Mr_Grey

“What happened to you?” Mider Caid asked Redshadow as the scrapper lurched past him into the base, “You look like you got hit by a train car!”

“That’s a good guess,” Thomas rasped, “Is Mortiganen in? Or… Wait… You know how to heal, right?”

“Some,” the wizard replied, extending his finger and emitting some green flames to mystically seal the wounds shut, “But you might want to see Olive… I think she can do a better job of making you look hale and healthy… Olive!”

The green girl looked up from where she was sitting next to McBain’s van and her eyes widened once she realized the man her team leader was talking to was grievously injured. In an instant, she was up and running over to them.

“I ran into some Protectors,” Tom explained, “They… They seemed to know me. It didn’t end well. I got the civilian to a hospital after the train we wrecked was jettisoned into the wastes between Steel Canyon and Baumton.”

“How is she?” Olive asked as small vines started extending from her fingertips and wrists to wrap about the injured man, “These will squeeze your injuries shut and I’ll start delivering a serum that will spur your body to regenerate itself.”

The blade wielder looked intently at her for a moment, and she seemed to wilt a little.

“Look, I don’t know how the process works, I can just do it, okay? I can use the tendrils to set bones, even thigh bones, and the serum does the rest. I don’t know how I make it, but… It’s in my tears, too, so…”

“I was just wondering how long this would take,” Thomas chuckled, “I kind of want to take a shower and get to sleep.”

“That second one might not be an option,” Mortiganen announced as he seemingly appeared from the shadow of a nearby girder.

“Don’t do that!” Mider Caid shouted, “I’m too young to be having a heart attack…”

The elder wizard seemed to ignore the younger and focused intently on the scrapper.

“Something’s come up,” Mort’s mouth quirked a little into a grin, “I need you to suspend your investigation. I need every able-bodied Redeemer on hand to scour this city for a monstrosity unlike anything we’ve ever seen. The team leaders know what to look for; I’ll brief you after you’re refreshed.”

Mider looked worriedly to Thomas and shook his head. The former Paragon Protector would be searching alone while the rest of the Redeemers were in groups. It struck him as a dangerous plan, but there was the possibility that whatever the thing was, it would go after a lone hero quicker than a team.

----------

“That’s what it looks like,” Garm explained to the spandex-clad, ridiculously tall and muscled man that snorted back at him in derision.

“Trolls askin’ for help fightin’ trolls. I guess that’s ironing for you.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘irony,’” Ashen growled, “And it’s not a troll that’s asking for help, but a fellow hero in service to this city!”

“You’re just a pack o’ punks that got tired of us knockin’ you around.”

Another hero, one in a black trench coat with a sword resting lazily on his shoulders, casually lit his cigarette on Ashen’s aura as he walked past and took his place resting against the wall of the apartment building they were standing outside. The big man smiled to his friend before turning back to Garm and jabbing him hard in the shoulder with his sausage-like finger.

“I ain’t goin’ on no wild goose chase just ‘cause some sissy green man is too scared to look for himself,” he growled, “Now get out o’ my sight ‘fore I start thinkin’ my radio’s tellin’ me you’re a ‘friend’ ‘cause it’s busted.”

The former Caliban shook his head sadly and walked back to the van. Ashen followed and entered through the back hatch, using hushed whispers to the rest of the team to explain what happened. Briggs was mangling the wheel in his hands as he shook with rage and Garm squeezed the burly man’s shoulder to calm him down.

“Get us out of here,” he muttered grimly, “These morons aren’t here to help people. They’re just thugs on the blue side.”

Radio reports flooded in and the other teams were having varying degrees of success. Some, with mostly human-appearing heroes, were having success getting the message across about the thing the Trolls called Grendel. Others, especially the ones with heavily mixed groups, predominately aggressive attitudes or still utilized outfits from their old days as criminals, were getting laughed at or into fights. Most wondered if Freedom Corps or the Surviving Eight had anything to do with the request, and others thought it was some kind of joke, but there were more than just the one hundred and five former criminals and low-class heroes on the lookout.

“Well, it’s better than we expected,” Garm grunted as he shut the radio down after reporting in, “At least some people out there are looking. I’m a little more concerned with the inquiries about whether or not the Phalanx know about this. Do you think they’ll put in an effort if they find out?”

“I don’t care,” Briggs growled as he pulled the van into the main overpass through Skyway City, “One pass through the city and call it a day?”

“Sounds good,” his friend muttered before settling into the passenger seat and trying to pass out, “God, this whole Grendel thing has me in knots. What if it really is him?”

“Doubtful. He died in the Hollowing, that’s all there is to it.”

They passed over a bright flash and Briggs glanced into the mirror. Garm remained unconvinced, though, and sat up straight again to continue the debate.

“Maybe he was just wrecking Atta’s crew, you know? If it really is him, he’s probably just trying to take over again.”

“If it really is him,” McBain’s face screwed up into a mask of worry and he started applying the brakes, “You’re gonna wind up being on the opposite side of the fence from your friend. You tellin’ me you might think of goin’ back if Grendel takes control?”

“No…”

“Alright, then.”

Briggs brought the van to a stop at the edge of the road and turned to look intensely at his team leader. When Garm looked at him in confusion, he spoke.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“NOW!”

Upon hitting the ground, Redshadow rolled, keeping his arms wrapped around the poor young woman in a desperate attempt to take the brunt of the impact. They tumbled across the debris for a few seconds before finally coming to a stop, the girl rolling away just a few feet from the hero due to the last bits of momentum left. They lied there, breathing heavily as their bodies and minds attempted to fight through the shock of what they’d just survived.

The sound of the car crashing into a pile of debris further away brought Thomas to his senses and he sat up. Looking to the north, he could see the twisted machine smoldering in the pile of cinder blocks, rebar and support beams at the base of the War Wall. Clockwork robots were already converging on the mess to recover salvageable parts for their ramshackle horde. A group of Outcasts were watching from a safe distance away.

“Please don’t look this way,” the scrapper grunted as he started checking himself for injuries, “Please don’t look this way…”

“What is it?” the girl asked as she cradled her arm, “Where are we?”

“We’re not far from Steel Canyon. Are you hurt?”

“It doesn’t feel broken, but it really hurts to move my arm…”

The woman looked to her would-be savior and grinned weakly. With her free hand, she brushed her brown hair out of her eyes and Redshadow winced. She had some nasty cuts and scrapes from the fall.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “We should get you out of here and to a doctor immediately!”

Placing an arm around her protectively, he started guiding her to the south. Gingerly, they picked their way through the debris that used to be Baumton. Taking stock, Redshadow realized they weren’t actually in the region known as Boomtown, but really the area between Steel Canyon and the blasted city zone. To the north and south, the monolithic War Walls loomed, barring passage to all unless you were allowed through the select few access points or somehow knew the few methods to shut the massive energy fields down.

Thomas didn’t know the methods, but hoped that he and this young woman would be able to access the secure tunnel that linked the ruins with Steel Canyon. As he pondered this, he realized he didn’t know the girl’s name.

“Claire,” she replied when he asked, “What’s yours?”

“Tom,” he replied.

“That’s an odd name for a hero… I was expecting Red Blade or something…”

“My last name’s close enough to that. Redshadow.”

“You should stick with that,” she chirped before stepping wrong and jostling her injured arm.

“Don’t worry,” the scrapper comforted, “We’ll get you to a hospital and get you all fixed up in no time…”

“I know, it still hurts, though.”

They reached the secure tunnel and found a side access hatch. It was fortified in much the same way as the gates in Steel Canyon and Boomtown, only with more police guarding them. The officer in charge, one Captain Rafferty, balked as they approached.

“What are a pair of civilians doing out here?” he asked as Thomas fished for his identification, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here until-“

“FBSA, Freedom Corps, and all that jazz,” the scrapper wheezed, “I must insist that you provide us with some way to get to Steel Canyon… This woman needs medical attention!”

“Okay, okay,” the captain replied as he started waving to a nearby tent, “No need to get in a panic. Douglas! Get over here! Ma’am, this officer is our examiner. She’ll be able to check on you and provide assistance until the ambulance arrives.”

As the officer escorted Claire to the tent, Rafferty sized up Redshadow and examined the identification.

“This area’s a little low for your security level. What happened out there?”

“It was a railcar accident,” the scrapper replied, “Some criminals assaulted me, and the young lady was caught in the crossfire. The ensuing damage to the train caused an automated security system unlike any I’ve ever heard of that just jettisoned the wreck into the ruins back there.”

The cop’s eyes widened at that. Returning the ID, he took a stack of papers from another officer and handed them to Redshadow.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to fill out a report…”

----------

“So, that is what I’ve learned,” Mortiganen declared after informing the leaders of the various teams of his experiences in the Hollows, “Whatever this thing that wiped out Atta’s base is, it’s big, bigger than a Supa Troll, and its skin has metallic properties.”

“Well, Garm,” a former Family hitman named Harold Danesti growled, “Looks like your buddies have-“

“They’re not my buddies,” the Caliban retorted, “And this is as much the fault of your old friends, if not more.”

“I say we let the thing wipe out the Hollows,” the former Tsoo Swift Steel practitioner, Steel Blaze, rasped, “Let an army of heroes deal with it afterward.”

“Which heroes?” Mortiganen countered, “The fresh faces that wander in there every other day? Yes, I’m sure they, with their novice skills and comparatively weak powers will be able to succeed where Atta and almost an army of Trolls failed.”

Sensing the sarcasm, Steel Blaze was about to say something when Garm spoke up again.

“Listen, guys, the fact remains that we know something’s out there. Something the rest of the city isn’t aware of yet. Our purpose in this matter is to inform the rest of the heroic populace about this new threat and try to amass a force to take it down.”

“Yeah, a lot of people are gonna listen to a bunch of ex-cons like us,” Harold grumbled into his collar, “And I might magically sprout bat wings and fly around to drink the blood of the wicked…”

“Be careful with words like that,” Mortiganen growled as he gestured to the Italian, “It might come true…”

Danesti looked back in shock, thinking the old man had cast some kind of curse on him. Instead, what he found was a pair of glowing bat wings imprinted on his chair.

“Cute.”

“We’ve got a plan,” the leader of the group growled, “It’s the best we can do with what we know. Martin, I trust you and Agent Wild will be able to help us with this?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the gruff man replied.

--St. Martial: J.W.'s Lounge and Bar--

When the light of the teleportation singularity faded, Harbinger rubbed his eyes and looked around. Recognizing the neighborhood, he nodded.

"I live down the street," he grumbled to his companions, "The bartender knows me. He might have something to tell me."

He led them in to a dark lounge. J.W.'s seemed to be a casino only by the slot machines and a few tables where people could play cards with each other. The rest, however, were suitably dark so various "shady deals" could be arranged. Fortunately, today was a slow day, as there were only a couple perpetually drunk barflies sitting on the stools, waiting to be served more alcohol. Even if they were interested in eavesdropping, they were too inebriated to remember anything.

"Holy crap... Harbinger?" the bartender shouted, "Last I saw you, you were tearing out of here like a bat out of Hell! You still owe me forty bucks for your tab!"

"Eddy!" the demon shouted back, "I need your help!"

"Yeah? Well, maybe you'll pay up and we'll see what I can recall... Thing is, information don't come cheap, either."

"You know," the demon growled as his body burst into flames, "Most normal people like you would have crapped their pants at the notion that I wanted somethin' from 'em."

"Yeah," the bartender reached under the counter and retrieved a specially inscribed double-barreled shotgun, "And they aren't equipped with a magic gun that's loaded with silver dimes."

----------

--St. Martial: 4 Suits Casino: Room 1209--

The mercenaries reached the room without incident. However, the door was slightly ajar. Dynamo Rose signaled to the others to follow her lead and pushed the door open to see what was inside.

A solitary figure waited for them. He was facing the window, but his outfit made him look like some sort of bizarre, stylized ninja with serrated fins coming out of the top of his mask. The man turned his head when he heard the creak of the door and spoke in a voice as cold as the pits of the Netherworld.

"We saw you approach. You're here for the assassin? He's gone. Forever. And as for you... Your search ends here..."

He whirled around and hurled a patch of inky blackness at the mercenaries. Tentacles sprouted from it and latched onto them, miring them in place.

Whoever this guy was, he was not a friend.

--Atlas Park: Behind City Hall--

"Nor am I," Wong said delightedly, but his facial expression didn't remain that way as he continued, "Well, unfortunately, I don't have much to go on. The Security Chief from Brickstown's First National when Oakhammer was abducted is currently fielding questions in the Brickstown Infirmary. After what those monsters did to him, they had to replace sections of his spine! He should make a full recovery, but I don't know if that'll take into account the psychological damage involved in being ripped in two."

He shrugged.

"There are a couple heroes that the Phalanx interviewed, too. One lost her fiance... She was a bit of a mess when Freedom Corps interviewed her, but maybe she'll have something more coherent with some more time to think about it. I know I sound heartless right now, but we need to know anything she knows, and we need to start acting fast."

He typed into his communicator.

"Here's her address. Her name is Bronze Shield... She's a tanker, one of the recent ones who take after Blue Steel. Careful, don't make her mad. She's got a mean right cross."

--Nerva Archipelago: Crey industries International--

"Well, let's see," Gregory thought about what he knew from the case, "As far as vigilantes in Paragon, the only one I can remember is Oakhammer, a plant-like martial artist. I think there were some stalkers, like Max Gorgonetti, who worked as a hitman for the Marcones. Here in the isles, a number of stalkers Crey liked to have on their payroll have been impossible to contact, and they're regenerators, too, so I worry that maybe they're missing, too."

He pulled up his communicator and looked it over.

"Let's see... Shadowstain, a magic martial artist... Power Fist, a cybernetic woman with powerful energy bursts in her attacks... Hm... I have a message from one... A mutant who called himself Blight Carver."

He opened the message and his eyes widened.

"Well, I don't know what to make of this... Blight Carver just sent me a message indicating that he thinks somebody's following him. He's wondering if I sent anybody to harass him, and to tell Kelly Uqua that he doesn't know anything (whatever that means)."

He looked to the rest of the contractors and started typing into his communicator. The result was a send function that relayed the message to the rest of teh people in the room.

"He sent this from his home number... Here's his address in St. Martial. I would suggest you look into this quickly. This individual might have more pertinent information."

----------

--Message--

Manning! I told you to leave me alone after that last job! Uqua gave me the creeps and what everybody was sayin' about her... Look, just tell her I don't know anything and to keep her goons off my back! I know they're yours because of the cheesy suits! Lose my number, too. I don't need this kind of crap in my life! I knew I should have worked for Cage...

Blight Carver, 555-0913, Four Suits Casino Room 1209

((J.W.'s Lounge is one of the various casinos in St. Martial and it actually advertises that it serves beer. It's in the northeast section of Jackpot, and it's not a particularly "flashy" casino.))

--Port Oakes: Black Heart Memorial--

Harbinger Daemon nodded and grasped Drago's hand firmly. His clawed par wrapped around the smaller hand, but it wasn't a crushing grip. Either his strength hadn't returned to him yet, or he was surprisingly gentle for a ruthless mercenary.

----------

--Atlas Park: Behind the Town Hall--

Henry Wong nodded to the dragon-like meta human.

"Yes, I sent that to many prominent heroes I've worked with over the years. We're trying to get the word out, especially to regenerator-type heroes, to be extra careful out there and to bring as many leads to Hero Corps, Freedom Corps, and the F.B.S.A. as possible. Of course... Hero Corps is the only group that's going to compensate you for your time and effort adequately."

----------

--Nerva Archipelago: Crey industries International: Unspecified Resources--

Gregory Manning followed Dynamo Rose into the reception area and nodded to the meta humans. His secretary started informing him of their purpose, but he nodded and let her know he understood.

"Well, I'm pleased to see such an exceptional turnout. I'm Gregory Manning, I fund a lot of Crey's mercenary work here in the Isles. I trust you're all here for the missing persons contracts."

He waited for their nods and various types of agreement before addressing Dynamo.

"I've already conversed with Ms. Rose on some of the parameters for this case, but I'm still willing to assist the rest of you with any questions you have now."

((My mistake, Kasoh, I had a headache at the time and I didn't read your post the way I should have. I fixed the statement from earlier.))

--Nerva Archipelago: Crey Industries International: Unspecified Resources--

Gregory Manning looked to his computer and narrowed his eyes. There were new contracts that had just popped up, including one that wasn't so much a contract as a notice as information regarding a man named "Senior Operative Drago" that indicated Arachnos had stuck it's clawed fingers into the investigation.

"Well, I guess that rules out Arachnos," he muttered as he looked to the screen.

Then he focused his attention on Dynamo.

"Okay, first off, yes there are plenty of... Mercenaries... that you can liaise with. One is being shown the way to my office right now, a young woman named Doctor Lore. As for opposition..."

He gritted his teeth and winced a little.

"Crey likes to make it a matter of public fact that they're the driving force behind the existence of Hero Corps, and they've gone on a similar recruitment drive to settle this matter at our behest... However... They're not too reliable when it comes to settling issues discreetly. There have been a number of public relations fiascoes for this company that they not only allowed, but encouraged. As such, if I get word of any vigilantes they've hired, I'll send word to you and your associates."

He considered the rest of her questions carefully.

"The office will want updates whenever you learn something new. The upper echelons are intensely interested in this matter, but haven't informed me as to why. Yes, I'm the primary contact. Again, the upper echelons are covering their own bacon, so I'm the ablative armor should anything go wrong. As for Cover and Transport to Paragon City, we could probably provide such, but with any luck, it won't be necessary."

"Now... As for the details concerning the objective... We came across this unusual pattern about a month ago. Certain individuals were getting abducted from their homes, from missions, or even in transit to various locations. At first, we didn't see a discernible pattern, they were all from various backgrounds, mostly lower to middle class, different ethnicities, different claims to the origins of their powers. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that our associates in Hero Corps noticed the pattern, all the missing heroes were 'Regenerative' types, they all took massive amounts of damage and were able to repair themselves at exceptionally rapid paces. Hero Corps, for whatever reason, confronted the Crey Corporation about it, and the case was sent to me from the desk of Hopkins... Which doesn't necessarily mean he ordered me to work on this, but you get the idea of the intensity of Crey's interest, now."

He looked around, knowing full well that his office was bugged. The Unspecified Resources Office was a powerful position from which almost anyone could funnel funds into almost any project and have anyone within the company assume it was all with the Countess' or Hopkins' consent. The previous heads of Unspecified Resources in the Rogue Isles had all died under mysterious circumstances, and it was later found that they'd been embezzling funds for all sorts of personal objectives. It was part of why Manning figured he was here: he had no personal objectives, save to live long enough to retirement and have a decent pension at the time.

"Look," he whispered to the brute, "Between you and me, I'm thinking Crey really doesn't have anything to do with these missing heroes. It's something about the wording and attitude in the orders I've been given... It's not the usual circuitous clap-trap I normally see in my orders. They seem to really want to find out who's behind this and put a stop to them before the meta human vigilantes across the world, not just in Paragon, come after us with a furious vengeance that is completely unwarranted."

He sat back and shuffled a few papers on his desk. Feeling that he'd said what needed to be said, he handed the papers over to Dynamo.

"So far, there have been only two surviving witnesses from all of the abductions. They had both been shot with some sort of strange ammunition... Well, one was shot, the other was shot at. The one who's recovering seems to be a magic-based super strong fiery demon named 'Harbinger.' The other is a dominator... I believe his brother was killed in an abduction that took both a vigilante named Oakhammer and a mercenary named Max Gorgonetti, both regenerators. I believe the others were witnesses to the event. They already gave a report to Arachnos officials, but the report is sparse because Arachnos seemed only interested in the botched robbery at the time, looking for a way to cover their own butts from something they apparently had absolutely no prior knowledge of. Considering the fact that I'm starting to see Arachnos operatives on my contact information for this case, I suppose that's no longer the case."

He gestured to the pages in Dynamo's hands.

"There is all I've got on Harbinger Daemon and Chillblazer. It's got their addresses, both in St. Martial, as well as a list of prior sprees and operations. It seems Chillblazer was rather fond of working for the Cage Consortium and the Marcones, while Harbinger did a lot of freelance work for just about anybody who could get him more magical artifacts, like that lunatic, Darrin Wade, though he's also been known to take on jobs from individuals he feels will offer him a challenge. However, I'm certain he's still recuperating in the Port Oakes medical facility."


((This is all the information Gregory has for any further contractors at this time. I trust this can be used for any further mercenaries who wish to learn the parameters of their contracts.

Oh, and further note for the monetary motivations of the contract: That's $10,000 American or converted to whatever other national currency you require, and it's actual pay, not something that needs excessive laundering or some other disguising behavior to conceal its origin. Considering the nature of this mission, Crey can easily explain that they were just as concerned about missing heroes, and hired anybody they could to investigate (which equates to good PR for them). Mind you, the contract is fluid, it can be negotiated for more, though the medical, dental and possible stock options are nothing to sneeze at either.))

-----------

--Port Oakes: Black Heart Memorial Hospital--

Harbinger arched his eyebrow at the boy, but visibly shook when the Arachnos Crab Spider showed up.

"I already told Arachnos what I know," he growled, "As far as I'm concerned, you [jerks] are responsible for what happened to Max and hiring that lunatic, Jack, to shoot me and Chill's brother!"

He glared at Millions.

"Look, kid, I wasn't involved in Max's kidnapping. I didn't even know he was kidnapped until the last batch of Arachnos inquisitors started drilling me with questions. All I know is I was having this wonderful dream about tearing through cops and Longbow troops, ripping a security guard captain in half, then I woke up to find out it was all true."

His eyes darted back and forth.

"Wait... I didn't go to sleep before that..." he muttered, "I was... I think I was in the Giza... Or... No..."

He thumbed his chin as he tried to remember what he was doing before he found himself tearing through Brickstown.

"I was in J.W.'s Lounge... Yeah!"

He pointed at Drago, his mind already shifting to typical authority archetypes since the big armored man was older.

"I go there because they've got beer! Good beer! But something went wrong that night... Something..."

He seemed to trail off as he looked to the ceiling. Drago couldn't tell if the demonic-looking man was making a show of searching for a memory or if it was really a mannerism. It was something he cursed the dossiers on the various "Chosen Ones" Arachnos kept. You could know all the numbers about a character, just not how they behaved.

"I got it!" he announced, bringing his focus back to Drago and Millions.

"Good, let's have it," the Senior Operative growled, growing more impatient with the theatrics.

"No, I didn't mean the memory. I mean I know how to get the information you need."

"Let me guess..."

"Take me to J.W.'s. Once there, it'll probably jog my memory..."

((Sorry for the commandeering of your character there, Devious, I just wanted to move this portion along.))

--Nerva Archipelago: Crey Industries Building--

Gregory Manning didn't relish his position. He was a diligent man, a competent paper pusher, and he found himself in the unenviable Nerva Archipelago "Unspecified Resources" office because he accidentally learned of the corporation's "quasilegal" activities and made no fuss about it. He'd asked no questions, made no threats, he even made sure the information he'd come across got to where it was supposed to go.

Apparently, for his loyalty, the company decided he deserved a promotion and a change of scenery. He didn't dislike the tropical climate, but the Etoile "Rogue" Isles were not what he'd expected to be dealing with. Out here, he ran across the worst individuals, from the various "villains" of the world to Arachnos to Kelly Uqua. It made his home life something of an aggravation.

Still, his position in Unspecified Resources yielded him excellent opportunities to make friends among those criminals. He hated to admit it, but they were, for the most part, just unscrupulous individuals who were attempting to claim their own piece of the Pie of Life.

He reviewed the e-mail that the Office of Superhuman Affairs had sent him. The profile of the individual made him snort a little, but he sent back an e-mail requesting the individual to get in touch with him as soon as possible.

Upon sending the message, he found that his in-box had a new appointment from his secretary. He looked over the information, and sighed. The young woman was already on her way in, so he informed his secretary to admit her immediately.

He reviewed his funds for a moment and narrowed his eyes. Somebody had funneled some of them to one of Uqua's projects. Regardless of the rumors and their implications about the woman, Manning simply didn't have the leeway to allow such embezzlement to continue, so he raised a flag on the activity for the bean counters to see and mentally prepared himself to have to deal with her later.

A moment later, Dynamo Rose entered his office, and Gregory stood to greet her. Gripping her hand firmly, he gave her a solid shake and a greeting, then asked her to sit down.

"I've been informed you're here for the investigation contract. I suppose there's information you'd like to know. Well, where would you like to begin?"

----------

--Port Oakes: Medical Center--

"Excuse me," a doctor muttered to the receptionist nurse, "I need to conduct some blood tests on Harbinger Daemon."

"Sir, I-" she looked up at the doctor and noted the glowing orange gaze staring back at her, "I understand, sir."

"Get me his file."

"Yes sir," she replied and started rifling through the folders on her desk.

"You there," the man with glowing eyes called to the boy, "You want to see an interesting case?"

The young man nodded and walked over to the doctor's side. The nurse looked at the child, then back to the doctor, who just glared back at her.

"The file?" he asked, his voice conveying none of the contempt his posture clearly indicated.

She handed it over quickly and gulped. The doctor looked through it, muttering the demon's blood type (unknown) and known allergies (none) before walking away from the desk with the boy in tow.

"Oh yes," he called over his shoulder, "Clean out your locker. You're fired."

They walked past the Arachnos Reclaimators and entered an elevator nobody normally used outside of Hospital personnel. On the way down, the doctor explained.

"Your bosses called and told me to expect you, sir. I'll take you to Harbinger, but the other individual, Chillblaze, is burying his brother."

The elevator stopped and they walked out into a partitioned hallway resplendent with medical beds and equipment. There were few meta humans in the beds, most of them linked up to the Arachnos Reclaimators and able to head right back out into the heat of battle upon teleporting (the machines wreaked havoc on the medical center's power supply, but Marshall Brass didn't seem to care). Most of the people in the beds were the normal citizens of the Rogue Isles, people who were often the victims of the rampant criminal organizations that called the Isles home.

"Here he is," the doctor explained as he brought the teenager to the red-skinned demon.

Harbinger was sitting in an inclined position and reading, of all things, a Bible. He glanced up at the doctor as they approached, then turned his attention to the boy. Arching an eyebrow, he looked back to the doctor.

"The weird thing is, I know I'm supposed to talk to him."

"Yes," the doctor replied.

"Well, doc, if there's nothing for you, I guess you should go."

"Very well."

"So," Harbinger paused to slide the marker into place and close the book before focusing his full attention on the young man, "What can I help you with?"

--From the offices of Crey Industries International--

Dear <Villain>

By this time, I’m certain you’ve become aware of the disappearances of several up-can-coming regenerating heroes. You and your compatriots are also probably drawing conclusions that we here at Crey Industries may have something to do with this.

This is an absolute falsehood. We here at Crey Industries are staunch supporters of liberty in all its forms, and abductions and kidnapping are not a part of our business policies.

However, while you easily see through the lies slung at our corporation by your counterparts in Paragon City, the public does not. This is why we are extending an invitation to you to help investigate this matter and help clear our names.

Obviously, you are wondering what’s in this for you. Well, we’re offering a generous contract of one ten thousand dollars for the duration of this contract, as well as negotiable boons for any extra work you may do in our favor. We’re also willing to provide medical and dental services, up to, and including, any cosmetic procedures you may require. Exceptional work may yield stock options and a place in the Crey Industries family.

Please respond as soon as possible. Because of recent legal troubles involving our CEO, we don’t have the leeway to leave this as an open deal for very long.

Sincerely,


Gregory Manning
Unspecified Resources Office

----------

--From the Offices of Hero Corps—

Dear <Hero>

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you at work. That’s not to say that you’re not working, mind you, but it’s a sign that you’ve been a rising star in this city. For that, I offer my heartfelt congratulations, which is something I rarely get the chance to do.

Now, after the recent disappearance of Oakhammer, the scrapper who had only just joined the ranks of the heroes who defend Brickstown from criminals, authorities have determined that there’s some kind of pattern going on in which Regenerator heroes are disappearing at an alarming rate. Freedom Corps and police are waging their own investigations, some of which are aimed strongly at Crey Industries, others at enigmatic groups like the Council, the Nemesis Army and even the mysterious Malta Group, which are all known for abducting heroes for various reasons.

However, the investigations are undermanned. In an attempt to help wherever we can, Hero Corps is sending open invitations to individuals such as yourself. You’re a capable hero who has proven time and again that you know what you’re doing. You’ve faced trials and tribulations that have plagued this city as well as investigated some of the most tenacious criminals that tried to undermine the civil liberties of your fellow citizens.

We need as many heroes investigating this issue as possible. This threat affects us all, for if they go after one brand of hero they will go after others, and we have to stand up to their threats! I hope you agree to assist, for whatever reason. For your trouble, we here at Hero Corps are willing to offer a per diem stipend as well as a negotiable salary (not to exceed five hundred dollars a week) and medical benefits.

I hope to see you soon.

Henry Peter Wong

((And there you have it. That's the invitation. Your villains have been contacted by Crey (in some fashion or another) or your heroes have been contacted by Hero Corps (funny that...) to investigate the mysterious disappearances of regenerating heroes (and villains/rogues, though nobody publicly cares about them...).

Now, my brain's on fire, I hope you join in on the adventure, but please be gentle. I'm not a rapid poster, and I've only thought this thing partway through (a part I'm worried may be very small), so it will take time for me to respond sometimes.

The criminals tore through the Longbow blockade and smashed into the bank doors. Nothing could stop them. They were pumped on drugs, experimental cybernetics and powerful mystical accessories that boosted their combat attributes through the roof. They could barely stand still, but they were shredding their way through the opposition.

The bank’s guards fared little better than the Longbow blockade. The guard captain would have probably given them the pass key to get into the vault, but they were roaring and jabbering incoherently and they sought only death and destruction. The captain was sent to the hospital by his Med-Com transponder in two pieces; he would never be the same again.

It was when they got to the vault that they stopped to consider that something was seriously wrong with them. They didn’t know each other, never met before that day.

Harbinger Daemon’s mind cleared first and he stopped at the vault entrance to watch his compatriots flailing wildly at the heavy door to the treasure of unmarked bills beyond. The problem, he realized, was that he had been hired by a man named Jaeger to steal a retinal scan device of some kind and he should have been busy doing that instead of this bizarre bank assault.

He vaguely remembered one of the people, Max Gorgonetti, a man whose special ability was to alter his physical appearance to mimic the walls and floor behind him like some sort of demented chameleon. He was also a regenerator, Daemon had seen him lose fingers and an ear which he grew back in a matter of hours. Afterward, they parted ways, the contact didn’t have much work for them, but Daemon had acquired a new respect for stalkers after watching Max tear his claws into a Nullifier’s spine just before the Longbow soldier could put a slug through Daemon’s skull.

The strange thing, he remarked, was that Max wasn’t using his claws. None of the criminals were using their respective weapons, they were just tearing away at the vault with their bare hands. For someone like Harbinger, that was easy; he was super strong and could punch through steel. For people like Gorgonetti, it wasn’t so easy, as punching an armored vault door could quickly reduce a man’s hands to hamburger, regardless of whatever bizarre enhancement they were currently under the influence of.

“Guys!” he shouted, “Guys!”

They continued pounding away at the door. Despite the efforts, it didn’t look to be budging.

“Max!” Harbinger pulled the stalker away and slapped him across the face, “Max! Snap out of it!”

The stalker gripped the brute on a nerve on his collar bone. Despite a television show’s advertisement of the “nerve pinch,” all it really did was aggravate the big crimson-skinned man. Daemon jammed two fingers into the palm Max was using to pinch him, his thumb against the back of it between two bones (it didn’t really matter which two, but he aimed for the center of the hand) and wrenched his hand back to the side, twisting Max’s hand and wrist around in a way that would hurt anyone severely.

Max screamed. It was a shriek that pierced the resounding booms in the room and caused the other criminals to stop. He went to attack Harbinger again, but the big brute backhanded him across the face with his free hand and yanked him aside. The other criminals glared at him for a moment, but one by one, their eyes started to clear.

“Must have been something about the pain,” Daemon grumbled, “So long as you wailed away at that thing, you guys were pretty much braindead.”

“What are you talking about?” a corrupter with an assault rifle asked as he rubbed his hands, “Oh God, what were we doing?”

They heard the sound of a hero at the entrance shouting some sort of nonsense about stopping them. Soon enough, they’d be getting assaulted by another Longbow contingent and have to fight their way out.

“What’s going on?” another rogue shouted.

“Shut up! Shut up and listen to me!” Harbinger roared, “Look, I know you’re disoriented, but I need you guys to stick together so we can get through this! Somebody’s [messing] with us, and if we can’t get back to the Isles, we won’t be able to find out who or why!”

The Longbow troops arrived with their hero hot on their trail. He was some sort of weird, plant-based hero. He didn’t have spikes or vines or anything, though. Instead, he just assaulted the rogues with some sort of blended martial arts and let the Longbow troops work on withering the villains.

Harbinger’s skin burst into flames and he railed against the little green man with bright blue hair. He could hear the rest of his team throwing ice and fire, and the assault rifle of the corrupter. After slamming the scrapper into the far wall and watching him slump motionless to the floor, the brute turned his attention to the rest of the Longbow troops. A moment later, he was kicked in the back of the knee and crumpled to the ground.

It seemed the scrapper had gotten back up from his near-fatal encounter with the wall. Harbinger tried to push himself back up, but a hard chop to the side of his head jarred him and he suddenly couldn’t control his muscles anymore. He vaguely felt some kicks to his ribs and rolled over from the impact to look up and see that the scrapper was about to finish him off by stomping on his head.

“Oh well,” he thought, “I guess I won’t get to find out what’s going on.”

Suddenly, a set of claws poked out of the scrapper’s chest and he stopped. Another set popped through a little lower and as the hero turned, Harbinger could see Max Gorgonetti holding his weapons in the hero’s back. As his mind cleared, Harbinger was about to cheer with triumph about their success when there was a bright flash and he couldn’t see anything.

He was vaguely aware that he was being dragged, so he was certain it wasn’t a hero taking him (they tended to just zap villains to the nearest jail house or to the Zig). He felt broken glass scraping across his back and it must have done something to bring him back to focus because his vision started clearing and he looked up to see the guy who threw ice dragging him. The one who threw fire was dragging the man with the assault rifle.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

“Don’t know,” the ice thrower whispered, “There was an explosion and everything went dark. Barry and I grabbed whoever we could find… Couldn’t find that other guy.”

“Max?”

“Was that his name? Well, we couldn’t find him, or the cape. Can you walk?”

Harbinger nodded and picked himself back up. Looking about, he saw it was night time and that most of the buildings nearby were blacked out. He could barely recognize the place, but he thought they were in Brickstown, just outside the First National.

“Everything’s shut down,” he whispered, then pointed at a Nemesis Warhulk lying facedown on the pavement, “Holy… I guess we can rule this out as a Nemesis plot!”

The other two chuckled and the fire thrower hefted the corrupter on his shoulders in a military carry. Harbinger offered to help, but the other man said he was fine.

“I’ve got something of an adrenalin rush going,” he rasped, “If I remember correctly, we’re supposed to go down that street and get out of here through the sewers…”

“Yeah, there should be a submersible waiting for us,” the brute agreed.

They fled. Harbinger took up the rear of the formation. He told the others it was so he could take the brunt of anything chasing them. What he really was doing, however, was figuring out which of these two elemental-type villains were screwing him over. He didn’t know why they were making a show of helping him now, but he was certain it had nothing to do with any kind of altruism. Heck, if he were in their situation, he’d have grabbed the loot and left the others; but then he wouldn’t have anybody to help him figure out why he was robbing Brickstown in the first place.

They passed through the sewer without incident, and as they reached the exit, the assault rifle-wielding corrupter roused himself. He looked like a normal person, brown hair, green eyes, and dressed in simple military fatigues. Apparently, he was also supposed to have a complement of gadgets and traps, but they must have been lost during their maddened dash to the bank. He introduced himself as Jack Solomon, the elemental dominator-class villains introduced themselves as Barry “Chillblazer” and Hank “Timbercaust” Redden, brothers who mutated in high school to have ice and fire powers respectively.

Harbinger introduced himself as well and wondered if maybe he was now looking at a two on one and a half fight, as Jack didn’t have half of his repertoire. He’d seen corrupters do some fine work, but it usually required help from skills they employed to wither the enemy or boost the team, and assault rifles by themselves were pretty weak in comparison to hurling fire or using the power of the Netherworld itself to tear an enemy’s very soul out of his body.

“So, any clue why we were here?” the demon-looking man asked.

“I don’t know, man,” Chillblazer replied, “I thought I was dreaming at first, and everything was cool. We were punching through cops, smashing down Longbow… But then… Then… I don’t know, that scream hurt my ears and I looked to see what caused it, and that’s when I realized I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Same here,” his brother agreed, “I seriously thought that we were this close to breaking open that vault when you woke us up! Did you know that guy you smacked around?”

“I didn’t do it because I liked doing it,” Harbinger muttered, “Though… I did like doing it, don’t get me wrong, but I had a purpose to what I was doing. So… We were asleep?”

“I guess,” Jack grumbled, “Can we get a move on? I want to get back to St. Martial and get my stuff. I’ve got a couple contracts I’m working on.”

They started leaving, but Harbinger kept between Solomon and the Redden Brothers. He didn’t want them taking out his only partner if they turned out to be the guys responsible for his being in Brickstown.

The utility grate opened for them and the meta humans crawled out into the drainage ditch. There wasn’t a submersible waiting for them, and the Reddens turned to Daemon.

“What do we do now?” Timbercaust’s face conveyed actual terror, Harbinger had seen it enough to know the difference.

That gave him a moment to wonder just who was messing with them, then. However, just as he realized that maybe Jack had been the one, there was another bright flash. His back had been to the explosion, so his vision wasn’t lost. He saw Chillblazer go rocketing backwards into the ocean while his brother tumbled head over heels across the beach. The brute himself tumbled forward and felt his face drag against the sand. However, he was still conscious; he just couldn’t move.

“What the Hell was that?”

“Neutralizing witnesses. Ready for pickup,” he heard Solomon say into a communicator as he walked past, lazily resting his assault rifle on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

The corrupter(?) casually approached Timbercaust and aimed his rifle at the man’s back. The Dominator was struggling to push himself off the ground when he was shot. He slumped to the ground, never to move again. Jack did the same to Harbinger, and the brute didn’t know what the ammunition was, but it tore right through him. He felt salt burning into the exit wound, but it only lasted long enough for his bleeding out to overwhelm the salty sand. The assassin finished off Chillblazer by firing into the ocean, which caused a small explosion of flash-frozen ice.

“I can’t believe this…” Harbinger Daemon thought desperately, “I’m dying… Really dying…”

As his vision started to black out, he saw a patch of darkness move across the fading night sky. It seemed odd to him that the night sky could get darker, but then, he never really did take a moment to appreciate the natural wonders of the world. He never realized he was able to see well in the dark, never thought to wonder why. Now, his life was ending, and he had a moment to reflect on such a simple-

“No,” he gurgled as the vehicle descended to the beach to admit Solomon, “You [jerk], if I ever… See you again… I’ll… Kill you…”

“What’s he talking about?” a male voice inside the vehicle asked.

“The last gasps of a dying waste,” Solomon replied, “I got him with a Meta Killer, the other two, also. They won’t survive the next five minutes.”

“Good. And the objective?”

“Bonus. One of the rogues we brought with us was a regenerator as well.”

“Excellent.”

There was a strange rasping sound before the vessel’s door closed and Harbinger closed his eyes.

----------

--Port Oakes—

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Daemon had never been happy to hear anybody’s voice before. He’d always figured that if he ever did feel happy about it, the voice would be a woman’s. Of course, when you looked like something out of Dante’s Inferno, friendly female companionship was usually of the crazy kind, too.

“Hey, Barry,” he croaked from the hospital bed, “Where are we?”

“Port Oakes,” the Dominator replied, “You okay?”

“I guess…”

“Jack missed me, and I made some show of my powers losing control… Not my best moment, I admit; I still feel the cold, you know. Well, after he got in this weird black something and flew off, I made my way to you and Hank. Shortly after that, an Arachnos submersible showed up because it was bringing in a real robbery crew.”

“How’s your brother?”

Chillblazer looked glumly to the floor. His brother was in critical condition. Something about the ammunition used against them, it intoxicated the body with a venom that systematically damaged or killed the internal organs. It worked on a range of creatures, because most of the things that existed in the world or came to exist in the world had organs that were susceptible to the venom. The few that weren’t, well, there were other ways to kill them.

“Don’t know what the stuff is,” the dominator sighed as he lit up a cigarette, “I just know it’s killing my brother. Almost killed you, but the bullet shot clean through you, so not as much venom got into your system. You’ve been out for almost a week.”

“I lack a rib right there,” the demonic-looking man replied, “It’s probably why the round went through.”

They sat there quietly. Shortly, they were going to have to talk to Arachnos officials about what happened. It was going to be a strange conversation because Harbinger didn’t even know how he’d gotten to Paragon City, nor what had happened to Max.

“Oh crap!” he suddenly sat upright, felt nauseous and lied back down, “Ugh… They kidnapped Max!”

“Who?” Chillblazer asked, “Oh… Oh yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know…”

((This is just an introductory adventure for the setting. Give me a moment to set up the invitation...

Also, for ground rules...

No God Mode (I can do anything and everything! I know everything! I can't be hit! I can lift buildings and stab the moon! I kicked Statesman so hard in the crotch his gonads scrambled his brain. ETC.)

No One-Shots

No "Sneak-in and Attack" moments (Villain Antagonist: "And now, you will know my wra-AAUGH!" New Guy: "Ha-HA! I figured NOW would be the best time to show up out of the blue!")

Essentially, don't infringe on the enjoyment of the players. If you want to do something, work it out with the GM (me) and the individuals involved (the players you intend to meet).

It's actually simpler than I'm laying out here, but we've had problems in the past, so this disclaimer has to be made.))

Already linked it, Sooner

Also, I just added a new chapter to the Hand of Merulina arc in Grey's Army. The archaeology team is finding that the temple is dedicated to the slumbering submerged goddess of the Coralax, and that, for some strange reason, there are warnings from all sorts of civilizations etched into the ancient walls of the structure (even civilizations that didn't have their own written language). In the meantime, Doctor Delilah Stein is given information indicating that the two islands really are linked, and that there may be a third temple submerged between the islands. But how did this bizarre ancient civilization build a temple under the ocean?

Later that night, Statesman and Lord Recluse have bizarre nightmares of something immense and terrible looking down on them. Neither being rookies to the concept of "Doom Portents" they make ready to travel to the source of the disturbance... Which happens to be the same submerged temple the Longbow and Arachnos forces are struggling to excavate before their opposing faction.

This segment tallies in at almost 4,000 words. Wow.

The next day was an incredibly hot one. A warm front had come up from the Equator and was sweltering Delilah’s team. Still, everybody seemed to be in high spirits, as this was the first temple a lot of them had ever had the chance to work on. The purple-haired doctor herself remarked that it was an incredible find and that she wished she’d been called earlier for it.

“…Still,” she finished with a sigh while gazing across the island from the peak of the ziggurat-like structure, “I suppose it’s for the best. I was still taking care of business in Overbrook… Lots of old supergroup bases out there, and all that.”

“I’m glad you’re not too ticked,” Brother Brick replied, “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“I think we’ve reached the limits of what you can inform me of. Sorry, hon, I don’t mean to offend.”

“No offense taken. Frankly, I gotta get back to the Dream anyway and help Ringo with giving it a tune up. If there’s anything you or your team needs, feel free to drop by the docks and give us a holler. Mauthe said the team’s free to help itself in the saloon, too.”

“Thank you,” she replied, favoring him with a genuine smile, “How do we… You guys accept American, right?”

“Why not? The rest of the Isles seem to…”

Doc Delilah quirked her eyebrow at that. He raised a valid point. The Rogue Isles were full of people who regularly raided Paragon City’s various banks, and they were always after money. She was certain Arachnos was surreptitiously goading the criminals into the acts of wanton mayhem, possibly to probe the city’s defenses, but the super-powered monstrosities always returned to the Rogue Isles with United States currency, which didn’t make any sense for a short-term goal. In order to use it, they’d need to get it exchanged, and she was more than certain that Arachnos’s exchange rate was one of the worst in the world, often skimming huge percentages through ridiculous charges, taxes and fees just to line Recluse’s coffers. Then there was the laundering involved, shifting all the bills about to cover the fact that they’d come from a bank.

“Yeesh, makes you think they should just get a normal job,” she muttered as the stress of the circular thinking started giving her a slight headache, “Fewer people trying to kill you and the money you get is yours to keep. Heck, I could always use a few more shovel rats…”

She joined her crew at the excavation site, which were actually the grounds extending for a hundred foot radius stretch from the edge of the temple wall at the base. This extended partly into the road the strange man-tank had used the day earlier, but the strange man, Mauthe, seemed confident that they’d be able to reroute so the machine could still provide optimal protection.

As she reached the bottom of the steps, she saw another Longbow landing vessel pulling in with a pair of Cataphracts in its personnel hold. She shook her head as the big machines started lumbering out as soon as the landing hatch opened. Before long, this whole place, these two mysterious islands, were going to become a massive arms race and a war was going to break out.

Not terribly interested in the excavation of the exterior grounds, the doctor decided to go inside the temple and see what the team inside had found so far. She didn’t tell them that she’d fit a hero in with the crew, even though she knew Charlene wasn’t crazy enough to try using her powers in her condition. Seeing the bright-eyed young woman, she made her way to where she diligently worked at cleaning off an inscription.

“More of the same,” Grey muttered as Delilah reached her, “Behold the Hand of Merulina. Fear the Wrath of Merulina. All Worship Merulina or All Die. It’s strange… It’s in numerous languages, Aztec, Olmec, Inca, Navajo, Cherokee… Well, not exactly, there are numerous discrepancies, but it’s all there. If it weren’t for the disturbing implications, we’d be inside another Rosetta Stone, I believe…”

“You can read all that?”

“No…” Charlene admitted sheepishly, “My communicator has a translator… Whenever it comes across a word that it can’t translate using the accepted language… Like this Mayan inscription here… It highlights at this ‘All’ and adds a question mark at the end because it wasn’t sure. What’s odd is that it doesn’t highlight the other ‘All,’ which is a slightly different glyph.”

Delilah nodded and clapped the woman on the shoulder lightly.

“Must be historically recognized,” she offered, “The other’s close enough… Could just be historical wear and tear… Tropical storms do come through here, after all.”

“I don’t think so… This whole temple… It’s remarkably well preserved… The stone doesn’t look like it was carved yesterday, of course, but it also doesn’t look like it’s been around for hundreds of years. And what exactly are all of these different languages doing here? The Northern Native Americans weren’t known for having written languages, either, so how is it I’m getting translations for their imagery and the like here, and why is it translating as these ‘Merulina’ phrases instead of their counterparts? Why would each of these languages refer to the same god when none of them had the same god or pantheon?”

“It’s a mystery we’ll have to solve as we work,” Delilah sighed, then whispered, “Have there been any problems?”

“No…” Charlene whispered back, “No roaring, no murmuring, and no whispers at the edges of our memories. Nothing like the guy running this place said they’d been hearing. Still… For as hot as it was out there, it’s very cold in here, even just inside this entrance chamber.”

Delilah nodded and turned to work with the rest of the interior team. They had stories similar to Charlene’s, and there were even more languages, from even farther parts of the world and even more obscure. She was starting to wonder if this whole thing was a hoax when her communicator warbled because Agent Wilder wanted a status report. Grumbling, she left the temple with the realization that every day was going to be just like this until the job was done.

------

Doctor Stein didn’t waste time thinking that Wilder was genuinely interested in the work at the temple. She knew he was just wondering how soon it would be before he could move her and the crew out so he could turn the whole place into another Longbow base. Fortunately, Mauthe was just as concerned about such a goal, and that was part of the reason for his hospitality. It was something he was affording exclusively to her team, she noted, for there had almost been a brawl when the Longbow forces first arrived and the bartender refused to serve them because “Brother Mauthe didn’t give the word that it was okay,” and he apparently still hadn’t.

“We’ve only just begun,” she explained in the Command Tent, “It’s a little early to be asking if you can pull the plug on this excavation.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Wilder began to protest, but she cut him off.

“Spare me. Okay? I dealt with your kind enough when I was a ‘heroic’ adventurer, I know well when one of you is trying to blow smoke up my-“

“Doctor, please,” Agent Anderson interrupted, “Try to see this from our perspective. Arachnos has moved in to the adjoining island, which seems to have a sister temple to this one. We need to know as quickly as possible what is inside them so we can neutralize the threat if there is one or take advantage of the power before Arachnos does. We’ve got a time limit to this, and we simply can’t risk a full inquiry!”

“You do realize that kind of thinking is what leads to some of the most ridiculous horror movies, right? You know, the ones where it has the dramatic close-up of the military leader going ‘What have I done!?’ before God-Kong steps on him.”

Delilah folded her arms over her chest and glared at Wilder, he looked away suddenly. He’d been staring at her for quite a while, and she had just noticed that he hadn’t blinked for almost five minutes.

“Yes, [dip]head, I saw,” she grumbled, “The last guy wasn’t quite so obvious, and I still folded his jetpack into a knot. I wonder what you hold as near-and-dear to your heart as that?”

Wilder cleared his throat and turned his back on the discussion table. Anderson scowled at her commander and shook her head agitatedly. Handing a set of papers to Delilah, she asked for the doctor to join her outside so they could discuss further without the commander’s obvious disinterest interrupting them.

“Look, I’m sorry about that,” the agent sighed, “He’s… He’s…”

“He’s a real dip[dung], is what he is,” Delilah finished the sentence, “How is it that someone like that has such high standing in your organization?”

“He’s like Ace McKnight or Agent McGowan, may he rest in peace. They do great work in the name of justice and have brought down numerous criminals! Of course we’re going to promote them for such worthy performance in the name of their duty… We owe them more than that, too…”

“We don’t owe them the right to act like snobs. We don’t owe them the right to try to rob us of our dignity! And if you’re going to be in charge of the excavation of a possibly world-affecting artifact, you had damn well better know what the Hell is going on and stop treating it like it was some kind of normal military operation!”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Agent Anderson bit her lower lip and sighed.

“I’m not doing a very good job, am I?”

“That depends…” Stein replied and turned to the papers the agent handed her earlier, “What are these?”

“Satellite photographs… Seismic and sonar imaging… Some ladar and magnetic resolutions, too.”

Delilah’s face scrunched up as she considered the possibilities of what the maps were conveying. It showed the island she was on as well as its sister. Submerged between them, however, was what looked to be a massive temple, but it was clearly a large coral reef. It wasn’t too unusual that it connected the islands, either, there were reefs across the world that did the same thing in varying scales.

However, when paired with the seismic imaging, it told a different picture. Using the ocean water’s motion as well as natural earth movement, the satellites had been able to map that the two temples had been burrowed quite deep into their islands, and at a point about half a mile down, they turned toward each other. The imaging ended, oddly, at the reef, which seemed to connect the two tunnels of the temples.

“This is ridiculous,” the archaeologist shouted, “Nobody could have built anything underwater that long ago, much less a temple!”

“Well, ma’am, that’s the situation," Anderson shrugged, "I was hoping you could expedite the interior excavation so we wouldn’t have to worry about Arachnos possibly getting through and using the temple to attack us from the inside out.”

“It’s hardly a Trojan Horse, but I get the idea. I’ll see what I can do, but I’d really like to be sure I know what we’re getting into before we go charging headlong into danger.”

Anderson smiled and nodded.

“I understand. Thank you.”

----------

--Paragon City—

He was flying through the air. Life always seemed simpler when he was doing this, and he could never understand why. Perhaps it was because it kept him detached from the rest of the human race, so he could look at it objectively. Vaguely, he worried if that was what made people think he was inhuman. He forgot so often how emotionally involved people could get when they were grounded in their respective lives. If they were told to make any sacrifices or compromises that damaged not so much themselves, but their little worlds, they reacted so harshly.

But then, they couldn’t see the world the way he could. They couldn’t see how everything connected. They hadn’t been alive for a little over a century. They never got the chance to redeem the mistakes of their natural adulthood, much less have to suffer for them generations down the road. They didn’t see the signs as easily as he did, the ones that told a person how they would turn out after a few years.

Statesman knew he was sometimes far too critical with his friends, much more with the many heroes who had come to Paragon to help him and the Phalanx repair the Jewel of Rhode Island. There was still so very much to do, but the many groups were divided as how to go about any of it. Some favored rebuilding the broken sections of the city, others wanted to focus on driving the criminal elements out for good. Unfortunately, there just weren’t enough on either side to truly accomplish anything. There had been great strides in Overbrook, to be certain, but Baumton and Woodvale were in as terrible shape as ever and Eastgate was still a caved in wreck.

He mused a little longer until the sky suddenly turned a violent shade of purple. He stopped suddenly and wondered idly if Rularuu the Ravager had returned and why there hadn’t been any rumblings in the mystic community about it if that were the case. However, when lightning flashed and the city, in fact, the world, was wiped out in the blink of an eye, yet he remained, he realized two things.

The first was that this was a dream. Anything that could have as much destructive power so as to destroy everything around him would have done the same to him. The other was that this wasn’t Rularuu. The Ravager, despite his terrifying moniker, was a regal, imposing being. This was something else, something far more monstrous.

“Who are you?” he called out to the darkness, “Why are you in my dreams?”

There was no answer, just a vast void. For a moment, he wondered if he’d actually said anything.

Suddenly, a great eye opened before him. It was golden-yellow with a black slit down its center, much like a reptile’s. It glowed dully, and Statesman could see that it’s lids had thick, writhing tentacles in much the same way a human has eyelashes. Whatever it was, it was staring at him, measuring him, judging him. It was malevolent, this was clear, and Statesman had just gotten the nerve to do something (something being punching it right in the pupil) when there was a terrible keening and he woke up.

He sat up in his bed, panting. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a vivid, terrible dream like that, but the feeling was the same. Something powerful and dangerous was about to strike his world, and there was nothing he could do to stop its arrival.

But just like the other times, he could stop it from doing any damage. Checking his alarm clock, Marcus pushed himself out of bed and started getting dressed, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, not with this terrible weight on his mind. The number of times he’d wound up like this had long-since become countless, and each time it was just as critical.

He wondered at the lazy manner in which Tyrant sat in his throne the last time he’d confronted his doppelganger. He didn’t care that his world was crumbling around him. He didn’t bother to protect or maintain it. He let his underlings handle such matters, and they obviously were doing the same. As Upsilon Beta 9-6 crumbled away, his counterpart cared little and seemed to relish the destruction and decay.

Statesman idly wondered if the stress he was dealing with was what had driven Tyrant to be the man he was. Maybe he’d just given up and gone on a rampage, gathering his monstrous forces along the way.

“He might never be back the way he was that last time,” the hero muttered grimly, “Not if he never repairs those power plants… But this isn’t the time for such consideration. Were you there, Stefan? In that world, did you try to help him, or did he simply kill you like you’ve told me I’m a fool for not doing to so many others who call me their enemy?”

He looked in the mirror and sighed. These musings weren’t going to help him get through this next challenge, and he had to act quickly. He marched out of his home and started dialing for Numina on his communicator. She answered, but not through the device.

“I know, Marcus,” her voice rang clearly in his mind, “Infernal and I suffered similar portents. I believe Azuria may have as well. We’ll meet you at the M.A.G.I. office in Atlas Park.”

“Thank you, Numina,” he intoned as he took flight, wondering idly if anybody who saw him this early in the morning would be bothered by the look of an average-seeming man hurtling through the air.

He considered that perhaps he should have worn his outfit, but decided against going back for it.

----------

--Grandville--

Lord Recluse was mulling over plans for the future. He often did this in his sleep, arguing with his subconscious as it erected archetypes and ectypes to challenge his notions and logic. He bounced his plans off the figments of his lieutenants and their minions. Sometimes they appeared as Arachnos soldiers, other times as some of the possible or discarded “Chosen Ones” who had made his notice recently.

He didn’t waste time dealing with the figment of the one called “Power Breaker.” The brute simply lacked any drive or ambition to pose any kind of serious obstacle to the Spider Lord’s path to glory, nor did he have the mental acuity to posit a reasonable argument as to why Recluse shouldn’t go through with Operation D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

“Stop or I will hurt you,” he muttered as he casually waved and the figment dissipated, “Argument heard and discarded.”

Still, it bore thought. Not so much the argument, but the reason why the brute had been brought to him in the first place. His personal agents among Mako’s forces had explained that there were rumblings throughout the Coralax, and that was part of why he had acted so quickly to get an Arachnos presence on what simply had to be a temple for the bizarre creatures. Perhaps his subconscious presenting him the brute was more its way of telling him that the temple bore closer scrutiny.

Just as he came to this consideration, the mental construct of his throne room shattered and he was floating in an unending expanse of red space. He muttered about how it was a waste of his time to destroy the projection, but conceded that he was no longer in control of his dream, if only for a moment.

As he performed the mental exercises to regain control, starting by examining and taking note of the details of his hands, then defining the rest of his body, he became aware of a presence. Looking up, Stefan beheld a great golden eye looking down at his twisted spiderlike form. Tentacles writhed at the edge of its lids, which seemed to be the space itself, as if the eye had ripped open the fabric of reality itself just to look down on him.

“I’m not impressed,” he growled in his demonic baritone, “I suggest you let me resume my musing before I decide to really hurt you.”

He was answered by a loud keening. He roared back and started hovering toward the eye, intending to shred it to pieces with the claws that extended from his back. The tentacles at the edge of the eye reached for him, and just as he started slashing at them with deft, precise strokes, he woke up.

He was sitting at his throne again. The chamber was empty, his lieutenants returned to their domiciles, fortresses or towers to sleep. He figured Ghost Widow and Scirocco probably had suffered similar visions, possibly Mu’Drakhan as well. Mako probably had a similar dream, but probably attacked the eye, got close to striking it and wound up tumbling through darkness until he would wake hours later.

Checking the multi-purpose computer built into his wrist guard, he noted that it was very early in the morning, shortly after zero three hundred hours. Still, he expected to see Scirocco and Ghost Widow very soon.

In fact, the undead witch materialized before him just as he was thinking about her. He leaned back in his throne and steepled his fingers over his lap. She glowered at him for a moment, then knelt before him.

“My Lord, there’s a disturbance… It’s a threat to Arachnos.”

“I know,” he intoned, “It came to me as well.”

“It’s from the site of that temple you sent Mako’s whelp to investigate.”

“I know.”

“We must send forces to eradicate the threat at once!”

Recluse thumbed his chin for a moment, then shook his head. Ghost Widow looked up to see this and stared in unrestrained horror at the apparent contempt for the situation that her Lord was displaying.

“No forces,” he explained, “They won’t be necessary. It’s not the first time I’ve seen something like this. All we would wind up doing is throwing away good men against something nigh-unstoppable. No… I will handle this personally. You just make sure nothing falls apart while I’m gone… And try to keep Miss Rudenko from killing Scirocco. I’d hate for any of those possible futures of Project D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. to come into fruition just because I was dealing with something dangerous that merely threatens my bid for world domination rather than facilitates or is a part of my scheme for it.”

“My Lord?”

“Well, that’s what his students inform me when they come back from tampering with the Project. You know what yours say.”

She nodded and hovered in place as her lord continued typing into his wrist guard computer. In a moment, his personal Flier would be prepared and ready to take him wherever he wanted to go. He pondered it, and added an addendum to the order, stressing that there was no rush. After all, it wasn’t going to be a long trip and he wanted to get back to sleep.

He knew the crew would still prepare the vessel as quickly as possible, and shook his head a little as he settled back into his throne and drifted back to sleep. He chuckled a little as he saw Scirocco burst into the room, half-dressed and face pale with worry. Ghost Widow would waste the next couple hours trying to placate him with an explanation of her encounter with Stefan, but it wouldn’t satisfy the sorcerer. Of course, they wouldn’t dare try to wake him, and that was how he preferred it. He still had some other plans and notions to work out before he left.

Well, the thing, Archiviste, is that here in Protector, it'll get purged after a few weeks of inactivity (i.e. no posting).

In the RP section, however, they've got stuff so old it was written by Anonymous.

The next portion of "The Hand of Merulina" is up in Grey's Army.

Power Breaker and Barracuda set up camp and attempt to get some preliminary study accomplished. However, when one document almost claims her mind, they have a heart-to-heart instead.

Does it strike anybody else that Barracuda isn't as bloodthirsty as her mentor and compatriots would have you believe?

Power Breaker and Barracuda both stared, mouths agape, at the wrecked Flier sinking into the ocean between the two islands. Despite the relatively short distance between them, it was surprisingly deep in that water. A boat pulled up next to the wrecked machine, brimming with Longbow troops and a few armed locals to round up the Arachnos troops who thought they could make a name for themselves with their hijacked vessel.

“What the Hell were they thinking!?” Breaker shouted.

“They thought they could simply wipe out the opposition,” the fish woman replied wearily, “They never stopped to consider that perhaps somebody else would have already done that by now if it could be done.”

She looked pointedly at the brute and walked back to the Circle mages that had arrived to greet them. When one started to chuckle, she delivered a hard chop to the side of his neck that crumpled the body to the sand and caused the long-dead wizard’s spirit to disappear, screaming, into the Aether.

“That was uncalled for,” one of the mystics rasped, then the corners of his mask pulled up as he smiled, “Of course, that doesn’t make it unentertaining.”

“Mori’ae, I take it?”

“Indeed, young miss. And I recognize your entourage from the last time he was here. So, Power Breaker, you grew tired of your employ with the slow scheming of the Desert Wind, you instead turned to the Movie Monster?”

“Movie Monster? Oh… No. I’m still in Scirocco’s camp. I’m just assigned to assist Barracuda until we find out what’s in this temple of yours.”

“Ah, I see,” the wizard nodded, then waved his fingers to direct them to follow him down the trail, “Well, we’d best get started, then. They moved that archaeologist and her team in a couple days ago, so we have a timeframe to deal with.”

----------

“I know,” she said for what had to be the hundredth time, “I know… Mako… Captain Mako… Look, we hit the ground and before I could say anything, they were across the bay, getting shot to bloody chunks. How could I… Well I’ve never seen you do any better! I don’t lead armies!”

There was some static-filled roaring on the other end before she furiously hit the “End” button and threw the communicator out the window. Power Breaker finished coupling the computers to the portable generator and looked up to see if there was anything else that needed doing.

“Recluse isn’t happy about the lost Flier. It’s bad enough when one is taken down in Grandville, or some gaggle of idiots hijacks one…”

Breaker was glad his eyes glowed evenly across their surfaces. That way, she couldn’t see his eyes roll.

“But when a controlled operation like this loses one,” she continued, “It doesn’t bode well for the person in charge. And it’s hard to deflect blame from a source like that.”

“Well, maybe it’s not about deflecting blame now,” the big man offered, “Maybe we just have to succeed that much more.”

She rubbed her upper arms and bit her lower lip, but said nothing.

“Fortunately,” the brute turned on the computers and smiled as everything seemed to be running ship-shape, “We won’t need to talk to the bosses that much. Everything’s being handled by one of their operatives… Some guy named Taylor. I guess, despite his concern, Recluse still doesn’t think this place is worthy of his constant attention.”

“Taylor?”

Barracuda arched a quizzical eye as she took up a folder and started flipping through it.

“You heard of him?”

“No. That’s what concerns me. Why would a nobody be entrusted with oversight? Why not someone like Grillo or Renault? Renault's got experience with stuff like this...”

“Maybe he’s just administration… A paper pusher.”

“Even paper pushers in Arachnos are trained assassins and butchers.”

Breaker looked to the rest of the troops assisting them and they nodded enthusiastically. He couldn’t help it, but he was reminded of a cheesy movie where the Australian actor playing the bad guy said something about [urine]-head soldiers talking tough and how it made him laugh. Struggling, he tried to keep from grinning.

Once they were hooked up to the Internet, he sent a report to Operative Taylor about their arrival and the subsequent battle that took place. He didn’t envy the poor guy being the messenger to Daos and Recluse about the wrecked Flier (because Mako sure wasn’t going to say anything), but he was an Arachnos goon, so he didn’t care too much. Once he got the delivery confirmation from the Grandville server, he joined Mori’ae and Barracuda next to the temple.

The Circle had rebuilt their enclave around the temple rather quickly. Of course, it was amazing what kinds of work could be accomplished in very little time when magic was involved. Surrounding the temple itself was a palisade wall, resplendent with the spiked tops to the logs that made up the wall. Defenders, Guardians and Thorn Wielders patrolled the wall regularly. The other buildings weren’t quite so military by design, instead reminding the brute of the tiki bar in Pocket D or the one down the street from his apartment in St. Martial.

It was in one of these huts Mori’ae led the two of them. Inside were racks and racks of scrolls. Many were still blank, as the wizard hadn’t transcribed anything to them, but others were recently worked upon and, of the ones that were open, told a chilling tale.

“As you can see, this temple, and I believe the one on the other island,” the corpse-like magician explained, “is dedicated to worshipping the Slumbering Goddess. I believe you know of whom I speak rather intimately.”

He looked intently at Barracuda and she shivered a little at the gaze. It was not the look of someone conveying information, but an attempt at seduction. When he smiled lasciviously at her, a set of urchin spines extended from her wrists and she clenched them tightly in her fists. The wizard raised his hands in a placating gesture and backed away smoothly.

“Don’t toy with me, wizard, I’ve heard of Circle wizards like you.”

“Oh come, now, I’ve always wanted to know how the transformation takes place,” he pressed, “Tell me… Did it involve tentacles?”

She hurled a spine at Mori'ae, and it stuck deeply into his chest. Surprisingly, this only elicited a laugh from the wizard.

“Get out!” she shouted, her fury at his insinuation unabated, but she didn't want to let her outburst turn into a drawn-out battle, especially among the documents she needed to pore over.

“Another time, perhaps…” Mori'ae wistfully sighed as he glided around her with a noticeable lack of deference.

“Out!”

Breaker stepped out of Mori’ae’s way as the wizard chuckled through the door. If they didn’t need his help keeping the Circle in line, they probably would have ripped him apart right then and there. At least, Barracuda would have started to, and he probably would have had to help.

“Insufferable, vile…” Barracuda went through a few more adjectives, some of which were expletives, before rounding on Power breaker and shouting at him, “Have you got anything to say!?”

“You gonna need any help getting through all of this?” he asked, gesturing to the papers strewn about them.

----------

“It’s funny, you know. When I was in high school, I never cared much for reading…”

It had been three hours and he was busy trying to help her translate another scroll to make sense of one Mori’ae had left half-finished. They were sitting on the floor with the papers stacked or piled between them. It was an odd sight for the Arachnos soldiers who delivered them their meals.

“…I was watching sports, trying to get drunk girls to sleep with me at parties...” he muttered as Barracuda glared at a scroll that was making less and less sense, “Of course, that was before I had thirty or so languages roiling about in my head.”

“Do you mind? I can’t make heads or tails of this, and every time you open your mouth, it drives me just a little more mad!”

Breaker looked over at her, then glanced at the page she was reading. After a few seconds, his nanites had a relative translation and he snatched the page out of her hand.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked.

“You don’t want to make sense of this… Nor will you or anyone,” he growled, “You ever read Loveking’s work?”

“Some. Most of it is rubbish.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ve read The Darkness Under Innsborough or Daggoeth, right?”

“Yeah…” she muttered, realization dawning slowly on her face, “Wait… You mean… This is something like what drives people insane in those stories?”

“Probably.”

She looked at the crumpling page in his hand and shuddered visibly. When the brute suggested they go for a walk, she agreed.

----------

“I think one of us has to go over there and tell them we’re not trying to hurt them,” Breaker muttered as he saw the watch torches being lit, “I mean, the last thing we want is Longbow waging a massive attack on us.”

“Let them come,” Barracuda scoffed, “They don’t pose any real threat. If they did, don’t you think the Etoile Isles would be annexed by the United States? Well, it’s not, because we hold real power.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

Mako’s lieutenant whirled around and slapped Power Breaker across the face. She glared into his eyes, but he looked back impassively.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “But it’s true. If you were more interested in lording over people with your power, you’d probably be running a batch of Coralax minions and trying to carve your own empire out of the sea. You wouldn’t be playing remora to Mako for bits of chum.”

She went to slap him again, but stopped halfway to the connection. Instead, she turned and waved for him to leave.

“Look, I know you’re freaked out-“

“Freaked out!?” she shouted, whirling around again and arching her neck so she could look him squarely in the eyes, “Look at what they did to me! I don’t even know how they did it or why they let me go! Now I’m out here, doing this… And I’m only a couple feet from getting yanked back in and having God-knows-what done to me again! Yes, I’m freaked out! I used to be pretty! I used to have a life! Now I’m a hideous freak who’s forced to play monster because it’s what’s expected of me! Mako, Mantis, Mistral, Recluse… They hold power in Arachnos because they’re ruthless and I have to measure up! You have to measure up! We all do, or we’re just going to get swallowed whole…”

She trailed off as she lurched to the base of a tree and cradled her face in her hands. Breaker sat across the trail from her, his back to the sea and the opposing island. He let her sob for a moment until she was ready to talk again.

“I just want to be normal again,” she sighed, “Of all of us, I’m the one who was cheated in life. So what if I robbed a few temples… Those things were abandoned! Nobody would have known about the artifacts I found if I hadn’t found them! I risked life and limb to bring lost relics to the eye of our culture! That makes me a grave robber? Should I not get paid for braving rotten bridges, spike traps, pitfalls, and wild animals who made the lost temples their homes? And don’t get me started on that rolling boulder trap! Do you have any idea how often those things were used? You'd think it was the pastime of ancient civilizations, 'Outrun the Giant Boulder.'”

“I didn’t say anything about your past,” Breaker grunted.

“But it’s connected with who I am, now. What was so wrong with my Karma that I had to be turned into this? Now, whenever the Coralax or anything they’re up to raises eyebrows in Grandville, Recluse points his claw at me and says ‘Go fix it.’ Like I have any sway with them. I checked a few things out on my own, yeah, but those were all the same dead ends, and they spewed spines at me as much as they did anyone else. I'm not welcome among them. I'm not welcome among anyone.”

Breaker nodded and looked over his shoulder to watch the other island for a moment.

“You’re not the only one turned into a beast,” he muttered, “You think I was born like this? Yeah… Circuitry scarring is definitely natural.”

“You think to compare yourself to me?”

“Juxtaposition isn’t the idea,” he replied, “Heh, to think, I used to not know that word… I’m not comparing, Bare. I’m just telling you you’re not alone. Just…”

He looked back to her and sighed. She gazed back at him and pulled her knees to her chest. It was strange being so forthright with someone, especially someone from an opposing camp, but there was just something about the big man. Despite his terrible appearance, there was something friendly and honest about him. It was a rare thing in the Isles.

“I know I’m not the only one. I know others suffer like I do… Like we do… But it’s so hard to find someone who’s soul hasn’t been destroyed by their trial.”

“We can’t all be Job.”

“I never took you for being religious.”

“I’m not,” Harris finally allowed himself to grin, “But the parallel exists.”

“You’re a strange man, Breaker. I’m glad I met you.”

The Rise and Fall of a Hero

Because Ice9 doesn't seem to like to advertise

You write so well, yet say so little.

Threw up the next portion of "The Hand of Merulina" in my Grey's Army thread. Longbow has landed on Brother Mauthe's island and they're starting to assert their control. Mauthe, having lived a few years doing his own thing, obviously chafes at this. It doesn't help that the troops seem quick to try to arrest members of his community at every turn.

In the meantime, they also have Doc Delilah and an archaeological team investigating the temple they built the community around. So far as they can tell, trouble's brewin'.

“Citizen, I’ve already told you, stand down your patrol. We’re taking care of things, now.”

The grizzled old man rounded about and glared at the Longbow Guardian before spitting into the sand and waving angrily to the beach. He didn’t look like a man on patrol, what with his gray denim pants, plaid shirt and thin green jacket, but the shotgun he had slung on his right shoulder said otherwise.

“If I’m not out here, you moron, your friends’ll set off the traps we’ve got set for the fish people and the kooks! I don’t think any of them’ll be too happy if they lose a foot or a leg!”

“Now listen here, old man,” the Freedom Corps soldier growled as he tried to use his height and physique to intimidate the island resident into submission, “We’re here to protect you! Those traps out there should be disarmed, removed and dismantled! You’re not even supposed to be carrying weapon anymore-!”

“Take it from me,” the veteran of three wars growled back, “Let’s see if they taught you as much about fighting as they did rhetoric.”

“Enough!” came a shout from behind the Guardian, “Lou, resume your patrol. Guardian, stand down and find something better to do before I make sure something’s found for you.”

The spandex-clad soldier turned to Brother Mauthe and sneered. The leader of the island was wearing what looked to be a Longbow-inspired outfit, with a white-lined red trench coat and red-and-white articles of clothing within. The man’s ocular implant even glowed white.

“You can’t order me around, local,” the Freedom Corps soldier chuckled, “You may be mayor here, but I work for Wilder.”

“And Wilder’s only here because I let him come here. Dietrich and Anderson are here, too, you know, and they hold just as much sway, if not more, within your organization. All Wilder’s known for is getting local criminals to bumble things up with the Goldbrickers…”

“Hey! He’s a great man!”

Clearly the Guardian was troubled at the insinuation that his commanding officer used disreputable means to achieve his goals. However, his argument was at an end, as Mauthe didn’t have the patience to listen to anymore.

“Listen, soldier, you harass one of my citizens again, I will have a word with your commander about my prime choices for who should be pulling latrine duty! Now get out of my sight!”

Barking at the young man seemed to do the trick and the Guardian stumbled off. It bothered him a little that he might have to do this intimidation trick some more. He could have sworn he remembered Longbow being more comforting.

“Thank God they haven’t seen Chaingunnz, yet,” he muttered, wondering at the same time how he was supposed to break that tidbit to the Longbow authorities that had tagged along with the archaeologist, Doc Delilah, and her team.

There had been some rumblings in the temple below and the Coralax hybrids had been attacking with some frequency. He figured it was time to get some help in finding out what was going on below his island and he asked for help from his handler in Longbow, a man known only as Agent G. The Longbow coordinator sent the three agents, Doc Delilah (who’d been looking to do something more exotic) and a team of archaeologists and Longbow troops to secure the island. In truth, they were supposed to secure both islands, but moving troops and supplies was slow-going when you were trying not to attract the attention of the local authorities.

“Freeze!” he heard shouted down the street, “Stop right where you are!”

“Vhut is going on?” was the Slavic reply of Bioserj.

“Oh no…” Mauthe muttered as he ran to the saloon in the vain hope of stopping an incident, “What’s going on over here?”

Two riflemen were aiming their weapons at the radioactive meta human as he attempted to eat a hotdog. He looked worriedly to Mauthe and shrugged.

“I said freeze, that means don’t move, slimeball!” one rifleman barked.

“Am I going to have to go through this ever five minutes?” the mastermind shouted, “Put your weapons down! Bioserj is a guest here!”

“You keep some strange company,” a crisp female voice muttered behind him, “I’ve seen about five or six corrupters, a brute, even some dominators walking around here like they owned the place.”

“They walk around unafraid, here,” Mauthe replied, irritated, as he turned around, “because they’re not threatened unless the alarm sounds. Wilhelmina.”

“That’s Captain Dietrich to you, Agent,” the blonde woman barked back.

“And I prefer ‘Mayor’ while we’re in my community, so I guess we’ll both have to live with disappointment, Wilhelmina.”

She bristled at him, but said nothing more to him. Instead, she turned to the soldiers holding the prisoner and addressed them.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Ma’am, he… Uh…” one stumbled before the corrupter interrupted.

“I was just eating hotdog and they started yelling. What did I do wrong?”

Dietrich glared at Bioserj for his interruption, but she didn’t have an argument against his claim of innocence. She turned back to the soldiers and narrowed her eyes at them.

“Did your communicator tell you this man has outstanding warrants?”

“No ma’am… He looked at us and his eyes flashed…”

“Really?” Serj asked, obviously distressed, “I should see the doctor, then. My eyes should not be doing that.”

“Carry on, citizen,” she muttered to the Slavic man as she waved the soldiers away, “I’m sorry for the distress. Agent, how did you put up with this sort of thing before we got here?”

“We treated everyone like people,” the red-coated man replied grimly as he nodded to the departing young man, “Not like potential criminals.”

Dietrich muttered something under her breath, but Mauthe couldn’t make out what it was. He knew she caught the backhanded comment, though, so he took a moment to feel a little smug.

“Look,” she finally intoned, “Wilder wants to have a meeting, and you should be there. The troops saw something distressing a few minutes ago and I want to make sure you’re involved. I don’t want that man trying to dominate things like he usually does.”

----------

Dietrich led him to the Longbow camp where the troops rested, trained and received their orders for the day. They picked their way through the formations and hastily-erected general purpose tents to the command tent where Wilder and Anderson waited. Upon arriving, Dietrich closed the flap behind them and ushered Mauthe to a seat so the meeting could begin. He sat himself across from Agent Anderson, a young woman whose intelligence and aptitude had helped her rise through the ranks quickly, but sorely lacking in experience. Still, she seemed at ease in this environment, and she smiled warmly to the man who would otherwise be known as a “mastermind villain” in other circumstances.

“Three Fliers, and they landed on the Circle’s island,” Wilder began, gesticulating and pantomiming like he was on some sort of theatrical stage, “They’re probably brimming with Arachnos troops and probably have a full 8-man squad of rogues.”

“We should send scouts immediately to see what they’re up to,” Agent Anderson suggested, “Has there been any indication that the Circle wizards are concerned with the incursion?”

“Not as of yet, which worries me more. If Mauthe’s reports are to be believed, the wizard in charge, one Mori’ae, isn’t necessarily an Oranbegan, and this means he’s less bothered by the idea of working with outside organizations like Arachnos.”

“That’s bad. The Circle, working with Arachnos…”

“It wouldn’t be across the factions,” Anderson explained,

“I don’t think Recluse ever thought this place was that important,” Mauthe argued, “Last time, he just sent two, and they didn’t come here, they went there and wiped out the Circle forces. Granted, one of them was Scirocco, but if Recluse wanted to do a huge sweep and clear and conquer the islands, we’re well within range for him to do that with no fuss.”

“He could wind up damaging the temples,” Anderson interjected, “I doubt he’d like to do that.”

“What’s on the temples is just a warning. It’s what’s in the temple that’s important, and anything done up here won’t affect anything down there.”

“Still, this Arachnos presence alters out plans…” Wilder continued.

“What plans?” Mauthe almost shouted, “We wait until Delilah says we should go deeper into the temple. Right now, she and her crew are reading the glyphs and trying to make heads or tales out of the mess.”

“Look, Mauthe, it’s been a while since you’ve done any field work, so let me clue you in-“

“I haven’t done any field work? I haven’t done any field work! You [turd]! I’ve had to do ridiculous field work to build this community up! I have seen with my own two eyes just how far gone and dilapidated this island nation is getting, while you sit in your cozy fortress and laugh about how you got another dumb schmuck to do your dirty work!”

He stood up then, his eyes only getting level with the bridge of Wilder’s nose. Still, it was clear who was intimidating who at this point.

“If you’re about to tell me that you were planning on turning this place into another staging area for Longbow, you can forget it! Agincourt’s big enough as it is, and you still can’t keep the super powered villains from breaking through your defenses!”

“That’s why we need this place,” Agent Anderson pleaded, “Michael…”

“No! your presence brings attention down on my head, on all our heads, and I will not have you risking the lives of my friends! We’ve built a community here, a community we have worked damn hard to keep secret…”

“News flash, Mauthe,” Wilder shouted, “It’s not a secret anymore! The first thing those troops in those fliers are gonna do is call home and they’re gonna tell Big Daddy Longlegs that you’re all out here. Then he’s gonna send sweeper teams to wipe you out, and when that happens, you’re gonna need our protection…”

“No. We won’t.”

As if to punctuate his phrase, there was a shout of “Flier!” outside the tent and the sound of the community alarm.

----------

They made it outside to see one of the Fliers hovering over the beach, its main gun swiveling about in search of prey. Every so often it blazed away at one of the visible Longbow troops, or sent a flurry of rockets hurtling into the buildings. Mauthe cursed as he considered how much they would have to repair before this was over.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” he muttered into his communicator, “Get that thing out of my airspace. Now!”

There was the sound of a diesel engine starting up, then a monstrous roar. A moment later, a large barn in the center of the community opened up and a large tank burst out of it. Swiveling where the turret should have been was the massive, familiar form of a Freak Tank, only this was five times bigger. A massive bubble dome wrapped around the cyborg’s head, encasing it in steel and bullet resistant glass. For its left arm, it had a wicked looking, three-fingered steel claw. For its right, it had a large rotating cylinder chain gun that seemed to be chambered for .50 caliber bullets. Mounted on the shoulders were a pair of rocket pods, one chambered for smaller missiles, the other for four heavy monsters that were obviously designed to punch through armor. The machine had no legs to speak of, but a set of tank tracks that looked to be ripped from any number of wreckages in the Rikti War Zone.

Chaingunnz made a beeline for the beach, his engine spewing out thick black exhaust as he tore down the rudimentary road. When he came in view of the Flier, his gun revved up and he just started spitting steel. The vessel rounded on him and blazed a few volleys of energy into the monster’s chest plate, where they dissipated harmlessly.

“Let’s play some dodgeball!” he shouted, his loudspeakers directing the shout like a sonic attack.

He then followed up his challenge with a volley from his rocket pod. The Flier also let loose a burst, but after the explosion, the tank was still better for the exchange.

“One more go!” he shouted and let loose one of his anti-armor missiles.

The weapon arced into the Flier and detonated one of the hover pods. No longer capable of sustaining its lift, the machine spun out of control and crashed into the ocean just off the edge of the beach. The massive tank cheered loudly and happily as he reveled in his newfound sense of purpose and power.

“Yeah, boy! That’s what I’m talking about!” the loudspeakers blared.

“As I told you,” Brother Mauthe intoned quietly to Dietrich and Wilder as they stared, gape-jawed, at the monstrosity that just saved the day, “We don’t need your protection.”

New chapter in Grey's Army.

Power Breaker is ordered by Recluse, directly, to assist Barracuda in the excavation of the mysterious temples on Mauthe's island and the neighboring Circle-dominated island.

There's mention of Mr. Subtle in there, but it's simply in reference to the eye-damaging problems of his costume...

Something odd was going on. Well, Ray couldn’t begin to think that was the case, as everybody in the meeting chamber seemed to be going about as if business were normal. Ghost Widow and her entourage were mulling over reports. Mako was standing tall and proud as if in an attempt to intimidate everyone in the room with Barracuda sitting on a small chair by his side, trying not to get noticed. Black Scorpion and his technicians were still rifling through diagnostic checks for his eternally buggy armor. Hindering the technicians was Silver Mantis, who started pressing herself against her boss in a suggestive manner; the odd thing was that the big man didn’t seem to notice. The one person that was missing was Ice Mistral, whom Scirocco had said was busy with dissecting the secrets of a powerful relic called Serafina’s Crystal (though almost everyone knew the small-minded girl was probably out terrorizing some small village or robbing a bank in Paragon City). Instead, Raymond was surprised to be called in for this meeting, apparently at Lord Recluse’s behest, so something had to be odd.

“Now, the new business,” the spider-like monster of a man growled with his inhumanly deep voice, drawing all eyes to him instantly, “A nearby set of islands has come to my attention via report from Scirocco…”

“My lord,” the sorcerer intoned worriedly, “I strongly suggest you grant me more time to-“

“You’ve had quite enough time to survey the island, Imad. No.”

Lord Recluse looked over his lieutenants and their flunkies. He was amused that the sorcerer was so willing to bring his personal gentle giant to the proceedings. It made the next part that much more entertaining.

“My own research has determined that these islands may be of use to me, after all. One has an encampment of the Circle of Thorns cult in it, the other, some band of refugees. Normally, the latter would be of little concern to me, but surveillance has indicated that the refugees are exceptionally armed. While I would like to neutralize their backer, whoever it may be, certain activities by other individuals have made that mystery better left solved at a later date. We must make plans to take these islands now and glean what secrets are within them.”

Ray felt a lump in his throat. He knew Recluse was talking about Brother Mauthe, but he had no clue what could have caused the mastermind to out-and-out ignore the man.

“So we invade!” Black Scorpion chortled suddenly, swinging his arm so fast it shook Silver Mantis clean off from where she had snuggled against him, “We go in with Fliers, bomb the place to oblivion and claim what’s rightfully ours!”

“And inadvertently destroy what I’m looking for? I think not.”

Captain Mako shook his head at the cyborg before turning to Lord Recluse and smiling a predator’s smile.

“I could go in, kill their leaders, and destroy their supplies. I ache to get some real killing done, especially after-“

Recluse glowered at the shark man and the captain stopped. The Spider didn’t like when his subordinates made reference to the day when a group of nobody heroes, regardless of the fact that they were under the tutelage of Statesman, raided Grandville and smashed the delivery mechanisms for the Web. What’s worse, it had caused a massive feedback loop that damaged a lot of the major cables, systems and subsystems, and the replacements had been destroyed earlier that day by the same heroes. How they were able to was beyond him, but he thought time travel was involved, and the sudden quiet of people like Dr. Aeon and Viridian since that day was quite telling.

“-uh-Besides...” Mako growled, suddenly shifting the subject, “If the Circle of Thorns is involved, on a mysterious island, it might have something to do with the Leviathan, and you know I’m the foremost expert on such-“

“Oh no,” the mastermind interrupted, “We’re not going through that again. No… But you’re right, Mako. I need somebody on this who will know what they’re doing.”

He looked about the room, then settled his eyes on Barracuda, Mako’s lieutenant. He needed someone he could trust to actually investigate the situation and know what they were doing. Her history as a treasure hunter easily fell into that category. She was also easy to intimidate. She put up a strong front, but he knew she felt out of her league among true criminals and her altered physical appearance had severely damaged her total self esteem.

“You,” he intoned and pointed one of his leg claws at her, “You will take the Circle’s island and you will find out what they think is so special out there.”

“Excellent choice-“ Mako began.

“Oh, I’m not sending her alone. Scirocco…”

“Yes, my lord?” the sorcerer asked, his tone somewhat hopeful at the prospect of getting to speak with the wizard, Mori’ae, at length about the power welling up under the islands.

“Your friend there… Broken something…”

“Power Breaker?”

“I know what I said.”

Ray and Imad looked at each other nervously. They didn’t know what Recluse was up to, but it couldn’t be good.

“I want your thug to go with her and make sure nothing happens to her,” the spider-like man looked intently from Power Breaker to Mako, his insinuation that he didn’t want the shark man interfering and causing another “Leviathan” incident.

“Yes, uh, my lord,” Raymond murmured, “It will be my pleasure…”

----------

“Let me make something perfectly clear,” the fish woman gurgled at the big brute while they flew to the uncharted islands, “I am your superior here, and I won’t be taking any of your do-gooder crap when we make landfall.”

“You’ve been chattin’ with Mistral, huh?” Breaker chuckled back, “Well, let me ask you something. What do you intend to do once we arrive? Lay waste to everything that moves so you can study the temples at your leisure?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“What if I were to tell you that one island has a monstrous Freak Tank. I mean, one like nothing we’ve seen, it could be classified as a Monster at least. The other island is run by a wizard who isn’t directly related to the Circle of Thorns, and has accumulated, over the length of his life, enough power to probably give Ghost Widow one Hell of a fight. Now, you really think that you, me, and this little band of Arachnos troops can take all those wizards, refugees, and their nifty little tricks?”

Barracuda glowered at him, but said nothing.

“Or we could bombard the place with the Fliers,” the brute continued, “Just like Black Scorpion suggested. Sure the temples will wind up a little cracked and crumbled, but hey…”

“I get your point…”

“Of course, Mori’ae might be able to take a Flier down himself, and I’ve seen what Chaingunnz can do… We’ve only got these three fliers and you and me as power hitters.”

“You know the refugees!?” Barracuda almost shrieked, “Why didn’t you say this before?”

“Because Recluse would have killed me,” Raymond almost barked with laughter, “No questions, no trial, just, ‘Scirocco, step back a second.’ Squilch.”

This got a chuckle from the fish woman, but she stopped herself quickly. Raymond grinned at her and sat back.

“Look, I know what the Devil Cheerleader Squad has to say about me. That I’m a goody-two-shoes son of a [dog]. Heh. A bit childish, don’t ya think? I’m gonna tell ya how things are over there, though. Mori’ae has taken over the operation in an effort to find out what the temples are for. The other guy, Mauthe, he hasn’t done anything and doesn’t know what he’s sitting on. Me, I was able to read a small bit of what was on those temples, and it’s not good. Some kind of weird doomsday thing…”

“Hm. Sounds about par for what I’m usually sent after,” Barracuda muttered, “Wait. You could read some of it? Could Scirocco?”

“I don’t know. He never said.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. There was more to this beast of a man than just brute force. Inwardly, she cursed herself a little for letting the twisted opinions of her colleagues cloud her judgment of someone. Still, he was noted for helping vigilantes at various times, and his remaining in the Rogue Isles when he had most of his outstanding warrants repealed and various crimes pardoned was something to be looked at. A part of her respected him a little for finding a home in the Etoiles, while another part wondered just what kind of game he was playing.

“We’ll land on the Circle’s island. I’m certain they’ll be more amenable than the refugees.”

“Well, I think I could convince either group to let us do the research, but yeah, Mori’ae pretty much gave Im-uh-Scirocco the all clear.”

“You know your patron’s real name?”

“Uh… Recluse said it at the meeting…”

“But you almost said it with familiarity,” the girl folded her scaly arms over her chest and leveled her gaze on the big man’s glowing eyes, “You’re close to him. Almost as close as Mistral.”

“I’m not the only one,” Breaker replied, “Though none of us are close, by any means. I think the one I’ve been able to work with the easiest was an android named Toy Dispenser…”

The woman winced at the name.

“You’ve met him?”

“My eyes still hurt from the memory. Almost as bad as when I last fought Mister Subtle.”

“Ouch.”

They chuckled together at the shared memory of horribly dressed meta humans and color blind androids before she looked at him to finish his anecdote.

“Well, in any case, the machine was a bit into the whole ‘evil for evil’s sake’ thing, and his attitude clearly bled into his minions…”

“He?”

“Well, I guess, by definition, an android has no gender,” Breaker mulled over the notion for a bit, “But the personality was clearly male. There’s a batch of them in Paragon City that all look similar but some are male and others are female. But still, my point remains, that even if I came across somebody at this point as close to Scirocco as I am, in the end, they are aspiring to things well beyond my ken. I just worked hard at smashing the cells of various insurgent groups throughout the city and turned out to be good at dealing with problems that needed solving. It wasn’t until after they got the Malleus Mundi away from him that Scirocco and I started conversing more, and I know he’s just after something he thinks I have.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know,” Breaker lied, “I’d let him turn over my apartment if he wanted to just so I could get some sleep at night. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. On this side of law, there’s no rest for the wicked, only increasing paranoia.”

“I do alright,” the woman shrugged, “Of course, nobody really thinks I have anything, so they leave me alone. Anything else they could want… Well… Look at me.”

He looked at her and blinked. She certainly wasn’t attractive in human terms. In fact, he’d first met her when they found they were both investigating Calystix the Shaper’s cult. She didn’t mention it to many people, but he had the oddest feeling she was looking for a cure to her condition. She realized what she said and pointed out the window.

“It seems we’ve arrived.”

Harris looked and recognized the two islands. They weren’t necessarily twins, Mauthe’s island being the smaller. Squinting, he could see red and white dots. There were numerous wandering spandex-clad troops among the people who looked like civilians, but he knew they were also armed and tactically trained. There were some helicopters, too, indicating that the troops were either recently arrived, or they just got a resupply.

“Damn, Longbow’s out there,” he growled, “I wonder how the locals are handling it.”

Barracuda smirked and rolled her eyes.

“They’re probably learning why we don’t like them. Longbow butts in where they’re not wanted or needed. And if you tell them that, they press harder.”

“I never noticed…”

“You ever meet Agent Wilder?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in agitation, “That monster is only different from you and me because he’s working for them. Numerous would-be Chosen Ones have fallen due to his manipulations and doing his dirty work. And don’t think he’s the worst. All of them, from the lowest Guardian to Miss Priss Liberty Barbie think that everybody they meet out here is the scum of the Earth, and they take no pains to show their contempt.”

“Well, they’re not making plans to end this place with fire,” Harris grinned back, “I’m fairly certain our bosses can’t say the same about their home or here.”

Barracuda nodded and grew silent. The Flier was descending and she never took well to the roller coaster feeling of her stomach leaping into her throat. The brute never seemed to suffer the ill effects, so he simply relaxed and waited for the ride to end.

Finally finished up the Silver Medallion arc in the BWO thread. I decided to throw some pro-wrestling elements into the action for the fight on the main floor.

They weren’t some batch of everyday thugs, this crew. They were all costumed meta humans. One had fire radiating from his bubbling and peeling limbs, another was blue-skinned and had vaporous breath. Another had a gun grafted into his arm (or perhaps grown from it) and the fourth looked to be an over-muscled monstrosity.

“We’re here for the metal skeletons!” the huge man barked at Jonas and his bodyguard, “Doc Buzzsaw’ll pay real good for tech like that!”

“Well that’s too bad,” Silver replied, “He can’t have them.”

“Buzzsaw’s a chick!” the man with the gun arm shouted back.

Silver didn’t say anything in reply, instead snapping his fingers. In an instant, the agents flanking him had their energy pistols drawn and aimed at the offending rogues. A hero near the front was pleading with the owner of the company to take the lives of the spectators into consideration. Reynolds figured the low-ranked cape was more concerned about his own life and his dawning realization that he wasn’t prepared for a conflict of this magnitude.

The invading criminals weren’t impressed by the display. They’d fought Crey’s agents before, so this was nothing intimidating to them. Bull-Thistle cringed inwardly as the frosty rogue waved his hands at the brute leading them and the big man was covered in ice armor.

The big man leaped at Jonas and the agents fired. The energy beams splashed harmlessly against the ice, though water was clearly splashing off with a hiss at each impact. The big man hammered the closest agent as the thin black man fell away from his grasp and the agent crashed into the back wall. Silver, on the floor, flicked his wrist and a prod was extended into his hand. Pushing himself back up, he jabbed the glowing end of the weapon into the brute’s hip and the brute screamed angrily as a glow wrapped about him and his energy was drained away.

“What?” he gasped as he crumpled to his knees and tried to move his arms, “What was that?”

“Many of your kind call it a Sapper,” Silver replied, suddenly seeming very intimidating in his over-sized suit, “I call it ‘Insurance.’”

An agent stepped around his boss and lifted the brute to his feet. He then delivered an uppercut that lifted the big man off the ground which was followed by a roundhouse kick from another agent behind the thug that sent him hurtling through the air over his cronies and through the frame of the door they had busted down during their theatric entrance.

The villains did not take this as intimidation. They took it as a challenge. The man with the machine-gun arm screamed and started firing wildly over the crowd. Jonas was shuffled behind the agents as they took the sporadic hits. The crowd screamed in fear as the ice-covered man lifted a woman from them and started wrapping her in ice.

“Nukus! Down!” he shouted and the machine-gun armed man stopped firing.

“Look, Silver, you can hide behind your things all you like! Us, we’ll simply take our wrath out on all these innocent people until you meet our demands! You ready for some target practice, Nuke?”

“Oh yeah!” the demented man shouted as he leveled his weapon on the frozen woman.

“No!” he heard from behind.

Turning, the corrupter saw black before seeing stars. He fell to the ground and Bull-Thistle stood in his place, his thorns extended and quivering dangerously. He held a steel chair in his hands and the seat had a small impact dent in it.

“That’s all I can stands,” he shouted as he tossed the chair at the fire-armed man, “And I can’t stands no more!”

The fire-armed man caught the chair and a batch of the thorns smashed through the suddenly heated metal, stabbing into the brute’s chest and injecting a chemical irritant. The big man screamed and started scratching at his torso until Thistle crashed into him and burst another volley of thorns into him, these ones smaller but more numerous.

As the fiery man crashed to the floor, chunks of ice slammed into the scrapper and he rolled over in pain. It wasn’t so much that his plant-based cells couldn’t handle the assault or that his regeneration couldn’t repair the damage, but he wasn’t really counting on the corrupter to be really capable of fighting.

He got back up and prepared to throw another volley of thorns at the criminal when he suddenly felt very weak. Coughing and gagging, he looked over to the man called “Nukus” and realized his other powers involved some form of chemical gas control, and he was emitting a withering stream at him.

“You ready to die, hero?” the ice corrupter chortled, “you ready to die at the hands of Antarc-“

A blur crashed into the ice-covered man as Psycho13 rammed into him. As he tried to get back up, the scrawny scrapper hammered the hilts of his blades against his face in rapid succession. Nukus tried to level his gun arm on the man but a blast of lightning sent a hideous shock up his arm instead. The weapon fired still, and the grenade went wide. It almost hit some of the audience members, but Draven and one of the attending heroes both dove for it, the two of them taking the brunt of the blast with their armor-like powers.

“Are you alright?” the other hero asked, who Draven suddenly realized was a woman.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he grunted, “You?”

“I’ll live…”

Psycho13 pulled the ice corrupter to his feet, rolled back and flipped the man over his head to crash into some of the chairs. He collided with a deafening metal crash and writhed about, clutching at his back. The other corrupter leveled his assault rifle again, but when he felt a gloved hand at his shoulder, he stopped.

“Uh-uh,” Project Whirlwind explained, his eyes crackling dangerously, “I don’t think so.”

The corrupter smiled wickedly at him and he swung the weapon up at Whirlwind’s head. A flurry of thorns hurtled through the air and connected with the weapon, ripping it out of the man’s arm and pinning it to a wall. The corrupter screamed until a jolt of electricity went through his head and he passed out.

“Jeez, look at his arm,” Levi gasped as he looked at the weird man, “It’s got, like… Tentacles or something…”

A mass of writhing flesh grasped about from Nukus’ broken arm. It wasn’t bleeding, but it seemed to be looking for the lost weapon, which now seemed to be no different from any other common assault rifle.

Agent Ingraham and a group of Silver Medallion security guards swarmed into the room after that. They shouted for everyone to remain calm while the situation was sorted out. There were many shouts of “Over here,” “Clear,” and “Secure” before the guards huddled the conscious meta humans next to the stage and leveled their weapons at them.

“What do we do, sir?” one guard asked Agent Ingraham, who was glowering at Draven with his glowing red eyes.

“Gentlemen, let them alone,” Jonas Silver announced as he pushed through his security entourage, “They just got done saving all of these people. It’s hardly good business to go and punish them for something they clearly had no hand in.”

He leaned in close with Draven and muttered, “At least, I assume you’re not the type to hire lunatic thugs like that in an obvious attempt to assassinate me.”

“Who do you take us for?” the red-coated swordsman hissed back, “You?”

“Sir, there was an incident in the storage rooms below,” Ingraham muttered, his eyes no longer glowing, “I won’t press for detainment, but we have much to discuss.”

“I would assume so,” the old man sighed then turned to the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption. I trust you won’t take this as any lack of preparation on our part, as one can’t truly expect what kinds of ruffians will burst out of the woodwork at any time in this day and age. Gentlemen, help these people, make sure nobody is injured…”

The guards set to work immediately and some of the heroes helped mend anyone who was hurt during the course of the fight. The fire-armed brute almost made another attempt on Silver, but wound up with several energy pistols in his face for his trouble. He wisely surrendered after that and glumly waited for the cops as a contingent of agents stood guard over him.

The Brutal Warriors did what they could to help, but their capabilities were limited in this case. Project Whirlwind could only use his mild healing magic to soothe the woman who’d been frozen. She was thankful, but still emotionally distraught. When the police arrived, things seemed a lot more like clockwork, and everybody started breathing more easily. Nobody wanted to talk about the obvious tension between the Silver Medallion security guards and the BWO.

“We should get out of here,” Psycho13 muttered after giving his deposition to the police, “We can’t do anything else to help.”

“One thing before we go,” Draven said as he turned to Reynolds, “I swear to God, if you’re trying to use us…”

“You want to talk to Lannister with me?” the other man growled, “I’m telling you, he came to me with this information.”

“Yeah, but you benefit when we hit these guys. This is the second time you’ve had us do something like this.”

“Last time, the place you checked on my advice was hit by Crey Industries. This time, a batch of freaks looking for cutting-edge tech. You guys don’t let me so much as use a phone without somebody on hand to keep an eye on me, so tell me how I could be organizing this crap?”

Draven narrowed his eyes at the other man, but said nothing. He didn’t have an argument for his old foe, and he was certain he wouldn’t come up with one in the next couple minutes. Instead, he just walked away and Chuck smirked smugly at him. Psycho13, however, smacked their charge lightly across the face and pointed to the door. As the group walked off, Jonas watched them go. He had a bad feeling that he hadn’t seen the last of them.

It's not finished. If you see him, tell him he needs to get back to this!

Or if your character is a Rikti Spy, I suggest you run the Kelly Uqua arcs, first...

Redside: 35-39: Nerva.

It should help with some of the flavor.

New chapter in the Brutal Warriors Order (BWO) thread. Psycho13, Draven and Whirlwind fight Project Soultaker and Agent Ingraham in the storage room, but could they have made a mistake?