparant that he, like so many before him, was destined for greatness.

At the age of five, he completely disassembled a music box, repaired it, and re-assembled it. By ten, he had built one entirely out of spare parts and scrap metal. By 25, he had a Ph.D in Mechanical Engineering. He was quite possibly the most ingenious mechanical mind the world had ever seen. There was nothing his mind couldn't devise, and nothing his hands couldn't build or repair.

Tragedy struck, however, as he went out to celebrate the plan to construct his own engineering company one night, a getaway driver struck his vehicle, killing two of his friends, and nearly killing Conrad in the process. When he woke up from a coma nearly two weeks later, he was crushed to discover he had lost his entire right arm, his left arm below the elbow, and both legs below the kneecaps. It seemed like Conrad's career as an engineer was destroyed forever.

But Conrad had come too far to be defeated so easily. For months he sat at a computer and, with the aid of an assistant, devised a set of electro-mechanical replacements for his lost limbs. Nearly a year after the accident, Conrad Declan was wheeled into the operating room of Atlas Park's Chiron Medical Center, and an experimental surgery began.

He went in bound to a wheelchair, and Conrad emarged standing on his own two feet. Two 85 lb, precision-machined titanium feet, each with 500 pounds of force backing them. His arms were equally powerful, manipulated by a complex network of pneumatic pistons. Life seemed to be returning to normal for Conrad, after nearly a year and half's hard work to make it so.

But such things did not come to pass, as anonymous powers had observed Conrad's steady recovery to a semblance of human normality. The first to make a move on Conrad's 'wetwire' technology was The Clockwork. As they attempted to raid Conrad's little Atlas Park workshop, he fought them back with surprising skill and ease. Realising the extent of the power that was now at his disposal, Conrad decided that he would put his new technology to work fighting crime. Lord knew Paragon City had an abundance of crime to clean up. So, strapping on a pair of welding goggles, slipping into one of his favorite tank-tops, and stepping out onto the street, the aspiring engineer once known as Conrad Declan became the crime-busting man-machine known as Mr. Fix-It.

The name was chosen as an homage to Conrad's ability to fix anything and everything; even his broken and frail human body. In an effort to reduce damage to his mechanical limbs, Conrad had a set of retractable metal talons bolted to each of his 'hands', which now serve as his primary weapons.

While Mr. Fix-It cleaned up the streets of Atlas Park, his alter-ego, Conrad, was busy financing his own engineering company. Employing rubberized 'skin-like' limbs to make himself appear more human, (and to further hide his identity), Conrad re-emerged in public, a fully able and determined owner of his soon-to-be successful company. His 'wetwire' technology had been sold to several exemplary prosthesis manufacturers, returning mobility to several accident victims like Declan himself. 'Legacy Prosthetics', as his company came to be known, is now widely successful.

Saving lives, as a civilian and as a 'cape', Conrad Declan's life became devoted to 'the people'. As owner of Legacy Prosthetics, he helped amputees regain their lives.

As Mr. Fix-It, he became equally famous. A thunderous sound like the fist of God himself slamming into the earth heralds his arrival, leaping from rooftop to rooftop by way of his pnuematic-ram legs, whose rhythmic whine and hiss criminals everywhere soon learned to dread...