Mr_Grey

Happy birthday, Saint. Hope you and Snowkitty have a good one!

Oh GOD! What horrible side effects come from THIS!?

Happy birthday, General!

When he reappeared on the city streets, Kip was already changed into his patrol gear. Like many in Grey’s Army, he didn’t like wearing spandex outfits. He preferred to go with something like he used to wear, a sport shirt, boots and gloves with padding. He didn’t necessarily need the padding, but that was a different story.

Closing his eyes, he drew the energy within him to the forefront. He felt it again, the chill in his spine as if his very soul was invigorating every cell of his body. He took to the sky in flight, hurtling over the rooftops of the buildings that surrounded him. His task was too important to indulge in marveling at his capability, though.

The building Kipland was directed to by his Praetorian’s coordinates was a small apartment complex in southern Brickstown. It looked like nobody had actually lived in it for years. He landed just outside the cordon of cars and police tape to get the situation from the officers there.

The Paragon Police Department had deployed a squad of hardsuit officers and a few psychics. A Kheldian “Ascended” officer, apparently the man in charge, approached the intense young man to apprise him of the situation. Despite the bright tendrils wafting from his eyes, Kip could see genuine emotion in the other man’s face.

“Mister Durj,” the officer said, his voice ringing with a peculiar echo and chime, “I am Officer Pepperson, also known as Bright Comet. We arrived within minutes of Officer Durnan’s A.P.B., and have investigated the site. We’ve also cordoned off the area, and have determined that no more of the Malta Group terrorists have arrived.”

“Why do you look so glum, then?” the young man asked.

“Like I said,” Bright Comet’s voice came through more clearly now, a hollow sound, like a ghost’s, yet surprisingly strong, “I investigated the site. It’s a massacre in there. Only one survivor… He asked for you, of course.”

“How is he?”

“I did what I could…” Bright Comet lowered his head and shook it sadly, “But my healing abilities aren’t as honed as my fellows.”

“I understand,” Kipland sighed and started walking in.

The carpet was stained and torn. The walls, wherever they weren’t crumbling from water damage, were a hideous shade of beige. Paint was piled up in places, crunching under his boots, and the air was stale. He took the stairs down.

In the basement, he found the remains of the Malta Group cell. There was a small pile of bodies at the entrance to the meeting chamber. It looked like most of them were trying to get into the room, rather than out.

A hole had been blasted into the wall with some kind of explosive. Kipland used this to enter the room and found his adoptive brother lying on the stage, the corpses of the gunslinger and Wolf Killer flanking him.

Aaron was still breathing, barely. He looked up to Kip and gave a thumbs-up.

“Paramedics are on the way,” the Primal hero said as he walked over, “I’ve got some Regenerator for you, too.”

“Better hurry,” Aaron croaked, “They got me with some of their coated rounds…”

Pulling one of the green cylinders from his belt, Kip pressed one end on Aaron’s shoulder and depressed the button on the other end. There was an audible hiss and the blue fatigue-clad young man started breathing a little easier.

“I don’t know how they figured us out, man,” Aaron explained, “Wolf said they were taking us all out… I always figured it would happen to me easily, so I would always sit where I could kill a whole bunch of people at once and they’d be afraid of hitting each other… Still… They shouldn’t have been able to find all of us!”

“Crimson ****** up bad…” Kip growled, “I can respect the man for drawing the line, but he’s got a bad habit of disregarding the people working for him.”

“No… no… We communicate with him so indirectly, he doesn’t know where we are most of the time… No… Somebody had to have told them exactly who to look for.”

A shot rang out suddenly. Kip jumped up, startled, and looked back to see a man in red and silver armor standing in the room with them. The diamond-shaped center of his chest plate was glowing, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Maelstrom. Meta humans throughout Paragon City and the Rogue Isles were familiar with the pistol-wielding assassin. He was one who was quick to tout his message of “for the greater good” or whatever trite excuse he was using to support his vicious, bloody rampage. Often, he used the Malta Group for support, and he was apparently paying them back today.

As the ringing in Kip’s ears stopped, he could hear Aaron grunting. Looking back to his Praetorian self, he could see the fatigue-clad young man had been shot in the belly.

“God damn it,” Kip barked as he reached up to his communicator and pulled a piece off of it, “Aaron, hang on, man!”

He slapped the piece onto his wounded brother and in a moment, Aaron vanished in a flash of light. This drew an exasperated growl from the assassin as he reloaded his pistol.

“You do realize those MedCom tags are meant for only specific people, right?” Maelstrom rasped, “You go tossing them on people willy-nilly like that… Wasting tax dollars on a traitor… An impostor, even! An invader!”

“I had my reasons for saving him.”

“I know. He’s your ‘brother.’ You feel like you have to maintain some kind of loyalty to him. How simple-minded…”

“At least I have a heart,” Kip growled as he pointed at the assassin’s chest, “Not some contraption approximating one. I still have my humanity…”

“Right…”

The assassin stared coldly into his eyes and thumbed the safety switches on his pistols. After a few seconds of staring at each other in silence, Kip raised his wrist communicator to his face and keyed the button.

“Officer Bright Comet,” Kip muttered, “Your crime scene is about to become compromised.”

“And how…” Maelstrom snickered as he clapped his wrists together.

Outside, the building’s windows and several of the police vehicles erupted violently with explosions. Police dove for cover and bystanders fled. Glass showered down on the streets and one of the patrol cars rolled over onto its side. As the building shook, Kip looked to Maelstrom and could see the assassin’s cheeks pull up a little, indicating a sinister smile.

“Never underestimate the value of C-4, a superb teleportation matrix and a stealth field.”

He raised his pistols to aim at Kipland and started firing. The hero ducked down and to the left, rolling across the floor and closing the distance with his enemy. As he popped back up, he swung his arm hard up and to the right, smashing his assailant where he crossed his wrists to brace them as he fired both weapons, and knocked the pistols out of his hands. He followed this with snaking his arm around his opponent’s elbows and driving his knee into Maelstrom’s gut.

Spinning around, he hurled the armored man across the room. When he closed the distance, the assassin jumped up, spun in the air, and kicked him in the chest. Kip stumbled back a step, but charged forward again, spun, and delivered a back elbow smash to Maelstrom’s red mask.

They traded blows like that for the next few minutes. Maelstrom, despite his pistol marksmanship, was also a skilled martial artist. However, Kipland was far more focused in his art, ramshackle and patched together as it was. While Maelstrom knew a few special punches and kicks, Kipland knew how to move, block, dodge, and really make his hits count. Maelstrom was outmaneuvered and eventually found himself slammed against a wall to crumple to the floor.

“I’m gonna make you regret a lifetime of bad choices,” Kip growled.

“You and what army? The one of superhuman rejects you inherited from that big old lump?”

Before Kip could answer, Maelstrom rolled away and snatched one of his pistols from the floor. When he rose back up to a knee, he started firing. Once again, Kip was already moving, no longer standing where the gunslinger was firing and the bullets impacted the wall harmlessly.

As Maelstrom moved to correct his aim, the short young man ran up the wall and backflipped off of it. The pistol rang out once more, but missed again as Kipland’s eyes flashed white and a twin pair of laser beams lanced out to sear the slider off the top of the weapon.

“You son of a-!” the armored man shouted before rolling to recover his other weapon.

“Careful there,” Kip barked back, “She’s with the Knives, after all, and she’ll mess you up if she catches wind you insulted her!”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Maelstrom said as he brought the remaining pistol up, aimed at center mass, and started firing.

Kipland brought his arms up to his face and started charging straight for his assailant. Each round struck him solidly in the arms and chest, but he felt that bizarre, intense energy coursing through him again. To Maelstrom, it looked like white light was bursting from the young man’s blood vessels.

“Damn invuln-…” he got out before Kipland reached him, snatched the slider off the pistol, spun around and kicked him right in the pulsing red center of his chest guard.

The assassin slid across the floor on his back until his head hit the base of the stage. He gasped in pain and he clutched at his chest. When his eyes opened, he saw the hero descending upon him from a flying, spinning somersault. Kip’s right leg was extending to slam into him and finish him off.

With a lewd gesture, Maelstrom’s teleportation matrix activated, scattering sparks but still vanishing the vicious man to some unknown location moments before the scrapper’s foot made contact with the floor.

“Fricking SISSY!” Kip shouted to the ceiling, “I was only going to break your clavicle!”

When he reappeared on the city streets, Kip was already changed into his patrol gear. Like many in Grey’s Army, he didn’t like wearing spandex outfits. He preferred to go with something like he used to wear, a sport shirt, boots and gloves with padding. He didn’t necessarily need the padding, but that was a different story.

Closing his eyes, he drew the energy within him to the forefront. He felt it again, the chill in his spine as if his very soul was invigorating every cell of his body. He took to the sky in flight, hurtling over the rooftops of the buildings that surrounded him. His task was too important to indulge in marveling at his capability, though.

The building Kipland was directed to by his Praetorian’s coordinates was a small apartment complex in southern Brickstown. It looked like nobody had actually lived in it for years. He landed just outside the cordon of cars and police tape to get the situation from the officers there.

The Paragon Police Department had deployed a squad of hardsuit officers and a few psychics. A Kheldian “Ascended” officer, apparently the man in charge, approached the intense young man to apprise him of the situation. Despite the bright tendrils wafting from his eyes, Kip could see genuine emotion in the other man’s face.

“Mister Durj,” the officer said, his voice ringing with a peculiar echo and chime, “I am Officer Pepperson, also known as Bright Comet. We arrived within minutes of Officer Durnan’s A.P.B., and have investigated the site. We’ve also cordoned off the area, and have determined that no more of the Malta Group terrorists have arrived.”

“Why do you look so glum, then?” the young man asked.

“Like I said,” Bright Comet’s voice came through more clearly now, a hollow sound, like a ghost’s, yet surprisingly strong, “I investigated the site. It’s a massacre in there. Only one survivor… He asked for you, of course.”

“How is he?”

“I did what I could…” Bright Comet lowered his head and shook it sadly, “But my healing abilities aren’t as honed as my fellows.”

“I understand,” Kipland sighed and started walking in.

The carpet was stained and torn. The walls, wherever they weren’t crumbling from water damage, were a hideous shade of beige. Paint was piled up in places, crunching under his boots, and the air was stale. He took the stairs down.

In the basement, he found the remains of the Malta Group cell. There was a small pile of bodies at the entrance to the meeting chamber. It looked like most of them were trying to get into the room, rather than out.

A hole had been blasted into the wall with some kind of explosive. Kipland used this to enter the room and found his adoptive brother lying on the stage, the corpses of the gunslinger and Wolf Killer flanking him.

Aaron was still breathing, barely. He looked up to Kip and gave a thumbs-up.

“Paramedics are on the way,” the Primal hero said as he walked over, “I’ve got some Regenerator for you, too.”

“Better hurry,” Aaron croaked, “They got me with some of their coated rounds…”

Pulling one of the green cylinders from his belt, Kip pressed one end on Aaron’s shoulder and depressed the button on the other end. There was an audible hiss and the blue fatigue-clad young man started breathing a little easier.

“I don’t know how they figured us out, man,” Aaron explained, “Wolf said they were taking us all out… I always figured it would happen to me easily, so I would always sit where I could kill a whole bunch of people at once and they’d be afraid of hitting each other… Still… They shouldn’t have been able to find all of us!”

“Crimson ****** up bad…” Kip growled, “I can respect the man for drawing the line, but he’s got a bad habit of disregarding the people working for him.”

“No… no… We communicate with him so indirectly, he doesn’t know where we are most of the time… No… Somebody had to have told them exactly who to look for.”

A shot rang out suddenly. Kip jumped up, startled, and looked back to see a man in red and silver armor standing in the room with them. The diamond-shaped center of his chest plate was glowing, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Maelstrom. Meta humans throughout Paragon City and the Rogue Isles were familiar with the pistol-wielding assassin. He was one who was quick to tout his message of “for the greater good” or whatever trite excuse he was using to support his vicious, bloody rampage. Often, he used the Malta Group for support, and he was apparently paying them back today.

As the ringing in Kip’s ears stopped, he could hear Aaron grunting. Looking back to his Praetorian self, he could see the fatigue-clad young man had been shot in the belly.

“God damn it,” Kip barked as he reached up to his communicator and pulled a piece off of it, “Aaron, hang on, man!”

He slapped the piece onto his wounded brother and in a moment, Aaron vanished in a flash of light. This drew an exasperated growl from the assassin as he reloaded his pistol.

“You do realize those MedCom tags are meant for only specific people, right?” Maelstrom rasped, “You go tossing them on people willy-nilly like that… Wasting tax dollars on a traitor… An impostor, even! An invader!”

“I had my reasons for saving him.”

“I know. He’s your ‘brother.’ You feel like you have to maintain some kind of loyalty to him. How simple-minded…”

“At least I have a heart,” Kip growled as he pointed at the assassin’s chest, “Not some contraption approximating one. I still have my humanity…”

“Right…”

The assassin stared coldly into his eyes and thumbed the safety switches on his pistols. After a few seconds of staring at each other in silence, Kip raised his wrist communicator to his face and keyed the button.

“Officer Bright Comet,” Kip muttered, “Your crime scene is about to become compromised.”

“And how…” Maelstrom snickered as he clapped his wrists together.

Outside, the building’s windows and several of the police vehicles erupted violently with explosions. Police dove for cover and bystanders fled. Glass showered down on the streets and one of the patrol cars rolled over onto its side. As the building shook, Kip looked to Maelstrom and could see the assassin’s cheeks pull up a little, indicating a sinister smile.

“Never underestimate the value of C-4, a superb teleportation matrix and a stealth field.”

He raised his pistols to aim at Kipland and started firing. The hero ducked down and to the left, rolling across the floor and closing the distance with his enemy. As he popped back up, he swung his arm hard up and to the right, smashing his assailant where he crossed his wrists to brace them as he fired both weapons, and knocked the pistols out of his hands. He followed this with snaking his arm around his opponent’s elbows and driving his knee into Maelstrom’s gut.

Spinning around, he hurled the armored man across the room. When he closed the distance, the assassin jumped up, spun in the air, and kicked him in the chest. Kip stumbled back a step, but charged forward again, spun, and delivered a back elbow smash to Maelstrom’s red mask.

They traded blows like that for the next few minutes. Maelstrom, despite his pistol marksmanship, was also a skilled martial artist. However, Kipland was far more focused in his art, ramshackle and patched together as it was. While Maelstrom knew a few special punches and kicks, Kipland knew how to move, block, dodge, and really make his hits count. Maelstrom was outmaneuvered and eventually found himself slammed against a wall to crumple to the floor.

“I’m gonna make you regret a lifetime of bad choices,” Kip growled.

“You and what army? The one of superhuman rejects you inherited from that big old lump?”

Before Kip could answer, Maelstrom rolled away and snatched one of his pistols from the floor. When he rose back up to a knee, he started firing. Once again, Kip was already moving, no longer standing where the gunslinger was firing and the bullets impacted the wall harmlessly.

As Maelstrom moved to correct his aim, the short young man ran up the wall and backflipped off of it. The pistol rang out once more, but missed again as Kipland’s eyes flashed white and a twin pair of laser beams lanced out to sear the slider off the top of the weapon.

“You son of a-!” the armored man shouted before rolling to recover his other weapon.

“Careful there,” Kip barked back, “She’s with the Knives, after all, and she’ll mess you up if she catches wind you insulted her!”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Maelstrom said as he brought the remaining pistol up, aimed at center mass, and started firing.

Kipland brought his arms up to his face and started charging straight for his assailant. Each round struck him solidly in the arms and chest, but he felt that bizarre, intense energy coursing through him again. To Maelstrom, it looked like white light was bursting from the young man’s blood vessels.

“Damn invuln-…” he got out before Kipland reached him, snatched the slider off the pistol, spun around and kicked him right in the pulsing red center of his chest guard.

The assassin slid across the floor on his back until his head hit the base of the stage. He gasped in pain and he clutched at his chest. When his eyes opened, he saw the hero descending upon him from a flying, spinning somersault. Kip’s right leg was extending to slam into him and finish him off.

With a lewd gesture, Maelstrom’s teleportation matrix activated, scattering sparks but still vanishing the vicious man to some unknown location moments before the scrapper’s foot made contact with the floor.

“Fricking SISSY!” Kip shouted to the ceiling, “I was only going to break your clavicle!”

Once again, he’d been called in. They did this every couple of weeks, but it was becoming more frequent. Life as a Malta Group Operative was growing more difficult every day.

They had to maintain a façade of a normal life. They had to blend in with the populace. They had to see this bizarre world of heroes and villains, warriors and wizards, monsters and myths and cut to the heart of how they were pulling the wool over everybody else’s eyes. They think they can move to conquer humanity, but they weren’t counting on the Malta Group standing in their way.

At least, that was one of the lines fed to the members. Others involved guiding humanity toward a better future. Others involved protecting the American way and freedom by any means necessary.

In the end, Kipland Aaron Durj knew it was all bogus. The people running the Malta Group were only concerned with their own success, money and power. In many ways, they were even worse than Tyrant. Apparently, the leader of the Praetorians was subtly pushing the populace to obey him unquestioningly. If the Malta Group had control of even half the mind control power he had, they would throw the switch in an instant.

The Praetorians weren’t what was concerning him at the moment, though. Heroes like his double from this Earth were handling that situation, and as far as he could tell, they were handling it well. There was a bit of an invasion in mid-May that raised some eyebrows, but the heroes were able to push back the forces assailing them, despite “Emperor” Cole’s declaration that the heroic populace wasn’t ready.

What was concerning him was the nature of this meeting. The information the other operatives were reporting was nothing new. New legislation in Congress, patrols of various heroes in the towns that made up Paragon, the latest capers and incursions from the freaks of the Isles… It was all old-hat and they had covered most of it the previous week.

Finally, one of the men at the head table cleared his throat and waved the other operatives in attendance to lower their hands. The gunslinger turned to the cell’s operations commander, Wolf Killer 4-4-7, and asked why they’d been called in.

“I’ve received word that several cells have been infiltrated,” the commander replied, then turned to the rest of the operatives in the meeting chamber, “It seems our opponents in the Central Intelligence Agency, Crimson and Indigo especially, have found a way to seed our ranks with traitors to the cause.”

There was a general tumult. Aaron thumbed the guns at his hips and silently gave thanks to the fact that these lunatics were strong proponents of the second amendment. Of course, on that note, they were all armed, too. His only hope lied in the possibility that they didn’t know he was the one assigned to keep watch over them.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Wolf Killer shouted at the operatives, “SILENCE! Now, the other traitors are being dealt with as we speak…”

Crap.

“Do we have a traitor among us?” the gunslinger asked.

“Indeed we do…”

Wolf Hunter’s gaze settled on Aaron. He gazed back coolly into the other masked man’s cold blue eyes. The other operatives turned to look at Durj, some with puzzled expressions, others with hate and rage creasing their brows.

“Center of the room with a sixty foot diameter,” was all he said to answer their looks.

“What was that?” Wolf Killer growled, his body trembling with barely restrained anger.

“My position!” Aaron replied as he bolted from his chair, guns blazing armor-piercing ammunition into the men surrounding him.

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By the time Pop Roxxy returned to the ring, a small group had gathered to watch. She recognized some of the androids as being other Ryats, but she didn’t know their designations. She was glad none of them were the Dreadnaught, though. A couple others were the portly son of the group’s namesake and his business associate who she only knew as King Slater, though he didn’t look or act like any royalty she’d ever heard of.

They were applauding Kipland, who had just finished up practicing one of his katas. It ended with a flying spinning foot stomp after a leg sweep. Upon seeing him slam to the deck of the ring and the way his eyes flashed, Roxanne couldn’t help but swallow the lump that formed in her throat.

“Oh good,” he announced, his fierce face suddenly softening as he hopped back to his feet, “Are you ready?”

“I… I don’t know…” the blue-skinned woman replied, biting her lower lip worriedly.

Kipland smiled at her worry and shook his head. He gestured for her to get into the ring and she started walking into it. She could hear two more people following behind her and she looked back to see a white-haired woman carrying a small, dark-skinned child and a blonde man next to her.

“Hi!” the white-haired girl chirped, “You must be Roxxy! I’m Sarah. These are Kennedy and Joe.”

“Um, hello…”

“Relax,” Kipland said as he helped her into the ring, “I was thinking you could be on the offensive, I’ll be blocking. I was thinking about what you said about my style and it probably wouldn’t do well for the two of us to be striking each other. So, you attack, I’ll block.”

This was a much more welcome form of sparring for the former Praetorian enforcer. She nodded and took a stance. Her opponent took a stance with his arms up to guard his head and provide some coverage for his torso, similar to a Muy Thai boxer.

It seemed comical to Roxanne. She stood at six-foot-two, but this leader of Grey’s Army stood at five-foot-five at most! Still, she didn’t let that make her think she could just punt him into the next room. She’d seen footage of what the little guy was capable of doing to opponents even bigger than her. He’d torn apart robots, smashed cyborgs to pieces and laid low impossibly bulked out musclemen. This wasn’t counting all the times he’d led the charge against the many towering monstrosities that plagued the city.

She relaxed her control and the energy that she constantly felt coursing through her skin radiated from her. It came in so many different colors, it was hard to remember that it was still all the same electricity. She didn’t know the science behind it, but apparently her flesh had minerals that made the light of the plasma “pop” in different colors. Because it was like the design on the bag for a brand of candy, one of her mentors had suggested the name “Pop Roxxy,” and she kept it. She wanted to be a social protector, one that the populace would find approachable.

But then, that was before she learned how very twisted and wrong things were in Praetoria. Those who were loyal were forced to commit atrocities counter to the very law they were sworn to uphold. However, the alternative wasn’t much better. Those who stood against such behavior… Without the guidance of any kind of morality, just the base need to achieve some ethereal brand of freedom… The myriad pathways into personal corruption were too numerous to think about.

Getting out of there was the best thing she could have done. Now, she was free to be the kind of heroine she felt she was supposed to be. She was one who stood for what was right, based on her own merit, rather than having an overlording autocrat telling her whom to kill or a band of drug-addled psychotics having her burn down buildings.

“Ready when you are,” Kipland said quietly.

Realizing she’d gotten distracted with her musings, Roxxy reached her hand into the energy surrounding her and rolled it around at the wrist. Some of the electricity coalesced into her palm as she willed it to gather. She did the same with her other hand as she thrust out a chop at her opponent. With the way her art worked, the energy orb would explode concussively against him, possibly throwing him back.

Kipland caught the hit on his forearm and let out a bark. It wasn’t pain or surprise, just a shout that an artist would yell while attacking or even deflecting. She attacked with her other hand and received a similar response. This time, he deflected her at the wrist, however, causing the burst to splash harmlessly to his side.

She waved both arms simultaneously in front of him, then thrust them at him, sending a larger, more powerful burst into his midsection at a moment when he wasn’t able to step out of the way. He blocked this with both forearms, but was pushed backwards a couple inches.

“Nice,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It was like the Stooges!” the portly man, Roland Grey, shouted, “All that was missing was the ‘whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!’”

This drew chuckles from the rest of the audience. Sarah, sitting next to him, smirked and punched the rotund observer in the arm, causing him to give a chuckle and offer a sugary treat to the small Kennedy.

“Don’t you try to make him hyper!” she shouted.

“See, that mind-reading thing, that’s cheating!” her brother chuckled.

Roxxy took a moment to chuckle at that and Kip waited for her to get it out of her system. When she was composed, she started rolling her hands around like she was grasping a ball. A golden orb formed between her palms and a moment later, she slammed it to the deck, causing a burst to radiate from her. Kip was hit and taken off balance. She lunged for him with a kick aimed at his midsection, but he planted his feet and it felt like she’d kicked a wall when she connected with his chest.

He shoved her back, but she bent over backwards, planted her palms and rolled into a back handspring to recover at a distance from him. She was surprised at how quickly he was back in her face, however, and gave a few quick chops in her surprise. Little pops and bursts sounded, and her opponent cushioned the impacts of each of them. She saw his eyes were glowing white again.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she took a breath, flexed her arms, shoulders, and fingers. She felt her skin tingle and she started to rock around in a circle as she waved her arms about herself. The energy swirled about her in a violent shade of purple. Kip arched his eyebrow at this, but stood his ground. Roxxy thrust the eventual orb at him and a deafening boom caused some of the audience to react with shouts of surprise.

When Roxanne opened her eyes to see what she’d done, Kipland was still standing, having blocked the hit with his forearms, just as he had the other strike. The veins and arteries on his arms were glowing with white light that was gently fading. The look on his face showed that he was surprised, though, prompting the heroine to smile proudly.

“That was a good hit,” he said, “That hurt a Hell of a lot more than that earlier one.”

“Sorry,” she replied before biting her lower lip again.

Kip smiled back to her and dropped out of his combat stance. She did the same and they bowed to each other. When they rose, he took her hand gave it a shake as he looked up into her eyes with a friendly smile.

“Don’t be. It was a good demonstration. I hope someday soon we’ll get to work togeth-“

A beeping from the corner of the ring interrupted him and he turned to it. His communicator was warbling a particular alarm, one that he had set for emergency calls. He bounded for it and answered.

“Kip!” his own voice came through the speakers tinnily, but something sounded off.

“Aaron?” he said back, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been made, Kip…” Aaron took a moment to cough, “I need help…”

Kipland listened breathlessly as his adoptive brother informed him of where to find him. Despite the recent workout, his blood was running cold. The Malta Group knew that his Praetorian double had been watching them for the C.I.A. team of Crimson and Indigo. That cough could only mean that the first team had only barely failed at killing him and time was of the essence.

“I gotta go!” he shouted as he strapped on his communicator, jumped out of the ring and started running for the teleportation chamber, “Tell Nester to expect a call shortly!”

“I’m on it!” Roland shouted as he started dialing his own.

Sarah was holding her adoptive son and frowning. Her eyes were glowing with a pink light and her husband was pulling up his own communicator to contact the Paragon Police Department and get emergency crews to Aaron’s location and hopefully hold off further Malta Group forces.

Roxanne watched in open-mouthed surprise. She was stunned that the situation had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. She didn’t know Aaron Durj, but she hoped he was okay. Everybody was so willing to help each other at the drop of a hat, too, that she couldn’t help but feel a sudden sense of warmth and belonging despite the tension in the air.

Once again, he’d been called in. They did this every couple of weeks, but it was becoming more frequent. Life as a Malta Group Operative was growing more difficult every day.

They had to maintain a façade of a normal life. They had to blend in with the populace. They had to see this bizarre world of heroes and villains, warriors and wizards, monsters and myths and cut to the heart of how they were pulling the wool over everybody else’s eyes. They think they can move to conquer humanity, but they weren’t counting on the Malta Group standing in their way.

At least, that was one of the lines fed to the members. Others involved guiding humanity toward a better future. Others involved protecting the American way and freedom by any means necessary.

In the end, Kipland Aaron Durj knew it was all bogus. The people running the Malta Group were only concerned with their own success, money and power. In many ways, they were even worse than Tyrant. Apparently, the leader of the Praetorians was subtly pushing the populace to obey him unquestioningly. If the Malta Group had control of even half the mind control power he had, they would throw the switch in an instant.

The Praetorians weren’t what was concerning him at the moment, though. Heroes like his double from this Earth were handling that situation, and as far as he could tell, they were handling it well. There was a bit of an invasion in mid-May that raised some eyebrows, but the heroes were able to push back the forces assailing them, despite “Emperor” Cole’s declaration that the heroic populace wasn’t ready.

What was concerning him was the nature of this meeting. The information the other operatives were reporting was nothing new. New legislation in Congress, patrols of various heroes in the towns that made up Paragon, the latest capers and incursions from the freaks of the Isles… It was all old-hat and they had covered most of it the previous week.

Finally, one of the men at the head table cleared his throat and waved the other operatives in attendance to lower their hands. The gunslinger turned to the cell’s operations commander, Wolf Killer 4-4-7, and asked why they’d been called in.

“I’ve received word that several cells have been infiltrated,” the commander replied, then turned to the rest of the operatives in the meeting chamber, “It seems our opponents in the Central Intelligence Agency, Crimson and Indigo especially, have found a way to seed our ranks with traitors to the cause.”

There was a general tumult. Aaron thumbed the guns at his hips and silently gave thanks to the fact that these lunatics were strong proponents of the second amendment. Of course, on that note, they were all armed, too. His only hope lied in the possibility that they didn’t know he was the one assigned to keep watch over them.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Wolf Killer shouted at the operatives, “SILENCE! Now, the other traitors are being dealt with as we speak…”

Crap.

“Do we have a traitor among us?” the gunslinger asked.

“Indeed we do…”

Wolf Hunter’s gaze settled on Aaron. He gazed back coolly into the other masked man’s cold blue eyes. The other operatives turned to look at Durj, some with puzzled expressions, others with hate and rage creasing their brows.

“Center of the room with a sixty foot diameter,” was all he said to answer their looks.

“What was that?” Wolf Killer growled, his body trembling with barely restrained anger.

“My position!” Aaron replied as he bolted from his chair, guns blazing armor-piercing ammunition into the men surrounding him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Pop Roxxy returned to the ring, a small group had gathered to watch. She recognized some of the androids as being other Ryats, but she didn’t know their designations. She was glad none of them were the Dreadnaught, though. A couple others were the portly son of the group’s namesake and his business associate who she only knew as King Slater, though he didn’t look or act like any royalty she’d ever heard of.

They were applauding Kipland, who had just finished up practicing one of his katas. It ended with a flying spinning foot stomp after a leg sweep. Upon seeing him slam to the deck of the ring and the way his eyes flashed, Roxanne couldn’t help but swallow the lump that formed in her throat.

“Oh good,” he announced, his fierce face suddenly softening as he hopped back to his feet, “Are you ready?”

“I… I don’t know…” the blue-skinned woman replied, biting her lower lip worriedly.

Kipland smiled at her worry and shook his head. He gestured for her to get into the ring and she started walking into it. She could hear two more people following behind her and she looked back to see a white-haired woman carrying a small, dark-skinned child and a blonde man next to her.

“Hi!” the white-haired girl chirped, “You must be Roxxy! I’m Sarah. These are Kennedy and Joe.”

“Um, hello…”

“Relax,” Kipland said as he helped her into the ring, “I was thinking you could be on the offensive, I’ll be blocking. I was thinking about what you said about my style and it probably wouldn’t do well for the two of us to be striking each other. So, you attack, I’ll block.”

This was a much more welcome form of sparring for the former Praetorian enforcer. She nodded and took a stance. Her opponent took a stance with his arms up to guard his head and provide some coverage for his torso, similar to a Muy Thai boxer.

It seemed comical to Roxanne. She stood at six-foot-two, but this leader of Grey’s Army stood at five-foot-five at most! Still, she didn’t let that make her think she could just punt him into the next room. She’d seen footage of what the little guy was capable of doing to opponents even bigger than her. He’d torn apart robots, smashed cyborgs to pieces and laid low impossibly bulked out musclemen. This wasn’t counting all the times he’d led the charge against the many towering monstrosities that plagued the city.

She relaxed her control and the energy that she constantly felt coursing through her skin radiated from her. It came in so many different colors, it was hard to remember that it was still all the same electricity. She didn’t know the science behind it, but apparently her flesh had minerals that made the light of the plasma “pop” in different colors. Because it was like the design on the bag for a brand of candy, one of her mentors had suggested the name “Pop Roxxy,” and she kept it. She wanted to be a social protector, one that the populace would find approachable.

But then, that was before she learned how very twisted and wrong things were in Praetoria. Those who were loyal were forced to commit atrocities counter to the very law they were sworn to uphold. However, the alternative wasn’t much better. Those who stood against such behavior… Without the guidance of any kind of morality, just the base need to achieve some ethereal brand of freedom… The myriad pathways into personal corruption were too numerous to think about.

Getting out of there was the best thing she could have done. Now, she was free to be the kind of heroine she felt she was supposed to be. She was one who stood for what was right, based on her own merit, rather than having an overlording autocrat telling her whom to kill or a band of drug-addled psychotics having her burn down buildings.

“Ready when you are,” Kipland said quietly.

Realizing she’d gotten distracted with her musings, Roxxy reached her hand into the energy surrounding her and rolled it around at the wrist. Some of the electricity coalesced into her palm as she willed it to gather. She did the same with her other hand as she thrust out a chop at her opponent. With the way her art worked, the energy orb would explode concussively against him, possibly throwing him back.

Kipland caught the hit on his forearm and let out a bark. It wasn’t pain or surprise, just a shout that an artist would yell while attacking or even deflecting. She attacked with her other hand and received a similar response. This time, he deflected her at the wrist, however, causing the burst to splash harmlessly to his side.

She waved both arms simultaneously in front of him, then thrust them at him, sending a larger, more powerful burst into his midsection at a moment when he wasn’t able to step out of the way. He blocked this with both forearms, but was pushed backwards a couple inches.

“Nice,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It was like the Stooges!” the portly man, Roland Grey, shouted, “All that was missing was the ‘whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo!’”

This drew chuckles from the rest of the audience. Sarah, sitting next to him, smirked and punched the rotund observer in the arm, causing him to give a chuckle and offer a sugary treat to the small Kennedy.

“Don’t you try to make him hyper!” she shouted.

“See, that mind-reading thing, that’s cheating!” her brother chuckled.

Roxxy took a moment to chuckle at that and Kip waited for her to get it out of her system. When she was composed, she started rolling her hands around like she was grasping a ball. A golden orb formed between her palms and a moment later, she slammed it to the deck, causing a burst to radiate from her. Kip was hit and taken off balance. She lunged for him with a kick aimed at his midsection, but he planted his feet and it felt like she’d kicked a wall when she connected with his chest.

He shoved her back, but she bent over backwards, planted her palms and rolled into a back handspring to recover at a distance from him. She was surprised at how quickly he was back in her face, however, and gave a few quick chops in her surprise. Little pops and bursts sounded, and her opponent cushioned the impacts of each of them. She saw his eyes were glowing white again.

She didn’t know what else to do, so she took a breath, flexed her arms, shoulders, and fingers. She felt her skin tingle and she started to rock around in a circle as she waved her arms about herself. The energy swirled about her in a violent shade of purple. Kip arched his eyebrow at this, but stood his ground. Roxxy thrust the eventual orb at him and a deafening boom caused some of the audience to react with shouts of surprise.

When Roxanne opened her eyes to see what she’d done, Kipland was still standing, having blocked the hit with his forearms, just as he had the other strike. The veins and arteries on his arms were glowing with white light that was gently fading. The look on his face showed that he was surprised, though, prompting the heroine to smile proudly.

“That was a good hit,” he said, “That hurt a Hell of a lot more than that earlier one.”

“Sorry,” she replied before biting her lower lip again.

Kip smiled back to her and dropped out of his combat stance. She did the same and they bowed to each other. When they rose, he took her hand gave it a shake as he looked up into her eyes with a friendly smile.

“Don’t be. It was a good demonstration. I hope someday soon we’ll get to work togeth-“

A beeping from the corner of the ring interrupted him and he turned to it. His communicator was warbling a particular alarm, one that he had set for emergency calls. He bounded for it and answered.

“Kip!” his own voice came through the speakers tinnily, but something sounded off.

“Aaron?” he said back, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been made, Kip…” Aaron took a moment to cough, “I need help…”

Kipland listened breathlessly as his adoptive brother informed him of where to find him. Despite the recent workout, his blood was running cold. The Malta Group knew that his Praetorian double had been watching them for the C.I.A. team of Crimson and Indigo. That cough could only mean that the first team had only barely failed at killing him and time was of the essence.

“I gotta go!” he shouted as he strapped on his communicator, jumped out of the ring and started running for the teleportation chamber, “Tell Nester to expect a call shortly!”

“I’m on it!” Roland shouted as he started dialing his own.

Sarah was holding her adoptive son and frowning. Her eyes were glowing with a pink light and her husband was pulling up his own communicator to contact the Paragon Police Department and get emergency crews to Aaron’s location and hopefully hold off further Malta Group forces.

Roxanne watched in open-mouthed surprise. She was stunned that the situation had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. She didn’t know Aaron Durj, but she hoped he was okay. Everybody was so willing to help each other at the drop of a hat, too, that she couldn’t help but feel a sudden sense of warmth and belonging despite the tension in the air.

Grey's Army: Dealing with Praetorians

Well, I finally got inspired to make another story based on my characters and the City of Heroes universe. Let's see how this one turns out.

For those of you curious, the thread with the storyline is here:

Protector: Day of Vigilance

Kipland found one of the new recruits to the group practicing her abilities in the ring that had been built by the former Brutal Warriors. With blue skin and hair colored purple and gold, she was a little odd in the group mostly comprised of blue collar humans and former humans.

Pop Roxxy was having trouble fitting in with Grey’s Army. Her physical differences weren’t the issue. After a few years of working in Paragon and the Rogue Isles, the membership of the group had gotten used to some strange things, so her difference in pigmentation was the least of their concerns.

No, it was where she came from that concerned them. Over the past year, the heroes, heroines, criminals, villains and monsters of the world have had to come to a shocking realization: There are alternate universes beyond our own and they are coming here. The scientists at Portal Corp and Arachnos had come to call this world Primal Earth. Rikti Earth was, of course, the designation for the home dimension of the alien (yet all too human) Rikti.

Then there was Praetoria. Praetorian Earth was the home of people not too dissimilar from Primal Earth. They had humans. They had superheroes. They had villains.

However, where the greatest among Primal Earth’s heroes, Statesman, had taken to a role of sheltering humanity from incredible threats, Praetorian Earth’s champion, who was still Marcus Cole, took a more direct and decisive role in his world’s affairs.

He conquered it.

Under the leadership of Marcus Cole, the meta humans took control of their world, lording over it with an iron fist. Humanity was subjected to cruel, indescribable horrors while a patchwork resistance worked to overthrow their Tyrant and restore freedom and balance to their shattered world. It was believed to be a horrible, backwards place where the people who should have been heroes were villains and those who should have been villains were likewise switched around.

At least, that was what the residents of Primal Earth had been led to believe. When Kipland met his Praetorian, he was surprised to find a gunslinger dressed similar to a Malta Group operative. The young man had also turned out to be friendly and helpful, turning his efforts toward assisting Freedom Corps, Portal Corp and the U.S. government by getting intelligence on Praetorian Earth, and later on the Malta Group when his cell was exposed and he had to flee to Primal Earth again.

Then, a little under a year ago, the Praetorians started coming to Primal Earth. While there had been battles and skirmishes with the Tyrant’s forces before then, this was an entirely different kind of invasion.

It was immigration, a trickling exodus. Praetorians were moving to Primal Earth and helping fight the rampant criminality… Or they were joining Arachnos and assisting the organization in its nefarious purposes. Or they were just exploring this world so very different from their own.

The stories they told of Praetoria were very different from the horrors they’d dealt with in prior years. In fact, upon visiting Praetoria in later investigations, the meta humans of Primal Earth found a world that had apparently changed overnight.

Many argued that it was just far more probable that, due to the nature of prior visits, the heroes battling the Praetorians before had simply only viewed the planet in a limited scope. They couldn’t truly explore because of how their investigations were pushing them from one battle to the next with Tyrant’s army.

Some who had come before the mass exodus, however (like the alternate Kipland), indicated that they didn’t remember the bizarre history being told about Praetorian Earth. For them, there had been no Hamidon War, no great empire or wondrous city, and no benevolence. Tyrant was a monster to them, a man who took control because he wanted it and let his loyal goons perform cruel experiments on the populace for whatever reason they deemed fit, be it for research or just for fun.

In the end, the reasons for the shift weren’t wholly known. What was known was that the people coming to Primal Earth weren’t the monsters and lunatics they were once thought to be. They were complex, driven, and many were troubled, like Roxxy.

“How’re you holding up?” Kipland asked as he watched her go through her motions.

“I guess I’m doing alright,” she replied between strikes at the air.

Hers was a peculiar martial art. Her body emitted an electric field, much like Raging James, but it was a result of her mutation rather than a magical power. While the effect on her environment remained similar to the older man’s, the efforts she had to go to in order to control it were much more involved.

In Praetoria, all meta humans are given training, by “Emperor Cole’s” Powers Division, to harness their extranormal abilities effectively. The super strong learned how not to hurt people unintentionally, pyrokinetics learned how not to incinerate everything they saw In Roxxy’s case, she had to learn meditation, controlling her emotions and a peculiar martial art that seemed to gather her radiating, chaotic energy and focus it into concussive bursts.

She had learned her art well and practiced every day on it, but the look on her face during this session indicated this was more than just normal practice. She was worried about something.

“Um… Colonel?” she asked as she took a moment to realign herself.

“You can call me Kip, Roxanne,” he replied, “That colonel speech I gave Daniel was just for him and his friend. We’ve had problems with Arachnos, and I needed to make it clear that we’re not going to be putting up with any crap from the two of them.”

“Oh. Okay…”

She held her stance for a moment, but her hands fell to her sides as she stopped practicing. Turning back to Kipland, he could see she was now visibly frowning.

“Kip… I have a question.”

“Just ask it, then,” he replied as he sat down in one of the leather couches.

“Why did you recruit the Dreadnaught?” she asked, “I mean… When I was working for the Powers Division and… Aiding the Resistance… There were stories of that machine circulating! You know it detonated-!?”

“I know what he did,” the young man sighed, “The Ryat Source loaded into our supercomputer has already pulled detailed logs from his memory. That’s not the only horrible thing he’s done, and his behavior since coming here has only barely been restrained. The other Ryats are keeping an eye on him, but… He’s got this ‘Us or Them’ mentality that is not looked kindly upon by the rest of the community out here.”

“So, why-?”

“We’re responsible for him. Our technology specialist, Sheldon, built him… But not like that… Your leaders attacked our dimension a few times before, and in one of those attacks, we sent Dreadnaught over to wreak some havoc.”

“They say Neuron rebuilt it after its wreckage was found in the remains of a detonated power plant…”

Kipland rolled his eyes. That was information he would need to remember later. He wondered if the mad genius and speed freak of the Praetorians had loaded some kind of tracker into the machine’s hardware.

“Look, Roxanne, you let us deal with Ryat Dreadnaught. If he goes too far, well… The other Ryats have said they’ll take care of it. They had to deal with another of theirs who went rogue, they said they’ll deal with this situation, too.”

Roxxy didn’t know what to think about that. She’d met some of the other androids in the Ryat series, and while they were all odd, quirky, and wholly unlike the aesthetically pleasant Clockwork Robots in her home dimension, but they seemed effective enough. Still, most of them didn’t seem to take the situation as seriously as she felt they should.

“That’s not all, is it, though?” Kip asked, “What else is bothering you?”

“Well…” the gold-and-magenta haired girl sat in the middle of the ring and frowned at him, “I… I’m having trouble figuring things out. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Are you making friends? We’ve got lots of people in the group who are great people… A few of them are even Praetorians like you…”

“I know some of them, too… But it’s not just people… It’s purpose! What am I supposed to do here? What difference can I make that you don’t already have so many other heroes making?”

Realizing her concern, Kipland stood from his chair and walked to the staircase next to the ring. Climbing in with her, he sat down next to her and gripped her shoulder comfortingly.

“I almost wondered that about myself, once. There’s no easy answer to the question, but this might help. You’re the difference. Who you are makes that difference. You’ve got heart, Roxanne. You must have, or you wouldn’t be questioning my willingness to bring a rampaging machine into the ranks of Grey’s Army. Most other heroes would just shrug it off and keep their heads low, for fear of some kind of reprisal from favoritism. You’ve got a care for what is right, and so long as you keep that in your heart, you’ll always be making a difference. It may not be major, it may not be epic, but sometimes the little differences are the important ones.”

“Thanks,” Roxanne smiled and let out a sigh of relief, “It helps.”

Kipland helped her to her feet. Before she could leave, however, he tapped her shoulder.

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that style of yours,” he explained as she turned with a questioning glance, “I was wondering if you’d like to spar sometime so I could see it firsthand.”

“Oh!” she replied, her smile widening a little, “Well, I don’t know how effective my style would be for you… From the footage I’ve seen of your fights, you’re more of a ‘smash through’ fighter. Mine is more of a dance with… Shoves and punches… Heh.”

“I use a little bit of everything I come across,” Kip shrugged, “You never know when that little extra bit will help.”

“Okay, well… I could use a drink right now, but I’d be up to spar in a little bit if you’re still up to it.”

“Sounds good,” Kip smiled to her and started keying up his communicator to shift his outfit to his sparring suit, “I’ll see you in a few. I’ll just be warming up in here…”

As Pop Roxxy left the room to head for the refreshment area, there was a bright flash behind her. She gave a parting glance to the ring to see that Kipland was no longer wearing a business suit, but was now clad in a pair of athletic sweat pants and a red sash. His upper torso, however, was bare and she saw that he was powerfully and athletically built. He was already engaging in stretches and exercises as she turned away.

“Damn,” she gasped when she felt she had walked out of earshot, “I knew he was cute, but I didn’t know he was hot, too…”

Kipland found one of the new recruits to the group practicing her abilities in the ring that had been built by the former Brutal Warriors. With blue skin and hair colored purple and gold, she was a little odd in the group mostly comprised of blue collar humans and former humans.

Pop Roxxy was having trouble fitting in with Grey’s Army. Her physical differences weren’t the issue. After a few years of working in Paragon and the Rogue Isles, the membership of the group had gotten used to some strange things, so her difference in pigmentation was the least of their concerns.

No, it was where she came from that concerned them. Over the past year, the heroes, heroines, criminals, villains and monsters of the world have had to come to a shocking realization: There are alternate universes beyond our own and they are coming here. The scientists at Portal Corp and Arachnos had come to call this world Primal Earth. Rikti Earth was, of course, the designation for the home dimension of the alien (yet all too human) Rikti.

Then there was Praetoria. Praetorian Earth was the home of people not too dissimilar from Primal Earth. They had humans. They had superheroes. They had villains.

However, where the greatest among Primal Earth’s heroes, Statesman, had taken to a role of sheltering humanity from incredible threats, Praetorian Earth’s champion, who was still Marcus Cole, took a more direct and decisive role in his world’s affairs.

He conquered it.

Under the leadership of Marcus Cole, the meta humans took control of their world, lording over it with an iron fist. Humanity was subjected to cruel, indescribable horrors while a patchwork resistance worked to overthrow their Tyrant and restore freedom and balance to their shattered world. It was believed to be a horrible, backwards place where the people who should have been heroes were villains and those who should have been villains were likewise switched around.

At least, that was what the residents of Primal Earth had been led to believe. When Kipland met his Praetorian, he was surprised to find a gunslinger dressed similar to a Malta Group operative. The young man had also turned out to be friendly and helpful, turning his efforts toward assisting Freedom Corps, Portal Corp and the U.S. government by getting intelligence on Praetorian Earth, and later on the Malta Group when his cell was exposed and he had to flee to Primal Earth again.

Then, a little under a year ago, the Praetorians started coming to Primal Earth. While there had been battles and skirmishes with the Tyrant’s forces before then, this was an entirely different kind of invasion.

It was immigration, a trickling exodus. Praetorians were moving to Primal Earth and helping fight the rampant criminality… Or they were joining Arachnos and assisting the organization in its nefarious purposes. Or they were just exploring this world so very different from their own.

The stories they told of Praetoria were very different from the horrors they’d dealt with in prior years. In fact, upon visiting Praetoria in later investigations, the meta humans of Primal Earth found a world that had apparently changed overnight.

Many argued that it was just far more probable that, due to the nature of prior visits, the heroes battling the Praetorians before had simply only viewed the planet in a limited scope. They couldn’t truly explore because of how their investigations were pushing them from one battle to the next with Tyrant’s army.

Some who had come before the mass exodus, however (like the alternate Kipland), indicated that they didn’t remember the bizarre history being told about Praetorian Earth. For them, there had been no Hamidon War, no great empire or wondrous city, and no benevolence. Tyrant was a monster to them, a man who took control because he wanted it and let his loyal goons perform cruel experiments on the populace for whatever reason they deemed fit, be it for research or just for fun.

In the end, the reasons for the shift weren’t wholly known. What was known was that the people coming to Primal Earth weren’t the monsters and lunatics they were once thought to be. They were complex, driven, and many were troubled, like Roxxy.

“How’re you holding up?” Kipland asked as he watched her go through her motions.

“I guess I’m doing alright,” she replied between strikes at the air.

Hers was a peculiar martial art. Her body emitted an electric field, much like Raging James, but it was a result of her mutation rather than a magical power. While the effect on her environment remained similar to the older man’s, the efforts she had to go to in order to control it were much more involved.

In Praetoria, all meta humans are given training, by “Emperor Cole’s” Powers Division, to harness their extranormal abilities effectively. The super strong learned how not to hurt people unintentionally, pyrokinetics learned how not to incinerate everything they saw In Roxxy’s case, she had to learn meditation, controlling her emotions and a peculiar martial art that seemed to gather her radiating, chaotic energy and focus it into concussive bursts.

She had learned her art well and practiced every day on it, but the look on her face during this session indicated this was more than just normal practice. She was worried about something.

“Um… Colonel?” she asked as she took a moment to realign herself.

“You can call me Kip, Roxanne,” he replied, “That colonel speech I gave Daniel was just for him and his friend. We’ve had problems with Arachnos, and I needed to make it clear that we’re not going to be putting up with any crap from the two of them.”

“Oh. Okay…”

She held her stance for a moment, but her hands fell to her sides as she stopped practicing. Turning back to Kipland, he could see she was now visibly frowning.

“Kip… I have a question.”

“Just ask it, then,” he replied as he sat down in one of the leather couches.

“Why did you recruit the Dreadnaught?” she asked, “I mean… When I was working for the Powers Division and… Aiding the Resistance… There were stories of that machine circulating! You know it detonated-!?”

“I know what he did,” the young man sighed, “The Ryat Source loaded into our supercomputer has already pulled detailed logs from his memory. That’s not the only horrible thing he’s done, and his behavior since coming here has only barely been restrained. The other Ryats are keeping an eye on him, but… He’s got this ‘Us or Them’ mentality that is not looked kindly upon by the rest of the community out here.”

“So, why-?”

“We’re responsible for him. Our technology specialist, Sheldon, built him… But not like that… Your leaders attacked our dimension a few times before, and in one of those attacks, we sent Dreadnaught over to wreak some havoc.”

“They say Neuron rebuilt it after its wreckage was found in the remains of a detonated power plant…”

Kipland rolled his eyes. That was information he would need to remember later. He wondered if the mad genius and speed freak of the Praetorians had loaded some kind of tracker into the machine’s hardware.

“Look, Roxanne, you let us deal with Ryat Dreadnaught. If he goes too far, well… The other Ryats have said they’ll take care of it. They had to deal with another of theirs who went rogue, they said they’ll deal with this situation, too.”

Roxxy didn’t know what to think about that. She’d met some of the other androids in the Ryat series, and while they were all odd, quirky, and wholly unlike the aesthetically pleasant Clockwork Robots in her home dimension, but they seemed effective enough. Still, most of them didn’t seem to take the situation as seriously as she felt they should.

“That’s not all, is it, though?” Kip asked, “What else is bothering you?”

“Well…” the gold-and-magenta haired girl sat in the middle of the ring and frowned at him, “I… I’m having trouble figuring things out. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Are you making friends? We’ve got lots of people in the group who are great people… A few of them are even Praetorians like you…”

“I know some of them, too… But it’s not just people… It’s purpose! What am I supposed to do here? What difference can I make that you don’t already have so many other heroes making?”

Realizing her concern, Kipland stood from his chair and walked to the staircase next to the ring. Climbing in with her, he sat down next to her and gripped her shoulder comfortingly.

“I almost wondered that about myself, once. There’s no easy answer to the question, but this might help. You’re the difference. Who you are makes that difference. You’ve got heart, Roxanne. You must have, or you wouldn’t be questioning my willingness to bring a rampaging machine into the ranks of Grey’s Army. Most other heroes would just shrug it off and keep their heads low, for fear of some kind of reprisal from favoritism. You’ve got a care for what is right, and so long as you keep that in your heart, you’ll always be making a difference. It may not be major, it may not be epic, but sometimes the little differences are the important ones.”

“Thanks,” Roxanne smiled and let out a sigh of relief, “It helps.”

Kipland helped her to her feet. Before she could leave, however, he tapped her shoulder.

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that style of yours,” he explained as she turned with a questioning glance, “I was wondering if you’d like to spar sometime so I could see it firsthand.”

“Oh!” she replied, her smile widening a little, “Well, I don’t know how effective my style would be for you… From the footage I’ve seen of your fights, you’re more of a ‘smash through’ fighter. Mine is more of a dance with… Shoves and punches… Heh.”

“I use a little bit of everything I come across,” Kip shrugged, “You never know when that little extra bit will help.”

“Okay, well… I could use a drink right now, but I’d be up to spar in a little bit if you’re still up to it.”

“Sounds good,” Kip smiled to her and started keying up his communicator to shift his outfit to his sparring suit, “I’ll see you in a few. I’ll just be warming up in here…”

As Pop Roxxy left the room to head for the refreshment area, there was a bright flash behind her. She gave a parting glance to the ring to see that Kipland was no longer wearing a business suit, but was now clad in a pair of athletic sweat pants and a red sash. His upper torso, however, was bare and she saw that he was powerfully and athletically built. He was already engaging in stretches and exercises as she turned away.

“Damn,” she gasped when she felt she had walked out of earshot, “I knew he was cute, but I didn’t know he was hot, too…”

My familiarity has bred contempt for much of the story in this game. It's not so much the "I could have done better" variety (which has only plagued me in two situations), but just the "I've seen this before, so I don't really care too much..." kind.

I remember that "Oh Wretched Man" left me humming sadly. There was also a mission in which your hero was sent to take down a Rikti Commander (likely a Traditionalist) and the depressed speech he gives you at the end about how he will miss his soldiers and his family tugged at my heartstrings.

That was a fun arc to run, too.

Too bad it was so short, but, eh, what're you gonna do?

I did this for the first time last night. Jebus, I didn't even know what was going on, the League was broken up into God-knows how many different little groups, and Antimatter was all over the place...

Fortunately, we had a dedicated team who took advantage of the general chaos the rest of us were causing and methodically pushed through the trial for us, securing tower after tower until finally we found ourselves face-to-face with Antimatter... Which looks like a difficult fight on paper.

In practice, it's not that tough. You just need to know when to get really, REALLY mean.

Heh. Cute!

Indeed, it's /bugged.

Tested it again, today. Never pressed Ctrl (besides, that would have altered my attack chains, too, so I would have noticed it).

It also affects normal teams.

Running a TF last night, I accidentally ruined one player's experience.

I right-clicked on the New Team Interface to highlight the player's name. The drop-down menu that popped up clearly indicated that "N" was the button to press to edit the note I had on the player.

The result when I pressed "N" on my keyboard was to turn the Task Force team into a League and unceremoniously kick the other player into Team 2, thus making her unable to finish the Task Force with us.

Thank goodness she still got the reward table after we finished. I still would have tried to make it up to her, but that was just... Heartwrenching to say the least. Everything had been going fine and to have drama over a glitch like that, especially when we were so close to success, it was unsettling.

Anyway... After the TF was over, I tested it on another player, thinking maybe I'd mis-typed. I highlighted another player's name and right-clicked, just to be sure. Sure enough, "N" remains the button to press for bringing up a Note. I typed "M" and nothing happened. "B" and nothing happened. "N" again and BAM! Task Force Team (I hadn't talked to the contact yet) turns into a League and the selected player is sent to Team 2.

This can't be working as intended.

I'm thinking this pricing makes sense.

I'm thinking "Freebies."

This is what knocked me off the forum?

For the love of...

Happy birthday, Rasta.

Life goes on.

Battledome.

Big dome. Lots of weapons. Water and food sloughed in on troughs. Bathroom in the north wall.

People enter, do battle and leave. Many die. A great many.

It will be glorious.

I'm not arguing for a solo path to Incarnate power. It would be nice, but it would just be the same in the end. Another grind. What I'm asking for is just a wider range of availability.

Look, when we unlock our Alpha Slot, we have a number of paths to choose from in order to craft and slot that first Incarnate Ability. We don't wind up doing the ITF over and over and over again just to unlock all of the different Alpha abilities. We COULD, but we don't HAVE to. It doesn't wind up boring the player to tears having to do one little event ad nauseum. If I feel like doing the Apex TF or the Hamidon Raid, these options are perfectly valid and viable for the Alpha Slot. If I don't want to do them, I could still do Reichsman content, a Lady Grey, or even just crank through a few missions and get random Shards. I can still experience the rest of the game and not feel like I'm slacking behind.

The other abilities, though, are inexplicably tied solely to the Incarnate Trials. In order to improve in them without doing the trials, you have to slow your progress to a pace that makes snails look like lightning.

Threads may drop faster (MUCH faster) than Shards, but compared to the availability (Shards are everywhere, Threads are in just a few situations), Shards are still in greater supply. The Exchange Rate between them doesn't take into account the difference in rarity in terms of drop rates or crafting abilities, either. Twelve Shards could net you an Uncommon piece of Salvage. For the same thing in the new Incarnate Salvage, you would need Sixty Threads.

But then you don't need to farm for the new Incarnate Salvage. Just run the trial a few more times. Downgrade all that upper-tier salvage into the lower-rank salvage you need. Burn Threads to sidegrade your salvage if you messed up and chose the wrong piece of salvage (and may the Gods help you if you picked the wrong Very Rare, sidegrade costs for that are bizarrely astronomical).

If you want to continue to improve your character, it's impractical to stop doing the Trials. If you want to improve your character, it's impractical to do the Trials just a few times... In a row. You need to do them a lot. Only they improve your character's other Incarnate abilities, and they're the only decent way to unlock them in the first place.

I could do a TF once a week and feel like I'm making progress. Different TFs, too. Now, I'm doing these Trials daily, the same Trials again and again. I don't feel like I'm going anywhere.