Mr_Grey

“No!” Agent Ingraham got out before Draven raked his broadsword across the cyborg’s chest.

While the scrapper wondered at how the weapon seemed to just appear in his hand, Project Whirlwind hurled a burst of lightning into the agent’s open wound, charging the endoskeleton and electrocuting the body. Ingraham flashed brilliantly, his skeleton glowing sometimes through the rapidly charring skin, and collapsed on the floor of the storage room.

This proved to be the last straw for the security team, for they promptly drew their weapons and started firing. Red beams of energy lanced at the heroes, and Draven remarked, as they splashed against the dark shadows wrapped about his body, that they weren’t as powerful as the blasters the agents used against them. They were still annoying, though, and seemed to be eating into his armor just the same.

“Whirl! Get the patrol!” he shouted as he rushed into the guards.

“What about Psych!?”

“He can take care of himself!”

Indeed, Psycho13 could take care of himself. As the little shadowy skulls chewed on his arms and legs, his body regenerated and he pushed himself toward Project Soultaker. Drawing his blades, he made a warning swipe between the two of them and growled.

“To think, you were used to fit these gimmicks together,” the strange thing rasped, “I suppose it’s all the same. I mean, it was little more than a marketing ploy.”

“You’re little more than a pale imitation of my nightmares,” Baker replied, “And I’m gonna enjoy carving you open to see what brought you back!”

He lunged forward, his blades extended in a manner so as to rake them down Soultaker’s shoulders and torso. Unfortunately, the strange sorcerer was skilled at some evasion and sidestepped out of the way. The next thing Psycho13 knew, he had been punched twice in the face, three times in the hip, and once more in the chin. Staggering backward, he rubbed his jaw with his thumb and took stock of how Project Soultaker had assumed a combat stance.

“Oh, so you know how to fight now, huh?”

“I always knew how to fight,” Soultaker replied, “I can’t say the same for my predecessor…”

“Predecessor? So, you’re a new guy…”

“No,” a skull appeared in the corrupter’s hand, “The same…”

He hurled the ethereal cranium at the scrapper and Psycho13 wound up with it chewing into his chest. Screaming, the scrapper launched another assault, paying little heed to the damage being done to his torso as he carved into his enemy’s extended limbs. First, he swiped at Soultaker’s arm, then at his leg. He caught the corrupter’s thigh and Soultaker hissed, reached for the scrapper and pulled the energy out of the young man to heal himself.

“Aw, no fair!” Baker shouted as he staggered away, “You don’t get to fix yourself! Only I get to do that!”

Draven and Project Whirlwind found that pummeling the Silver Medallion Guards was just as easy as pummeling just about any batch of goons. They just had those nasty laser pistols and nightsticks. Their body armor was fairly decent as well, but it wasn’t terribly good at withstanding lightning blasts or freezing rain. Leaving the guards huddled in a corner, rubbing their singed arms and legs while their teeth chattered, Draven saw Psycho13 seemed to be having trouble.

“Come on, man, I know you can do better than that!”

“I know,” the other scrapper chuckled before suddenly appearing next to the corrupter, “I just felt like giving him a sporting chance!”

Project Soultaker jabbed an elbow into Psycho13’s ribcage only to be rewarded with the scrapper’s blades snaked against his own ribs and dragged back, slicing open the armor and leaving a pair of profusely bleeding slashes. Soultaker screamed and was punched in the face. Psycho13 twirled his blades around, spun, and delivered a savage uppercut to Soultaker’s chin with a jump, knocking him backwards and catching him on the way down with a slash across the shins.

The corrupter screamed as he clutched at his legs while writhing on the ground. Draven was about to ask what they should do when they heard the explosion upstairs.

“That has to deal with Chuck,” Whirlwind groaned, “I knew he wasn’t going to leave this thing alone.”

“I think Jonas would make the first move, myself,” Draven replied, “I mean, I don’t trust Chuck, either, but he’s a broken man right now. He doesn’t have power armor, he doesn’t have guns, he doesn’t even have weird powers. He’s our informant, he doesn’t have anything to start something with.”

“He has us,” Psycho13 countered, “I think he’s proving more than capable at pointing and sending us after the people who wronged him.”

Jared stared at his friend. A gurgling sound could be heard emitting from his throat. This was punctuated by the sound of automatic weapons in the presentation floor above them.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” the broadsword wielding hero sighed, “Come on, let’s go…

When they were gone, Project Soultaker stopped groaning. He couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t finish him off, but then, that wasn’t his problem. Instead, he turned to the guards who were left behind with him.

“This is going to hurt you badly,” he growled as he crawled to them, “But if you’re strong of will, you might survive…”

He reached out to them, and the guards screamed as their life force was torn away to reconstruct the corrupter. Some of the energy spilled into Agent Ingraham, who hadn’t detonated for some strange reason.

As the corrupter wandered off, the agent watched him go without moving the rest of his body. Even his breathing had been shut down, which he couldn’t do for very long (two minutes was the preferred length of time, but he could push it to five). His files didn’t indicate any covert surveillance on this facility, and the Soultakers definitely counted as covert surveillance.

It begged the question: Who was commandeering the Syndicate’s forces when the Triumvirate wasn’t approving the actions of Special Human Resources? It had to be someone with clout, and that could only be someone in the Board of Directors. Ingraham knew the small group of heroes thought the Board was composed solely of Committee members, but the truth was that it had all sorts of executive heads from the companies that the Syndicate had absorbed. A few, like Jonas Silver, saw it as a means toward greater success, and obviously weren’t rocking the boat. However, there had to be many within the group that chafed at their loss of power. These individuals clearly saw the Order as some sort of threat, or they were simply trying to deal with an old nuisance; either way, they threatened the security of New Horizon with their clandestine criminal activities.

Suddenly, Ingraham considered a plan. He didn’t know why he’d never thought of it before. He would simply make himself available for such projects and use them to expose the conspirators. It struck him that this was possibly a symptom of corrupted programming, for agents weren’t supposed to be capable of self directed thought. However, he felt that he needed to run as he was in order to achieve the highest success for the company, so he started hatching his plan. The first step involved settling the current situation, which a staccato of gunfire indicated was far from over.

Pushing himself off the floor, he reinitiated his breathing and checked on the injured guards. They were unconscious, but alive. One was in critical condition. Instantly, the agent was pressing a nearby intercom button.

“This is Agent Ingraham, calling the medical team. I have guards down in Storage Room D. Please respond immediately, we have severe injuries. And bring a flesh welder.”

“Sir?” the voice on the other end asked.

“For me. I have superficial wounds that must be repaired.”

“A team is on the way, sir. There’s a commotion at the presentation. Security is moving to deal with the situation. Do you wish to assist?”

“Yes. Have the tech with the flesh welder meet me at Elevator C.”

Yeah, that's a good way of putting it, Tor. It's just varying degrees of knowledge, depending on how close to the groups various individuals are and how serious the characters in the know are taking the secrets. See, the Illuminati and Philosophers more than likely (see, saying "more than likely" proves I'm not privy to either group's circles ) have far more stringent recruiting practices, so even if they do exist, the membership is full of like-minded individuals in the regards of the importance of keeping the secret of the group (though, for the Philosophers, this strikes me as a disservice to the group; one would think they'd like divergent philosophies to bounce off one another, but I digress...). The Menders and Midnight Squad, however, need people of power, which means they're slightly desperate and through this desperation, secrets can leak out.

Apparently, though, it's manageable. I still run into newbies every so often who freak whenever an Ouro Portal is dropped in front of them, so they've been doing something right...

I'd say the Menders are a more secretive group, though. The Midnighters have been more public in history, too, so it's a little harder for them to keep the resurgence of their group a secret, but the reasons for it would be easier (if you need to explain why, as a hero, you can join the group at level 10 but not enter Cimerora until 35, for instance).

It depends on how closely guarded certain characters treat the secret. Some of them probably try to keep it only in the know, while others have no problem plunking down an Ouroboros portal in the name of "efficiency."

As a result, many heroes and villains probably know of the places (though both have to prove themselves significantly in order to learn the Midnighters' secret of Cimerora, regardless of what meta human counterparts may have told them), but may not have access.

Some normal people may have knowledge (that they may relate to the characters as they pass by), too, but this could be for any number of reasons. They could have family in the know, they could be Nemesis automatons, they could even be off-duty or undercover members of the various groups.

Added a small chapter to the Brutal Warriors Order and added a notification in Role Call that I'm moving a bunch of screenshot images to my DeviantArt page.

Ryat66 on DeviantArt

Don't mind the amorphous monstrosity toward the end of the gallery. Those odd things are intriguing to me...

And no, they're not Japanese in origin.

((After finding that numerous images I'd placed on ImageShack were being lost, I figured I'd replace a lot of them (and some newer ones) on my DeviantArt page (since they haven't lost a damn thing I've put there, regardless of my inactivity).

I included some background stuff about the characters, their inspirations and thoughts in my head as I made the outfits. I also have some criticism of game mechanics and anecdotes about some of my play experiences throughout the game series.

I'll still put new outfits and drastic changes here, and still through the voice of Agent Wild, but further links will direct to my DA site instead of ImageShack (I don't blame them, if the image isn't being used, they don't notice when it's gone).

Ryat66 on DeviantArt

Why Ryat66? Truth be told, Ryat66 was my original Internet handle. I traipsed across the Internet under that guise and worked out a lot of demons through that moniker. I'm not now who I was then, but I retain the moniker for various items of my extracurricular activities.))

The investigation was actually fairly bland. Draven kept pushing Ingraham to take them into various rooms marked “Restricted” or “Secret,” but what they mostly found were server farms or filing rooms. There was very little of anything incriminating.

“Come on, Mister Ingraham,” Jared growled, “You know what we’re looking for. Where is the lab that made you?”

“The lab that made my chassis is in the Adirondack Mountains,” the big man replied, “In fact, Silver Medallion Medical Supply’s facilities, all of them, are a matter of public record. The plant used to make the ones like what’s being demonstrated upstairs is the same to make mine. In case you haven’t figured it out, we’re not simply the Destroyer.”

“You’re not far off,” Levi muttered as he looked into a room where a group of men in clean suits opened a set of vacuum sealed containers and started organizing what looked to be metallic bones.

“Regardless of what you may believe, we are not simply killing machines wrapped in flesh.”

“That explains why every one of you we’ve fought has exploded once it was beaten.”

Mister Ingraham stared at Psycho13 for a moment before turning away and continuing with the investigative tour. The cyborg indicated that they were nearing the end of the inspection, as there simply weren’t anymore rooms to see. He brought them into a large, circular chamber. There were stacked crates and more vacuum-sealed boxes. A few security guards were posted at the entrance and in a couple spots along the walls (peculiarly, they were dressed in simple red utility suits and had one sidearm apiece; though Draven noted the sidearms that weren’t submachine guns were similar to the energy pistols wielded by the agents).

“You can look, but don’t open the crates,” Ingraham explained, “If you need any opened, please let me know so I may-“

“That’s enough, Mister Ingraham,” a hollow voice rasped behind the heroes, “You’ve served your purpose.”

Irritated, Project Whirlwind turned to yell at the interrupting individual, but his voice caught in his throat. Standing before him was a pale-faced man who stared right through him. Black paint was meticulously slathered on his face to cover half of one side, save the eye socket, and darken the eye socket of the other side in some kind of macabre yin-yang. The all-white eyes and iron nails poking up out of the man’s forehead like some kind of demented crown didn’t help, either.

“Soultaker,” Ingraham intoned, “Shouldn’t you be on patrol?”

“I am accomplishing my assignment,” the man rasped as he stalked toward Psycho13, “And I am taking my revenge!”

With that, he raised his hands and hurled a batch of ethereal, screaming black skulls at the heroes.

----------

Upstairs, Charles and Bull took a pair of folding chairs and settled in. Silver’s presentation opened with a few images of car wrecks and collapsed buildings. The man, as creepy as he looked, was actually a very verbose speaker, conveying how his company sought to help the victims of such horrific fates by restoring, in one fell swoop, the parts of the people that mangled beyond normal repair without damaging their “natural” appearance.

“Full skeletal prosthesis is not an option,” he explained as he gestured to the model of a full set of metal bones hovering next to him, “It never will be. The natural skeleton is just as necessary to the body as your heart or liver. This skeleton is just a demonstration of what we’ve designed the system to support. We can repair the parts that simply will never be whole again. We can strengthen the bones that are genetically crippled and unable to withstand the average impacts one is subject to on a daily basis. With our prosthetic polymer endoskeleton technology, we can even help alleviate paralysis and massively reduce physical recuperation times.”

“What about physical enhancement?” a woman asked suddenly.

Charles looked in the direction of the speaker, but he couldn’t make her out of the crowd. He figured it was a Crey employee, though. He was already asking the same thing to himself, and the number of follow-up questions he came up with were staggering.

“We intend to use these prosthetics to assist people in their recuperation, ma’am,” Jonas intoned, “We’re not in the business of body modifications.”

“But you could make a person stronger with a specially designed endo-frame, correct?” the woman pressed.

Reynolds was sure of it. If she wasn’t with Crey, she was hired by them to sling mud. The problem was that she was an amateur, and Jonas Silver was too professional to be caught up in such a trap.

“Unless…” he muttered to himself, “Thistle…”

“What?” the green man growled.

“Either Jonas is staging this, or she’s stalling.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Jonas isn’t into theatrics,” Charles stood up and folded his chair, “And Crey doesn’t hire amateurs for these public relations fiasco jobs…”

He looked out the door and crouched down, holding the chair up to protect him from some unknown threat.

“You might want to do as I am, Bull…”

The plant-based hero looked askance at his former employer before the glass door next to him shattered inward, scattering broken glass across his body, lacerating him in numerous places. He blinked as if nothing had happened, then his body exploded in a batch of spikes.

“Someone’s gonna-“ he got out before Charles pulled him away from the doorway.

“Quiet!” he hissed as a group of costumed freaks tore into the building and started shouting for everybody to kiss the floor.

New chapter in Grey's Army. It covers what my characters did for the holiday season with a conversation between Roland and a friend he's made in Paragon City.

Something about it just fit for the situation is all...

((I'd wanted to start something else, but events over the holidays inspired this somehow, and I couldn't write the other idea without this suddenly overwhelming me.))

--New Year’s--

Roland walked into his apartment and inhaled. At first, he caught the odor of the normal stale dust that would have accumulated in the two weeks he’d been gone. Immediately on its tail, he caught another scent and it caused him to wince.

“Did I ever tell you that I can’t stand the smell of perfume?” he asked as he turned to face his uninvited guest.

“Really?” Megan asked, her eyebrow quirked curiously, “That’s… Odd.”

“I don’t know the reason… It all just smells like chemicals to me.”

She blinked at him and shrugged. For some odd reason, she had her hands behind her back. Roland didn’t dwell on it, though, and turned to throwing his backpack into his room. It had a couple changes of clothes in it, nothing else, so he wasn’t concerned if anything got roughed up.

“So,” he half-barked as he went to the kitchen to see if anything he’d left had spoiled, “What brings you to my nick of the woods today?”

“You, actually,” Megan replied cheerfully as she walked into the kitchen behind him, “I saw in the Freedom Corps rosters that you came back to the city today. Where were you?”

“Big family get-together back home. My grandmother said she wanted to get all the surviving family members together for the first time since the War...”

Roland paused. There were a lot of his cousins, aunts and uncles who hadn’t made it. On his mother’s side, too. While many had survived, possibly due to their distance from major urban centers or military bases, his whole family still felt the loss of those who were gone. Still, nobody in his family dwelt on such matters, knowing full-well that there was nothing to be done for them but to remember the good times and to make the best of the time they have left. Still, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Was it fun?”

“Oh, yeah… I got to see my cousin, Cody,” the portly young man’s face seemed to brighten at the mention of the family member he hadn’t seen in ages, “He told me about how he literally beat the [dreck] out of his sister’s boyfriend last Thanksgiving. See, the guy got drunk once, and wound up hitting her. Code wasn’t going to let that go without payback, so the tension came to a head that night and they brawled…”

“I bet it was spectacular,” Liberty murmured as she looked derisively out the window.

“Well, the telling of it was… Cody tackled the guy out the front door of my uncle’s house and proceeded to just pound on his stomach… He’d promised his sister he wouldn’t hit him in the face. After about five minutes of it, the guy pleaded for him to stop and Cody jumped up shouting ‘[Cripes]! You smell like [dreck]!’ Afterward, the other guy walked around kind of funny until he stumbled into a bathroom where he stayed for a half hour while he cleaned himself up.”

Ms. Liberty didn’t know what to say to that. It was a mortifying story, but she couldn’t help but giggle slightly and futilely tried to stifle the laughter. Roland looked blankly at her, a grin, one of the few she’d ever seen on him, creasing his round face.

“It’s all true, too. My uncle Jed, his dad, got it on tape.”

“Jed?”

“Well, when your grandfather sires almost ten kids, names are bound to get scarce…” Roland chuckled before sniffing a plastic container, “Ugh… Anyway, Jed’s actually named after his, and my dad’s, great uncle…”

“You’ve got a very large family tree I gather,” Megan muttered soberly, “Mine’s practically a stalk of bamboo…”

Roland made a concerned sound in the back of his throat and nodded before dumping the contents of the container into the garbage turning on his sink and rinsing out the box. His nose scrunched up and he grimaced a little, but as the hot water blasted away the grime, his face softened measurably.

“Shouldn’t you turn on the disposal?”

“It was mostly liquid… Salsa, I think…”

She stood there, waiting patiently as he went through the same ordeal with a couple other containers. After the third one, he rolled his eyes and simply threw the container away.

“It’s the flimsy stuff…” he growled grumpily at the trash bin, “No need to save it…”

He turned to Megan and grinned.

“So, what’s going on?”

“I wanted to give you your Christmas present,” Megan happily chirped.

She brought her hands in front of herself and in one of them was the staff of a finely polished wooden bow. Roland blinked at it and his jaw dropped. It was a single length of wood, with a simple lashed-rawhide handle that served as the starting point for the curving of the branches as they gradually pushed away from the wielder before turning back halfway to each tip and curving away slightly again at the tip. It wasn’t strung, but then, it wasn’t supposed to be when it wasn’t in use. A thin black wood burning was scored into the outer surface.

“Recurved,” he said appreciatively, “Polished… May I hold it?”

She nodded and handed the implement to him. He balanced it in his hands and closed his eyes. Nodding, he opened his eyes and grinned.

“Ash, I believe. Unless it’s got some kind of enchantment to make it lighter… I’m ruling out oak at the moment because it tends to be heavier, but with mystical intervention…”

“I… I don’t really know what it’s made of…” Megan murmured, “Unfortunately, I don’t know the history of it too well. A few months ago, I worked with a hero from Chicago called Lightning Bear… He said he was honored to present it to me…”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“I asked him if it was okay, and he said that was fine. He said he was glad I found a use for it, since I don’t, you know, use a bow...”

“Did he?”

“Oddly, no… They called him Lightning Bear for a reason, you know. He wasn’t quite as powerful as my grandfather, but he helped when Infernal was busy in the Isles.”

“Oh, I always figured Valkyrie could fill that role in a pinch,” Roland chuckled as he cradled the bow in his hands and strummed his fingers across the smooth surface that faced him, “Or you…”

“As tough as we are, we simply can’t take the kind of punishment that big burly demon can,” Ms. Liberty sighed as if remembering an exhilarating memory, “And unlike a lot of tankers, he can dish out much more punishment than he receives.”

“Well, back to the matter at hand… I don’t know if I can accept this, Megan. I mean… This is valuable, and… And I don’t have anything to give you…”

She shrugged and grinned as she leaned against the back of the couch.

“I don’t really want anything more from you, Roland,” she rubbed her upper arms and bit her lower lip before continuing, “Wait… That didn’t sound right… I mean… You already do a lot for me as it is… You went to that wedding with me so I wouldn’t have to fuss about with some moron who would look at it as some sort of relationship or social promotion (however that works…). You don’t freak out when I show up here to get away from everything in the Vindicators and Longbow… You even cook meals for me when I do that… And then there was that thing you did with Mynx… You didn’t have to help her, you know…”

“I was helping a friend,” Roland shrugged and propped the bow on the armrest of the chair, “I’ve only got a few, remember. I fight to protect them.”

Megan nodded. She didn’t like to think about what else he might be thinking. She knew he’d been developing feelings for her before, and feelings like that didn’t simply go away. Still, her psychic friends told her he was honest when he said he just wanted to keep it a friendship, but then honesty was always more a concept of belief than fact. What was true one day wasn’t necessarily true the next.

Perhaps that’s why she found his aloof demeanor so infuriating. He was so difficult to read. According to Sister Psyche, his sister had the same problem. His thoughts and his demeanor were heavily schooled to be so resolutely similar.

“Well, I have to go,” she finally chirped, “My mom wants me over for dinner… Probably wants to ask me why I haven’t been looking for a father for her grandchildren yet…”

“Ugh, my brother goes through that with my mom, too. You’d think that with her suddenly being younger and somehow pregnant, she’d lay off him, but no! Thankfully, she backed off of me once Sarah got married and she found out who you are… My sister… kind of… let it slip.”

“I figured it would ripple through your family somehow,” Liberty chuckled.

“Somehow, we’ve kept Cedric in the dark, though…” for once, Grey looked worried, “Lord help me if he ever finds out I spend my free time with you…”

“What about me?”

“Pft, you won’t have to talk to him.”

Saw this on Protector's forum:

Twas the Night Before Christmas by Golden_Ace.

A stalker reenacts the famous poem in homicidal style...

I used my sister's laptop to get on the internet and post the latest issue of The Redeemers in the Roleplaying section. I'd also like to indicate that my summarized ending to the recent Blakmoore Safehouse arc is finished.

The Redeemers

Redshadow scanned the passengers of the car. It startled him that there was only one civilian, a young woman who had a number of university books with her. She clutched them to herself worriedly as she saw the escalating situation and Thomas knew his duty was clear.

“We could wait for this train ride to end,” he pleaded with the Protector in the lead, “Let this young lady get out of the car…”

“And risk you getting reinforcements?” the vaguely familiar voice rasped, “I think not…”

“I see…” Thomas sighed, then turned to the girl, “Ma’am… I’m sorry…”

“Help…” she squeaked, “I don’t want to die…”

Redshadow drew the swords from his belt scabbards and glared at the Protectors.

“I don’t intend to let you.”

There were no more words to be said. Redshadow analyzed his options. The car was narrow, and for some odd reason, the other Protectors seemed to be close-range combatants. They all had swords, just like him.

He didn’t have any more time to question the situation, though. The lead Protector dove in with a double stab that Thomas parried and counterattacked with a kick to the sternum. He then followed up his kick by slashing with his right sword. One of the other Protectors tried to stab from around his leader, but Redshadow deflected the blade and the Protector Leader’s arm got cut, eliciting a yelp of pain.

Hooking the pommels of his blades on the vertical hand bars of the car, the Redeemer vaulted himself into the leader. This shoved him into his entourage and knocked some of them off balance. Redshadow swiped at them as they tried to recover, and actually caught one across the neck. He promptly disappeared in a red haze that signified he’d been yanked to a Crey facility before he could be tagged for a police drone or sent to a civilian medical facility.

Another got to his feet and Redshadow backed away as his assailant’s blade hacked through one of the poles. Thomas kicked the now-broken bar’s lower half and it bent toward the Protectors. He then stabbed at the leader, causing the Crey pawn to back into one of the railcar’s windows, smashing it out with the hilt of his blade.

The other two, however, were able to get in close enough to get a hold of Thomas. They hooked his arms in theirs and were getting ready to stab him when a heavy book came flying through the air and struck the one to Thomas’ right in the shoulder. He cried out with the same voice as the lead Protector.

“Augh! That was a corner!”

Seeing an advantage, Redshadow placed his foot behind the ankle of his enemy and twisted his upper body, causing the Protector to trip and fall, dragging the Redeemer with him. The other crashed into another window of the car just as it entered a tunnel. While the resulting crash didn’t kill the man, it did smash open his helmet and he disappeared in another red haze.

“This isn’t going so well for you guys!” Tom shouted as he rolled away from the lead Protector’s stabs, “Why don’t you just give up?”

“We have our orders!” the other shouted, “Get back on your feet and kill him!”

“And that’s why you fail,” the hero growled as he grabbed the metal bar next to him and twisted it around so it faced his opponents, “You’ve got no imagination!”

With that, he kicked the Protector leader’s knee, causing the other man to stumble down in pain. He then leaned forward, gripped the collar of the Protector’s spandex and yanked him face-first into the end of the bar. There was a sickening crunch and the body laid still.

The remaining Protector seemed to go into a frenzy after that. He stabbed wildly at Thomas, his blade poking holes into the floor. At one point, the sword hit the track and was destroyed, sending the handle hurtling through the interior and smashing into the control box at the front. Thomas didn’t know what would happen after that, but he figured the smoke coming from the computer couldn’t be good.

In fact, it wasn’t good. Already, the Paragon Transit Authority’s Central Dispatch Computer was registering the loss of control and was rerouting the car to a line that would lead it to Boomtown. The line was broken in Boomtown, though.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the car’s intercom announced, “Please make your way to the front of the car and the emergency medical bracelets you will find in the conveniently highlighted emergency container… They are active only for the duration of this emergency, and will aid you in escaping mortal danger in the case of a lack of heroic intervention…”

“Kind of takes the edge of the emergency of the situation!” Redshadow yelped as he rolled from side to side to avoid the stabs, “You better do as she says!”

The college girl, however, just clutched at her remaining books and shrieked. The Protector leader was pulling himself off the bar and getting back to his feet. The hero knew he wouldn’t be able to fend them both off, so he took desperate measures.

Noticing that the crazed Protector was now standing over him, he kicked his assailant’s inner thigh. The Protector fell backwards and he rolled forward to get back on his feet. He also drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, tackling him before he could gather his wits about him. The Protector’s head went out the window and the helmet disintegrated from its impact with the tunnel wall outside. Before the red flash, Thomas saw the face for a brief moment and he paused, confused.

The lead Protector saw his chance and prepared his deathstroke. However, Thomas noticed a glint from the reflection of the blade in the corner of his eye. Grabbing one of the discarded blades, he rolled away and stabbed his enemy in the belly as the Protector stabbed the seat. As the Protector wondered at his ill fortune, Thomas rushed to the girl.

“We need to get the bracelet!” she shouted.

“There’s no time,” Redshadow replied, “Hang on!”

He had her put her arms around his neck and he kicked out the back window. As the train cleared the tunnel, he saw where they were and cursed. Leaping through the window, he said a quick prayer to whatever gods were watching that he could stick this landing and they would be alright.

Thanks for bringing this over here, Warface... No idea what inspired you to do it, but now you can rest assured that it will stay forever and ever and ever until nuclear fire destroys the forum server...

Or until NCSoft scraps them for more worthy or ambitious project...

I'm settling something in the Roleplaying section. It's the arc in Blakmoore. Unfortunately, interest from the players dried up quickly, and what was originally supposed to be a frenetic, and possibly complicated storyline became far too serious and rife with consequence.

I have to take some of the blame for that...

Still, I've been given the go ahead by the players to drum up a summary for them in order to return Blakmoore to its original carefree roots.

So... I present a link to the assault on the Pentagon in Blakmoore Safehouse.

I suppose they thought attacking the DoD's base of operations would be easy.

Here are a couple of my old ones...

The Snowball War

Grey's Army One Shot: Holiday Spirit

Super Hero Holidays!

...

And Villainous ones, too..

I guess I could have called it Meta Human Holidays, but it lacks the pop...

The idea is simple: Post stories of your characters dealing with the holidays! If you've got the stories elsewhere, post links!

Show how your heroes help usher in Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, what-have-you (Do you now see why we say "Happy Holidays!?" There's too much to cover for all of these celebrations that occur at the end of the year or beginning of the next one!), or how your villains try to muck it all up (or join in the festivities themselves!).

Well, there's the first thing that Ms. Liberty thinks that she may be going a bit overboard by being in-costume when she asks for his help. Her uniform is a reminder of the overall importance of being a hero in a world like this, and someone who's been as dedicated as Blue would probably have trouble ignoring the symbolism.

As for troubles with Longbow, well, Slick, you've mentioned them yourself, numerous times. With people like Agent Wilder in their employ, I believe a large number of bright-eyed heroes would feel rubbed the wrong way by most of Longbow's forces.

As for past relationships, Ms. Liberty is the first trainer for a lot of heroes. Some players even come back to her when they reach level 50, as if it's a special event; like a way of saying "Look how far I've come!"

Of course, these are just statistically likely scenarios... As you stated, there's probably all sorts of backstory involved that we haven't even grazed yet.

I forgot to mention this... I posted another chapter in BWO.

I had to get it written before the inspiration left me. Now... Where to take it...

I've seen that theory... Cripes, this issue makes my head hurt.

Otherwise, still golden stuff, Blue, and the stuff that's bothering me has nothing to do with you (it's just a continuity error that is glaringly left unresolved by the powers that be).

Instead of barging into the company, guns blazing, Draven figured it would be best to simply take the corporate tour. He brought Reynolds along with the group, which comprised of himself, King Slater, Bull-Thistle, Psycho13, and Project Whirlwind. He would have preferred bringing his cousin Dale with them, too, but he was busy helping the Air Guard refit their ships with what he called a “Deflection Matrix.”

To make up for the lack of support, he had Dale’s older brother shadowing them. He knew he’d catch Hell for letting a Stalker utilize his powers in-city without oversight, but he couldn’t risk anybody getting the drop on them.

Silver Medallion Medical Supply wasn’t known for great breakthroughs in medical science, but they were extremely adept at innovations and improvements in efficiency. Some of the better combat prosthetics employed by heroes (and rogues) were contracted to Silver Medallion for construction. However, one of the things that was getting massive fanfare lately was a new cybernetic endoskeleton, which was to be the breakthrough device to put Silver Medallion on the economic map.

According to Charles Reynolds, it would also lodge the New Horizon Syndicate’s metaphorical foot firmly in the doorway of American industry. That was the point to their consumption of the Committee in the first place.

The tour was part of the publicity scheme Jonas Silver was running. He fully expected to seal his position within the NHS, and drumming up popularity for his products would certainly accomplish that task. He had hired spin doctors and image consultants from across the city to help him advertise the new chassis. Local news, national news, even a number of respected Internet blogs were all contacted and invited to an exclusive demonstration. Unfortunately for Silver, he needed to fill his seats with respected members of the community, too, and that included heroes. Draven, after working some special coaxing with the Longbow Warden he was dating, was able to secure some invitations for him and his crew.

Once he saw Jonas Silver, he recognized him. The man simply looked evil. His head was little more than a skull with dark skin stretched over it. His hands were a perfect complement to the skeletal appearance, the bones of his knuckles poking out sharply in round knobs. It was hideously different from his business suit that he seemed to be drowning in.

“Where’s Chuck?” Slater asked.

“Isn’t he with-?” Draven turned to look for the rest of their group and cursed, “Where’d they go?”

“Silver!” Reynolds shouted over the gaggle of scientists that surrounded the man, “Jonas Silver!”

“What?” the man shouted back, then glared at Reynolds, “You’re supposed to be… Oh, that’s right. The sideshow busted you out…”

“Sideshow?” Levi baker grinned wickedly, “Thanks. I guess that means we moved up in the world…”

The company CEO waved the scientists aside. They nodded and a security detail replaced them. The BWO adventurers looked to each other nervously as they recognized the telltale hard points and frighteningly pale skin that indicated that these suit-clad men were not entirely human.

“I trust you wouldn’t be foolish enough to cause problems here,” Silver intoned, his voice surprisingly deep despite his frail appearance, “I mean, we are a perfectly legal corporation, unlike some…”

The adventurers followed his glance to see some Crey personnel sitting nervously at the end of the front row. Despite the company’s legal troubles, they were still a major supplier of just about every product found throughout the world, and it would be remiss for any company to think they could leave their representatives out of product unveilings.

“Hero Corps is investigating you,” Chuck growled, “Any idea why?”

“You mean, aside from the fact that they’re practically run by Crey? I have no idea.”

“How about the harassment your friends here and their colleagues have been heaping on us?” Project Whirlwind asked, pointing at the entourage, “We lost two bases because of your stupid war… It’s not like we were going to come after you.”

“Oh, I was coming after you,” Psycho13 said almost maniacally, “After what you [butt]holes did to me, I was coming after you…”

The faces of the agents didn’t change much, but they shuffled about a little. They were clearing a path for their fire trajectories. It was something that always confused Baker and Brown when they fought the agents, they never seemed to have the tell-tale bulges that indicated their concealed energy pistols. Even the Crey Infiltrators and Security Agents couldn’t conceal their advanced weapons in their suits that well.


“Regardless,” Chuck brought them back to point, “We accepted the contract to investigate you, and while I hate having to advertise it, you have to submit to a surprise inspection.”

“When?”

“I was thinking now.”

Silver’s face twitched in agitation. He glared at the man and the “heroes” flanking him. As Draven and Slater caught up to them with Bull-Thistle following closely behind. The plant man saw him and looked away sheepishly. Silver was the man who hired him to attack the group the first time. It wasn’t likely he was going to appreciate the turncoat mercenary’s presence.

“I’ll accept these others investigating me,” Silver answered, “You, Charles, and you, Thistle, you stay here, in the demonstration hall. Mister Ingraham will escort you to our research and development laboratories.”

Silver snapped his fingers and the agents seemed to disappear, leaving one. His eyes glowed red briefly and he started walking away, apparently unconcerned with whether or not his charges followed. Bull-Thistle stood nervously next to Reynolds and pulled him to the back of the audience.

They already had a rough idea of how the more advanced chasses worked. They didn’t need to see the bare bones model.

Draven waved his investigating crew to follow after Mr. Ingraham. It was hard to think that the cyborg had a name, it was even harder to think he wasn’t walking into a trap. Sighing, he made a few hand signals to where he told Solo to stay to inform him to keep an eye on Bull-Thistle and Charles Reynolds. He hoped the decision to keep his insurance policy watching over their ward wouldn’t come back to bite them in the butt.

*sigh*

I have to ask this every time. What is your source for Ms. Liberty's name? The novels? The comics?

In-game, they still call her Megan.

It's like flesh-eating bacteria in my mind...

Mortiganen reached the hole just in time to shoo away a bunch of Trolls that seemed stumped as to whether or not they should fill it back in. They weren’t too keen on leaving without a fight, but he was able to frighten them off with a nightmare visage that was probably a simulacrum of one of their fathers, only bigger and more terrifying. It probably looked like Jack in Irons for all Mort cared.

The hole was definitely big enough. Ten feet deep and eight around, it also looked like it had exploded out rather than been dug up. Still, he already knew six arcane methods off the top of his head that achieved the same result, and that meant there were at least half as many ways to do it using modern mundane sciences and technologies.

He was in the process of smelling some of the dirt when he felt the approach of mystically-inclined individuals. Cursing to himself, he looked up to find not the Circle husks, as he expected, but members of the fledgling group of mystic enforcers called the Legacy Chain. Their ridiculous appearance in their ornate uniforms only made Mort more aware of his own outdated apparel. He tugged self-consciously at his robe as they approached and assumed a formation that gave them all a clear look at him.

“What do you want?” he rasped.

“Mortiganen!” the leader announced, “We are here to arrest y-“

“Get lost, whelp!” the elder wizard barked back, “If I thought you could do anything to me, I’d have surrendered. Instead, all you’re doing is taking up my precious time! I’m reformed! Don’t you get what that means? It means I have higher obligations than just making people miserable for the sake of my research!”

“But-“ the Legacy Chain member stammered, but Mortiganen interrupted him again.

“In fact, my research is directly responsible for the safety of this city in a very immediate way! If you would pull your heads out of your collected hind quarters, you would probably get a chance to see that!”

“He… He does register as a hero on the scanners,” a mystic holding a communicator whimpered behind the leader, “Perhaps-“

“He’s still the evil wizard the Midnight Squad fought back in the seventies! Just look at… What are you doing!?”

“You’re not important enough to postpone this,” Mort growled as he got back to inspecting the hole, “Hm… No entry holes in the base… I can’t sense any other soil disturbance…”

“Look at me!” the leader of the Legacy Chain squad shouted.

“Look, you can either pose as an enforcer of the law, or you can help me. Something big came out of this hole, of that I’m certain. I’m detecting faint traces of epidermis all throughout this soil, it probably scratched off during the escape… Sand can be surprisingly abrasive.”

The mystics looked to each other confusedly for a moment before joining in. They were pretty decent at elemental magic, so they were able to generate a decent composite of what had been in the earth before it had violently erupted. Seeing the earthen reconstruction made the dark-robed Redeemer wizard flinch, and the mystics deconstructed it rapidly.

“The real thing won’t fall nearly that fast, though,” the leader of the squad said, “I’m detecting large traces of… Of steel in this skin… Which is… is…”

“Unusual, to say the least,” Mort agreed, “But certainly not impossible. Not in this world. However, I wonder if it really is the legendary Grendel or if it’s just some recreation. There’s no corpse down there, nor are there any remains, but I’ve never seen anything in the behavior of any of the current crop of Trolls to indicate this kind of behavior. Sure, they get big, but they certainly don’t look like what you showed me, nor do they have steel in their skin.”

“That’s what we’re looking at, though,” the leader of the squad murmured.

“I guess I’ll have to get a look at this thing up close. Unfortunately, I can’t get any new information out of the Trolls. I got the best I could out of my lieutenant.”

“So, you’re really with the heroes, now?”

“Yes,” the wizard sighed, “And while I understand your need to demonize me, I really wish you wouldn’t. There are so many worse things in the world than me, from the Coralax’s mysterious deity, to the increasingly desperate behavior of the Oranbegans, to even the bizarre presence of Ghost Widow. I am but a researcher, a scribe, and I don’t extend my reach beyond my grasp. You would take care to learn how to differentiate between true dangers and ones you’re simply making up.”

“In all fairness, Mortiganen, our brethren in the Etoile Isles are being torn to shreds because they don’t take enough of their threats seriously. We don’t intend to be caught with our pants down up here.”

“In that case, I suggest you step up your game. Most of the community regards you as little more than a joke, and the Circle looks at you as a gnat in their path. If you’d like, I could provide you with research material that could help.”

The mystics stared dubiously at him. They’d come to arrest him, not to deal, and now he was offering to teach them. Still, the squad leader was unimpressed.

“What’s the catch?”

“A favor, simple as that. That is how these deals go. There may come a time when I have need of your kind and your abilities, and I don’t want to have any hassle about it. You can relax, as I won’t try to make you do anything you’re morally opposed to. Deal?”

“It sounds fine,” the mystic replied, “How will we know whether the deal has been made or not?”

Mort smiled. It was like the parable about the boy crying about wolves.

“I trust we can bind ourselves by our honor. I know I can by mine, and you can check with the Midnight Squad to determine my trust if you’re still unsure.”

The mystics nodded and started walking back to their base. Already, Mort was picturing how their superiors would view the deal, and they would likely dislike it to begin with. Still, a deal with him was better than a deal with the Circle or the demons that backed them.

I posted another chapter in Grey's Army. I felt I had to settle where Nester wound up after the prior chapter.

Now, I think it's time I turned to Power Breaker, Brother Mauthe, and Mori'ae, a free agent wizard working with the Circle of Thorns.

After a week of dealing with his landlord, the police and a few interviews with Hero Corps, Nester was almost too exhausted to visit with Sarah and Joe for lunch. However, they were offering to cover the bill, so he went with them. He didn’t have any food in his apartment, anyway.

“I’ve gotta start looking for a new place to live,” he murmured, “the landlord said he wasn’t going to risk having a cape under his roof anymore. I figured it wouldn’t be prudent to mention what his daughter does when he’s not looking, but between you guys and me, it involves spandex and throwing lightning.”

“Nester, I’m so sorry,” Sarah was near tears as she gripped his hand, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.”

“What about those rumors you told us about?” Joe asked, “That camp in Eden…”

“Gone by the time I got there,” he sighed, “Not that I was going to be able to do anything. When other heroes want a healer, I’m in demand. When I need help, though, nobody’s around…”

“What? Cedric or Kip couldn’t help you?”

“Kip was busy in the Shard, Cedric and Matt dropped off the map for a couple days after all that Malta stuff… But they sent me a postcard from where they ended up in Cancun.”

“I bet they wish they could’ve stayed,” Joe chuckled.

“Well, with the fire they started, that wasn’t going to happen,” Sarah’s smirk did nothing to diminish her cuteness, it only seemed to make her eyes darken in a strange way that made her appear even more adorable, “Cedric says they can’t talk about it, but the news indicated whatever they hit was big enough for four city blocks, and they leveled it.”

“I bet he got a hold of his old Marine buddies for the explosives,” Nester shook his head miserably, “That brother of yours is scary sometimes, Snuffy.”

“I know… But he’s got a good soul.”

They ordered their lunches and were in the process of eating when Roland arrived. They greeted him and he took the fourth chair at the table.

“How’s married life treating you two?” he asked once he was situated.

“It’s wonderful!” his sister squeaked, “Joe keeps me warm every night…”

“I don’t want to know that part!”

“…Cuddling!” she finished, “Jeez, Roland… You know I wouldn’t tell you something like that.”

Sarah could hear his thoughts, and he was already making a quick recrimination toward himself about how he shouldn’t really care because it was something married people do, but he felt obligated as a brother to be somewhat bothered by the topic. It was very hard to read such a stoic person. Logic dictated his thoughts, and he often had to debate it in the moment; when he had a notion, however, he was resolute and it was almost as if he were a complete blank, his behavior and actions requiring no thought at all.

Nester, however, she was getting entirely different problems from. He was going halfway out of his mind with all of the issues he was dealing with. From losing his girlfriend and his apartment, to his mounting stress with his job at the LaGrange Medical Center. She could tell something had to give and fast.

“Nester, maybe you should take a vacation…”

“I can’t afford one. I can’t afford a new apartment, I-“

“You can stay with me, man,” Roland offered, “You shouldn’t be alone right now, man. I’ll help you get through this.”

“Like the good old days.”

“It’ll be alright, Nester,” Sarah patted his upper arm, “I don’t think she’s been hurt.”

She could sense Nester’s emotional state calm slightly. When she felt the rest of their guests arrive, she had to restrain the anger radiating into her mind.

I can’t believe her! She must have been one before we joined the Carnival… She must have been using me to get into the Carnival!

She turned and saw Aaron and Mindy walking down the sidewalk toward them. She had the baby curled up in her arms. Carl was soundly asleep, snuggling his face into her shoulder. He was still wearing that blue cap Sheldon had made for him to mask his psychic signature.

“Hey guys,” Aaron announced as he arrived, “Started lunch without us?”

“We’ve been here for half an hour!” Joe threw his arms wide in protest.

“I’m just givin’ ya a hard time,” the CIA spook gave Joe a light jab in the shoulder, “We had to change the kid, so we had lunch at the house.”

Misty was beside herself with anger, however. She patted Nester’s shoulder and tried to convey her regret.

“I can’t believe Mindy was with… With…”

“It’s alright,” Nester stopped

“No, it’s not!” the woman almost shrieked, “We trusted her! She walked among us, lived with us… We thought she was one of us and learned our innermost, deepest secrets…”

Aaron rolled his eyes downward, wondering how, if Mindy were always a Sister, his cover still wasn’t blown. Still, his wife went on with her rant.

“And what about all of those heroes she made costumes for?”

“I think that’s stretching the risk pretty far,” Nester countered, “I mean, she just assembled the outfits for the most part. She didn’t really interview the heroes to find out their weaknesses or-“

“She wouldn’t have to! Serge would just tell her which materials would go into what costumes and why she couldn’t use nylon or spandex or… Other stuff…”

“Like Argon for the Ascendant…”

“Argon?” Sarah asked, “Are you sure? Isn’t it Kryptonite?”

“Kryptonite’s a gas.”

“Yeah, well, so is Argon…”

Nester sighed as the rest of the lunch went like this. He knew Mindy wouldn’t betray all those people like that, but he also knew no one would believe him. It was a depressing situation that hearkened him back to his high school days where everybody shunned you if you didn’t feel the way they did. He just missed Mindy, he didn’t see why they were so quick to hate her.

“I don’t hate her,” Misty finally murmured when he brought it up, “We were really close in high school… Not that close, but we were like sisters. I thought it was providence when I found her after the Rikti War… We promised to never let each other go…”

Aaron patted her arm as she sniffled back some tears.

“We’ll find her, Misty,” he assured her, “Everything will get sorted out.”

----------

After lunch, Roland and Nester started moving the furniture and Nester’s personal items out of his apartment. The thinner man took his friend’s offer to stay in the apartment and they moved most of his clothes into a dresser they set up behind the couch.

“Your friend isn’t gonna be bothered by my sleeping here, is she?”

“Nah, man,” Roland growled, “I haven’t seen mm-Jessica in weeks. She’s been really busy with getting her group ready for a fight in the Rogue Isles.”

“She’s in charge, huh?”

“Of her crew, yeah… Otherwise, she’s still kind of under the thumb of her old mentor…”

“Sounds rough. Hope he doesn’t abuse the power over her.”

“He doesn’t… They argue a lot, though, and sometimes she comes here to let off some steam. She hasn’t been around much lately, so I guess they’ve been leaving each other alone.”

Nester nodded at that as he placed the last of his clothes in the dresser. Now that his things were taken care of, it was time to turn to Mindy’s stuff.

“You could put it in storage,” Roland offered, “That is… If you intend to see her again.”

“I do,” his friend replied, “She took my ring, Round. I guess… I guess that means I’ll see her again.”

Roland patted his friend on the shoulder. He hadn’t been there for him for a while, but then, Nester had Mindy, and he didn’t need his burly protector anymore. Now, though, Nester was alone again and needed help more than ever.

“You were gonna need a storage compartment for the rest of your stuff, anyway,” he explained, “Let’s get all that situated and then get some dinner.”

Nester didn’t feel like going, however. He just slumped down on the couch and stared at the corner of the television.

“She wasn’t trying to learn anything about us as heroes,” he murmured, “We met after breaking up that initiation ceremony and we just clicked. She wanted to know us. She wanted to know me.”

“Nester, you know who she was. You know how she felt about you. If she were just using you, well, you’d probably be either in the hospital or dead right now. That’s all the proof I need. It should be all you need, too.”

“But everybody else…” he sighed, “They think she’s just some monster.”

“Who cares what they think? You’ve been doing your own thing from the beginning. Nobody’s gonna pressure you into doing something to her you don’t want to do… And that’s because you never responded to pressure before, so why are you going to start now?”

“I don’t know…”

Nester’s communicator started beeping and he answered it. When he didn’t hear anything, he looked at the display screen and saw that whoever it was decided it would be better to text him. Judging by how his eyebrows rose, Roland figured it was important.

“We gotta go…” he answered the unasked question, “Now… Serge just called. It turns out Misty was right…”

----------

“Thank you,” the Icon designer said as Nester handed over a brown ledger, “And no pages torn out…”

“I didn’t know so many heroes had allergies…”

“It’s normally minor stuff, and some of it is rather obvious, like the werewolves who can’t have silver in their outfits,” Serge sighed, “But some of it is a bit more esoteric and others are fatal. The last thing we need is the Knives of Artemis selling these secrets to the highest bidder, or worse, using the information to hinder or assassinate countless heroes themselves!”

“Well, all of it is right there,” Nester sighed, “So you can stop worrying.”

“I’ll stop worrying when that traitorous…” the designer caught Nester’s look and cleared his throat before continuing, “Well… I guess she had her reasons.”

“She didn’t want to betray us, Serge. She still hasn’t, yet.”

The other man shook his head grimly. He understood Nester’s loyalty to his girlfriend. It had been a while since he’d seen love like that up close. It was enough to make him doubt his own understanding of how things like this went, but he couldn’t afford to let his profession suffer for such emotional situations.

“I still have to warn everybody whose name appears in this book, Nester. I won’t tell them Ms. Jakobsen’s name, but they need to know to keep their proper medications handy.”

“Thank you,” Durj replied quietly.

“Let me get this straight,” Mortiganen muttered as he stroked his right temple and glared at Garm’s report, “Grendel lives? Is this some sort of Trollish game?”

“It’s from the early days of the Hollowing,” the Caliban yawned, “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep… Don’t know why. Anyway, I-“

“Stress,” Mort interrupted, “You’ve got a lot stressing you. I suggest you get a girlfriend and debase yourself for a night or two.”

“Uh… That wouldn’t help me… Not yet, anyway,” Garm grimaced, “The mutation… It affects certain things…”

“Oh…”

“Anyway, we checked around the Hollows, found a bunch of really big footprints, but it’s like whatever it is can either jump really far or it swims through rock, because we couldn’t find a solid trail. This… Thing, whatever it is… It apparently said something about being Grendel to Atta’s crew before it started stompin’ ‘em. I couldn’t get much more out of the crew.”

“Despite your old friend being so forthcoming?”

“Tatu’s an old friend, yeah, but he’s not going to entice me into goin’ back,” the troll scratched his scalp and sighed before continuing, “He’s just a dumb thug… A competent dumb thug, but a dumb thug nonetheless. I got nothin’ to hold against him because he doesn’t go after innocent people…”

“Just innocent companies?”

The troll shrugged.

“Well, what did you learn?”

“Well, there’s a big hole over next to that ‘Badge Marker,’ the one that puts a nifty little icon in the communicators of heroes and lets them run around, telling people they’re ‘Seekers of Monsters.’ I’m sure it’ll be filled back in soon, it probably won’t last the day. Supposedly, that’s where Atta killed Grendel. If this thing’s the real deal, it probably came from there. Atta didn’t seem too inclined to tell people they got the spot wrong.”

“And if it’s not?” the wizard steepled his hands over the reports and leaned interestedly toward his counterpart, “Have you considered the possibility that this is some form of hoax?”

“Well, if it’s not the real Grendel, then he, or whoever put him up to this, put the hole there to make it look like it is. Still, it’s hard to think of who would do something like this. The Frost Family? Maybe their competition from the Rogues or D.C.? Maybe they souped up some Supes in a new way, made a weird kind of Troll and unleashed him on us…”

“Or the Trolls are still behind this…”

Garm almost laughed.

“Atta’s not smart enough to pull a hoax that involves attacking himself. While they do the contests of strength bit, they don’t see the point in just attacking themselves for the sake of a caper. Simply put, they’re not Nemesis.”

Mortiganen grinned before leaning back in his chair. It was an unusual chair. Garm always figured Mort would have turned this old foreman’s office into something gothic, regal, or something that screamed “Wizard,” but it remained in the same state they found it in. There were broken lockers to his left that held scrolls and rolled up reports, a computer on the desk that Mort used to type up other reports, a laser printer to the right and the furniture looked like it came from the office section of a pawn shop. There wasn’t even any padding on them. As such, when the wizard leaned back in his chair, and it made a loud screech that complained of a lack of lubrication, Garm couldn’t help but wince.

The whole office was boring and uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but wonder why Mort kept it this way.

“I’ll go check the hole,” Mortiganen finally said, “I suggest you and your crew take a break.”

“Most of ‘em are already sleeping in their bunks.”

“Good. You get some rest, too. It’s hard to believe that you’ve started worrying about things.”

“Heh, yeah…”

Garm left the office and a moment later was followed by Mortiganen. The old man sure didn’t seem to believe in wasting time. In the blink of an eye, he was at the door. As soon as he had it open, he vanished again.
----------
Thomas Redshadow was riding the Green line to Talos Island. His investigations had thus-far been more on cases that weren’t quite related to his own personal vendetta against Crey, but Agent Sanders had warned him to avoid revenge missions. The last thing Freedom Corps needed at the moment was some loose cannon with their badge making baseless accusations against Crey, and the megacorporation, despite its current legal troubles, still had the economic and legal savvy to make things very difficult for the organization for even perceived slights.

For now, Crey seemed content saying that Thomas Redhsadow was an “inspired” freelance hero who happened across the uniform of one of the Paragon Protectors and masqueraded around as one for a couple weeks. Their investigation into the matter was just to determine whether or not he really was one of theirs, as nobody had ever heard of a Paragon Protector wielding swords before. While that was what they said, he still caught the surreptitious glances of their scientists and security guards. They were watching him, and he could tell the looks on their faces meant that they intended to “get back what was theirs.”

Mynx and Synapse were very supportive in helping him cope with his troubles. They both had been victims of the company, yet the lawyers always had one explanation or another to throw at them. Synapse couldn’t risk the reputation of the Freedom Phalanx in order to pursue the man who’d tormented him, nor could Mynx pursue the company for damages because of what Crey’s spin doctors would do to the Vindicators. Still, they offered up a few good suggestions on how to take down Crey personnel when nobody could see. It was especially easy in Brickstown, where the company’s security forces seemed to think they owned the town and were a general nuisance to everybody.

He was going over the data for his current case, something about a Sky Raider weapons smuggling operation, when the train stopped in the Skyway City station. He looked up and noticed some costumed individuals enter the car. He looked back to his communicator and tried to mull over the information, but something about the new passengers nagged at him. Looking back up, he saw what it was and his heart sank.

Four Paragon Protectors were staring at him. The lead one had two swords drawn and held them crossed in front of his legs. The others were drawing similar blades.

“Time to die, traitor,” the leader said in a voice that Thomas couldn’t quite place, but was somehow familiar.

The battle with the Hellions went as Mider Caid expected, which was that it wasn’t a complete disaster. It helped that the Strik brothers were both extremely competent fighters in their own rights, and they took the brunt of the assault. The leader of the cell, a heavily scarred man who called himself Boil, had a few nasty tricks up his sleeves, like fiery “imps” and a blazing sword, but he was outnumbered and was easily over-powered. In fact, Olive had her vines drag him and most of his crew out.

“Why do they do this?” Cinder asked as the police drones arrived to zap the unconscious men to the Zig, “Why do they take a crew like us, and say ‘Hey, you’ve got Tsoo in your crew. Would you go wipe out Golden Dragon for us?’”

“I don’t know,” Mider muttered, “Look, guys… I know these people used to be your friends-“

“Not Boil,” the Hellion interrupted, “That man was scum…”

“Look, they hurt people… You guys don’t want to do that anymore, do you?”

“No…” Tommy Strik replied, “No we don’t. With the Tsoo, we were always harassing people who couldn’t fight back… There was no honor in that, no matter how the bosses spun it…”

“I got my reasons for this,” Slag growled, “I don’t need your moral trip to bring me down.”

Mider shook his head and started walking away. They were done for all intents and purposes, and it was time to get the paperwork taken care of. He was about to fly away when he felt Olive’s light hand catch his shoulder.

“Caid… I need to thank you,” she said, “For… For sticking with us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We heard you were considering leaving…”

He looked to the rest of the team members, which were preparing their egresses from the area. Some of them were scratching their necks at the sudden attention. Johnny, however, just sneered and leaped away in the direction of the Green Line station.

“Well, I can’t,” he finally said to the green-skinned girl, “I’m not good enough to do this on my own, and M.A.G.I. won’t take me back, my position’s already been filled by another eager young mystic.”

“Yes, but, you and your brother could-“

“Olive, have you ever worked with my brother? Let’s just say that when they say siblings shouldn’t work together, they were thinking about us…”
----------
Garm's crew hadn't had quite as rough a day, but there had been a lot of work in it. From settling disputes between Outcasts and the Tsoo to ushering civilians from yet another round of bank robberies, they had definitely earned their per diem for the day. On their way back to the base that evening, Garm’s cellphone started to ring. He looked at the number and almost spat out his drink.

“Who is it?” Gregory asked, the light of the phone drawing his attention from his reveries in the back seat.

“It’s… It’s Atta…” the Caliban replied, “Should I take the call?”

“Go ahead,” Briggs chuckled, “It’ll be worth listening to him whine that you ditched him again.”

Garm looked back to see if he could get any other words of concern or encouragement. However, the rest of the crew was exhausted from the day’s events and if they weren’t dozing, they were well on their way to dreamland. Figuring it probably wouldn’t matter if he just talked to his old commander, he answered the phone.

“What do you want?”

“Garm!” the voice came through garbled, but worried, too.

“Tatu? What’re you doing with Atta’s phone?”

“We need help…” static interrupted what the other troll was saying, “…breaking down the caves!”

“Who is?” Garm shouted, “Atta? Tat, you’re not making any sense!”

“Garm…” the panicked troll was breaking up, “…Lives… Grendel lives…”

The signal cut out and there wasn’t even static anymore. The former Caliban turned to his enforcer and Briggs snorted.

“A mountain got dropped on Grendel’s head,” he explained, “Ain’t no coming back… Plain and simple.”

“All we know about that fight is what Atta and his cronies said when the dust settled. The Hollowing had just finished, we were looking for leadership ‘cause the heroes were moving in to wipe us out and the Outcasts were pushing in… What if Grendel really is alive?”

“Then we should let him beat the tar out of the trolls out there.”

“How long until he goes after heroes, though? How long until he tries to leave the Hollows and becomes a threat to innocent people? It sounded like the cave was coming down around Tatu in that call… Whatever was hitting them, it was not in control of itself…”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“He’s saying that ‘Grendel,’ whatever it is, isn’t gonna care if it’s kicking over houses and munching a few kids,” Gregory Caid explained from the back seat, “You really want to let it go unchecked?”

Briggs growled something, but he started driving toward the Hollows. He knew there wouldn’t be much they could do with the crew in its exhausted state (heck, Garm was stifling a yawn), but they could at least get an idea of what they were dealing with.
-----

They found Julius in his apartment and got him to take him to wherever he figured Atta had been hanging out that week. The thin troll picked their way through the territories largely controlled by the Circle of Thorns. Garm hoped they didn’t run into too much trouble, he only had Briggs and Gregory with him, and none of them were in top form.

“They should be right…” Julius paused at the lip of a small rocky crag jutting out of a hill overlooking the Red River, “…Here… What the…?”

Garm and the crew crested the crag and looked down. The full moon showed them all they needed to know. Something had come here and torn the cavern down on top of everyone inside. A few Trolls struggled to escape and Briggs immediately set to helping his former compatriots from out of the rubble. Garm followed shortly after, but he was looking for someone in particular.

“Tat!” he shouted as he pulled large rocks up, “Come on, man, where are you?”

“Garm?” he heard weakly whispered from the center of the crater, “Atta… it’s Garm…”

He crept cautiously to the center and saw Atta and Tatu pulling boulders off their friends. The Troll leader glared angrily at him and said nothing before going back to work. Tatu, however, was quick to explain.

“Grendel lives. Grendel’s back… But he don’t have body by 'Dine no more.”