Mr_Grey

Sheldon gritted his teeth and hyperventilated a little as he brought the ship to hover over Acid Zero's position. Again, he was faced with the peculiar conundrum of seeing two signals that indicated the reptilian's presence, but at least they were in the same vicinity. He also noted the signals of his friends either with or getting close to Acid.

"I'm in position!" he announced.

With trepidation, he looked to the alarm klaxon and interpreted the message being beamed into the air.

Alert: Missile Lock. Alert: Energy Buildup. Alert: Missile Lock...

----------

Cedric dropped the last of the decimated robots on the floor and looked about. Electrical sparks erupted from the broken bodies and Kip, gasping, pushed a large hunk of wreckage off of himself. Nester was busy moving about and making sure everyone was alright.

"That was unsettling," Roland growled at his brother's elbow, "What the Hell were those things?"

"Robots," Ryat99 answered as he fitted his arm back on, "Cheap, disposable, infinitely customizable... It's things like this that Ryat Prime uses to build his own personal entourage."

"So, where do we go from here?" Sarah asked.

"I think this will tell us," Matt tossed a disk to Kip, "It's got info on the Slinger, but that's the only thing that wasn't garbled up in some weird cipher."

"We'll get it to Indigo, then," the other scrapper replied, "We better get moving."

Inspiration's a funny thing, Sooner.

For instance, I'm slightly stumped on how to continue with Grey's Army (it doesn't help that I've got a couple of them and a BWO guy locked in a different story at the moment), but this got me inspired to do some work with the Air Guard again.

So, on that note, there's a new segment in the Air Guard. I decided to have them go up against the Gold Brickers. To help with a visual on the Golden Howler, picture an Orca Fighter out of Command and Conquer, and that was my inspiration for it. I wouldn't have figured such a vehicle for them, except their rocket packs just scream "VTOL!"

Frankly, I feel the Gold Brickers are underutilized. I know that the storyline says they're supposedly being contained by Arachnos, but come on! We don't get to see or fight King Midas? I don't think the Golden Roller is Midas, it's way too open a position for a guy being hunted by Dr. Aeon.

"Ahoy there!"

Captain "Sonny" Sonnethavilay hovered next to the cargo ship in his Skiff while it bobbed and bucked in the turbulent wind. It wasn't a very powerful storm, in fact, at times it cleared up and sunlight got through, but that was no reason not to be careful. There weren't many of the fliers left after all these months. Only the accomplished pilots were being allowed to keep their Skiffs (if they were still functional), and Sonny was lucky that his acts of heroism throughout his career with the Air Guard had allowed him to requisition the reconstruction of his Red Squadron. His wingmen, Captain Wood (formerly of Gold Squadron) and the recently promoted Lieutenant "Mac" MacAuliffe hovered next to him in their own Skiffs (Wood's having been replaced by a Skiff slated for dismantling after a long and arduous argument with the Engineering officers), their weapons armed and sensors sweeping across the decks of the nearby vessel.

It was an unmarked ship, which already made it suspicious. The fact that there were armed guards dotting its surface was another cause for concern. However, in an age where a terrorist organization could take over a small island nation and turn it into one of the major powers of the world, such things weren't entirely uncommon. Still, there was no reason for this cargo ship to be anywhere near AG-04.

Sonnethavilay launched the Red Squadron as soon as they caught the ship on radar. There weren't any signals coming in from the ship, and when he got close, the fact that the poncho-clad guards seemed to tense up on their weapons only further concerned him.

"Mac," his high-toned, yet even voice came over the radio after he greeted the ship, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"I'm getting energy readings from their weapons, but it's not the same kinds of power spikes as out of Rikti guns," the lieutenant replied, "It looks like the sort of stuff I would see around the Vortex soldiers of the Council."

"You mean the guys with the sound guns?"

"Yeah."

Sonny clicked back on his loudspeaker and hailed the ship one more time.

"I am Captain Sonnethavilay. I'm requesting permission to come aboard. If you're willing to comply, I can be reached on channel 83.3."

He didn't have long to wait.

"We hear you, Captain," came the crisp reply, "Come on down."

"I don't trust this," Sonny said to Wood and Mac, "Cover me..."

He brought the Skiff down near the bow of the ship. The funny thing about the Skiffs was that they were lightweight and required few actual landing pads. He was able to settle the vessel next to the cargo crates, but he wasn't about to get the chance to do that.

In the center of the ship was a tarp covering a cargo hole. Sparks flew from the tarp's moorings and it suddenly fluttered off into the wind. There was a loud whine as twin engines fired up and a VTOL helicopter started rising out of the hold.

"It's a trap!" Captain Wood's voice shouted the obvious into the squadron leader's ear, "Get out of there, Sonny!"

Sonnethavilay was entranced by his new opponent, however. The machine was thin and sleek. It glittered in what bits of light broke through the clouds; it was a golden tint. The ponchos of the guards on deck flew off, revealing yellow-and-brown colored mercenaries.

"Gold Brickers?" the captain asked as he pulled back on the stick and his ship hovered up and backed away from the offending machine.

It looked like a small helicopter, but instead of a single set of propellers mounted on top of the machine, it had a pair of pods mounted on the sides. Inside the pods were a set of rapidly spinning fans. It was a system similar to the Gold Bricker packs. Sonny figured that there was probably also a jet engine mounted in the back under the tail which held a rotor (which was similarly contained in the same manner as the lift rotors were).

The vehicle wouldn't be imposing if it weren't for the high-caliber machine guns mounted on four points surrounding the nose of the craft. They didn't seem to be terribly unique, guns were guns in the end, but ammunition could change the situation drastically.

"So, the infamous Air Guard," a voice chuckled over the channel Sonny had indicated, "You boys are causing something fo a ruckus in the Isles. Nobody knows whether we should take you seriously, or just keep laughing!"

"A lot of people say the same about you Lebowskis."

"What? Oh. Right. Well, once we smash your base here and get us some swag, our reputation will improve and the world will see your sad little band as it is."

The Golden Howler started firing and bullets spanged off the Skiff's hull. They weren't armor piercing. Of course, considering the alternative effects of the Gold Brickers' typical armaments, perhaps they didn't need to be. The nose cone of the helicopter rotated and opened, it was apparently a cover for the machine's main weapon, and Sonny understood.

"We've been fired on, boys," he announced to his wingmen, "Fire at will, take their new toy out of the sky!"

"You got it, Sonny!"

The Sky Skiffs opened fire, their bullets ricocheting off the armor plating of the helicopter.

"You marred my perfect finish!" the helicopter's pilot's voice squelched from Sonny's radio, "You'll pay for that!"

Sonny could see the rain ripple as the sound wave erupted from the weapon inside the nose cone. The wave slammed into his Skiff's hull and he was sent spinning around. Bullets spanged off his armor again and his sensors indicated a sudden drop in hull integrity.

"Crap! We gotta take that thing out of the sky, fast!" the squadron leader shouted into his radio, then, after switching to another channel, "A.G. Zero Four! We need support out here! We're under attack!"

"Roger that, Captain Sonny," came the friendly reply of Captain White from the Control Tower, "Support is inbound, coming outta Hangar Three..."

"What does that-?" Sonny stopped.

Hangar 3 was where they were working on the new prototype the engineers from AG-03 had delivered. But that couldn't be what they were about to send to help him and his boys out, could it?

"Tower are you cra-" his words were cut off as his Skiff shuddered anew and he had to focus on keeping from being torn apart.

MacAuliffe and Wood strafed the Golden Howler. Their bullets didn't make a dent on the gold-colored armor, but the missile they struck it with left a nasty dent. Whatever the thing was made of, it was tough.

Sonny was tired of being horsed around with, so he dove into a follow-up attack. His chainguns blazing, he streaked past the jinking machine. The VTOL circled around as he moved past and peppered his Skiff with a fresh hail of gunfire. One bullet scored into his canopy, the hole sending spiderweb cracks throughout the windshield. Sonny cursed as he brought his Skiff around for another pass, his hand hovered over the "Eject" button.

Wood and Mac had completed another strafe, this time catching bullets and a sound wave to their aft thrusters each. Their crafts crippled, unable to return to base unless the firefight was finished, they turned around and started hovering in mid-air. The three Skiffs circled the Golden Howler, each equidistant from the others. Sonny gave the order and they started firing. Bullets bounced, rockets dented, and the angry shouts coming from Sonny's radio indicated they were having some success.

The Howler leveled on his Skiff, though. This was it. One more sonic blast and a hail of bullets later, Sonny would find himself in the drink, hopefully zipped back to the base, but the teleporter tech had been finicky lately, so nothing was a guarantee.

Bullet impacts sparked on the side of the Howler and the display continued on a steady stream for several seconds. The Red Squadron pilots looked to the source of the machine gun fire and could barely make out a dark shape moving toward them. Suddenly, what looked like a flying "Y" streaked through a patch of sunlight, yellow fire trailing out of thrusters mounted on its wings as it started picking up speed. Fire also started barking out from under the sides of the cockpit again. A missile also popped out of the back of the vessel, fired up, and slammed into the port lift rotor of the Howler, decimating it.

"What the Heh-AAAAAUGH!" Sonny's radio blared, "Mayday! Mayday!"

The prototype fighter zipped past the Golden Howler as it crashed back into the deck and spattered the cargo ship with the last of its ammunition. A second missile streaked out from under the starboard wing and blew apart the bridge.

"Now that's what I call a field test!" the protorype's pilot announced over Sonny's frequency, "You guys alright?"

"Latchu? Is that you, Gunny?"

"Yeah, Cap. I'm the guy they pegged to run this hog."

"How's it handling?"

"I think they got it just about right..."

----------

"We're still stumped on a name," the chief engineer explained in the debriefing, "We're kind of focused on Iron Raven..."

"I just want to be sure of one thing," Lieutenant MacAuliffe interrupted, "You guys didn't set this up, did you? I mean, the Thunder Nimbus could have settled this real fast, but it's patrolling for Rikti Ships out by New England. It's also kind of suspicious that the Brickers knew where to find us just when we had a prototype on hand..."

"It's a bit odd that the Brickers had their own unique vehicle to show off, too," the engineer, Captain Adams, retorted, "Frankly, Mac, we're not a big enough organization to orchestrate anything. Rachek, Carter, maybe those guys could pull something like that off, but the reality is that we lack the capital, the ingenuity, and the means to pull something like that here. We were intending to have Latchu paint fight with Sonny."

"Dang," the former Marine Gunnery Sergeant grinned, "Now we'll never know who's better."

"You only just started flying," the Red Squadron leader chuckled back, "I'd fly circles around you!"

"Hey guys," Mac tapped one of the Guardsmen on the shoulder, "Is anybody going to take care of that boat? The Gold Brickers look ticked."

Out in the distance, the cargo ship, dead in the water, was buzzing with activity from the angry high-tech bandits. The control system had been annihilated, and they weren't too keen on how to jury rig a new system. This had a lot of the former Navy engineers chuckling and snickering as they watched the impotent fist shaking of the angry jet pack bandits.

"Nah, we're gonna let them tire themselves out while the Coast Guard comes out to pick them up," Captain Adams explained, "It's easier this way. Don't worry, if any of them get too close, the turrets will take them out long before any of our troops can."

"Sweet."

Soon it will be the rogues asking for trouble!

You see why I poke?

*poke*

*poke*

Got another story posted in Grey's Army.

I forgot to advertise here when I first started in with this concept of a super group of former criminals. They've got Council, Tsoo, Outcasts... pretty much everything except the Malta Group, the Circle of Thorns, the Carnival of Shadows and the Devouring Earth.

The group is called the Redeemers. Most of the membership regards it as a system to keep an eye on the former criminals and make sure they never step out of line. Some also don't like the idea of being a low-rent Vindicators (the fact that they're also rather directly under the supervision of Freedom Corps doesn't help matters, either).

In the latest installment, the characters try to arrest Ice Mistral after she gets away from three of the Vindicators.

It actually took two days for the ballots to be tallied. Greg had to recount a couple times. In the end, Mortiganen was the leader of the Redeemers, Garm was the second-in-command.

They weren't given any time to establish other positions, however. The alarms on a lot of communicators went off and the group found themselves summoned to Talos Island.

----------

"Okay boys, here's the deal," Greg announced as they rode in the back of Garm's van, "Ice Mistral's leading a raid on the National Bank in Talos. Infernal, Valkyrie and Luminary are trying to detain her, but she's hopped up on overcharge drugs, wielding an assortment of artifacts to boost her powers, or possibly a combination of the two."

"So, we're supposed to help?" a former Tsoo sorcerer asked, "What are we supposed to do?"

Greg looked at the squad of heroes placed in his charge. The sorcerer, Genji Lucas ("What the Hell!?" he'd muttered to himself when he first saw the name), Ashen Roast, Blizzard Front, Doug the Ogre was driving, and Briggs McBain sat in the back with the rest of the group, grumbling.

Definitely a rag-tag team.

"Look, guys, the peace-keeping portion of this fight is in capable hands," Greg explained, "We're just supposed to go in, escort citizens to safety, and keep any stray criminal elements away from said citizens."

"Damn, [dog] detail," he heard Doug growl, "We're almost there."

"Just pull up next to the SWAT van and we'll get to work."

----------

"Right this way, ma'am," Ashen gestured as he held the Yellow Ink Man against the wall with a fiery hand, "Please join the police escort."

"Thank you, deary," the old lady replied, "Oh, I wish there were more heroes with manners like you."

"And I wish there were fewer people with the lack of manners like this man here," the tanker turned to the Tsoo warrior writhing in his grasp, "Apologize to the nice lady!"

"AAAAH-OW! You're branding my chest!"

"That will do, sonny," the old woman patted Ashen's shoulder, "That will do."

"Wait, how did you-?"

When the tanker turned, the old lady was being led away by the authorities. The Ink Man then slammed his forearms against Ashen's and drew a knife. Unfortunately, Ashen's free hand came back with a fiery scimitar. The Ink Man doubled over from the second degree burns and a police drone floated over to zap him to the Zig.

"Weird..."

"How's it goin', buddy?" Blizzard asked as he came around the corner, dragging an ice-encased sorcerer behind him.

When he cleared the alley, the police drone zapped the ice block, shattering it and sending the contained criminal to the Zig. When the last of the nearby criminals were safely ported away and the civilians seemed to be making their way out of the vicinity, the heroes moved to another section of the cordoned off section of the zone. Then the process started all over again.

"Where's Briggs?" Ashen shouted over the Arachnos soldier he had pinned under him, "He better not have been left alone..."

Before Gregory could reply, their communicators crackled.

"Is this working right?" a deep bass voice asked, "Listen, if you can hear this, this is Infernal. Valkyrie's been sent to the hospital, and I'm currently carrying Luminary. We're in retreat, but we were able to break one of the gems boosting Ice Mistral. The resulting explosion devastated my demons and is why we're currently in retreat, she should be more manageable to whatever support teams are out there now..."

"What?" Caid shouted, "We gotta pick up their slack? We're not prepared for this!"

"Relax, Greg," Ashen replied as he started walking around the corner in search of their wayward companions, "With any luck, we won't see hide nor hair of-OOF!"

He was cut off when he collided with the villainous vixen herself and they both fell to the ground. Bank notes scattered from the bag slung over her shoulder and Mistral cursed loudly. Ashen would have, too, if he wasn't in so much pain from the cold that had wormed its way through his fiery armor.

"Oh my God! That's cold!"

"You idiot!" the villainess shouted as she regained her footing, "Now I have a splitting headache! I should kill you!"

She stretched out her hand and aimed her palm at Ashen. A spray of cold air and condensed moisture started to wash over the tanker. He was only able to stave off unconsciousness by keeping his rapidly numbing arms in front of his face. Then, for some odd reason, the stream ended with a shriek from Roast's assailant.

---

Briggs McBain was a brute before becoming a troll. A school bully, he wasn't even a thug to the social players of his classes. He followed the ethos of might-makes-right, and he was bigger and stronger so he could take what he wanted. After a while, he stopped picking on the little guys, they weren't a challenge. He went after the bigger, tougher thugs, the minions of the social players and enforcers of the cliques. No one could stand in his way.

One day, a Troll came to his neighborhood. Briggs saw the green man busting up cars with his bare hands. When the ugly, burly mutant made it to McBain's car, however, he found his fist stopped by a similarly burly little man with a mean scowl.

Briggs kicked the tar out of that Troll thug. This impressed Garm, and that led to the bizarre little brute to be brought into the ranks of the gang. The rest of his memory, between his first drought of Superadine and his eventual "curing" was a haze, but he had to admit, he preferred this way more. It was so much easier to fight when you knew what you were doing with your strength.

"Oh my God!" the Arachnos soldier shouted as he tried to pry Briggs's hand from twisting his left pectoral, "You're turning it black!"

"Ha-yeah," the former Troll dropped the soldier and walked out of the alley, "Damn, I'm bored."

"You idiot!" he heard a shrill voice shout from down the street.

"What the...?"

"I should kill you!" the blue-colored girl standing over the fire tanker he was working with shouted before blasting him with a powerful wave of ice.

Briggs didn't care much for Ashen, but he disliked the rogues from the Isles even more. He hated the way they acted better than everybody else. he hated that they got to run around and have fun, while he was stuck protecting the innocent.

So he body checked her from behind, sending Ice Mistral sprawling into the middle of the intersection. Reaching down, he helped Ashen up. The tanker was shivering.

"You gonna be okay?" McBain growled.

"Yeah, I should be alright in a little bit..."

"Good."

McBain dropped Roast unceremoniously and stalked toward the surprised villainess picking herself up in the middle of the street. As he got within range she whirled around and fired a stream of blinding cold air and frozen water in a wave that caught the rampaging Troll in the face.

It didn't stop him.

Without even breaking stride, Briggs had Ice Mistral by the shoulders and hurled her through a nearby window. If she hadn't frozen it before her twirling body crashed through, she would have been severely hurt. Fortunately, she was able to turn what would have been a sheet of lacerating edges into many icy blocks.

Briggs wasn't finished with her by a long shot, however. Screaming gibberish obscenities, he leapt through the air, gripped the top frame of the window with the intent of vaulting himself into a stomp aimed for her abdomen.

He was blasted away by a powerful, condensed jet of Mistral's ice beam. The frozen block holding him skidded down the street and started to crack. Before Mistral could do anything about that, however, Ashen Roast was in her face, swinging his fiery sword about and distracting her.

Unfortunately for Ashen, he was only a mild distraction. A beam similar to the one that sent Briggs out of commission slammed into his chest and knocked him into a lamp post. As he extricated himself from the post, Mistral prepared another beam to finish him off.

Ice wrapped around her hand and Gregory Caid gave her a kick to the chest, causing her to stumble backward a bit. Normally, the scrapper wouldn't have done such a thing. He knew women didn't like getting hit there (apparently it hurt a lot more than a guy would know) and he didn't like hitting women there (he preferred a softer touch if the situation called for it), but she was wearing armor and trying to kill (or at least incapacitate) his allies, so there wasn't room for sensibilities.

Ice Mistral was not happy about the attack in any case, however, and ran over to clobber the black-haired Freedom Corps special agent on the side of his head with her ice-encased hand. The smooth spherical encasement shattered and knocked Gregory out cold, giving the blue-haired villainess the opportunity to focus on the other ice-wielding individual giving her grief.

"Uh..." Blizzard Front fumbled for words, "Look out behind you!"

Ice Mistral aimed her palm at him and it started to glow. If she'd paid attention, however, she would have been ready for Briggs, who had broken from his ice block and tackled into her, smashing both of them into the door of a nearby bar. In fact, it seemed to Blizzard that she did start to take him seriously a second before the end, as she heard the thuds of McBain's feet as the brute charged and turned just in time to scream angrily.

"Is he alright?" Genji asked as he appeared next to Gregory, "Why isn't he porting to the hospital?"

"Ooh..." the scrapper groaned in response.

"She clonked him over the head," the blaster replied, "Do what you can, I'm going to see if Briggs needs any supp-"

Ice Mistral came flying out of the bar door. She twirled over their heads, grabbed a lamp post, spun around like she were an exotic dancer and fired a beam of freezing energy at her pursuing assailant. Briggs was frozen in the doorway, looking like a greener, more violent version of a classical comedy trio.

The remaining heroes were stunned. They didn't know what to do. The former sorcerer came up with an answer fast, however, as he grabbed Caid's prone body and disappeared in a flash. Blizzard was left to chuckle sheepishly as the villainess leveled her frosty gaze at him.

"Uh... Nice weather we're having?"

"Shut up," Ice Mistral muttered as she pulled the bag from her back and looked inside, "What!? It's empty!?"

There was a guttural chuckling coming from the ice block in the doorway. Mistral turned to it slowly. Her eyes took on a frightening blue light and she stepped down from the lamp post. The guttural laugh stopped.

An orb of ice appeared in her hand and she waved at Blizzard Front. He was blasted aside by a wave of cold air and Mistral was free to focus her attention on the offending sculpture.

With all of her strength, she smashed the orb against the frozen image of Briggs McBain, first causing it to grow icicle spikes, then it shattered. As Blizzard picked himself back up, he saw that the spikes were on the inside of the sculpture, too, but something else curiously wasn't. Briggs's blood was nowhere to be seen, nor was his body, and Mistral was very concerned about that.

At first, she assumed he'd been teleported away by that pesky sorcerer. As she turned back to Blizzard Front, however, she was violently corrected. Briggs McBain burst out of the bar window with a pool table in his hands and a loud roar exhaling from his lungs.

The villainess turned back to see the crazy green man had shards of glass sticking into him and his eyes had turned bloodshot. She didn't have any more time to defend herself, however, and the bizarre burly beast hurled the table at her with all of his strength. She blocked it with her wrist guard, and it cracked as the table shattered.

Infernal had mentioned that she was boosted by artifacts. This wrist guard was one such artifact. A bracer utilized by an ice-wielding heroine from the '50s, it was powerfully amplifying Mistral's own blasts. Unfortunately, now, broken, it exploded violently. Ice Mistral was thrown down the street with a snow storm expelling from her arm. The walls of the buildings were covered in sheets of ice and there was a disturbing groaning sound once everything settled.

"Frost cracks rock," Blizzard explained as he and Ashen Roast helped Briggs out of the drift, "It normally doesn't affect buildings so quickly, something about the physics of it, but who knows just how much frost was jammed into all those cracks at once right now? Then there's the moisture already in there!"

"We've got to stop her," was Ashen's only reply.

"I think she's stopped, bro. We don't need to- Ashen, wait!"

The tanker charged down the frozen street. He was used to this, sliding on the ice. He'd been to Frostfire's hangouts plenty of times, and took special care to practice on the frozen floors as often as possible. Now, the practice paid off, and Ashen was able to tackle the disoriented Ice Mistral.

"Augh, get the Hell off of me, cape!" she shouted as he bunched her arms behind her back.

"You have the right to remain silent!" Ashen replied as he pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his belt, "Man, I never thought I'd have to use these..."

Mistral stopped struggling. At first, Ashen thought this was going to end without further incident until he saw her hands were open. An icy cascade launched the tanker into the air and he landed on a rooftop with a solid thump and a groan of pain.

"That was annoying," the blue haired woman grumbled as she pushed herself up ad dusted off her hands, "Now, how am I goin g to get my money back? I-Oh, son of a- Don't you ever [frig]ing quit!?"

Briggs was sliding across the ice. Unlike Ashen, however, he seemed extremely unstable. He finally fell to his side and slid to her feet.

"Aw, looks like somebo-OOF!"

Briggs's foot slammed into Mistral's belly and he spun around on the ice and kicked her in the leg, tripping her over. There was a barking laugh off to the side of the street, and she turned to see a red-haired Ogre holding his sides.

"Ha!" Doug finished, "Looks like somebody doesn't know Briggs is a break dancer!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" she muttered as her gaze shifted back to her more prominent source of distress.

Briggs was spinning around on his shoulder blades, his legs flailing about wildly. Mistral was caught across the cheek by the inside curve of one of his feet and she rolled away, in anger and in pain.

"Godammit!" she shouted and threw a gale at her offending opponent, then blasted the boulder the Ogre threw at her, "Are you all trying to [tick] me off!?"

"We're not letting you get away!" Gregory Caid shouted from a rooftop, "It's personal, now!"

"Oh for the love of..."

Mistral looked around the block for a way out and saw an opportunity. With dread, the former Council Archon realized they hadn't cleared this region of civilians. Case in point, there was a young boy cowering under a melting sheet of ice.

"Say goodbye to the cruel world!" the ice princess cackled as she plastered the wall with a fresh sheet.

The wall groaned, cracked and bits of ice started to fall down toward the child's head. The heroes tried to act in time, and it was Briggs who scrabbled over the ice sheet, dove, and took the brunt of the falling ice and rock. With his arms and upper torso hanging over the kid like a protective shelter and breathing heavy, McBain looked down at the frightened boy looking up at him.

"My names Jimmy," the kid mumbled.

"It's okay, Jimmy," the big green man growled, "Run to your momma."

"Okay."

"No kids..."

"Briggs!" Doug shouted, "Somebody stop him!"

"No kids."

"Why?" Blizzard asked, "He's been the guy tanking Mistral this whole time!"

"He has a thing about hurting kids!"

"NO [frig]ing kids!" Briggs shouted.

His vision was turning a dangerous shade of red. The only thing he could see was the fleeing Ice Mistral. He slipped on the ice trying to chase her down, and in his maddened state, he slammed his doubled-up fists into the sheet, shattering it. Everyone currently on it was slammed to the ground, and Briggs caught up with his quarry in record time.

"Get off of me, you ugly freak!" the blue woman shouted.

She was spraying him with a near-constant stream of cold. The ice wasn't stopping Briggs, though. It wasn't even slowing him down. He just kept pressing through the wave, his maddened face revealing itself every so often at the frightened woman.

"Emergency teleport!" Mistral finally shouted as the mini Troll was holding her in the air by her ankle and shoulder.

As he brought her down on his knee, she disappeared in a flash of red light. Briggs shouted angrily at the lost opportunity before Doug tackled and restrained him.

"Hold still, Brig," the Ogre growled, "Hold still!"

"She got away! The [dog] got away!"

"I know. It's okay. Calm down, brother. Calm down."

A soothing wave washed over Briggs's mind. Genji Lukas walked over, muttering spells that healed and calmed the rampaging mini-Troll.

"I'm okay..." he growled sadly, then he shoved Doug off brusquely, "Get off me!"

---------

There was a meeting called in Recluse's tower that involved all of the major players of the organization. His lieutenants were meeting with him in the audience chamber first. As they gathered, Scirocco left his dejected protege with the other high ranking members of the organization to dwell on his latest lessons.

"What happened to you?" Barracuda gurgled at her friend.

Ice Mistral could only mutter curses and insults about the band of "low-rent" heroes that got in her way.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with what Scirocco was saying about you only succeeding because of an accident, would it?"

"Oh, shut up, fish bait!"

Wretch split the girls apart before they could start fighting each other. Ghost Widow glared at both of them and snapped her fingers for her bodyguard to follow.

"If you two can't keep your emotions in check," she said over her shoulder, "Don't expect Lord Recluse to keep either of you around for much longer."

The girls could only glare at her back. There was nothing that could be said that wouldn't just come off sounding insolent. Both of them weren't too keen on seeing what an aggravated Wretch could do, either.

Masonic Templar and myself have made another post for the Cooperative Story project.

In it, Cory Simmons is tasked by Azuria to go to another dimension to begin the retrieval of a powerful artifact. He requisitions the help of two friends and meets another pair of powerful meta humans in a doughnut shop before embarking.

Alright, Masonic and I are presenting a new story in the Co-Op Thread.

----------
On the Trail of Destiny

(Chapter 1: The MacGuffin Rears Its Ugly Head)

Authors: Mr. Grey and Masonic Templar
----------

“Mr. Harrison,” a smooth female voice asked the young man sitting at the desk, “Would you please come in here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” was the crisp reply.

Mark Harrison stood and walked briskly to the nearby door. Most of his co-workers couldn’t understand why he was so at-ease in his job. The last twelve people in his position had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. He wasn’t at the heart of it all (indeed, he was just a mailboy before this position), but the idea that Ms. Ryans was the cause of the missing secretaries was actually rather plausible. They rarely lasted more than a few months, but Harrison had been at his current position for almost a year. He preferred to think that it was because he was good at his job, and kept his mouth shut about the glowing red eyes he saw in the dark office.

“”You summoned me, ma’am?”

“Has there been any new information regarding that bank robbery in Steel Canyon?”

“Yes ma’am, unfortunately, it’s not good. The request for Horizon Security was buried under paperwork, and it seems that whomever was at the heart of the request was wise enough to make it look like…” Harrison cleared his throat, “Computer error.”

“Ironic,” Ms. Ryans muttered, her red eyes glittering fiercely, “What measures are being employed to discover the source of this error?”

“We could turn the mystic corps toward the research. However, that would mean losing resources on other projects they’re working on, strained as they are for human resources.”

“Indeed, and they’re already working on another project that cannot be strained. Get some more hackers on the paper trail. Lock them in their cubicles if you have to, but inform them I’m paying them double their normal wages, with stock options going to the one who discovers who our traitor is.”

----------

”Mr. Simmons?”

“Azuria!” Cory suddenly announced into the empty base of Grey’s Army, “How are things?”

”Mostly well. We just had the Wheel of Destruction returned to us… Again… I tell you, there’s something fishy going on in our vault.”

“It doesn’t help that most hero activity is in Atlas Park. Most heroes believe Back Alley Brawler is enough for that city.”

”Indeed. Well, thankfully, there are enough members of the hero community who are capable of helping pick up the slack where it appears,” there was a slight pause as the head of M.A.G.I. in Atlas Park collected her thoughts, ”Cortland… I have a special assignment for you…”

“Oh, excellent. I’m glad to help.”

”I want you to speak to me with just your mind, Mr. Simmons. The information is… Well, it’s sensitive. I can’t even tell you anything about it unless you agree to help first.”

”You have my solemn vow to hold the information in the strictest confidence,” the warlock replied, ”and that I will set forth upon the task you request of me promptly upon receiving the information.”

”Excellent. It concerns a matter of artifact recovery…”

----------

“I don’t get it,” Matt replied after Cory told him the information, “Aren’t there more powerful, more reliable heroes than us she can call for a mission like this?”

“Yes, Infernal and Valkyrie were high on that list,” Simmons replied, “However, the forces guarding the object will be on the lookout for heroes like that. While a pitched battle might enable the recovery of the items in question, it might be best to have a small force sneak into the fortresses holding them and take them with the enemy being none the wiser.”

“Alright. I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Cory smiled at his apprentice. Mattock wasn’t a wizard, not by most senses, but he had a skill with magic that was rapidly fading from the world. A skilled mechanic, Mattock McGinty was also disciplined in a few martial arts, including Dim Mak and Praying Mantis, though he preferred his Kendo and sword wielding. These arts helped him hone his body’s energies, and he often found the focus necessary to turn artifacts into more powerful artifacts. With time, Cory expected his friend would be able to construct his own artifacts, but the lesser ones scattered about the city would help enough as it was.

“Before we go,” the scrapper grunted as he hopped on a cruiser motorcycle, “I gotta make a quick stop over at a doughnut shop I know. If we’re gonna be gone a while, I want to have somethin’ to snack on.”

“What?” the warlock was shaken by his reverie, and he took note of the machine the blonde man was sitting on, “What happened to your motorcycle?”

“Oh, I bought this one off Lou, the mechanic. I’m letting Malaise borrow the one I built.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I ran into him, he looked all depressed… We got to talking and he said he was getting sick of everybody thinking he would go nuts any second.”

Cory shook his head.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt smirked in an unusual, concerned way, “In all fairness, it already happened a couple of times. But he says he’s better now, or at least medicated, and he just needed something to take his mind off the issue for a while. I suggested he take a vacation, ride around the countryside…”

“You didn’t!”

“What?”

“Kipland is going to be very cross with you,” Simmons chuckled, “The Vindicators aren’t going to be happy that their comrade just up-and-left at your urging.”

“I care,” McGinty replied in a sarcastic tone, “Sheesh, with everyone as tightly wound as they are, it’s amazing the city hasn’t gone down in flames just from everybody flipping out at a cockroach fart. I say let him have his ride, get the stress out of his system, and if he goes back to being an insanity-inducing art thief, I’ll lead the charge to take him down. Heck, I want my bike back, after all. For now, let him find himself. He’s been letting too many other people try to do it for him.”

The warlock chuckled as the motorcycle’s engine was revved up. His friend had little to no concern for any danger that came his way. Considering the fact he was the best friend of Cedric Grey, it only made sense. Cedric tended to inspire that in people.

----------

Cuppa Jo’s was an interesting coffee and doughnut shop. A small establishment, in a little-used corner of Skyway City, it was regarded as the best coffee in town, but just to people who knew how to find it. Most people preferred Drenched Doughnuts, in Overbrook, but Mattock was a fan of the old fashioned, hardier varieties. It probably helped that Cuppa was probably enchanting her pastries so they lasted longer, too.

“So, tell me, Cory,” the katana wielding scrapper muttered as he looked over the menu, “Do you think an éclair will handle an extra-dimensional trip, or will it get torn apart upon reaching the mouth of the vortex, covering a small portion of the multiverse in cream filling?”

“So long as that small portion is only the inside of your pack, and not all over your companions, I don’t think anybody will care,” Simmons shook his head, then thought at his friend, ”Watch it! There are other meta humans in here! Azuria is keeping me, and what team I recruit, in the strictest confidence. We cannot risk being discovered by the enemy before we have at least some success with the mission!”

”Relax,” Mattock thought back, ”I’m testing the waters. We’re gonna need more than just us, and I’m checking to see who’d like to give it a shot.”

“Hm,” The warlock grumbled as Matt placed in an order for a variety pack of doughnuts, a half-dozen of plains, and a collector’s vacuum flask of coffee.

The flask had “Cuppa Jo’s!” written on the side, and it was a white background covered in “confetti-style” color patches. It conveyed the image of a party, despite the relaxed attitude of the actual establishment.

The Jaded King sat with his back against the wall, leaning back in his chair. He was munching on a cake donut underneath his black mask and staring out the window of Cuppa Jo's Doughnut Shop in the “Land of the Lost” district. This was one of his favorite places during downtime. He looked over to his friend, teammate and companion, the massive Cycron, and said with doughnut that still could be heard in his mouth, "Hey Bucket O' Bolts what ya thinkin'?"

Cycron had been staring blankly at the far wall, which of course meant he was calculating and processing billions of pieces of information through his computerized brain. He replied in his deep, slightly metallic voice, "Just checking the police and hero scanners, the weather channel, my electronic mail, progressive talk radio and all the AM bandwiths for what we might want to look into next."

Cycron was a massive cyborg. He was imposing even sitting down, especially when the unfortunate chairs he usually had to rely on would creak meakly under his weight. Luckily, Cuppa Jo's was built by a hero for heroes and had the largest, most fortified chairs in all Paragon City.

The goldenrod head said in a non-chalant voice, "Nothing spectacular this afternoon, I’m afraid, J.K. Just the usual stuff we normally find around here in Skyway."

Jaded just shook his head. How many more Arachnos, Lost, and other thugs could they arrest? It never seemed to end and nothing ever seemed to change much. Jaded just looked out the window more and wondered about home, his teammates and their mission here when he suddenly picked up on other mental telepathy going on in the room. He whispered very quietly to Cycron who's cybernetic hearing could probably pick up a rat farting a mile away, "Hey, Bolts, I think I'm overhearing some things. Coming from that table near the counter. Intriguing things. Hmm. Wanna check it out?"

Cycron shrugged his massive shoulders and replied, "If you wish, J.K., better than sitting here passing the time."

Jaded easily got up from his sitting position and walked over to the table. He moved close to the waitress and let her move out of the way. He touched the brim of his duster and the waitress blushed a bit as he passed. Cycron shook his head as he watched the entire scene and thought to himself "Such a playboy. He ought to keep him mind on task sometimes..."

Jaded walked up to where the two most likely meta-humans sat and said in a very off handed way, "Looking for a little help I heard… Well at least what I picked up in my head," he smiled underneath his mask, "Me and my big friend might be a tad bit interested in learnin' more about whatever journey ya might be on..." Jaded stood there and waited not only for their reply but perhaps a bit of surprise from his ability to hear things that maybe should not be able to be heard.

“Well, pard’ner,” Matt grinned back at the dark-dressed man leaning over him and a strange silvery glint flashed in his eyes, “Are you ready to look destiny in the eye? Gaze into the chasms of the Great Beyond and take back a piece of the night sky from the gods themselves?”

“Uh… Yes?”

“Good! Don’t know if it’ll come to that, but at least we know we’ll be ready for it.”

“I’m Cortland,” the dark skinned wizard stood to shake the newcomers’ hands, “This is my apprentice, Matt. Now, if we are to negotiate your joining our team, we’re going to need to know with whom we are dealing with. The task the two of us are about to set forth on… It’s a bit difficult.”

“Well, I’m Cycron,” the large cyborg replied as he showed his official identification, “And this is the Jaded King. We come from… A difficult place. Suffice it to say, our skills translated here rather well.”

Jaded pulled up a chair, turned it so the back of the chair faced the new heroes they just met. Cycron just pulled up a reinforced stool and his cybernetic eyes went on an info gathering blitz to quickly sum up the metas at the table.

Jaded just cooly and easily began the story:

"Well my new found friends, what can I tell you? Where do I ever begin? First, you must believe in alternate timelines and alternate universes…"

He looked for their collective reactions and then continued, "You see, myself, Cycron and two others: Amberk of the Red Eyes and his sexy love, Rialia the Vixen, were part of a team that Amberk started, called the 'Force of Ten,' to combat the insanity of our world. You see in our world, there was a time of great peril called the Shadow Wars, or as Jake would call 'em, 'World War Three,' that caused the world to change drastically. The consequences of that war caused the creations of Mutants and other varieties of things to exist but in the end solved nothing as our world was still filled with endless violence and hatred.”

He paused for a moment. Matt was scarfing down his doughnut, but the two were otherwise still paying attention. Cortland gestured to continue before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Amberk and the team tried to solve the issues and tried to bring peace to that world, but it was to no use. Instead, we all journeyed to a place called 'Alberquerque Starport' and reactivated the ancient time portal installed there. The four of us jumped through; unfortunately, the jump was not only through time but through alternate universes, and we ended up here. Paragon City. A city filled with its own trouble and unique situations."

Jaded paused a minute and cracked his knuckles for effect then pulled down his midnight black shades, his eyes were glowing white and fierce and his voice became more menacing, "Now listen to me Matt and Cortland, Cycron and I have seen some of the worst acts of violence, hatred, bigotry, and anything and everything you could imagine in the worst ways. If you have a mission that requires someone, or 'ones,' that can handle any and all situations, and you want it done with absolute completeness, then we are exactly what you are looking for."

The King sat back, pushed his shades back up and then reached over to Cycron and patted the massive cyborg on his huge metal shoulder and said, "And if we get in trouble, Cyc here, can get us out of the situation."

Jake chuckled a bit and Cycron looked over to him and then back to Cortland and Matt and shook his massive head.

Cycron then said, "Look, there aren't many enemies who wish to face us, our reputations are building by the day. If you want our assistance, then we'd be honored to help you."

He put his massive right fist into the palm of his massive left hand with a loud "clang!" that had the intended effect of making some of the patrons in the cafe actually stop and look at them.

"Now, what about you two? What are your stories?" Cycron's voice was deep, metallic and without emotion cybernized or otherwise.

Jaded relaxed his arms on the back of the chair and listened intently to the tales from these two metas...

“Well,” Cory sipped some more of his coffee and turned to Matt, “Would you like to start?”

“Sure,” the blonde scrapper replied as he finished off the doughnut he was eating, “Jusht lehet meh geht shumthin’ do drink…”

After swigging back some coffee, he took a moment to consider some of his prior adventures. Finally, he settled on one.

“Alright, have you ever heard of the Banished Pantheon cult? Well, a little while back, they were trying to summon up a powerful- wait, that was another guy… I’ve been carving through them so long, a lot of the stories I’ve been reading about their foiled attempts at turning the rest of the city into a bigger Dark Astoria are starting to blend together. Don’t worry, I’m not conceited. There’s things I’ve done that I attribute to others…”

“I think the adrenaline is getting to my friend,” the wizard chuckled, “He’s usually a much better conversationalist. The two of us have been working as heroes in one capacity or another since we were children. Early on, we recovered an artifact being used by the Devouring Earth. They were utilizing its unique power to mask their presence in Salamanca, also known as Croatoa. We’ve warred against Arachnos in the Rogue Isles themselves and were, like many of the heroes of this grand city, instrumental to turning back the Rikti in this latest assault they’ve been pushing on us.”

“Yeah, too bad they build another series of bombers every few months and skitter them after us,” his companion grumbled.

Simmons nodded and took another sip of coffee. Seeing it was almost empty, he set it aside and regarded the two heroes. They had confidence, and if their story was to be believed, they had the experience necessary.

“Alright, if you two wish to help us, we’ll be going on a trans-dimensional excursion of our own. That is all I can tell you, unless you wish to come with us.”

Jaded King nodded his head and replied, "Sounds like another great adventure. We've had so many…" He chuckled a bit and then said, "Let's get it on and see how many heads we can make roll."

Cycron shook his head again and said to the other two heroes, "Do not be concerned with Jaded's bravado; it is just his way of psyching himself up. He sometimes has a way of 'freaking out' others when he does it. So, where do we begin?"

“Well, we’ll be beginning in the offices of M.A.G.I. in Atlas Park. Azuria said the Portal Corp portals could help, too, but she wants to minimize the chances of certain individuals finding out about our endeavors, so we’ll be using a magic-generated portal. Before we go, however, there’s someone I would like to enlist the services of.”

“Can we finish our lunches first?” Matt and the Jaded King asked at the same time.

“Of course.”

The heroes settled in and watched across the street to find that a group of heroes had attracted the attention of a massive clockwork behemoth. By now, everybody knew who Babbage was, and the call for help to take the rusty walking pile of shaped wreckage rarely failed to get much help. As sizeable forces started assembling, Matt, with half a doughnut jutting from his mouth, joined his team in a “pre-quest” monster fight. As was normal in such instances, the numerous heroes gathered together proved far more overwhelming than Babbage was prepared for.

----------

Below the Skyway City Public Transit Yellow Line was the General Purpose Super Group Base Portal. One of these was set up in each of the city zones by Freedom Corps and Portal Corp so aspiring heroes would have easy access to their scattered bases. Some, like the group Cory was taking his rag-tag team to see, didn’t even know to what corner of the disused sewer system they’d been relegated to.

The Base Portal was usually manipulated by signals from the heroes’ communicators. However, Cortland knew a few mystical tricks that achieved the same effect. Concentrating lightly on his intended destination, he walked calmly into the portal.

“We can handle this ourselves, man!” Matt shouted as he appeared out of the portal behind his mentor, Cycron and J.K. following shortly thereafter, “We just helped tank that rusty bucket of bolts! Come on! We can take anything!”

“No, Mattock,” Simmons replied, “After seeing how we fared from that fight, I’m more convinced than ever before that we need the support of-“

“Hello?” a young man shouted from deeper within the Brutal Warriors Order Staging Area, “Is somebody there?”

“Psycho! It’s me, Cory! Is Whirlwind available?”

“Yeah,” there was a slight pause, “Whirly! WHIRLY! Wake up!”

“[Jebus CRR-RIPES]! Get the [frig] out of my ear!”

Cycron and the Jaded King stared at the two young men before them. Exchanging glances briefly, they considered that perhaps they were getting themselves embroiled in a conflict they were ill-prepared for. Still, it was something new, and their two new acquaintances had proven to be adequate fighters during the Babbage fight at least. Curiosity was still getting the better of them, so they silently agreed to keep on this endeavor.

A man dressed in a blue trench coat with white-spiked shoulder pads walked into the entrance chamber. His hair was white and he had a white slash running down one side of his face. If there was one thing to describe the man’s outfit, it was blue, white, and lightning bolts.

“What happened to your hair?” Cory asked.

“The magic bleached me,” the man, apparently Whirlwind, replied, “I’d been using these artifacts for a couple years, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“We’ll find a way to restore your follicles. For now, I’d like you to meet the team.”

Project Whirlwind shook hands with Cycron and the Jaded King. When the introductions were done, the artifact wielding magician turned back to the warlock.

“So, what’s going on?”

“I was hoping my communiqué reached you through the Aether,” Simmons sighed, “You should have seen it as a dream.”

“Nothin’.”

“Well, we’re on a quest…”

----------

“I have assembled my team,” Cory announced as the group walked into the M.A.G.I. offices.

Azuria looked them over. Mattock’s involvement sent a chill through her spine, but Cycron and the Jaded King looked to be more than adequate for the task at hand. She also knew of Project Whirlwind’s skills as a magic wielder, and hoped his weather control would be enough help.

“This is all you’re taking?” she asked, to which Cory nodded, “Very well. Gentlemen, if you will come with me…”

They proceeded into the back rooms of the M.A.G.I. office. While most recovered artifacts went to the vault in Galaxy City, a few still remained in Atlas Park so Azuria’s mystics, assistants and clerks could inspect them. As the group traveled down the hall after the seer, they could hear all sorts of chanting, mumbling and very minor explosions (some of which were so energetic they created light). Azuria paid the noises little mind, not even the surprised yelp that caused Matt’s head to swivel to the left and check if everything was alright.

Finally, they reached a door marked “Experiment Chamber 12.” Aside from the sign, there wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about the door. It seemed to be made of a heavy wood, though.

“Ironwood,” Azuria explained, “From around your hometown, I believe, Cory.”

“Fascinating,” the warlock replied, “I should ask my parents if they know any dealers.”

The chamber was mostly empty. Its center was dominated by a large, plain stone altar. On the far wall was what looked like a spice rack. Azuria walked directly to the rack, selected a few choice bottles, and turned back to the altar.

“If one of you could grab those wooden steps,” she said as she indicated the object in the corner, “The portal I’m about to summon is going to appear above this altar, and it will be quite annoying if one of you were to lose a limb trying to climb inside.”

Cycron took the small staircase in hand and waited for the ritual to be completed. Azuria poured one of the vials out and they materialized into a single red page.

“A page of the Red Dust Tome!” Simmons breathed, “Amazing!”

Azuria continued to read the page, her face remaining calm despite the strain evident in her eyes. A pair of wizards entered the chamber and placed crystals at four equidistant points on the surface of the circular slab of stone. Once they were finished, the red-headed seer then poured the fluid contents of a second vial out and started tracing lines to connect the four gems.

“Black Blood of the Earth?” Matt asked as he noted the color.

“Mixed with pig’s blood,” Simmons nodded appreciatively.

“It sparkles a little, too,” Project Whirlwind noted, “Like tiny crystals… In the fluid.”

Cycron and the Jaded King watched the process intently, absorbing every little detail of Azuria’s display. Despite the fact that it was still a fluid, the lines connecting the crystals never flowed out of where they’d been traced. Satisfied with her work, Azuria returned to the page and scrutinized it. Finally, she raised her right hand, grasped the page’s vial in her left, and the page disintegrated and coalesced back into the bottle.

Once the last of the Red Dust had floated back into its container, the seer handed the vial to one of the assisting wizards and started chanting. What light there was in the room (provided by a series of overhead phosphorescent bulbs) suddenly darkened. The area above the altar started to glow and the four crystals started to crackle with power. Azuria kept chanting. A gust of wind started to rush through the room and her hair was whipping violently behind her. Indeed, the wind seemed to come straight from the area above the altar and was trying to throw everybody in the room back.

The electric sparks erupting from the crystals started to wrap about each other and the heroes watched in awe as a hole appeared in reality. It wasn’t like the Portal Corp portals, where the energy wrapped back in on itself to form an orb of energy that sucked the passenger in and deposited him in the destination. This was like a window, or a doorway to another world, where it seemed one could just walk in or out.

“There, it is done,” Azuria announced as the wind and excessive sparks of electricity finally died down, “It’s hidden from view on the other side, but you should be able to find it yourselves. It will appear as a white spiral floating in the air. As you pass through, the portal will attune to you, so you should be able to reactivate it by simply tapping the center of the spiral.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Cycron rumbled.

“Be careful going through, though. Don’t touch the edges. It’s sharper than a laser, and it will simply whisk off your body parts.”

“Good to know!” Jaded gasped, “I was wondering if I could just grab the edges and vault myself through.”

“Not unless you want to irrevocably mangle your hands. Are you ready? I warn you, the environment of this world you’re about to enter is… Unusual. Not toxic or anything, but it has oddities.”

“We’re ready,” the big cyborg announced as he set the stairs in front of the altar, “Let’s do this.”

Jaded looked into the portal, looked at Cycron and the others and said with a hint of sarcasm, "Deja Vu is in the air. Deja Vu is in my hair. Deja Vu will bring you down. Deja Vu, down, down, down..."

Then the dark dressed hero took the leap into the vortex first as Cycron audibly sighed and said, "I hate it when he does that..." and went immediately afterward hoping they all wouldn't end up trapped in ANOTHER alternate universe...

The accepted members of the new, Freedom Corps-sanctioned super group, the Redeemers, assembled in the empty warehouse they'd been assigned. An older man, probably in his early thirties, was reading the role call from a podium at the back of the building.

"Jebus it's cold in here," Ashen muttered as he activated his fire armor, "Ah... Better."

"Isn't that Caid?" Blizzard mused as he watched the man calling names from the clipboard, "What's he doing here?"

"Okay, that's everybody," the man stated, "Alright. My name is Gregory Caid. I've worked with some of you before, I've even fought some of you before..."

"Yeah! I remember you!" a big bruiser tattooed up like a Tsoo minion shouted, "I mashed your face into a wall!"

"I remember that," Greg grinned, "As you can see, I got better."

There was a brief chuckling before Caid returned to the point at hand.

"Alright, you've all been brought here because you have something in common. The powers that be in our world have determined that we are not beyond hope, not beyond a chance, and not beyond redemption... Man, this really goes on like this..."

Greg flipped through a couple more pages on the clipboard before tossing it aside. He shook his head and blinked a lot before turning back to the crowd.

"Alright, here's the deal. We were all bad guys once. Me, not so much, I was undercover, but we all know how the authorities really look at undercover guys. They think we're all just a hair away from goin' turncoat, so here I am. My brother's with us, too, even though he never had anything to do with any criminal groups, but I think when we see how useful he is in a fight, we won't care."

There was more chuckling.

"Now, for organization... I'm not actually the boss here, guys. I was given the clipboard, given some quick instructions on how to get this first meeting started, but we're only a far offshoot from Freedom Corps. If we wind up messing up, they won't catch the flak. We also can't expect much support from them. The upside to this is that we can run this group pretty much however we want. Whatever resources we get are ours and, except in cases of extreme emergency, we're beholden to no one but ourselves."

"And the F.C. really expects us to go along with this?" a dark-robed man growled. He was joined by a few grunts and murmurs of agreement.

"The F.C. expects us to do what we've been doing," Caid replied exasperatedly; this was not a conversation he was unprepared for, "We've already broken ties from our prior compatriots in one way or another. However, a lot of people still look at us as violent sociopaths, and that one wrong turn will send us on another crime spree and back into the hands of our former masters. Frankly, I don't need that. You don't need that. This group is the second step to proving to the world that we're trying to make good, that we're trying to remake ourselves."

"Yeah, but doesn't the city already have the Vindicators?" a surprisingly eloquent Troll asked with a smirk.

"Are you as popular as the Vindicators? Do you look sexy in a short skirt?"

"They've got guys in their group, too, you know!" Blizzard Front half shouted, half laughed.

"Hey, one of them's questionable enough as it is," Caid shot back, "And don't get me started on the things I've heard about that Malaise... In any case, we don't fit the high profile of the Vindicators, so just put that group out of your heads right fricking now. I know a lot of you want to get your hands on parts of Swan and Ms. Liberty, but it ain't gonna happen. Frankly, I'm a Valkyrie man, she's got nice legs, but even I have to set my fantasies aside and accept reality."

There was a common, disappointed "Aw" from the group. Ashen could swear he heard the "ker-chak" of a shotgun getting cocked.

"Okay, okay, dumb things aside," the speaker at the podium waved the crowd down, "Let's get our bureaucratic crap out of the way. We need a leadership group. We need heroes who can provide a decent face for us, and lead us all when things get tough."

"Why not you?" Ashen shouted.

"Two reasons. One, I'm too ugly," that got another chuckle, "Two, making a decision like this based off of status quo is a horrible idea. Remember the last presidential election? Yeah, anybody want a repeat of that? Oh wait, the last guy's wife is running now... Well, in any case, you guys shouldn't look to me to lead because I called out your names. Now, come on, who wants to run this shindig?"

"I'll do it," the dark-robed man announced, his voice becoming a deep baritone, "Is there anybody here opposed to being led by me, Mortiganen?"

There weren't many voices of dissent, but one guy, a red-maned Ogre sitting next to the Troll, shouted at the dark wizard.

"I remember you! Your soul is as dark and twisted as Hell's cruel heart!"

Apparently, Trolls could get their minds fixed. This one had taken on a near Shakespearean-bent.

"Calm down, Doug," his fellow clamped a hand on the Ogre's shoulder and sat him back down, "If you don't think he should run the place, who should?"

"Why don't you give it a go, Garm?" the Ogre, Doug, suggested.

"Sounds like we have our nominations," Greg announced, "Any seconds?"

There were a couple assembled meta humans who seconded the two heroes. Mortiganen was a frightening individual, regardless of his repentance of rogue mystics and shadowy cults, but Garm was a Troll, no matter how intelligent or refined he had gotten since his Superadine addiction had been cured. There were risks to choosing either of them, but Garm was also known for running a successful Troll band (one that rarely had any of its members arrested before they finally turned themselves in at the end of the last incursion of the Praetorians) and Mort was renowned for his heading the Order of Black Rock until its dissolution at the hands of the Midnight Squad.

"Well, regardless of who wins, can we at least agree that the loser winds up as the second-in-command?" Caid asked.

The two contenders agreed and a vote was held. Ashen volunteered to watch over the ballot box (an old trash can). When Caid saw him, he was surprised.

"I expected you or Sanders to volunteer."

"Martin's with us?" the fire tanker asked dubiously, "He wasn't a rogue."

"True, but we were partners in the Corps. Plus, he was a petty thief and a street vagrant before the first Rikti War..."

"As for why I didn't volunteer, well..." Ashen shrugged, "I only ran a pack of Outcasts, and they're difficult enough to reign in with their wolf-like mentalities. I'd hate to see what it's going to be like for the poor sap who gets the job leading this pack of egomaniacs."

"We'll grind down the rough spots when we find 'em."

Once the votes were acquired, the former Council Archon placed a lid on the can and had the tanker start carrying it to a back room. He informed the other members that it would probably be the next day until they got the result, so they should probably just head out and work on building up the new group's reputation.

The group was a bit agitated about this, but they filed into groups quickly. Many took the opportunity to get to know their new super group mates. A small group of females approached the fire tanker and the regenerating martial artist as they carried the trash can to a small room so they could start counting.

"I don't appreciate your comments," the leader of women stated once they got close, "You make it seem as if there are only men in this group."

"Ah yes," Gregory chuckled, "Ashen, this is Sister Forbes. She runs the former Knives of Artemis in our group... it was a stipulation of the contract they signed when they joined that they be somewhat separate."

"What?"

"You think we'd let you keep us under your thumb?" one girl hissed at the tanker before a wave of her commander's hand silenced her.

"I never said anything about being under my thumb," Ashen replied darkly, "I just don't think it's a good idea to have our group get split into factions. Next thing you know, we'll have a group for the Council, a group for the Tsoo, a group for the Skulls, Hellions... Where will it stop? We'll just fall apart to infighting as the former Trolls grumble about doing all the crap work and the former Council whine about not being trusted."

"A wise argument," the leader of the modern amazons agreed, "However, we are uncertain that this group will provide a proper home for us. Freedom Corps just deposited us defector Knives here, and we were about to return to the shadows from whence we came unless we were provided some amount of control over our position."

"So, if we turn out okay, you'll consider joining us in a more full standing?" Greg asked hopefully, "Frankly, it would help the group considerably. Not just for P.R. reasons, I fought a couple Knives when I was with the Council, and even they're lowest-ranking members are tougher than the best most of what the Council can throw. We can really use the firepower."

Sister Forbes smiled at Caid and shrugged. The regenerating scrapper chuckled and shook his head as the girls walked away.

"Just like a woman," he grunted to Ashen when he sure the girls were only barely within earshot, "They never give you a straight answer. So, you gonna help me with these ballots?"

"I'd like to, but I think Blizz wants my help..."

Caid nodded and let the tanker join his friend.

"Howdy!" Blizzard Front said with a bright smile, "Garm offered to take us with his crew on patrol."

"Really?" Roast asked as he quirked an eyebrow at the Troll leader, "Why?"

"I'm thinking it would go a long way to show just how much of an improvement working for this group is making if we can have former Outcasts working with former Trolls."

"Your skin's still green. You still have tusks."

"Indeed. Unrefined Superadine has long-lasting, if not permanent effects. However, the damage done to the minds of my fellows as well as my own can be corrected. It took magic and not a small amount of the refined stuff you can only find in the Frost Family's personal stashes, but we're better."

"Well," Doug the Ogre growled, "Most of us are better..."

The two Trolls turned to their fifth companion, a short, burly guy that was currently munching on what remained of a bag of nacho chips. He was about halfway through the bag itself when he turned to them and growled a question at them with his full mouth that sounded like "MRwhuh?"

"Briggs, get the van started," Garm tossed a set of keys to the short guy, "We'll be out shortly."

"Poo-wah!" Briggs spat the bag out of his mouth and and grinned mischievously before bounding away with the keys.

"He loves starting that rusty heap up," Garm explained, "I made the mistake of tricking it out with hydraulics... It can actually jump... While driving."

"I bet that's useful when the police throw a spike chain down," Blizzard chuckled, "Or a hero throws an ice patch."

"Don't I know it!" the aspiring super group leader agreed, "Come on, we'll patrol Steel Canyon and Skyway, maybe bowl over a few Supas, a few Outcast Leaders, and call it a day."

"Sounds like a plan," Ashen Roast agreed and they started making their way for the exit.

He could just be picking up dirt and debris from the ground (and in or under what water he finds himself fighting in). The world is not a clean place. The discoloration of the water he uses only makes sense.

Water coming from him can easily be clean (as he's drawing it out of the very air around him), but the other powers require water localized in those areas, specifically, ground water and stuff being pulled up from the sewers .

Typically, it's believed that the legal forms, troubles and other matters are dealt with when you're logged out of the character. This also goes for the character's day-to-day job and much of their personal life.

As far as taking evidence from the scene, well... Think of your characters as "One-Man-SWAT-Teams," and that you're sent in to deal with situations that the Police normally can't handle. Evidence confiscated during such raids are still admissible in court, despite the violent nature of the acquisition. Of course, you're also part-detective, so you can still use the evidence to keep yourself going through the case.

Non-humans are generally treated to a screening process. Former humans (such as the Devouring Earth's Devoured monsters) are considered teleported first to the prison, then to a secure facility where scientists labor extensively to reverse the process that turned them into a monstrosity (do the Terra Conspiracy arc in the 35-40 levels, just be careful of the EB/AV at the end). However, the rock, grass and fungus-based minions of the DE are simply left for dead, they were never human. The same goes for the robots, though it can be Roleplayed that heroes, rogues, criminals, and even ordinary citizens scavenge the materials. I'm not sure how the Hydra Men are treated. There's a mission in the 40+ levels where you learn how they came to be here and just what they think of the whole situation.

-----

In the villain-side, it's generally assumed that one of three things is happening. Either you're leaving the enemy for dead (though they might not necessarily be dead), they're being rounded up by Arachnos authorities (unlikely, the Arachnos troops rarely keep order, despite the fact that they ARE the authorities in the Etoile Isles), or the enemies have their own medical facilities (for groups like the Family, the Freakshow or the Sky Raiders, this is somewhat believable; the Circle of Thorns have their own explanation as to why you keep seeing the same names over and over again, and it could be said that the Tsoo have powerful meditation techniques to resist unnatural death).

-----

There were comics. They were run first by a company called Blue King Studios (which features the tone of the storyline before the Fifth Column became the Council), then by Top Cow (which featured the storyline of what was happening after City of Villains started). The first was (and for some, still is) considered the stronger of the two, as it placed the characters in their own world, unlike the Top Cow comics, which, especially in the closing comics, was acting more like a commercial than a story. Both had their ups-and-downs, and they've sadly been the only official comic-book forms of the City of Heroes stories.

The rest is fleshed out through roleplay and storywriting, which you can find here on the boards. Will these stories ever see a wider publication? Who knows? Time will tell.

Have at it with Ashen Roast and Blizzard Front. They're former Outcasts working for a new over-reaching supergroup called The Redeemers, a subsidiary of Freedom Corps. The group is full of ambiguous types, as most of them are former minions, lieutenants and boss-types from other villain organizations.

Ashen Roast is a Fire Tanker. He's usually pretty straight-laced, but can be given to bouts of anger. When this happens, he tends to make clumsy decisions. He flies .

Blizzard Front is an Ice Blaster. He's got a calm personality usually, but he also suffers from a lack of book-smarts (he's easily distracted). Ashen often accuses him of not taking things seriously enough. He uses super speed to get around ("sliding on super-slick ice").

They're not the most experienced heroes, nor are they the leaders of the Redeemers. However, they're competent enough (read: not always ) to warrant a mission like this.

They often travel with what has been jokingly called a Pocket Troll, a guy who would be the smallest Troll in the city if it weren't for the fact he still, because of his bulk, weighs more than Julius of the Hollows. Briggs McBain doesn't say much, but when he does, it comes out as violent, curse-filled gibberish. He tends to leap into the attack without thinking about the plan beforehand, and his tactics tend to involve bouncing his enemies' heads off the ground, whether that ground is dirt, rock, concrete, wood or steel. I don't intend on making the guy a character in-game, but I can't wait until I start writing him.

The Air Guard Story is up.

It covers a mission where the Guardsmen help protect a UNICEF deployment (in this case, resources for a West Libertalia community) and wind up getting raided. It's told from the limited point of view of a character named Corporal Webb, so it may seem rather quick.

((It's been a while since I've posted in Air Guard. I feel this is unfortunate, but it's hard to describe the day-to-day doldrums of a military outfit that hasn't already been said time and time again, in novels, film, games and other aspects of the media.

The basic plan of the Air Guard was already indicated earlier. Rachek worked a deal out with the United Nations to provide added security for their relief efforts at a massively reduced price. This helped boost the A.G.'s reputation, and they've also worked for some private contracts.

This is supposed to be an excerpt from one of the Air Guard's missions. Captain Carter personally evaluates each mission to determine how his training is affecting the troops and their capabilities. He also uses it to gauge the morale of the troops and determine what works and what doesn't as far as tactics.))

"Alright, Corporal Webb," Carter sighed as he set the folder aside and it promptly disappeared into the shadows of his office outside the desk lamp's light, "What's your take on this last mission?"

He'd been poring over it all day. Interview after interview with the soldiers of Guard Wing 1-7-1. They were one of the mercenary units, a combined force of Skiffs, troops, and regionally acquired vehicles. In this last mission, they'd been able to convert some pick-up trucks and a bus into some technical armored personnel carriers. The U.N. forces hadn't been too keen on that idea, but it worked...

...For the most part.

"I don't really remember what happened," Corporal Webb replied, "One second, I'm patrolling around a village we're deploying UNICEF supplies to, the next, my radio's blaring about incoming trouble..."

-----

"We were guarding the U.N. reps as they administered vaccinations, delivered farming supplies and instructed the locals in how to work and irrigate the land around them..."

"Corporal Webb!" Sergeant Latchu shouted from a nearby ridge, "I need you to keep an eye on things over here. I just got a call saying an urgent message is coming through."

"Aye, Sergeant," the Corporal replied and assumed the post.

He had five Guardsmen in his direct command. Simple men with simple names, Jones, Smith, Gonzales, Sanchez and Reed. They were all still Privates in the Guard, they hadn't completed all of Carter's training courses to be promoted, nor had they distinguished themselves. However, Webb had worked with Jones and Gonzales before, and had heard some good things about the others. It was a decent fire team, if a little large.

"Alright, guys, what's the word been here on the east flank?"

"Nothing too fancy, Corporal," Smith replied, "Some wild animals, but they keep to the tall grass."

"Good, good."

"Things remained like that for a few more seconds. Maybe it was longer, but I know Jones. After a couple minutes of nothing to do, he's straight into a story about the latest girl he's slept with and how it was funny. I can't remember him saying anything like that by the time my radio squawked..."

"Webb! Look alive! We got hostiles comin' in from the east! Set your fire points! Dobson's nest's right-most line of fire is the big dead tree!"

"Alright boys, you know the drill," Webb replied as he jammed a knife into the sandbag, "Don't take your machine gun past this point, Jones. Dobson's team has the rest that way. We got hostiles, and we better be ready!"

"We weren't quite ready for them. They were thugs from a nearby warlord. The U.N. boys warned us about them, that they usually just moved in after we left and took what they wanted from the villagers. This time, they were bold enough to try to take it by force. Scuttlebutt said that the U.N. usually tried to deal with them rather than fight, but apparently Captain Mac wanted to make an example of these guys. Probably would have worked, too, if the Skiff missiles hadn't malfunctioned."

Corporal Webb and his soldiers fired on the incoming vehicle. The windshield wasn't bulletproof, and the driver slumped over in the hail of bullets. This didn't stop the oncoming vehicle, however, and the freight truck careened into Dobson's nest. Fortunately, Dobson and his team were able to dive out of the way, but now they were out in the open and their foxhole was destroyed.

The bandits inside the truck's box tried to storm out, but the Guardsmen cut them down. Dobson was still in the middle of the road, however, as the next truck came barreling in.

They were too far from an actual medical teleporter to save themselves. If they died out here, they were really dead. Webb panicked, and made a strange decision for such a condition.

"Corporal!" Reed shouted at his superior, "What are you doing!?"

"Keep firing on the incoming! I'm saving Dob!"

And Webb ran. In his armor, uniform (a gray thing that the group had acquired from a cheap outlet company), and harnesses with his ammunition and full canteens, his run felt slow. Seeing the vehicle bearing down on his compatriot, he felt a sudden adrenaline rush, and everything else was a blur.

If he hadn't been concentrating so hard on his rather unique use for a combat roll, he probably wouldn't have been so surprised. As the next truck trundled toward Corporal Dobson, he tackled the fallen Guardsman and dragged his fellow out of the road.

"What the Hell are you doing?" the other Corporal shouted at Webb as their legs rattled against the side paneling of the previous truck, "Are you crazy?"

"I don't know," Webb replied, then tried to say more, but the roar of the other truck crashing into the wall of a building on the other side of the street covered it. He hadn't seen that Dobson had shot the driver.

The mostly mud structure stopped the vehicle fast. Privates Reed, Gonzales and Sanchez then fired into the bed of the box, taking out the bandits inside. Private Smith, once the shooting was done, rushed the passenger side of the cab and dragged the squad's commander out. He was shouting orders in Swahili, English, French, and Spanish in rapid succession (if he were still working for the U.S. Army, he'd be a rich young man) as he pinned the officer to the ground.

"Okay! Okay!" the rough-shaven man shouted back, "I understand! I understand! I'm down! I'm down!"

"English?" Smith barked, "Good! Stay down!"

-----

"The rest of the Guardsmen showed up after that and we used the trucks as cover while we fought off the rest of the bandits. The second truck had a machine gun in it, fifty-cal. Good condition, too. The first one probably had one, but after how it crashed, there wasn't going to be any using it. The rest of the soldiers didn't try storming the gates and we had a bit of a pitched battle before Captain MacNamara and the U.N. forces commander were able to negotiate the surrender of the raid leader. We took their guns, mostly 'Kalash-knock-offs,' and handed them over to the villagers. The leader was handed over to the authorities and I'm hoping that leads to more arrests, but I have my doubts."

"You did your best and that's all we ask of you," Carter replied as he finished writing down the last of his notes, "Did Captain MacNamara explain why he felt it was a good idea to turn the arsenal over to the villagers?"

"He and the U.N. commander said the village was likely to face reprisals from friends of those bandits. It slowed us down some, but after the battle, the rest of the tour went by without incident, and we taught those people how to use the weapons, defend themselves... They already had a watch set up for wild animals and bandits. Before, they just hid. Now I guess we wait and see."

"Indeed," Carter sighed, "Very well, Sergeant, you're dismissed."

"Sir?"

"Oh, yes... Captain MacNamara stated that he wants everybody who was on that front line promoted. Staff Sergeant Latchu gave me your names. We'll be holding the official ceremony tomorrow, but the party's tonight. Congratulations."

"Oh," the newly promoted sergeant's eyes bugged out of his head a little as he took in the news, "Thank you, sir."

"You'll still need to do some of the training courses, but others can be written off based on your experience. I'll work it out on my end."

As Sergeant Webb left the office, Carter sighed. With every mission, his job got more complicated. This last one, he was repeatedly told about the Sky Skiff failings. The engineers were working so hard at developing a new model of aircraft, they were neglecting their duties at maintaining the ones they currently had.

Of course, Captains Rachek, Daniels, and Jones already knew that. Maybe now they'd cut back on the research and development to afford more effort toward maintenance.

Still, Carter couldn't help but wonder at what this last mission had done. It was the first one that had made a lasting impact on the locals, that was a fact. He rather wished he had an agent of some kind keeping tabs on the community Webb was talking about.

----------

They didn't always have a name for their village. West Libertalia only seemed to have time to come up with names for the major cities. That left it up to them to come up with a name for themselves.

When Jordan the Fierce decided to see what had become of his cousin's assault, he found the community of Red Sands instead. The village elder told him in no uncertain terms that they weren't going to be putting up with the bandit's harassment anymore.

When Jordan prepared to order the destruction of the town, the bandits had to find a new leader, for their old one was immediately put down by the village's most experienced hunter. H'tek N'rlai was a good shot with his rifle, he even once shot down a rampaging lion with one shell. Though he disliked the fact that his people now had the same weapons that had been used to torment them for so many years, he saw the necessity of them. If they didn't have them, he wouldn't have had the safety to take the shot he'd been itching to take for the five long years since his retirement from service in the West Libertalia Infantry.

Upon seeing their commander fall, the bandits splintered almost immediately. Like rabid dogs, they fell upon each other. Each lieutenant claimed the band, and none of the three were willing to back down.

The villagers watched the small army tear itself apart that day. What few rogues strayed into their community were summarily shot if they had a weapon. If unarmed (or just traveling with a weapon slung), they were detained. The villagers weren't monsters after all.

In the end, blood, bodies and wreckage covered the land intended to be the farms of Red Sands.

"It's alright," H'Tek said over the crowd in their native tongue, "The gods demand a sacrifice before any great change can truly be made. Today, we have sacrificed our lives as supplicants to cowards and infidels. Today, we begin the new future of Red Sands. Today, we take back our pride."

"What about the wreckage?" a young man asked the wizened village leader.

"Tomorrow we clean it up," N'rlai said with a smirk, "Besides, vultures have to eat, too."

FAN-TAST-ICK!

*ahem*

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-*inhale*-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-*pass out*

Excellently done, Corsage. I hope to see many other fine renditions from you in the future.

I forgot to mention I made another post in Grey's Army that has Power Breaker and Scirocco raiding a Circle of Thorns encampment.

I'm currently working on an Air Guard story.

It'll be good to write with you.

I look forward to the correspondence and the discourse.

Power Breaker was deposited in a small island, one of many still uncharted in the Etoiles. Checking his internal GPS the whole time, he was getting concerned as they neared the location where Brother Mauthe and his disciples resided, but breathed a sigh of relief when they stopped just short of it.

His mission was to locate the Circle of Thorns currently operating on this patch of jungle, eliminate them, and discover what they were up to. He didn't intend to necessarily do it in that order, however. He just hoped Scirocco would let him do things his way.

"You ever wonder about the big bossman?" he asked his mentor.

Scirocco peered through the thicket and shook his head calmly.

"I do as I am ordered, Power Breaker, no more, no less. More leads to corruption, less leads to execution."

"Yeah, but why do you follow those orders? Recluse tells us to do some nasty stuff..."

"Normally to equally nasty people," was the clever reply.

"For people like me, maybe," Breaker growled back, "Only maybe. You've told Recluse what's swimming around in my head-"

"No."

"Then you've implied something like it. That's the only reason I'm not dead. Don't think me fool enough to think otherwise, Boss."

"Alright..."

They continued through the thick vegetation for a few more minutes in silence. It was strange that there were few patrols. At one point, Breaker thought he saw one of those pesky Nerva Spectral Demons, but Scirocco had reduced it to ectoplasmic gelatin before he could get a clear view.

"So, why do you work for him?" the brute asked as they sneaked their way a little further, "It's not like his ethos meshes well with yours. I could have sworn you once said you were a freedom fighter."

"Yes, but the current operative word for what I did back in those days of my youth is 'terrorism,'" the wizard sighed, "I suppose it would have been different, had we succeeded and I 'embraced democracy.' Of course, embracing democracy in my homeland meant funneling oil profits to rich American businessmen, running puppet governments, and the whole cycle eventually spirals to yet another beleaguered dictatorship, oppressing the very people we were trying to liberate. Or, at least, that's how the world perceives it. Ever wonder why those nations argue so hard with Big Blue and Big Red, or why their soldiers fight so hard against them?"

"Big Red's been dead almost twenty years, Boss."

"Yet the struggle continues. Big Blue always has it's enemies, and now, is it not strange that those enemies are the same ones he once called friends? Cycle through your nation's history, tell me of one time it has not had some form of overreaching conflict to keep the populace in a state of panic when it suited those in control. From the Revolution, to the inter-state conflicts, to waging war against pirates to again fighting the British, then the Mexicans and, in quick succession, the indigenous Americans, then on to the World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, Big Red and the Great Desert Nations (though we weren't truly Red, is it such a wonder that we allied and played both sides against the middle?), and the countless petty squabbles throughout the late Twentieth Century that always seemed to spring up when the nation needed to be distracted from a recession or a major political figure's lack of sensible judgment. Each conflict happened only a scant few years from the last one, if that. You tell me that isn't ruthless? You tell me that isn't evil? A country founded and maintained entirely by conflict?"

"As opposed to one founded on conflict, maintained by oppression and repression, and has designs to do the same to the rest of the world? The ones running my home country may be questionable, boss, but the generally accepted conensus is that we are all working toward a more peaceful world. So long as nobody's talking to each other, bloodshed is going to continue."

This did little to convince Scirocco, who continued with a question: "You don't think your nation's leaders have ever been irrational in their demands of other nations?"

"Oh, I believe it," Breaker sighed, "I've got in my brain several documents that make a paper trail to illustrate demands made by the government that eventually filled the coffers of specific influential figures... Hm... Actually, that might be Malta Group influence..."

"Or Nemesis. You should probably turn that information over to Viridian."

Power Breaker nodded and made a command to his nanites to remind him to do that when they returned to the main Etoile Isles. He then returned to their debate.

"Look, I know that, up-to-now, Big Blue has been exceptionally sub-par when it comes to its idyllic perception of itself and its behavior, but that's beside my point. What I'm saying is that Arachnos is a terrible place for one of your ideals. I mean, come on, Boss... Think about what you wanted to do with the Malleus Mundi. What you still want to do with the Mundi. You really want to take the easy way out? Throw yourself through the bossman's window, you'll do more good that way."

"You tread on dangerous ground, brute. I risked much to keep you alive. I shouldn't even be here, but my lord requires that I accompany you to ensure the mission's accomplishment."

"That's right," Harris shook his spiky head, "Run and hide from the issue. The easy thing to do."

"You hide in your apartment, cur!"

"I bide my time. I'm waiting for the right opportunity to get me out of this [dreck]hole. I thought I had it with Vanguard, but they've got this crazy notion about staying out of the conflict between Paragon's champions and the Etoiles' vagrants. I thought I could get somewhere better, maybe fix my past mistakes through Ouroboros, but, 'Nope! We need you to still be the monster you are to keep things EXACTLY the way they are!' You know, I wonder why they keep blowing smoke up everybody's [butts], telling them they're responsible for Recluse taking over the Etoiles..."

"Do you have a point?" Scirocco hissed as he peered through another thick stand of vegetation, "Where the Hell are the Circle wizards? There's more activity on the neighboring island..."

"My point is that this whole 'Survival of the Fittest' thing that Recluse has going is just breaking you down, Boss. You especially. Mako, he's stagnant. Black Scorpion, he gets better with each scientist and inventor dragged here, kicking and screaming. Ghost Widow... I'm fairly certain Recluse would be happy if we were all like her, undead slaves to the whims of his nightmarish army... Every day you're among that pack of rabid wolves, you risk total damnation."

"By which god?" the wizard asked snidely.

"To hell with the gods, Boss. One day, bossman's going to tell you to do something you know in your heart you don't want to do. When that happens, you will either do it, and never be able to look yourself in the mirror again, or you won't."

"The latter is unlikely, Harris," Scirocco sighed, "I am a practical man, surrounded by evil. I must commit evil to keep the others at bay and survive."

"Bull. You don't see me committing wanton acts of mayhem for no reason," Breaker snorted, "Man, I'm not getting anything on my scans..."

"I have a bad feeling, Breaker..."

The vegetation shimmered, wavered and disappeared. The two rogues cursed loudly as they realized they were surrounded by Circle of Thorns wizards.

They stood in the middle of what looked to be an ancient village, though the stick and straw houses were fairly new.

Archers and Defenders had crossbows trained on them. The Thorn Wielders had their thorn-shaped blades drawn and were closing fast. Finally, the various elemental-type wizards had their spells dancing on the ends of their fingertips and pointed at the two intruders.

"Damn you, Harris," Scirocco muttered, "I should have seen this coming, but you were distracting me with your insolent words!"

"Yeah, I'll take the hit on that, Boss..."

----------

"What perversion is this?" Mori'ae asked his companions as their half-alive skiff pulled up to the beach, "And why would an Arachnos Flier come here?"

"There are a number of mysteries on these outer islands, m'lord," his assisting Defender replied, "One of which is the temple here and its twin on the neighboring one. However, an individual of some remarkable influence and skill has taken the other island, and we have not been able to claim it. Rumor has it that he has an actual giant monster of unknown capability in his employ."

"I should have been brought in on this long before now," the archmage growled, "It's obvious my predecessor is madly outclassed by his charge. He may even be mad."

"Without a doubt, m'lord."

"Bring the skiff back out into the water... The neighboring island, they don't assault us when we travel by, do they?"

"No sir. They keep to their own."

Mori'ae stroked his chin. Either the opposing faction was weak and their stories about a Giant Monster protecting them was a smoke-and-mirrors campaign, or they were really confident enough to keep to themselves. Peering into the darkness with his magically enhanced senses, he took note of the wandering patrols. They seemed somewhat disciplined, if slightly under-armed. It was possibly better to err on the side of caution in this case.

"Well, let's see what Eramus has done. Take us for a cruise around the island. We'll land again once the fireworks are over."

----------

"So..." Power Breaker muttered to Eramus, the leader of the Circle wizards on this island, "We've got questions, you've got answers. You saw how we handled your goons, so I suggest you answer quickly and succinctly. None of that jabbering about how demons are going to torture us for a hundred eternities, no insinuations that your brethren are going to take vengeance on us. Just make these last few moments of your life in this body worthwhile and tell us what we want to [frig]ing know."

Hanging upside down from his ankle, Eramus hissed.

"Must you take all the fun out of it?"

The area around the temple ruins was a complete wasteland by the time Harris and Scirocco were done with it. When the wizard opened with a pair of whirlwinds that decimated two-thirds of the Circle's forces, it only made sense that the rest would fall like a house of cards. Still, the two took their time with the last of them.

Eramus was prepared to stall, but his preparation was cut short when Scirocco cut off his other foot.

"We're not kidding around," Recluse's lieutenant intoned into the captured wizard's anguished face, "What is the purpose of this place, and what is the Circle's interest in it?"

Eramus spoke quickly. He explained how the temple was one of two dedicated to yet another ocean god. However, it seemed to be a nameless, possibly faceless thing. It was an ancient religion, long-since buried in the past, but it was to a force that apparently didn't rely on its worshippers.

"All we've been able to glean was that it was a great and terrible god, and that it required much human sacrifice."

"Sounds like every Clive Loveking book I've ever read," Breaker grunted, "Some Owen Straub works, too."

"This bears further investigation..." Scirocco started leaving, "Feel free to snap his neck, Mr. Harris."

"Really? You don't want to take him home and make sure the information you've got is the right stuff?"

"No, you won't be doing that," Mori'ae muttered as he threw a bolt of dark energy into his former compatriot and vaporized the target, "Now, I'll ask you both to kindly leave the island. Hello, Scirocco. I trust that you found those Mu mystics unharmed."

"Actually, they were under siege by a group of demons," the bronze-skinned mystic replied hollowly, "But my tracing their histories indicated they had been sent by a different wizard."

"Unfortunate," Mori'ae sighed, "I trust Arachnos intends to send individuals this way soon. Scirocco, I hope you're the one in charge of the research. If it's Mako, he'll just make a mess of things, like he repeatedly does with the Leviathan."

"Uh... Boss, we just thrashed this enclave, and you're just going to deal with another wizard?"

"I'm a little more accomplished and competent than my fellows you just dispatched," the green-eyed wizard chuckled, "Also, I'm not bound to the demonic laws they are. I'm something of a free agent, and Arachnos is going to need someone who knows what they're doing to maintain this island and keep it free of... Undesirables."

"I'm sold," Scirocco gave the slightest of nods to Mori'ae, which the wizard returned with a deep and gracious bow, "Power Breaker, we should leave. I have more lessons I have to administer to Ice Mistral."

----------

"Boss, I know you've got a thing for the Czek-chick," Harris grunted as the Flyer lifted off, "But I gotta tell ya, I've been to the future, and she kills ya. I've worked with her, and she doesn't really like your lessons. Honor, discipline... These things don't mean a thing to her. She just wants to freeze people, steal loot, and live like a little crime princess."

"I know, Raymond," Imad sighed, "And I hope to convince her otherwise."

"You're not going to do that with words. I know the type. I hate to say it like this, but she needs to get bopped on the nose with a newspaper repeatedly until she gets the point... Metaphorically speaking."

"Heh, you're calling her a dog."

"Yeah, technically, the word I'm thinking is a dog."

The two chuckled.

"She's the one thing I'm not taking the easy way out with, Raymond," Scirocco finally stated, "Would you really take that away from me?"

"This, yeah. There's a difference between determination and stubbornness. That girl has dug her heels in about her behavior, Boss. Unless something shocks her enough, she ain't gonna change."

"I have to try."

"You've been trying, and it hasn't taken. Ever. She don't think of you the way you think of her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Scirocco's eyes had taken on a dangerous glint.

"It means what I said," Breaker replied, "Nothing more, nothing less."

They spent the rest of the flight in silence.

--Sheldon--

"That's going to be a problem, considering the fact I just evacuated from it!" Sheldon replied as he landed and Malta Group operatives started materializing around him, "But I don't think I have much of a choice anyway!"

As the nearest of the troops started to port in, Sheldon looked back and cursed. With any luck...

No such luck. He had to use the jump jetpack in conjunction with what was left of the aura reducing his inertia to make it back. Pity, he was hoping the crashing ship would distract the soldiers, maybe make them scatter, but the reptilian must have had a better plan.

He took to the sky as weapons were being leveled at him. The Malta Group operatives wound up being left perplexed as Sheldon dove into the still-open hatch. Sheldon was equally perplexed, as on his way in, he saw a large number of missiles headed his way.

"Crap!" he shouted, "Acid, if you can still hear this, I just found out what the alarms are telling me, missiles in-bound, I'm diving low to try to shake em off... This will be a bumpy ride!"

He didn't have time to let his lurching stomach slow him down. He rushed to and took the vessel's controls, bringing the ship into a gradual, yet rapid, dive. Machine gun fire rattled off the hull as he swooped over the assaulting troops. Bullets didn't concern him. Rikti Steel could resist bullet impacts, especially when it was ship armor. What concerned him was the roaring sound coming from the still-open escape hatch.

Hitting the button to close the hatch, he could hear the sound of one of the surface-to-air missiles exploding against something upstanding in the Sanctuary. A spire, a pillar, a wall, whatever it was, it was behind him and he had to push the throttle a little more.

----------

--Randall Grey--

The tanker tossed and smashed the assaulting drones aside. He couldn't swing his arms fast enough to properly damage them, but it at least kept them away. Slowly, he worked his way to Toy Dispenser and his beleaguered assault drones.

-----------

--Cory Simmons and Ryat66--

Curtis had a firm grip on Essex and was focused solely on Acid. This was something of a mistake, as Cory swooped in. Curtis had enough time to turn when the warlock passed by him and slapped the Gunslinger's shoulder.

A patch of frost in the shape of a hand print appeared there and slowly started spreading out. Cory wasn't stupid enough to think that was going to stop the operative, however. He'd dealt with the Malta Group enough times himself.

"You're outnumbered," Simmons intoned as his right hand erupted in flames and a sword of ice coalesced in his left, "and outgunned. I suggest you stand down."

At the entrance to the chamber, behind Curtis, Ryat66 was sighting in with a powerful burst of energy that was useful as a powerful snipe. One wrong move, and the gunslinger would be knocked off his feet.

There was an ominous humming sound coming from overhead. The android idly wondered if Sheldon had gotten over his fears of falling and flying to pull the ship into position over them, but didn't take his sights off his target.

Two webcomics with their own tributes to Mr. Gygax.

I found them during my regular perusals and figured they'd be appreciated here as well.

Another segment in Grey's Army. I decided to focus more on my main rogue, Power Breaker...

He has something of an eventful day...

Also, I'd like to reiterate my advertisement of the Co-Op Story project. Last time, it wound up on the (typical) bottom of the page, so I'm figuring a lot of people missed it.

Basic idea: Our characters, regardless of server, are all in the same world. The Co-Op story project is supposed to be a blend of story writing and roleplaying. Two authors bring their characters together for an adventure (or two, or three, or whatever) and the stories all occur simultaneously. They may intertwine, remain separate, or maybe characters pass each other on their divergent storylines.

I feel it's a nice place to go if you feel like putting your characters through one-shot stories that may or may not impact their overall life.

The first three posts I worked on with DogmaoftheBWERP.