MrDusk

The official website defines influence as this...

"The last reward is Influence. The more a player accomplishes in the City, the more sway he has with various personages in the city."

I think it boils down to how you look at the nature of influence. If you consider influence just public knowledge of your persona (recognition), as an item that is really about fame instead of morality, then I can see how a villain could trade influence to a hero.

I can accept the explanation and wouldn't protest if villains used influence, too. (It will probably be so, since heroes can allegedly turn evil).

However, when I think of influence, I see it as deed-based. I.E. you get influence because you did a good deed, and not because you just got your name on another pair of lips. As an example, I looked at an imaginary baseball player. Suppose he hit the game winning homerun. Then if he enters the bar afterwards, folks may cheer him and buy him a round. He has gained influence. However, if he misses and thus causes his team to lose. Perhaps the bar owner decides to not even let him in the club to begin with.

With this example in mind, it seems unlikely that a hero and villain would gain the same kind of influence for doing vastly different deeds.

Suppose the above ball player was actually two players. Suppose the one that struck out could lend his influence to the hero? Wouldn't that lower the public's estimation of the hero?

I think they should have different "currency," and if your hero turns, his/her influence should be 0 regardless of whether they or going bad-good (assuming this is possible) or good-bad

If a person is suspected of a crime and injured in the arrest, they are taken to a hospital. When they are well enough, they are transfered to a jail. Perhaps if a villain is KOed they should awaken in a hospital with guards nearby? Or at a bare minimum a prison infirmary.

Still, it doesn't quite make sense for villains to continually bust out of jail. Perhaps there is an evil organization determined to keep villains out of jail and fighting those Paragon heroes? Perhaps they teleport the villains out of harm's way the same as hospitals do for heroes. Rikti would certainly have the technology and motive to keep villains out of trouble.

I assume there will be other key differences between how villains go about their daily business as well.

I assume villains get notoriety instead of influence, and that it will be impossible for a villain to trade with a hero.

I assume villains will have different badges and badge titles as well.

Will villains take the subway? Doesn't seem right to me. To likely to run into a hero.

Many, many more questions to answer.

HOST - Tired of being on the bad side of one of Statesman's mono-syllabic teasing statement? Well, fear not, now you TOO can learn this wonderful art and at a one-time low low cost.

STRANGELY WELL-SPOKEN AUDIENCE MEMBER - That sounds too good to be true!

HOST - Oh, it's not! The art of Statesmanship goes back centuries into the very basic core of human language development. You can tap into this art by by spending just pennies and making a lot of just dollars.

STRANGELY WELL-SPOKEN AUDIENCE MEMBER - Hmmm. Can you give me an example?

HOST - Sure. Let's take a look!

/screen waves back and forth briefly shifting to a living room scene. A woman is sewing in a recliner. A man walks in.

HUSBAND - What's for dinner, baby?

WIFE - Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

HUSBAND - Wow. I had been building it up in my mind and now that I hear what's for dinner I've been let down. I'm going to go have sex with the lady next door.

/snap back to set.

HOST - See. Once the husband knew what he was getting, he didn't want it anymore. That's because anticipation is a powerful human emotion. Once you learn how to keep folks wanting something that they don't know anything about, you have them at your mercy!

STRANGELY WELL-SPOKEN AUDIENCE MEMBER - Wow. I never thought of it that way. But how would that apply to that brief, but beautifully poignant morality tale we just witnessed?

HOST - I'm glad you asked.

/snap back to living room. The woman again sits in a recliner as her husband enters.

MAN - What's for dinner, honey?

WOMAN - Funny you should mention honey.

/brief silence.

MAN - Is it something with honey?

/brief silence.

MAN - Toast? or, uh, aww come on baby what is it?

/brief silence.

MAN - Are we eating breakfast for dinner? Aww man that would be so good right now. Or is it... ummmm ham. I love honey-baked ham? Come on you ahve to tell me.

/brief silence.

WOMAN - I'm kindof thirsty.

MAN - Rushes off to get her something to drink.

/snap to set

HOST - See, it's just that simple. And with our fine product you'll learn how to extend your power indefinitely!

STRANGELY WELL-SPOKEN AUDIENCE MEMBER - Now THAT'S Impossible!

HOST - Is it?

/snap to dinner table. The man is greedily eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The woman is similing contently.

MAN - This is great! I love meatloaf. (smack) But I don't taste any honey.

/brief silence.

WOMAN - I didn't say when or where honey would come into play, now did I?

MAN - (with a big grin) Oh, you mean, tonight... upstairs... your headache is gone?

WOMAN - (In a high-pitched sing-songy voice) Now, I didn't SAY that.

The man begins to eat faster.

/snap back to set

HOST - See, you too can use anticipation as an ally. Just send check or money order to

The solution is easy. Custom missions.

((Here's what I submitted the last time they asked for fan fiction.))

Mr. Dusk wasn’t sure about many things in his life, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty. He hated Perez Park. The three goons with white face paint and sledgehammers running toward him reminded him of that fact all the more.

“Looks like another freak trying to make it through our territory,” shouted the lead goon. His face was distorted in rage, but his eyes were steady…calculating. Mr. Dusk had a good idea what made the bulge under the thug’s leather jacket.

“Freak? That certainly is an interesting choice of words coming from someone with a skull painted on his face,” said Mr. Dusk as he pretended to brush lint off the shoulders of his black suit jacket. “Might I make a recommendation however?”

The three men closed to striking distance and spread into a semi-circle in front of Mr. Dusk. Normally the sight of his pitch black skin and glowing red eyes caused at least mild trepidation in criminals, but these men had clearly seen more than enough “freaks” to be afraid of unconventional looks.

“Unless you guys are selling sledgehammers door-to-door, I suggest you return them to whatever uncomfortable place you hide them and resume your lives of lethargy,” said Mr. Dusk.

There hands tightened on their weapons. Mr. Dusk smiled politely.

“Gentlemen, this is hardly a fair fight. I do suggest you find more people.”

The leader plunged his hand beneath his left breast pocket. Mr. Dusk’s arms flashed. The gun was halved the moment it appeared, both sides clattering on the pavement. Mr. Dusk’s katana vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The two other goons stood stunned, but the leader’s eyes narrowed. He brought his hand to his mouth and used his fingers to emit a piercing whistle.

The sound was gone so quickly, that Mr. Dusk wondered if had even heard it at all. Then, in the distance, the door of a dilapidated apartment building opened, and more men began to pour out. Mr. Dusk counted 15. Most had knives and bats, but at least two had automatic pistols. They formed a circle around Mr. Dusk. He knew they were too much for him to handle. Three would have been tough, but 18...he hoped the medical center still had the chocolate pudding he liked.

“Only 18? I was hoping to break a sweat today.”

The leader held up his hand, when the men started to close. The thugs seemed to relax a second. A wicked grin spread across his face, and the leader whistled again. This time the doors of two vans in the apartment building’s parking lot opened. Mr. Dusk counted 10 more men as they appeared from the vehicles. Three had automatic weapons.

Two had no weapons. Mr. Dusk recognized their distinctive paint. “Bone Daddies,” he whispered…skull leaders who got their jobs by beating everyone into submission. He’d only faced one before. That one had nearly killed him, and these two looked to be in much better shape.

Mr. Dusk slowly drew his katana. He could feel his familiar energy channeling into the blade. The blade blurred and slowly became transparent. Now it would pass through a body without killing, only damaging. They would likely kill him before he could swing a second time.

“Any last words, dead meat,” the leader asked. His eyes had glazed over and a thing grin had burned across his face.

Mr. Dusk looked at the 30 men surrounding him. “There’s going to be 60 hits. Me hitting each of you, and each of you hitting the floor. Wait a second,” he continued. “There are 60 of you right? Let me get a count. Everyone raise their hand and drop it when I point at you.”

“Shut up and die, freak,” the leader charged. The world exploded. Mr. Dusk only saw the brief flash of his blade passing through the leader’s chest, when a bright orange flash brought him to his knees in agony. He felt a train smashing through his mind as waves of heat rolled over him. From far away he could hear screaming. And then the fire vanished.

Around him, the men were writhing in agony. Only the Bone Daddies were still on their feet, racing off into the distance with flames still dancing on their backs. The leader was unconscious but breathing normally.

“Sorry about that, guy,” Mr. Dusk followed the sound of the voice to a small man hovering 15 feet above the ground. “I was just going to loosen the big guys up for you, and I got a little carried away.”

The man wore a red an orange battle suit which appeared to be a mish-mash of different technologies wired into one unintelligible ball. Mr. Dusk recognized him immediately, but said nothing. The British Bomber was a powerful hero, but his unpredictability usually let him few allies and a large repair bill.

“Just send me the bill for that suit. In any case, have a nice day, or as you Americans say, peace out,” and with that the British Bomber rose into the sky and over the park, fading quickly into the distance.

“I hate Perez Park,” Mr. Dusk said to the few men who were still conscious. In the distance he could hear police sirens.

Greetings Citizens and Super-Citizens,

I'm sure most of you are already familiar with me and my continuing war against injustice and infreedom. In fact, that is why I decided to cancel my scheduled appearance at the Paragon Middle School Annnual Arts and Crafts Festival. I felt it more important that I compose a brief note on the conspiracy that continues to grow in our great city.

Someone or... thing, is not only monitoring my every movement through the city, but they appear to have incredibly strong mind domination abilities. Periodically when I stop to allow citizens to converse with me, I've noticed that they have unnervingly personal information about myself and my numerous exploits.

Last night, a young woman named Mike, new exactly how long I had been in the city. Her brother, Carla, also new exactly how many times I had used one of my abilties.

It's clear that some evil villain is trying to unnerve me. I postponed recording my monthly voicemail greeting for the Galactic Greg fan club and communed with the galaxy. Unfortunately I have not ascertained the identity of this new, master villain.

I'm asking each citizen and super-citizen to be especially wary when they view me. I know the site of my brightly glowing, rippling physique causes many to drop their guard, but you must remain strong in the interest of our city's security.

I would also like to remind females not to gaze directly at me for more than five minutes. This may cause moderate retinal damage and is highly addictive. As always, there is no need to worship me females. I am a mortal man just like the other citizens of the ...citizenry.


Galactic Greg
One with the Galaxy
Being of Light
Cosmic Crusader

Galactic Greg - Invul/SS Tanker (Security Level 12)

Greg is an ex NASA janitor who was accidentally infused with Galactic energy after trying to buy a soda from the wrong machine.

Not only did the energy magnify his strength and endurance, but it played a toll on his brain as well. He is now self-absorbed, lacks patience, and is generally not the brightest bulb in the box.

When the scientists learned what had happened to Greg, they lured him into a genetic replicator by convincing him it was a photo booth. They extracted enough material to make a few clones of Greg. They then let Greg go, as they figured he would probably get himself killed soon.

Karate Greg was the first clone. As such, he was pretty close to Galactic Greg in personality and abilities (MA.Regen scrapper).

Battle Greg showed additional mental capacity and used his inherent galactic powers to craft a power suit. (Eng/Elc blaster).

Smart Greg was the final clone. He used his superior intellect to steal the remaining genetic material, crowned himself Galactic Genius and set about mopping up the underpowered, ignorant cretins that roam Paragon City. (Mind/Storm controller).

I try to RP when the group will go along, so send Galactic Greg a tell or e-mail.