Mordaris_

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let me take this time to say that the story had been amazing so far. Its been keeping me in suspense about what will happen this whole time. I first read you story before i ever had coh, i just came onto the forums and culdnt post so i just read threads and such. I lost this thread at around when the Sentinel woke up and i just finished up to the latest part of the story now. I must say bravo mord keep up the god work

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Thank you for the kind words, WarriorX. And thank everyone else as well. Your encouragement means a great deal. More to come.

The situation in the base cafeteria had gone from bad to worse. Groups of base defenders back into the area, forced there by growing Rikti battlegroups. The cafeteria was easily the size of a football field, and the soldiers had hunkered down behind overturned chairs, tables, snack machines, and anything else they could find to make a barricade. The room had four entryways, each in the middle of the four walls. Rikti poured into the only three that led toward the exit from the base. Rikti were stacked several deep, firing their weapons into the assembled heroes, and slashing at close combatants with their massive blades. The defending force of the base was formidable, but the swiftness of the sneak attack, coupled with the sheer number of the Rikti that had penetrated the base was wearing them down. Many soldiers and heroes alike had fallen, and many more were succumbing to exhaustion. Behind their makeshift barricade, the being that was Nurse Grey tended to Dr. Stromberg. The Scarlet Sentinel and Major Davis looked on.

“There is nothing you can do, my dear. I have overdone things. I knew that if I ever used my powers again, it would be my undoing,” Dr. Stromberg coughed. Smoke poured from his mouth and nostrils, and he wheezed and gasped for breath. He had grown too old and weak to control his power, and it was consuming him from within.

“Hush now,” Nurse Grey urged, pressing cold packs from a nearby first aid kit against his scorching-hot skin. “Save your strength.”

The Sentinel and Major Davis stood mute, grim looks coloring their faces. The Sentinel gazed around at the many wounded, and the remaining heroes fighting valiantly against increasingly overwhelming odds. Marcus, the base commander had just dove for cover behind the barricade, fatigue etching deep creases in his face. “This base was not equipped to repel a force such as this. We are nothing more than a simple Vanguard presence in this area. Our military hardware is limited.”

“We have to get these wounded people out of here,” the Sentinel said, gazing at the battleground.

“How? All the exits are blocked,” said Major Davis.

“At least no more will be coming into the base. Someone activated the scattering field. We can expect reinforcements soon,” gasped a nearby Vanguard soldier. I wasn’t able to get to the activation switch at the armory, but judging by the ‘crack’ sound we heard earlier, someone did.”

“Well, that’s some comfort, at least.”

A Rikti energy bolt struck the wall in the corner behind them, leaving behind a pitted crater. “It won’t matter. We won’t last long enough against that force. Their weapons don’t run out of energy, and we were utterly unprepared,” said Marcus.

“We HAVE to try. Isn’t there ANY way around to the exits through that door closest to us?” shouted the Sentinel over the din.

“No. That door leads deeper into the living quarters. The doors to the north and east lead to the exits, and the southern door leads to the underground tram,” said Major Davis. “The doors all have hallways that meet up, of course, but the Rikti have fortified their positions very well. We’d never get through while carrying wounded.”

“Well,” said Nurse Grey, moving to drag Dr. Stromberg, “we can at least get them to a safe area than this.”

Major Davis called to the rest of the survivors to fall back, and then moved to help her. They had just reached to the western door when Marcus intervened. “Davis, we need everyone here, or the base will fall.”

“Marcus, look around you! The base has already fallen! We owe it to these people to try and save them!”

Davis and the refugees were facing the cafeteria proper, so they didn’t see what made Marcus’ eyes widen until they heard the unmistakable whine of an electric motor, and turned as one to see a figure emerging from the smoking ruins of the hallway. He was dressed in full Kevlar body armor, and had large duffel bags, obviously full of something strung on both arms. Strapped to his back was a huge pack, with a belt that ran from it to the large-caliber minigun in his thickly-muscled hands. The motor that drove the 6-barrells had already spun up to speed and the formidable weapon was ready to fire.

“Everyone, get down,” Martin growled and pulled the trigger.

A few miles away, in an abandoned dockside warehouse, Darla sat shivering, bound to a post with yards of duct tape. She was more terrified than she had ever been in her entire life, and thoroughly miserable. It had become evident that Dawg had slipped completely into insanity. She learned early on to do her best not to make eye contact, as he would fly into a rage and beat her severely for even the smallest glance. Only twice had he shown her any kind of compassion, releasing her from her bonds to relieve herself, and giving her a few sips of water. He had immediately taped her up again however, even tighter than before. At some point, he had decided that she was being too noisy. He had torn the tape from her lips, forced her jaw open, and crammed a rag of some sort into her mouth. He then taped her lips closed again over it, effectively reducing her sobs to nearly-inaudible mews. With her mouth now packed with the rag (that she prayed was some semblance of clean) her jaw was beginning to ache. Her shoulders were on fire with pain from having her wrists pulled too far behind her for too long. Her ankles were severely bruised from being bound too tightly, and she was literally starving, since she hadn’t eaten in days. She kept her tear-streaked face perpetually downcast, lest she inadvertently meet Dawg’s gaze, and incur another beating, risking only fleeting glances when she was positive he wasn’t looking. Dawg had been talking to himself for the past two days, and they were definitely the ramblings of someone far from stable. Darla had seen him shooting something into his arm on a couple of occasions, and judging by the color and the odd glow, it was Superdine. Dawg had brought several members of the Freakshow in and they had pointed and laughed at her. On another occasion, a mad-looking doctor-type in filthy, blood-spattered scrubs had examined her in silence, and then conferred with Dawg under his breath. She had heard of the Vahzilok, and was numb with fear at the thought of what Dawg might have planned. The doctor had handed Dawg some vials, and left. Dawg later mixed the vials with the ‘Dine, and shot it into his veins as well. Dawg kept a police scanner handy, and something about a disturbance at a local Vanguard facility came over the speaker, and Dawg seemed to be suddenly intent on the events.

“Well, Darla,” he said with a sneer, “It sounds like Thorny is causing quite a ruckus at his new home.” Why he assumed it was Martin causing the trouble, or even how he could know Martin was even there was beyond Darla. Dawg stared at Darla for a long moment, looking back and forth between her and an old, rusted-out bus nearby as if considering something. Dawg got up, and walked over to the wreck. He considered it for a moment, and then left the building. He came back a couple of seconds later with a couple of steel beams balanced on his shoulders. He shoved the bus over into a corner, and wedged it snugly against the concrete walls, under the upper floor, so that it could not move left, right, or back. Dawg hefted one of the beams, and lifted the bus with the other hand. Darla was amazed at Dawg’s strength. He had never been this strong before, so she figured it must have been the suicidal cocktail of drugs he was giving himself. He shoved one of the beams under one of the bus’s front wheels. Leaving it balanced precariously for a couple of seconds, he then wedged the other beam under the opposite wheel, giving the setup more stability. Now the old vehicle was propped up at an angle, forming a sort of bizarre lean-to. Darla was baffled as to what Dawg was up to as he dragged an old piece of concrete about six feet across and 12 inches thick that still had several pieces of rebar sticking outover near the bus. He jerked a couple of additional lengths of the iron bars out of other piece of rubble, and rammed them into the slab at an angle.

“It’s time to dress you up for your boyfriend, sweet thing,” Dawg said ominously as he stalked toward Darla. He tore the tape free that was anchoring her to the post and dragged her over to the slab by her hair, giving Darla a new set of scrapes and cuts, not to mention a raw scalp in the process. He grabbed a nearby roll of duct tape, and bound her arms to her torso. It was needless, as she had already been quite helpless, but Dawg hadn’t really done anything sane in almost two days. Once he was done, Dawg’s malevolent scheme began to take shape, to Darla’s lasting horror. He stalked over to the end-section of the bus, and began tearing at the bottom of it, forming several jagged edges that were all pointing downward. Next, he walked over to Darla, and dragged her over the top of the slab. He then began to methodically wrap the rebar around her body. When he was done, Darla was anchored immovably to the slab, with iron bars encircling most of her body, including her throat and even her forehead. Darla couldn’t move a muscle beyond wiggling her fingers and toes.

When Dawg started shoving the slab, and Darla realized that he was pushing her concrete, iron, and adhesive prison underneath the back of the bus, where the sharp-edged projections he had made would be positioned precariously over her, she started to cry and do her best to shake her head “no”, but the iron would not yield. She was held motionless, barely able to draw a breath, so compressed was her body under her bonds, and if the bus fell, not only would it crush her, the jagged remains of the undercarriage would slice her to pieces. Once she was in position, with no choice but to face the front of the bus, Dawg laid down so that he was mere inches from her. He ran his fingertip lightly down the bridge of her nose as he spoke, and she tried unsuccessfully to recoil from his touch.

“Now, my sweet. You’ll make a nice gift for our visitor. He’ll be along soon, I’ll wager.”

It was obvious now that Dawg was laying some sort of trap for Martin with her as the bait, and her despair was complete.

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I'm still following your story from back on the beta boards. I remember the disussions about the value of a MAC-10 as the weapon of your choice in the first part of the story .

Still loving it and checking daily for an update. Now please don't tell me it will be over in just 3 more parts!

Great story, great writing style.

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I actually saved the entire thread from the old boards. The discussion you refer to actually ended up sparking an additional idea or two that I ended up using. I wonder of the woman that initiated that exchange(I forget her board-handle), and Major Speed are still around.

Just wanted to pop in to let everyone know that I am still around, and trying to get the rest of this finished. There will be perhaps three or so more parts and it will be done.

I just wanted to know what everyone thinks of it so far. Good? Bad? I welcome your opinions.

Thanks.

Martin Thorne's origin is in my signature.

I don't know if anyone is still following this, but here is another part. We're coming down the home stretch, everyone.

Martin ran through the hallways, dodging Rikti and base personnel alike. He heard the screams of the men and women from all directions, and felt that he should be helping in some way, even though that “Marcus” guy meant to kill him at the first opportunity. He did his best to remember the layout of the base, but the stress of the situation combined with the inner conflict of his instinct for survival and his responsibility to his friends was making it hard to think. He skidded to a stop just short of a Rikti portal just as it came into being in front of him. As the alien warrior began stepping through, Martin activated his dampening field and focused all of it that he could on the emerging threat. It was an act of sheer desperation, but it was a gamble that paid off. With a nauseating gurgle, the Rikti fell to the ground dead, sliced neatly in two as the portal winked out like a candle in the wind. This gave Martin the embers of an idea. The creature had dropped one of its bizarre blasters. The operation of the device looked simple enough, if a bit awkward due to differences in physiology. Martin dampened his power, aimed it at a nearby wall, and triggered it. The weapon spat multi-hued energy that exploded into the concrete, showering the area with sparks and hot chunks of stone. Activating his power, he triggered the weapon again. Nothing happened. The embers fanned into a flame. Martin remembered something in his flight and began working he way back down the corridors. Two Rikti came around the corner to block his path. Martin hesitated, but the creatures did not, firing their weapons at Martin. The energy bolts fizzled and died a dozen feet from him. Smiling wickedly Martin quickly dampened his field and shot back. The bolts tore through one of the things, dropping it immediately. The other dove for cover, and tore at a storage pouch on its armor. Martin moved forward, power active, preparing to drop the field and fire again. The Rikti popped out from behind cover, and was fumbling awkwardly with something small and metallic. Martin recognized the machine pistol in just enough time to hit the floor as it spat at him. Fortunately for Martin, the Rikti wasn’t used to the weapon’s behavior, and the shots went wild. This gave Martin the precious seconds he needed to roll aside, dampen his field, and send a stream of destructive energy from his newly-acquired weapon at the creature. The bolts hit home on the thing’s shoulder, sending it sprawling. Martin advanced on the thing, drawing a careful bead on it as he advanced. It struggled to bring its earth weapon to bear. Martin aimed and fired, separating its head from its body. Bending to retrieve the Uzi, Martin noted that it was plastered with stickers and logos typical of the Skulls. Apparently, the Rikti had relieved some gang members of their already stolen weaponry. “So, I’ll steal it from the thieves that stole it from the thieves that stole it to begin with,” Martin thought to himself, chuckling.

Looking up from the dead Rikti, Martin noticed something in a small room across from the body that he recognized from his studies at Paragon ROTC. It was an advanced communications rig. Dashing to the unit, Martin dampened his power, stabbed at the button that closed and locked the door with a trembling finger, and turned to activate the transceiver.

“Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Mayday! We have a situation here. Rikti have invaded the base! We need help! Please respond!” Martin pleaded desperately with the microphone. He had hoped that the system was already configured to whatever emergency frequency it needed to be on. A heartbeat later, his prayers were answered as the speaker came to life.

“This is Vanguard HQ. Who is this?”

“My name is Martin Thorne. I am a guest in the Paragon facility. Rikti invaders are all over the base, and we cannot hold out for long. They are teleporting in from all over. Please help us,” Martin begged.

“Look above your receiver and tell me what you see.”

“I see a small, black plaque that says ‘XQ45TUY’”

“That is the code for that base. Your transmission has been triangulated and verified. Okay, son. Here’s what you need to do. Look to your left. Do you see a console marked “Force Field Control”?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Every communications station has one. There should be a bright, red, button marked “Emergency”. Press it.”

Martin smacked the button. There was a loud sound like a cannon shot, and a klaxon went off. “Okay. What now?”

“That should keep any more Rikti from coming into the base. That button discharged the capacitors in the force shield, which sets up a scattering field of electromagnetic energy. It keeps the Rikti from getting a lock on any location within a few miles of it, shutting down their ability to port in. We’re sending a call out to all available heroes to come to your aid. Just find someplace to hole up. Help is on the way.”

Martin breathed a sigh of relief, and sat down in a nearby chair. He began surveying his surroundings. At the back of the room, he noticed a sign over a force field-covered doorway. Walking toward the door, he could hear the crackle of the field. Some of these fields gave one a powerful shock if touched when active. They were around some of the more sensitive areas that Major Davis had shown him. Martin activated his dampening field again, just near his body, and slowly reached out to put his hand in the field. The crackling energy parted before his outstretched palm. Pulling his arm back, Martin walked through the doorway marked “BASE ARMORY", as the field collapsed to allow him entry, a wide grin on his face. The fire of an idea he had quickly became an inferno.

Some good advice there from Jaffa. Take it to heart.

Also, never underestimate the value of WALKING AWAY, especially if you experience writer's block.

Put it down. Walk away. Forget about it for a week or so. Then go back and re-read the whole thing from the beginning. That tends to give you some fresh perspective, and maybe even some new ideas.

Oh, and read. A lot.

By the way Jaffa, some good stuff there.

As Rikti troopers began to emerge from the portals, Dr. Stromberg turned to Martin, “Martin! Dampen your power! Quickly!”

As he did so, the people around him began manifesting all manner of abilities. The Sentinel hovered into the air, apparently itching for a fight. “Marcus” was once again sheathed in armor of stone. To Martin’s astonishment, Nurse Grey’s form began shifting and twisting. Gone was her uniform, and her salt-and-pepper hair. She stood revealed as a perfect, featureless, female form made of what looked like bright chrome. Immediately, she threw forth her arms, emitting some sort of force shield between them and the Rikti invaders. Major Davis was suddenly wreathed in an inky blackness, making his silhouette difficult to discern.

Even Dr. Stromberg burst into flames, and made ready to charge down the new threat.

“Claude! No! You cannot!” Nurse Grey shouted over the growing noise, “you’ll kill yourself!”

“I’ll be fine, Therese’,” returned Dr. Stromberg, suddenly holding a great, flaming blade.

The Scarlet Sentinel rushed to Martin’s side and whispered hastily as the Rikti fully entered the scene and the battle was joined, “Martin. Quickly. Find a way out of here during the chaos. It is likely your only chance.”

“I can’t just leave you guys.”

“Martin, in this situation, your power will be more of a liability than an advantage. We’ll need all of our powers to put them down.”

Several bullets ricocheted off a nearby wall, causing the Sentinel to bear Martin to the floor for cover. “Guns? What on Earth are they doing with guns?”

“It’s Thorne! They know their weapons won’t work on him, so they are using standard Earth tech! Men! Do not let them get to Thorne! Shoot him if need be!” screamed Marcus.

“Martin, run,” growled the Sentinel, rising to her feet. “Don’t you think we have other, more pressing matter to attend to?” she shouted at Marcus, as several bullets bounced harmlessly off her chest.

“He is a threat!” Marcus retorted.

“So are they!” yelled Nurse Grey as Dr. Stromberg charged the bulk of the force that faced them, swinging savagely with his sword. Those Rikti lucky enough to miss being caught in the wicked slash were still close enough to him to feel the embrace of his white-hot aura, and burst into flames. Blood was already trickling from Dr. Stromberg’s nose from the strain of using his powers. He wouldn’t last long alone.

Marcus barked an expletive and turned to battle the Rikti.

The Scarlet Sentinel watched Martin dash down the hallway in the opposite direction, and also turned towards the Rikti, cracking her knuckles. “All right, boys. Let’s dance,” she said merrily, and dove headlong into the Rikti squad. She grabbed the nearest one by his bulbous head and began swinging him like some kind of club, batting his fellows in all directions. Marcus swung a stone hammer as an advancing warrior tried to step around him. The Rikti was launched into the air towards the Sentinel’s back.

“Sentinel! Behind you!” he shouted.

She turned in time to spot the flight of the creature, clasped both hands together and made ready to swing. “Batter up!” she quipped as she connected with the thing’s midsection, sending it soaring in the opposite direction, right toward a newly-manifested portal. It went through with a “fwoop” sound. They couldn’t see, but on the other side of the doorway, the hapless warrior bowled into a dozen more that were waiting to step through, knocking them in all directions, and finally coming to rest on the portal’s controls, shorting them out. Back in the hallway, the portal winked out.

“Nice shot,” said Nurse Grey, as she sent out force-field bubbles to her allies.

“Thanks. 3 years in the Connelly High School, Lady Wolverines. I was the shortstop,” replied the Sentinel, battering a Rikti drone with another Rikti drone.

Dr. Stromberg was the first to fall. The strain of using his formidable powers was too much for his aging body. Coughing up blood, he fell to his knees. The Sentinel scooped him up and placed him behind Nurse Grey’s main shield, and charged back into the fray with wild abandon. Every Rikti that fell into Major Davis’ reach was immediately assaulted by cold, shadowy energy, as his hands dealt blows charged with energies from a dark place that birthed nightmares. The other soldiers fought with powers of their own. The troupe was doing well, but now that Martin was gone, the Rikti had discarded their conventional weaponry in favor of their more lethal and devastating Rikti blasters. All over the base, groups of heroes were being pushed back. Eventually, they all met up in the base’s huge cafeteria, but it looked as if the base might be lost completely.

According to one of the Devs, (I forget exactly which one) YOU are your hero's secret identity.

By day, an underachieving IT professional.. By night, SuperCheesyGoodnessMan, the dairy avenger!

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Countess Crey glided into the room, casting sideways glances at the gurney to her left. Underneath heavy canvas straps, several oozing chunks lay on the cold steel. Standing over the gurney was a thin, mousy, little man with half-spectacles perched precariously on his hawklike nose. Behind his glasses were two bulging eyes that looked as if they might leap from their sockets at any moment. Dressed in a stained labcoat, and filthy scrubs, he regarded the hunks of meat clinically, and somewhat affectionately, while he poked and prodded at them with metal probes. To his right was a pedestal bearing a tray laden with all manner of probes, hooks, knives, and gouges. Most were covered in thick ichor, or bile. The Countess cleared her throat.

“Your grace!” the man said, bowing low, the top of his head covered in thinning, greasy hair that clung to his head like mold. “I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Professor von Richter, report” she said curtly.

The man emitted a nervous, high-pitched giggle. “Fascinating creatures, these Rikti. Where did you get one?”

“It was disguised as an employee. A routine scan found it. What was it doing here? Did it tell you anything useful?”

“Oh, it talked.” He emitted the creepy giggle again. “Or rather, it screamed.” He then got a look on his face that was almost wistful. “I think it cried at one point. I cannot be sure.” The giggle again echoed off the stainless steel walls of the room.

The Countess shivered involuntarily. She had to mentally repeat the mantra she used to deal with this man. “I let him live because he is good at his job. He works for ME. He takes orders from ME. I let him live because he is good at his job. He works for ME. He takes orders from ME.” It was the only thing that kept the revulsion she felt to a minimum. Even so, the bile was rising in her throat at the thought of some of the things she had seen him do, and even more that she had only heard of. “What did it tell you?” she finally asked aloud.

“It was sent to observe any advances in earth technology and report back. Toward the end, it mentioned something about an experiment that you had become interested in that was recently moved to an earth military facility from a human repair facility.” He giggled that squeaky giggle again.

“In English,” she said irritably.

“Umm.. I suspect it was referring to that boy you had me try to clone. Pity that. The DNA looked most impressive. Was my data useful, your grace?” he inquired, a lascivious grin on his pockmarked face as he took a step toward the Countess.

She took an involuntary step back. “Yes. Quite. What did the thing say about the boy?”

“It indicated that he was taken from the hospital to what I can only assume is a Vanguard lockdown. The Rikti are planning to assault it en masse’.”

“Hmm. I guess we missed our opportunity, then. Very well,” she said, waving her hand at the gurney. “See that the remains are disposed of immediately.”

The man’s face fell. “But we are still having such fun, the Rikti and I.” He giggled once again. The Countess noticed to her lasting horror that some of the chunks were still twitching. Nearly retching, she nodded a hasty assent, and walked briskly from the room.

In the hallway was her associate, the same man that had attained the sample of Martin’s blood. Once the color had returned to her face, she spoke. “Cain, it appears that Vanguard has Mr. Thorne in their custody. Did you have any trouble finding our contact?”

“No, Countess,” he said, stepping onto a waiting elevator after her.

“And you delivered the little care package to the individual in question?”

“I did,” he returned as the elevator doors closed noiselessly.

“And did he promise to test it for us, and attain what I asked for?”

“Eagerly, but he asked for more money, as you predicted.”

“And?”

“I confirmed the amount, as you instructed.”

“Good. At least the good professor’s experiments saw enough of a success that we might yet see a profit from this venture. I’ll see no more resources thrown after a potential when there are so many positives available where it would be better used. The product we already have has enormous marketing potential. The 5th Column alone would pay a king’s ransom for just a dozen of those resistant skinsuits.”

“Yes, Countess.”

“Circulate a memo. If this fails, he is to be regarded as a target of opportunity only. Not a dedicated op. Clear?”

“Very.”
<===>

One of the men with Davis was a severe-looking sort, in an immaculate suit and tie. He had small, wire-rim glasses, and a neatly-trimmed goatee. His face showed that he had all the warmth and humor of an industrial refrigeration unit. The quartet entered the room and the suit addressed Martin directly. “Mr. Thorne, what is going on here?”

“We’re leaving,” the Sentinel interjected.

“I wasn’t addressing you.”

The Sentinel’s mouth opened and closed as the man again turned to Martin. “Well?”

“I don’t know what you mean. The Sentinel is up and around. There is no longer any reason for me to stay here. I have things to take care of.”

“I’ll bet you do. Got some ‘Dine friends you want to hook up with, do you?”

Major Davis piped in, “whoa, sir. He’s never shown any signs of Superdine use, either in his medical scans, or through manifestation.”

“Major Davis, no one was addressing you, either. Unless you’d rather see if you can better follow orders as a captain, I would keep my trap shut, if I were you.” Again, the man turned to face Martin. “I still have yet to hear from you, Thorne.”

“Just who are you?” Martin said, an unmistakable hint of irritability in his voice.

“I am the one whose hospitality you have enjoyed these past few weeks. I run this base. Now I’m asking you again. What do you think you are doing? You were ordered to keep the Sentinel’s powers dampened.”

“Hang on, a minute, pal. This is me we’re talking about, and..” the Scarlet Sentinel began.

The suit turned on her and spat, “I thought you were leaving. Why are you still here?”

“WE are leaving,” the Sentinel returned.

“This boy is not going anywhere. He is a menace.”

“I am no such thing!” Martin yelled, his temper rising.

“YOU, are a Rikti experiment gone awry. You are as much a threat to National Security as a 5th Column commandant with a nuke. You are here at this facility until I say otherwise. Do I make myself CRYSTAL clear? If you make any move to leave this facility or otherwise interfere with our operations, you will be dealt with swiftly and with extreme prejudice,” the man growled as he was advancing on Martin. Major Davis’ face was darkening as the scene wore on. The Sentinel grabbed the man’s shoulder and made to move him back away from Martin. As the Sentinel touched the man’s suit, he suddenly appeared to be made entirely from granite. He whirled on her, and before anyone could blink, he had her by the throat, and was holding her a foot off the ground in one hand. “Major, corporal.. Get this.. woman.. off my base. Now.”

“Marcus!”

The man holding the Sentinel turned to face the voice. Standing at the end of the hallway, arms folded across his chest, was Dr. Stromberg. At his side was Nurse Grey, and they didn’t look the least bit happy.

“Claude. How good of you to pay us a visit,” the man remarked as he eased the Scarlet Sentinel to the ground. He whipped his head back to face the Sentinel and growled, “get out. Now.” Turning back to regard Dr. Stromberg coldly, he began calmly, “this has been discussed. At length.”

“It has.”

“And it is your intention to defy Vanguard, even after a vote has been taken?”

“Your crusade against a newfound power is at an end. I have been on the phone with the other members of the board all morning. We have gone over Martin’s file at length, and they have found that he is without blemish. He is to be released at once. You managed to blind them with your paranoid fear, but once the facts of the matter were in their hands, they changed their minds. Even your own security cameras showed them that Martin has done admirably.”

“You and that..THING..next to you voiced your concerns over him at the meeting. I knew then that you would coddle a potential Rikti threat. Now I know for sure. The one thing you have overlooked is that I am in command of this facility. What I say, goes here, until I have orders from the directors, which I sincerely doubt that you were able to procure, even with your considerable pull. I could have him shot, right here, right now, and I would be entirely within my authority.”

“I think you’ll find that more difficult than you suspect, Marcus,” said Dr. Stromberg, advancing toward them.

“You’ve not used your powers in some time, old man. Don’t challenge my authority here. You’ll lose.”

Throughout the exchange, Martin had been getting progressively angrier. He had been tormented by metas. His parents had been murdered by metas. His potential girlfriend had been kidnapped, and was enduring heaven-knows-what at the hands of metas. Now, here he was, his entire existence being manipulated by metas.

“Enough!” Martin screamed. “I am leaving. Now.”

“You’re naïve, boy,” Marcus chuckled.”

“Please. Get in my way.”

The granite man stalked toward Martin slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists. No one even had a chance to react, as he drew back to strike Martin. Martin was the fastest of them, catching the blow in an inside block. The disbelief on the man’s face as his granite armor faded into nothingness was apparent, even as Martin’s palm-strike connected with the man’s sternum, launching him 20 feet down the hall. A full-scale fight appeared to be about to start, when warning klaxons began sounding all over the base. The group looked at each other nervously as the man scrambled to his feet. He had just managed to get the word “Rikti!” out of his mouth as the first of the reddish, glowing ovals appeared behind him at the end of the hallway.

Name: Martin Thorne, a.k.a. Lodestone

Background: A transplant from the midwest, Martin's developing powers are the result of covert experimentation by the Rikti while he was still in his mother's womb, in an attempt to develop a weapon to use against Paragon's super-powered elite. Nursing a burning hatred for all metas, Martin lives a life in shadow. He has vowed to exterminate metas wherever he finds them causing pain and suffering to the innocent. He only gives a pass to those metas that use their powers for good, until they get in his way, because while the Statesman might send thugs to jail, Martin prefers a more permanent solution.

Battle Cry:none