Mr_Grey

"Will you quit complaining?" Mark barked at their charge, "Ever since the cookout, you've been whining about your damn tooth!"

"Well, it hurts!" Reynolds shouted back.

He'd complained the entire way to the Rogue Isles onboard the Captured Dream. At first, he'd whined about hearing a loud buzzing, then he shouted because he said it felt like someone had stabbed him in the mouth. Mark had taken a look, but didn't see anything in Chuck's mouth that indicated anything was wrong. If anything, his teeth were too perfect, and this only infuriated the Corrupter-class rogue further, which caused him to verbally abuse the former Committee proxy until they reached Port Oakes and from there the BWO's Rogue Isles Staging Area.

"Look, tomorrow, we'll get you to a Black Heart Memorial," he finally conceded, "but for now, I'm tired, I want some sleep, and I'm not terribly concerned with your well-being."

"That's not very nice," the genetically altered mutate, Bioserj, muttered as he walked in from the medical area, "Charles is our guest, no? Prisoner?"

"A little of both, actually," James replied as he emerged from the entrance chamber with a box of snack food and beer in his hands, "Until he proves himself otherwise, we're keeping Chuck on a short leash, but it's not so short he can't move."

"So does that mean I can go to Black Heart now?" Reynolds murmured.

"No. Maybe if Solo or Dirty don't mind takin' ya when they get here, but I'm meeting Darla here in..."

"Hi-hi!" a loud squeak sounded from the entrance room, "Oh! There's that cute butt!"

"...Right now!" the Skull-wearing brute grinned broadly as he turned to nod to his new girlfriend, "Come on in, Dar."

"Hi guys!" the brunette girl was dressed in a form-fitting black dress with a hemline that ended just above her knees, "How've you all been doing?"

The gathered "red-side" Brutal Warriors murmured their various replies as she hopped over to Rage and looped her arms around one of his. He set the snack food down on a table next to the ring and tossed the box of beer to Chuck with orders to put it in the refrigerator. The former Committee man grumbled a little, but he got to it.

"So, what are you?" Bioserj intoned as he looked the newcomer over, "You're not... Like others in the Isles..."

"Oh, I'm registered with Arachnos as a Dominator," Darla chuckled, "Or a Dominatrix, but I hear that's a villainess' name. I don't really use my powers or terrorize the planet, but it's great to make a few ice sculptures with dancing fire inside of them at parties!"

"So... You don't take issue with us just being here?" Mark asked as he quirked an eyebrow, "You don't think we have to aspire to be the Scum of the Earth?"

"Ew! Who wants to be scum?"

The rogues looked to each other and shrugged. Darla continued.

"Seriously, I think it's great you guys do your own thing and don't just terrorize the neighborhood for no good reason. I mean, this'd be a great place if almost every Tom, Dick and Harry weren't trying every day to tear it down. Seriously, why would Arachnos let all those freaks and losers loose on the streets like that?"

"Well, that's the billion dollar question, isn't it?" Justin Steel asked as he, his mercenaries and Solo walked into the Ring Room with a few boxes of DVDs, a television and a video game system, "Looks like we're settling in, eh, James?"

"It seems a cool enough place," the brute replied as he dropped down into a chair while the mercenaries set up the entertainment system, "Why shouldn't we settle in?"

"Hey!" a shout came from the office they kept the refrigerator in, "Mark! Do you have a set of needle-nose pliers I can use?"

Mister Remington reached into his medical and pulled a small set of forceps out. Tossing them to the Corrupter-class rogue, he nodded with his head in inquiry as to what was going on.

"Oh, Chuck's got a toothache," Shadow replied as he walked to the office and tossed the forceps in, "There ya go, you big baby."

"[Frick] you! [Butt]hole!"

"You couldn't pay me nearly enough," Shadow muttered as he returned to his seat, which had been taken by Solo Striker, "Oh, come on!"

"So," Daren smirked, "If I'm hearing you correctly, you do have a price..."

"Kiss my [butt]!"

This exchange got some chuckles out of the group. Eventually, Mister Kolt triumphantly turned on the television and the video game system (they'd been careful about doing so ever since Power Breaker warned them to avoid watching Television in the Rogue Isles) and a movie started playing. It was a classic action/horror flick about a cyborg going into the past to hunt down a future savior of mankind to change the course of the war against the machines.

"What do you think Chuck was going to do with those forceps?" Daren asked as he looked back to the office, "He's been in the bathroom a long time..."

"I doubt he was going to do any self dental work," Rage chuckled as he rubbed his girlfriend's arm, "I mean, come on, you'd have to be crazy, or like my brother, to pull something like that off."

"But your brother is crazy..."

"No... He's not. He just likes making people think he is."

----------

There it was. That molar. Second on the left. Made of ceramic, the tough kind that also went in body armor.

A tough tooth was useful for when a person accidentally found themselves biting hard into a pearl inside and oyster. That had also caused him to crack the tooth above it, and he had the entire waiting staff fired for it. It was the first time he'd ever felt the rush of a power trip...

Well, maybe it wasn't the first time, but it was the first time he really thought about it. It wasn't the last time, either.

Charles starting thinking then that perhaps the people he was working with weren't necessarily the best of people, nor were they turning him into the man he always thought he would be. What was worse, his former associates had thought he wanted to be like them. They thought he saw the world as they did, and in many ways he did.

He agreed that there should be men and women with wealth and power. He agreed that these individuals would be in the best position to help the most people. He just didn't agree that they actually were helping anyone except themselves.

Which was why they sold him out. It was why he wound up in prison while they made a new deal. It was why somebody in the Old Committee had activated the transponder in Chuck's false tooth.

Nobody knew where the BWO's staging areas were.

He pulled in a slow, steady motion. It shouldn't have hurt, the dentist assured him that the nerves had been killed. But it did hurt, the nerves weren't dead or perhaps one had grown in or something unexpected was being irritated, Reynolds didn't know what was going on. He just knew his tooth hurt, and he had to pull the damn thing out.

He'd know what to do from there.

The tooth was just set into his jawline. It was never meant to be permanent. It was meant to be tough, yes, but the dentist had assured him he'd be able to remove it himself if he ever needed to. Regardless, there was still a little blood and he didn't really like the sensation of it scraping against its neighboring teeth. Still, after a half hour of tugging, pulling and his arm cramping up, not to mention the frustration of the forceps slipping from their grip numerous times, he pulled the damn false molar out.

He was so relieved he didn't even think to wash it off for a few seconds. He just wanted to catch his breath and relax his arms for a few seconds.

Eventually, he turned on the faucet and ran the false tooth under the water. He pulled the cleansed tooth back and looked at the tiny blinking red light under it.

----------

Charles Reynolds burst out of the bathroom and stormed into the storage bay.

"Pack your [dreck]! Pack your [dreck]!" he repeated, over and over.

"Hey, you're not allowed back there!" Mark shouted after him, "What the Hell d-!"

Chuck threw him a duffel bag, another to Solo, and started cramming stuff into one he kept for himself. Two of Steel's mercenaries, Hackler and Coach, stood and approached the rampaging malcontent with their arms extended to restrain him if need be.

"Calm down, Mister Reynolds," Coach intoned softly, "Why don-!"

"No! [Frick] you, [it only gets worse]!" Chuck shouted back, waving a coffee pot menacingly, "You start getting [frick]ing excited! We gotta get outta here!"

"Come on, Chuck, we've seen that movie lats more times than you!" Daren shouted, "What the Hell are you going on about?"

"I can't explain, Daren! All I can say is we've got to go, before it's too late!"

The television's image rolled unexpectedly.

"Oh God..."

"What are you talking about?" James asked as he started pushing Darla off his lap, "You might want to-"

There was a thump against the far wall.

"It's too late," Reynolds whispered as he dropped the duffel bag, "They're here..."

There was another, louder thump on the far wall. Some mortar dust fell and a couple stones rattled across the floor.

"Run for the portal, Darla," James shouted as his skulls emitted a low growl and lightning started flowing from his body, "You've gotta get out of here!"

There was another hit and some bricks actually fell. They could see into the disused sewer maintenance tunnels on the other side and an odious scent of refuse filled their nostrils. There was also a pair of glowing red eyes out there.

The New Horizon Syndicate had found them.

I'm not too impressed by the extra attacks. I would much prefer more choice between the powers, not just "Oh, hey, if you want the axe instead of Sands of Mu now, you can take it. Or, hey, take a Nemesis Staff now. It'll be cool."

Still, the choice has been made. I guess it will work out somehow.

Another Grey's Army update. I now present to you the cookout. Please enjoy.

EDIT: I edited the latest update to Grey's Army to include a little bit more of what's going to drive the super group next.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Randall announced to the gathered crowd, "I'm not really one for speeches, but I figured something needed to be said once we got things underway..."

The people looked up to him. They literally had to look up to him. Grey happened to be one of the heroes that was towering and bulked-out as far as a human frame reasonably could be (and his physical shape possibly was still beyond that reason).

The cookout had gone without a hitch. Several hundred chicken halves, plenty of drinks and snacks, Randy had even rented a few entertainers and amusement rides like a bouncy castle, a bouncy obstacle course and carnival games. The people in the neighborhood had been skeptical at first, but as their children participated in the games and the smells of grilled chicken wafted through the neighborhood, they just felt compelled to join in the festivities.

Cedric and Matt McGinty ran the bouncy rides. Nester and his girlfriend ran the games. Roland, Kip and Zeke helped Randy serve food to the people and the others milled about, helping where they could.

The people seemed to enjoy themselves. They started to smile easily, their cares and worries were pushed aside and everyone was feeling a lot more friendly. It was a good day.

"I've been one of the powerful people among you who helped protect you. Shoulder-to-shoulder with the spandex-and-armor-clad heroes and heroines, I've helped smash the Council, the Nemesis Army, even Arachnos and I've warred with the Rikti. In the end, I feel I've done my job and left my mark in that field."

"Often on the walls and ceilings of the places those guys used as bases!" Cedric shouted.

"To help with people's everyday lives, I set up Grey's Army Construction, supplemented largely with androids but also including reformed criminals from gangs like the Outcasts, the Hellions and the Skulls. Surprisingly, I've received little trouble with this endeavor, but it's probably because Sam and I threatened to break limbs if they ever went back to their criminal ways..."

"Definitely," the former Carnival of Shadows Strongman concurred between licks of his ice cream, "I've had to tell lots of guys that if they didn't put the TVs and stereos back where they got 'em and get back to dry-wallin', I'd be makin' a centipede out of 'em."

"I like to think that we've been making a difference," Randall continued, "But I also think I've overstayed my welcome. It's not that I feel I haven't made a difference, but there are other heroes out there, more dedicated heroes, more willing heroes. I think it's time I started focusing on my own home and left the star-catching to the newcomers."

The crowd looked at him quietly. They didn't seem to see his announcement as a loss for them. He was just another nameless hero to them, even if he was a local hero. It was unsettling for Grey, but it was a better reaction than he could have gotten. Soon enough, someone would take his place, anyway, so it was understandable. The ashen faces of his family, friends and the heroes who worked for him was the reaction he expected more.

"What are you talking about?" Kip asked as the crowd returned to the festivities, "You think we're done here?"

"We've done what we can, boy," Randy grunted as he served himself a chicken half and turned to getting baked beans, "But I'm not speaking for you, Kip. I'm speaking for me... I'm done."

"Why, dad?" Cedric whispered angrily, "I mean, is it that you're bored? Are you just not challenged? You grow rock out of your body! You have to be a hero!"

"I don't have to do anything. Look at me, son. I'm getting old... Really old. I'm over fifty years old and my hair's finally turning gray. I'm withered, I'm tired... I need to call it in, and I need to take care of things back home."

"But there are plenty of elderly heroes! I mean... Being old doesn't mean you're less effective! You're a burly tank that can punch bad guys into the stratosphere and hurl chunks of pavement into the horizon! You're made of rock... Kind of... And nothing can stop you!"

"But something is stopping me, Ced, and it's time I recognized it for what it is," the big man growled softly.

"I'm not ready to say you're dying," Cedric snapped back and stormed back to the bouncy castle.

"I haven't seen you slowing down," Kip muttered, "If anything, you've been strolling at most people's top speed lately."

"Let it go, son," Zeke gripped the young man's shoulder softly and ushered him aside, "A man makes his own choices in life."

"Thanks, Zeke."

"Don't think this is over, though, Randy," the other man wagged his finger knowingly, "I don't know what it is that you're really bothered by, but age isn't holding you back. You and I are about the same age, and I've had gray hair longer than you. I'm staying, I've got things I need to see through to the end, and I don't even know what half of them are. Still, I'm not going to give you a hard time right now. For now, let's eat, drink and have a good time."

----------

The celebration continued into the night. A few other heroes dropped by to see what the hub-bub was, very few of any significant fame. However, there was one pair that, had they been in uniform, they would have drawn a collective gasp. Instead, it looked like a gray-haired old woman strolling with her grandson who appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties.

"I'm going to go see Randall," the man said to the lady, "You sure you'll be okay without me?"

"I've told you plenty of times, dad," she replied, "I'll be okay."

The young-looking man disappeared into the crowd while the lady made her way to a table to sit. There, she found Roland Grey consoling Kipland Durj. The scrapper-class hero seemed really aggravated about some form of responsibility being shoved off onto him and the bow-hunter was helping him put things in perspective.

"Look, man, it's not like you'll be alone on this. The Army's a small group at the moment, we all know each other, it's not like we're going to leave you hanging when you need help or when we all need to hunker down and work on somethin' together."

"I know that," Kip barked, "But Randy's like... He's like... He's our ROCK! He's the one we can always turn to when things get rough!"

"Excuse me, young men," the lady said smoothly, "I've been walking all day, and I really need a place to sit. May I have this seat?"

"Sure," Roland replied, "We're not saving it for anyone."

The little old lady smiled and slid easily onto the bench with a smooth grace of a ballerina. She looked about the crowd for a few minutes before she focused her attention on the two boys with which she sat.

"So, what do you two have to do with all of this?"

"I'm keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious," Kip replied, "So far, the bad guys have been smart enough to know that we're the kinds of heroes who do bad things to bad people, and even worse when the bad guys try to hurt perfectly fine, innocent people."

"That's good," she favored Kip with a smile, then turned to Roland, "And you?"

"I'm the son of the guy throwing this shindig. I helped with the cooking, the serving... I helped get prizes for the games... We put a lot of work and effort into this. I'm actually a little surprised that... Ooh! Look, Matt's getting into the dunk tank!"

Across the street, Mad Matt McGinty was getting inside the dunk tank that had only arrived a couple hours earlier. After Sheldon had carefully inspected it (Kip had raised concerns that some villain group might have messed with it), the heroes drew straws as to who would go into the tank. Randy would, of course, go last. First, however, was Matt.

"Okay, everybody, for your enjoyment, we added ice to the water!" he announced happily, "It's an insulated tank, too, so this is gonna be so cold, I might just forget my gender!"

This got a laugh from the crowd, and he continued with the proper behavior of the dunk tank victim...

"Not that I have to worry... You're all a bunch of noodle-armed sissies!"

The first contestant, a guy who looked like he was on a local baseball team, bulls-eyed the target and Matt was dumped into the drink. He flailed around inside for a few seconds before suddenly bounding out of the water and finding his way to the seat. He breathed rapid gasps of breath and dared the contestant to try that again.

Instead, the contestant handed his next ball to a little kid and went to claim his prize. As Matt jeered him on, the kid threw the ball and missed the target. Before Matt could start taunting the kid (even though he didn't intend to), Cedric stepped around the wall and swatted the target anyway, dumping his apartment roommate into the drink to the laughter and applause of the crowd.

"He shouldn't do that," Kip muttered, "He's next."

"I should probably start firing up the hot chocolate, then," Roland grunted, "I make some awesome hot chocolate, ma'am."

"That's what I hear," she replied, "My daughter speaks very highly of her friends, especially you."

Roland's brow furrowed at that. He turned to Kip and shrugged to his friend's expression of shock.

"It's so good that she's making friends among the more simple-minded heroes," the elderly lady sighed, "Her grandfather never really got the chance... He was propped up as a poster boy almost from the beginning and found himself having to live up to an example I don't think he ever really felt he exemplified. I was a little luckier... I was able to live mostly out of the spotlight... Live my own life... I just hope my daughter gets to find someone for herself as well. Someone nice and loyal... Someone who can understand her..."

Roland and Kip were leaning away from her now. They suddenly figured out who the lady was, and while it caused no small amount of confusion for Roland, it was causing them both to feel a more pressing sense of dread. She was being friendly now, but they were both quite certain the other shoe was about to fall.

"You boys don't need to sit like that, I won't bite," the out-of-uniform Miss Liberty giggled, "My precocious youth is over... I wasn't blessed with the... gift of immortality as my father was."

"For a while there, it seemed my dad had that going for him, too," Roland sighed as he edged back to a more comfortable position, "Then my sister got married, and he started getting gray hair..."

"Age happens to a lot of us," she sighed, "Fortunately, you've got years ahead of you before you start to look like me."

"Lady, he ain't gonna look like you," Kip chuckled, "He's gonna look like a shorter, fatter version of his old man."

"Thanks, Kip. You just cut my ego in half. You're a wonderful friend. By the way, I
m Roland."

"Alexis," she replied as she shook his hand, "Kip, I've heard about you, as well. How goes your condition?"

"It's remissive," he replied, "No idea if it'll come back, but I have my doubts that the Obsidian Blight ever really left. I've got this snazzy purple glow to my eyes, and have frequent one-on-ones with my soul, though. No pain, and it's been a lot harder to put me in a hospital as of late. Are you sure it's a good idea to be telling anyone your name?"

"Well, that's good. And, yes I feel safe telling you my name. My time as an in-the-spotlight heroine is over. I just direct Freedom Corps now, flip through reports on what heroes are doing, check and see if the groups in our affiliation are up to anything special and so forth."

"So, you just dropped by here to see what my dad was doing?" Roland asked.

"Well, it wasn't my idea. You see... Your father said something to mine... And he hasn't been too keen to let it go..."

"He heard about how my dad ticked off Megan, huh?"

"Yep."

"Well," Kip blinked and stood up on top of the table to get a view over the crowd, "This should prove to be interesting..."

----------

"I hear you're retiring," the blonde young man said as Randy hugged his exhausted wife close to himself, "Seems a bit of a shame. A man who can organize something like this can do a lot of good for the city."

"Well, this isn't my going away bash," the big man replied, "This is just something I felt needed doing... Shows the gangs that they're not in charge, shows the villains that the people aren't afraid."

"They're not afraid because they know if anyone tries to hurt them, you're here to stomp them into a hole."

Randy looked up at the man and was about to retort when he caught the look in the man's eyes. Those icy blue irises... He'd seen them before, up close.

"What do you want," he growled half-amusedly, "You star-spangled sack of-"

"Enough," Statesman interrupted him, "And that wasn't funny the first time."

"Got something of a laugh the way I hear it..."

"Well, I just wanted to let you know..." Marcus leaned in close so only Randy could hear, "Of all the things I've forgotten, your challenge isn't among them. Simply put... Before you can leave, you gotta live up to that challenge."

"You're not serious."

"I need heroes like you, Randy. I need ones who are willing to make a difference, and if it's what I have to do to keep you, I'm dead serious. If you can't beat me in an arena, you can't leave your service to this city."

"Most people retire at my age," Grey grunted, "Especially from hazardous work like this."

"Fifty-five, Randall," Cole narrowed his eyes and grinned a little, "Besides, I've been doing this for almost a century."

"I'm not immortal."

"But you're close. Remember what I said."

And with that, the blonde young man was lost to the crowd. Grey sat there as he held his wife, pondering what paths lay before him at that moment. Sure, he didn't really have to fight the city's champion, but if he just left, what would that say about him? Was he a coward if he didn't fight Statesman? Did he care?

"Randy?" Charlene murmured as she snuggled into his pect.

"Yeah, hon?"

"I think I'm pregnant."

He blinked at her. Charlene Daring-Grey was forty-eight years old. Though they didn't like to talk about it, she had been undergoing the symptoms of menopause scant days before the Rikti attack. However, she now had the body of a twenty-three-year-old... She was physically the same age as their daughter.

"Are you sure?" he asked, the disbelief easily evident in his tone.

"No, not yet," she muttered sleepily, "But... I've been having morning sickness and general nausea... I've been feeling kind of... blah... You know... Tired... I don't know, it's been so long, but I just feel... Something, you know?"

"And what does Sol'ra say about it?"

"She's confused. Apparently, a host getting pregnant is very rare for kheldians, especially since they usually only bond with warriors, and they tend not to... You know."

"Well, I understand that they do do that," Randy grunted, "But yeah, warrior women tend not to be looking to raise a family when they're itching for a fight."

"Precisely."

"Well," he finally sighed and hugged her closer, "The hits just keep on coming, don't they?"

"I love you, Randy."

"I love you, too, Char."

----------

The night wore on and the festivities came to a close. The people of the neighborhood that Randall had called home for the past two years withdrew back to their apartments and the streets slowly drew back into a midnight quiet. Cory and Kip were talking about the next time they would throw something like this together. Randall could have sworn he heard something about bands...

Whatever it was, it was out of his hands now. Despite what others had told him or threatened him with, he planned to be gone before Christmas. He had to move on, even if others weren't ready for that.

As he and his wife reached their building, he heard an urgent whisper behind him.

"Mister Grey! Mister Grey!"

He turned and saw a familiar face. The last time he'd really seen this guy, he'd been wearing a tattered Council uniform. Now, Archon White was in a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt, like some sort of magazine ad model. The guy looked the part, too. In other circumstances, the guy could probably find a more lucrative profession.

Unfortunately, there were too many people that needed Archon Michael White in his current position within the Council, chief of which was the Center himself. The commander still didn't know what his leader wanted with him, but he knew he was in it until the end.

"What do you want?" Grey asked, "Honey, go ahead and go to bed without me..."

"Are you going to be alright?" Charlene said in a half-sleep.

"I'll be fine," her massive husband replied with a grin and a chuckle, "You go ahead and get your rest."

When she was gone, the tanker turned his full attention on the Archon. White stood there sheepishly. It was not a flattering posture, but he didn't like being out in the open like he was.

"What is it?" Randall grunted, "Come on, out with it. It's late, I'm tired, and tomorrow I've gotta help with the cleanup."

"Well... Where to begin... Do you know of Ouroboros and the Menders?"

"Yeah," Randy shrugged, "I'm one of their 'Entrusted.'"

"Well... I trust you've heard some of their ridiculous claims."

"That I and just about every hero in this city is somehow responsible for the Council taking over the Fifth Column? Yeah. That one made me chuckle."

"My communiques with the Center have dealt with this concern as well. In fact, my master says he remembers quite clearly leading Nosferatu, Burkholder, and Arakhn in the battle that vanquished Requiem and the last of his forces."

"If he's vanquished, then why is he still alive?"

"The Center believed he could salvage the Fifth Column, make them into a proper force of change in this world," Michael shrugged and took a seat on the hand rest next to the stairs, "Things are getting rocky, though. Requiem is still trying to undermine him."

"How do the old Column leaders like the fact that you're of African descent?"

"They don't," Michael shook his head, "I fight just as hard as any of them, better than most, even... But since I've been taken under the Center's wing, I've stopped getting the crap assignments I got when you and I met for the first time. The guy's old-school Italian, but he's surprisingly colorblind. It... It gives me a lot of hope that I'm not just wasting my time in Boomtown."

"Boomtown?" Randy arched an eyebrow and glared pointedly at his informant.

"So far, I'm just on standby. I train my men, we watch what's going on in the news, but we don't do anything huge. No heists, no assaults... I don't know what the Center's prepping us for, but I do know what he wants me to say to you..."

"And that is?"

"He wants you to join the Midnight Squad," the Archon shrugged, "I don't get it, myself. I don't know what the Squad has to do with anything, but he said he wants you to join up with the Midnighters and do as they tell you to. He said it's best for everybody, including himself, but especially you and the rest of the heroes."

"I'll give it a look," Grey grumbled, "Now get out of here."

I decided to give my characters a bit of a break in Grey's Army. Randy's throwing a cookout for his neighborhood and he needs to get everything prepared. The latest installment deals with some of the preparations, from intimidating the Skulls into behaving to marinating chicken and mixing baked beans.

After a couple weeks, the excitement from the Warburg Incident died down. Randall, who'd been largely quiet since the second Rikti Invasion, decided it was time to do something more than just going around and rebuilding broken office complexes and burned buildings (in which, Sam Bibbins and the Ryat androids had been a tremendous help). So he gathered up what friends and family he could and advertised that he'd throw a cookout in King's Row. He organized it as a block party in the northeast corner of the Gish. King's Row's governing body was receptive to the idea, and they authorized the cordoning off of four streets just outside Randy's apartment.

What he needed was for his super group to help clean those streets up before the big event. He sent Roland, Nester and Zeke to gather supplies. The androids were set to the task of actually cleaning garbage off the pavement and sidewalks. However, Randy, Cedric and Kip went to work convincing the Skulls not to interfere with the festivities.

"Look, guys," Cedric announced to the masked gang members, "You'll be massively outclassed if you try anything, so really, guys, don't-"

"You don't tel us what to do, capes!"

"No," Randy growled, "Do you see capes on us?"

Cedric chuckled a little and pushed his camouflaged poncho back off his shoulder.

"The point, dumb[butts]," Kip barked, "Is that if you do cause trouble, we're gonna stomp your heads right through the pavement!"

"And we won't hesitate," Cedric reinforced, "We need something to entertain the kids."

Randy was busy crushing bricks in his hands. He wasn't really demonstrating his strength, but he was concerned with how decayed the bricks looked. The Skulls, not being masons or carpenters in any sense, saw the blocks crumbling to dust and noticeably wilted.

"Alright," the leader, a Bone Daddy called Lemeyii, muttered, "We'll keep off your backs."

"You boys might also want to look into squatting somewhere else," Randy warned as he started poking at the wall, "I think there's a leak from the sewers somewhere in here and it's causing some form of mold build-up that's eating the mortar away..."

"Well, we could always use a free repair," Lem replied sarcastically.

"Oh, if I send a crew down here, we're clearing you boneheads out. You got me?"

The Skulls all looked glumly at the floor and the heroes headed out. As they were leaving, Lemeyii turned to his crew and shrugged.

"So, you guys want to walk out of here, or get forced out?"

"Forced out!" was the resounding reply.

"Oh... Okay... I'm gonna need a hearing test at the Zig hospital anyway after that... Well, let's find a local relic, heist it, and get the attention of some heroine who looks good in her outfit..."

"I wanna see skin!" a Slicer shouted.

"Don't we all?" Lemeyii chuckled on his way to the door.

-----------

The community was slow to understand, but that was why Nester and Cory put fliers up on the telephone poles and under car windshield wipers.

Nester had just finished putting one on a car when a pair of Skulls started shooting it. The flier didn't survive the initial assault, but Nester whirled around and zapped the gunner with a microwave burst that knocked him right off his feet.

"What the Hell? Don't you guys know better than to mess with something a flying guy is doing?"

"Uh," the still-conscious gang member replied, "I... Uh..."

"Just get lost, you snaggle-toothed moron... And don't go and get turned into a Lost! We've got enough problems with those idiots than to have to deal with them spawning from the ranks of the other brain-dead morons..."

"That was uncalled for," Cory murmured, "You've got something on your mind, friend?"

"Nothing... I'm just irritable because Misty's been staying at the apartment since Aaron's on assignment. She's due any day now, and she's having these mood swings because of the hormones, and Mindy and I have been so exhausted from it all... I just snapped there I guess."

"And how is the child?"

"Healthy as can be, apparently. Dreams about race cars. I know this because I've been dreaming about race cars, and so have Mindy and Misty... And we don't really know anything about them, but he does, because he's psychic and he-"

"Calm down, my friend, calm down," Cory pulled Nester back from crashing into a wall, "You're stressed, I understand... I'll fix you a nice tea when we're done with these fliers and we can discuss some remedies for your situation."

"Okay..."

---------

"What're we doing, Mom?" Sarah asked as she and Joe arrived in Randy's apartment.

"We're marinating chicken, preparing stew, and making baked beans," Charlene replied, "We've got a lot to make and I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"That's why I'm here," Roland added as he pulled stuff out of grocery bags, "Jebus, what a day. Where's Cedric? I thought he was helping."

"Oh, he'll be showing up when he and Randy are done scaring off the Skulls," Charlene replied, "What happened to you, Roland?"

"Arachnos?" Sarah asked before she realized she'd accidentally read his mind, "Ope, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, some goons from the Isles attacked me outside my apartment," the bow-hunter replied while he dismissed his sister's concern with a wave of his hand, "Don't worry, Snuffy, I know you still have a few issues with your... Oh, hey, Ni!"

The little orange cat rubbed against his ankle and he nudged the top of its head. Ni responded with a play nip to the tip of Roland's finger.

"I love the spirit of this little guy."

"Why would Arachnos troops attack you?" Charlene asked worriedly.

"Uh... Look... It's a long story..."

Sarah's eyes had widened and her mouth was hanging agape. Once again, she'd caught what her brother had thought a second before he said something and couldn't believe the reason he had for being attacked. It had been a flash, but in just a few images, she knew the story.

"Oh my God..." she whispered.

"Sarah?" her husband hugged her by the arms and rested his head on her shoulder, "What's wrong?"

"I... I'll let Roland tell us when he's ready."

"Well I want to know now!" Charlene almost shouted, "Roland, what are you... Ope!"

Mrs. Grey ran for the bathroom and slammed it shut behind her. Her children stared after her and Joe's eyes widened a little.

"Was that... Was that nausea?"

"Mom?" Sarah asked as she approached the bathroom door, "Mom, are you alright?"

I added another portion to the Air Guard.

The Guard isn't just a cold-minded military group. It's got its spiritual side, too... A kick[butt] spiritual side! Father Morgan faces a fiery demon sent to harvest the preacher's soul and the man's secrets are somewhat unveiled.

It was a quiet night at AG-01, so when the flash of light on the horizon appeared, it only sparked the interest of the Guardsmen on patrol. The troops gathered on the main deck as the light came closer. With every passing second, there was a permeating sensation of dread that grew more foreboding.

Captain Rachek peered through a night vision scope at the approaching object and cursed. Guardsmen asked him what was going on, but he waved them off without explanation. The troops readied their weapons anyway.

The object was later revealed to be a fireball of some sort, moving at rapid velocity toward the base. The Guardsmen assumed positions and set their sights. However, the automated defenses were never activated.

"You're not going to be able to defeat this thing with guns or knives," announced a voice over the intercom, "Stand down... Let one who is more capable handle it."

The Guardsmen withdrew with trepidation . They didn't like backing down from a fight, especially one that had been brought to their home and the very base of their operations. However, they held a lot of respect for the man that had advised them, even if they didn't worship his faith.

The fireball landed on the platform and coalesced into the figure of a massive, winged, bull-headed fire-wreathed humanoid. It was a demon in the classic sense at the very least, possibly a "Villain" at worst. It drew a pair of icy blades (a painful contradiction) and shouted out a challenge.

"The preacher is here! Bring me Father Morgan!"

"There's no need for that," the dark-dressed man replied as he exited the command structure and approached the demon, "Save your strength, cousin, you have a conflict ahead of you."

He walked calmly, purposefully, one foot descending precisely before the other. He held his right arm behind him in a way that seemed almost servile, as a butler would, but there was a determination to his gait that clashed against such posture.

Eventually, he stood not ten feet from the demon. While Guardsmen thrice the distance away were sweating from the heat coming off the monster's flames, Father Morgan was as dry as he could be.

"You dare to condescend? You dare to profess some form of relationship between me and your pathetic, putrid flesh? You dare not lay prostrate before me?"

"I don't necessarily dare anything," the priest replied calmly as he pulled his arm from behind his back and a shining sword was revealed to be grasped firmly in his right hand, "You and I were created by the same force, if by different means and leading to different ends. By that logic, you and I are connected at the very fabric of our being. I don't condescend, I merely converse. Finally, I don't have much compulsion to lie prostrate before you, as you haven't really done anything to impress me."

The demon gestured to its wings, fiery aura, and it's head. Father Morgan shrugged.

"I trust you've heard of the Circle of Thorns?"

"Yes... Those contract breakers..." the demon growled a few obscenities to itself, "They've made my job so much harder... I used to be able to inspire hardened soldiers into [wetting] themselves. Now, I look at these babes... They should be mewling, but they remain steadfast and resolute. How disgusting and discouraging..."

"But you're still here for me?"

"Yes. Morgan. My brethren have instructed me to bring your soul screaming into the depths. As a soldier of the war, your soul holds no special protection upon death... I can claim you once we're done here!"

"I know the terms."

The priest was still maddeningly calm. It wasn't just unnerving the demon, it was having an effect on the entire detail of Guardsmen bearing witness. Only Captain Rachek seemed to be watching impassively from his vantage point in the command deck, though he was keeping a pretty firm grip on his machete.

"Enough posturing!" the demon shouted, "It is time to end your life!"

"It is time to fight, yes," Morgan knelt down and pressed his left hand to the deck, "But I am not quite through with living, yet. I want you to understand, this will be a difficult battle for you, and I will not go quietly into the night..."

"I get it now," the demon smiled and waved its two ice blades menacingly, "This is how you beg. You just don't know it!"

"...I rage... Rage on against the dying of the light," Morgan finished the bit of poem and a bright flash erupted from his left hand.

Bars of light stretched from his deck-bound palm and traced along the edges of the grid-like panels that he and the demon stood upon. Eventually, they reached a certain distance and created a twenty foot square that trapped the two enemies within it.

"And what was that supposed to do?" the demon asked, "Now you just can't escape my wrath!"

"Nor can you escape me," Morgan replied, the calm in his voice replaced with a sharp edge and he stood with his sword set at an offensive stance, "Are you ready?"

"I was born-"

Morgan charged forward. The demon barked in surprise and angrily deflected the blade. It wasn't as simple a deflection as the monster expected to make, but his follow-through was precise and prompt. The demon just didn't expect the priest's hand to stop the blade.

"How?"

"My faith is my armor, simple as that," Morgan replied.

The demon roared and started hacking wildly at the priest. Morgan deflected, ducked, dove, rolled and twisted to escape the monster's rush. The demon got too close at one point, however, and Morgan lunged close, stabbing into the beast's belly with his blade.

Despite whatever blessings the weapon had, it did little to stop the demon. Laughing, he set one of his swords aside and pulled the broadsword out by the hand guard. Morgan deftly fell away as the monster gloated.

"This thing barely tickles! I'm almost inspired to use it against you... However, I've fought enough agents of the Host to know how notoriously useless their weapons are against them, so..."

He threw the sword into the barrier keeping the two warriors from escaping the fight and it hung there as if it were held fast by some sort of ethereal glue. The wall it was stuck to glowed gold.

"And now to end this," the demon laughed as he picked his discarded sword back up, "You may commence whimpering."

"I shall do no such thing," Father Morgan stood proudly and brushed himself off casually, "I still have my faith, demon, and that is not some trinket that can be so easily discarded."

With a roar, the demon reared back, preparing to bring both blades crashing down on the wayward priest's head. Morgan didn't even flinch, though he did place one foot behind himself so as to better brace for what he intended to do. The blades came down and the man brought his forearms up. With a quick swipe, he smashed through the icy weapons, then dove his fists into the monster's abdomen.

The demon howled in agony this time. Morgan's hands had actually stabbed into the monster's torso and he was trying to pull something out. The demon grabbed the priest by the shoulder and attempted to shove him away, but this only caused further pain.

Finally, one of Morgan's hands withdrew and he had something grasped. It looked like a golden filament of some kind, and the more he withdrew, the more the demon howled. Eventually, he kicked against the monstrosity and yanked hard on the cord. There was a deafening boom and the two were thrown apart.

Morgan shook his head clear and realized his back was leaning against the barrier. There were Guardsmen shouting, but he could barely hear them. He was more concerned with the thing coiling around his arm, struggling to survive.

"What have you done?" the demon asked as it tried vainly to pull it's wound shut, "What... What is that?"

"It's a heart string," the priest replied as he pushed himself up, "Or it's at least the best term I can come up with for it. Everyone has them, usually in groupings of seven or divisible by seven. Gods and the highest echelons of their hosts usually have more, lesser beings often have less. They come in brands of Mortal and Immortal. Yours are Immortal, meaning you can live for hundreds of years and never know the effects of time."

"But..."

"It simply means you're harder to kill, in the end."

The demon staggered back to his feet and lurched to attack. His ice blades returned, rapidly, but not instantaneously as before. He made a few more steps, but his target was moving now.

The demon made some swipes. He felt sluggish. He felt like a large part of his very being had just been ripped out of him. Worse, that hole in his side was not closing. What had the preacher done?

He made another slash and scored into the deck. Morgan ran up his arm, looped the glowing strand around the demon's neck, corkscrewed through the air, and planted his feet into the monster's back. Standing on the bases of the wings, he kept them in the way of the choking beast's flailing swords.

"Your flames are just decoration to me," he growled, "And I don't have the time to rip out your other six strands... I'll just choke you o death with this one."

The beast collapsed to the ground, wondering at all the strange images from his past suddenly getting recalled to memory While the preacher pulled and cut off... Something. Whatever it was that the spiritual garrote was cutting off, it was important. The edges of his vision was getting hazy.

"I truly hope you wind up in a better circumstance. It is unfortunate that they sent you to fight me."

"You..." the strangled words came out from the demon's muzzle, "...Want... Know? Orders? Sent?"

"No. I don't care who sent you. They'll send someone who knows what they're doing next time, and it will have to be someone who knows more than you do. Go to sleep. Goodbye."

The demon's eyes closed, the swords melted, and the body faded away, leaving naught but a scorch mark on the deck. The cube of energy that had caged the two in their duel faded as if it had never been and Morgan's sword clattered on the derrick's surface.

"You'll have to tell me about some of those tricks you just pulled," Captain Rachek growled to his cousin, "I hope this situation of yours with that demon won't be repeated often."

"No, it shouldn't repeat, not like that anyway," Morgan replied as he inspected his blade, "I should have a lot more warning next time, and plenty of opportunity to take the conflict away from your facilities. This was just a foot soldier... An exceptional foot soldier, but a foot soldier nonetheless. The next one will likely be a competent assassin of the infernal pits."

"Really, or just another Circle of Thorns moron?"

"Possibly. The Circle does have some monsters of comparable power in their employ."

The Air Guard commander stared at his cousin for a moment. There hadn't really been anything in the younger man's history to make him a meta human... Nothing except the church...

"What happened to you?" Rachek asked, looking at the priest in a new light, "The church turn you into some kind of demon-killing hero?"

"No, the church had nothing to do with my capabilities," Morgan replied as he looked over the cuts and slashes across his black uniform, "They wish they did. It's why I'm excommunicated."

"What?"

"Well, not officially. I've done nothing that really upsets my superiors in the Vatican. However, they don't like the power I have now... They feel that it is some form of affront against them and have convoluted that opinion into being an affront against God. I've had to fend off agents of theirs as well... It's why I was at that mission you sent those heroes to help. They got tired of trying to get rid of me, so they found me a place to stay out of sight. I think they were hoping I'd get eaten by a lion."

"And what's going on now?" Rachek's brows furrowed in consternation, "Why'd this thing come after you?"

"Rumblings through the universe. Battles across Creation. Forces of Light, Darkness, Good and Evil are aligning and conflicting. This was one such incident. Be glad it was so... Simple. It wasn't a Malefactor, for instance. Those things tend to drive people insane."

"I'll bet," the Captain grunted and turned away, "Now, come on. You've got a lot to explain to me, and I don't plan on sitting out here to listen to it. I don't care if you want to wait it out, I want to know what's happening in my world."

Father Morgan grinned at his cousin's retreating back.

"I thought after all you've seen in your life, you'd know that what's happening in this world is anything anyone can dream up."

Oh God... Another Nemesis plot...

And I'm contributing to the conspiracy theories! NOOOO!

You ever think Nemesis is just claiming to be behind everything? I know that the Center, the Malta Group Directors and Lord Recluse all have a pretty firm grip on their organizations, and the Skulls ands Hellions war seems a bit too-far below the "great mastermind's" notice.

Could it be that Nemesis, whatever Nemesis is (I have my doubts that it's a single man anymore), is just taking credit for so many things because it knows that heroes are looking for an "Ultimate Evil?"

-----

In any case, the big announcement... My money's on kittens.

Now, if I bet negative dollars, does that mean I'll be paid if I win?

I put up another story of the Air Guard. Kind of a schlock moment, really. Captain Carter is invited by general Aarons to test out a new training regimen that Vanguard is instituting.

I'm also trying to incite the Blakmoore Safehouse into the beginning moment of Operative Taylor's revenge against those who caused his downfall. Not sure how it's going, though. The link leads to the current arc, which is decidedly a lack of one. They just got done with a mission where they fought the Atlas Park Vanguard DPO (for some unknown reason; it looked to be an attack just to do something; needless to say, one of the RPers is looking to punish them something painful; I think he intends to use my Air Guard for it).

"Hello, Mr. Carter," General Aarons said as he met the business suit-clad man in the corridors of the Atlas Park Vanguard DPO, "I trust your trip was uneventful."

"And that in itself is an event, considering the world we live in," the Air Guard Intelligence Coordinator replied, "And it's Captain, by the way."

"Not in any recognized military. However, I'll do you one better than I normally do, and I'll just call you Carter, that fine?"

"Carter's fine."

They walked down the corridors, a team of six bodyguards flanking them. The general hadn't explained why he wanted Carter to come down to Vanguard, but since he had some paperwork to fill out with other Vanguard administrative offices in regards to some jurisdiction clap-trap, so he decided to indulge the old man.

The conversation remained decidedly neutral. Sure, it seemed like General Z was interested in the progress of the Air Guard's growth and its training practices (not a steady climb on recruiting, but Carter was able to really improve things with a set of training exercises that involved actually shooting at his students with rubber rounds, which was giving them a real appreciation for tactical strategy), but there was a decided undercurrent of distraction and anticipation. Carter answered the questions guardedly, and took note of the paces and turns through the halls and corridors.

They reached an elevator that needed to be opened by a key, a hand print, and an eye scan. General Aarons had clearance for all three and his credentials opened the doors. He selected two guards and beckoned them and his guest to follow him in before dismissing the rest of the entourage.

"What's going on?" Carter asked as the doors closed and the car started to descend, "It's fairly obvious you don't want me here to talk."

"There's a situation," Aarons replied, and said no more.

When the car reached its destination, the appearance of the corridors changed to a sort of metallic corridor that most groups looking for a "Sterile Progress" aesthetic that a lot of groups were doing to death. They stepped out of the car and made their way down this new set of corridors until they reached a peculiar chamber.

Inside sat a set of Rikti on one side, the Lady Grey, a pair of heroes and a couple negotiators on the other. Carter arched his eyebrow at this and looked to the General.

"Again I ask, what is going on?"

"I want you to be on the security detail," Aarons replied, "I think we're finally going to get this to work."

"Why aren't you in there?"

"Aliens said my gruff demeanor put them off a little, so I'm going to review the negotiations after the session and advise Ms. Grey where to go from here. Just go on in, don't say anything and keep an eye on what's going on."

"Why do you want me in on this?"

The general and his guards simply walked away and Carter was left with the option of walking into the negotiations chamber and assuming a guard post. It was odd, indeed, but he was far from ill-prepared.

The door opened quietly. Lady Grey took note of him with a glance and immediately went back to reviewing the paperwork and murmuring with her negotiations adviser. The Rikti looked to him, but despite all of his experience, he still could not read their expressions.

The last time something like this happened, the Nemesis Army arrived to spoil the fun. The negotiations fell apart and it was up to a group of rag-tag heroes and rogues to save the day. Perhaps the negotiators thought that being deeper in the city would protect them, but Carter had assisted with enough Nemesis cells when he worked for the Malta Group to know the fallacy of that logic.

Still, they once-again had Faultline and Fusionette. Perhaps this time the heroes would stick to the task of defending the proceedings instead of wandering off for Gods-knew what reason.

An aide walked in through a door on the opposite side of the room from the one Carter entered and approached the human negotiators. She took up a stack of papers Grey's assistant handed her and started walking to the Rikti negotiators. As she passed Carter, he got a whiff of her perfume. It smelled heavily of lilac and honey, but had an undercurrent he was familiar with.

Too familiar.

The doors opened at once and more aides started streaming in. Unfortunately for them, Carter was already moving. He flicked his left hand out and a small hold-out pistol slid into his palm. He snaked his right arm forward and a peculiar looking gun with a thick barrel extended into his grasp.

The aides were just starting to draw their own weapons when he fired to his left and in front of him. The smell had been lubricant, a type that was similar to the cleansing solution used on weapons.

The aide to his left staggered as "she" was struck, her movements suddenly turning jerky as her mechanical nature revealed itself. Carter squeezed a few more rounds into her as he dropped his right-hand weapon, which had just fired a blast of tungsten buckshot that tore the barrel to pieces and rendered it useless, but the buckshot tore clean through the two automatons in front of him and ripped them to pieces before they could get a shot off.

He was jsut reaching into his jacket when everything went chaotic. The guards started scrambling, the Rikti revealed their own weapons and started defending themselves, even the heroes and Lady Grey stood up to smash into the assailants.

Then the room seemed to disintegrate and Carter found himself standing in the middle of an empty metal room, save his discarded weapon and the ammunition he'd fired scattered all over the floor. There was a slight hum in the air that was eventually cut off before one of the doors opened and General Aarons and his guards calmly strode into the room.

"How did you get weapons into the DPO?"

"Even if you guys were running your metal detectors," Carter started buttoning up his suit jacket again, "You never would have registered my weapons. I use ceramics and non-magnetic metals for my guns. You'd be surprised how capable these guns are."

"And what the Hell was that?" one of the guards almost shouted, "It looked like a shotgun..."

"I'm wondering about this simulation," Carter avoided the question, "That was a surprisingly realistic representation... I could smell them!"

"Heh, yeah," Aarons clapped the trainer on his shoulder, "I wanted to see what a real instructor would have to say about this. We based this trial on the original event, but with a few tweaks to make it more plausible."

"My first hint was that you brought me into it so willingly without an explanation," Carter smirked, "Were I still with the Group, there are any number of things I could have done just now."

"Like what you did," the General replied smugly.

"True, but I was a cog in the great machine. I probably would have shot Lady Grey, the Rikti Ambassador, and tried to port out. Failing that, I would have shot my way out. They do train Special Qualification Marksmen to do just that sort of thing, fully expecting them to die in the process, but also teaching them to not care."

"I bet that's a tough sale," the general smirked.

"It's all for the Greater Good," Carter shrugged, "What they don't tell them is what that Greater Good really is."

"Indeed. So... Do you have any pointers on how we can improve this?"

"Well, I'd have to know how you're doing it, first..." the Intelligence Officer replied, "Might I suggest we discuss this over a drink? Getting worked up like that made me thirsty."

Finally added the follow-up portion to the latest Air Guard episode.

In this one, I finally explain why the group is struggling to keep afloat like it is instead of just disbanding and joining various military organizations, Vanguard or even Freedom Corps and Longbow. Well, at least the average Guardsmen's reasons...

Also, as a side note, Agent Wolfers is named after Bamawolf. I'd just gotten one of her e-mails as I prepared to write the prior portion and I needed a name for the first Longbow Agent of the Red Jesters. The squadron's named after a nightmare I once had, though it's also the nickname of an Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni squadron.

The Chasers and Warbirds were flying in a pair of staggered "V" formations, with the Air Guard fighters above but trailing the Chasers. They were patrolling around the tropical island at a leisurely pace, with the commanders chatting. For the most part, they talked about the aspects of their vehicles, from how they were similar to how they were different.

While they Chasers probably had a better short-range speed, the Warbirds were definitely capable of getting across long distances much easier with their more powerful afterburner thrusters. Their weapons systems were roughly comparable, though the Warbirds stuck more to the hard-hitting weapons as opposed to the Chaser's preference for incendiary armaments. The major difference between the two types of vessels was the armor. The Warbirds had a thicker hull, possibly causing the decreased stunt speed, but enabled the machines to take much more punishment than the Chasers. Of course, the Chasers had a theoratically easier time of getting out of the way of incoming assaults.

"So," Sonny looked to his gauges as he talked, "How much longer can you guys push your jets?"

"Chasers can fly almost indefinitely," Thomson replied, "But their performance starts to suffer after eight hours or so. We've still got a couple hours left in us. You?"

"Meh, much the same. The power plant inside this baby's got enough for a few more hours, so we should be able to keep up."

"So, tell me something, Sonny," Thomson's tone shifted from the neutral tone for the technical conversation to a more personal tone, "Why is it you guys are still way out there? Freedom Corps could definitely benefit from the collected experience of your group. I'm sure the military would be willing to bring you guys back in, too."

"Yeah, they probably would," Sonny sighed, "Frankly, I don't know why we stuck with the Guard. For some, it's probably personal. We did some bad things as Sky Raiders, and if we didn't do the dirty deeds, we at least helped facilitate them. We have a lot to atone for, and I think a lot of us want to do it on our terms."

"Yeah, but you can probably do that with Freedom Corps... Longbow's surprisingly cooperative when it comes to personal vendettas against known villains."

"See, and that's what I didn't like about Longbow. It's like a pack of vigilantes backed by the U.S. government. If you guys succeed, it's a victory for Truth, Justice and the American Way. if you fail, well, you were a rogue group of Longbow, anyway, and Freedom Corps hemorrhages some scapegoats. We don't see that in the Air Guard."

"It doesn't quite work like that," Thomson sighed, "but I get what you mean about sponsored vigilantes. Of course, you make it sound almost like being a super-powered private security company in the service of Big Oil."

"From what I hear, that's someone else. In any case, if we break the Guard up, we're probably more likely to join Vanguard than anyone else. I mean, we are contracted by the U.N. at the moment, so they'll probably look to absorbing us at some point if we prove to be enough of an asset."

"Sounds-!"

Agent Thomson wasn't able to finish. A red glow suddenly emitted from the depths of the forest to their starboard and the jets turned to face the threat. Captain Sonnethavilay looked to his sensors and noticed that the radar wasn't picking up anything.

"Damn, that Flier's got some sort of ECM," he shouted, "Lock and load, boys! Engage pattern Delta!"

The Warbirds seemed to scatter in all directions as the Chasers fell out of the way of the Flier's energy cannon barrage. The big black machine then tore out of the treeline and occupied the space the two squadrons had once been occupying.

"Hit it hard and hit it fast, boys!" Sonny's command reverberated through the Red Squadron and the Warbird guns started blazing metal death at the Arachnos VTOL.

The Flier whirled around and launched a flurry of missiles with strange iridescent trails. The missiles largely missed, but the explosions battered the assaulting vessels about. If it weren't for the lift thrusters stabilizing them, the Warbirds would have fallen out of the sky.

The Flier's main turret leveled on the lead Warbird. Just as the gunner was about to squeeze the trigger, a gout of flame obscured his vision. The Longbow Chasers had flown a little away from the battle before performing a coordinated formation half barrel roll back into a Flying-V attack formation. As they passed over the Flier, they hit it with their incendiary solutions, covering the machine in flames when Agent Wolfers "bumped" the top of the craft and ignited the solution with his thrusters.

The Air Guard vessels then hit it with their own missile barrage and strafed past. Apparently, the pilot of the Arachnos vessel decided it was time to get out of there, so the black machine started making for the open waters and back for Grandville. Needless to say, neither the Air Guard nor the Longbow Squadrons intended for the transport to make it.

Immediately, the chase was on. As the smaller vessels swarmed about the larger fleeing machine, peppering it with bullets and missiles, the Arachnos Flier responded with flurry after flurry of missiles.

The battle was not going well for the Flier, so they attempted a desperate maneuver. The side hatch popped open and the pursuing heroes and Guardsmen were prepared for anything but what they faced. What emerged from the hatch was not some desperate Wolf or Bane Spider, firing an assault rifle or a Nullifier Mace at the pursuers, but the Sanguimancer, the large dual-wielding knight that had given them such trouble earlier.

The brute let out a monstrous roar. Despite having once been human, the Sanguimancer was now truly a beast among villains, and he reveled in it. After the deafening roar, the monster leaped from his perch at the hatch of the Flier and dove for Captain MacAuliffe's Warbird.

Most pilots would have tried to shoot the brute out of the sky. The thought even crossed Mac's mind, too. However, another thought struck him, and, laughing, he pulled back on his control stick and caused his Warbird to pitch back and almost stop suddenly in mid-air. His squadron passed him by, but he could catch up.

The important thing was the Sanguimancer, who expected him to be at a certain point in the air when he jumped. Mac's Warbird was not there and the brute fell to the drink below.

"Look at the idiot flail!" the captain announced through his squadron channel, "I think he's-WOAH!"

A curved blade flew into the air past his Warbird and the vessel was jarred a little.

"Holy crap, there was a wake on that! Nyah-hah! You missed me!"

The sword came back and stabbed into the canopy. MacAuliffe screamed and leaned back and to the right in his seat. The sword seemed to shake, wobble and push deeper into the cockpit after him. The Guardsman drew his sidearm, pressed the muzzle against the glass of the windscreen at the point where he could see the sword's hilt, and squeezed off a round. The glass broke out some more and the sword was sent flying away into the distance before it abruptly stopped and dropped faster than a stone to its wielder.

"That was some freaky [dreck]!" he shouted, "His sword came after me! I repeat, his [freaking] sword came after me!"

"Well then get out of there," Sonny replied, "Get back in the formation, Mac, we need you!"

The pilot made sure his flight mask was strapped on tight and kicked on his afterburners. Below, the Sanguimancer swam futilely as it tried to keep up.

---

A pair of rockets struck home on the Flier's port hover pod and the vessel started to fall.

"The first shell hit the Bismarck," Agent Thomson sang, "They knew she couldn't last!"

"That mighty German battleship," Mac chimed in as his Warbird came screaming into the fight, "Is just a memory!"

His missiles were loosed and the starboard hover pod was decimated. The Flier started falling faster and the squadrons gave a cheer. Almost in response to the jubilation, the Flier started flooding the skies with missiles. However, the Chasers and Warbirds simply had to fly out of range and the weapons were already zipping around erratically. They watched as the machine plummeted, smoking, to the sea.

"Call in your carrier," Captain Sonnethavilay said to Agent Thomson, "This was your assignment. We were just along for the ride."

"Thanks," Thomson replied, "It was a pleasure working with the Red Squadron."

"It was a pleasure working with the Red Jesters."

"Funny, that..." Thomson chuckled before radioing in to his ship's captain that they'd located and disabled the Flier.

---

The Sanguimancer reached where the Flier had crashed but only a few bits of floating debris remained. Looking about confusedly, he felt something grip his ankle. Reaching down (and sinking into the water), he gripped the puny little fish man that knew it was making a mistake before he even got to it. The Coralax Hybrid made some bubbles as it screamed and the big beast yanked it closer by the wrist.

Gripping the pathetic creature by the head and the ankles, he twisted and broke several vertebrae, in the neck and the back. Thinking he had sank enough, the Sanguimancer returned to the surface, leaving the fish-man's body to float back to its friends as a warning.

A bright red light appeared in the sky as the brute's head broke the surface. A second Flier descended to him and the hatch opened up. A pair of Mu Mystics emerged and floated beside the opening as a Blood Widow reached out a hand for him.

"Sanguimancer," she announced, "My name is Shadeheart... Our Mistress has assigned me to recover you. I trust you remember our Mistress?"

The Sanguimancer quietly treading water was the response she got. The brute was a monster, but Ghost Widow was exceptionally adept at reigning monsters in. He grasped her hand and she was surprisingly able to pull him up out of the water. The Mu Mystics electrified the water as they left and a blue-tinged Coralax Hybrid emerged, screaming, from the depths. A few other bodies, some blue-skinned, most green, ascended from the depths as well.

"Disgusting," one of the mystics growled before returning to the vessel's belly.

Sonova...

Well, I have other edits to do anyway...

After some questions from M I Abrahms, I decided to spend a little time updating my Role Call thread. Bios have been put in for Blizzard Front, Ashen Roast, Martin Sanders and Operative Taylor. I also posted some explanations for some of the new outfits on my characters.

EDIT: Oh yeah, and the author of the Role Call thread is finally revealed as Agent Wild. His bio is at the end of page three of the Role Call thread.

After the recent resurgence of the Midnight Squad, Icon issued tokens to the heroes of Paragon City. These tokens allowed the heroes access to a certain number of free costumes, all depending on their reputation at the time.

Not to be outdone, The Facemaker and her cohorts, Gorgeous Glenda and Lovely Linda, did the same thing with their tailor shops. The two companies aren't necessarily in competition, but it seems the zombie girls understand the risks of seeming out of balance with their "Blue-side" counterparts.

With some new styles introduced at the reopening of the Midnight Squad, one would think even the heroes I support would turn to looking more... Heroic.

No such luck...

Randall Grey and his New Hat

I'm not sure what's going on in the Midnight Squad myself. However, after Randall and select members of his crew joined the mystics and helped with a situation they said threatened both the Rogue Isles and Paragon City, as well as the rest of the world, he was given this gold-lined helmet.

"They were showing me all of these weird ones, and finally I picked this nifty little one with a spiked crest. They wouldn't let me have it yet... They said it wasn't worthy of me. When their smiths finally delivered it, it was covered in gold. I wanted steel, but apparently this stuff's enchanted, because I've taken blows to the head while wearing the helmet and it hasn't suffered a scratch."

Cedric Grey: Tan Slacks
Cedric Grey: Glowing Eyes

After a battle in Warburg, Cedric's bright, painful-to-look-at armor was destroyed...

"Actually, I gave it to Eisen. The armor was enchanted, bullets weren't going to break it, but I hated wearing the stuff. He took it to Azuria to have it fitted to his body..."
-Cedric, correcting me

...Anyway...

With the advantages of Cedric's symbiotic relationship with his Praetorian's soul (again, trapped inside the axe) becoming more apparent, Randall's eldest son decided he needed to switch out some of his more bulky, clunky outfits.

These outfits are more exposed to the naked eye, but the enchantments of Cedric the Gray provide much better protection than the Flak Jacket or the Golden Armor really could. At least he could better protect the face...

Nester Durj: Medic

"Oh, there's not much different between this and my normal field medic outfit... However, I've boosted my gauntlets to amp up their assault output and grew out my goatee. My girlfriend said the mustache just didn't suit me."
-Nester, explaining this outfit, which is better than I could say

Cory Simmons: Battle Mage Redux

Cory recently attained the maximum allowed ranking among Paragon City's protectors. He has at his beck and call an impressive array of fire and ice attacks and arts to confound and destroy the enemies of peace and justice. As such, he has altered one of his outfits to better suit his new capability as a demonic sorcerer instilling fear in the hearts of criminals and true villains everywhere.

The new Battle Mage outfit has been adorned with armor plates from the same mysterious place the Midnight Squad has been sending heroes and rogues to combat a shared threat and an enchanted gem that provides him with a greater focus for his powers.

The most intimidating addition is probably the demon horns he's had stitched into his "Witch's Hat." After fighting against the Circle of Thorns alongside fellow heroes, this wizard has accrued quite an impressive collection of demon horns. Now he wears them to assert his dominance over his enemies.

Finally, he was gifted with a new pair of boots by his girlfriend, the Cabal Witch Gertrude Youngs. Apparently, they're quite comfortable.

Sarah Grey-Durnan: Red Dress

Sarah decided she needed to update her look again. So, she smoothed out the appearance of her red dress. Now it's a simpler affair, with the mystic designs removed.

Now, the important thing to note in this appearance is the aura about her head. It seems Sarah's psychic powers are starting to gain in strength, so much that they're starting to manifest visually.

Daniel Taylor. In many ways, this guy would have to be my counterpart within Arachnos. Considering some of the surveillance footage I've got on the guy, though, I'm not so sure.

A former member of the Arbiter Corps, Taylor first came across Grey's Army shortly after abducting Charlene Daring-Grey. He was part of Arachnos's supposedly scrapped Kheldian study program (which largely involves torturing and dissecting both the energy being and the host), and he was studying Mrs. Grey when Randall and his crew attacked his converted offshore derrick to rescue her.

Afterward, Arbiter Taylor bummed around Arachnos, doing odd jobs and settling disputes within the organization. Eventually, an opportunity came up where Arachnos troops and operatives were encouraged to locate and acquire powerful psychics. Taylor, who had been reading up on the group that had taken his reputation down a peg, knew that Sarah "Snuffy" Grey was a psychic and requisitioned a force to kidnap her.

He happened to engage in this endeavor around the same time Operative Grillo sent some mayhem squads out to cover his tracks for his own endeavors. While Taylor's mission failed due to the exceptional determination of Sarah's then-fiance, Joe Durnan, and the Ryat Androids, Ryat66 and Ryat99, Grillo's proved to be exceptionally effective as the Operative personally kidnapped Sheldon Wallace.

This set in motion the events that would lead to Taylor's removal from the organization. Simply, Randall wasn't about to stand for having one of his crew kidnapped, and he staged an unsanctioned assault on the Rogue Isles. Now, we all know these happen all the time, but this was a disturbingly public spectacle. It's only with great fortune that the bulk of the assault occurred on Sharkhead Isle in the midst of a Miner Strike, so most of the rogues didn't notice the attack, but Arachnos did.

After an embarrassing fight between Captain Mako and Randall Grey (in which the tanker, I kid you not, used a SCUBA tank to defeat the archvillain) and Sheldon Wallace was able to escape the clutches of his captors, Arachnos started scrambling for whom to place the blame upon. Arbiter Taylor was still convalescing after his ordeal, and they weren't about to make one of their most prominent and loyal mad scientists suffer for the fiasco, so Taylor caught the responsibility for the incident (though his punishment was kept surprisingly light).

Afterward, Taylor found himself being placed on "easy" assignments. Supposedly, he had something to do with the fledgling West Libertalia community of Red Sands, which has slowly and steadily been building a reputation as a military force in even that small nation. There are also a number of other smaller incidents, some successful for Arachnos, others successful for us. In the end, he received a final assignment to try to recover his favor within Arachnos.

Daos sent Taylor to recover a unique warhead from an as-of-yet unknown criminal organization. At the same time, the Navy and the Marines sent their own heroes to recover or incapacitate the same weapon. Those heroes happened to be Cedric Grey, a number of heroes he brought with him (mostly members of Grey's Army core members), and the Ryat androids. The conclusion of the resulting battle was deemed a failure in Arachnos' eyes, and Arbiter Taylor faced execution.

If not for his friendship with Arbiter Sands, Taylor would likely have found himself killed. Instead, he was demoted to a state of limbo within the ranks of Arachnos. Now just a rogue Operative, he works for a special corps headed by one "Alan Desslock." Information on this Arachnos operative is sketchy at best, but he apparently started up this program after surviving a mission intended for failure.

There is currently no word as to where this will lead Taylor in his career.

Scraps of the Past

Apparently, the Arbiter Corps has let Daniel keep some of the plating from his old uniform. He has applied it to his new uniform thusly.

Trench Coat
Power Armor
Affront Against Heroes

Now, Daniel isn't a stupid man, not by any means. His bad luck stems from an unexpected enemy playing a harder game.

Now, as a Soldier of Arachnos or (possibly) a Destined One, he knows he's going to wind up drawn into the politics that drive the militant criminal organization. Because of this, he often uses different outfits from his own signature uniform to engage in operations against his fellow Arachnos troops. Even if the major players analyzed the footage that would normally implicate him, he can still argue that it was some rogue villain or even a hero that committed the acts against the organization's cells.

The trench coat outfit is one he wears when he just feels like being casual. It has a personalized Arachnos Assault Rifle and a simple spiked Nullifier Mace. It makes him seem like a renegade militant who got lucky and stole some weapons off a Tac Ops Wolf Spider. A lot of necessary equipment (like Daniel's Bane Spider Cloaking Device) is kept in the belt.

The Power Armor is one he uses when he knows he's going into massively hostile situations. It utilizes a lot of the same systems his Arachnos Armor has, and it's all automated to the same subvocal command system as his armor. He uses a custom Arachnos Submachine Gun and a Crescent Blade Nullifier Mace.

In the "Cape" outfit, Daniel Taylor takes on the appearance of a dark hero, and it seems he's trying to make a mockery of our whole system. The outfit has the same systems as the Trench Coat outfit. Like the Power Armor, Taylor wields a Crescent Blade Nullifier Mace and an Arachnos Submachine Gun, only the colors of this one are altered to match this outfit more.

Martin Sanders led the refugees in Baumton and was responsible for saving Charlene Daring-Grey after she crashed the Rikti Transport Ship. The Rikti had abducted him from Paragon and were attempting to alter him (and failing for then-unknown reasons) when she decimated the vessel.

Under Martin's leadership, the refugees learned how to protect themselves. He taught them how to forage for food and supplies and how to hide from the frightening superior forces in the region.

His training proved helpful, and the people were able to wage a largely successful standoff when the Rikti finally located the former super group base they were hiding out in and attempted to kidnap them by force. Granted, they had help from Grey's Army and the Outcasts, but the heroes never would have had the success they did if not for the will of the people, and Martin can at least claim some of the credit for helping instill in them their drive to survive.

Since the incident, Martin has been brought into Freedom Corps, where his mutancy has been investigated. For the most part, it has largely left his physical form unchanged. However, he has somehow gained a connection to the netherworld, the very metaphysical realm of the dead itself. This is possibly the source of the voices Martin often says he hears. He also says it's worse when in the presence of the Ghost Ship or when he's patrolling Croatoa, Dark Astoria, or (oddly) the Bonny Morass of Striga Isle.

He's also told some unusual stories... Largely about things he couldn't possibly have known. For instance, he often quotes Statesman from a period of time when the hero was convalescing after stopping a nuclear missile from touching down in the U.S. Aside from the fact that Martin wasn't even born at that time, records indicate the city's champion was comatose during that time... What this means about Martin remains a mystery.

Martin's current career has him being part of the Redeemers, the Freedom Corps-sponsored Vindicators Lite. He works as one of the liaisons for the group, his work partner, Gregory Caid, being the other.

High Class Hobo

How to put this... Martin was a homeless man before he was abducted. His connection with death caused a preternatural unease among normal people, and he found himself living in the streets in short order. He was wearing rags when he was abducted.

This outfit is pretty much his rags, only replaced with newer, fresher, cleaner articles. He looks almost like a stand-up citizen.

Freedom Corps Uniform

This outfit does not fit Martin. However, he says he has to look the part.

Like me, he uses a more personal outfit instead of a Freedom Corps issue-uniform.

He still uses spandex pants, though, and often complains about chafing. HA!

Bruiser

Now Martin's starting to look like a fighter. Simply put, he wrapped barbed wire around his arms and hit the streets.

He calls it the Stinger! We're... We're looking to make sure he can't use them no more...

But paperwork moves slowly when it has to (heh-heh).

Blizzard Front is the magic-based, ice-slinging former Outcast who helped Randall Grey defend a group of Rikti War survivors from a stunning Restructurist assault in Baumton. Shortly after the fight, he switched allegiances and signed on with Freedom Corps as a hero.

After doing some random missions with his partner, Ashen Roast, he (and his friend) were hired into a Freedom Corps-generated supergroup called the Redeemers. Composed largely of former villain organization members, from the Skulls, hellions, Trolls and Outcasts to even the Council and Freakshow... Though the former Freaks are massively refined to be more presentable.

Blizzard Front was hired into the group for one reason above being a former Outcast, however. It turns out he's a homosexual, and certain spin-doctors within Freedom Corps thought that his involvement in the organization would help generate some positive spin for the group.

Blizzard feels otherwise...

"I think they should have kept it simple, former criminals helping to give back after having taken so much from the city. Besides, I don't even know how serious I am about this... I just prefer the company of men at this point in my life... Women drive me nuts. See, my point of view on the subject probably isn't even the majority view of the minority! Ow... My head hurt trying to finish that sentence."

Ashen Roast, however, is a mutant with fire powers. Massive fire powers. He used to be an excellent student, but he manifested his abilities during a baseball game as he exerted himself and nearly incinerated the opposing team's catcher as he charged the plate. Shortly thereafter, he found his way into the Outcasts and worked to get assigned as far away from innocent people as possible, which was how he wound up in the same crew that helped protect the refugees stranded in Baumton.

Now, as a hero, he enjoys his work much more. He still gets irked whenever people make jokes about his work partnership with his friend, Blizzard Front and the fact that he's a Fire Tanker, but the overall good he does for the world negates the irritation pretty well.

"I was arguing with Blizz about his professed lifestyle... He says he's never slept with his 'boyfriend,' and that he doesn't really feel that way about him, either. I was insisting that meant he wasn't really... you know... and then Briggs yelled at us. He asked why Blizzard was '[arguing] with his girlfriend,' and after I corrected him, Blizzard explained the argument to him. McBain's a dumb guy, he is a former Troll after all, but after listening to the situation, he asked me if I was gay. When I said I wasn't, he asked what my problem was. I struggled to say something, but couldn't think of anything that made sense, and he simply brushed me off, saying 'Then you ain't got one.' Heh... Then we asked him why he called me Blizzard's girlfriend, and he said he'd been doing that to a lot of guys who argued with each other, it was how he messed with them. Apparently, I was the more whiny sounding... Sonova... I'm gonna flay that green-skinned midget..."
-Ashen Roast describing how he reached his current acceptance of his friend's lifestyle

Blizzard Front: Street Sweeper Outfit

An alternate version of Blizzard Front's Outcast uniform, this has just enough changes to make sure he won't be confused for one of the gang members as he works with heroes.

Blizzard Front: Ice Ninja

Guess where this Ice blaster got the inspiration for this outfit!

Ashen Roast: Street Sweeper Outfit

Similar to Blizzard Front's outfit in style, Ashen uses a black-and-orange fire symbol on his shirt instead of a snowflake.

Ashen Roast: Legion of Doom

Okay, so it's a specially altered set of football pads and I'm being a jerk by calling him something from a classic pro wrestling gimmick, but he's wearing football pads with spikes! Come on!

Agent Tyler Wild. That's me. I joined Freedom Corps shortly after the first Rikti War and spent most of my time as a filing clerk. That's not to say I don't know how to fight.

A strict physical regimen is required for all "powerless" Freedom Corps agents, on and off the field. Fitness and some brand of martial arts are a strict requirement, and I excelled in these exercises because they were my one break from the daily drudgeries of work.

Any time there was a super-powered incident, I was one of the guys who had to file paperwork on it. With hundreds of thousands of heroes and heroines out there in the world, and just as many villains and rogues, it's surprising how quickly the fantastic becomes mundane. Mundane then turns to boring, and I'm left daydreaming.

Eventually, I received a promotion to officer. Honestly, I never even realized it was coming up, life had turned into such a blur by that point. A friend of mine, Agent Keller, had to drag me out of my office and give me a crash course in Freedom Corps drill and promotion ceremony procedure. I don't think I thank her enough for that. It kept me from looking like a fool.

After my promotion to Officer rank, I was assigned as liaison to some of the new groups. Some fizzled out, others started up and just stagnated (if I were to hazard a guess, I would say it was someone trying to set up a club like Pocket D, but you need more than just a small hidden spot to put it in...), but one stood out from the rest.

I wound up becoming the liaison for Grey's Army to Freedom Corps. Randall Grey applied for a free base at the cost of being requisitioned for city-wide emergencies. So far, his group's been active enough that we haven't really needed to issue a call whenever something bad has gone down. In fact, sometimes we've had to reign them in...

I guess that over time it was determined that I had what it took for field work. Now I patrol the streets like the very people I wrote reports on. I'm amazed at how quickly they've accepted me. It's amazing how easily I've come to enjoy my new branch of work. Now that I'm in the thick of it, I can see the effect my heroism has on the individual citizens.

My Uniform

I know, I know. It's not "Standard Issue." Well, the Standard Issue uniform is a special polymer spandex that barely holds back bullets. I prefer having at least a little more padding...

Alright, so this outfit isn't much better... But at least it doesn't chafe in the crotch!

Camo Pants

My alternate outfit. Sometimes heroes don't like the Freedom Corps colors. I have no idea why, but it seems that my organization is known for incompetence. Perhaps I can change that thinking, but for now, I stick to this simple ensemble when I run across the more closed-minded of my fellow heroes.

I posted a new chapter to the Brutal Warriors order... I think I'm done with that story. It did a decent job of pulling me away from the "in-game" plots. It's also a little disconcerting to let the story drag me around, instead of me deciding the course of it. I had seriously intended Rage to get into a fist-fight with Shadowshock, but the characters decided against that... It was a very strange sensation.

Also, I was feeling inspired and decided to add another episode to the Air Guard.

I can't seem to bring myself to name the chapters of the Air Guard stories. I don't know why, but I just get the feeling that the stories would lose something with chapter names in that thread.

Funny thing is, this particular chapter isn't so much about Air Guardsmen, but a little-known squadron of Longbow Chasers called the Red Jesters. It also features my Test DB/WP Brute, the Sanguimancer (introduced in a much earlier BWO chapter).

Finally... IT IS SO GOOD TO SEE WRITING GETTING DONE AGAIN!

I love you guys!

*hugz!*

Agent Wolfers clicked his radar a couple times. Ever since his Chaser had come back from the shop, that damn sensor had been wonky, and it was really bad right now. Finally, there was a blip and the Chaser pilot clicked on his radio.

"Commander, I need to request another trip to the shop for my vessel."

"What's wrong this time, Jester-5?"

"It's my radar, Ma'am. There were a few twitches in the test flights, but the whole thing's shorting out now... And it's game time, now."

The Red Jesters. They weren't necessarily the best of the Longbow Chaser Squadrons, but they were one of the few that had been able to take down an Arachnos Flyer, and they seemed to have perfected a harrying tactic they called "the Dancing Fencer," which had taken down numerous villainous rogues, even brutes.

A few hours ago, their Carrier, the USFC Cujo, was tasked with locating a Flyer that had been detected moving about a set of uncharted Etoile Isles. The islands themselves were not very far from the Nerva Archipelago, but they weren't the location of any major power spikes, nor did any intelligence indicate that any organizations had any operations in the area.

That made it odd that this particular operation was happening.

"Alright, boys, we need to be Wolfers' eyes out there..." Agent Thomson, Jester-1 announced, "Keep your systems running and keep him pointed in the right direction."

"Thanks, boss," Wolfers replied as he fell in at the rear of the formation.

They moved into the heavily forested island slowly. In standard aircraft, like the kinds the U.S. Air Force utilized, they'd be roaring over the tops of the trees and likely miss their target. That was the beauty of the short-range stunt fighters like the Sky Skiffs and the Chasers, they could keep their altitude, fight like helicopters, move like jet fighters, and a number of other exceptional advantages. However, their main drawback, especially for the Chasers, was the lighter armor.

Bullets impacted on Jester-3's hull. Jester-4 and Jester-6 rounded about and highlighted the offending Arachnos troops. They were a pair of Crab Spiders, and they were functioning as a sort of impromptu mobile anti-aircraft artillery.

Unfortunately for the spiders, the Chasers were well-designed for taking down such opponents. Even worse for them, the Red Jesters knew how to fight.

Channelgun blasts scored through the sky, but the "bike-jets" bobbed, weaved and jinked out of the way. All the while, they returned fire and slowly blasted the Arachnos troops into submission, which required shooting them repeatedly in the legs.

After the soldiers fell and lied still, two Chasers descended, Jester-5 and Jester-3, and the pilots disembarked their vehicles to interrogate the men. One of the Crab Spiders extended a channelgun to shoot one of the approaching agents, but Wolfers drew his pistol and put a round into the weapon, stopping it from firing.

"Congratulations," he grunted as he and Jester-3 (Agent Wilson) removed the mechanized spider leg weapons and armor from the injured troops, "You guys have the dubious honor of telling us what the Hell you're doing out here."

"We're not telling you vigilantes nothin'!" the bigger man growled, "Besides... You'll know soon enough..."

The Longbow agents looked to each other and shrugged. Without further-ado, they pulled out their "taggers" and jabbed the two soldiers to the jail cells on the Cujo.

"No word, Commander," Wilson reported, "We..."

There was a rustling in the bushes nearby and the two agents looked back. What approached them was a large man in a suit of medieval armor. His swords were curved, wicked, and slicked with a dark red substance that was very likely blood, but it seemed to be a different consistency. The red stuff on the blades (indeed, it also seemed to be painted onto the black armor in a sharp-edged tribal pattern) appeared to flow and ripple across the surfaces it coated. A pair of red eyes glowered at the two pilots as the brute started approaching.

"We've got a villain... brute-class," Wolfers announced glibly, "Lock on and fire, boss."

"Roger that," Agent Thomson replied, then shouted into the squadron's channel, "you heard the man, boys, cut the monster open!"

The Red Jesters covered their two fellow pilots as they returned to their vehicles. Unfortunately, this newcomer, this monstrous brute, was not bothered by the ammunition being deployed upon him.

Hearing the heavy footsteps getting closer, Wolfers whirled around and fired his sidearm into the approaching brute. The bullets spanged off the villain's helmet and upper torso armor. The pilot cursed, ducked a swipe from his rampaging assailant and rolled away.

As the villain corrected his momentum and started stomping toward the recovering Wolfers, Agent Wilson reached his Chaser and drew his assault rifle from behind his seat. As rapidly as he could, he turned about and blazed a burst into the brute, causing the monster to face him heft one of his blades, and hurl it at the pilot.

Wilson ducked just in time to avoid getting stapled to his Chaser's windshield. He cocked the grenade launcher of his rifle and launched a bomb at the brute as it closed the distance between them. The explosion knocked him off his feet, but the villain didn't even slow as it charged through the assault and crashed into the vessel, rocking it slightly, and wrenched its thrown sword free of the machine.

"I'm gonna need a little help!" Agent Wilson shouted as the brute loomed threateningly overhead, "Somebody!"

There was a loud whine as a dark shape descended. The brute looked up in just enough time to be smacked against his head and knocked over. Agents Wilson and Wolfers had to shield their eyes as dust was kicked up by a sudden repulsor-lift blast that was keeping their guardian angel aloft.

When the dust cleared, and the agents were able to look to see which of their fellow Red Jesters had saved them, they were surprised to see an unusual, "Y"-shaped aircraft hovering over Agent Wilson's comparably-sized Chaser. It was painted gray and blue, with a set of red stripes slashed across its wings.

"Howdy there," Captain Sonnethavilay announced on his loudspeaker, "My boys and I were in the area... Thought we'd offer some assistance."

Before any further discussion could be had, the brute roared and started charging for the newcomer. Sonny shouted something about "lousy sang-" and the rest of his words were drowned out by his own chainguns unleashing a volley simultaneously with the rest of the Red Jesters. After that onslaught, the brute stopped, slumped to its knees, and disappeared in a haze of red energy.

"Okay," Wolfers gasped as things seemed to settle down and the newcomer's jet (for lack of a better word) landed, "What's going on?"

"That's a good question," Sonny replied as he removed his helmet and took a breath of fresh air, "Cripes, I already miss the air conditioning."

"You're with that Air Guard outfit, huh?"

"Captain Sonny at your service. My boys and I were testing the stealth capabilities of our new Warbirds... It's not necessarily the sanctioned term we're using, but I like the sound of it."

"Stealth capabilities?" Agent Wilson asked.

The rest of the Air Guard Red Squadron appeared, suddenly, hovering over the Red Jester Chasers. Agent Wolfers' communicator warbled as Agent Thomson cursed into the still-open channel.

"You mind giving us a little more warning next time?" he asked irritatedly.

"Sorry," Sonnethavilay chuckled, "we're still working bugs out, like the apparent time-limit... We were out here because we figured Arachnos wouldn't notice us, and it wouldn't hurt to scope out a new location for an intel post..."

"Well, I guess you can scratch that," Thomson announced through Wolfers' communicator, "Arachnos sent a Flier out here for you. We were sent in to cut it down because it was close to our carrier... And if they're getting that close..."

"Right... Right..." Sonny stroked his chin, "Well, it sounds to me like we have a bit of a conundrum... How about we pool our resources and smite these lousy spiders?"

"I don't know," Thomson's words were negative, but his tone was tickled, "I might have to get permission from my superiors... File some paperwork..."

"If we walk away from this landing, I'll buy you all a round of beers at Pocket D."

"Deal!"

"Whoo!" was the deafening cry as the Brutal Warriors Order entered the super club called Pocket D. Or it would have been the deafening cry, had the music not already been deafening the collected meta humans.

"Where's Roland?" Solo shouted, "I gotta get my drink on!"

"He said he's on his way," Draven replied, "For now... I say we... It looks like a party is going on..."

The club was almost packed with meta human life. Aliens, heroes, villains, monsters, ghosts, wizards, demons, angels... The list of the different kinds of people present was endless.

In the center of it all was DJ Zero. Somehow, in a world full of conflict and turmoil, he'd found a way to be a calm little center and spread his influence out a little into his pocket dimension night club. Here, if only here, bitter enemies could meet face-to-face and not tear each other's heads off.

Well, they weren't allowed to tear each other's heads off, but Zero allowed for dueling as well. It was a system similar to that in the arenas in the Rogue Isles and Paragon City, but that wasn't why the Brutal Warriors had arrived.

"Bartender!" Raging James shouted to the dancing man behind the counter, "A round of shots!"

The boys bustled up to the bar and cheered as their drinks were arranged for them. Other meta humans moved away with disconcerted and disgusted looks. However, this did not dissuade the amalgamated group, and they downed their whiskey with fury.

As the next round was being ordered, Roland arrived at the bar. He slapped a fifty dollar bill next to the shots as they arrived and indicated he was paying for a round of beers. The bartender arched an eyebrow at him and took the money. He seemed to be muttering something about "freaking drunks" as he prepared the beers.

The group was busy conversing when someone heavy bumped into King Slater. His skin was blue, and he had black triangles over his eyes. His arms had a collection of wicked tattoos and his black boots and gloves were adorned with spikes.

"Shadowshock," Draven muttered, "You keep bumming around, trying to stir up trouble... What are you trying now?"

"I want to see one of you guys in the Arena!" the big brute slurred, "I'll-"

"Get to it," James replied, "I'll see you there."

The brute stumbled a little, obviously intoxicated, and eventually sauntered to the Arena terminals. James, however, turned back to his beer.

"That'll give us a couple hours," he chuckled.

"That was cool!" a cute little brunette shouted, "Are you gonna go kick his [butt] now?"

"After this beer... or maybe two."

"Coolness!" the girl made her way over to the brute and, smiling, extended her hand for him to shake, "I'm Darla."

"James."

"My communicator has you registered as a brute... But you're too cute to be a brute!"

"Well, uh..." Baker fumbled with his communicator and looked at what it said about the girl, "A Dominator!?"

He looked askance at her for a moment. She smiled and licked her upper lip.

"You want me to go kick that guy's [butt]?" he asked.

"While that would probably be really cool to see, I'd rather you didn't risk that pretty face," she winked at him and interlocked her fingers in his, "I've got better ideas on how we can spend our time."

"Check!"

"You already paid," the bartender replied.

Rage smiled and walked off with the girl. He waved to his friends and gave them a thumbs-up hand gesture.

"Have a good one, James," Daren smiled at his friend as he left, "Don't make us come after him!"

"I'll make sure he stays in one piece," Darla giggled as she led the brute away.

"Lucky dastard," Levi muttered, "Almost as easy for him as..."

He looked to Draven, who was sitting at a table with Warden Ross. Apparently, he'd succeeded in getting her to come to Pocket D instead of their other plans... Or maybe this was where they intended to go, anyway. The woman was out of uniform, now in a low-cut top that revealed a lot more of her lightly blue-tinged skin, and leaning pretty heavily on the red-coated scrapper.

"Oh yeah..."

"So, who's going to take care of Shadowshock?" Slater asked.

"I'll do it," Psycho13 nodded, "I'm the most sober one here, anyway... Well, I metabolize and oxidize faster than you guys..."

"Actually," Solo stopped the regenerator, "Where's Mark?"

-----

Shadowshock stumbled through the Arena version of Perez park. It wasn't an actual piece of Perez, but the central auditorium and a section of Everett Lake, recreated in a realistic, possibly hard-light holographic instance that could also have been its own pocket dimension.

Once the big blue brute started trying to think about this, his head started to hurt, so he stopped thinking about it. Instead, he sat down in the auditorium's stage and started working on finishing his bottle of liquor.

He had the rim of the bottle to his lips when there was a sound like thunder, and the bottle shattered. Shadowshock felt something bounce hard off the side of his head and he fell onto his back.

Groaning, the big man reached up to feel at the burning sensation. There was a scar on his scalp, but the bullet must have barely missed grazing his skull. As the wound started to close, Shock blearily gazed about.

There was another sound like thunder and another bullet scored into his right shoulder, slamming him to the stage again. The brute shouted in agony and shoved himself from the stage.

"Rargh!" he got out before a series of rounds perforated his torso.

"I'm gettin' real tired of you [fracking] with us, man," Mark announced as he stepped from the bushes, his assault rifle in hand, still smoking from the attack, "So tired, I'm dealing with you myself..."

He snapped his fingers and a small drone robot pushed its way through the foliage to sidle up next to him. It was emitting a shield that wrapped about the corrupter-class meta human and protected him better than his own wits ever would.

Still, he wasn't nearly as resilient as Shadowshock, who shoved himself off the stage and bolted for the irritating little shrimp. Mark sidestepped and barely missed getting his face electrocuted and punched at the same time. He really disliked the whole "electric melee," it hurt a Hell of a lot more than it should have.

As Shock came back around for another pass, Mark bolted for the lake. With the bigger man hot on his heels, he dove into the water and the brute drunkenly stopped at the edge.

"Oh ho..." he laughed as he sauntered to the ripples lapping at the shore, "It's not smart to hide in water to escape lightning... All I have to do is touch the surface..."

He extended his pinky finger and lowered it slowly. When he touched the surface, his finger sparked red and electric arcs started coursing through the lake. In the distance, he saw the shield generator explode where it had been bobbing above the waves.

"Ha-HA!" Shadowshock cheered triumphantly before he felt something hit him from behind and topple him into the water, "Augh!'

"In order for that trick to work," Mark announced as the blue man struggled to stand and reorient himself, "You have to make sure I'm actually in there."

"WHAT!?"

"You're so drunk... You were staring at the water for your meticulous assault. You never saw me leaping in the air. Sucks that my shield generator got hosed, but it wasn't my shield generator, just another simulation of the... Screw it. You know what I'm getting at."

Shadowshock wasn't really paying attention. He'd found his footing and was starting to stalk after the Corrupter.

"Fine," Mark sighed, "Catch me if you can..."

With that, he bolted back into the forest. The blue brute followed with a roar. If he'd been smarter, he'd have waited.

As he smashed through the tree line, there was a hissing sound. Looking down, he saw a small orb expelling a noxious green cloud. He started holding his breath and pressing forward, but a web grenade caught him at the ankles. Cursing at the sticky fluid, he didn't look up to notice the acid grenade that cracked open on his head, spilling its corrosive contents all over his body.

"Augh! Augh!" Shadowshock screamed, his skin boiling and his senses on fire, "Why!? Oh God, please tell me why!"

"Because I don't like you," Mark Shadow replied as he walked out of the shadows of a pair of trees, "And frankly, I needed the practice. Now, shut up and take your whuppin's..."

He leveled his assault rifle on the tormented brute and with a squeeze of his trigger, the body disappeared in a flash of red energy. Mark's communicator warbled that he won the match, and he found himself porting back to the club.

-----

"Where'd he go?" Shadow asked as his senses came back to him, "Where's Shadowshock?"

"Big lush took off," a tanker replied, "he looked ticked and... Embarrassed. I thought you rogues stuck together..."

"Nothing in life is black and white or red and blue," the corrupter replied darkly, "He wasn't my friend. He's not anybody's friend."

"There you are!" Solo shouted, "Come on! We ordered up some pizza and got some card games goin'! What were you doing?"

"I was busy finishing James's job," Mark replied as he noted that the familiar weight of his weapons and devices was gone. He wondered idly how Zero's equipment was able to make such realistic simulations.

"Yeah, he got picked up-"

"I saw. I don't blame him for the choice he made. If it were me, I'd have gone with the girl, too."

Solo smirked and clapped his business partner on the shoulder.

"So, how'd it go?"

"I won. I won real easy. That scares me a little."

"You won!" Daren nodded, "Well, gratz, man. That deserves a drink."

"Make it scotch on the rocks," the corrupter nodded satisfactorily, "And I mean ice."

I hate going to that site, but I KEEP DOING IT!

I always stumble away several hours later, my brain aching and my mind wondering where the time went.

And another in the BWO thread. Man, I forgot how much fun writing these characters was. I don't really have an arc in mind for this, I'm more or less just getting back into the heads of the characters. So far, this is flying by the seat of my pants.