Mr_Grey

Hm.

*scratches chin*

I'm intrigued... Especially since I've got low 40s who could make use of it...

And I've done it. Attempted it three times, completed it once. There's nothing terribly overbearing about the TF except the length of time it takes to finish.

Cowboy Dream and I share a birthday?

Cool!

My BWO characters would switch sides regularly since they already frequent the Isles and Paragon in my fiction about them. They're not restricted to the concepts of "Red and Blue."

Power Breaker would probably go Blue, but I'd have to come up with a real reason for him to do so. As things stand, he rather likes the Isles because of the "Frontier Feel" of the place. He feels free, even with (inept) Arachnos troops threatening him at every turn.

[ QUOTE ]
Deep down inside, Slan is really a transplant from Virtue. He just happens to be a very good PvPer.



[/ QUOTE ]

From what I've seen, Protector actually seems to be more the home of the authors than the RPers. Roleplay is wrought with perils that can be detrimental to the overall story ("paranoid" players, for instance, who simply do not believe in teamwork), whereas an author can do, as we can see here, pretty much whatever he wants to keep the story moving forward.

Recluse: *tossing a wrapped package into a microwave and turning it on*: "I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight..."

Recluse turns around to see a group of eight rogues that have banded together to go on his ultimate strike force.

Rogues: o.o

Recluse: "What? I was hungry! I can't stand around here, looking menacing all the time, and not get an appetite!"

Rogue leader: "Dude... You were singing..."

Mako: "After a few years, your ears will stop bleeding..."

[ QUOTE ]
Makeup is SO expensive!

[/ QUOTE ]

What? You think I'm this ugly naturally? Ha! I [u]WISH[u]!

All these links died. Check Below.

Well, time for bed. I just gotta get my teddy bear from the laundry...

I added another chapter to My Beautiful Misery

Malaise is starting to get more focused as the reality of his situation dawns on him. He knows he needs to get the Hell out of Praetorian Earth and warn the Vindicators and Freedom Phalanx of the new interdimensional technology Antimatter has developed, but accomplishing that is a different issue entirely. On top of that, he has to deal with the vices his counterpart and his mentor, Mother Mayhem, are mired in. He refuses to become so corrupted, but how is he supposed to avoid tormenting the inmates of the Steel Canyon Asylum without breaking his cover?

Alright. Okay. I think I’ve calmed down, now.

A little drawing, a little nap, some dinner… Then more drawing, a shower, throwing up in the toilet and a good eight hours of fitful sleep did my body good. Well, not exactly good, but at least I’m not panicking like I was yesterday.

Instead, I’m planning. I know what I have to do and where I should be looking. It’s not exactly a simple accomplishment to go into Antimatter’s laboratory and steal another interdimensional doohickey, but that’s what I’ve got to do. Fortunately, I’ve got the fact that everybody thinks I’m their Malaise working for me. For now, I’ll have to maintain that role…

Oh crap…

I sense the entourage of Mother Mayhem’s “orderlies” before they knock on my door. She wants to work on some “patients.” I already know she intends to drive some more people insane…

I guess you can’t have a world of evil people without someone to victimize…

I answer the door and the orderlies, led by one Doctor Vasilikos, greet me rather cordially. Vasilikos is a bit strange to look at since he isn’t the hulking, stitched-together monstrosity most people know as Doctor Vahzilok, but he’s still got the crazed look in his eyes. I can already feel him dissecting me in his mind. Funny thing is, I can see it, too, and it’s not pretty.

So I send him an image of my flesh reaching up and grabbing him. As terrified as he is of disease, the idea of “unclean” flesh reaching past his sterilized gloves is a bit disconcerting and he stumbles back a bit. He doesn’t get angry, though. He takes it like a joke!

“Ha! Good one, Malaise,” he chortles in a thickly Slavic accent, “I’ll have to remember that… Maybe come up with new medical equipment, too! In a world where people can do many things, it would be best to prepare for such weird moments, yes?”

“Just remember to stop fantasizing about filleting me like a fish,” I hiss back, “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to drown you in a cesspit every time you close your eyes.”

Vasilikos’ eyes go wide. Stammering an apology and nodding rapidly, he turns and the entourage leads me down the halls of the Asylum. At first, things are fine. Everything’s normal and I feel like these orderlies could have easily been replaced by Longbow soldiers. That all changes when we descend into the lower floors, though. I don’t mean the first and second floors of this place, they’re actual legitimate medical facilities (which surprises me, I didn’t think Tyrant or his cronies would supply medical aid; of course, most of those patients were probably “loyal soldiers”). The basement levels, however, are riddled with terrified, miserable and increasingly unstable or outright insane individuals.

Most are just like the civilians back home. I used to hold the people there in contempt when I was obsessed with my own vices. After Shalice helped me, I barely gave them any notice. After my failure… Well, I haven’t given anybody much notice…

Maybe that’s why I’d failed to begin with. Everybody calls Statesman a jerk because he doesn’t seem to really talk to people, more at them. He doesn’t see people, he looks through them… I was doing the same… To everybody… Willfully. I thought I was the only important person in the world and everything fell apart when one thing went wrong in my life.

I’ve got to stop beating myself up over this. Yeah, I should feel bad about what happened and my responsibility for it, and I should recognize my role in the ordeal, but if I don’t learn to move on… I’ll just be another thug with a grudge, no matter which side I’m on.

But whatever I’m going to do, I can’t do it right now… No matter how much I want to.

I can hear the various individuals my counterpart and his demented mentor have tormented over the years screaming, whimpering, howling and making other noises to signify their dementia. Some are laughing, others are crying. Some aren’t making any sound or displaying any emotion at all, they just stand in front of the door and stare out the eye-slit at me and the entourage as we walk past.

I can hear their thoughts, though. I can see the things going on inside their heads. Malaise, my counterpart, has torn open the door that locks away their fears and they spend every waking day drowning in the things that set their teeth to chatter and their spines to tremble. They all want to just curl up into balls in the corners of their concrete rooms so they can sleep and make the scary things go away, but my counterpart and Mayhem keep having the orderlies drag them back out for more torment.

I wish I could reach inside the minds of all these people and put back the door that locks away the scary things and seal it shut, but that would blow my cover. Mayhem would know I wasn’t her Malaise in an instant and I would join the ranks of the unjustly damned.

In the deepest levels of the Asylum, Vasilikos brings me to Mayhem and her latest project. It reminds me of the same setup Shalice told me about, the young woman strapped to the surgical bed, only the operation light shining on her while the rest of the room is dark. She’s looking around, terrified. I can sense her thoughts about her last moments of freedom, how she was just scavenging for food when the Rampagers found her. Then they had their “fun” with her before turning her over to the Asylum after my counterpart sensed her psychic potential (and he must have really enjoyed the extra dose of nightmare fuel the sick bastards had heaped upon her, the sick [censored]). Now…

I see her look to me and she’s filled with equal parts fear and hate. I know I’m not the one she hates, but I look like him… Technically, physically, I am him, but I come from a different place, I live a different life… I’m not the monster she thinks I am, but she doesn’t know that, so she continues to fear and hate me.

I don’t blame her.

“Oh, Malaise,” Mother Mayhem purrs as she leans forward, bracing herself on the operation bed, “I’ve been aching to see you work your magic on this one… Her mind is so specially primed… I can’t wait to see what wonderful dreams you’ll bring out of her!”

I can sense she’s getting aroused by all of this nonsense. Frankly, I can feel the bile rising to my throat again. What’s more, I know I can’t torment this poor woman. Even when I was a criminal I never did anything so willfully depraved, and I’m not about to start now.

I feel something in me click or shift or change somehow, but I don’t have time to think about it.

Instead, I approach the operation table and grasp the poor girl’s face. I run my hand across her forehead and drum my fingers on her temple. I’m stalling as I consider the frantic plan that has crossed my mind and work out the nuances of it. There’s so much I don’t know about the situation, so much that I’ll have to react to as it happens and I can’t plan for it. What happens if Mayhem realizes I’m lying about the weird mental block? What if Vasilikos gives in to his own insanity and tries to murder me while I work and take my place as Mayhem’s student? What if… Gosh I don’t know…

I start making the illusion just as I start to sense that there’s a certain impatience radiating from Mother Mayhem. I pull the visions of Marauder’s men finding the girl from her mind and unveil them for all the world to see. They’ve kicked her into the base of a tree and now they’re all looming over her, sneering and jeering. They’ve got wicked plans in mind, and everybody knows what they plan.

A flood of impassioned approval comes from Mayhem, but I sense something else from Vasilikos. I’m radiating these images to everybody in the room, save one, and the girl is looking up at me, terrified and somewhat confused. She’s wondering why Mayhem is practically swooning with physical rapture and why I’m sweating as I try to wrap illusions around illusions and force-feed them to the people that expect me to wreak horror on her poor soul.

I’ve got to make Mayhem think I’m enjoying this, so that’s another image I have to make up and show her. I have to make her think the woman is being tormented, so that’s another image… I have to account for every little detail. My only fortune at the moment is that the monster driving Aurora’s body is so distracted by this horrible thing I’ve created by burning the poor girl’s nightmare fuel.

I finished the nightmare. I turned the Rampagers bestial and showed them ravaging the poor girl from multiple angles to the audience in the room. Vasilikos cleared his throat a little as he saw the images play out in their perverse glory. Mayhem visibly shuddered with pleasure as the monstrous art reached its climactic finish and the image of the girl I was “tormenting” screamed out in fear and pain. Then I shut the whole “painting” down, save one image of a passed out girl overlayed on the real one. She was still looking up at me, wondering what the Hell was going on and why I had my hand clamped over her mouth.

She’s seen nothing. She has no idea why Mayhem is so happy and I’m so terrified.

“That was amazing,” Mayhem moaned weakly, she was breathless from exhausting herself while I painted, “I’m going to have to retire to my room for a while… To sleep…”

She sauntered to the door and stopped before opening it. Turning to me, she dropped her voice to a husky drawl and asked if I would like to join her.

“As much as I would relish the opportunity,” I rasped, partly because of my act, and partly because I was hoarse from the strain of deceiving her, “I must say that I am phenomenally inspired at the moment, and simply cannot let the vision go to waste!”

She purred at that, expecting something grand from me. Still, she didn’t press the issue and left without saying another word as she was so lost in her bliss. I shook my head ruefully when I was certain she was gone and turned to Vasilikos.

“How long have you been a part of the Resistance?” I asked coldly, dropping the illusions and removing my hand from the confused woman’s mouth.

“What?” Vasilikos asked, his hand instinctively reaching for a customized scalpel he kept that was more like a butcher’s knife, “Whatever do you mean, Malaise?”

“I mean I could sense what you were feeling when I showed you those illusions. I take it the Malaise you know never cared to feel what others around him were, so he never noticed when you started making plans to rehabilitate his victims.”

He glared at me, and his eyes no longer reflected madness. Instead, a gamut of emotions, ranging from confusion to hope, played across his eyes and he stepped closer to me. His hand pulled away from the large-bladed scalpel and he reached for the light switch on the wall. Flicking it on, he looked closer to me and removed his surgical mask.

“You’re… You’re not him?” he asked, “No… You’re not. Your posture, your demeanor… You’ve been exerting yourself fiercely to make others believe you are, but… Who are you?”

“I’m Malaise,” I admitted, “Just not your Malaise. Can you trust them?”

He turned to his orderlies, then back to me and nodded.

“Let’s find somewhere that’s safe to talk,” he rasped, “Mister Flenser, Madame Stitch, get this woman to rehabilitation. I and Cortex will accompany our new… Ally of sorts… to the Bronze Way safehouse.”

“She’ll still need help, Vahzilok,” I explain, “Just not as much as you’ve helped these people…”

I can see it now, in this brighter light. The orderlies are stitched together shamblers, the more powerful ones. We call them Eidolons back home. Cortex, indeed, is one of the most powerful, and even has psychic powers. It probably helps Vasilikos to hide from Mayhem’s senses.

----------

“They lost much to Mayhem and my Malaise,” Vasilikos murmurs as he takes a seat in one of the rotting couches with a blanket thrown over it, “And I worked so hard to save them… The strain was too great for them, but… I promised them they would be free… I couldn’t let them die like that, tormented by what you-he and Mother Mayhem had done. I brought them back so they may take revenge someday.”

“Death would probably have been preferable for them,” I counter as I look about the safehouse.

“I know. I have commited a great sin in this, and while they have forgiven me, I have not. I will live with the horror of what I have done for the rest of my life. My one hope is that I will be able to help overthrow the monsters tormenting this city and the world. Then I will lay my companions to the rest they deserve and try to forget this ordeal.”

“You never will. Believe me, I know. The terrible things you’ve done will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“I know. But still… We will do what we can.”

“We did give him permission beforehand,” Cortex adds, his voice unsettlingly hollow as he speaks, “Even with the nightmares plaguing our minds, we remember giving the Good Doctor permission to make us tools of vengeance against you and your Queen.”

“My counterpart,” I correct the shambler, “not me.”

“You look the same to me.”

“You look like a monster who tried to poison the water past the city dam where I’m from. I wouldn’t let the appearances go deceiving you. Besides, Cortex, you can read my mind and know I’m telling the truth.”

“It could be another of your illusions, another of your lies,” the shambler isn’t giving me much credit, though that’s probably prudent in this world, “This could be a huge game to you!”

“Enough, Core,” Vahzilok-er… Vasilikos shouts, “Malaise has never ignored an opportunity to lay with his queen and play with her pet! The girl we recovered was undamaged from his nightmare visage, though those Rampagers had already done quite enough.”

“You’ll still be a long time helping her,” I interrupt, then, piqued, I inquire “Her pet?”

“Mother Mayhem’s pet. From the days when her body used to be a heroine. I believe it was the heroine’s husband.”

Calvin Scott? He’s still alive in this world?

It's something I'll have to see for myself.

It’s a bit much for me to take in, so I let it go for the moment. If what Vasilikos is saying is true, however, it makes the twisted psychic queen of this world even more revolting. She's tormenting the husband of the woman whose body she stole.

You can’t have a world full of monsters without victims…

I agree.

The style is a little irregular for the fiction that generally goes on the forums (narrative in one paragraph, full conversation in another), indeed, it's irregular for most works of fiction, but it works. I rather enjoy this story, too.

--Southern Skyway City--

The driver turned his head away from Arek's visage for a moment. He couldn't believe what he'd just said. He knew that now, as far as the Committee was concerned, he was a dead man.

"Alright..." he whimpered, "I'll tell you, but y-!"

Before he could say anymore, a shot rang out and his chest exploded, spraying red mist across Arek's face. Panicking, the van's driver gripped the draconian's wrist and gurgled out something nonsensical as shock overcame him and he passed out.

Malachite would notice that the man wasn't exactly dead, but he was well on his way. He needed medical attention and fast if he were to survive.

From the direction of the shot, a triumphant whoop was heard. Alarm klaxons also started going off as local police forces and drones were alerted to the presence of a high-powered meta human. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to arrive before the peculiar mutant.

They could tell it was a mutant because of the bizarre man's unusual weapon. It was an assault rifle that seemed to have been absorbed into his arm. Writhing flesh wriggled and constricted around the device, only peeling back enough to allow the weapon to fire without burning any of it. The rest of the freak was clad in motorcycle leathers and a bandanna. His pock-marked face was split in half by a wide grin as he chortled.

"Oh, I hope he ain't dead!" he shouted, "I am SO gonna enjoy killin' him slow..."

With that, Nukus started spraying bullets at the heroes.

----------

--Sedadyne HQ: CEO Office--

"No need to feel ashamed, Dyanmo. I understand the world we live in and am no stranger to the heady sensation of power," the man replied as he relaxed visibly and started plugging away at his keyboard, "One moment while I log in, please. Let's see... Oh, and I'll stick to calling you by your moniker. May as well keep this as brief and professional as we can. Alright... Now, first of all, it's not blackmail... Not exactly, anyway. Unfortunately, I can't tell you who requisitioned the use of the warehouse, just that whoever it was made out an order to us and signed with specific codes to indicate that they are powerful members within our corporate... Association... And that if I were to refuse such a request, I could look forward to losing my position within said association and facing a vastly shortened lifespan afterward."

He looked up to Dynamo Rose and a light smirk appeared on his face.

"Well, there's no guarantee that I would die, but whatever life I would have afterward would either be extremely unpleasant or I would otherwise wish I were dead. I'm sure you understand how the old threats go."

He looked into the information he had collected and nodded before addressing her again.

"Unfortunately, I have no surveillance footage of what was going on in the warehouse. The orders were very specific that we couldn't keep tabs on the goings-on in there... Not that I would in any case. The less I know about what was going on in there, the easier it is to lie to the police that I didn't know criminal activities were being conducted on my property. The discrepancy you're referring to involves the use of the warehouse. It's supposed to be a supplement to cover any losses we suffer from not being able to utilize our warehouse. We simply apply it to our now-damaged profits and report our accounting as we normally would. I and my C.F.O. fluctuate the amount put in monthly so as to make it seem like it's more randomized than it really is and the I.R.S. is none the wiser. Think of it as 'Bad Guy Rent.' There are no curious changes in my company's profit margins, so no authorities get suspicious."

He chuckled again and shook his head.

"Of course, that doesn't take into account the bad guys in question bringing freelance trouble down on their heads, and here we are. Now, as far as Regenerators, all I can tell you is what I've heard in news reports, and that's just a summarized sentence fragment that indicates that 'heroes are missing,' though I guess some of your erstwhile 'compatriots' are having trouble as well. Unfortunately, I don't have any idea what my company has to do with this. What I can do, however, is provide you with a business with which to continue your investigation... See, while I may not know what was happening in the warehouse, I did recognize the vehicle that was utilized. I remember seeing it at a presentation earlier this year."

He typed a few commands into his computer and the nearby printer started its work. In a few seconds, a set of pages were printed out for Rose to peruse. They detailed a London-based automobile company called "Metatech Motors Limited."

"They don't normally build vehicles," the C.E.O. explained, "They're really a research and development firm. They came under fire a few years ago when Crey found out they were conducting research on Rikti technology. See, the law is actually against Rikti weapons technology, but you just say the buzzwords 'Rikti Tech,' and the public loses their minds. A lot of people tend to be very forgetful that the MedCom system is based heavily on Rikti technology. The War Walls and Arachnos' flying machines, too! Well, these guys needed money for legal counsel, and the same association that helped me helped them. This also caused them to be essentially bought out by New Horizon, but the Board let the company retain its current staff and even brought in the C.E.O. as a member. They did the same for me, but like any other power structure, it's heavily tiered. In any case, I'm sure these guys can help you figure out where that hovering van came from. They were showing us cars that used a similar propulsion system in that demonstration I mentioned, so they'd be your best bet I'd figure."

----------

--Sedadyne HQ: Archives Database--

"Sure," the tech pulled out a communication device and started plugging in numbers, "Okay, here we go... Uh..."

He saw one of the robots looking pointedly at him.

"Well I don't know the address off the top of my head! It's not like I'm on friendly terms with those guys! Yeesh... Anyway, here ya go..."

He gave Cassie the address. It was in the Bronze Way neighborhood, not very far from the police station.

In the meantime, her scan of the Internet located the doctor she was looking for. It turned out he worked freelance research, Hallcomb Fact Finding. It was kind of a strange business to set up, but he'd apparently done well for himself in recent years. He even had a very respectable home in a new city built near London called "Beta City."

----------

--Grey's Army Base--

"His boss, huh?" a voice intoned from the medical bay's entrance, "Well, then I guess Mark should stop whining about letting 'the Reds' in here and start packing up to get the Hell out, because we were compromised from the beginning."

"Sheldon," Cory gestured to the young man wearing a lab outfit and cybernetic exoskeleton under the coat, "This is Ken. He's a friend of Spearhead."

"I heard on my way here. Mark stormed by the workshop cursing about him and James and Levi won't shut up about what they should have done differently. Then there's Nester who's got a black eye from smacking himself in the face... When Mark stormed out of there, I had to drop by and make sure our... 'Patient...' Was alright."

The man turned his oddly emotionless face toward the draconian and quirked his mouth.

"I trust, despite the antics of our rather ridiculous comrades, you're finding the medical bay facilities up to par for your needs. I should assume they are, since your friend and... Employee..., 'Groul' was a major force for helping redesign and renovate. It's rather serendipitous, the method in which you're here looking for him, as I would assume you'd have come here eventually anyway, if not for our help, then at least to reacquire his stuff."

"The world in which we live grows smaller by the work of Fate's hand," Cory replied, to which the inventor's stony look actually broke into a grin, "I knew that'd get you out of your stoic funk, Shel."

"It's not a funk, Cortland. I just try to keep my emotions calm and controlled."

"Ah, then you need to study Roland and Dustin more..." the sorcer countered with a grin and a wag of his finger.

----------

--Beta City Summary--

((Because I can't have you guys go and level London... Think of this as basically "Paragon City, England; only smaller... Much smaller"))

Beta City had a very short history. It was essentially constructed out of the shanty town that developed in the wake of the Rikti War as refugees flocked from their devastated homes throughout the rest of Europe. They hadn't realized that London had fared little better than the rest of the major cities of the world, so the people wound up making a different community for themselves serendipitously as they pulled together to survive. However, as reconstruction was started, the British officials knew they couldn't just let this shanty town remain. Rather than just wipe the whole place out and face the public relations nightmare of driving the refugee immigrants from their new home, however, they decided to build it up. If that was where they wanted to live, that was where they would live.

Initially called Project: London Beta, everybody working on the construction took to the shorthand version of Beta City that the name stuck. In surprisingly short order, they had a power plant, stores and even an entertainment district based on a racing arena for salvaged junk cars. As the months wore on, the vehicles brought into the races, indeed the arena itself, grew more sophisticated and the central field was used to incorporate sports like rugby and football/soccer. The rudimentary market had become a thriving business district (and somewhat ashamedly a Black Market of sorts), and major chains were starting to crop up. In the end, around the same time Statesman made his call for heroes from across the world to help Paragon City, Beta City's renovation was completed and it looked as respectable as any other major community.

It wasn't exactly its own city, though. London's municipal leadership wound up altering a lot of the zoning throughout the two communities. With the reestablished system, Beta City would wind up becoming the industrial center, resplendent with factories, more and larger power plants, and more modern architecture. In this way, London "proper" would be able to maintain its classic charm. The people living in Beta City, unfortunately, have little say in the matter, not that many of them care. The new construction and businesses being brought into the city means jobs for the residents, and they're quick to set to work.

God I wish.... That would be simply astounding. But my Main and my Peacebringer are married. I think I need to elucidate on their relationship more in Grey's Army...

But the changes that Kheldians visit upon their hosts aren't entirely cataloged. For instance, Charlene's Kheldian (Sol'Ra T'Cha; very loosely translated as "Star Scatter") made her younger. It was an unintended result, one that has had some recent consequences. Consequences I haven't fully explored yet.

However, for Randall, it's more of a problem that he's not entirely certain who he's talking to anymore. He's certain the one that cooks is still his wife (so he tries to talk to her as much as he can at these moments, while also sneaking in quick snacks). The rest of the time, though, it could be Sol'Ra, it could be Charlene, he could even be talking to a whole freaking Kheldian network for all he knows. It makes discussing politics, their futures (especially since they don't know if her newly acquired youth is permanent) and even normal day-to-day nick-nacks like television shows or their "heroic pursuits" difficult to interpret, because Charlene's constantly shifting between talking about the immediate future or even the present and talking about eons of change (sometimes in the same sentence).

Writing Zeke and his Reformed Nictus' back-and-forth comes easier to me for some reason. It's like they're discussing ideology without disagreeing or agreeing. But having two characters discussing mundanities and throwing in the difficulty of a third party inside the mind of one... Despite being uncomfortably close to writing a schizophrenic conversation, it just seems so... Inconsequential in the end...

Oh dear... it seems we may have hijacked this thread

You should try being married to one...

I recently got a weird feeling that the Brawler would have introduced him to Ms. Liberty... Sort of a "Well, your hearts are in the same place after all..." kind of match up.

However, as far as canonical reports, there are just a couple badges that make reference to him. It was as if the Blue King run was showing how a hero could rise to prominence ("Come on, all you heroes! We're taking down Requiem!") and swiftly fall right back into obscurity ("*sigh* Level 15 Scrapper, L-F-T!"). Oddly enough, it was War Witch that came back from that ordeal and made an impact in the gameworld.

Sadly, all that can be said about Apex is supposition and fan fiction. He's a Brawler-trained Scrapper, though, and a man driven by a sensation in his soul to protect the people around him and right the wrongs of the world. Tack onto that the murders of his friends, and you've got the makings for a proper hero. He should thank his lucky stars that fate didn't demand he lose his family, too (plus, Horus and War Witch died "comic book" deaths, so there's a chance they'll be able to come back corporeally; goodness knows, Horus already did once).

This is interesting.

Pity it'll disappear once attention is no longer paid to it...

Aside from the usual recommendations of keeping a back-up on your hard drive, I also suggest you post this in a place like the roleplaying forum, which has works from numerous players and isn't susceptible to the regular purges that claim so many inactive posts in the server forums.

Grey's Army update.

Now, I'd like to turn to my Redsiders for a bit. I'd like to cover Operative Taylor's road back to being an Arbiter (albeit a strange one, because PCs can't get the same colored capes as the Arbiters get) and Power Breaker's recovery (laughs will follow).

The clouds over Grandville thundered ominously, but Daniel Taylor paid them no mind. He had business to attend to in the Tower, business that would keep him warm and dry while the Atlantic storm raged outside. Arbiter Rein greeted him at the door with a handshake and they exchanged small talk.

Rein hadn’t seen Taylor since he’d been cast out from the Arbiter Corps. Taylor was quick to remind him that, yes, he had, and that the “lowly Soldier of Arachnos” had actually come to see him while in search of a suitable patron. In fact, it was Rein’s advice that got him working for Scirocco, largely due to the fact that the Arbiter remembered his old friend having a penchant for the “right and honorable” (though Taylor’s experience under the sorcerer was hardly as adventurous as other “Destined Ones;” the most he’d done thus far was quelling a minor Mu Mystic uprising, but it didn’t have the chance to reform and summon Hequat by the time he cut them down).

It had been a grueling year. He’d fought his way from being an outcast operative to being one of the trusted agents of one of Recluse’s lieutenants. However, he was still largely under the radar in terms of professional recognition. It didn’t help that Daos was blackballing him every chance he got.

“All I want is to get back into the Corps,” he explained to Rein as he plugged the buttons that activated the door next to his friend, “I don’t get why Daos is making it so difficult. I mean, sure, I had a couple hiccups, but who doesn’t in careers such as ours? Look at Sands, for God’s sake!”

“Sands has leverage, though,” Rein reminded him, “I mean, Hell, we don’t even know the guy’s name! I know you and him were pals, and don’t get me wrong, I think he’s a great guy, but he’s got a loose-cannon way about him that gets Daos all butt-hurt. He’s tormenting you essentially to punish Sands… And it’s working. I haven’t heard of anything the guy has done lately as far as crazy schemes go…”

“He got me involved in something that fizzled out,” Taylor grumbled as he remembered a botched assault on the Pentagon itself, “I never should have agreed to do it, but… It would’ve meant so much if we were successful…”

Rein nodded. He’d heard about Ghost Widow’s crazy plan and the political near-paralysis it had caused through the sheer audacity of it. The assault on the Pentagon had failed, the U.S. government was hording toys that would make the Malta Group weep with envy, but it had also poked holes into what the U.S. government had thought was an insurmountable defense.

“Well, look at it this way, your time as a freelance Soldier has revealed the dark secrets of this island city state’s various denizens to you. Now, you’ve done enough work and gained enough leverage to be able to hold it against anybody who’d want to do harm to your professional career at this point… Probably if they wanted to do real harm to ya, as well.”

“That’s a pretty good way of looking at the situation,” Taylor agreed, “I mean, I joined Arachnos out of high school. I rose through the ranks knowing almost nothing outside of my Port Oakes neighborhood… Now I know almost every nook and cranny of this place!”

Rein nodded as the door opened to admit the operative. With a wave, he let his friend go and bid a silent well-wishing that he’d regain his prominence as an Arbiter. In Rein’s opinion, they needed more go-getters like Daniel in the Corps. They needed Arbiters who were willing to go out and work the will of Arachnos, not just stand around and look menacing.

Inside, Taylor removed his helmet and breathed in the specially conditioned air. Always kept at a comfortable seventy-two degrees, not too hot or cold, the air was somewhat sterile in that fact that it was repeatedly filtered and processed before being pumped into facilities. This was officially done to protect the people working inside from chemical attacks, but the operative was more than certain that it was done for the comfort factor.

It was odd thinking that Recluse would want his fortress to be comfortable. Considering the intimidating nature of the premier meta human, most would assume that he would have electrified the walls, floors, chairs and medical Reclaimators just for kicks.

“Hiya, Danny,” one of the few people he could call a friend from his tumultuous adventures of “troubleshooting,” the enigmatic Bane Spider Executioner known as Exterminator Null, greeted him just inside the door and handed him a cup of what smelled like coffee, “All set for another day of pencil-pushing?”

Taylor took the cup and grumbled something about filing that needed to be done. For as amazing as his struggle to be able to operate in Grandville again had been, his actual work in the fortified city had become mind-numbingly dull. It was strange that some of the most proficient killers and assassins the world had seen often found themselves filing reports or welding portions of “The Web” together. He didn’t envy the guys who had to do plumbing in Bane Spider armor.

“Just a few hundred more pages to go and I’ll be able to get back to proper work for a man of my skills,” he finally said legibly, “I can’t wait to have Daos off my back…”

He gave a curt nod to the bald man with the golden leggings and shoulder pads. Daos and his assistants glared back at him, but turned away as Null turned his helmet visor in their direction. Nobody messed with the Exterminators. Nobody.

As they reached his desk in an office complex three floors up, they found Arbiter Sands waiting for him.

“Seems I’m Mister Popular today,” the operative grunted as he circumvented his friend and took his chair, “What can I do for you today?”

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” the eccentric Arbiter held his hands up in exaggerated mock defense and backed away from Taylor, “Can’t a guy just drop by to chat with his buddy over a cup of coffee?”

“Well, his good buddy is already here,” Null countered quite suddenly, “And we’ve already got our coffee.”

“Was I talking to you? Nevermind, shut up!” Sands held his hand up to Null’s faceplate and reached for a cup sitting on Daniel’s desk, “That’s mine… Now we’re all cozy.”

“You and I clearly have differing definitions of the word,” the Exterminator growled before extending a drinking tube from his helmet and slurping up some of the coffee in his cup.

With the unknown variable sufficiently distracted, Sands turned to his old friend. For as odd as the Arbiter was, Taylor supremely confounded him. Sands and his cadre of friends were known for pulling one over on anybody that worked with or for them, often in a convoluted gambit intended to reap great rewards for everybody involved. However, Taylor wasn’t conniving. Instead, he was one of the few people who was genuinely trying to make the best out of a bad situation. Oddly enough, he almost always succeeded at it.

This didn’t mean Taylor was above certain vices, like petty vengeance. However, Sands knew the guy was trying to find a way to safely extract the Kheldian from the female heroine he’d been studying. He knew his friend would have encouraged the woman’s daughter to join the Fortunata program once she’d seen all that Arachnos had to offer. Still, the things he did and said in anger often made him out to be more of a jerk than he really was.

“Look, Danny, I know that was a bit of a bum ticket I sent you on. At least the people you were with turned out to be capable in their respective fields…”

“They were lunatics, Sands,” Taylor logged into the terminal and brought up where he’d left off the day prior, “The same kinds of monsters Arachnos never should have brought in these Isles… We should be rising above the violent nature and base desires that drive the multitudes of humanity, but now we’re being forced to not only employ individuals that embody vice, we’re ordered to encourage them! And look what happens to them, too, when they fall out of favor with Recluse by not living up to the standards of Destiny, or they stray from the path the Fortunatas want them to take… They wind up wallowing in some crap-sack, gutted-out hotel only to be fed to the wolves at a moment’s notice. How long until they do that to me? How long until they do that to you!?”

“Shh!” they heard in the next partition, “You don’t want them hearing you talk like that!”

“Considering how many times they’ve almost killed me already, I could care less.”

Null chuckled. He figured it would be best to let Taylor think that the few times he knew about plots to kill him were the only ones that had happened so far. Fortunately, there wasn’t anybody left alive to facilitate the operations he didn’t know about. He and the peculiar Night Widow, Shadeheart, were very thorough when it came to protecting the troubled Arachnos agent.

“Well, be that as it may,” Arbiter Sands said between sips of coffee, “You’ve got potential, and I hate to see it go to waste. So… I’ve got something on the docket that may finally help you get back in the good graces of Daos…”

Taylor stopped typing and stared at the screen. Sands lied. A lot. However, he was never dishonest. It was strange, but the Arbiter genuinely strove for success… The problem was that he let the Devil have his way with the details, so situations were hardly ever as simple as he presented them.

“Do I have to beat Statesman with a butter knife?”

“No!” Sands laughed much more than he had to, and Taylor wondered briefly if he had actually guessed the task correctly, “But it does involve a rampaging meta. See… We all know how Ghost Widow likes to take in stray large brutes and turn them into her unholy army of the damned, right?”

“Yes,” the other two replied at the same time (actually, it was three voices in unison, the eavesdropper spoke before he knew what he was doing).

“Well, one of them isn’t so appreciative and needs to be put down.”

Sands withdrew a datapad from his belt and set it on Taylor’s desk. There was a picture of what looked to be a man in a horned medieval great helm and a dossier that classified the individual as “The Sanguimancer.”

“Seems he’s lost his mind to whatever gave him his power. He’s slaughtered an entire base and is currently ripping and shredding it into his own personal lair. Frankly, Recluse would normally use it to shred unwitting heroes who stumble into the G-ville. However, with a few whispered promises and a little bribery… He gave the assignment over to me.”

Taylor and Null turned to the datapad. They didn’t want to hear what Sands had used to bribe the Rogue Isles monarch. Unfortunately…

“Who knew he’d get tunnel vision and sign anything after a bottle of scotch and some surveillance footage of Ms. Liberty…”

“I think he probably just wanted the foot-“ Null started but Taylor stopped him with a horrified shake of his head.

Sands' smile, however, was reminiscent of a kid in a candy store and he'd just found a pile of sweet, sweet taffy.

“In the shower, Null," he was almost giggling, "You didn’t let me finish. She’s in the shower in the videos.”

My Beautiful Misery is updated.

The story is starting to pick up speed now as the hapless hero, Malaise, has driven himself to a situation in the middle of Praetorian Earth. Now he's stuck and is seeing that the situation is getting more desperate. But what can he do to hinder the meta human overlords?

As my vision clears and the lurching sensation in my gut fades (thank whatever gods are watching over me that I didn’t lose my lunch…), I have one thought repeating over and over in my mind.

What the Hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t thinking, really. I had a notion and I acted on it. Not my finest work, not by a long shot, and it’ll probably get me killed, but I don’t have time to consider any of that. Instead, I have to focus on the dark, dank room I’m in and the other people in it.

“You’re back early,” comes a stereo-like voice that reminds me of Positron.

I look over at him and realize it’s Antimatter. He’s glaring at me through that glowing visor of his; he has his arms folded over his chest like he expects me to do or say something.

I can’t get a reading on his thoughts… I couldn’t get one from Positron, either. They keep their minds well-schooled.

However, the other individual in the room, the one who I shouldn’t be able to read, is broadcasting a plethora of messages from her repeatedly-damaged mind. Briefly, I look over at Mother Mayhem and gasp a little as I realize it’s not the face of Shalice looking pensively at me, but of Aurora!

They expect me to say something.

“You sent me into the midst of some crazy, rusty machines, you philistine!”

I hope they had philistines in this world… I hope it’s something my opposite would say…

“Did you find the other Malaise?” Antimatter asks, “I would have kept tracking him, but something got a hold of the transmitter Dominatrix planted out there and destroyed it…”

Good Clockwork King… You keep doing work like that, and we might have to make room for you in the Vindicators… Just ease up on Penny and—

Back to the issue at hand. I’m not out of here yet… Maybe I should just press the “Return” button again and-

Looking at the device, I see the power cell is drained. I have to think of a lie and think it up quick.

“You sent me to a blasted wasteland with a bunch of robots! They were messing with my mind! How was I supposed to find my goody-two-shoes double in a place like that!? What would a man of my caliber even be doing out there!?”

Antimatter stares at me for a few seconds that feel like hours and I feel Mayhem’s mind brush against my own. However, my defenses are in place, and she shrinks back as if struck. I’m going to have to fix that in a short while; if it looks like I’m hiding my thoughts from her, she’ll realize I’m not her Malaise. Perhaps I should create some fake thoughts…

“I’ll have to check my notes. Perhaps the transporter didn’t send you to the appropriate coordinates, then,” the armored man (is he? I think he’s an energy being still…) reaches for the device I’m holding and I toss it to him like it’s a piece of junk, “Watch it, you fool!”

“What do I care if it breaks,” I snort, “It’s not like it worked anyway…”

“You should teach your whelp some manners, Mother Mayhem. If it weren’t for my sensors registering his opposite in a position we could have captured him, I wouldn’t have included your obviously inept protégé in this experiment.”

“Inept!?” I shout with indignation that isn’t entirely fake, “I’m not the one who made a broken toy!”

Antimatter’s visor glows brightly and some green energy flashes at his armor’s fingertips. I’m pushing a little too hard now. I need to tone it-! He’s melting the device in his hand…

“Look! See?’ I can’t help myself and my mouth keeps running, “Now it’ll never work right!”

Anti-Keyes looks down and sees that he’s destroyed his work. Better yet, he’s molten any trace of DNA or fingerprints that could be on the metal, plastic and polymer. Also, in his embarrassment, his glowing has died down.

“Raymond,” Mayhem sighs as she wraps her arms around me from behind and rests her chin on my shoulder, “Don’t mind Malaise’s games, he’s just trying to get into your head and under your skin. Perhaps it’s time you returned to your lab and got to work on improving this technology. If we’re to move on Tyrant’s plans, we’ll need these devices to be in perfect condition to avoid any messy… Accidents…”

I have an image float through my mind, from her, of some robots that look like the bigger Clockwork, only shiny and steel, melted into concrete columns. Apparently, Antimatter and his associate, Neuron, are having trouble repairing their portal technology since Manticore damaged their prior system.

“Very well, Mother Mayhem,” he grumbles as he turns to leave, “I’ll see you in Tyrant’s throne room in three days.”

With that, he left me alone with my mentor’s opposite. I turned to look at her and realized that such an assertion of Mayhem wasn’t exactly precise. In fact, Mayhem is certainly inferior to Psyche…

“Why can’t I feel you?” she asks breathlessly.

There’s a strange, warm sensation coming from her mind and I realize (with horror) it is affection. In fact, she was worried I might not come back. It’s a little unsettling that she has affection for my counterpart.

I almost laugh as I realize the absurdity that she wasn’t expecting me but him. My opposite is, hopefully, getting zapped to and interrogated in Ziggursky as we speak. However, I have to deal with the revulsion that’s causing my bile duct to quake.

“I…” I stammer as I try to think of a reason why I have my mental defenses on overdrive, “The robots… Strange, clattering rodents… They… They were messing with my mind in some way… I don’t know what I did to shut them out, but I can’t make it turn off…”

I put enough panic into my voice to make her think I’m being truthful. She stops brushing my mind and nods. Her embrace tightens briefly and she whispers into my ear.

“You’ll get better, baby. We’ll be together again shortly.”

I need to be alone, so I try to come up with something that will get her to leave me. Since my opposite is still something of an artist, I consider using that…

“Please, my dear,” I clasp her hand in mine and twist out of her embrace, pausing briefly to kiss the back of it before continuing, “This whole ordeal… It has inspired me. I must… I must be alone, so I may engage in this great work… It has been so long since I’ve painted…”

“Why paint it when you can etch it into the minds of our patients?” she countered.

“My dear, it has been so long…”

Using terms of endearment to converse with this woman is making my stomach turn worse than the dimensional jaunt.

“…I wish to practice the lesser art more… It has a tendency to last longer and it’s always distorted and muddled up when it’s just in the minds of my audience…”

Considering the fact that was precisely the problem I had when I was an art thief who tormented the minds of my pursuers, I figured this would be a problem my “Dark Mirror” counterpart would run into as well. We could implant the vision we had, but the mind’s eye is always so unique to the individual… The image we create could be retained for years, days, hours, minutes, seconds… We could never know. Always, though, the vision would change and distort.

I still remember the Interpol officer who told me she didn’t appreciate me pitting her against her mother in one of the visions I sent her. When I read her mind briefly (in a bit of a violation of my parole, but I insist I was trying to help!), I saw the vision she meant, but I remembered pitting her against a classic witch. I suppose she had issues with her mother, but it’s not my place to dwell on the subject. I’m using this as an example of the sorts of things that can distort the visions I and my counterpart inflict on our foes.

“I would like to see this last longer,” I sigh in exasperation.

“Very well, love,” she leans in to kiss me, and I turn away just in time to feel it on my cheek (better that than my lips; I’d have lost my lunch on the spot), “Oh! I’ll see you tomorrow, then. We’ve got patients to work on!”

----------

It takes me a while to find my room. I covered myself by telling anyone who asked that I felt like wandering around and getting a look at the lay of the land, let the desolate wreckage of the once-proud city inspire me…

Well, it does inspire me… It inspires me to want to help these people. There must be some kind of horrid malady afflicting the meta humans of this world and the related ones. Every city is leveled, every water is fouled and every resource is plundered. The planet is tearing itself apart now because Tyrant and his minions have no regard for anything more than instant gratification.

I catch the sunset on this blasted cityscape and I have to fight back a tear. It’s madness and stupidity rolled into one that these lunatics could even begin to perceive themselves in the right. Surrounded by all of this entropy… It makes sense that they would want to invade Prime Earth and strip it of its riches and resources, like Biblical locusts… Interdimensional Biblical Locusts…

Suddenly, I find myself liking the Rikti a little more. At least they felt threatened by us and were simply lashing out over a misunderstanding. They weren’t trying to make the rest of the multiverse as miserable as they were (not that the Rikti are miserable…). On the roof of the asylum, I stretch my mind out to get a feel of what this world’s Steel Canyon is like…

What I find chills my spine.

When I finally reach my chambers, I take a moment to rest and settle my nerves. The world is patrolled by Marauder’s punks, Bobcat’s strays, and the robots of Antimatter and Neuron. What few people are left that aren’t part of the factions are either part of the tiny resistance cells or are just…

They’re just born victims.

I guess you can’t really be evil unless you have a steady stream of people to abuse. Tyrant’s minions are carting in more people to torment from the rest of the world all hours of the day and night. This Paragon City is a fortified city state (which is giving it too much credit, considering the urban wreckage) that’s still at war with the rest of the world. The difference between this place and the Rogue Isles back home, however, is that this place isn’t waterlogged. It was a part of a larger nation, and now it’s a festering cancer that’s destroying the rest of the world around it.

The rest of the world is mounting its resistances, but Tyrant’s got a stranglehold on this place that Recluse would envy. Recluse is still trying to assert his dominance, Tyrant has it. He’s got the armies of super-powered malcontents, he’s got the superweapons… I bet he even has this world’s Warburg.

This world is lost.

It’s going to end, either from getting split in two by the meta humans abusing it or by incineration in nuclear fire. It’s going to happen soon, too. I can feel it. It scares me.

They’ll come to Prime Earth… They’ll think they can conquer us… It’ll be a whole new war, one I don’t know if we’re ready to fight or win, but we’ll have no choice…

It’s too much to think about right now and it’s terrifying me. I have to prepare my escape and I need to do it now. I still don’t know what I was thinking… I should have just found Positron and handed him the device… He’d have figured it out. This spy stuff is beyond me.

I’m an artist not a… Not a…

What the Hell am I even doing here if I don’t think of myself as a hero? How do I look at myself?

I guess I’ll just have to keep my eyes and ears open, pay attention, and try to find what I can about this place before I find my way out of here. I need to do some kind of good before I leave… I need to do something…

Otherwise, I’m just ambling around this nightmare aimlessly…

All these links died... Check below...

GAH! You never finished your story!

--Sedadyne HQ: Cassie--

The man shrugged. He explained that he didn't know anything about missing people or the villain "Wrecthaus." However, he did recognize Ayre/Webber.

"We've got a contract with 'em, I think," he rubbed his chin and rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I think we're supposed to have one of their guys in each of the trucks whenever we do some shipping. There should be a few of 'em in the warehouse next door... Personally, I don't like 'em. They've got serious attitude problems, like they're always doped up or something. Plus, we keep getting complaints from our shippers that they're overweight when they've got an A.W. guard with 'em. I didn't know they were based in London. I thought they had a headquarters in Steel Canyon."

He was surprisingly calm in such close proximity to killer robots, and when Cassie pointed it out, he shrugged.

"It's Paragon City, lady. We've all gotta get used to this kind of crap sometime."

Hack, as it turned out, wasn't finding much different from what Dynamo had learned. However, it did encounter the Research and Development notes, specifically the notes on several compounds that were either patent pending, FDA approval, or were currently rejected.

One compound, SPX-467, code named "Slumberyn," had been flagged as dangerous for public use. Users would find themselves in more of a "hypnotized" state that left them exceptionally open to suggestion. Sedadyne immediately recalled the formula and ceased production.

However, there were further notes. Apparently, an agency in London had requested the research. The agency was apparently related to the same organization that had rescued Sedadyne from a hostile takeover.

For some odd reason, the name of the agency wasn't recorded, but the individual who would be receiving the formula and conducting further research was. Hack recovered the name and address of one Doctor Hallcomb.

-----------

--Sedadyne HQ: Dynamo Rose--

The man sitting behind the desk calmly watched his door clatter to the floor in front of him and leaned forward to show the brute that she had his attention.

"I suppose you're with the group that trashed the warehouse. Members of the Board of Directors won't be happy about that, but I suppose it can't be helped. At least I can get back to using my warehouse again... For that, I suppose I can overlook your rude behavior thus far."

He clasped his hands on the surface of his desk and took a deep breath. When Dynamo glared down at him, he shrugged.

"I'm not a fighter, lady, though I did practice boxing in college. I suppose I could queue up the emergency power armor I own and we could throw down, but that would end with one of us hurt and both exhausted. It would be a more amicable solution if you simply asked me what you want to know and I can decide whether or not I should acquiesce or decline. Considering what you've been doing, I'm leaning on decline, but maybe if you're nice enough about it (not too nice, mind you, I'm not asking you to bend over backwards, just stop breaking things), I'll be more amicable."

At first, Rose wasn't sure if the small man was being serious. However, when she saw his dispassionate, narrowed eyes, she realized that he wasn't just talking trash. She didn't know whether to laugh or just start hitting him.

----------

--Southern Skyway City--

The man shrieked as Arek's grip loosened and he frantically clasped the scaled forearms.

"LONDON!" he screamed, "WE COME FROM LONDON! THEY TRAIN US THERE! IT'S WHERE WE GOT THE VAN! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! Oh-man-it-wasn't-supposed-to-happen-this-way!-I-was-supposed-to-teleport-away!-What-the-Hell-happened?-Where's-Jack?-Why-isn't he-here?-This-monster's-gonna-kill-me-next!-This-monster's-gonna-kill-me-next..."

The mashed-together mantra continued in this vein for some time.

----------

--Unknown Super Group Base--

"I've met the one you call 'Groul,'" Cory said quietly as he rolled his head to stretch his neck muscles, "He introduced himself to my boss as 'Spearhead Lambda,' though. Nice draconian. He's a bit more technologically minded than I expected, but that's not a point against him. He helped redesign much of this base..."

"Wait!" Mark seemed about on the verge of hyperventilating, "This guy knows Lambda? Lambda rebuilt the base! Dude! Arachnos knows our secrets! This is bad! This is super bad!"

"Marcus, chill out or I will chill you out," Cory intoned, inclining his head gently and leveling his gaze on his friend, "Besides, Arachnos isn't usually in the habit of hiring... 'Non-humans,' at least, not in the rank-and-file sense. Now, after you would be so kind as to activate that Triage device like you said you would, you can take your leave and clear your head of this issue. If you could, please send Nester and Sheldon in here."

Grumbling and muttering, Mark walked around the bed and activated the pyramid-shaped machine. Green waves resumed radiating from it and Drago/Ken/The Black Dragon could feel his wounds stitching themselves back together rapidly. It wasn't the shocking effect as when Pain Dominators and Empathics zapped wounds closed, or the burning sensation from when temperature controllers cauterized them shut (which was difficult to understand how that worked in and of itself; fire does damage, it doesn't heal, but there it went...), but then, the regeneration aura wasn't necessarily as fast-acting.

"I'm gonna be practicing grapples with Justin's mercs," the corrupter announced as he walked away.

"Don't forget Nester and Sheldon!" the wizard called after him.

"Yeah, yeah..."

"I apologize for his behavior," Cory sighed to Drago, "I'm Cortland Simmons, wizard for Grey's Army, the group of which you currently find yourself under the care. I certainly hope you don't represent some kind of Arachnos plot to harm any of us. I rarely get a chance to converse at any length with draconians of any sort, and it would simply be unfortunate if I were forced to fight you."

[ QUOTE ]
Romulus is at it again. This time he's after the secrets of the Maenads, wild women who follow the path of Dionysus.

[/ QUOTE ]

I don't think it takes too much to learn how to get rip-roarin' drunk!

Arc Name:Defending the Homeland
Arc ID:59695
Morality:Villainous
Faction: Longbow, Customs (The Global Enforcement Company; Random Heroes)
Creator Global/Forum Name: @Mr Grey/Mr_Grey
Difficulty Level:Pretty Damn Tough, but not impossible for Soloists.
Synopsis:They may not be much, but the Isles are your home now. Are you willing to defend them?
Estimated Time to Play: 30 minutes (Ghosting) to 1 hour (fighting through); Four missions, no Large maps.