Mr_Grey

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.

Arc Name: Securing West Libertalia
Arc ID: 17252
Morality: Heroic
Faction: Fifth Column, Nemesis, Air Guard support
Creator Global/Forum Name: @Mr_Grey/Mr_Grey
Difficulty Level: Moderate
Synopsis: The Air Guard has been contracted to help secure the nation of West Libertalia by the United Nations. Before they can begin in earnest, Captain Rachek would like to hire you to help secure a beachhead...
Estimated Time to Play: 1 Hour
Link to More Details or Feedback: None

Arc Name: Meet the Air Guard
Arc ID: 10966
Morality: Heroic
Faction: Sky Raiders, Nemesis
Creator Global/Forum Name: @Mr_Grey
Difficulty Level: Moderate to High
Synopsis: The Air Guard is a splinter faction that broke away from the Sky Raiders at the onset of the second Rikti War. Comprised of individuals who wish to redeem themselves, but on their own terms, they face an uphill battle to help police the globe. Captain Rachek has been fortunate to acquire a contract from the United Nations, but he feels he needs to ramp his group's public relations into overdrive, so he's extended an invitation to heroes and more cool-headed rogues like you...
Estimated Time to Play: 1 to 1.5 hours
Link to More Details or Feedback: The Air Guard

Well, I have a theory about Nemesis, but it's premature at the moment.

I'll just leave it as "I feel there's really only one man with real access to time travel in this game."

--Unknown Super Group Base--

Up to this point,Mark hadn't been paying much attention to Drago's appearance, distracted as he was with explaining the mundane operations of the group's medical bay. Upon realizing that his patient wasn't in fact human, he did a double take and backed into the apparatus that stored some of the medicinal items the group's leadership kept in the medical chamber for emergencies. A vial of Energite Energy Drink tumbled out of the vortex and rolled to Cory, who looked sleepily to the room's third occupant.

"What the-" Mark stammered as he fell to the floor, landing on his backside pretty hard.

What followed from his mouth was a tirade of curses, all of which were the same "F" word, only in various tenses and uses. While he didn't do much to communicate any real idea or inquiry, he did illustrate the diversity of the word.

"Interesting," he intoned, "Draconian of some form."

"You know what he is!?" Mark shouted.

"Not exactly. Mark, calm down. I'm certain you've seen far worse in your travels by now."

"No!" he turned back and pointed at Drago, "I have never seen anything like this before! How the Hell did you fit into that suit!? How did you get that helmet on your head!? What the [frig] is going on!?"

"Well, at least you stopped insulting him by talking like he's actually in the room," the wizard sighed.

----------

--Skyway City: Sedadyne HQ: Back Entrance--

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh...." the office worker replied as he stared down the barrel of the Assault Bot's cannon. The sound turned into a croak after half a minute and he resumed croaking until he passed out from a lack of oxygen to the brain.

"Ah, geez... Bob fainted," another worker grumbled.

Before Cassie could choose a new victim to get answers from, a panicked woman came running into the room like the hounds of Hell were chasing her. She slammed the door against one of the workers already held hostage and wound up clanging into one of Mac's outstretched cannons. She landed flat on her back on the floor and passed out.

"Pack your [junk]! Pack your [junk]!" another worker shouted as he barreled through the door as well, "We've got super villains on the-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

He too collided with Mac, only he fell back into the door and the next Sedadyne employee trying to use the back exit to escape from Dynamo Rose. Cassie could already tell that this was going to get out of hand in a short while.

Fortunately, one employee, a slightly portly individual with a graying beard and thick glasses, barked how "enough is enough" and pushed the other workers aside. He waddled his way around one of the unconscious bodies and waved for Cassie to follow him.

"Anymore of this bumbling is only going to get us killed! Ma'am, if there's something you need, I can take ya where you need to go."

---

Oddly enough, Dynamo's scan of payroll seemed to show that everything was ship-shape. Almost all of the money that the company had to turn over to its employees was being paid promptly and anything that went into research and development was being appropriately submitted as well. There were even a few spots where numbers didn't add up in increments of twenty dollars or so, indicative of someone skimming petty cash from the budget.

One thing of note, however, was all that skimming was suddenly covered for by a large influx of funding from an unlabeled outside source a couple weeks back. The money was placed in an emergency fund that only the company's CEO and CFO had access to. At the moment, it was an extra five hundred thousand dollars.

Unfortunately, otherwise, she was coming up blank.

----------

--Southern Skyway City--

Unfortunately for Arek, the van's driver wasn't very forthcoming with information. Instead, he broke down and started crying and blubbering. He hadn't expected for things to go so completely bad for him in such a short time.

Meanwhile, the half-molten device in Malachite's hand glowed briefly, beeped, then ended with an electric sizzle and pop. On the back was a maker's logo that looked similar to a tesseract.

Added another section to Grey's Army. I lack the chops to write out a court case (I hate, Hate, HATE legalese; the English language is complex enough), though I was able to get the main bullet points and the fact that Chris Jenkins was prosecuting Cedric fit into the blurb about the trial.

The verdict winds up being a surprising one, yet still wrought with consequence for the tanker's behavior from earlier. I also poke a little fun at some of the futility in the Paragon City Court System.

The trial was a surprisingly speedy affair. A scant few weeks after Angel had been recovered, and they were already looking at the verdict and sentencing.

Cedric felt something that he could only call “anti-pride” at being prosecuted by the city’s famous Chris Jenkins, the lawyer that had a penchant for trying to extort money from heroes after they’d laid the smack down on some criminals. This time, however, he’d hoped to make his career, or at least set a precedent, by representing the city itself as it tried one of the many people who “claimed to defend it” (Jenkins’ insinuation was that the heroes were simply undermining the city’s real defenders, the police and military, in an effort to soften the populace up for later exploitation).

The judge, Hawthorne, was a surprisingly grim and somber man. For a moment, Grey was reminded of the first time he read the Crucible, but the man in that story didn’t hold a candle to the serious attitude being conveyed by this one. He was extremely hard on Cedric’s defense attorney, so much, in fact, that Cedric decided he would make his own closing argument.

It was an impassioned speech, and he had to be redacted a number of times for cursing, but he felt he got the point across. What he did, he would have done for anybody who had lost their child, their sibling, their parents, and he did it to send a message to the monsters who thought they could get away with such a heinous atrocity. He did what any self-respecting person would have done in the search for a member of their family, and he would do it again in an instant for any other person.

Jenkins’ closing argument pointed to a supposed mental instability in Cedric. He deplored the city’s obsession with costumed freaks and monsters and their unwillingness to stand up for themselves and what was “right” (despite talking about things that were wrong about the heroes, he had little to say about what could be otherwise right). He urged the jury to condemn Cedric for the mass murder of Council soldiers (he was stopped short of saying “innocent civilians”) in the streets of Steel Canyon and started ranting how “If you don’t, surely, God will!”

It started making the tanker laugh, but he quelled it quickly as Judge Hawthorne turned one of his glaring, vulture-like eyes on him. Jenkins lost his composure upon hearing the chuckle, but recovered enough to close his statement with dignity. The jury deliberated for almost an hour and Cedric almost started to worry.

When they returned to deliver the verdict, he could feel his dad’s hand gripping his shoulder. Cedric squeezed the paw back and leaned forward as the foreman started to read.

However, Hawthorne stopped the foreman to address Cedric.

“Mister Grey,” his deep, resounding voice seemed to bounce off the man, “You do remember the fact that you waved your right to a jury of heroic peers, right?”

“Yes your honor,” Grey replied after standing, “I figured it would be best this way.”

“You understand you can’t file for appeal based on grounds that the jury wasn’t ‘of your peers’ since this was your decision, right?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Mister foreman, you may resume.”

The foreman nodded, smiled and unfolded the paper carefully. For how brief his message was, he was certainly taking his time.

“We the jury, find the defendant… Not guilty.”

Jenkins was probably surprised when Cedric joined him in shouting “WHAT!?”

Cedric was so certain he’d be going to prison. He wasn’t sure what he’d do while in there, but it probably would have involved a lot of broken bodies as he fought with the countless idiots he helped put in the Zig or anyone who had a grudge against a “former” hero. Really, he was just hoping he could go to the Zig so the whole affair could be over and life could go on; he’d figure his way out from there. Now, however, Jenkins was likely to draw the whole affair out to the Supreme Court.

“Order!” Hawthorne shouted over the din of the courtroom, his voice sharp and commanding enough that he didn’t even need the gavel, “Shut up!”

The room quieted and he looked at the jury foreman. He looked over the jury members, one-by-one, and finally turned to the courtroom audience. Jenkins visibly paled as the gaze settled on him, and Cedric felt a cold chill run up his spine as the hawk-like gaze turned to him, but Hawthorne’s speech addressed everybody.

“The other members of the jury are in agreement?” he growled.

The other jurors nodded and the judge sighed before continuing.

“Look at this. Look at the mess you’ve made. We hold our lives at the mercy of freaks and killers and you wouldn’t have it any other way. I suppose it makes sense, they keep us safe from more monstrous freaks and killers, ones who would just as easily victimize any of you if it meant furthering their goals. But that doesn’t excuse Grey’s, or any hero or heroine’s, actions when it comes to murdering people in the streets. There has to be law, there has to be order! We cannot simply allow the costumes and capes to have their run of the city or we’ll be no better than the Etoile Isles or the wild West.”

He turned to Cedric…

“Because of this, I’m sentencing you, Cedric Grey, to two thousand hours of community service, despite the verdict. I am also suspending your hero license indefinitely until such time as you have proven your capability to operate within the bounds of the law. Ladies and gentlemen, you are dismissed.”

With one last rap of the gavel, the people in the courtroom started to disperse. Cedric’s lawyer tried to tell him that they would appeal and that he would get his hero’s license back, but he waved the man off with a promise that he was still getting paid.

“Let it go, I’ll live with it. It’s fine.”

The lawyer seemed a little put off by this, but he couldn’t do anything once his client had made a decision. He packed up his papers, shook Cedric’s hand, and departed. Afterward, Randy and Charlene asked if he was ready to go.

“You guys go on without me,” he replied, “I’m gonna go talk to the judge for a bit.”

---

He arrived at Judge Montgomery Hawthorne’s office just as Chris Jenkins’ tirade ended. The prosecutor was not happy at the verdict, but the judge was surprisingly unsympathetic.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Mister Jenkins,” his somber tone seemed to make the lawyer stammer and choke on whatever he was about to say, “First, I’ll begin with where you should have known you were doomed from the start. You’re prosecuting a hero in a hero-defended city. Regardless of how you cut the jury, they’re going to know people who’ve been saved by heroes, been saved by heroes or be heroes. You’ve already got ninety-nine percent of the populace against you. Your case comes across as devious and rife with contempt not only for the heroes, but for the people that put their faith in them as well, and they’re not likely to help you if you keep insulting them. Now, you could have moved for a change of venue, but we both already know what that would have led to. You’d be in Skyway, Atlas Park, Kings Row… In the end, it would have been the same result.”

Jenkins nodded and Cedric knocked on the door frame.

“Mister Grey,” the judge growled, “I hope you’re not planning to make a motion for your license back or to get your community service lessened. If that were the case, I would strongly recommend you have your lawyer present.”

“Come to gloat, cape?” Jenkins’ muttered in his self-important, boorish tone.

“No, I came to talk to the judge,” he replied.

“Let me finish, then,” Hawthorne gestured for the suspended hero to sit and returned to what he was saying to Jenkins, “Now, normally, you couldn’t appeal; your life isn’t on the line. However, you’re probably intending to make some kind of argument about how this case sets a precedent for meta human/human relations, and try to take this all the way up to the Supreme Court, which is where it would have to go considering the fact that all courts from here through State go right through, you guessed it, this city, and there’s nobody in this city who hasn’t been rescued, inspired by, or plain old has been a hero. Now… Once you go to D.C. and bring this case to the Supreme Court, I have to ask you, Jenkins… What do you think the chances are that none of those Justices haven’t been saved, in some way shape or form, by members of the Freedom Phalanx, the Vindicators, or any of the numerous groups that have members that hail from the D.C. area in their rosters? How good do you really think your chances are of winning the case? Suppose the more likely fact that you lose. How likely do you think your chances are that you’ll be able to escape with any professional integrity once the whole ordeal is over?”

Jenkins blinked and swallowed hard as he realized the futility of his situation. Judge Hawthorne rested against his desk and with a nod toward the door, indicated that the insufferable man should leave. He returned to his seat as the door closed behind the prosecutor and flipped through some paperwork before finally addressing Cedric.

“That idiot is the same kind of bottom-feeding agitator that gives lawyers everywhere a bad name,” he growled, “Just a few years ago, he was suing heroes who legitimately put the goon squads of numerous criminal leaders away just to make himself rich. Some he succeeded, others… Not so much. Now… I guess he thought he could make it big off your back.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint,” Cedric said without remorse, “I just… I just wanted to say that I kind of expected to go to prison, your honor.”

“So did I, Grey,” the judge replied, “But I can’t sentence something like that when the jury finds you innocent. The most I can sentence is community service… Which is stretching my powers quite a bit. I’m surprised your lawyer didn’t barge in here before Mister Jenkins, or at least get stuck in the frame along with him.”

“I told him to lay off. You’re surprisingly personable all of a sudden.”

“And you’re surprisingly civil for a mass murderer who butchered several men in the streets of my city,” Hawthorne shrugged, “But the jury acquitted you and there’s nothing more I can do.”

“Well, Judge, what can I do to reacquire my license?”

“I recommend you work on the community service, first. I was going to have my office mail you when your hours start, but I guess it won’t hurt to tell you to invest in some decent road work clothes before Monday.”

“Alright.”

“We’ll play it by ear after that. With the time I gave you, you’ll be indebted to Steel Canyon for a little over a year… That is, if you dedicate yourself to five hours a day, every day.”

Cedric nodded.

“Well, then I guess I’ll see you when you feel you’ve re-earned your right to swing an axe in defense of this city,” the Judge stood and Cedric stood with him to shake his hand, “Just remember, Cedric, just because you had to kill when you were in the service doesn’t mean you have to kill out here. You need to listen to your head more and your gut less when being a protector of the peace. This isn’t the same kind of war as you see in the desert or the jungle. Believe me. I know.”

“I know that, sir,” Cedric grinned as he used his other hand to push back the judge’s sleeve, revealing a Marine Corps tattoo, “We recognize our own. And in my case, it’s the opposite… I’m much better off with going by the gut. What I did out there in Steel Canyon? I planned. I had very coolly decided and planned to quarter those bastards as an example to the rest of the Council… My gut wanted me to just beat them bloody.”

“Alright then,” Hawthorne shook his head exasperatedly, “Go with your gut from here on out. Your brain’s too demented.”

“Yeah… My gut’s the only thing that saved me from a Section Eight!”

With that, Grey bounded out the door to meet his family outside. Judge Hawthorne watched him go and shook his head. He knew he should worry about letting what had to be a dangerous individual loose on the city, but there was something odd about him… Something stable that didn’t make sense in such an unstable man. It was like he knew his actions were the stuff of madness and chaos, but this element within him helped guide them toward protecting order and sanity.

It was difficult for the judge, but he couldn't help but feel he'd done the right thing. Despite the verdict, he still punished the former hero for the murders of the unmourned men and Grey found the ruling to be fair (despite losing his license over the ordeal). It could have been a fiasco, but with some careful moderation, Hawthorne felt he was able to avoid disaster. He knew there would still be some social and political fallout, especially once the various media outlets dug their hooks into the story, but the overall damage would be minimal. The status of the super-powered vigilantes as protectors of the city's populace would remain undamaged in the end.

He figured things would be fine... At least for a little while longer.

I've got a theory that the Council's headed for a turbulent end. I foresee the Center taking the more "human" members of the faction (Vandal, Maestro and Burkholder) while Requiem takes the "monsters" (Arakhn, Nosferatu) before they break out into a vicious civil war (only this time, the Galaxy troops will be on the side of the Fifth Column).

Why do I see Vandal as more human than Nosferatu? Well, the guy has a story that doesn't fit with the "I want to conquer the world!" motif of the Council. He just wants to build new and better robots. His problem is that his inventing skills are mercenary (up to a point), so he didn't care that his compatriots were using his machines to try to conquer the world. Now that he knows Requiem and Arakhn have drawn up plans to kill him in the name of consolidating power under themselves, however, he may just start looking past the grindstone to see where things are taking him.

Maestro's story is similar to Vandal's in that all he wanted was to get his hearing back and the Council had the technology. While he may hold a grudge against heroes across the globe (apparently, it's accepted on the blue-side, too, that heroes interrupted the operation at the wrong time, inadvertently creating the supervillain), all the Council in-fighting lately simply MUST be messing with his perception of whom has what in their best interests and who he can trust. I think the Center could make a very convincing argument for the man to stay with his ranks.

Burkholder? He follows money... And he probably has a lot of love for his own life. Requiem's plans are extremely counterproductive toward said life, so Burkholder would be more than willing to follow the Center until Nemesis waves a thick enough roll of bills under his nose.

Why don't I think Vandal would join Nemesis? Simple: Vandal feels his machines are better. It's not like he needs possibly volatile nuclear reactions to get his robots to function.

Requiem, Arakhn and Nosferatu, however, all go hand-in-hand. They're all monsters, far-removed from their original humanity, and their plans involve pretty much devastating the entire human race in the name of achieving their goals. Frankly, I wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out that the Center had plans to have the three of them assassinated.

New Grey's Army post to cap off that story I'd started in mid-March.

The members of Grey's Army continue to search for Angel Grey, the infant daughter of Randall and Charlene that has a Kheldian energy being within her.

---Brickstown---

The soldiers didn’t know what beast had torn into their base. They didn’t know the cops were on to their Archon and a band of heroes would be sniffing them out and hunting them down every chance they got. However, it wasn’t Ezekiel and Kipland that had driven into the center of their base and eviscerated their Archon before asking questions.

It was Mad Matt McGinty.

“I am the rocker!”

He raked his blade across the bellies of three soldiers and they staggered away.

“I am the roller!”

He punted a Galaxy trooper into the Adjutant behind him and they toppled over. As they struggled to stand, he hopped up and brought the blade back down, using the momentum of his shifting weight to increase the power of the stroke, cleaving the Galaxy trooper neatly in two and slashing the Adjutant across the torso.

“I am…” he stabbed the point of the blade into the Adjutant, pinning him to the floor, “The out-of-controller!”

“Whuh… Why?” the soldier gurgled, “I thought… I thought…”

“It’s not my job to worry if your boss got a MedCom for you,” the intense man hissed, “It’s my job to punish you monsters for daring to touch a child!”

He twisted the blade a little for effect. The Adjutant howled in pain, and bulging muscle and fur started splitting the uniform open. Matt hopped back as the now-War Wolf leaped to its feet and roared in his face.

However, the Scrapper simply swiped the blade across the monster’s muzzle, splitting the already wide grin. His follow-up kick to the jaw was a disturbing sight for the remaining soldiers.

“Lock on!” one of the troops shouted.

Matt turned around and felt the sword vibrate briefly. As soon as the strange sensation was over, the world suddenly seemed more in focus.

“Fire!”

The soldiers’ assault rifles blazed away, but for some reason, it looked to Mattock like they were shooting in slow motion. He snaked his sword about and deflected the rounds, scattering them into the walls and equipment surrounding him. Some wound up driving into the Adjutant War Wolf, signaling a death knell for the altered beast.

When the magazines ran dry, Matt slid the blade across the floor, leaving five bullets in a trail. The soldier ordering his compatriots balked at this, going so far as to remove his mask in the mistaken worry that his red lenses were deceiving him.

“You’ve got one last chance,” he growled, “If you’ve got anything… Anything at all that could tell me where she is… You live.”

The soldiers finished reloading and the one ordering them was giving the command to resume firing. McGinty hopped up, twirled, and landed with a swipe that sent the bullets hurtling through the air. There was the sound of glass breaking as the lenses of Council soldiers’ masks were hit and the men dropped to the floor. The one on Matt’s far left spasmed and gripped the assault rifle, squeezing off a few rounds that plunked into the floor.

“Dispatch,” the scrapper muttered into his radio, “I didn’t find any Council soldiers in this base. I recommend just sealing the hole with dynamite and moving on to the next cell.”

“Are you sure?” the officer asked, her voice tinged with worry, “Our reports were very clear that-!”

“I’m telling you I didn’t find anybody alive down here,” he grumbled into the radio, “Seal the hole. Don’t let anybody else use this place as their base.”

----------

---Kings Row---

Randall was staring at his television and holding his distraught wife when there was a knock at the door. Charlene looked up at him, and he nodded.

He gently curled her up in a blanket and stood to answer the door. The sheepish looking young man waiting for him looked even more intimidated as he saw the big, glowering tanker.

“Um… Sir… I have a… Have a message for you…” the man stammered, “From… Mister Jordan White…”

“I’ve been waiting,” the big man’s voice, despite being kept to a low tone, still seemed to make the hallway tremble, “What took so long?”

“I don’t know the story, sir. I’m just the messenger.”

Randy stared down at the man for a moment longer before turning back to his wife. She glowered back at him, her eyes glowing a violent shade of white.

“You know what I’ll do if they don’t give us back our daughter,” she said in a strange, double voice.

“I do,” the big man replied, then turned back to the visitor, “Alright, twig boy. Lead the way.”

----------

---Steel Canyon---

“I don’t care about this preliminary crap, Nosferatu,” Arakhn hissed as they walked down the hall, “I want the… Thing out of the flesh so it can be studied more closely!”

“That would require killing the infant,” the twisted scientist rasped.

“And?”

Nosferatu stopped in his tracks for a few seconds. However, it wasn’t any kind of compassion for the child that gave him pause. Arakhn’s human half shuddered a little as she considered what the demented little man could possibly have been thinking.

“This should prove interesting…” the Vampyri progenitor clapped his clawed hands together, “Very interesting…”

They reached their destination, a section of their base that looked similar to an operating room. In the center was a specially crafted incubator to contain Angel Grey and her Kheldian. If the energy being tried to escape, the machine would simply sap it up into one of the crystals the Nictus Queen had stolen from the Circle of Thorns.

Nosferatu moved for his surgical instruments and started preparing himself for what would be a certainly exquisite extraction (in his opinion). Arakhn circled around the incubator and peered into the glass.

When she shouted, the Vampyri rounded in surprise.

“Where is it!?” she shouted, her voice sounding less human in her rage and more like…

…Like something that scared him.

“Where… What?” the mad scientist stammered, “What do you mean? The girl should be right there…”

“She’s not!” Arakhn grabbed the twisted man by his black outfit and wrenched him over to see for himself, “Who did you leave here last!?”

“I don’t… I don’t understand… There were no alarms… I left the child in the care of the Ascendant Archon…”

Arakhn glared at him and for a moment, Nosferatu was worried that she’d blast a hole right through his head.

“You know… The Archons Ascendant… Those specialized guards who-!”

“I didn’t want the Center to know about this, so I didn’t request any,” Arakhn replied calmly, “There shouldn’t have been an Ascendant here.”

“Then…” Nosferatu’s eyebrows almost lifted enough for the goggles to drop out of his eye sockets, “That means…”

He wasn’t able to finish the thought. The observation window above them smashed into the operating room, raining bits of glass and the broken body of a Galaxy trooper down on the two Council leaders. Arakhn shook the body off and hissed as the hero that had thrown the man through the window landed between her and Nosferatu.

The Vampyri moved to intercept the young man, but he spun around and delivered a kick to the madman’s head. Catching the freak at the temple, Kipland continued to press the force and wound up driving him into the same table that held his surgical equipment.

As he left the dark-dressed man moaning on the floor, Durj rounded on Arakhn and his eyes started to flash a dangerous shade of red. She regarded him coolly, not realizing that he was the same young hero the Void Hunter, Zachariah, had been investigating.

“You’ve made a big mistake, [dog],” he said darkly, “I’m going to beat the [snot] out of you, now. I just want you to know.”

“You think you can stop me, boy?”

“Oh, Arakhn,” Androm’Geizzer’s voice sounded from above, “I’m quite certain he’s more than capable of breaking you open.”

She looked up at Ezekiel, Androm’s host, and cursed. The gray haired man simply shrugged and took an observer’s seat. She looked back at Kip and he was in a combat pose.

“Is your host ready to watch his son die?” she intoned as she took her own stance.

“No,” Ezekiel replied, “But Kip already told me I gotta let him have this out.”

----------

---Baumton---

“Welcome to my base, Randall,” Archon White went to shake the bigger man’s hand, but the tanker merely glowered at him, “Right… May as well get you your daughter…”

The base itself wasn’t too spectacular. There wasn’t much special about it, save the large training floor in the central chamber. Hundreds of soldiers were practicing martial arts, shooting, drill, and enduring a number of stress tests. In one corner, Randall could see an Archon squaring off with a War Wolf.

Archon White led the big man to the final chamber. It was the closest approximation to an office complex the cavernous fortress could be converted into. With steel grating for a floor and the same tan walls as one would find in other Council bases, it still all looked the same to Randall.

They headed for one of the sections that contained multiple levels and Archon White led his charge up the stairs. Each level had lightly armored or just uniformed Council soldiers typing into computers and pushing various types of paperwork. On the top floor, however, there was a band of Archon Ascendants. They didn’t aim their weapons at the big man, but they did turn to look at him as he approached.

“Mister Grey,” the one standing behind the desk announced, “On behalf of the Center, I would like to extend our apologies for this… Grievous offense.”

“He really expects that to save him in the end?” the big man’s gravelly voice conveyed his discontent at the apology.

“The kidnapping of your child was not our leader’s plan… It was the plan of one of his agents. A plan she tried to keep secret from us…”

One of the Ascendants nodded to the one speaking and he chuckled a moment.

“…And she is currently suffering for her indiscretion.”

“Where’s my daughter?” Randall asked in the same growl he’d used before.

“Right here,” the Ascendant Archon hefted a basket and set it on the desk.

Randall approached and looked inside. The bright, glowing eyes of his daughter blinked back up to him and she smiled.

“Have I doomed my family?” the big man thought to himself, not for the first time, “Will we never be free of this? Not even the youngest of my family remains untouched by this… This strange destiny… And I don’t even believe in fate.”

“Alright. I’m taking my child and going. Just be glad you got her to me in time. If we had to wait much longer, well… Let me just say that we wouldn’t have stopped with what my son did in Steel Canyon.”

“Randall,” Archon White placed a hand on the big man’s wrist, “You have to understand, we didn’t want this! Randy… The Council… It’s… It’s facing hard times…”

“Things aren’t as cohesive as the Center would like them to be,” the Ascendant Archon agreed, “Again, the Center would like to apologize for involving your family in the ongoing struggles.”

“Just don’t let it happen again.”

Randy leaned in close to the silver-armored soldier and glared into the dark visor. The soldier stared back, unflinching. With nothing else to say, the big man hefted up the basket, picked the baby out of it by cradling her in one of his large hands, and proceeded to leave.

“That was too close, Archon White,” the Ascendant Archon muttered as he removed his helmet, revealing the aged face of Paolo Tirelli.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the young man gasped as he leaned against the desk, “It’s just… You can’t stop someone that size unless…”

“Not about that,” the old man barked as he took a seat, “I’ve been pummeled by the big man while wearing this armor before. It’s not so bad. What I’m more concerned with is Arakhn and Requiem going behind my back… Again. I could care less about their galactic civil war with the Kheldians, but when they threaten my world and its future…”

“Sir, what can we do? We need them, don’t we?”

The Center stroked his chin for a moment as he looked at the werewolf. He didn’t know how or why Jordan White was able to change forms, but he knew it had nothing to do with the War Wolf program Requiem had instituted. It also had nothing to do with the Scion Experiment, as White’s family was certainly not involved in the Column or the Council before.

“Things are changing again,” the old man sighed, “I think it’s time we started taking a good look at our fellows again.”

----------

---Steel Canyon---

Kipland drove his heel into Arakhn’s stomach and launched her into the wall. She shrieked and lunged back at him, raking her dark energy wrapped, claw-like hands across the young man’s chest in successive swipes.

The Scrapper caught one of her wrists on the fifth swipe and yanked her into the incubator. There was an electric pop and the machine exploded, slamming a panel into the woman’s shoulder as she stumbled next to it. This wasn’t about to stop her, however, and she whirled around with a dark quantum blast from her eyes.

Kip felt cold a cold burning sensation, but he still rushed her with a howl and a flurry to the chest. On his third punch, he felt a rib crack under his fist and he followed up with a drop kick that caused her to stagger around the incubator again.

As he started to pursue, however, Nosferatu was in his face again. The vampyri caught Kip with a claw across the face and the scrapper was spun about. The scientist pressed his advantage by jabbing his wicked fingers into Kip’s back, but when he went to bite into the young hero’s neck, Kip’s head backed into his chin.

Nosferatu cursed loudly and Kip followed up his desperate attack with a stomp on the twisted man’s foot, breaking the bridge of it and causing him to stumble back. When the vampyri fell to the floor, Kip spun around and his eyes flared red before twin beams of energy lanced into the fallen man’s abdomen. Nosferatu’s eyes flared open suddenly and he started convulsing violently.

“Arakhn!” Kip shouted as he searched the chamber for his enemy, but she was already fleeing the chamber down another tunnel.

Kip ran to pursue her, but she made a motion with her hand and a burst of dark energy flipped a switch for a blast door that slammed shut just as Kip reached it. Cursing, he kicked it a couple times before turning back to Nosferatu.

Unfortunately, whatever had disabled the vampyri earlier had worn off and the twisted man was on Kip again. Too bad for the Progenitor, Kip was too angry to keep playing things nice.

As Nosferatu’s claw slashed across the scrapper’s forearm, a silvery-white metal seemed to form there. A bright flash followed and the hero was covered in a white armor reminiscent of the Roman-era armor he had before.

“Oh, now what the Hell is this?” he shouted as he saw the new look, “Can’t anything ever stay the same?”

Nosferatu went to strike him again, but he caught him at the wrist and spun him about before kicking him in the spine. He then ran up and drop-kicked the Council leader in the back of the head, smashing his face into the incubator’s glass cover.

“Hey!” Geizzer shouted, “You sure there’s nothing in there, kid!?”

“Yeah,” Kip replied as he grabbed the villain by the back of the head and started smashing him against the interior, “I got a call from a friend before we got here. But YOU! You hear me, you Dracula-wannabe!? I heard what you said! I know what you planned to do! I should [fricking] kill you!”

He wrenched the vampyri out of the machine and hurled him against the wall. Nosferatu, tensed and the wounds on his face healed instantaneously. However, in that instant, Kip closed with him again and delivered a side kick that vaulted him against one of the lights.

As he tried to get up, Durj grabbed him by the head and started bashing it against the stone wall and the steel flooring. He didn’t stop until the Council leader was bloody and he saw one of the pointed teeth lying on the floor. The vampyri looked up at him weakly, one of the lenses in his goggles was broken, so he squinted that revealed eye shut. Despite all this, he started laughing.

“Why’re you laughing?” Kip growled, “Remember that shock you felt when I blasted you not ten minutes ago? You so certain the MedCom device your boss installed survived? Even if it did, you sure it didn’t need to reboot?”

Nosferatu kept laughing and Kip punched him in the face. He delivered about six more before the monster stopped laughing and started struggling through the pain, but the hero pinned him fast and jabbed a thumb into the exposed eye, eliciting a gurgled shout from the vampyri.

At that moment, Kip felt a hand on his shoulder. Before he could do anything, he was yanked backwards and thrown against the base of the incubator. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt a rush of air and Zeke was next to him, gripping his shoulder a lot less roughly than the new guest.

“Hold still, son…” Zeke whispered, “It’s over.”

“Damn right it is,” the newcomer said smoothly as his cloaking device shut down, revealing the scarlet-clad form of Manticore, “You have any idea how close you came to killing this man?”

“That’s a very loose use of the definition of ‘man,’” Kip growled.

“Well, you beat him, kid. I was getting ready to clear this place out myself, but I didn’t realize Arakhn was using it, too. Now, she got away before back-up got here, but I’m not gonna fault you that. We still got him.”

Nosferatu was busy tapping a button under his rolled down glove and cursing darkly as he didn’t seem to get the result he was looking for.

“You can go ahead and cut that out, Noss. I’ve got an inhibitor here, you can’t get to Striga… Not on the Red Cross Express, anyway.”

The vampyri whimpered and passed out. The heroes looked down at him, and Kip winced as the armor on his body faded away, revealing his normal street clothes.

“Look, I know better than most how much you guys want to basically kill everybody who does you wrong, but take it from me, it’s not going to fix anything!”

“I know that,” Kip barked, “I know that as well as anybody can! Revenge isn’t about fixing anything, though, it’s about punishment! These [frickers] kidnapped an infant and deserve to die for that!”

“And where would it stop?” Manticore leaned in on the slightly shorter hero and pointed into Kip’s chest.

“I would have settled for his, Arakhn’s and Requiem’s heads on plates. I think I’d be square after that. It’s not like Vandal or Maestro ever did anything to me or my friends and family.”

Manticore blinked at him.

“Look,” he muttered, “Longbow’s already saying that the Council chatter is declaring your situation over and done with. Can I get an assurance from you that you’ll stop with this wanton assault?”

“Until they mess with us again,” the younger hero replied coldly before walking away, “I’m done.”

“That’s the best you’re going to get from him,” Zeke intoned as the Phalanxer watched the young guy wander off.

“That’s a lot to get from someone,” Justin said appreciatively as he nudged the unconscious body with the toe of his boot, “A bit much for Statesman’s tastes…”

“Trust me. Kip knows where to draw the line and he never crosses it. He might have killed Nosferatu right there if you hadn’t stopped him, but then, he told you where he’d drawn the line.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for dropping by to help when you did,” Zeke made to shake Manticore’s hand, “Kip may have stopped, but I’ve heard stories about how devious Nosferatu can be…”

“Speaking of which,” Manticore drew an arrow from his quiver with his free hand as he shook Zeke’s hand and jabbed it into the vampyri, “Just to make sure…”

Nosferatu made to lunge at them, but the arrow activated and an electric shock, one that was much more powerful than the one that accompanied Kip’s eye beam blast, jolted through the villain and he writhed uncontrollably on the floor before passing out for real. Zeke nodded appreciatively and clapped the veteran hero on the shoulder.

“I guess that’s why you’re one of the top dogs.”

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This actually makes a lot of sense. Considering psi attacks are pretty much the one glaring weakness in the Clockwork, I imagine the King would be a bit more wary and respectful toward psychics like Malaise and Sister Psyche, as long as they respect his domain in return. It's the heroes who jump right in and just start smashing his creations that he really despises.

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Eh. I always thought of Malaise as an illusionist first and a psychic second, if at all. :/ His profile claims he doesn't even HAVE any psychic powers, but interestingly enough, dark blast and kinetics powers. Interesting interpretation on Grey's part though, it does tie in rather neatly with Malaise's bio.

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Reaching into somebody's head and yanking out what scares them certainly qualifies as psychic power in my book.

My Beautiful Misery has a new chapter.

Malaise's travels take him to Baumton and he muses briefly on what it would take to restore the city. Shortly afterward, he stumbles on a Babbage construction site and encounters, of all the people in all the multiverse, his Praetorian doppelganger.

I want to be alone, so I head to where I’m certain almost nobody will be: “Boomtown.” It’s not so much that heroes don’t want to help out here; it’s more or less that the city officials seem to have completely abandoned this place. Seeing the devastated urban center, with building leaning dangerously and smoke still billowing out of a few of them (though that’s more likely due to the roving gangs squatting in them), it’s hard to imagine how a place like this could be restored.

I briefly consider the attention being paid to Overbrook as I pass the old Freedom Phalanx headquarters. Perhaps, with all the money being invested in there, and the recent interest in Eastgate, there just wasn’t enough money to be invested in this place. Even if there were more money, chances were that it would go to “the Folly,” Terra Volta, or even “Eden” before it came here.

I’m not saying that people haven’t tried to fix this place. It’s just that every time they have, with what little resources were allotted to them, some lunatic would show up and smash the equipment. Even the Longbow security detail would wind up pummeled.

Looking up at the old headquarters, I sigh. Despite everything, its dilapidated state, its current crop of Outcast squatters and the fact that it was one of the first buildings decimated by the Rikti assault, it still evokes a feeling of… Of…

…

Hm. It’s hard to describe. I think it’s hope. It’s similar to the feeling I had when I got a hold of some of the pages of the Malleus Mundi, but… Different.

One of the Outcasts gives me a funny look. Before he can do something stupid, however, one of his friends pulls him back to the group. I take that as my cue to leave.

This city certainly feels doomed. The Council uses this place as a training ground for troops who either haven’t been given Nosferatu’s weird super soldier serum or are just starting to get used to it. The Lost congregate here with alarming frequency and the Clockwork pillage the area for resources with which to construct more Clockwork for their lunatic King. Still, there's a sensation... Hope, I guess is the word I'm thinking of.

Hm. The Clockwork King. I shouldn’t think of him like I do, I know. Frankly, he’s more like me than I’m comfortable thinking about. I would probably consider getting involved with helping rehabilitate him, but Shalice tells me it’s not my place. While I still think I should try to help somehow, she insists that I leave it to her and the young psychic, Penelope Yin.

As I arrive in the northern sections of the blasted cityscape, I can sense a strange psychic energy roaming the area. I know the presence I’m feeling, it’s the King, but I’ve never felt this kind of activity before. When I locate a number of the robots gathering large pieces of steel, I realize what I’m witnessing.

“Oh…” I murmur out loud, “Another Babbage is getting built…”

“Yes!” I hear one of the smaller robots chirp near my foot, “Now, please, sir, your presence is distracting us.”

“Sorry.”

I draw my senses back within myself and start to walk away. I know better than to trouble the Clockwork hordes in the middle of a project, especially since the King just has to focus a little more and they’ll be firing their own psychic spikes and lances after me.

A few minutes later, however, the Gear is at my ankles again. I feel a jolt and kick the offending little bugger away.

“I warned you!” it shouts, “Your presence is distracting us from our work!”

“What are you talking about? I’m almost a half mile away!”

The Gear looks up at me quizzically, then looks back the way we’d come. It’s weird watching their facial expressions change, especially since they shouldn’t. They’re not articulated like that.

“But…” it stammers, “But I could have sworn… That's not you back there?”

"No, I can't leave my presence anywhere... Not in any deliberate sense, anyway."

"But it feels like you're still right there!"

Curious, I re-extended my senses. I could feel the roaming sensation of the Clockwork King on his construction site. I could also feel…

Something else…

Something different…

Something familiar…

Not something…

Someone…

“No…” I muttered, “Little gear… I… I need to look into this. Will your King mind if I head back to the site?”

Some feel that it’s a delusion of the King that his Clockwork can work and that it’s just his psychic manipulation that keeps them going. Others believe that they are simply empowered by his energy and can maneuver autonomously afterward. I’m not sure, either way, but it’s probably best to assume that the King sees his machines as subjects and citizens of his empire, and that they are individuals within it, regardless how connected they may be together. As such, I should never speak to one of his underlings as if they are him.

“I…” the Gear almost doesn’t have an answer for me, but stops and tilts its head for a few seconds as if it’s listening to something.

I can sense some kind of exchange. The King’s presence has extended over here somewhat.

“Yes, sir,” the Gear finally announces, “My King has declared you may investigate. Just try not to interfere with the Babbage construction… We would not want this to be as problematic as our Paladin construction.”

“I understand.”

I wonder briefly why the Clockwork King has so much trouble constructing Paladin. I mean, it’s beyond just the heroes that try to stop it from happening. Even if the King’s robots succeed in building the giant war machine, it freaks out and starts storming through the city. The King seems only able to stop it in a small park in northern Kings Row before heroes come along to smash it to bits. One would think he’d have figured out how to gain control of the monstrosity before it went on its rampage.

I find myself in the blasted remains of what looks to have been a large, complex building. The other psychic presence is wandering around in here, seemingly distraught. I can’t get over the feeling that I know this person, but I can’t place my finger from where or when.

Even still, if I knew this… Guy (it’s definitely a masculine presence)… I might have been a contributing factor to the rampant madness I’m sensing in him. Strange whispers tingle at the edge of his presence, maddening images of a twisted landscape blink into my mind and fade away. I hope that it’s my time as an artist that keeps me from losing my cool as I witness them, and not some other form of madness taking hold.

Or maybe…

Maybe it’s my growing dread that I know who this guy is that’s shielding me from his madness.

Rounding the corner, my suspicions are confirmed. He doesn’t realize I’m here, his back is to me and he’s never been that good at sensing other psychics (even those as powerful as Shalice). He’s been so mired in his own twisted view of the world that he’s never really learned how to expand his knowledge of the power contained within his head.

“Hello, Malaise,” I murmur as I walk up behind him, “What brings you to my world?”

He’s startled at first. He didn’t expect to be found this quickly… At least, that’s what I can most probably glean from the frantic thoughts hemorrhaging from his mind.

When he rounds on me, he’s brought himself back together and I bite back a curse. He really is dressed JUST like me. Well, I can’t be one-hundred percent accurate about that, for all I know, the colors could be diff-

“Is this some kind of joke!?” he shouts, “You’re dressed JUST like me! Even the colors are the same!”

Damn.

Wait… He can tell the colors? He can see in color? This monster, with all the cruelty he’s committed in his life, can see the world the way he’s supposed to, the way everybody’s supposed to.

It’s not too hard to figure out his history. He probably murdered his father in his sleep, got interned in an asylum, and was transferred to various places as they couldn’t handle his burgeoning psychic capabilities. Come the rise of the Praetorians, Mother Mayhem found him and cultivated his madness alongside his artistic talent…

I… HATE… Spoiled brats.

“Look,” I say exasperatedly, “You’re way out of your element here, you don’t have a goon squad with you and the Clockwork King is not happy that you’re here. I suggest you just calm down and give up or get back home however the Hell you got here in the first place. Simply put, you’re not going to win this fight.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughs maniacally and a number of beasts and monsters materialize next to him.

I recognize, through the shadowy alterations and extra horns and spikes, griffons, basilisks, gorgons, dragons, goblins… The list of classic monstrosities goes on and on, ad infinitum.

“Oh, come ON!” I shout, “This is the best you can do!? I mean, come on! You’re supposed to be an artist, but the best you can come up with is a bunch of old, tired children’s nightmares?”

His confidence ebbs a little and I step forward, driving my shin through the face of the goblin. It shimmers and fades away.

“I think I know why…” I mutter, “I think I know why you don’t know how to really scare someone…”

I feel weird… I feel righteous… But… It’s not… It’s not tinged the same way. Other times I’ve felt like this, I still had some nagging doubts about what I was going to do, but now… It was like the two halves of my conscience were in agreement.

“You’ve never seen real horror in your life,” I declare, “You’ve never…”

I call forth an image I never hoped to see again in my life…

“…Met dad.”

A gargantuan, hulking form suddenly appears before the Praetorian Malaise. It’s dressed in a simple outfit of a thick pair of brown boots, gray denim pants, a fraying, dark green (at least, it was supposed to be green; I've already covered how much trouble I have with that color) tweed jacket and a repeatedly torn black T-shirt stretched across a bloated belly. Sitting atop the shoulders of the behemoth was a bald head with no eyes and one wide mouth that was split into a terrifying grin that revealed a row of jagged teeth.

As “Dad” raised his fist to bring it down on my opposite, Malaise screamed in an unflattering high pitch and passed out as the fist dropped down on him. The illusory monsters he’d summoned faded away and I dismissed “Dad” as soon as the last creepy crawly was gone.

“That worked surprisingly well,” I muttered as I approached the unconscious form, “Let’s see now…”

His uniform was apparently just like mine, save one thing… There was a peculiar device clipped to his belt. As I removed it and looked it over, I saw what appeared to be the insignia of Antimatter. In all fairness, I can’t be certain, but it looks like Positron’s logo, only inverted.

I shake my head at the predictability of it and resume my inspection. Now, a lot of people would think I can’t figure my way around a complex machine like this. However, after three years of pushing papers and plugging information through the Vindicators’ systems, I can assure you, I know my way through a computer… At least, I can accomplish the basic functions.

As such, I was able to work my way through the device’s operating system and read through the broken English that Antimatter used to explain the contraption’s functions. When I realized what it was, I could feel a chill crawling up my spine.

“What is it?” the Gear that the King had apparently assigned to me chirped.

“It’s… it’s an interdimensional transport device,” I explained, “I don’t know how or why my opposite has one, but… Apparently, it’s keyed to bring Praetorians here!”

“Praetorians?” the Gear sounded confused, “Hey! He looks like you!”

Sometimes, I forget how little someone can actually know about the world. I’ve had to read about so much stuff about the various organizations trying to conquer the world, though, it makes my head hurt.

“Yes… He… He is me… A different me. An evil me.”

“Really? Is there an evil Statesman?”

“Yeah. Lots of evil… Not much good…”

"Oh..." the Gear actually sounds scared.

A plan is forming in my head. For a brief moment, that part of my conscience that raises doubts about my decisions flares up and I wonder if I should look into medication again. However, it quiets down quickly, exceptionally quickly. I must be riding a high from how well that “Dad” illusion worked on my opposite. Considering how terrifying it was when I first saw it, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Well,” I withdraw my marking device from my belt and tag my fallen foe, “In a moment, some Police Drones are gonna come out here and zap this guy to the Zig. If you don’t mind, could you make sure he remains unconscious until they arrive?”

“Why can’t you do it?”

I know if I keep waiting on it, I’ll lose my nerve. I cycle through the options of the personal interdimensional transporter and find the “Return” function.

“Because I won’t be here.”

Before the Gear can ask what I’m talking about, I press the image of a button on the screen and the world disappears in a flash of light.

Well, I'm currently writing an interpretation of Malaise.

I believe he's colorblind. I started considering this when I wondered as to why Sister Psyche inflicted the condition on his Praetorian counterpart and how she would have expected it to affect him as much as it did.

I figure, as a result of some of the abuse he suffered as a child, Prime Earth's Malaise suffers from a form of brain damage that causes his brain's ability to interpret color to flicker in and out. More often than not, he sees the world in shades of gray.

((Still waiting on Ninjin, Khellendrosiic, Paradigm... We've got missing players, Devious.

Kick them. Not Ninjin, though. Ninjin provided an explanation. Believe me, I would LOVE to continue.))

You have to provide links to images...

[url =] without the space, place the link after the "=" You then type out the label of the link and cap it off with [/ url] (again, without the space).

Finally got a new "Meet the Air Guard" arc up.

Now I have to come up with a new "Working for the Air Guard" arc.

The days after Grendel’s defeat were rather routine. While anybody who’d been injured in the conflict recuperated, the rest were placed into new teams and resumed patrols. They restricted themselves to working in Skyway City and Steel Canyon for the most part, but a few loners took up brief patrols through Independence Port and Talos Island. They left Atlas Park, Galaxy City and Kings Row to the newbies.

As the days went by, Garm continued to feel his body growing weaker. He was able to maintain a certain amount of strength through regular workouts, but he knew that in a short amount of time, he wouldn’t be able to roll cars or punch through rock.

“It’ll be great being able to… You know… Be with a woman again,” he chuckled as Doug sat on a bench next to him.

They were watching Briggs work on repairing his van. It was as if the burly little guy purposely wrecked the machine just so he had something to do instead of being on patrol. He was supposed to be resting a set of cracked ribs, but the injury didn’t seem to show any sign of slowing him down.

“You know, Briggs,” Doug’s strangely deep, feminine voice sometimes cracked to lighter pitches and octaves as she spoke, a sign that her Superadine was wearing down as well, “If Mort catches ya doing this, he might think you’re malingering.”

“It was his idea,” the burly green monster grumbled, “He caught me working the really heavy bag, told me to do something constructive.”

“Really heavy bag?” Garm asked.

“The normal ones break too easy, so I made one out of steel mesh and filled it with cinder blocks.”

The other two looked at each other worriedly and noticed that members of their team had gathered around. They looked like they had questions to ask.

“So… Doug…” Ashen began, “You’re, uh… You’re a woman?”

“Yes,” the ogre rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest again, “I’m a woman.”

“But ‘Doug’ is a guy’s name…”

“I just thought it would be easier among the Trolls if they thought I was a guy. They usually name themselves after classic monsters, so I was a little worried when I took an old classmate’s name, but nobody cared and a short while later I was in Garm’s group.”

“So, what’s your real name?” Blizzard Front grinned a little

“Patricia. My name is Patricia Helman.”

The others in the group nodded. The blue-skinned blaster started grinning and chuckling, but left the source of his humor remain a mystery.

“So… You’ll be turning human now?” Greg Caid asked as he wrapped a bandage around his wrist.

“Yes, we’ll be turning human,” Garm replied somberly, “Every time we have to fight, we burn off a little more Superadine and turn a little less green.”

“It gets harder and harder every day to generate my rock armor,” Patricia/Doug sighed, “And my skin feels so much softer… I’m thinking that I should probably stop now before I get hurt.”

“You both should,” Mortiganen rasped as he approached, “I need to talk to them alone. The rest of you, leave.”

“What about Briggs?” the orange-skinned tanker asked as he saw the third troll wasn’t moving from his vehicle.

“What I have to say might concern him as well,” the wizard muttered, “Mister McBain, are you suffering from a lack of strength or an increase in vulnerability?”

“Nope,” was the curt reply.

“Regardless…” Mortiganen gave a sideways glance to the burly green man before continuing, “Freedom Corps’ scientists have explained what made Grendel… At least what we think is Grendel, may have been formed with a new brand of Superadine. I’m hoping you two can help as Mister Danesti and I organize a few strikes against Frost Family storehouses and shipping lanes. You may not be able to help in the fight yet, but your experience as Troll leaders will be invaluable.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mort,” Garm replied, “Thanks, but I’ll have to think it over.”

----------

“What is there to think over?” Patricia asked as she joined him on his walk around the block, “We get to keep helping the group…”

“Yeah, and once this investigation is over, what? What do we do once our knowledge, which grows more obsolete every day, no longer applies to the investigations? Do we just shuffle into the background of the group? Do we work as janitors, maybe help Briggs soup up his van?”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing how to do mechanic work,” the green woman said glumly.

“I’m saying we’ve got a lot to consider, D-Pat…” Garm sighed, “Sorry about that. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. Before, when someone said ‘go’ I could run in and start swinging my fists until I was either on the ground or the problem was resolved. Trolls, Redeemers… It didn’t matter. Now, everything gets a little clearer every day and I’m starting to see all these complications to every little thing…”

“And you feel powerless against it all…”

He turned to the young woman then. He’d never regarded her as such before, and he had even known the secret after a drunken revelation back in the days when they were in the grips of Superadine. Her features were softening a little more every day. Even now, she’d be considered attractive by some standards.

“Patricia,” the former Caliban scratched the back of his bald head and jumped a little when he realized he felt the shoots of new hair follicles there, “Uh… Well… Look, you want to go get dinner?”

The former Ogre smiled at him and nodded. He didn’t know where the night would take them, but Garm was at least feeling a little better that he was just doing something instead of letting himself be paralyzed with indecision. As they walked to a sub shop down the street, he threw an arm around his companion’s shoulders and hugged her close.

“We’ve been through a lot,” he sighed, “I don’t think we’ve ever done something like this, though.”

“One step at a time, Garm,” she replied quietly as she poked him in the ribs, “It’s not so difficult as you’re trying to make it seem.”

More Beautiful Misery

Malaise argues with Ms. Liberty and lets sip that she has a tendency to "broadcast" her inner-most desires. This has consequences, as it would when anybody realizes their secrets aren't exactly secrets.

Edit: Also, added Redeemers' last chapter (from weeks ago ), now to work on another one...

Don't post the story in its entirety in this thread, post a link instead (the forum utilizes ubb code, so to post a link, you need to type [url =] without the space and with the link after the equals sign. Then you type out the phrase you want to work as the hyperlink, then type [/ url] (again, without the space).

If it's tasteful, without a lot of coarse language or disturbing imagery, you can post it here on the forums. Posting it here in the Roleplaying section will ensure it doesn't wind up lost to the forum cleansings (as would happen in, say, a server forum).

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Good job again, Mr. G.

Wouldn't have thought of Ms. L as having quite the same mindset you do, but you sold me on it ... and I can actually see her not asking for help in learning how to shield her mind ...


Wouldn't have minded if you had mentioned how one of those guys she kept thinking about had a thing for the color blue ...

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Ms. Lib tends to be closer to the gutter in Grey's universe. I personally LIKE the interpretation. Her massive flaws make all her other behaviors seem more realistic in the context of a world filled with super heroes and villains.

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Ms. L actually is better than Malaise is seeing her here in my world. He just pressed a personal button on her (indeed, it would be a personal button on ANYONE), so she's very, VERY ticked off at the moment.

As for Malaise being ticked off at being cooped up in the Vindicators base, well...

Where the HELL is he after the Calvin Scott TF!? You see him ONCE on Redside, and that's only if you choose Scirocco as your patron! You also might get his help in the Blueside Mender Silos TF, or fight him once in the Redside Silos SF, but his role there was already covered in the comics. He's still in the Vindicators, but he's not doing anything!

Of course, as far from Statesman as I see Ms. Liberty, I still see her as not being one to waste resources, so... A paperwork shuffling he'll go... And how many people can do that, day-in, day-out, for, oh, three and a half, four, going on five years?

Also, Blue...

I'd considered doing a list of the guys Malaise had seen in her mind, and Blue would've been among them... So would the guy who's in my icon (Roland Grey) and even Apex (I figure the Brawler would have introduced them). Problem is, Malaise doesn't really know or care who these guys are, so he tends to forget the details after the fact.

Jessica doesn’t fail to disappoint when we arrive. She has her arms folded over her chest and she’s tapping her foot as she’s standing in the center of the briefing room. Her face is frozen in a perpetual scowl and I’m left wondering just what it is about me that’s always got her on edge. It’s not like she gets this bent out of shape over K’Varr, so it can’t be the fact that I’m one of the few guys in the group.

Maybe she wishes there were more guys. Perhaps the choice between Infernal and me is putting her through conniptions.

I’m kidding. I don’t actually think she’s got that kind of problem with me. The tension between us is hardly symptomatic of any kind of unrequited attraction.

No… I think it’s far simpler than that. She simply doesn’t believe that I’ve changed. Hardly anybody believes it.

Sometimes I wonder if I do.

Mynx asking me about the Rogue Isles brought the doubt back. I wanted to erase one thing, one little mistake that almost cost me everything, but also cost me a lot more than I ever expected to pay. But was that really what I was doing? Would I have stopped there?

Unable to mull the questions over, I bring myself back to the present and Sidechick’s haranguing me. She’s leaning forward now, hands on her hips and legs shoulder-width apart. I like to call the stance “The Nagger,” my own personal in-joke that bounces off the classic statue, “The Thinker.” Oddly enough, it's the same pose I chose when I made that illusion at the Japanese-themed restaurant that depicted her in a clown’s outfit.

Swan and Aurora’s eyes widen as they read the image I’m broadcasting. To their credit, they don’t say anything or gasp, but Swan covers her mouth with her hand. Aurora shakes her head but grins sheepishly at me. Of course, they’re behind Jessica, so I have little to worry about their reactions.

Valerie and Katherine, on the other hand, are both in front of our leader and their reactions are both boisterous and animated. They double over in laughter as they remember the illusion I crafted for them earlier, and Jessica is none-too-pleased. She stares at them, open-mouthed that they interrupted her rant at me, and asks loudly and angrily that they tell her what’s so funny.

“Honk!” Mynx answers as she pokes Jessica’s nose playfully before taking a seat.

“What the Hell is all of this about!?” the star-spangled heroine shouts again, but Valkyrie’s laughing too hard to provide any further information.

“I think…” Swan begins, but she’s struck by a bout of amusement, so she needs a little more time to compose herself before continuing, “I think we need to get back to the matter at hand…”

“Yeah,” I answer, “And how Libby’s ticked I skirted around her imposing house arrest on me.”

“It’s not house arrest!” she shouts indignantly.

Ah, sweet denial. It’s one of the most common actions of anybody who has been caught in an act, especially when there is no physical evidence that can be gained. I can’t really blame her, I did the same thing, too. Still…

“Well, it’s not like I get to go anywhere…”

“You’re the only one with nothing to do!”

“Because you don’t assign me anything!” I feel like we’re about to go in circles, “Look, you guys go to the Isles every so often… I’ve gone ONCE!”

“And you had to be rescued…”

“So did you!”

“At least our friends knew where we were when we were captured,” Ms. Liberty leans back and folds her arms over her chest again, “We still don’t know what you did out there.”

I blink, but I offer no answers. I can feel Lena and Aurora both brush against my mind, searching for some weak point in my mental defenses or a broadcast of what I was doing. I send them a very angry missive explaining in no uncertain terms that I’ll let them know what I was doing when I feel like it and the sensation of their scanning me lessens. I don’t verbally do the same with Jessica, though. Instead, I shrug and take a seat.

“I don’t remember telling you to sit down!” she shouts.

“I don’t remember caring if you did or not,” I reply, “Cripes, if you’re trying to make me feel like a dumb teenager, you’re succeeding, Libby, but I don’t care about your orders or your protocols if you’re just going to have me acting in a bookkeeping capacity! I used to stand beside you in defense of this city, remember!? I was a member of the Phalanx, too!”

“Yeah… Then you lost your marbles…”

“Jessica!” Lena shouts, “Jean’s obviously distraught…”

“Damn right I’m distraught!” I jump up and slap the recurved desk that circles around the heroine, “I have busted my butt trying to prove I’m sane again, and your reaction is to coop me up in here like I’m some sort of disease! Why’d you even ask me into this group, Libby!? What made you so charitable?”

“Shalice asked me…”

“I knew it!”

I don’t even know what I’m arguing anymore. In frustration, I throw my arms up in the air and stomp around angrily. For a moment, I’m reminded of images of primates arguing, hooting and barking impotently at each other because nobody is going to back down. At one point, one of them picks up a bone and clunks another on the head.

So, in the silence of the revelation of my undesired state, I take said bone…

“You know, Jess, there’s something I’ve always wondered…”

…And clunk her over the head…

“Who are these guys I always see in your mind when Swan or Valkyrie or someone is giving a report? You’re all hip into this leadership thing, but when it comes to actually paying attention, you’re off in La-la Land, fantasizing about your latest lay…”

Her face goes pale and she glares at me. Swan and Aurora are now staring gape-mouthed at me. They knew about Jessica’s broadcasts of her social musings, but they’d been trying to find a more tactful way of broaching the subject with her. Luminary, who has been silent up to this point, raises her hand in an attempt to be recognized (and change the subject rapidly).

“Guys… If Malaise doesn’t mind working the patrol in Talos, I could do some of the filing here… I-!”

“Quiet, Lumie,” Ms. Liberty stares coldly at me, “You read my mind?”

“No,” I reply coolly, “You broadcast. Your thoughts? They’re open for every psychic to see.”

“You read my mind!?”

“Jessica, he…” Swan tries to confirm what I said.

We’d been seeing this for the past year or so. Various male heroes and some of the average men she worked with in the course of her career were popping up frequently in her thoughts. Sometimes it was her boyfriend of the month or week or minute, other times it was someone more personal. Every time she gets to thinking about these people, though, she starts considering what it would be like to have a relationship with them, be intimate with them…

I’m no stranger to such musings, even when we’re on patrol. However, I know how to shield my thoughts. It’s not a psychic trick, it’s something anyone can learn. You wall in your private thoughts, bury them down, or weave them with other considerations. Granted, it’s a little easier for people like me, but people can even stumble into this (Manticore, oddly enough, is one I’ve always had trouble knowing the thoughts of; apparently Swan has the same problem). Libby, despite all of the psychics she battles on a regular basis (they comprise a full third of Arachnos forces), she has never even asked for help in regards to shielding her mind.

This could lead to a dangerous situation. Our enemies could learn her secret crushes and turn their efforts toward hurting them (and by extension, hurt her). I’d hate to think of how she’d react if some of these people, who actually were her friends, wound up dead or in the hospital just because of their affiliation.

Despite these objective, altruistic considerations, however, I was not motivated by any of this. I was motivated by trying to embarrass her, and Jessica reacted as someone who felt somewhat violated would react.

“Get out.”

“Mal…” Infernal grumbled, the warm sensation from him buzzing with irritation, “Come along, young friend. Apologize.”

“No,” Jessica said quietly, “No apologies. I’ve had it with you and your attitude, Malaise. You want out? Get out. I don’t want to see you in this building again.”

I can feel a lot of red hot anger radiating from her and I know that, for now, she’s serious. I crossed a line, and what’s worse, I don’t care.

This is bad. I know it, but I can’t feel it. I’m not exactly acting smug when I casually flip her off and walk out of the room. I feel like I’ve accomplished something, but I know I haven’t. It’s the schism again, the dichotomy that Shalice found in me before.

I used to be schizophrenic… Or something like it. I can still remember what I was thinking in those days, I can still see the logic of it… But I can’t remember why I thought any of it was a good idea. I’m having something of the same problem now. I should stay and argue with Jessica more, try to get her to see what I was trying to say, even if it was the wrong time. But I can’t. I don’t feel like it.

That’s what it’s come to. It’s no longer an alternative mentality I dive into that sends my better half to be tortured by a twisted figment of my father. It’s just a bundle of angry emotions that drain all of my concern and care away and I’m almost forced to become a complete jerk. It’s the same mentality that caused me to call Shalice “Sister Psycho.”

Unfortunately, I’ve never had too much overwhelming respect for Ms. Liberty. When I called Shalice that, it caused a shock in me that got me to calm down a bit (it may also have jarred me from scanning Silver Mantis’ mind properly, but I’m quite certain that psychopath isn’t afraid of anything). When I tick off Jessica, however, I register it as a slight victory, but in what conflict, I cannot say (because there really isn’t one, but my ego refuses to relent).

When the door closes behind me, I can hear them start arguing, but they’re heavy oaken doors, so I can’t make out anything. I can sense that Swan is extremely agitated with me, as she’s sending a lot of angry thoughts after me. She should know better than to do that. Literally, if she thinks too hard, she can hurt someone.

Aurora’s thoughts, oddly enough, are more sympathetic to me. I could never understand that, how she was so willing to get in my corner. If I’d had my way, Shalice would still be riding her body. If I’d had my way, she’d have divorced Calvin and married me, because I was the one who deserved…

Well, that’s who I was. That might’ve been part of what caused me to retreat to the dark side of my mind… A dream of mine had been dashed, and like a spoiled brat, I tried to smash the board…

----------

Several Hours Later…

“You really need to avoid self diagnoses,” she sooths as she massages my temples, “I told you, when these sorts of things happen, don’t think about it, just come to me and we’ll talk.”

“Shalice, I’m not going to get better if I don’t start taking a critical look at my behavior!” I reply, “I can’t rely on being able to run to you whenever I feel agitated! We tried that before, remember!”

“Well, I don’t know why you felt you had to unburden yourself about this to me now,” she sighed, “That was a very… Creepy thought…”

“I know… I don’t feel that way anymore! I… I turned to someone else to crush on…”

“Have you told her, yet?”

“No…” I sigh and slump in the leather chair.

She told me to meet her in her study in Justin’s mansion. I still say “Justin’s mansion,” because she never seems to be at home here. Of course, they’ve only been married a year, and they didn’t live together before, so I think it’s just going to take her a little time to get familiar with the huge house. Perhaps setting up this study will help her with that. Some familiarity does wonders for a person’s acclimation.

“Well, you’ll have to sometime,” Shalice poured some tea out of a kettle and handed me a steaming cup, “I’m sure she’ll be flattered.”

“It’s Mynx.”

The air seems to shudder and she turns to look at me like I’m insane. I shrug and she just starts laughing.

“I don’t get you, Jean-Pierre,” she chuckled, “I mean, I’ve seen your mind, inside and out, and I still don’t know why you set your bar so…”

“I would agree that being attracted to you was setting the bar high, but Mynx… She seems so… So… So normal…” I blink at that and take a sip of my tea, “Well… As normal as a catgirl can be…”

“Yes, but she has such a loner mentality. You’ve certainly got an ordeal ahead of yourself with that one.”

We share a chuckle at this and I finish the tea she’d given me. She gives me some fond farewells as I decide to take my leave and informs me that she’ll try to explain things to Jessica. I reply that it’s my job to do that, and that her involvement was what got us in this situation in the first place (albeit indirectly, no matter how direct the correlation; in the end, it was my decisions that led to my being in this situation, I don’t care what anybody says). Shalice understands what I mean, and I head out.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had some decent time to myself. I figure I’ll start by taking a walk.

Skyway City: Sedadyne Headquarters

Inside the offices of the Sedadyne building, the employees were hardly ready for a fight. Much less so was the balding, portly security guard, whose half-eaten doughnut dropped from his mouth as the electrified brute, yet surprisingly shapely woman stormed into the building (please don't take offense, Kasoh, most comic book women are shapely, and all Player created ones are, too ). He didn't even draw his taser pistol, instead opting to just sit down in his chair and lean as far away from the rampaging beauty as best he could.

Many of the office workers dove for cover, shouting in terror as Dynamo Rose strode in confidently. They didn't offer any resistance and they stayed far away from any alarm triggers that might upset her. They were in no position to fight, and they had no intention of bringing her wrath down upon them.

-----

The employees in the back room of Sedadyne were busy enjoying a casual smoke, wondering at the strange explosive rumblings they'd heard only a few minutes prior when Dr. Lore kicked the door in on them. In a similar manner to the security guard in the lobby, their cigarettes fell carelessly to the floor. One of the employees, a skinny man with a thick beard, apparently was burned by the lit end of his cigarette, and he momentarily jumped back in pain.

----------

--South Skyway City: Roughly 500 yards north from Sedadyne Warehouse--

"Please..." the man, Mr. Walter/Humphrey Miller, groaned as Arek held him aloft, "Please don't kill me... I didn't... I don't know... I don't know nothin'."

Pax, however, was searching through the phone. It had within it, aside from a set of unlabeled numbers, photographs of the various procedures that occurred within the warehouse she and Arek had just raided. The images depicted the cybernetic agents cutting open the various heroes in unusual ways, some struggling to push them back, but others just showed the meta humans themselves.

One was of what looked to be a dragon. Its eyes were closed, but it seemed to be breathing and intact. It was being loaded into the back of the van, but the timestamp was a few days prior.

----------

--Unknown Supergroup Base--

"Morphine," Mark replied as he stood up from the exhausted warlock and approached his patient, "Not a lot of it, but you shouldn't try moving for a while."

When he reached the senior operative, he started feeling for the helmet's latches and helped pull the device from the man's head.

"I don't know what happened to your abdomen," he muttered as he indicated the wound, "Rage and Psych said they didn't turn your skin all... Scaly or whatever... But that weird bullet didn't do it to James, so I don't know who to believe. I mean, they don't... Man, this thing's on tight... They don't go around, sticking people with weird stuff, but... This day... This world... Who knows, you know?"

They got the helmet off and Mark turned to set it on a counter next to the bed. He then turned to indicate the pyramid device on the other side of the bed.

"Once that thing recharges, we should be able to get you ship-shape in a couple minutes... That is... We could see if Nester can't help, first. He's got doodads and nick-knacks out the butt to fix anybody up, but he just got done smacking himself in the face... So... I don't know how hundred percent he is at the moment..."

I've been tweaking my custom groups so much, I haven't noticed.

I wound up yanking WftAG from the folder and storing it elsewhere until the issue is resolved. This enabled me to work on fixing other things.

Like moving the "Guardswoman" to the Air Guard Elite.

Might be my last update to My Beautiful Misery for a while.

Work starts up again tomorrow