Mr_Grey

Kipland didn’t waste any time. In two steps, he was inside Florio’s clumsy sweep and stepping on his left thigh. Vaulting himself up, he drove his elbow into the bigger man’s cybernetic chin, the momentum sending him crashing spectacularly to the ground.

The brassen turrets mounted on his back started firing wildly, twin rotary cannons spewing metal haphazardly across the walls, floor and ceiling. Ice coated the screaming Luke Hoss moments before the arc of ballistic fire reached him, barely saving his life. Shivering, he was surprised that he was able to move with the strange stuff coating him.

“It’s magic!” Johnny shouted as he gathered Luke and his coworker up and shoved them down the hall, “Get out of here! Go! Go!”

“You’re not letting them get away, are you!?” Matt grunted as he found himself battling a number of soldiers who had made it through the door, “Hello!? Aiding and abetting!?”

“They’re still not combatants,” Roland grumbled as he let fly two arrows, sending one of the blonde brute’s assailants screaming to the ground as he clutched at his injured bicep, “The cops can pick them up later.”

The bottleneck didn’t last. In short order, explosive rounds blasted the wall blocking the way between Kipland’s group and the Nemesis troops. They had apparently converted half of the building into a large warehouse. They were using it to field this cell of what was apparently a Nemedyne operation, and they had stockpiled it with all sorts of armaments.

The riflemen with the bizarre long-barreled blunderbuss cannons worked to reload, but the concrete beneath them suddenly rose up, forming into the shape of a man. The stone crumbled away, leaving behind the encrusted form of Dustin Simms, and the large young man proceeded to stoically pummel the soldiers.

A pair of Warhulks lumbered over to the battle from what looked to have once been a garage. Their clunky, brass, bulbous bodies hissed as they plodded into the staging area. Bright bolts of lightning struck their glass canopies, flashing from a small cloud that grew over the heads of the soldiers, cracking the glass and puncturing the seams, causing treated fluids to spew out in a fine spray. Another bolt of lightning from Michael’s fingertips and one of the Walkers caught flame.

Kip wasn’t wasting any time with Florio. Wanting to halt the spew of metal death, he leaped into the air and came crashing back down on the left gatling gun. The young man’s force was enough to crush the loading mechanism, halting its spinning and, more importantly, its firing.

The cyborg grabbed the smaller man by the wrist and yanked him aside. With a twist, Kipland was free and, after a quick roll, back on his feet and ready for more fighting. Behind the large, metal-infused man, he could see a trio of featureless, yet bright humanoid figures advancing on the Warhulks.

Matt Jones spit at some of the soldiers fighting him and walked away. The soldiers went to follow, but were stopped by a large blaze left in the portly man’s wake. Grinning to himself and flexing his fingers, he stepped up behind Florio as a massive stone mallet formed in his hands and he brought it around to smash into the big man’s back.

“Ow!” Friendly Fire shouted as he stumbled forward, “Thought that was clever, huh?”

The surviving gatling cannon swiveled around, sighted on Jones, and fired a stream of hot metal into his chest. The supernatural flames and chunks of mystical ice coating the young man kept him from being perforated, but he still turned away from the impact, shouting in pain.

“You focus on the troops!” Kipland shouted as he caught a heavy smash on his forearm, “I’ve got this!”

Dustin “King Slater” Simms was having trouble in the staging area. While he was a strong guy and his protective stone layer kept him from most of the harm, he just wasn’t able to dish out enough punishment to make the Nemesis troops stop fighting him.

That all stopped the moment one delivered a butt-stroke to his back. Feigning stumbling to the ground, Dustin reached into the concrete. Some of the soldiers who could see marveled at how his hand seemed to just sink into the stone like it was water. Their awe quickly turned to despair as the ground beneath them became a soft, thick liquid. It wasn’t enough to drown them, but walking suddenly felt like they were mired in a swamp. What was worse was that as Dustin pulled his hand free of the muck, a large hammer was withdrawn with it.

“I left this outside behind some bushes before we came in,” he grumbled as he hoisted it to full view, “I didn’t know if I’d need it…”

“Uh-oh…” one of the soldiers grunted as a bit of liquid concrete slid off the hammer’s forged edge.

With a grunt, Dustin swung the heavy hammer about, striking several soldiers in their faces and knocking them to the ground. They were held fast in the sticky mire that the concrete floor had become in the young man’s presence, freeing his attention for the others who attempted to surround him.

One of the War Hulks exploded, batting Michael out of the sky and knocking Johnny Nack to the ground. As the purple-clad young man pushed himself back to his feet, he saw that his robed high-school chum was unconscious. His illusions had also faltered, leaving him with one severely damaged (and thoroughly aggravated) War Hulk to contend with and no backup.

Most people would be afraid in this situation. However, “Notorious Nack” had faced his own fair share of villains in his days as a Las Vegas card shark. That city was home to all kinds, from petty scammers to Frost Family heavy-hitters, and he often ran into the lowest of the low who thought they could simply muscle their way through where their skill couldn’t get them. The War Hulk before him was a physical embodiment of such a philosophy, armed with cannons, claws and flamethrowers, but obviously not a clever mind.

It took another step forward, but Johnny made a throwing motion with his hand and snapped his fingers. A bright flash halted the machine in its tracks, the imprisoned pilot within disoriented by the sudden light. A moment later, he heard the red-haired young man’s high toned voice making an audacious announcement.

“You, sir, are about to discover why they call me the P-I-M-P!”

Nack drew the dark wand from his hip and slid it until he was grasping the center of the haft of crooked wood. He held it out to the side and gestured to it, waiting until he was sure the Walker’s pilot was paying attention.

“Behold! The Pimp Cane!” he continued, “You’ve seen others like it, but there are few that are quite like this…”

The War Hulk leveled its cannon on the purple-clad young man and fired. Johnny spun around, narrowly avoiding the trajectory of the shell. Crouched to one knee, he held the wand across his body and aimed one end at the assaulting machine. A burst of dark particles erupted from it and slammed into the surface of the Hulk’s canopy, fragmenting the glass.

“…We’re all familiar with THAT enchantment,” he continued, “But then there’s THIS one!”

Twirling the wand as he spun around again, he returned to the position he vacated, still crouched, but brought the wand up to rest on his shoulder. Looking like some sort of garish soldier, he sighted down along the length of the mystical weapon. Its blue runs flared brightly suddenly and a burst of ice erupted from the weapon where just a moment prior negative energy had blasted. The chunks struck the glass with enough force to shatter it and the Warhulk exploded as the preservative fluids inside the tank struck the flame of the flamethrowing cannon.

The blast rolled harmlessly over Johnny, leaving him blinking and surprised. However, his shock didn’t keep him from leaping to his feet and dancing in triumph.

“Aw! YEAH! That’s right!” he cheered while weaving about like a corkscrew, using the cane for balance, “Who’s the man? I’m the man!”

He failed to notice several soldiers had gathered around him. Or at least, he seemed to. Dustin was too far away to help him, still battling with the remains of his group. Michael still lied on the ground a few yards away, out cold. Up in the offices, he could hear Kipland and the monstrous leader of the group exchanging blows and the bellowing battlecry of Matt Jones indicated he was dragging a few of his assailants to the concrete from the top of the steel-grated stairs.

“FREEZE!” one shouted, “Cease your fighting! We’ve got two of yours down here!”

Loud crashes could be heard, followed by dull thudding as Jones proceeded to pummel his opponents, smashing in their brass masks with stone-plated fists. He was completely lost to his battle rage. The sounds of Kipland and Florio battling continued.

Roland, however, had an arrow knocked on his compound bow and was aiming it at the group around his old schoolmate. Johnny seemed to notice the troops and stopped dancing, giving a smug grin and shaking his head disappointedly.

“Stop your friends!” the apparent Colonel shouted, “Stop them, or we’ll turn your friend here into red mist!”

“Well, that’s hardly flattering,” the purple-clad red-head quipped as he twiddled his fingers and a deck of cards appeared in his free hand.

“Drop the cards! DROP THE CARDS!” the soldiers shouted, bringing their rifles closer to him.

Smiling broadly, Notorious Nack complied, and as each card fell, a bright flash erupted from the face, resulting in a rapid-fire strobe effect. Blinded, the soldiers let out a shout and grabbed for their eyes with their trigger hands.

Blinking the light from their eyes, they tried to sight back in on Johnny, only to be greeted by a loud flapping sound. A moment later, the Colonel who had threatened to turn him into a red mist just seconds earlier felt something sharp strike his neck. Fearing he’d been struck by one of the playing cards, he reached up and felt warm fluid seeping from a wound there. In fact, each soldier was choking and gurgling from wounds scored on their throats by the flying playing cards that eventually erupted into small puffs of sparkles once their mission was done.

After a few minutes, the soldiers ceased struggling and lied still on the ground. They were sleeping as soundly as Michael on the other side of the room and Johnny gave a satisfied, self-assured nod at his accomplishment.

Roland, still trying to puzzle out what had just happened, felt a few rounds spray across his back, the inertial dampener Sheldon Wallace had given him absorbing the impact, and he tumbled off the side of the impromptu loft. Johnny helped him to his feet and they looked up to see Kipland was striking Florio in the face with a flying roundhouse kick.

“You’re out of friends!” Florio shouted.

“You’ve been hitting me with the power of a Mack Truck,” Kip replied as he drove his fist hard into the center of the cyborg’s chest, “And I’m still going strong!”

Friendly Fire lashed out for a final strike, but Kip ducked under it. He dove for Florio’s knee, feeling something pop as he collided, and the big man screamed in pain. Kip rolled to the side and came up with a hard sidekick, knocking the big man over the side of the wall and into the staging area below.

Landing hard on his arm with a metallic shriek, Friendly Fire scrambled to right himself. He reached down and popped his knee joint back into place. It wasn’t some piece of bone held in place by tendons, but a Nemesis prosthetic. The little man had merely inconvenienced him.

An arrow thunked into his hand, pinning it to his thigh. Howling in pain, Florio turned to Roland Grey, who was already sighting in another arrow.

“You think-!”

Another arrow struck his gatling gun as he was bringing it around to spray into the pudgy vigilante. It was caught between the rotating barrels, and as Florio aimed at his assailant, the feathered shaft and sharp head struck and lacerated the back of his neck and his ear, causing him to scream in pain and surprise.

“I’ll admit,” Roland said quietly as he drew another arrow and knocked it, “That surprised me. Hang on…”

The end of the arrow flared and he fired it into the turret, setting it ablaze. Florio shook his head suddenly and the pack disengaged from its moorings on his shoulders, hips and spine, and fell away from his back.

“That’s it…” he growled, “That’s it! I am going to tear you apart! I am going to rip you limb-from-limb with my bare hands!”

“Do cybernetic limbs count?” Johnny asked.

Florio took a step, but it was his last for the day. Kipland had jumped from the upper floor and hurtled into the big man, smashing his knee against the cyborg’s face and dislocating his jaw. Gurgling, Friendly Fire crumpled to the concrete floor in a heap as Kip landed spryly on his feet. After a few tense seconds, he was certain the fight was over. Even Dustin and Matt had stopped wailing on their foes.

“What did you do to these guys?” Roland asked Johnny before they could get sidetracked, gesturing to the men clutching at their necks.

“They thought their necks got slashed by those illusion cards,” Nack explained as his outfit reverted to his simple civilian attire.

“And… What? Their minds made it real?”

“Huh?” came the confused answer, “What? No! Jebus… Roland! We’re talking about the sorts of creatures that would elect George Bush twice… And even considered electing Hillary Clinton…”

“I wouldn’t call that an indication of intelligence,” the portly hunter grumbled.

“True, but it does show a severe lack of imagination,” Johnny grinned, “What they went through was a work of art on my part. I had them confused and frightened… And then a few light taps with my cane…”

He waved the crooked piece of dark wood for emphasis…

“…And they passed out from simple shock and despair. They’ll be fine in a few hours.”

“Alright… Sounds good,” Kip announced, “Roland, call your brother in law and get an A-P-B put out on Lucas Hoss and any other employees of Nova Core. Johnny… Whatever doubts I had about you… They’re kaput.”

“I told you, man,” the red-haired young man said as he walked over to Michael to give him some light smacks on the face to wake him up, “I cut my teeth in Vegas. I know what I’m doing.”

I stopped going into Beta because I got tired of the attitude I ran across in there. You get invited in, you come across something you think isn't working right, mention it, and get harped on by the people who have been there going "Yeah, we already saw that, noob!" as if pointing out an ongoing problem was somehow wrong.

And I would say that the point of inviting the average players into the Beta isn't to have them break the game or the new systems. I think when that's happening, they're trying to find out if the new content is working properly.

That's nifty, Kultie! Too bad I have D&D on Mondays.

Still, I bet this will be a success!

Eh, catchphrases are an element of the past. Nowadays, heroes are more concerned with making sure they're doing the right thing and keeping the people they care about safe.

With 36 characters on the server, I now have only two that are below level 45.

The rest are either level 50 or well on their way to it. Woohoo!

Ah, the first rules of the Buddha...

Existence is Suffering... And the cause of Suffering is Desire.

Sorry about that, Bass.

I'd go back and edit, but it's too late, now. May as well run with it.

Also, might want to take it as a sign to change your avatar. It's funny as Hell, but with Golden's increased presence, it's going to get confusing again (like when you first changed to that avatar).

Okay...

So, the new X-Ray beams has been proven to have some pretty decent use as demonstrated by Golden Girl's post, there.

But I also liked the "Lean in and FIRE!" animation. On top of that, I'm not using a character who is wearing gloves like that.

So, what the Hell happened, and why isn't it in the patch notes?

I rather like the images, Sam.

That would be a good start for more athletic females.

Everything's looking good to me!

I also like the idea behind this thread... Sort of a mini announcements thread without all of the nonsense we usually cram into "Have Fun Here!"

I should be around, so if you want my assistance, I can provide a Dark/Dark Corrupter called the Fear Engine.

I never know what my weekends are going to do to me (I'm usually the last to learn about important family events), so I might not be able to make it, so keep my spot fluid.

Gotta love those flying bricks

Well told, Sooner. Well told.

Frankly, Killface, you're not going to get very far trying to tear down the character of people who have put forth the effort to represent and coordinate these weekly events. Implying that there's some sort of vast "Jello Shooter Conspiracy" doesn't help you much, either, because that channel is far too disorganized to articulate such plotting successfully.

Essentially, it's hard to take your indignation seriously. We're supposed to sympathize with you when you so violently and vehemently decry people who are merely venting about how something they try to make enjoyable for everybody involved was interfered with by a few people who got impatient? Your posts indicate that you may have had something to do with the incident as well, for no globals or character names have been mentioned throughout the venting, aside from an apology to Mave.

Are you really so naive as to believe that people will react favorably when you interfere with their fun? If I run across a player who inexplicably has been inexplicably damaging the experience, either accidentally or maliciously, I am going to react with more than a little irritation. My behavior will understandably grow more intense as the perpetrator is informed of his/her errors and unrepentantly continues the unsettling behavior (which removes all doubt that this could in some way be an accident).

You may be among the best players of the game on the server. If you continue to make other players feel miserable in your presence, however, you're going to find your mastery will continue to go unrecognized as more and more players learn to avoid being near you, whether informed by other players or through their own experiences with you.

Happy birthday, Ny.

Grey's Army: Back in Action

Daniel and Candace come across a complication. Arachnos Fliers are hurtling toward a refuge between the Isles and Paragon with the intent of destroying them. Daniel, however, is going to do what he can to save the denizens there.

Those refugees happen to be the forces of the mastermind of the refuse of society, Brother Mauthe.

After an hour of recovering on his ship, the survivors of the Funhouse were accosted by Janus. His eyes blazing, he tried to strike Daniel in the face, only to be restrained by his own crewmen. The former Arbiter turned to Candace and was relieved she wasn’t half-ready to slaughter the smuggler.

“What seems to be the problem, Janus?”

“You and your mission made too much noise!” the captain shouted, “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, you had to go and blast the operation to Hell!”

“You’re really angry that we sank that torture fortress?”

In reality, it wasn’t Daniel and Candace who had destroyed the fortress, but their charge, the big brute known as Power Breaker to the public. Ever since they’d returned to Janus’s ship, he’d been sleeping as if he were in a coma. He’d unleashed a massive amount of energy to eradicate the facility dedicated to his torment and the torture and interrogation of countless others. There were people who’d been driven insane inside Black Scorpion’s “Funhouse,” and many of them were probably dead now. A few others were recovered and Janus sent a few speedboats to round up whoever could be saved.

Arachnos soldiers drowned, though. Janus wasn’t about to risk having Recluse’s forces bearing down on him. That, however, was the issue at present.

“I’m not angry you blasted that place to Hell,” he growled, “I’m angry that you led them straight to me!”

He led Daniel and Candace to the communications and monitoring station of the tanker. All about them, sailors gathered equipment and necessities as they prepared to board the submarines to evacuate the ship.

In the communications hub, Janus’s technicians feverishly tracked orders for their smuggling operation, requests for transfers into Sharkhead Isle or Independence Port, and even intercepted transmissions throughout the factions vying to control or victimize the two embattled cities. One walked up to the captain, his face pale and his eyes wide with fright, and handed one of the latest transmissions.

“They’re a half-hour away, sir,” he said, a slight tremble in his voice.

“This is just what I need,” the captain growled as he took the paper and shoved it into Daniel’s face, “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my business? It’s going to be hard running this operation with a couple tiny submersibles!”

Daniel took the paper and looked it over. It almost made him groan when he realized that this ragtag group of smugglers had learned how to crack Arachnos encryption. It appeared that there was an assault squadron of five Fliers headed toward the ship. Reading further, he noted a discrepancy.

“Captain, why do you think they’re after you?” he asked.

“Because the orders indicate that they’re on a search-and-destroy mission for ‘the Farmers,’” the scar-faced man hissed as he checked one of the radar displays, “And they’re closing in FAST!”

“But, the Farmers wasn’t our term for you,” Daniel argued, “We called you-.”

“Twoface?” Janus asked, and sighed when he saw Daniel shrug in reply, “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s been done, but it was fitting.”

“Sure,” the captain rolled his eyes and shook his head, “If they’re not after me, then who are they after, Mr. Smartypants?”

“The only people we called Farmers were…” Daniel felt his heart sink, “Oh no…”

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“Welcome to my island,” the man known as Brother Mauthe announced as Daniel and Candace stepped off the small boat.

His jovial greeting lost a little bit of its luster when the recipients noted the many armed guards aiming weapons at them. Brother Mauthe was a friendly man, but he was hardly stupid or foolish.

This island was a refuge for the damned. Anybody who had a past to run away from in the States, anyone who wanted to escape the madness of the Isles, they could come to this place and make a new life for themselves. Some just needed to rebuild their sense of purpose, others usually had to duck the attention of far more powerful forces.

Under these conditions, Brother Mauthe had assembled a small army out of the dregs of society. They were armed with scraps from the detritus of the conflicts between the two great cities and what equipment they could steal from under the unsuspecting gaze of the organizations as they battled each other. This gave them a moderately impressive armament, with plenty of small-arms and a few demolitions munitions, but not much to repel a large-scale assault; not without preparation, anyway.

The island’s beach was riddled with defensive munitions. Acid grenade-lobbing mortars, pop-up turrets, proximity mines and gas bombs were all buried just under the sand, ready to emerge at the first sign of trouble. Regular patrols carefully navigated the beach and kept what few children were in the community from venturing too close. Deeper in the island were carefully maintained farms, a few “shanty” houses and a wooden central structure that served as a town hall for the populace and an inn for the few visitors they received. There was also a very large barn that rested next to the remains of an ancient temple, but none of the crops were ever placed in there.

It was a lot of hard work that kept this community going. Mauthe only asked that everybody work and contribute, anybody who proved to be willfully lazy usually found themselves being tossed onto Brother Ringo’s boat and quietly dumped in either the Isles or Independence Port, with a gentle warning to never return. Anyone who wanted to leave, for whatever reason, was allowed to as well. They had to take passage on Ringo’s boat, the Captured Dream, but the only real drawback there was the wait.

The Dream was a modified trawler. Its hull was elongated, narrowed and sprayed with Teflon so it could more easily glide through the ocean’s waters. The deck was mounted with turrets, with four antipersonnel guns placed on the pilot’s cabin and a crewed minigun loaded on the bow. A twin pair of automated missile turrets rested on the aft. The vessel was powered with a fusion core engine recovered from a wrecked Flier and it had a shield generator that had been loaned from a metahuman mercenary group that used to be known as the Brutal Warriors Order. It was a vehicle that could handle almost anything thrown at it and was a safe transport for the people of Mauthe’s island.

About a year ago, an ancient god had been awakened below the waves between this island and its neighboring twin. The Circle of Thorns had attempted to find a way to control the situation, finally learning too late that the god was one of the agents of the alien goddess, Merulina. Arachnos operatives took the Circle’s island while Longbow troops occupied Mauthe’s and Statesman and Recluse arrived to deal with the situation personally.

In the end, it had been Power Breaker who settled the score, but they were all fortunate the monster Dagoeth didn’t have the true Heart of the Sea buried within his chest. If he had been empowered thusly, the world would have truly suffered for it as he tried to make the oceans rise, free his queen goddess and rouse the Leviathan from its hibernation.

Now, the island faced a wholly different threat. Apparently, one of the factions within Arachnos had decided it was time to eradicate this little bastion of true hope from the Isles and claim the mythical resources it contained. Daniel and Candace hurriedly, yet clearly, explained the situation to Mauthe.

“Five Fliers,” Mauthe sighed, “It’s worse than last time.”

“Last time?” Daniel asked.

“Last time they sent one,” the mastermind behind the island replied somberly, “They thought they could wipe out our little community after we… After we tried helping a young teacher escape her execution…”

Mauthe turned his bearded, cybernetic face to Daniel and grinned. His one human eye twinkled with hidden understanding while the camera that served as his right eye gazed impassively.

“Yeah, I leaked the information to you,” Daniel admitted, “I’m sorry it turned out to be an assassin.”

Candace rubbed her shoulder. She had been the assassin who’d taken Miss Francine’s place and tried to kill some of the men currently serving as guards around them. Only one glowered down at her, the big man referred to only as Brother War, whose memory relied on more than just what he’d seen and heard. He remembered her scent well and remembered that she was the one he’d yanked through the floor to keep her from kill his friends.

“It’s quite alright,” Mauthe waved for his troops to relax, “We’re in a new time, with experiences bringing us to this shared moment.”

“So, are we going to defend ourselves?” a blonde man, identified as Brother Skrap, asked, “We’ve got this island rigged well enough. I bet we could take ‘em!”

“No, we need to run!” Brother Ringo almost shouted in a panic, “One Flier wiped us out last time!”

“You ******* coward!” Skrap almost reached over to slap the boat pilot but was stopped by his counterpart, Brother Hand, “We’re not the same as we were then! We’ve got-!”

“We’re evacuating,” Mauthe said quietly, yet his voice pierced the argument that was about to break throughout the chamber, “Women and children first… get word to this Janus character, we’ll need the services of his ship.”

“We’re already stressing our relationship with him,” Daniel intoned.

“Then we’ll offer payment,” Mauthe offered before turning to Ringo, “I’m sorry, my friend… I know it’s your father’s…”

“You told me once that I would probably have to give my life to help these people,” Ringo sighed, “I’ve got no problem selling my ship to help.”

“Get the word out, then. We’ve got a day’s work to do and about fifteen minutes to do it in.”

“What about-?” Skrap was about to ask, but Mauthe cut him off.

“We’ll do what we can, brother, but we must attend to the evacuation… Skrap… Organize the defenses. Battle is inevitable.”

The former Council soldier nodded and headed out, followed shortly by his counterpart, the former Longbow soldier, Brother Hand. They rallied the guards and made preparations to demolish their section of the ruined temple. Mauthe led Daniel and Candace to the communications array to begin the negotiations.

On the horizon, several dark shapes slowly grew bigger as they approached. The crews on board the Fliers knew where they were going and what they were about. The pilots were already locking on targets of interest.

“They knew we were coming, sir,” one of the pilots reported back to Captain Mako.

There was no reply from the shark-like mutant. He didn’t want his irritation to show. With everything happening between Arachnos and Longbow, the Isles and Paragon, it was a wonder anything happened in secret anymore. There were too many people moving in too tight a space. The population needed to be culled.

This would be a good start.

After an hour of recovering on his ship, the survivors of the Funhouse were accosted by Janus. His eyes blazing, he tried to strike Daniel in the face, only to be restrained by his own crewmen. The former Arbiter turned to Candace and was relieved she wasn’t half-ready to slaughter the smuggler.

“What seems to be the problem, Janus?”

“You and your mission made too much noise!” the captain shouted, “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, you had to go and blast the operation to Hell!”

“You’re really angry that we sank that torture fortress?”

In reality, it wasn’t Daniel and Candace who had destroyed the fortress, but their charge, the big brute known as Power Breaker to the public. Ever since they’d returned to Janus’s ship, he’d been sleeping as if he were in a coma. He’d unleashed a massive amount of energy to eradicate the facility dedicated to his torment and the torture and interrogation of countless others. There were people who’d been driven insane inside Black Scorpion’s “Funhouse,” and many of them were probably dead now. A few others were recovered and Janus sent a few speedboats to round up whoever could be saved.

Arachnos soldiers drowned, though. Janus wasn’t about to risk having Recluse’s forces bearing down on him. That, however, was the issue at present.

“I’m not angry you blasted that place to Hell,” he growled, “I’m angry that you led them straight to me!”

He led Daniel and Candace to the communications and monitoring station of the tanker. All about them, sailors gathered equipment and necessities as they prepared to board the submarines to evacuate the ship.

In the communications hub, Janus’s technicians feverishly tracked orders for their smuggling operation, requests for transfers into Sharkhead Isle or Independence Port, and even intercepted transmissions throughout the factions vying to control or victimize the two embattled cities. One walked up to the captain, his face pale and his eyes wide with fright, and handed one of the latest transmissions.

“They’re a half-hour away, sir,” he said, a slight tremble in his voice.

“This is just what I need,” the captain growled as he took the paper and shoved it into Daniel’s face, “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my business? It’s going to be hard running this operation with a couple tiny submersibles!”

Daniel took the paper and looked it over. It almost made him groan when he realized that this ragtag group of smugglers had learned how to crack Arachnos encryption. It appeared that there was an assault squadron of five Fliers headed toward the ship. Reading further, he noted a discrepancy.

“Captain, why do you think they’re after you?” he asked.

“Because the orders indicate that they’re on a search-and-destroy mission for ‘the Farmers,’” the scar-faced man hissed as he checked one of the radar displays, “And they’re closing in FAST!”

“But, the Farmers wasn’t our term for you,” Daniel argued, “We called you-.”

“Twoface?” Janus asked, and sighed when he saw Daniel shrug in reply, “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s been done, but it was fitting.”

“Sure,” the captain rolled his eyes and shook his head, “If they’re not after me, then who are they after, Mr. Smartypants?”

“The only people we called Farmers were…” Daniel felt his heart sink, “Oh no…”

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“Welcome to my island,” the man known as Brother Mauthe announced as Daniel and Candace stepped off the small boat.

His jovial greeting lost a little bit of its luster when the recipients noted the many armed guards aiming weapons at them. Brother Mauthe was a friendly man, but he was hardly stupid or foolish.

This island was a refuge for the damned. Anybody who had a past to run away from in the States, anyone who wanted to escape the madness of the Isles, they could come to this place and make a new life for themselves. Some just needed to rebuild their sense of purpose, others usually had to duck the attention of far more powerful forces.

Under these conditions, Brother Mauthe had assembled a small army out of the dregs of society. They were armed with scraps from the detritus of the conflicts between the two great cities and what equipment they could steal from under the unsuspecting gaze of the organizations as they battled each other. This gave them a moderately impressive armament, with plenty of small-arms and a few demolitions munitions, but not much to repel a large-scale assault; not without preparation, anyway.

The island’s beach was riddled with defensive munitions. Acid grenade-lobbing mortars, pop-up turrets, proximity mines and gas bombs were all buried just under the sand, ready to emerge at the first sign of trouble. Regular patrols carefully navigated the beach and kept what few children were in the community from venturing too close. Deeper in the island were carefully maintained farms, a few “shanty” houses and a wooden central structure that served as a town hall for the populace and an inn for the few visitors they received. There was also a very large barn that rested next to the remains of an ancient temple, but none of the crops were ever placed in there.

It was a lot of hard work that kept this community going. Mauthe only asked that everybody work and contribute, anybody who proved to be willfully lazy usually found themselves being tossed onto Brother Ringo’s boat and quietly dumped in either the Isles or Independence Port, with a gentle warning to never return. Anyone who wanted to leave, for whatever reason, was allowed to as well. They had to take passage on Ringo’s boat, the Captured Dream, but the only real drawback there was the wait.

The Dream was a modified trawler. Its hull was elongated, narrowed and sprayed with Teflon so it could more easily glide through the ocean’s waters. The deck was mounted with turrets, with four antipersonnel guns placed on the pilot’s cabin and a crewed minigun loaded on the bow. A twin pair of automated missile turrets rested on the aft. The vessel was powered with a fusion core engine recovered from a wrecked Flier and it had a shield generator that had been loaned from a metahuman mercenary group that used to be known as the Brutal Warriors Order. It was a vehicle that could handle almost anything thrown at it and was a safe transport for the people of Mauthe’s island.

About a year ago, an ancient god had been awakened below the waves between this island and its neighboring twin. The Circle of Thorns had attempted to find a way to control the situation, finally learning too late that the god was one of the agents of the alien goddess, Merulina. Arachnos operatives took the Circle’s island while Longbow troops occupied Mauthe’s and Statesman and Recluse arrived to deal with the situation personally.

In the end, it had been Power Breaker who settled the score, but they were all fortunate the monster Dagoeth didn’t have the true Heart of the Sea buried within his chest. If he had been empowered thusly, the world would have truly suffered for it as he tried to make the oceans rise, free his queen goddess and rouse the Leviathan from its hibernation.

Now, the island faced a wholly different threat. Apparently, one of the factions within Arachnos had decided it was time to eradicate this little bastion of true hope from the Isles and claim the mythical resources it contained. Daniel and Candace hurriedly, yet clearly, explained the situation to Mauthe.

“Five Fliers,” Mauthe sighed, “It’s worse than last time.”

“Last time?” Daniel asked.

“Last time they sent one,” the mastermind behind the island replied somberly, “They thought they could wipe out our little community after we… After we tried helping a young teacher escape her execution…”

Mauthe turned his bearded, cybernetic face to Daniel and grinned. His one human eye twinkled with hidden understanding while the camera that served as his right eye gazed impassively.

“Yeah, I leaked the information to you,” Daniel admitted, “I’m sorry it turned out to be an assassin.”

Candace rubbed her shoulder. She had been the assassin who’d taken Miss Francine’s place and tried to kill some of the men currently serving as guards around them. Only one glowered down at her, the big man referred to only as Brother War, whose memory relied on more than just what he’d seen and heard. He remembered her scent well and remembered that she was the one he’d yanked through the floor to keep her from kill his friends.

“It’s quite alright,” Mauthe waved for his troops to relax, “We’re in a new time, with experiences bringing us to this shared moment.”

“So, are we going to defend ourselves?” a blonde man, identified as Brother Skrap, asked, “We’ve got this island rigged well enough. I bet we could take ‘em!”

“No, we need to run!” Brother Ringo almost shouted in a panic, “One Flier wiped us out last time!”

“You ******* coward!” Skrap almost reached over to slap the boat pilot but was stopped by his counterpart, Brother Hand, “We’re not the same as we were then! We’ve got-!”

“We’re evacuating,” Mauthe said quietly, yet his voice pierced the argument that was about to break throughout the chamber, “Women and children first… get word to this Janus character, we’ll need the services of his ship.”

“We’re already stressing our relationship with him,” Daniel intoned.

“Then we’ll offer payment,” Mauthe offered before turning to Ringo, “I’m sorry, my friend… I know it’s your father’s…”

“You told me once that I would probably have to give my life to help these people,” Ringo sighed, “I’ve got no problem selling my ship to help.”

“Get the word out, then. We’ve got a day’s work to do and about fifteen minutes to do it in.”

“What about-?” Skrap was about to ask, but Mauthe cut him off.

“We’ll do what we can, brother, but we must attend to the evacuation… Skrap… Organize the defenses. Battle is inevitable.”

The former Council soldier nodded and headed out, followed shortly by his counterpart, the former Longbow soldier, Brother Hand. They rallied the guards and made preparations to demolish their section of the ruined temple. Mauthe led Daniel and Candace to the communications array to begin the negotiations.

On the horizon, several dark shapes slowly grew bigger as they approached. The crews on board the Fliers knew where they were going and what they were about. The pilots were already locking on targets of interest.

“They knew we were coming, sir,” one of the pilots reported back to Captain Mako.

There was no reply from the shark-like mutant. He didn’t want his irritation to show. With everything happening between Arachnos and Longbow, the Isles and Paragon, it was a wonder anything happened in secret anymore. There were too many people moving in too tight a space. The population needed to be culled.

This would be a good start.

And hugs.

*hugs Kultie*

You've got my vote, Comrade!

The information they received from Tirailleur Graves led them to the offices of an up-and-coming company called “Nova Core Aerospace Incorporated.” The company was apparently hopping on the space exploration market, focusing more on developing technologies to go into prospective space exploration vehicles. As such, they focused on plasma emitters, fuel injectors, and other prospective technologies in relation to that goal. It also just so happened that a lot of those technologies could be turned toward making dangerous weapons for use against meta humans.

When Kip contacted Agent Wild about what they were doing, he found that Freedom Corps already had the company on its watch list. Their exhaustive background checks had turned up no connections to Nemesis, the Council, Crey, the organized crime families or even the Malta Group. They seemed to be a corporation running entirely on its own impetus.

“So, what’s the plan?” Roland asked as they pulled into the parking lot, “I mean, this whole thing smacks of the possibility of being used by Nemesis to eliminate a potential rival.”

“No matter WHAT we do, we’re eliminating one of his rivals,” Kip replied, “We should talk to these guys first, see what’s going on, and find out if there’s any truth to what Graves said. If it’s not legitimate, then we leave.”

The portly man nodded and exited the jeep, followed by Kip and Michael. After retrieving his collapsible bow from the cargo compartment and checking to see that his quiver to the “pocket dimension of arrows” was still functioning (it had been wonky ever since he’d flattened it to fit under a tuxedo jacket), he shut the hatch and locked the doors.

They caught up with Johnny, Dustin and Matt at the door. They had ridden together when Matt saw the Cadillac their former classmate unveiled and he insisted that they take a ride.

“So, how was the ride in the Caddy?” Roland asked.

“Smooth,” Matt replied, still wide-eyed with wonder, “So very… Very smooth…”

“Jeez, he didn’t even get to experience all the fancy tricks I’ve got rigged into that DeVille,” Johnny chuckled as he gestured to his ivory white sedan, “For instance, I’ve got massagers in the seats.”

“Massagers!?”

“Those really got the crick outta my neck,” Dustin commented.

“Well, I’m glad we’re all relaxed and massaged,” Kip announced to prevent further nonsense, “Now, we’ve got work to do. I called Freedom Corps and the P.P.D., so they know we’re investigating here. We’re still waiting on warrants, so… We need a cover story for being here.”

“We’re potential investors?” Johnny asked, “I mean, I do happen to be a rich guy looking for something to turn my money towards…”

His normal “hero” outfits wouldn’t have sufficed for such a plan. Simply put, they were often far too outrageous to be taken seriously. However, he had somehow changed to a simple dress shirt and blue jeans.

“Nuh-huh, I ain’t givin’ my money to some Nemesis plot,” Matt Jones grunted before anybody could talk about the matter.

“You won’t be,” Mike corrected him, shaking his white-haired head, “Johnny will be. Why are we talking about this now?”

“Well, because normally we just charge headlong into the enemy base,” Kip grumbled, “We’ve got no assurance that’s what this is, so there’s no justifiable cause.”

The front door opened at that moment and a young man dressed in casual business attire poked his head out to look at them. He looked worried, for while it was normal for dangerous-looking individuals to gather around their business to harass the employees, they were usually the low-power types like the Skulls and Hellions (with the occasional Outcast, though they’d been rather quiet since Frostfire had turned back to his lifelong dream of being a hero).

“Uh… Can I help you guys?” he asked.

“Why yes!” Johnny quipped happily, “I’ve been hearing good things about your company and am looking to invest!”

“Uh… Right…” the man replied in surprise before quietly heading back indoors.

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

“It’s good to meet you!” the company’s C.E.O., a man in his late twenties who was dressed in the same casual business style as the rest of his employees named Luke Hoss, announced as he met them in the lobby, “As you know, in the realm of cutting-no, molecular edge-technology, fresh capital is always a necessity!”

“Well, as I said to your employee, I’ve been hearing great things about your company, and in the wake of Reginald Bronson’s competition for privately developed spacecraft and the environment being ripe for such ‘super science’ endeavors, I’m figuring it would be a decent project to invest in…”

Johnny’s charisma was uncanny. His friendly smile and easygoing delivery while simultaneously demonstrating business savvy was enough to convince Hoss that this was a legitimate interest, so he agreed to give the group of young men a tour. What was interesting was that, should the company prove to NOT be run by a psychopathic artificial intelligence based on the mind of one of the world’s most heinous madmen, Johnny actually was considering this as an option. It was an attractive thought, having your name be involved with the sudden ramping up of space exploration.

Hoss showed them some of the engineering teams and one of the demonstration displays. Behind a panel of thick, bullet-resistant and radiation-shielded glass, a robot tested the effectiveness of one of Nova’s inventions, a long-distance plasma cutter.

“It works like a traditional plasma cutter,” he explained, “Only at a much greater range. The chemical is magnetically-treated and dispersed by a rail-driving system. We’re trying to find a compound that will maintain a tighter stream and still be able to handle the extremely low temperature of vacuum…”

“I thought vacuum didn’t necessarily have a ‘low’ temperature…” Kip muttered.

“Well, that’s true,” Lucas sighed, “It’s just… Usually, the sales pitch is meant for people who usually get their information about how outer space works through movies. It can GET cold in outer space… It can also get very hot.”

“So, you’re not looking for low temperature resistance,” Dustin asked, “But the ability to… work… at the temperature extremes your technology would be likely to, ah… run into?”

“Precisely!”

“How’s the progress been?” Johnny asked as he pulled a pair of dark goggles on and watched the demonstration.

The robotic arm leveled toward the target. The monitoring system emitted the noises the machinery was making, and a low buzzing hum sounded before a stream of purple-burning plasma sprayed against the target on the other side of the chamber.

“It’s like burning whiskey,” Matt laughed, “That’s pretty cool!”

“Right,” Kip narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin as he watched the demonstration.

“That spray effect doesn’t look like a sign of success,” Johnny noted as he indicated the fact that the plasma was fanning out as it crossed the distance to the target, “I mean, if you want to efficiently cut something at that distance, that’s a lot of wasted heat and chemicals. Why not just use lasers?”

“Frankly, too much energy expenditure,” Lucas replied and scratched the back of his head.

“Really?”

“Not exactly, but it’s the answer I have to give,” the C.E.O. replied, “The rest is, ah, classified.”

They moved on from there to meet with some of the engineers and innovative crews that the company was feverishly employing to meet the challenges of interplanetary travel. The entire company was comprised of young talent, most of which exhibited the modern “relaxed professional” attire, and they all seemed enthusiastic about ushering in a whole new era in human existence.

“I mean, we’ve heard rumors that there might be an alien Rikti species out there,” one young woman said happily, “Imagine if we could meet them and learn to communicate with the Rikti we have here and bring peace between our peoples!”

Matt almost said something, but a stern glare and head shake from Kipland stopped him. The less the public knew about the complications involved with achieving peace with the Rikti, the better. Annoyed and out of his element, the brute shrugged and walked to lean against a closed door.

Whoever had last used the door had apparently not shut it properly. With a shout of surprise, Jones fell through the doorway and landed on a steel grated catwalk.

The company employees were not happy with this. They sucked in air with fearful surprise and Lucas croaked a terrified “oh no.”

On the other side of the door, Kip could see a number of men with red and navy blue outfits with brass fittings and containment systems. They looked to be in a state of relaxation as they played cards, video games, or engaged in uniformed physical training to maintain their condition to meta-human battling capabilities.

“Oh, what the Hell, guys!?” came a shout from out of view, “Nobody knows how to shut a door!?”

Matt rolled back into the room with Kip as something heavy clomped up the stairs. Before anybody could start yelling at Lucas and the assembled scientists, Kip pointed back at the door.

“Fight now,” he said quietly, “Yell later.”

The individuals prepared for the upcoming fight in their own ways. The Nemesis troops ran to grab their weapons. Michael White focused inward and found the magic that allowed him to control the weather and throw lightning and summoned the ethereal mists that would conceal and protect his friends. Johnny snapped his fingers and after a burst of light, was dressed in a purple leisure suit. Dustin flexed and stretched his muscles and his skin popped and encrusted with stone. Matt burst into flames and stone encrusted his forearms. Finally, Roland drew his bow and found that his quiver was still able to deploy normal arrows easily.

The assailant stomping up the grated steps finally came into view. It was bad enough when Nemesis made people serve as the brains (and some other unclear functions) of the Warhulks, or would entrap a soldier inside a specially designed Fake Nemesis suit (which could turn out to be a walking coffin if the seals broke inside). This was one of the few (perhaps the only) times he had actually turned toward cybernetics.

His name was Sergeant Major Florio. He used to be a captain of the Sky Raiders before an act of sabotage led to him being severely crippled. Now, recruited by the Nemesis Army, his arms were massive, brassen weapons designed for smashing in the teeth of would-be heroes. A pack rested on his back, from which a pair of swiveling Gatling turrets aimed this way and that. His legs were also heavily modified and his jaw had been replaced.

“Behold,” he announced with a toothy smile, the lower of which were all stainless steel, “The future of the Nemesis Army!”

“Friendly Fire,” Kipland grunted as he stepped before his friends, “I thought Rachek and his friends killed you.”

“Ignorant fool!” the cyborg shouted and he smashed the ceiling with his fists, bringing mortar down on his head, “You cannot kill the future!”

“Supposedly…” Roland grumbled derisively.

Kip’s eyes flashed with bright light and his veins started to glow. He squared his shoulders and assumed a combat stance before his lips pulled back into an aggressive sneer.

“Let’s get this done!” he growled.

Grey's Army: Back in Action

Kipland and crew investigate one of the companies supposedly under the sway of the unusual "Nemedyne" A.I., but run into a few complications (as well as some unusual circumstances).

The information they received from Tirailleur Graves led them to the offices of an up-and-coming company called “Nova Core Aerospace Incorporated.” The company was apparently hopping on the space exploration market, focusing more on developing technologies to go into prospective space exploration vehicles. As such, they focused on plasma emitters, fuel injectors, and other prospective technologies in relation to that goal. It also just so happened that a lot of those technologies could be turned toward making dangerous weapons for use against meta humans.

When Kip contacted Agent Wild about what they were doing, he found that Freedom Corps already had the company on its watch list. Their exhaustive background checks had turned up no connections to Nemesis, the Council, Crey, the organized crime families or even the Malta Group. They seemed to be a corporation running entirely on its own impetus.

“So, what’s the plan?” Roland asked as they pulled into the parking lot, “I mean, this whole thing smacks of the possibility of being used by Nemesis to eliminate a potential rival.”

“No matter WHAT we do, we’re eliminating one of his rivals,” Kip replied, “We should talk to these guys first, see what’s going on, and find out if there’s any truth to what Graves said. If it’s not legitimate, then we leave.”

The portly man nodded and exited the jeep, followed by Kip and Michael. After retrieving his collapsible bow from the cargo compartment and checking to see that his quiver to the “pocket dimension of arrows” was still functioning (it had been wonky ever since he’d flattened it to fit under a tuxedo jacket), he shut the hatch and locked the doors.

They caught up with Johnny, Dustin and Matt at the door. They had ridden together when Matt saw the Cadillac their former classmate unveiled and he insisted that they take a ride.

“So, how was the ride in the Caddy?” Roland asked.

“Smooth,” Matt replied, still wide-eyed with wonder, “So very… Very smooth…”

“Jeez, he didn’t even get to experience all the fancy tricks I’ve got rigged into that DeVille,” Johnny chuckled as he gestured to his ivory white sedan, “For instance, I’ve got massagers in the seats.”

“Massagers!?”

“Those really got the crick outta my neck,” Dustin commented.

“Well, I’m glad we’re all relaxed and massaged,” Kip announced to prevent further nonsense, “Now, we’ve got work to do. I called Freedom Corps and the P.P.D., so they know we’re investigating here. We’re still waiting on warrants, so… We need a cover story for being here.”

“We’re potential investors?” Johnny asked, “I mean, I do happen to be a rich guy looking for something to turn my money towards…”

His normal “hero” outfits wouldn’t have sufficed for such a plan. Simply put, they were often far too outrageous to be taken seriously. However, he had somehow changed to a simple dress shirt and blue jeans.

“Nuh-huh, I ain’t givin’ my money to some Nemesis plot,” Matt Jones grunted before anybody could talk about the matter.

“You won’t be,” Mike corrected him, shaking his white-haired head, “Johnny will be. Why are we talking about this now?”

“Well, because normally we just charge headlong into the enemy base,” Kip grumbled, “We’ve got no assurance that’s what this is, so there’s no justifiable cause.”

The front door opened at that moment and a young man dressed in casual business attire poked his head out to look at them. He looked worried, for while it was normal for dangerous-looking individuals to gather around their business to harass the employees, they were usually the low-power types like the Skulls and Hellions (with the occasional Outcast, though they’d been rather quiet since Frostfire had turned back to his lifelong dream of being a hero).

“Uh… Can I help you guys?” he asked.

“Why yes!” Johnny quipped happily, “I’ve been hearing good things about your company and am looking to invest!”

“Uh… Right…” the man replied in surprise before quietly heading back indoors.

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

“It’s good to meet you!” the company’s C.E.O., a man in his late twenties who was dressed in the same casual business style as the rest of his employees named Luke Hoss, announced as he met them in the lobby, “As you know, in the realm of cutting-no, molecular edge-technology, fresh capital is always a necessity!”

“Well, as I said to your employee, I’ve been hearing great things about your company, and in the wake of Reginald Bronson’s competition for privately developed spacecraft and the environment being ripe for such ‘super science’ endeavors, I’m figuring it would be a decent project to invest in…”

Johnny’s charisma was uncanny. His friendly smile and easygoing delivery while simultaneously demonstrating business savvy was enough to convince Hoss that this was a legitimate interest, so he agreed to give the group of young men a tour. What was interesting was that, should the company prove to NOT be run by a psychopathic artificial intelligence based on the mind of one of the world’s most heinous madmen, Johnny actually was considering this as an option. It was an attractive thought, having your name be involved with the sudden ramping up of space exploration.

Hoss showed them some of the engineering teams and one of the demonstration displays. Behind a panel of thick, bullet-resistant and radiation-shielded glass, a robot tested the effectiveness of one of Nova’s inventions, a long-distance plasma cutter.

“It works like a traditional plasma cutter,” he explained, “Only at a much greater range. The chemical is magnetically-treated and dispersed by a rail-driving system. We’re trying to find a compound that will maintain a tighter stream and still be able to handle the extremely low temperature of vacuum…”

“I thought vacuum didn’t necessarily have a ‘low’ temperature…” Kip muttered.

“Well, that’s true,” Lucas sighed, “It’s just… Usually, the sales pitch is meant for people who usually get their information about how outer space works through movies. It can GET cold in outer space… It can also get very hot.”

“So, you’re not looking for low temperature resistance,” Dustin asked, “But the ability to… work… at the temperature extremes your technology would be likely to, ah… run into?”

“Precisely!”

“How’s the progress been?” Johnny asked as he pulled a pair of dark goggles on and watched the demonstration.

The robotic arm leveled toward the target. The monitoring system emitted the noises the machinery was making, and a low buzzing hum sounded before a stream of purple-burning plasma sprayed against the target on the other side of the chamber.

“It’s like burning whiskey,” Matt laughed, “That’s pretty cool!”

“Right,” Kip narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin as he watched the demonstration.

“That spray effect doesn’t look like a sign of success,” Johnny noted as he indicated the fact that the plasma was fanning out as it crossed the distance to the target, “I mean, if you want to efficiently cut something at that distance, that’s a lot of wasted heat and chemicals. Why not just use lasers?”

“Frankly, too much energy expenditure,” Lucas replied and scratched the back of his head.

“Really?”

“Not exactly, but it’s the answer I have to give,” the C.E.O. replied, “The rest is, ah, classified.”

They moved on from there to meet with some of the engineers and innovative crews that the company was feverishly employing to meet the challenges of interplanetary travel. The entire company was comprised of young talent, most of which exhibited the modern “relaxed professional” attire, and they all seemed enthusiastic about ushering in a whole new era in human existence.

“I mean, we’ve heard rumors that there might be an alien Rikti species out there,” one young woman said happily, “Imagine if we could meet them and learn to communicate with the Rikti we have here and bring peace between our peoples!”

Matt almost said something, but a stern glare and head shake from Kipland stopped him. The less the public knew about the complications involved with achieving peace with the Rikti, the better. Annoyed and out of his element, the brute shrugged and walked to lean against a closed door.

Whoever had last used the door had apparently not shut it properly. With a shout of surprise, Jones fell through the doorway and landed on a steel grated catwalk.

The company employees were not happy with this. They sucked in air with fearful surprise and Lucas croaked a terrified “oh no.”

On the other side of the door, Kip could see a number of men with red and navy blue outfits with brass fittings and containment systems. They looked to be in a state of relaxation as they played cards, video games, or engaged in uniformed physical training to maintain their condition to meta-human battling capabilities.

“Oh, what the Hell, guys!?” came a shout from out of view, “Nobody knows how to shut a door!?”

Matt rolled back into the room with Kip as something heavy clomped up the stairs. Before anybody could start yelling at Lucas and the assembled scientists, Kip pointed back at the door.

“Fight now,” he said quietly, “Yell later.”

The individuals prepared for the upcoming fight in their own ways. The Nemesis troops ran to grab their weapons. Michael White focused inward and found the magic that allowed him to control the weather and throw lightning and summoned the ethereal mists that would conceal and protect his friends. Johnny snapped his fingers and after a burst of light, was dressed in a purple leisure suit. Dustin flexed and stretched his muscles and his skin popped and encrusted with stone. Matt burst into flames and stone encrusted his forearms. Finally, Roland drew his bow and found that his quiver was still able to deploy normal arrows easily.

The assailant stomping up the grated steps finally came into view. It was bad enough when Nemesis made people serve as the brains (and some other unclear functions) of the Warhulks, or would entrap a soldier inside a specially designed Fake Nemesis suit (which could turn out to be a walking coffin if the seals broke inside). This was one of the few (perhaps the only) times he had actually turned toward cybernetics.

His name was Sergeant Major Florio. He used to be a captain of the Sky Raiders before an act of sabotage led to him being severely crippled. Now, recruited by the Nemesis Army, his arms were massive, brassen weapons designed for smashing in the teeth of would-be heroes. A pack rested on his back, from which a pair of swiveling Gatling turrets aimed this way and that. His legs were also heavily modified and his jaw had been replaced.

“Behold,” he announced with a toothy smile, the lower of which were all stainless steel, “The future of the Nemesis Army!”

“Friendly Fire,” Kipland grunted as he stepped before his friends, “I thought Rachek and his friends killed you.”

“Ignorant fool!” the cyborg shouted and he smashed the ceiling with his fists, bringing mortar down on his head, “You cannot kill the future!”

“Supposedly…” Roland grumbled derisively.

Kip’s eyes flashed with bright light and his veins started to glow. He squared his shoulders and assumed a combat stance before his lips pulled back into an aggressive sneer.

“Let’s get this done!” he growled.

Hm.