Mr_Grey

A week later, Ragin' James found himself patrolling Mercy Island. His brother, Levi, was making an impression back at the base. In fact, he'd contributed significantly with hat beat-up Sky Raider Skiff he brought in.

Though it looked like it had been through a firefight, they figured they could have it refurbished in no time... They just had to figure out where to begin... As it stood, Dale was tinkering around with it in his spare time.

"Even my lunatic brother's contributing!" he shouted at Daren, trying to explain his latest plan, "Come on! You gotta let me do this!"

"We don't even know where to begin!"

Rage knew where to begin. He'd seen Committee agents all over the Rogues... Kidnapping the Snakes... Any Skulls or Hellions that displayed super powers... The Stricken... Even some of the Slag Golems. All were candidates for the Committee's "Sweeper" teams.

He didn't know what they were kidnapping the people for, but he figured it had something to do with the "Projects" like Whirlwind, or that Soultaker guy who's spine he broke.

"Man, that was an awesome power bomb," he muttered as he floated by a burning building.

"What?" Daren was a few miles away, well out of the range of the Arachnos Flyer that patrolled Mercy Island, "You say somebody got powerbombed?"

"Nah... Just remembering what I did to that Committee guy..."

"Well, watch the chatter... You never know when somebody's listening."

"Shh!" James hissed, "I see something..."

A group of Stricken were in the middle of a fight with a group of the Rogue Isles Police. Just as corrupt as any of the various lunatics who populated the Etoiles, for once, the "Rippers" were probably in the right. Given half the chance, the Infected, mutated homeless men that were even worse off than their counterparts, the Contaminated in Paragon City, would send the men home in a body bag.

However, what had gotten James' attention was the black truck that pulled up next to the fight. A man in a black suit stepped out of the driver's side, walked to the back, opened it, and ushered out a group of men. Rage had seen mercenaries before, and he figured the Committee would bolster its ranks with various rejects from the Council, the Sky Raiders, even Arachnos itself.

Each squad of Committee goons was apparently handled by a Suit...

James thought he recognized the guy, who simply told the Rippers that he had the situation. He tossed them a couple bills and they headed off. The Infected weren't about to be so easily placated.

"Take them down," he heard the Suit order, and the Committee soldiers went to work with tranquilizer darts and tazers.

In seconds, the poor bums were unconscious and rolled into the back of the truck. The guards hopped in behind them and the Suit drove the truck off. Ragin' James followed in the sky.

It was something the Skulls he wore had recently enabled him to do... Flight. It was an incredible experience, and he hoped to never lose it.

The vehicle made its way to an old warehouse on the western side of the island. Flying up to a window, Rage spied inside.

----

"What the [censored] is this [censored]," yelled a thickly Slavic accented man.

He was of an average height... maybe slightly taller. His skin had been turned a darker shade, almost brown, by the elements. Bright green paint adorned his body wherever skin showed. Despite seeming to have some form of control over the situation, the man wore ragged clothing. His fists seemed to glow with a bright green to match his paint, however.

"We told you, Bioserj," the Suit replied calmly, his own assault weapon cradled casually in his arms, "We need all the super types we can get. Wherever we can get them. Resources are constrained, otherwise..."

"I am not carink about your resources!" Bioserj kicked over a set of crates, "I am tired of your 'projects,' your 'schemink...' I am tired of you kidnappink these men to be your slaves!"

"We did the same to you, and look how you turned out..."

"GET OUT!" Bioserj fired a pair of beams from his eyes at the Suit's feet, "I said OUT! Leave those men here! I will deal with them..."

"I'm afraid..."

"You don't scare me," Bioserj stepped closer, glowering down at the Suit, "I am Russian... I am proud... I can take you and your goons. I will break you..."

The Suit's sunglasses blocked his blinks from view, but Bioserj knew he'd made an impression. Calmly, the Committee Agent signaled to his operatives, and they withdrew to the truck outside.

"You've made a grievous error, today, Serj," the Suit started following his troops, "I don't have authorization to take you out right now, but I will. When that happens, I'm going to make sure you live to regret turning your back on us."

He left, with Bioserj heading back to his lonely corner of the warehouse. He'd have to wait until his Infected "brothers" came to before he could begin trying to help them.

"On second thought," the Suit and his soldiers were back in the entrance, "I think I'll just take the initiative on this one."

Bioserj dove behind a ramp as the soldiers opened fire. Bullets impacted all around, and few actually made contact at the long range.

"Damn you, Steel!" Bioserj shouted as his body suddenly radiated and his wounds closed, "I promise, you will die before today ends!"

"Dead by dawn?" Steel chuckled, "Serj, you should know better than to make promises you can't keep..."

"I'm sorry, Ilyana..."

The advanced Infected bum suddenly jumped up and launched a torrent of radioactive energy at the soldiers. Steel ducked out of the way just in time, but his Special Ops operatives, Hackler and Coach, were sent to the ground, choking and gasping. The other troopers returned fire, this time with much more success. Bioserj collapsed to the concrete floor, his body bleeding from multiple wounds.

He still lived, though. Slowly, his body began regenerating the damage. Justin Steel wasn't about to let him get back up again.

"I'm sorry we couldn't come to an amicable arrangement," he calmly stated as he pressed the muzzle of his assault rifle to the Russian's face, "I'm certain you could have gone far with this company."

"I'll see you in Hell..."

"Dasvidania..."

The sound of broken glass from above interrupted them. Ragin' James flew into the warehouse and landed between Justin Steel and his troops.

"What the Hell?" he shouted at the skull adorned Brute, "You! You're the freak from... Oh no..."

"Steel!" Rage shouted and started charging toward the Committee Agent, "You [censored]!"

There was a resounding crack as his fist connected with his former friend's jaw, sending the Agent sprawling. The soldiers started firing at their boss's assailant, their bullets being harmlessly deflected by the electric waves radiating from the Skulls of Cord.

"You [censored] are gonna have to try harder than that!" he shouted at them as he wrenched a piece of concrete out of the floor and hurled it at the medic.

The block connected with a sickening crunch, and the medic, Mr. Walter, crumpled to where he fell. The soldiers stopped firing and looked in confusion to their boss.

"Mr. Steel?" one of them shouted, "What do we do?"

"Hold your fire Mr. Smythe," he gurgled through his broken jaw, "Hold... your fire...."

Rage turned his attention back to the Mastermind.

"I should have known," he murmured, "All the signs were there... Everything we were doing, where we lived, how we behaved... You were telling them how to handle us..."

"...yes..."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put you into the nearest Arachnos med bay?"

"You... *cough* owe me!" Steel finally rasped out, crawling on his back away from the Brute, "If it were... weren't for me... You'd be rotting in... prison right now..."

"What?"

"I set that... pyro up... to get you out..."

Rage looked down at Justin Steel. He'd been one of the referees they used when they held shows at the Kingdale Arena. He was a diehard fan of the act, and fairly decent at perpetrating it himself. When the BWO ended in Kingdale and he disappeared, well... James wasn't in town at the time to put two-and-two together...

"I should have broken your neck back in Bloody Bay," he grunted.

"You... *gasp* you owe me..."

"Get the Hell out of here," Rage turned to the wounded Bioserj, "Leave your weapons."

The resounding clattering of alloy on concrete followed by the shuffling of rubber-soled boots signaled the departure of the Committee's minions. Rage knew they'd have to deal with Steel later, but now, all debts were paid.

"Come on, let me take a look at you," he muttered as he attempted to pick Bioserj off the floor.

The Corrupter smashed his fist into Rage's face, firing an incandescent beam of radiation energy at the same time. With a roar, he jumped up and body tackled the Brute. Rage threw him off and slowly stood, rubbing the part of his face that felt suddenly very numb.

"What the [censored]!" he shouted at the advanced Stricken, "What the Hell is wrong with you? I just saved your life!"

"You let them get away!" Bioserj's fists started glowing again, "They will hunt me down like dog! I will not be dog!"

He fired a torrent of the energy at Rage, who deftly floated over it, came back down and crashed into Bioserj with an elbow to the shoulder. The Russian crumpled, but rolled backwards and was up on his feet in no time. Bright green energy lasers erupted from his eyes and warmed the skull hovering centimeters from James' chest, but otherwise did nothing.

"Is that all?" James shouted as he started stomping toward his opponent, "Is that all you've got? Every trick up your sleeve?"

"Every trick? No."

Bioserj charged forward and dropkicked the Brute, sending James sprawling. A set of crates he crashed into shattered when they hit the floor. Bioserj sent blast after blast heading Rage's way, but the Brute stood again and started running for him.

They crashed through the brick wall a second later and Rage threw the desperate Infected man over the side of the cliff. Bioserj yelled obscenities at him, and continued to fire energy at his assailant. When he hit the dirt, he stopped. Groaning, he radiated again, and his (hairline) fractured bones began to knit together and his bruises started to fade.

"It will be lonk life for Serj..." he muttered as he picked himself up.

Gazing to the sky, he wondered what had become of the young man who'd saved his life. True... He'd be hunted down by the Committee, but at least now he had a chance to fight back. He suddenly regretted his hasty actions born of anger. The fact that the young man was coming down after him, not in flight, but just falling with his arm crooked out to slam his elbow into Serj, further added to the regret.

Rage connected with his elbow raking across Bioserj's chest. He impacted the dirt, sending a plume of sand into the air and leaving him gasping for breath. Bioserj, screaming, recovered from the crazy Indian Burn across his torso and attempted to press his advantage by putting Rage into a chokehold.

Gagging for breath, Rage hefted himself into the air and fell backward, using Serj to protect himself from the pointy rock he fancied. The Russian Stricken released his hold and the two lay on the beach, gasping for breath.

----

I don't know, man," Solo Stryker muttered as Bioserj came to in the cargo bay of the dropship, "You think we can trust him?"

"Yeah," Rage rasped, "I think we can... He's run afoul of the Committee, just like we have. He's also got his finger on the pulse of this island... I think he'd be very useful in determining just who we can trust."

"Hey!" Daren snapped his fingers in Serj's face, "What's your name?"

"Serj... Serj Gorvinof... They call me... Bioserj..."

"Well, Bioserj," Solo grinned at him, "You play nice, this may be your lucky day."

"No... No more... lucky day..."

Daren looked back to his friend. James handed him a bottle full of a dark brown liquid.

"Here," he said as he handed the bottle to the Stricken Russian, "you drink this to ease your pain. We're gonna get you somewhere to fix what's been done to your back, and then we'll talk. Okay?"

"Okay..." Serj took a quick drink, "Brown water?"

The other two glared at him. Finally, James started chuckling. Daren grinned and patted Serj on the shoulder.

"You'll be alright. James, let get this hulk moving."

Probably clicked the wrong forum, didn't check the various posts, and just made a new topic.

This probably would've been better off in the General COH thread or the poster's own server (though he may be slightly afraid of them, hence avoiding that concept in the first place).

Still... A properly made 20 can have a ton of fun at this point. The whole game opens up, you get to more easily progress through the various areas of the game (as not everybody in Steel Canyon is trying to kill you anymore and the swarms of Supa Trolls stop pestering you, too), you get your cape, you get your second (or third, depending on whether or not you have access to Halloween salvage) costume... And you get to face all sorts of crazy villain groups and the storylines start to get more complex than "Hey, these guys are bad, go get them!"

Y'know, Level 20 sounds like a good name for a club... Maybe we could threadjack this and turn it into a General RP Interest Thread...

I don't know. Somethin'...

"So..." Psycho13 hollered as he ripped into one of the Sky Raiders they were patrolling for, "I was thinking..."

"I doubt it, but continue," Draven replied as he deftly hacked through the armor plating of two more Raiders.

"It's about -oog- what we were -ow- talking about back at the base..."

Psycho had run into a bit of a rough spot. Several Sky Raiders had him surrounded, had his arms pinned behind him and were taking turns pounding his stomach. He tried kicking at them to keep them off, but it was mostly in vain.

"Hang on," Draven muttered into his headset.

"Nah, nah... -oof- I got it."

Psycho suddenly pushed back into the Raider holding his arms. The back of his head connected with the minion's chin and the skinny scrapper stomped into his assailant's ankle. He was rewarded with a satisfying crunching sound.

The other Raiders were closing in, their serrated machetes drawn for some serious pain delivery. Psycho13, however, wasn't worried. Reaching into the back of his "hardcore" belt, he withdrew a set of hunting knives.

"Come on, boys!" he shouted, his face twisted into maniacal glee.

Draven dropped out of the sky onto the first two in his partner's path. Psycho let out a disappointed "aw" but gleefully turned to the next couple Raiders as Draven dispatched another set to the opposite side.

Eventually, their quota had been filled.

"Alright!" Psycho13 cheered, "Drinks on me!"

"I thought you didn't drink, Levi," Draven muttered to his friend.

"Dude! Name!"

"Right, right, sorry..."

"And yeah, I do drink... sometimes... When it's appropriate, you know," the skinny, disheveled hero started making his way to the south, "We done hunting Sky Raiders?"

"Yeah..." Jared muttered as he checked his communicator's menus, "According to this, we gotta hunt some Freaks now."

"They're always fun."

"So... What was that you wanted to talk about?"

"We should hold a tournament," Psycho replied, "Draw our names out of a hat and we pair up... then each team fights each other. Winners go on to fight winners and so on..."

"King of the Ring style, eh?"

"Or something," Psycho pointed to a group of Freaks just chilling out next to a warehouse, "Bingo!"

The first set went down quickly, and then got back up.

"Augh! I hope they count double!"

"They do," Draven laughed, "Thanks guys..."

The Freaks charged at them with complete disregard for how quickly they'd been taken out in the first place. They fell again just as easily. Psycho thought it was cool, the green stuff that spewed all over the place when he severed the tubes from their bodies. The Freaks didn't seem to like it, shouting "My Excelsior!" and "You [censored]!" whenever he did it. Draven followed his lead and the two of them utilized the method to clear out the rest of their quota in record time.

"Whoo!" Psycho13 cheered as the police drones mopped up the bodies, teleporting them to the Zig, where they'd get medical treatment, new (less powerful) limbs and spiffy orange uniforms.

"Nice," Draven sheathed his blade and turned to his communicator, "Looks like a batch of Devouring Earth and I think we're done after that."

"Great!"

Focusing on just the grass-types of the Devouring Earth eco-terrorists, the two were able to make short work of the monsters with their blades. Every so often, they had to flee, however...

"BEEEEEEEEEEEEES!" another group of patrolling heroes heard them screaming, "They've got BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

Finally, after several five-minute episodes of fighting and running (from bees), Draven and Psycho13 came to a panting conclusion to their day's activities.

"You did well out there, man," Erickson slapped his partner on the shoulder.

Psycho13 leaned forward and arched his back.

"...beeeeeeeeees..." he gasped hoarsely, "big... angry... stingy... beeeeeeeeeeeees..."

"Yeah... I forgot you're not wearing much..."

"They hate blue..."

"Yes..." Draven grinned, trying to suppress laughter, "Yes they do."

Psycho13's veins suddenly popped out of his skin and he gritted his teeth. The sores all over his torso faded and he stood refreshed. Draven whistled.

"Thanks," Psycho replied quietly, "Hey, I got an idea in mind... We don't owe Freedom Corps anymore Sky Raiders, right?"

"Right."

"Cool, let's go get us a skiff..."

"What?"

"A skiff! Come on, Daren got that dropship; let's get a support vehicle for it! Who knows, we could probably fit it in the cargo bay!"

Draven pointed at his friend. He knew he should say something, but nothing came to mind.

"Alright," he finally agreed, "Let's get us a Skiff."

They made their way to the hill just south of the Terra Volta entrance. Several sets of Skiffs hovered over the road there. Psycho licked his lips, and then turned to Draven.

"You're gonna have to knock 'em outta the sky."

"Dammit, man..." Draven muttered, "I'll see what I can do."

He flew up to the Raiders and tapped on the canopy of the nearest Skiff. The three vehicles turned toward him with dubious regard.

"I was wondering," he drew his sword for emphasis, "if you wouldn't mind handing over one of your nifty vehicles..."

"Not happening," came a stereo sounding voice from one of the farther Skiffs.

"Uh, guys," the nearest one muttered, "Maybe you haven't figured this out, but I'm fairly certain he's gonna cut me down first..."

"Yahahahahahaha!" Psycho suddenly screamed, a pair of Raider assault rifles in his hands, their owners collapsing behind him.

"Jebus!" Draven shouted as he dove out of the way of the incoming hail of bullets.

Levi Baker filled the sky with ammunition, and the Sky Raiders replied in kind. Unfortunately, the stolen weapons ran dry long before the Skiffs were done returning fire. When the firestorm was over, Psycho was stumbling with each tiny step and covered with blood.

"Psych!" Draven yelled, "Aw, you miserable bastards!"

As he closed with the Skiffs, they fired off a volley of missiles at Psycho. A massive cloud of dirt and dust erupted in the scrapper's vicinity, and Draven spat out a curse. His blade sang with each strike, and finally, he severed a fuel line. The first Skiff exploded, and the red-coated hero moved on to the next.

There was a telltale clicking sound, and he realized their weapons were done reloading. He dove under them and aimed for the top of the wall. He could hear the vehicles following quickly, and then they started firing. As he cleared the concrete, he could hear the bullets impacting.

"Suddenly, I wish I'd invested in bullet proof vests..." he grumbled, "Something more than this shadowy stuff..."

The Skiffs crested the wall and their pilots were smiling wickedly at the hero.

"You've made a grievous error, boy!" the left pilot heckled, "Any last words before we riddle you with holes?"

"Yeehah!" Psycho suddenly screamed from the south, and Draven looked to see his friend running at super speed along the top of the wall.

"What the!?" the left-most pilot got out before Psycho had slammed into his canopy and started wrenching it open.

"Don't worry, I'll get him off," the other pilot yelled.

"No, don't!"

Psycho got the canopy open just when the other pilot opened fire. He was still hanging onto it as it swung aside, pulling the vehicle around with him, and the bullets were impacting on the vehicle's pilot. Psycho winced a little as the guy looked like he was getting punched repeatedly, and then slumped still.

"Here," he barked as he injected a syringe full of medical nanites into the guy, and then yanked him out of the chair.

As the Raider fell, Baker stamped a police drone tag on his butt and took the pilot's seat. Grinning broadly, he slammed the canopy shut and thumbed one of the triggers, causing a rocket to speed past the remaining skiff.

"No!" the pilot screamed, "I won't let you take it!"

Speeding rapidly, Draven snagged the fuel line with his sword. The Skiff blew moments later below him.

"Yay!" Psycho13 enthusiastically shouted, "We got a Skiff!"

"Hey!' he heard over the Skiff’s communication system, "Somebody's stealing a skiff!"

"Get 'em!" came another voice.

"Draven," Psycho yelled into his communicator, "I'll see you at the base, and I gotta lose these guys!"

"Go, go, GO!" Erickson replied as he made his way for the siege doors, "That was too close, man..."

"I'll explain how I survived later, man... Later man!"

Mako: "What happened to you last night?"

Lord Recluse: "I don't want to talk about it."

Black Scorpion walks in.

BS: "Oh man, Mako! Boss got so wasted last night..."

Mako points.

BS: "Oh, hi Boss."

Black Scorpion turns back to Mako.

BS: "So, Boss got wasted last night..."

Lord Recluse: "I told you! I don't know how I wound up in the tutu, and the humping your couch... well..."

BS: "I was just gonna say you backed up my toilet..."

Lord Recluse stares blankly at Black Scorpion.

Lord Recluse: "Oh... Carry on, then."

Mako:"Wow, Scorp... Remind me to never go to one of your parties."

BS: "You did what to my couch?"

*Applause*

"I know you don't like listening to my suggestions, Randy..."

The leader of Grey's Army looked over to Joe suddenly.

"So... We've grown a pair today, have we?"

Durnan suddenly looked mortified, but Randall waved him off. The walls echoed with the sounds of Sarah and Sheldon training to get his new mech working properly. It was currently loaded with foam-rubber rockets and they were calibrating its targeting system. Sarah seemed to already have its moevment down.

The others had all gone off to handle various daily cases they wanted to finish up or help with Some of them also went out to simply collect their thoughts, like Roland. He hoped his son and Char were doing okay. The past couple years had been hard on their family, now, these past months, it was a little confusing.

"Relax, boy. What's your idea?"

"Well... I know these guys... Guys from home, actually..."

"Those BWO kooks," Randy chuckled for a moment, "Yeah-heah, I met them since our little scuffle with the Restructurists. I heard they got themselves a new toy."

"Yeah..." Durnan took a seat at the Meeting Room table across from his future father-in-law, "A Flyer they boosted off Arachnos. Took them a fair amount of convincing to get Longbow, the Coast Guard and Customs to bring it into the States. Thank goodness they know Hector Wallace..."

"He still got those military research contracts, huh?"

"Apparently. Well... I've got a deal with them... We could probably get them to lend us transport and fire support. Maybe even some extra bodies to help with the fight."

Randy rubbed his chin. It sounded all right. From what he remembered, the young Heroes in the BWO were fairly capable in that fight. If they were able to steal an Arachnos Flyer, too, that only furthered his opinion of them. Joe also seemed confident that the machine would be formidable. He thought it was funny that this event was bringing all sorts of nifty, nasty toys out of the woodwork.

"Alright," he finally answered, and smiled, "Give 'em a call, arrange a meeting. I'll see what funds I can set aside for their help."

----

"Kipland?"

Kip turned around to see one of the girls he'd teamed with that fateful Valentine's Day.

"Talia?"

Talia "Corazon Hielo" Medina was one of the two tankers. She was also vocally lesbian. At least, that was Kipland's take on her. It's hard to get a good impression of someone who feels compelled to explain her preference upon meeting you.

Which made it even more odd when she started hitting on him.

"You okay?" he asked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Uh... yeah," she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed a little, "Um... You been good?"

"I've been cool. You?"

She suddenly tackled him against the wall. It was a hug: a giggly, passionate hug that was completely out her character to anybody who knew her.

"Still bad I see," he muttered stoically.

"I've been thinking about you all month...” she whispered into his ear, "Oh... I..."

"You need to take a cold shower..."

Kip glanced over at Genevieve "Wrathfire" Daniels, the other tank from that day. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, they were in the same supergroup after all. What were they called? Tough Girls, Strong Girls... Eh, something trite like that.

Genevieve was a more even-tempered girl. She had resisted the effects of the Arrows of Eros as well as she could. She eventually relented, asking Kip to go to the Valentine's Day Party in Pocket D and dance with her. He relented, which led to sudden friction in the group.

The rest of the day, he'd had problems whenever he was near female Heroes. He found out what had been happening when he got a hold of one of Cupid's aides (using something he thought long gone) and got the whole story out of "Steve." He'd wondered if the effects persisted, and now he had his answer.

"Talia, get off Kip," Genevieve wrenched the poor girl from the smaller man and rested a hand on Kip's shoulder, "You okay?"

"What do you think you're-" Talia started screaming.

"Stop it!" Kip suddenly shouted over her.

He could feel something in his forehead. It was a new sensation, yet familiar. That's it, a headache. But why now?

"Look," he covered his left eye in a vain attempt to do something to stop the pain, "Something's seriously wrong, here. Talia, you made a point of telling me you're a lesbian."

"Well..." she stammered, "I..."

"He's right..." the other tanker looked to Kip, "So... What's going on? Ever since that day... We've been having trouble keeping our heads clear..."

"Hang on, I'm working on it," Kip pulled his hand away from his left eye.

It had gone completely black. The white, the iris, everything. In fact, it had stopped reflecting light...

"EROS!" he shouted as reality started to shudder and lose its color, "I'm calling you out!"

"What the Hell?

Eros looked about the alley. He was exactly as the Greek legends described him, not the cherubic child, but a young man with wings. Impossibly attractive, if anybody nearby could have seen him, other than Kip, they likely would have gone blind.

Durj, however, found himself in severe pain. Pain that was not caused by the proximity of the god, but was related to it.

"Hi there," he grumbled, "And by the way, Hell is Norse in origin."

"Our immortality is not an excuse to fall behind on lingo," he replied.

"I see it hasn't done anything to improve your aloofness," Kip replied, "You've done gone and made a mistake... Now the consequences are spilling over."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," Kip spat, "You do. Look me in my eye and tell me you don't!"

Eros winced as he looked into the hero's face.

"How dare you... Speak... To a god in such a fashion?"

"I'm sorry, nimrod. How many followers do you currently have? How many people sacrifice pigs or squirrels in your name? How many people thank you for the love they feel? Zero? Zilch? Nada? Maybe if there were a more active worship of your pantheon, I'd be less effective with this, but I've dealt with situations like this before, and it's time for a reckoning."

"What are you talking about?" the golden skinned young man intoned, "What are you?"

"I was a Warden."

"Like those red and white spandex clad troops?"

"No," Kip growled, "Something else entirely."

The winged god glared at him for a few seconds. It was peculiar. Mortals weren't supposed to be able to do what this young man was doing. Namely, he was standing up to him. But... There was more. The entire environment surrounding the two of them had been frozen. Everything was slightly gray... There was an echo...

The two young ladies behind the man... Eros recognized the golden arrows in their backs. Suddenly, he remembered the young man. Kipland Durj, from his "Overdue List." One of the few he hadn't been able to influence. In fact...

"Young man... Do you realize you have an errant soul?"

"I had an inkling," Kip replied, "Now, I'm calling you out. You've left a problem in your wake with me as the focal point. Thank whatever forces are at power that you and yours can only affect the world for a day..."

He gestured to the two heroes behind him.

"...But as you can see, the effects can be long lasting."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I beat the bejebus outta you until you do or the effect disappears."

This gave the god pause. Not only was the mortal resistant to the effects of his presence, he felt confident he could beat him in battle. Granted, Eros had never been one for combat prowess, but he was certain that, by default, he bore enough skill to handle any mere mortal.

Only this was obviously not a mere mortal.

"Well?" Kipland Durj's voice started to sound like an inhumanly hollow growl, "What'll it be, Cupid!? Snap your fingers and call it a day, or do you explain to Mommy how you fell down some stairs!?"

With every word, he stepped closer. He was a short guy, but obviously tough. His body was thick with muscle, and that hideous black eye seemed to distort reality, even unreality (especially unreality, it seemed). Kip stepped right under Eros' chin, and glared into his face.

"Done," Eros blinked.

Kip looked back to the girls. The arrows were gone from their backs.

Kip turned back, and the strange little pocket they stood in started to fade back to normal.

"Alright," he sounded like his old self again, "I'm glad it went like this."

"You figure you could've beaten me?"

"You did," Kip shrugged, "That's all it takes sometimes. A little confidence on my part, a small lack of it on the offender's..."

"Offender?"

"My role, back home, was to keep the balance," the Hero explained, "If something mystical or otherwise in nature started 'freaking the norms' as it were, I had to put it back in its place. I did. With enthusiasm. Anything and everything that affected the people around me... And you just caused me to have to do it again."

"I see..." the god looked shocked, "This is... A rare phenomenon..."

"But not outside possibility," Kip explained, "The rule was simple. If it seemed wrong to me, it was deemed worthy of my attention. What seems wrong to me is your wholesale victimizing of completely innocent people, causing them to act contrary to their nature, and, worst of all, you simply walked away like nothing was wrong. If you make a mess, clean it up. A simple rule, don't you think?"

"Are we done here?"

"Yeah."

The shimmering gray field started to waver and fade.

"Interesting," Eros mused, "I would have figured you would have tried to 'lay me low.'"

"And what good would that have done?" Kip punched a wall with a light hammer fist tap, "It'd have made you angry and would have imbalanced our situation. I ask for no more than to fix what you did wrong. Now we're done."

"No," Eros withdrew from the pouch on his belt a golden scroll, "We're not done, Kipland. You have a problem. My assistant explained to me your situation... Your loophole to get around my influence... Being sad is one thing... Grieving is understandable for suffering the loss you did. But several years are far too long. It's borderline psychotic."

Kip folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. The god was running out of time, and Kip wasn't in the mood for an "emotions lecture." But that didn't make the god any less right.

"I know," he murmured, "I know... It's just... Any time I think about Amy... I..."

"I understand," Eros gave the young man's shoulder a gentle squeeze, "Look, I'm not in the habit of giving advice to people who... tick me off... But for you, I'm making a special case. Find a girl who can handle your abrasive nature, and spend some time with her. Who knows... If you pretend to open up and get on with your life, you just might do so on accident."

"You ripped that off a movie!"

"Who did what now?" Daniels asked as reality cleared, "Kipland... What happened?"

"I..." he turned back to them, "Well, how do you feel?"

Talia looked embarrassed.

"Did I tackle you?" she gasped, "Holy crap, boy, I think I was planning to-"

"Talia... It's over," Genevieve reassured her Latin friend, "No harm, right Kip?"

"Right," he rasped, "Well, except for this whanging headache... That's never happened before..."

"That's because you're not supposed to do what you just did."

Kip's errant soul. Still tethered to his body, but capable of its own thought. Typically, it didn't affect his daily life (being ethereal and all), but talking to Kip's corporeal mind was something new.

"Never mind that now," it hissed, "You and me have a long talk ahead of us, but we don't have time for it just yet. For now, I'll let you alone to finish what you started with these two. Know this, though: I'm here, and I'm watching you."

"You going to be okay?" Genevieve asked as she placed the back of her hand against his forehead, "I read up on that Obsidian Blight once for college... I recognized your name..."

"Small world," Kip chuckled, "Yeah, don't worry. This was caused by something completely unrelated to that."

"Are you drinking enough water?"

The tanker's eyes suddenly darted from left to right.

"Huh... It just occurred to me I would have offered to take you to my place yesterday."

"And now?"

"Not."

"Good," Kip nodded, "That's really good. It means you're making your own decisions, and not what some ethereal golden arrow's telling you to think."

The two girls stared at him perplexedly. Finally, they shrugged to each other and bid their farewells to the young scrapper who, up until a minute ago, had been the object of their affection.

"And suddenly, I have a wholly different, and unwelcome challenge," he muttered when they were gone, "Ah well... It is about time I got over it."

His hands in his pockets, he slowly strolled down the back alleys of Founder's Falls. He was aware of the Nemesis troops ghosting him. They didn't seem to be aware of the thirty or so Heroes ghosting them, however. Kip just kept with his slow-paced herd and let the various scrappers, tankers, blasters, and so on, even a few Kheldian types, have their fill of "Nemesix" troops.

Technically, they were the same.

----

"So when were you going to tell us Mom was here?"

Nester had gone alone. Kip was fairly indifferent to this situation. Nester, on the other hand, didn't like the deception.

"Look, Nester..." Zeke began, but stopped abruptly.

"Dad..." Nester removed his shades so his father could see he was being serious, "Look... We've been through this once already. Last time, you didn't have a problem telling your kids that you were having a casual chat with the woman who abandoned them when they were in the first grade and kindergarten. Now... Now you tiptoe around the issue, even after we're all cordial and friendly. I mean, what's the big deal, Dad?"

"We're [censored]." Zeke answered simply.

"Good God!" Androm shouted in Zeke's mind.

"You're..." Nester looked as shocked as Androm sounded, he just seemed a little more tripped up by it, "With..."

"Right," Zeke pressed his lips together in a thin line and shrugged, "Have been since Valentine's Day."

"Ah..." Nester didn't know what to say, so he found himself sitting on his father's couch.

"See, this is why I didn't tell you," Ezekiel explained as he headed for the kitchen, "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"I understand plenty, Dad..." Nester shouted back, "Y'know, Kip would say you've forgotten how she hurt you."

"Doesn't sound like he's the one saying it."

Nester sat silently for a few seconds. Why was he so bothered by this news? He was the one who was willing to give his mother a chance when she first came back. Kip was the one who freaked out and tried to shut her out. Though his little brother eventually relented (on his own terms, of course), it was still a highly dramatic, and aggravating time for them.

"So... Is she still a traveling secretary for that company?"

"No... But we're confident she'll get a new job in no time," Zeke sat in his easy chair with a clear glass mug of beer in his hand, "She moved here for a job offer that didn't pan out and we ran into each other at that bar outside the King's Row Yellow Line station. Well, she ran into me. I hadn't been expecting her."

"And you're sure she's Mom..."

Zeke smiled. Nester suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

"Never mind."

"Nester, you know if we hadn't done it, you and Kip would never have been here."

"I know! It's just... After we're here... Can't you stop!?"

"Aren't you a little old to be making such a demand?" Zeke was laughing, "I mean, come on, you've had sex."

"Yeah..." Nester winced, "And thanks for reminding me of something I've been missing..."

"Look Nester... I guess I just figured you couldn't handle the news... I mean... Your Mom and I... We... We never really hated each other. She just got scared when the firm went bankrupt and I got laid off. There was so little keeping her together... When she heard the news, she nearly had a psychotic break."

"I know," Nester leaned back in the couch, "And I know she was still sending you checks after the divorce was finalized, with no demands for alimony or child support. I bet your lawyers were really ticked about that one."

"We didn't have any," Zeke shrugged, "Like I said, it was a mutual break-up until Cathy got herself back together."

"Ah..."

They sat there silently for a few seconds. Nester turned on the television, but he wasn't really interested and he couldn't stay for much longer.

"So... What do you think of Randy's plan?"

"I think we're being toyed with," Zeke answered curtly, "I think the information's legit, but I also think we're being employed in some sick Council power game."

"You really took to this Hero stuff, didn't ya, Dad?"

"Of course," Zeke gestured to the rather well furnished and well-kept apartment, "Look at this place! Even for an apartment, this place is a Helluvalot nicer than any place back home."

"You ever think any of us will go home?"

Zeke took a long drink from his beer. Finally, after licking the foam from his upper lip, he had an answer.

"Yeah," he nodded, "Some of us will. Others won't. Kip, I see him staying here a long time. You... You make your own choices in everything you do, so you might just wind up going somewhere else entirely, or even just sticking with here. Randy'll probably head back to Kingdale when he feels he's done. Char'll go with him, but she'll probably come back here a lot to help with any archaeological digs. Your friend, Round, definitely wants to go home."

"Yeah. Who knows what Sarah and Joe will do. Or Cedric."

"Or Matt, or Cory, or Sheldon..." Zeke sighed, "We've all got our choices to make."

"What do you think Mom will do?"

"That's up to her," Zeke replied, "It's been too long since I've known her. It's like I gotta figure her out all over again. I seem to be doing okay."

"Heh, yeah..." Nester thought about that for a second, "Aw!"

"Look son... We're all tough. Regardless of what happens, I have a good feeling we'll get through all of this okay."

Nester nodded. Despite the brutality of those they fought, he had a gut feeling his father was right.

Her uniform is in Longbow's colors.

((Well, Devious, think of it this way... There's not much to do in prison, and with how we got put on lockdown (thanks to Torroes' explanation of how the mayor decided to visit), we were likely put on lockdown and fed in our cells for lunch, maybe even dinner. With the length of time we spent "on hold" I say it's pretty fair we're at night time.))

"Lights out! Ten minutes!"

Power Breaker curled up on his bed and pulled his thin blanket over himself. Danny was busy trying to climb up to his own mattress and Paul marked a place for himself to stop reading.

As he lied there, Breaker considered what it would take to get out of the Zig. Concrete walls thick enough to put small rooms into, heavily armed guards every couple of feet. It was true, they'd need a small army to do it. Since none was likely forthcoming, they'd need to build one from within. On top of that, the path of least resistance was the maze of twisty sewer tunnels beneath the complex, and those were host to their own problems.

Do I have what it takes to organize something like this?

He doubted it. Outside, he'd been little more than a thug. In here, less. He knew the politics of the organizations he worked with. His lack of street cred wasn't going to win him any friends.

But if I found a way to prove myself to the other prisoners... I could...

The Arena. The legend that continued to send shivers through the spines of every Zig newbie. What's more, the guards seemed to have something special in store for every Monday night... Something reserved for the Super types.

Well, I'm "super" now... I wonder what it takes to get invited...

These are always interesting for the newbies to run into...

"Gather 'round, gather 'round," Randy told his family and friends.

They'd come a long way from home... Maybe not as far as many of the city's heroes, but much farther than they'd ever anticipated. Maybe even farther than they believed.

Kingdale was a rural community. A small town, even though it was almost as large as Watertown (the county seat of a nearby county), it was still ridiculously undersized compared to major cities like Dallas, Los Angeles or Paragon City.

Coming to Paragon was shocking for Randy. Kipland, too. They were the first to come here, and paved the way for those that would follow. They had hit the pitfalls first and foremost, found what worked, and what failed.

In that time they made many friends, and a greater many foes. Throughout all of it, they'd been able to rely on their family and friends to fight through whatever obstacles lay in their paths.

"You still drink," Charlene had said to him the night before as he explained what they were about to do, "Heavily..."

"I was worse before we found you," he replied solemnly, "Much worse... I'm... I have a hard time finding the words, Char... You know how I feel..."

He looked to each of his supergroup's members.

Cedric... His eldest son. Looking at 27 years of age in the middle of April. Knowing him, it was a matter of time before he wound up doing the work he was so obviously born to.

Kipland... Kip had been his successor as the Kingdale Warden back home, protecting the local community from mystical threats. The boy had obviously found his niche.

Cobalt Black... Kip's Praetorian. Randy hadn't even met his Praetorian, yet. He already knew it was the Acme of foolishness to hope that the Gray Render would be as friendly as this Malta Agent from another world. In his world, they're freedom fighters, like the Carnival of Light. It was strange this other Kip would be so much like the original... Then again, Praetorian Earth wasn't exactly Opposite World... Just different... More brutal. They could count on Cobalt Black... He was every bit the skilled fighter as the original, if not more.

Cory... The wizard. Randy didn't know much about the boy. He had been the favorite contractor of the boy's father, Richard, however, and all those times up to the present Cory had demonstrated he was an enthusiastic, wise and polite young man. A very welcome addition indeed, and well worth his role as their mystic advisor.

Sheldon... Randy had been hard on the boy early on. He'd seen enough history about people just like him who devolved into the quick and easy path of villainy for power, money and fame. Not pride, though, and Sheldon had that. Despite the fact he had a hundred androids, each more powerful than the bots found littering the city by at least five times, the young inventor continues to work with his hands and strives to impress.

Nester... Kip's brother. He'd always been a bit odd in Kingdale, as if his head was wired to a different way of looking at the world (as opposed to Kip's, which really was). He was one of the few people who could take an idea, and see what its progenitor was trying to achieve. Now, he was employed in the necessary task of healing his fellow heroes, and did it with gusto.

Roland... Randy's middle child, and second son. He was a bit of a loner among the group. He never worked with anybody else within the super group... Not since they'd found Charlene... Randy knew their days with the boy were numbered. Round didn't see the point to all this Hero mumbo-jumbo. Truth be told, neither did Randy anymore, but he was far too entrenched now to walk away. Still, while they had the young man, he'd fight tooth-and-nail and whatever he could get his hands on to help.

Zeke... Randy's best friend and former contracting partner. Now, still a friend, but a part of him is something else. He’d come to bid farewell to his dying son (Kip), and wound up on the receiving end of some of the most formidable powers known to the Heroes. He was a definite asset, and a good friend. A level head whenever they need one, Randy was glad Zeke still stuck around.

Charlene... Randy was leery of including her in this, but they needed all the forces they could muster. He'd lost her once already, he didn't want to risk it again... But if the information was right, she had a personal interest in this matter, and she'd give him Hell if he thought of keeping her out of this.

Sarah... Snuffy... His daughter. In high school, all the boys were afraid to date her because they thought he'd kill them. They were right, of course, but Randy hadn't yet found where to bury the bodies, so he'd have only maimed them. In the War, she'd gained a mutant power of telepathic capabilities, and now she was using that power to further aid the people she loved. Randy knew she was trying to show she was strong, but he didn't know how to tell her she'd proven that a long time ago.

Matt... Mad, mad Matt. Cedric's best friend from high school. His father was known as Crazy Old Man McGinty, or Mark... The old man had saved a martial artist's life, and had the guy train the boy in Kendo. Matt's personality, though, was left to be influenced by his father and his friends. The wild-maned young man had a knack for Hero work, and had proven many times to be a brutal little brawler.

The Ryats... Two of Sheldon's androids. The only two Longbow lets him let loose. They're autonomous, artificially intelligent, and peculiar. Sheldon said he and Roland were working out the bugs in their software, but Randy had the sneaking suspicion they were simply letting the machines work it out for themselves. It seemed to work. Ryat99, the Tanker of the two, had gained a peculiar sense of self-awareness and was refreshingly humble. Ryat66, the blaster on the other hand, was quite obnoxious in a polite sort of way. The two continued to demonstrate all sorts of bizarre capabilities, and had proven to be vastly superior assets that Randy was happy to have on the team.

Joe... Durnan... The cop... The man taking Snuffy away... Randy had given the young man a hard time when he first met him. Now, he was about to give him an even harder one as his father-in-law. Still, the boy had a good head on his shoulders. He was like Kip, at times, and other times he was like Nester... Still, there were the times he was entirely himself, and demonstrated a certain noble spirit so rarely seen these days...

This was who and what he had to work with. More than enough.

"I've got a big job... Not like those Task Force missions you see advertised throughout the city, but just as effective. I got me an informant a little while back, and he's paid off big time. We're going to take a chunk outta the Council Army, and it's gonna hurt."

They stared back, shock somewhat registering on their faces. They seemed to be rolling the idea around in their heads, trying to determine how to respond. They were also probably trying to decide whether or not he was drunk again.

Finally, Ryat99 raised his hand and Randy gestured for him to speak.

"Uh... Don't we take huge chunks out of the Council every day? I mean, they're kind of a Terrorists R' Us group..."

"Yeah," Randy chuckled, "They are... But sometimes they do something right, and a lot of innocent people get hurt. Taking out this base will put a damper on a number of such plans, not to mention crippling their Nictus forces..."

"Nictus?" Zeke suddenly looked concerned.

Charlene didn't quite know what the problem was, but she knew enough to suddenly look just as worried as Zeke did.

"Yeah..." Randy plugged the disk into the table and keyed up the holo-emitter, "The fortress is situated on an island a few miles south of Striga... It was never too important until recently. They seem to have been adding to it, a little bit at a time... Before anyone knew it, a rather impressive base had been constructed, and now someone has to deal with it."

"Us," Kip stated, "Well... Let's work out a plan..."

"I..." Sheldon interrupted before anybody could say anything, "...Have something that will probably help..."

----

"Where in Hell did you get this?" Cedric laughed as he marveled at the contraption sitting in the (supposedly) disused storage bay.

It looked like a Zeus Titan, only bigger, and with the two Hercules Titans welded and bolted together. The chambers meant to house human brains had been removed for a larger, sleeker mechanism, making the Titan resemble a Nemesis Warhulk with a metal dome instead of glass.

"What is it?" Randy asked without a hint of awe.

"It's a Titan..." Sheldon replied, "For presumptuousness, call it a Grey Titan..."

"What's with its arms?" Kip pushed one with his index finger, thinking it would probably fall off, "You made this thing look like a giant iron gorilla..."

"Yes, well..." Sheldon walked over to a control panel, "You see... The arms house a massive, heavier weapons system..."

"Heavier than the energy weaponry they utilize?"

"Not in damage output... Sadly, I had to scrap the energy cannons for a side project... No... I put something more... contemporary on the arms..."

Another holo display came to life, and Sheldon started running a computer graphic simulation for them. It showed Hercules and Zeus Titans, and the Grey Titan off to the side. A pair of miniguns were mounted to each of the Grey's arms, each with it's own belt of ammunition, a left shoulder mounted missile pod and a right shoulder mounted rocket pod. Looking closely, Randy could see that much of the actual design behind the Malta Group's Titans had been scrapped. Little more than the outward appearance remained, and little of that as well.

Sheldon must have scrapped much of the original design to create this monstrosity.

"How long have you had this?" he asked.

"A couple weeks, now..." Sheldon replied nervously, "I... I need your approval to activate it."

"That didn't stop you before."

"I didn't need anything from Grey's Army before..." Sheldon scratched the back of his neck, "Randy... Sarah..."

"What?" Snuffy arched her eyebrow at him, "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to put this on," he handed her a technological device that looked like a bulky crown with wires coming off of it.

"Sheldon?" Randy thundered over to where the inventor stood and looked at the monitor, "Why do you need her help?"

Sarah put the circlet on and looked around.

"Nothing's happening..."

Sheldon hit a button at his console and the Grey Titan came to life. Cedric got out of its way as he took a step forward to balance itself.

"Woah!"

Everybody turned to Sarah. Her mouth hung agape and she held her arms out forward. Looking from her to the machine, they could see their stances matched almost perfectly.

"Sarah!" Joe called out to her, then turned to the Titan, "Sarah?"

"Oh, real nice, Joe," she shouted from where she stood, "Here I am, over here, and you're talking to some robotic bimbo like you know her!"

"Yeah man," Cedric leaned against the Titan's knee, "I thought you had taste."

"This'll be a Helluva story for the kids," she pouted.

Joe just kind of looked at them all, mortified. After a few seconds, he turned to Sheldon.

"What's going on?"

"I wasn't able to cut out the human control necessary to operate a machine of this size... The Malta Titans require human brains because the brain is able to help regulate the machine's balance. It's what makes bipedal vehicles so difficult and impractical right now, the balance point. Humans are able to walk upright because their posture and their internal organs provide the necessary balance to maintain the upright stance. The Titans have the posture... But that's not enough. So, the next step was adding a series of 'organs' that reverberated, moved and oscillated according to a carefully scripted algorhythm... That worked for a bit, but if the machines ever got knocked down, the AI would crash. It couldn't get back up."

Sheldon sighed, and then gestured to the Titan schematics.

"The Malta Group figured out how to fix the problem in the simplest, most efficient way they could. Human brain transplants. They took people nobody would miss, dissected them, removed their brains, hooked them up to these machines and voila! Instant balance. The brain would automatically maneuver its new 'organs' and the machine could focus on the fight."

"Wouldn't the brains have an opposing effect?" Nester queried, "I would think the Malta Group would be fairly leery of putting resentful minds at the helms of their most powerful weapons..."

"The brains don't have control," Randy answered, "I've seen it with my own eyes. The random Titans you see on the streets, the ones with unwilling vagrants, thugs, and drifters' minds inside them, have a second brain. A Malta Group AI that controls the machine's actions. The brain can only watch helplessly as its used as a tool for the Group's cause."

"Right," Sheldon sighed, "Disturbing efficiency... Some Titans I've helped study didn't have the AI in them. We can only assume those Titans were operated by brains volunteered by the Malta Group's various agents. Some may have been exceptional, others may have been injured too badly to keep up the 'good fight...'"

"The point is, they're loyal..."

"Now, as for Snuffy," Sheldon waved to the younger girl, "I tried to use this thing myself... I figured my mind, as powerful as it is, would be able to exert the necessary control."

"It didn't work," Roland finished.

"Precisely. My brain couldn't get a 'feel' for the artificial organ parts. So... I operated on a new theory..."

"You need a psychic." Sarah guessed, "Someone who can naturally move their consciousness away from their body and project their being to anywhere they need it."

"Exactly."

"Yay!"

"Sarah can do this?" Randy asked, his face turning grim, "This isn't a trick?"

"Of course not, Daddy!"

"Mr. Grey," Sheldon turned his attention to the monitors, "Sarah, move your left arm out to your side... See, sir? Perfect harmony... Naturally. What would take a pilot months of training, Sarah's able to master in moments. Her psychic projection capabilities enable her to do exactly as I said. She is at once the machine and herself."

Randy inspected it, all of it. The whole contraption suddenly gave them an edge he hadn't even considered possible. The situation just jumped several notches from "Outlook Grim" to "Yeehaw!"

"I like it," he rumbled, "I like it a lot. So, you must have something in mind on how best to use this thing... What do you have in mind?"

"See.." Sheldon suddenly looked very sheepish, "This is where things get interesting..."

Looking good, Devious. Keep 'em comin'.

1125: I will not stand. Standing denotes that I'm "Sensuous," which means "Sensuous up, could you get me a drink/snack/etc.?" It eventually devolves into simply, "<insert gamer name>, sensuous?"

Lord Recluse: "I will crush Statesman! Just like I crush this pellet..."

Crushes the end of a Tesla coil with his hand.

*BZZT!*

Lord Recluse: "Ow!"

Crushes pellet...

*BZZT!*

Lord Recluse: "OW!"

Crushes pellet again!

*BZZT!*

Lord Recluse: "Why I oughtta..."

*BZZT!*-"OW!"-*BZZT!*-"OW!-*BZZT!*-"OW!"-*BZZT!*-etc.

The Council.

Originally operating as the Fifth Column in the U.S., that all changed when the Center came to power. An elderly man, and rumored to be a psychic, the Center was a tactician who gave even Nemesis and the Malta Group pause. He was a peculiarly regal figure, calm and collected, and exceptionally fit for his age (he seemed to have the body of a man forty years his younger).

And Archon White was currently in the same room as him.

"Arakhn," he was talking into a communicator clipped to his ear while he sipped tea, "I'd like an update on your current dealings with the Heroes and such in Paragon City. I want information from Requiem as well. Don't keep me waiting."

He sounded cheerful. It was creepy. Archon White realized he probably didn't have much longer to live.

He felt he might as well get the whole thing over with. Yes, they were going to torture him, extensively, before he died. Yes, he was going to scream, and cry and wet his pants. Everybody who was being tortured (especially by people who knew what they were doing) suffered such things.

So maybe that was why he kept his dignity at this moment. Maybe that was all that was helping him maintain his discipline among the other Archons standing by him.

He knew them. Each of them. Archon Kendell had botched a robbery. Archon Smith (the one to his left, not the one at the end of the line) lost a munitions depot to a group of fledgling Heroes. The other Smith (B, White thought was his initial) had his entire cell wiped out by "Villains" in the Rogue Isles (funny that...). Franks and Gilbert... Well... He didn't know their stories, but he knew they'd failed in some way shape or form.

Just like him.

Only not like him... He'd made a deal with Randall Grey, a Hero, to provide him with information on Council operations. He didn't plan on selling out the whole Council, but just the things he felt... The things he felt went too far. Oddly, he figured that's exactly all Mr. Grey had asked of him, too.

"Hm... That's an interesting idea, Vandal. Tell you what. Take fifty Mech Men and work out a prototype. If you can come up with a cost effective way of improving their armor, I'll let you run your recall. But I'd still like to see how you plan to do that and avoid vigilante involvement."

He turned to the gathered Archons and pursed his lips. It was a brightly lit office. It was designed so it looked like a high-rise, but they all knew it was underground. It was one of many offices the Center used. Yet still, nobody in the cell knew exactly where they were. They weren't even certain they were still on Striga. Each of the members was selected to handle the temporary job of acting in the Center's cell for a day, and then he'd call a meeting in another location later. Upon arrival, the Center's Personal Guard of Ascendants would blindfold the soldiers and escort them to the real location.

White suddenly had a nasty thought that maybe every meeting with the Center actually happened in the same building. In the same room.

Maybe they were in the middle of Paragon, somewhere.

"Just a moment, gentlemen," the Center called to the gathered Archons, "I have to type something out to Maestro, then we can get on to the business at hand."

The soldiers stood silently and resolutely as the sound of plastic clicking and tapping filled the chamber. After several minutes, the Center finally hummed to himself, took another sip from his tea, and made one final click.

"Oh, I made a typo," he suddenly moaned, "Oh well. It'll just annoy Maestro, and what can I say? So much the better, right?"

Some Archons chuckled. Their lives were ended rapidly afterwards. The Center employed only the best Marksmen.

"Shut up!" the Center shouted as other troops moved in to clear out the bodies, "Shut the Hell up! This is exactly why we are failing at claiming this city! Your constant tomfoolery and jackassery!"

One trooper grumbled something under his breath. He too, was put down by snipers.

"What was that, Archon Roberts? Oh, you're finished. Well, thank you for yielding the floor."

The Archons reformed their ranks to make their formation more-or-less square.

Archon White stepped to where Archon Smith had been. He was one of the ones who laughed. He was one of the ones being carted to an incinerator.

"Every day I have to hear how your cells are broken and emptied! Your troops are scattered and arrested! You spend half of your time trying to escape from the Ziggurat! If you were ordinary troops, I wouldn't be talking to you! Instead, you're my Archons! My leaders! My Elite! And you never cease to fail me!"

Bad! Bad! Bad! I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I'm going to die! Archon White could feel his composure slipping, when he suddenly had a crazy thought, Shut up! Calm the [censored] down! Keep your head straight, listen, and keep focused. He wants to get a point across. If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead!

"I'm growing weary of this issue, gentlemen," the Center continued, "We are supposed to be the best! We push ourselves to the edge every day! And we show the world we're more than capable of mastering that edge!"

Another body dropped. Odd... Archon White hadn't heard any murmurings or chuckles.

"I am tired of finding, day after day, you... My Elite... Are consistently proving me wrong. You're supposed to be setting an example, and that example so far has been failure."

Another round of bodies hit the concrete.

"Well... Now that THAT unpleasantness is out of the way... Are there any questions?"

Archon White stared forward. He was still alive. Still standing. He was one of a handful, and still didn't know why.

"White?" the Center turned to him, "What was that?"

"Uh..."

"It's okay. The true incompetents are dealt with. Now, i want to hear from my would-be traitor."

----

Archon White stood in the Center's personal audience chamber. Four Ascendants stood at attention at the corners of the cramped room. The Center walked in after a few minutes, reviewing a clipboard.

"White, stand at ease," he muttered as he reached his desk, then flipped open a box and offered a cigar to the traitor.

"I... I don't smoke, sir."

The Center stared at him for a moment, then shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

He went back to flipping through the notes he had on the various Archons in attendance. Finally, he stopped at a page and hummed gently to himself.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Why am I still alive?"

"Because I want you to be."

They remained in silence for a few more minutes. White couldn't even hear the breathing of the Ascendants. Maybe they didn't breathe...

The Archon busied himself with taking in the room. It was a deep brown wood paneling. It looked like real wood. He wished he could tell the difference between different types of wood, but it just wasn't something he had any knowledge in. He had been a high school athlete... Not a scholar or even a carpenter.

"It's oak," the Center answered his unspoken question, "Yes, I am psychic. Not like the ones you see on television, no. I couldn't fight Sister Psyche in a psionic duel... Though I can shield myself from her. Every so often she probes the Phalanx's haunts, from Atlas Park to even our Striga Island, trying to find me, but I've mastered keeping myself masked. I keep my fellows protected in a similar fashion, but they're not too good at sweeping their tracks."

Archon White's mouth went dry.

"Relax. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead, remember?"

"What do you want with me?"

"You're working as an informant for the Hero Randall Grey, correct?"

The Ascendants readied their sonic cannons.

"Yes..."

The Center was chuckling, "I'm sorry about that. You see, I always wanted to pull a stunt like that, ask a question, and have my guards ready their weapons, put my subject on edge. Ah... What a feeling."

"Sir..."

"Relax, White. You're perfectly safe here. Even if you could muscle your way past my Ascendants, you'd find I'm quite capable of defending myself. So, since I'm not in fear of you, please, offer me the same respect."

"So I'm offering you the respect of a mouse to a cat too full to eat it."

"Sure."

"So what do you need from me?"

"What was it you said as you agreed to be Grey's informant? You joined us because you figured we'd bring about a more 'streamlined government?' A government without all of the 'red tape?' Interesting sentiment."

"Sir... I..."

A young lady with short, blonde hair and a tight-fitting uniform (that fit rather snugly around her curves) suddenly entered the office and placed a fresh cup of steaming tea on the Center's desk. He nodded to her and she left. Archon White noticed she had a peculiarly vacant look in her eyes, but it didn't seem unnatural. She seemed to be happy with her work, her situation, and her life. Oddly, she looked a little like...

"How strange," the Center was immediately back to business, breaking White's thoughts about his secretary, "A traitor who betrays me because he's a true believer."

The Center set the pad down and regarded the man before him.

"You maintain your composure remarkably, do you know that?"

"Yes, sir."

"I feel I can trust you," the Center finally finished his musing and got down to business, "I have some information I want you to deliver to Mr. Grey."

"Sir?"

"I like Grey... He's a down-to-earth kind of Hero. He has drinks with a man he put in prison for something he didn't do. He regrets that, you know? He really wishes he could do something to fix the poor man's condition, but the Villain in question feels he would have wound up in there in any case. So, they get drunk in that interdimensional bar and exchange information on our good friends Arachnos or they exchange toys, depending on whichever one wins their fight. You don't see Statesman getting into drinking contests..."

"Uh..."

"Oh yes, the information."

The Center reached into a drawer in his desk and rooted through it for a while. Eventually, he sighed happily and withdrew a disk.

"Deliver that to him. It's the location of an island fortress."

"What do you expect him to do with this?"

"I expect him to take the total forces of his super group and anyone he can muster, and level the base."

Even the Ascendants were startled at that.

"Sir?" Archon White stammered, "Why?"

"Because it will [censored] off Arakhn," the Center waved the disk impatiently at White, "It's one of her facilities. Some kind of massive Shadow Cyst Crystal, but they can't get it working properly. For one thing, I don't want her getting it to work. I know full well what she's trying to do, and I would rather she not succeed. For another, she and my partner need a reminder as to who truly runs the Council. And finally, I want Grey's Army to do it because they have a member who has rather close ties to this particular base's commander, though he doesn't quite know it, yet."

"I understand," Archon White took the disk and placed it in his pocket, "Why me, though, sir?"

"Because you were hired by Mr. Grey. I've been looking to give him this information for a few weeks, now, and you just landed in my lap."

"What happens when I deliver?"

The room stayed silent for several minutes. The Center knew the silent question. Archon White didn't know what to think, and remarkably, wound up blocking his superior’s attempt to probe his mind form the sheer fact there was nothing there to find for the moment.

The Center hummed to himself at that bizarre little notion.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," The Center turned back to his pad and started flipping through the pages, "You may go, now. Don't bother with the formalities, just tell Archon Smith, B. that I'm ready to see him."

Shortly afterward, Archon White was ushered to a private room. He was provided a hearty dinner and found himself exceptionally sleepy shortly after. Realizing he'd been gassed, he simply crawled into the bed and figured that if he died, he'd be leaving a terrible mess for whoever took over this base and wound up with this room.

----

He came to in his new base. His troops were out in the main chamber of the warehouse, engaging in their morning formation and his second was walking in with a report.

"It's good to see you're back, sir."

"Thank you, Adjutant Jordan."

"A meeting with the Center, sir," Jordan sighed, "I'm in awe of you, and I'm glad you made it back alive."

"So am I," White breathed as he felt the corner of the disk press into his thigh, "So am I."

Draven Erickson took a moment before knocking at the door. He'd been dreading this. Of all the crap assignments, to have to do this...

"Psycho!" he started knocking, "Come on, Levi, wake up!"

"Aw... Come on... Gimme until the crack of noon!"

"Get out here!" Jared wrenched at the door handle, and was glad his partner for the day hadn't remembered about the locks.

Of course, he kind of wished Levi had when he got a look at the room.

"Oh my God..." he muttered as he winced, "Is that a teddy bear?"

One eye popped open on Psycho 13's face and he grimaced.

"Don't you look at me!"

"Tell me you're not naked under there."

"Does nude work for you?"

"No."

"Well good, because I'm neither!"

Jared gripped his temples, "Then why would you... Never mind. Get your costume on, and we'll head out. We're patrolling Terra Volta."

Psycho whistled at that and started gathering his things. Draven grimaced at the tattered kilt his friend(?) wore and was relieved that Levi hadn't been lying about wearing clothes (a pair of shorts) to sleep. He started heading for the landing pad and was met by Daren.

"Busy day?" his cousin asked.

"Yeah. I'm workin with Levi."

"Yeesh... Glad I don't have to do that."

"Wait until we're cleared to patrol Warburg," Draven poked Solo hard in the shoulder, "I'll make you two stick together like glue!"

"[censored] you, man!" Daren pushed Jared in the shoulder, spinning him about slightly, "You're not the champ!"

Draven stared back, his mind a complete blank.

"Champ?"

Daren paused for a second, then chuckled.

"Yeah," he finally got out, "It's an idea Dustin and I were tossing around... That our rank system works something like-"

"Pro wrestling," Draven grimaced, "So all our new guys are 'Jobbers,' I bet."

"Yeah!"

"I..." Jared couldn't find the words, "How do the others feel about this?"

"Well, Matt laughed about it, then declared himself Hardcore Champion... Dale had a few laughs until I told him he's still a Jobber... You, me, Dustin and James are the only contenders for Heavyweight Champ..."

Draven's face twitched slightly.

"Psycho and Whirlwind, they're Jobbers."

"Great..."

"I don't know..."

"No, no," Jared went back to the landing pad hatch, "I like it. If we ever get into a disagreement, I could always fight you for the decision. Much better than democracy."

"Ooh..." Solo was suddenly struck with an idea, "How should we bring Joe into this?"

"He's just an investor."

Outside, they started their pre-flight inspection. Draven checked for missing equipment, Solo checked the actual working parts. So far, Daren was the only one that could do a proper hardware check, but he was rapidly training the Baker brothers to match him. James took quickly to the training because he helped build the machine. Surprisingly, Levi was really taking to the lessons, and reminded Solo many times that they would need a back-up pilot if ever he was out of commission. Though Daren knew he was right, he wasn't sure if he wanted Levi to be that pilot.

"Everything look clear?" he asked as he finally found himself satisfied with the checks.

"Yeah," Draven replied, "Everything's good to go. Daren, tell me something."

"What's up?"

"You were one of the first people to just ease into a normal life... I mean, after Dustin... You snapped out of the funk some of us were in after the Arena fire and got to work being a normal guy... So why the 'Championship' ranking system?"

Daren shrugged.

"I don't believe you."

"Look," Solo Stryker rubbed his forehead and looked to make sure nobody was listening, "I might share this with Dustin, but none of the others, okay? We are in a dangerous situation. We're using a warship, a technological wonder, to run a ferry service. This is our T-Bird, our Millenium Falcon... It's unique and recognizable... We haven't really considered what we're getting into, and we're going to have a lot of angry people, on both sides of this struggle, chasing us."

"Yeah," Draven sighed, "Makes ya kind of reconsider this whole endeavor..."

"Too late..." Daren shrugged again and started unlocking the magnetic grips Hector had supplied them with to keep the Flyer wherever they landed it, "Wallace wants us to test this thing to its limits, and this is the best situation for it..."

"Right-right... So, the ranking system?"

"Eventually, the seriousness of the situation is going to catch up to us..."

"Sounds like it already has."

"It hasn't," Daren assured his cousin, "Trust me. If it had, we'd be at each other’s throats, shouting, screaming, and maybe some of us wouldn't survive. We'd go bat-[censored] crazy from the magnitude of the danger we're in."

Daren shook his head again.

"So... I'm not getting this..."

"Remember when the Committee started sending us those checks? When we realized that someone was trying to get rich off us? How'd we react?"

"We started looking for them," Draven smirked, "And we found some of their goons and put them in the hospital. The BWO was ours, and we weren't about to let someone manipulate us."

"Right," Daren grinned, it was a dangerous, conniving grin, "We fought back. Sure, the situation wasn't nearly this magnitude, but by feeling like we were in the middle of our own project, defending it from all outsiders, and constantly fighting each other to keep ourselves tough... We felt we could take on the world."

"But we can't take on the world," Jared reminded his cousin, "We're going to have to realize that sooner or later."

"Hmf," Daren smirked again, "Spoken like someone who doesn't have what it takes to be the Heavyweight Champion."

Draven shook angrily suddenly. Somehow, Daren's statement brought out a primal urge in him. He felt he needed to fight his cousin... Not because it was necessary, but because it would prove he was the best...

"This is nuts," he said as he sat down, "What the Hell was that?"

"A distraction," Daren replied, clapping Jared on the shoulder, "And it works. James and Dustin were what inspired me, when they were fighting while I interviewed Levi and Mike. Shortly after, I took them to their respective locations, and where they used to question whether or not they were doing the right thing, they just leapt into their missions with gusto."

"Yeah, I was workin' with Dustin, then... He was a bit antsy about taking a job for Crey, but when it came to the action, he never hesitated for an instant. You'd never know that a year ago, he was a construction worker."

"If we think like warriors, we'll fight like warriors," Daren summarized, "We can do this... We just need to stay in the mindset..."

"So..." Draven thought about it for a second, "I guess that makes me Heavyweight Champion of the Heroes division of the Brutal Warriors Order."

Daren's grin turned to a full-blown smile, "I'll take Grand Heavyweight Champion, thank you..."

"[censored] you!" Dustin's voice called behind him, "If anybody's Grand Champ at the outset, it's me."

"Like Hell it is!" James suddenly interrupted, "I'll take all of you down!"

"Grahrgh!" Psycho 13 stood at the door, his face twisted into a maniacal mask, "I... will... break all-of-you!"

"Later!" Draven shouted over them, "Later! We'll work this out later, okay, guys... Right now, Psych and I are slotted to patrol Terra Volta, and I don't want to be late."

"Cool," Dustin started getting on board the Flyer, "I'm gonna be hitting the grocery store."

"Cool," Ragin' James waved them off, "I'm gonna be working on setting up the sensor grid with Dale and Mike."

"What's Matt gonna be doing?" Daren inquired as he climbed into the Flyer's cockpit.

"Sleeping."

"Good, good. Everybody's accounted for, then..." Daren nodded then hovered his hand over the canopy's "open/close" button, "Slater and I'll be back this afternoon to help out."

Cory Simmons was busy setting his little corner of the base for his dinner guest. He was pleased Randy had thought to build him the tiny niche. Where much of the rest of the base was sterile steel, there was one cozy little corner made of wood panels, filled with books, and the location of one of the more comfortable couches in the city.

"It's not the same as Roland's couch, but it's plenty soft," he intoned to Gertrude "Raven" Youngs.

"Roland's couch?" she inquired, "What's so special about his couch?"

"Well, for starters, somebody enchanted it..." Cory smiled at the thought, "A complex blend of mystical energies... I've been trying to duplicate it myself, to little avail... But I'm getting there."

"Enchantment... To improve comfort," Gertrude smirked and sat in the seat Cory had offered, "Interesting it hasn't been considered before."

"Or since," the Warlock waved his hands in the air and a pair of plates appeared, each with its own steaming meal, "Be careful, these are piping hot!"

"How'd you manage this trick?"

"A bit of temporal tweaking," he chuckled back, "I'll have to remember to make this meal tomorrow evening, or we're going to suddenly get very tired very fast."

"I think it's a tad more complex than that..."

"You'd be surprised how often that actually isn't the case."

They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Gretchen pointed at her boyfriend's hair.

"Cortland... Why is your hair always red like that?"

"It's a ritual," he replied, "A tradition handed down through my family. I apply the dyes every week on Sunday. They're mystical, and supercede whatever color already exists in the hair, but it fades after nearly seven days. The red signifies that I'm a practicing sorcerer among my family's tradition. I'm not yet a master magician, but I can take on students, and train them in basic spellcraft. Heh, heh... It was easy in my teen years. I had to dye my hair black, which it already really is..."

"How do you get your hair so straight, though? Most..."

"Black men, African-Americans, etcetera," Cory sighed, "I know... The hair. It's part of the ritual. That, and I hate 'afros.'"

She chuckled and they finished their meals. They discussed rituals and spells, components and incantations. They shared tales of adventure and eventually just sat silently for a moment, admiring each other.

"Well, this is nice," Matt was grinning down at them, his arms folded across his chest, "You two cozy? Comfy? Chummy?"

"Chum is fish parts, often used as bait. We are hardly either." Cory looked up to his apprentice, "And yes, we are quite comfortable. I think this is my best approximation of that spell, yet."

"Great," Matt's face suddenly morphed to a shocked expression, "Oh man! I didn't realize I was coming off as an [censored]! Woah... Hey, I'm sorry..."

He entered the niche and shook hand with the wizard and sorceress.

"I guess was still on an adrenaline kick..."

"You've been fighting?" Cory arched an eyebrow at his friend, "Mattock, I thought we agreed that you would hold off on your fighting, so I could monitor your progress..."

"Nah, man, nah!" Matt's face suddenly reflected his enthusiasm, "I got something totally cool today! You know Lou, the mechanic, right?"

"He's the poor soul who keeps running afoul the Clockwork King."

"Right," Matt nodded, "Well, I got something from the Freaks a couple weeks back, and Lou just told me we can work with it."

"What is it?"

"A motorcycle!"

Cory and Gertrude looked to each other with slightly amused expressions before turning back to the neo-samurai.

"I thought heroes could fly or run really fast..." the sorceress replied perplexedly, "Why would you need a vehicle?"

"Mattock here is a master of his art," Cory explained, "He didn't take any time to learn how to utilize the 'Leaping' devices Sheldon built for many of the members of Grey's Army, nor did he learn how to utilize his magic to achieve flight or teleport..."


"And I run fast enough as it is," Matt shrugged, "But a motorcycle? That's just coolness! It's a ratty old thing, but Lou and I are gonna make that thing into a beast!"

"I bet he'll take it for a spin to try to get some much needed payback against the Clockwork," Cory chuckled, "Good luck to you in your endeavor, my friend. Perhaps you'll find this form of hobbyist meditation more enjoyable."

"Yeah!"

Smiling to the couple, Matt finally got the idea, and gave them a curt bow. It wasn't like the bow his mentor taught him, but one where he pressed his fist over his heart and leaned forward to an almost right angle. On his way out, he made one last request.

"If Cedric comes by, let him know where I am, 'kay? We could use his help down there."

"Will do," Cory replied psychically.

1124: Now is not the time to be honest (with the GM).

((Not much we prisoners can do about it... ))

((Maybe if we had more going. Right now, our characters are still in their cells and too paranoid to really interact. We've got that big Pit Fight coming up... Maybe you could make the comic about that. The Ghoul vs. <insert hapless inmate>. Bam! Comic.

Of course, it'd be hard to make a PVP type comic.))

"So... Can we come in?" Kip arched an eyebrow up at Archlich, "Or-"

"Or is there something else you need to know?" Sarah slaped her hand over Kip's mouth.

She knew her friend all-too-well. Kip was about to say something nasty. He had a knack for that, among other things, at far too young an age.

[ QUOTE ]
I always thought female consumption of Superadine caused felinoid anthromorphosis, hyperactivity, loss of intellect, and nymphomania, myself.

[/ QUOTE ]

You think (fantasize) they become sex-crazed catgirls? That's pretty twisted...

And "SS" is a reference to Super Strength.

Take it from me: Stone Armor/Super Strength can be a lot of fun.

It's just slightly slow going, though. When using Stone Armor, Swift is a necessity.

"Okay... Okay... I give up."

"Keep on truckin'!"