Mr_Grey

--Peregrine Island: Bay Area--

Whatever the reason, the TacOps Commander wasn't about to get a chance to get back to what he was about. His only warning was the air getting suddenly colder before Simmons unleashed an inferno at the man in a concentrated bar of white-hot heat.

Matt had just barely backflipped away from the armored smash when he righted himself to look into the barrels of the four cannons. He held his blade in front of himself, with the flat pointed at the weapons of the machine. They were light-energy weapons, after all... Perhaps a little deflection was in order.

As the unabsorbed heat returned to the air from which it came, Cory picked himself up, and cracked two gems in his fist. One was green, the other blue, and both produced matching auras that reinvigorated and re-energized the blaster as he turned his attention to the Zeus Class Titan. His friend was in a bad way.

As he muttered the Wind Armor spell, he snapped his fingers. A spark of flame erupted on his thumb and he tossed the ever-growing bolt into the remains of the TacOps Commander.

The air shimmered around the two heroes, and Cory walked up behind Matt, his hand wielding a ball of flame that he unceremoniously threw into the Zeus's sensor array.

He was tired of this fight, it was time to finish it.

----------

--Jade Moon--

Randall looked into the room, leaning up to the crack in the doorway as he peered in. He pulled his communicator from his hip and tried to call out, but noticed that the power source hat exploded inside of it.

"Damn," he muttered, "How am I supposed to get everybody over here, now?"

He looked back to see if Toy Dispenser had arrived yet. To save time, he'd gone "unrooted," but now that there was something to be found, he was definitely rooting to the ground.

((If anybody is nearby, Randall tells them to get in communication with whoever they can while he tries to work the door.))

----------

--Cyburbia--

"I wouldn't really count on anybody listening to me," the Fool shrugged, "I didn't pick this avatar, for instance."

"Before I go, I have a few things to mention, just some quips to impart, if you will. If I may point out one flaw to what you've hinted at with this Hundred Year Plan of your Fourth Swarm... Humanity is now ridiculously diverse and complex, what with cyborgs, mutants, magicians, and whatever odd and unusual aliens or aberrations may currently be operating in the planet. It may be a little difficult to properly plot the changes you require for such an endeavor. Not to mention you're operating under the theory that humanity is evolving... From what I've seen of humanity's history, they're not necessarily evolving, they just have better posture and more stuff. They continue to fight wars over this stuff, and in turn discover more stuff... A further argument against evolution, I'm afraid, is that (aside from a few freakish flukes), humanity doesn't seem to be getting any smarter. Just look at the election process, an excellent example of a yardstick of humanity's overall evolutionary understanding... Most people make a decision on a candidate for one tertiary, unimportant reason, like his or her looks or what banner he or she waves, and not any overall goal or plan. This is not behavior conducive to the common good, but is based solely off of greed and prejudice. The very few who make votes based off real issues are usually drowned out by those who don't."

He bobbed his head from side-to-side dismissively.

"Well, food for thought. As you said, even if you did relay this information, it's not likely you'll be able to convince your leaders to change policy, and I'm in no position to stand in your way."

The Fool rubbed his chin as he continued to ponder.

"Help the Rikti? Why would I help the Rikti? Aren't they the enemy? Haven't they been dropping bombs on Parag-"

There was a rush, and the Fool looked like he got yanked into the wild blue yonder.

----------

--Portal Corp Courtyard--

"-on City?" Ryat66 said as his visor flickered back to life.

He was staring into Sheldon Wallace's face.

"Welcome home," the stoic inventor said to him.

Wallace unplugged the USB cable from the console and fished it back into the android's cranium. With a little bit of dread, Ryat66 realized he was somewhat disassembled, well, decapitated. A trail of wires led to his head from his neck, keeping his hardware awake and alive.

"Heya, boss," Ryat66 chirped happily, his dread gone as he realized he was truly among friends, "Where's Matt or Mr. Kemen? I have some things I need to report."

"In good time," Sheldon replied as he started to fit the head back on the android's neck, "For now, let's get you ambulatory again."

"Matt said he had to take care of something," Kemen said as he approached from behind Wallace, "I trust you learned what is inhibiting us?"

"Yes sir... But I'm not sure how much of it even I understand. I guess I should start with where I began upon completing my upload..."

((He's walking, Poe... Which I guess is just as comical...))

--Virtual Pocket D--

Kip bonked his head off the invisible barrier. Irritated, he pressed his hand against it. Impassible, absolutely impossible to pass. Impassible.

Smirking, he set the chair down and sat in it. He then looked to each of the facsimiles, left to right, then right to left.

"All the same," he muttered.

A red beam erupted from his eyes, aimed at the DJ Zero clone.

----------

--Real Pocket D--

"POE!"

Power Breaker pushed off his chair and started stomping for him. He was tired of this crap.

"You get over here right now!"

Up on the central platform, DJ Zero glared at the congregated mess of meta types. The poison gas eruption only further aggravated him. Not willing to let the problems continue, he decided on a course of action. DJ Zero snapped his fingers, and went back to playing music.

Instantly, the doors sealed and there was a strange "solidification" in the dimensional aether. If Poe decided to run, things just got a whole lot more difficult.

Martin watched the company from the hole in the wall. He was leaning against the side of it, as if the whole concept fo fighting Vahzilok disinterested him.

The opposite was true. Martin had a preternatural itch to fight Vahzilok. Damn Frankenstein clones... Messing with the natural laws of death... Flooding the sewers with their unhallowed zombie abominations...

But something about the over-arching goals of their task force held him back. Something about the enemy they had to face. Something he saw in that footage in the fight with Statesman...

Something worse than the Vahzilok could ever be.

He whistled into the cave.

"Guys!" he shouted when he was certain he had their attention, "I think it's about time we all calmed the [frig] down and got to business! These guys aren't why we're here."

He hopped down from the hole and marched over to one of the Eidolons.

"You zombies tend to have a modicum of a brain... Who's in charge here? Like the man said, we want Brighid Moreira. Our sources led us here."

He looked around to the congregated.

"You can either help us, or we can keep on this tack. I can assure you, if you push us to keep fighting, this will all end very painfully for the lot of you."

((Power Breaker always has spikes, even when wearing his power armor. I think I posted earlier what type of outfit he's in right now, though... Here it is. Sorry for my absence, but something happened recently that should keep me here more regularly.))

--Actual Pocket D--
Power Breaker looked up from his beer glumly. He couldn't shake the bad feeling he was getting in his gut, and it was really slowing down his drinking. He had been finishing up his argument with his own nanites (they were indicating that his stress levels, which were already incompatible with nearby stress inducers, were causing minor digestive problems) when Energon X and El D got his attention.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled to his companions, "I was miles away. Poe... Well, as far as I can tell, he's a bit of an antisocial deviant. Other than that, I got nuthin'."

He took a swig from his drink and grunted.

"You know, he threatened me before he left? I... I don't have the patience to deal with that kind of insanity. Poe throws some crazy stuff at people. So... I'm trying to get hammered, but I can't shake this really bad feeling in my gut. My nanites tell me it's nothing, but I just know... You know? Something bad happened."

----------

--Virtual Pocket D--

Kip set the chair down and walked over to Khel.

"Come here, over to the corner here... You need to lie down and rest..."

Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT! Now I gotta find a way out of here...

"I'll..." he started, his voice betraying a little of his irritation at the situation, "I'll try to get us out of here..."

Wherever here is.

"It seems to be a virtual world," his soul replied to him, "Oh yeah... I'm back, now, so we can get to working on a way out of here..."

Yeah? How about you tell me how I'm supposed to do that? Am I stuck inside a computer? Is this an alternate Pocket D? Can you help me on this?

"I have no clue," he could almost feel his soul shrug, "Sorry, it's difficult when you can only see through a set of eyes that can see through dimensions."

Kip rolled his eyes moments before dark purple tendrils started seeping from them.

"No, Khell, I'm not a Warshade like you are. This... This stuff is different. Now, you should lie down... Me? I'll start getting to work on finding a way out of here."

He picked up his discarded chair and started heading for the facsimiles. This was going to be really fun, really painful, or both.

((Godammit... Must we keep rushing? Martin's probably still standing in the middle of that intersection, drooling like a brain-dead loser because nobody's piloting him and the plot has run away.

I'm going to have to read into this to see how I can re-insert him, but I bet you guys are still going to be chugging right along. God, this whole RP feels more like a race...))

--Jade Moon--

"It sounds good, get to it," Randall nodded to Toy Dispenser, "I'll start ahead, seeing as how it takes me a while to move..."

He chuckled and started heading down the corridor.

----------

--CyberHell--

The Fool pushed himself from the railing. Cheerfully, he marched up to the AI facsimile.

"Wow," he gasped, "So... You're bound to your programming first? My designer preferred to allow my brethren and I to have pretty much free will... It's sometimes problematic, but one out of a hundred can't be too bad, right?"

As they entered the elevator, he seemed to revise his thinking.

"Actually, it's one-in-one hundred one... We sometimes forget to count Prime, the prototype. He's classified a rogue, but he's actually pretty cool. He's been sending us e-mails, telling us about what he's found on our black sheep brother and his plots to... Well... it's best if I don't get into it right now, or I'll jsut talk forever."

His head bobbed from side to side. He seemed to be dancing in place. When the dragon-like AI glared at him, he smiled.

"How about you tell me more about yourself. I promise, I'll be fascinated! You guys are draconic in origin? Something reptilian? Perhaps an alien race that bears a striking resemblance to terrestrial reptiles? Why are you preventing people from escaping from the other side of the portal? Why the vested interest? Is it something simple, like profit, or is it something more complex, like a plot to take control by holding premiere heroes hostage?"

----------

--Peregrine Island: Bay Area--

Most heroes are filled with dread when two damaged Hercules Titans merge together and become a not-nearly-so-damaged Zeus Class Titan. Nobody was quite certain how it happened, Sheldon theorized they had a bladder of repair nanites used to help fuse the machines together and alter their internal workings. It was somewhat viable (it would explain why all that damage got patched up in the blink of an eye), but, again, nobody was certain since the machines were loaded with small explosives that decimated much of their internal workings when captured or defeated.

Once the Hercules Titans became the hulking Zeus Class Titan, it was as if they built a machine that had exponentially increased its firepower. Able to fire a nearly never-ending barrage of rockets and blasters, not to mention the heavy fists mounted on each of its cannons for melee walloping (and that was a lot of momentum behind those "fists"), the Zeus Class Titan was a terror for the high-end heroes of the city.

Matt had never fought one. His friends, Cory, Cedric, and Kip had. This was his first one.

He grinned wickedly and pointed his sword at the cyborg as he relished the opportunity.

"I'm gonna ram that arm up your [butt] and turn you into a popsicle!"

He opened the attack with a slice aimed for the nearest arm. This was merely a distraction, however, as his real intent was to cut its legs out from underneath it. The next attack went for the machine's left knee, then a neat slash up wards through the crotch and torso of the machine.

He met much resistance from the machine's armor plating, and gasped when he saw how little damage he actually did.

This was going to be difficult.

Behind him, Cory Simmons blinked as he returned to the waking world. Seeing his friend's distress, he considered his options. So far, they were few, but since the enemy seemed distracted, perhaps he could do something somewhat effective...

----------

--Portal Corp Courtyard--

Sheldon cursed as he pulled open Ryat66's head and set to work on rewiring a USB cable into the head. It was tough work, especially since he had to convince the Portal Corp techs to give him a new one.

"I think this is a bad idea," Unai Kemen mentioned off-handedly as he dealt with other pressing concerns, "Something powerful bent the visor there into a grin. I don't think we're dealing with normal technology anymore, Sheldon. I'm trying to get my techs to set up a different control system."

"There's absolutely no guarantee that won't wind up hacked, too," Sheldon replied curtly.

"We don't even know it was hacked..."

"It was," Sheldon glowered at his work, then set about undoing it to redo it another way, "This would be so much easier if i could..."

He looked up at one of the techs.

"You look like you're getting possessed."

"What?" the tech asked as Sheldon aimed his gauntlet at him.

A green beam issued from the glove and sapped some of the energy out of the tech. He started yelling angrily at the inventor, but already Sheldon was paying him no mind.

"It's not like his moving slower is going to hinder you," Wallace muttered to Unai, surprisingly coherent, "I have to repeat myself a lot for you to understand me, so please don't ask me to answer you too often. Now... How I know it's a hack. The portal still works. Whatever you need it for, somebody else needs it for. They are, however, making it difficult, if not impossible, for you to operate it properly because that gives them power. Whether or not they're doing it for their own safety precaution, the prospect of money in the future, or intend to make things royally hurt later down the line is up to you, but those are the three most likely vague scenarios."

He walked over to Unai so he could be certain of the security chief's understanding. He was holding Ryat66's head, and the grin was bending back into place to its normal basic shape.

"There are other, more complicated possibilities, which make the whole dealing with the portal control a waste of time. Suffice it to say, you have a problem here and you are by no means searching for the proper cause. Yes, there's something in the machine, the network even. But you need to call some heroes down here to deal with the source of what's inside there, or it's never going to get fixed."

"Isn't that why we have your android friend inside there?" Kemen glared into Wallace's glasses, somehow piercing through to the eyes behind the shades and actually chilling Sheldon, "Don't suppose you know how to do my job, 'Victor.' I am doing what I can, in case you haven't noticed, we have been frighteningly short on volunteers. Most just want to hop through the portal like Skull-boy did a second ago. Others, take off willy-nilly, and still others don't have a [fricking] clue what they're doing, but still take reckless risks. I'm not the one deciding they do this. On top of the fact that I have to rely on technicians and troubleshooters whose jobs are not to deal with supernatural problems, but with standard problems. We have done what we can here. Now, the situation has grown out of control and we needed to do something drastic, something which is still being done. Do not propose to tell me how to do my job, Wallace. I've been doing it too long to be criticized by a mad scientist like you."

Wallace's hands had been a blur up to this point, but as Kemen's final sentence ended, so did the motion of his hands. Sheldon's face was still stoically calm.

"I apologize," he suddenly said, "You are right... It makes much of my point less valid, and I withdraw my criticisms. However, my analysis of the situation, the problem we're having with the control, stands the same. I am sorry for my tangent."

((We now return you to your regularly scheduled mayhem.))

The sound of a helicopter landing on the roof platform got their attention. Steel shook is head as his friends looked to him. No Committee goons should be coming in today.

Outside, they found the latest source of distress. Freedom Corps and Longbow. Draven sucked in his breath sharply.

This was bad.

Freedom Corps (and Longbow, by extension) was staunchly "anti-villain." This category of behavior extended it's hatred range into the ranks of people considered to be quasi-rogues, like Solo Stryker and Ragin' James. Sometimes, it even turned to the heroes that associated with them...

"Greetings," Erickson said after gulping down his fear.

They were armed, but not at an active stance, their weapons slung over their shoulders, standing in a sporadic formation. In a moment's notice, they could easily be all be armed and firing without hitting each other.

So, why weren't they at the ready?

"Draven Erickson," an unfamiliar voice shouted as it descended the steps from the roof platform, "I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"And you are?" the scrapper asked as he turned to regard the speaker, "Oh. Wild."

He'd seen Agent Wild before. The guy wasn't necessarily hard to pick out of a group, what with that reticle installed into his face. Of course, they hadn't officially met, yet. Last time was at Randy's barbecue, and then it was just to shake hands, say hi, and be done with it. It would probably be a bad move politically for the prim and proper young man to admit to being at the event.

"Yeah, we've met before. How can we help you, sir?"

"Oh, I don't want anything from you," Wild admired their dropship for a moment, "You still got that nasty dent on the side of it."

He was referring to the man-shaped impression left in the armor paneling by Tyrant. Ever since it got that, they'd been having problems with the rear hatch.

"Yeah," Draven sighed, "It's... Kind of a mark of pride..."

"As well it should be," Agent Wild turned to Draven again, a smile clearly evident on his face, "We've been watching you for a long time, Erickson. You and your crew. All of you."

He nodded to Solo.

"I've come with a declaration. Orders enabling you and your group to have access to Paragon City, un-inhibited. Providing, of course, you stay within guidelines..."

Rage glowered at Agent Wild.

"What sort of guidelines?" he growled.

"Simple. For you... Rogues... No use of your powers unless you are directly defending the city or its inhabitants, or are fighting for your life."

"You mean we can't even fly?" Rage shouted.

"Or leap?" Dirty added.

"You can see," Solo intoned, "This is already making us quite aggravated."

"I understand," Wild nodded, "But you also have to understand that the citizenry will still see all of you as, well, monsters. A lot of people don't view meta-types like you as anything other than hidden evil... For instance, Frostfire isn't helping that problem. Whenever people think of non-costumed metas, they think of him."

"Uncontrolled," Draven corrected darkly, "Not the costume part. People could care less what we wear. I've seen goons running around in little more than underwear, swinging a big heavy mace to bludgeon bad guys into submission."

"So long as they have identifiaction, marking them as heroes, they're fine," Agent Wild handed Draven a sheet of paper, "For you and your crew. It has all your known acquaintances..."

"How'd you guys know about Bioserj?" Psycho13 asked as he looked over Draven's shoulder, "He's been in the Rogues for a while, now..."

"We've been watching you. Now, look, just follow the guidelines, and nothing should bother you..."

He walked up to Solo and whispered, "Technically, so long as you put thugs in the Zig, nobody's gonna care if you struck from the shadows."

And with that, he and his entourage left. The BWO were left to try to decide how to spend their next few weeks...

Vacation?

Work?

Gladiatorial Combat?

----------

"Bro! Bud! ... I don't get this..."

Chaingunnz was leaking fuel, oil, and not a small amount of blood. Dreck stood over him, triumphantly savoring the thrill of victory.

"I've..." the massive tank gasped weakly, "I've always been loyal."

"I know, Shane," Dreck replied gruffly, "And that actually made this difficult. You were like a brother to me, but I couldn't jsut let you go along letting the others think you were more powerful."

Dreck started the fight with smashing out Chaingunnz's anti-personnel turrets. He then put a grenade inside the pit of the Freak Tank's weaponized arm. Effectively disarmed, Dreck went to work on the rest of him, breaking the massive cyborg down until there was little else than a battered mess.

"Bile put you up to this," Chaingunnz wheezed, "Told you I was... I was... Trying to take over..."

"Yeah, he did," the Freakshow leader hopped off the tank chassis that supported Chain's torso, "But, to be perfectly honest, I knew this day would come sooner or later. If it's any consolation, the fact that I beat you single-handedly is gonna insure my rank as leader of the Freaks for a solid month."

"Alright!" Chaingunnz cheered, then winced, "Ooh! My bones are tender..."

"Well, Shane... Sorry to do this, bro, but I have to leave you here. As a message. Don't worry, someone will put you out of your misery, or the life support will fail. Hey! If you get real lucky, what's left of your fuel will catch fire and you'll go up in a ball of fire and steel!"

"Oh man, that would be so cool!"

And instantly, Chaingunnz wondered whether or not he should get the Hell off the Excelsior. On the one hand, he'd be thinking clearly again, more level-headed, like when he worked on his dad's farm. On the other hand, he'd be off the Excelsior...

He decided to stay on.

Still, this whole death thing was bumming him out.

"Dreck?" he asked as his former leader walked away triumphantly, "Can I ask you for something?"

"What's that?" the Freakshow leader asked without turning.

"Can I have that bottle of whiskey you always carry around? You know, so dying won't be so painful..."

"Freck no, man! I'm saving that for when I take out Statesman!"

Chaingunnz watched his friend go. Freakshow to the end. He should have expected such a response. Then, his motion tracker detected something flying at him. Figuring Dreck decided to grenade him anyway, he raised his left arm to deflect the blow, not ready to die.

The bottle glanced off the side of his arm and landed in the basin with him. It was Dreck's whiskey, inside a tough enough polymer bottle to withstand even Super Strength punches. Apparently, the guy had a heart after all, to eb giving the fluid to his broken opponent.

"Thanks boss!" Chaingunnz shouted before trying to pick the bottle up with his tongue.

----------

Brother Mauthe stared at the wreckage that had been his camp. What few survivors he had among the vagrants were sailing away on a set of emergency rafts, heading for the next uncharted small island they knew of.

"Recluse must not have liked our thrashing that last cell," Brother Skrap intoned.

An Arachnos Flyer had been brought in to decimate the camp. As soon as they saw the dark vehicle descending on them, Brother Mauthe ordered the retreat. He and his companions held the invading machine off.

Arachnos must not have thought the camp to be a major threat. Instead of the Bane Spider troopers usually associated with the vehicle, it dropped average shock troops. However, it also wound up utilizing a powerful missile to decimate what few structures the vagrants and dregs had erected in their few short months on the island. Mauthe and his guards were able to fend off the enemy, but the damage had been done.

"No..." Brother Mauthe replied to his friend, "That wasn't Recluse... That was calibration."

"Calibration?" Skrap sounded unconvinced.

Of course he would. Skrap used to be a Council soldier until Arachnos decided they wanted the space. His confidence in the villain group shattered, he turned to Mauthe, where he provided plenty of information on both the over-reaching villain group as well as word from the streets. He was also a capable fighter, making him a solid member of Mauthe's entourage.

"We know why they did it," Mauthe clapped a hand on Skrap's shoulder, "But who knows what bugs or spies they seeded among us at the moment? Until we've sniffed them out, we have to sound like we're oblivious to the tyranny of the mad men and women of the spiders..."

Skrap nodded. With that, they rejoined the rest of their brothers, War, Hand, Eye, Blade and Staff and the makeshift skiff that would carry them to the rest of their army.

"Oh, my head..."

Kipland picked himself up off the floor. On his way over here, he'd bonked it off one of the stanchions that supported the section of the dance club above. Fortunately, he was able to absorb some of the impact with his arms.

He'd also smashed through a table and a couple other chairs. In a short moment, the whole mess was likely to revert back to normal.

"Ugh," he grunted as he got back to his feet, wobbled a little, then grabbed a chair to steady himself, then he saw Kheldragon, "Hey... You look like you're in a bad way..."

He lurched over to where she was, dragging the chair with him. If another group of "bots" showed up, he didn't want to be caught off-guard.

Psycho13's boot crashed into Project Whirlwind's mask. Despite the spikes on his opponent's face, the scrapper emerged from the attack unscathed. Whirlwind, however, had a broken nose.

"Sonova..." he grunted as he backed into the corner, blood starting to cloud his vision, "Psych!"

"Dude," the scrapper laughed from the opposite corner, "I told you! Fight as hard as you can!"

"Come on Whirlwind!" Solo Stryker shouted to the ring, "Don't make us come in there and show you how it's done!"

"I got ten bucks on you!" Rage chimed in.

"Hey!" Psycho13 shouted back, "You're my brother!"

"So? I don't bet on the underdog."

The two glared at each other a moment before Project Whirlwind zapped Psycho13 in the back. Growling in pain, the scrapper whirled around and started bolting for another go.

Unlike in a normal fight, he was wielding a pair of training batons. However, Levi had proven that he was extremely effective with them; even if they were just blunt objects with light padding, he could make them hurt.

He proved it again here. The right baton, held in the classic grip, with the striking surface extending past the thumb, smashed against Whirlwind's thigh. Nobody could see it, but the muscles there started to spasm wildly from the pain and Whirlwind let out a quick groan.

Psycho13 continued to press his advantage, using the stick in his left hand to deflect incoming attacks as well as his knees, feet, and (of course) the stick in his right to bop his opponent in the face every so often.

Of course, Project Whirlwind wasn't about to take all of this lying down. In fact, he was still standing for much of it, Psycho liked to wear his opponents down. The artifact wielding magician erupted in a windstorm similar to his namesake.

Psycho was hurled into the far corner, and Michael wasted no time in getting his hits in. Where Psych had to get close and personal, however, Project Whirlwind only had to throw lots and lots of lightning bolts.

"AUGH!" Psycho13 screamed as the electricity coursed through his body, illuminating his bones and making a rather ugly barbecue smell (well, ugly if you dislike really white meat).

"Whoah..." was the collective gasp as the body dropped, smoking, to the ground.

"Uh.." the Referee winced as he inspected his friend, "Technical... I think..."

"Is my brother alright?" Ragin' James called up to them, his face halfway between laughing uproariously or screaming incoherently.

Psycho13 coughed, and laughter ensued. Project Whirlwind, the only one not laughing approached his friend and helped him stand, casting a minor healing spell as he did so.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Levi choked out, "I... *cough* Oh... That was lung... Don't worry, it's already grown back. Yeah, I'm fine. How about you?"

Whirlwind nodded, and pulled off his mask. His eyes were still an unearthly blue from the use of the magic. He looked surprised.

"It worked!" Psycho13 chuckled, "What was it? What was new?"

"The... Well... The whirlwind I hit you with... I'd done gusts before, but this was particularly useful..."

"Yeah!" Psycho laughed, "That's what this was about!"

The rest of the group glared at him. As Baker led the egress from the ring, Draven approached him.

"Say that again, Levi."

"The idea, guys..." the super-speeding scrapper whirled around, walking backwards to the quarters as he addressed his friends, "Is that as we fight each other in teh ring, utilizing our full potential, never holding back, we'll unlock hidden talents within ourselves..."

"I'd never done that whirlwind thing before," Project Whirlwind scratched the back of his head, "Which is kind of funny, now that I think about it..."

"So?" Ragin' James asked as he pushed past his brother to open the door, "It doesn't mean that psych brought it out of ya."

"I don't know, Rage," Solo folded his arms over his chest, "I think the idea has some merit... Maybe we should go a few rounds..."

The conversation continued into the cafeteria. Rage and Draven were a bit put off by the idea. Unlike the rest of the group, they were well aware of the fact that the Committee, the Sky Raiders, or anybody could show up and try to visit great harm upon them at the wrong time. It wouldn't be a good thing to have any of their number suffering from a broken nose (like Whirlwind was) to say the least.

"Let me set that for you," Mark Shadow intoned as the defender cradled his head forward, "Come on, buddy, a moment of pain and we'll get some Regenerator on that..."

----------

It was strange how quickly Mark and Justin had joined with them. As stated before, there had been a schism within the Committee.

Shortly before the Praetorian invasion, the BWO was led to a skyscraper in southern Skyway City. They'd been instructed that a high-ranking member of the Committee would be trying to met with Crey officials there.

What they didn't know was that it was all a setup. The Committee official was actually Charles Reynolds, a rich boy from their very high school. It turned out he was the original progenitor of the Committee that had harassed them years ago, funded largely through funds from his father.

Whether or not he was responsible for the destruction of the Kingdale Arena was anybody's guess, but he didn't keep idle in the aftermath. Turning his attention to the various Committee Projects, he got to work at "hero building," disdaining Crey Industries' generic "Paragon protectors," and focusing on stylized heroes that could be turned toward more "personal" goals.

Bull-Thistle was one such project. As was Project Whirlwind, had Michael Brown not stolen the outfit.

Justin Steel found himself part of a separate group, however. A group that felt that uniformity and assembly-line constructed heroes (and rogues) was the way to go. The Agents started getting cranked out, and the various "custom" Factories started getting scrapped.

That seemed to have petered out after Psycho13 and Project Whirlwind escaped the Adirondack Factory. Charles Reynolds rose to power again, pioneering his side of the Committee, the "Custom Freaks," they were termed derogatorily.

Constantly, they were pitted against the Agents. Sometimes, genuine heroes would see them fighting in the streets or on rooftops. What Reynolds didn't understand was that he was making enemies. As his Projects continued to decimate the Agents (often with disturbingly explosive results), and he proved that versatility won out consistently over the brute force of the cyborgs, a lot of men on the other side of the fence were losing money.

They decided to deal with it. At first, the Coalition of Directors pitted Justin Steel, Mark Shadow, and various Soultaker projects (it turned out they were far more numerous than just one or two) against the Brutal Warriors.

Their aggression sufficiently whetted, the BWO jumped at the chance to strike a blow against the Committee when they were fed the information.

As Chuck Reynolds departed from the building, heading for the corporate helicopter waiting on the rooftop, he was surprised with a loud shot blasting out the rotor of the machine. Looking back, he saw the BWO dropship slowing to hover overhead, one of the front turret's guns smoking slightly.

From there, all Hell broke loose. The rest of the BWO dropped out of the sky, lacing into the Agents "protecting" Reynolds in record time. One went over the edge of the rooftop early, thrown by Ragin' James and Dirty Ice, exploding halfway to the ground. The others fought slightly harder, giving the BWO pause, and Reynolds some breathing room.

Surprisingly, Charles was ready for something, anything. A suit of power armor erupted out of his business suit, wrapping him in a protective encasement and enabling him to stand on his own in a fight like this. Originally, he intended to use it against his own bodyguards, should his enemies within the Committee ever launch a kill order. Since it was designed to take on four Agents (and Lord knows how many meta-types), it enabled him to stay in the fight to the bitter end.

The BWO, bloodied but not beaten, stared down their enemy.

"So, you're the man," Draven growled, "I should've known. You never really did have any brains, Chuck."

"Speak for yourself, Jared," Reynolds's voice issued from the rebreather, "I'm th one with cash money."

"Yeah? Good luck spending it in prison."

"Enough talk!" Rage shouted as he felt his supernatural adrenaline fading, "Get him!"

The group closed, only to get violently blasted back when Reynolds's power armor glowed briefly before exploding an energy dome that extended halfway to the roof's edge. Unfortunately for the BWO, the launching sent them hurtling over the edge.

Draven and Rage were able to save the members of their crew who couldn't fly (Psycho13, mostly), and Project Whirlwind took the fight to his former employer. Charles didn't recognize the design, or the voice. It didn't matter. It wasn't their fight anymore, anyway.

Another back-up plan had arrived. As Chuck's armor recharged and he circled his opponent, a group of ninjas scaled the walls and drew their weapons before closing with the Committee top shareholder. Whirlwind tried to warn his enemy of the dishonorable attack he was about to suffer, but Chuck misread his body language, expecting an attack from the hero, and blasted Whirlwind out of the sky with an energy beam.

That was when the katanas slashed through his energy conduits, severing his power core from his control and the suit engaged an emergency shutdown. As he lay there, screaming for help, the BWO members struggling to get back to the rooftop, the ninja leader, Agent Brown, approached for the deathblow.

The death would have been pinned on the BWO and the heroes and rogues would find themselves fugitives from the law. It would have decimated their business to say the least. It also would have landed each and every one of them in the Zig.

For whatever reason, Justin Steel and Mark Shadow disagreed with that. A burst of gunfire and a few bombs of acid and venom flew through the air and decimated the ninjas gathered around the Committee boss. Brown, seeing he was outmatched, immediately signaled a retreat, his ninjas disappearing in an explosion of smoke.

This didn't stop Mr. Kolt from firing another long, steady burst into the cloud. When it dissipated, there was a single ninja's body on the rooftop next to Charles Reynolds.

"Too bad," the big man muttered, "I was kind of hoping I'd get Brown."

----------

From there, the BWO worked out a deal. Reynolds still wound up going to prison, but the charges against him were dropped. Justin Steel became a liaison to the new Committee for the heroes, Mark just signing on to hang out with his old friends. Steel's minions turned out to be a loyal group, and even took well to manning the dropship's turrets. Steel even took to handling the group's financial matters. Bull-Thistle also signed on with the Brutal Warriors, eager to redeem himself for their initial meetings.

There's still distrust. Bioserj, Dirty Ice, Psycho13, Project Whirlwind and Solo Stryker tend to lead the front on arguments against Steel. Draven Erickson, King Slater and Ragin' James keep trying to be a mitigating force. The rest tend to go with what sounds good.

((Now... We're somewhat up to speed. The moments described here in the second half of this post (after the dotted lines) took place before the Shadow Manor RP, which occurred shortly before the Praetorian Invasion quasi-RP. I was just a little focused on other matters at the time. I apologize for the erratic behavior of this thread. I'm still not entirely sure what I'm trying to write here. These guys are either talking WAY too much, or beating the Hell out of each other and everybody around them.

It would probably make an awesome comic.))

((She's aiming the gun at your groin area.))

((EDITED))

Kip nodded to Jake.

"Let's go. He can find his own way. I guess I'm in a sour enough mood for the other guy to find us anywhere we go."

*Drops in the Little Doctor (Molecular Destabilizer).*

If you guys can get this thing working, have fun. Now, I'm off to ruin other threads!

*Fly Away!*

Hammering away and tossing debris was getting nowhere. No doors, no holes... However... Martin turned to the poor animal, snuffling as it was in the center of the square. There had to be a reason.

Why didn't it move? Why didn't it run?

Was it pointing?

"What's that, boy?" he intoned as he walked slowly, "Right there?"

He approached the center of the intersection. Licking his lips, he peered closely a the ground.

"Where the Hell did that lunatic go?" Kip muttered, "Look, you guys know where to go to get the Hell out of here? I can't wait around for-"

He peered into the distance.

"...Oh. Found him."

----

Psycho13 emerged from behind the corner of a wall near the Independence Port Entrance. He'd been tracking Twilight since the guy didn't seem to stop where the other metas had on top of that roof. Now, he saw why.

Misery.

How could anything thrive off such negative energy?

When the wall fell and they seemed to disappear, he walked into the clearing slowly, drawing his blades.

"Well... This is bad..."

"RAAAAAHT!"

Sanders punched the ground angrily with a hammer fist.

"Well then, let's get searching! There's gotta be a hole or a pile covering a door somewhere!"

He ran over to a pile of debris and started chuckings tones around.

"Come on! COME ON! I did not come all this way to stop here!"

As the large pile of Gear parts rolled away, a hand shot forth, with Martin Sanders following it as he emerged from the machinery as it dragged him away.

"Ah! Gah!"

Martin grabbed a hold of a rock and let the pieces of Gears tumble off from him. He didn't know who took them out, but the Clockwork that had been frying him got pulverized when he couldn't see (like when a Gear was punching him in the eye). There were still some electric burns, though... Then, almost all at once, the Gears pressing into him slumped down, the dark emanation he called "Evil Stink" having weathered their energy and health away.

"Ooh..." he grumbled as the last of the bits and pieces tumbled away, "I'm gonna be feeling that tomorrow. I'm starting to think that this was a big mistake."

The Hound made a whimper-like sound, opening one eye barely a slit to look at the scrapper.

"Ah... Jeez..." Martin grumbled as he pushed himself off the ground, "Now ya went and made me angry! Somebody's gotta pay!"

He looked around to the rest of the crew.

"I say we kick down that door and break us some bones!"

Martin emerged from his battle to get in on the action against Babbage (that's not to say those machines are "dead," he's just not fighting them anymore). He jsut had to get one hit on the big behemoth before his companions knocked it down.

One hard, darkness-wrapped fist to Babbage's gut and the plating gave way fast...

A little too fast...

"GEARS!" Sanders shouted as a small swarm of the tiny Clockwork robots spilled out of the gigantic machine, "AUGH! Save me from the wee little machines!"

With that, Sanders was buried under a pile of moving brown scrap metal. Whirrs, pings and pops signaled that the fight was still going on. Every so often, a fist would emerge from the pile, flinging Gears off the vagrant, but also clearing the way for other Gears to get close.

Then the other Clockwork he'd been fighting got close. Raising their arms, they prepared to fire electric bolts into the roiling mass of wreckage. Their fellows would hardly be hit, but Martin was likely to get cooked inside-out.

--CyberHell(?)--

The Fool shrugged.

"Your sentries let me go to do something, I fought them to little avail, and the moment I told them I wasn't going anywhere, they disappeared. Am I to assume you're the same figure that requested the use of my shell? You look like a demon-spawned dragon, now. So odd, when before your countenance implied near-to-full-blown deific capabilities."

He leaned against the rail, trying to maintain a non-threatening posture.

"I'm not here to fight. I'm here to talk. You don't need to pace around me like that. I don't see yet why we can't be friendly."

----------

--Peregrine Island: Bay Area--

Cory closed his eyes in dismay as the missiles found their way to him. There was a blinding pain as his ice armor was shattered and his body sent tumbling aside from the Hercules Titan.

His gamble had failed.

Accursed technology. It made it so difficult to have heart in anything one did.

Lying on the concrete surface of the building's roof, he idly wondered if this was where his life had taken him. Sure, if he was soundly broken here, he'd be transported straight to the Aquarius Medical Center, but when he returned, Matt would probably have been defeated and the very people they were trying to find out about would be gone...

He didn't get a chance to think about it. The Titan was already bearing down on him. Probably wanted to get one last hit in to make sure he was dead.

Matt, however, had different plans. He saw the danger his friend was in, and immediately disengaged from the Titan he was fighting, barely missing the energy blast that scorched past the back of his head. The bullets fired by the TacOps Commander sailed through the air into the distance as well, but the soldier was able to more easily correct his aim and get another shot off.

What he wasn't expecting was Matt to wheel back around and kick him in the groin. The katana snaked out as well, slicing neatly through the weapon's housing before Matt wheeled back around and bolted for the other Hercules Titan bearing on his friend.

As the machine levelled it's energy cannon at Simmons, Matt struck. Somersaulting into the air, the scrapper stabbed the point of his weapon into the machine's sensor array. Landing in front of it, he raked the weapon through the machine's midsection.

Lubricant seemed to start leaking out. Matt hardly cared, he ran back to the TacOps commander.

It was time to stop focusing on one guy at a time.

----------

--Jade Moon--

Randall nodded to Lady Grey and walked over to Toy Dispenser.

"What do you say? You, me, and whoever we can safely gather, head on down that right corridor your friend's considering and see what we can find. There's gotta be something in this base that needs our attention, regardless."

A foot slammed into the back of the head of the DJ Zero copy. It it had eyes, they would probably have crossed for a moment.

Kipland watched the body slump to the ground and turned to the next one. Considering how things were working here, it would probably get back up in a little bit.

"You okay?" he asked as he got closer to Kheldragon, "Sorry it took me a second to notice something changed..."

His foot exploded into another replicant's gut shortly before hiking up and catching the faux-waiter in the chin with his toe.

"This looks like more fun than pinball," he chuckled.

((My last post has an edit to cover my opinion on all of this mess.))

After seeing the poor animal get zapped into unconsciousness, Sanders wheeled around to the machines headed their way. The first batch must have just been a probe, a punch to gauge just what they were up against.

Such a tactic worked for smaller armies facing larger armies, not for a group that extended around the city zone the way the Clockwork did. This was hardly Clockwork behavior. This was malevolent, sadistic... It was almost, if not genuinely, evil.

"[Frick] this!" he shouted as he dove into the Clockwork, a dark shadow emanating from him like a cloud and eating into the monsters, "Time to break some toys!"

His fists did the rest of his talking.

((I assume all of the enemies in RP here are level-less, like the Rikti Invasions. Heroes and Rogues here are at their full potential (in-game level 50), but they may not be entirely familiar with it. In-game, Martin's actually only level 16. Here? Here he could go toe-to-toe with Kip or Randall (well, maybe not Randall...), just like my lone catgirl could go toe-to-toe with him.

Of course, on that same note, I'm willing to accept that the Clockwork are perfectly capable of presenting a challenge. Assume what you'd like, that this entity's influence is able to strengthen the little machines, that they may have packed a little more into themselves, that they're even psychic in capability.

It doesn't matter, in the end. If Diov has to, he'll bury us in machines and the resulting gravity well of super powers will freeze us in place (LAG!).

Just run with it, give your punches, take your hits, try to have a good time and tell a good yarn. So far, this has been a bit of a slow start, but there's great potential here. I'd hate to think that, because we had a disagreement on how strong enemies running on Giant Monster Threat Rating Code, this all went for naught.

One thing of note, Diov... Earlier, when you described the trouncing of Statesman, it probably wasn't a good idea to let the character's opinion of the "cow" to bleed into the narrative. narration's normally supposed to be impassive, telling the facts of the matter. When the character's emotions seep into the narrative, it smacks of slashfic, and seems less serious.))

*Bing! Bing-bing-bing-bing-bing!*

Kip rattled away at the pinball machine. Any time it told him he was out of plays, he just gave it a swift kick and it caused something inside to click, giving him another try.

"Yep..." he muttered as he went from nearly beating a high score to draining three to four of the little weighted silver spheres, "Bored and extremely dangerous..."

The phrase fit the odd guy responsible for him being here, too. In fact, it fit him better.

"Ah, cripes," Kip muttered as he kicked the machine again, "That's the kind of person I'm dealing with?"

He considered briefly trying to find a way out of here. A villain like that? Kip would probably wind up being forgotten here as easily as murdered for no good reason.

Neither was appealing.

"Eh, one more game."

----------

Power Breaker slammed the contents of the shot glass into his mouth and grunted as it burned the back of his throat. He had a bad feeling all of a sudden, and it only started after Kip left the club.

"I hope that kid's alright," he muttered, "Kip's a tough little bird, but Poe does some weird..."

He grunted as he realized what kind of logic was at play here.

"Bartender! Pitcher!"

The abrtender glared at him dubiously.

"Pitcher!" Breaker repeated.

"You're gonna drink the whole thing, aren't you?"

"Oh yeah," the brute replied, "You guys don't make the drink that can knock me out anymore... So, I gotta do this the hard way."

"Whatever," the bartender set the large glass container in front of Power Breaker, "It's not my funeral."

It was time to get back to business.

Kipland Durj opened his assault on crime with a classic raid on a "rogue" Crey research facility. He'd gotten information that the warehouse he was raiding had been housing Rikti technology, but when he arrived there was nothing but security guards and researchers.

"Sonova..." he grumbled after cleaning up the mess that used to be a Paragon protector, "Just idiots... What the Hell were they doing here?"

He started dialing Agent Wild's number. There had to have been some kind of development while he was fighting...

"Come on, come on," he grumbled as the phone rang on the other end.

He didn't notice the researcher who wasn't unconscious. He barely started to react when he felt a sudden motion in the air and heard his soul screaming "Watch out!"

There was what felt initially like a punch, then his thigh tightened a little. When Durj batted the researcher aside, he noticed that something felt lodged in his thigh. A syringe? He glared at the frail-seeming man, who was starting to stand.

"What did you just hit me with?" he slurred a little.

A bad sign.

The researcher removed his mask. Kip had the glaring suspicion that it was so the scrapper could see the wicked-looking man's creepy smile.

"It's a cocktail that should put even the most ardent Stone Tank into a deep sleep..." the researcher chuckled.

"Dammit," Kip grunted as he dropped to his knees, everything turning gray and fuzzy, "Why is this crap happening to me all of a sudden?"

----------

Kipland awoke in his own apartment to the sound of his ringing phone.

"Ah, man," he grunted as he tried to answer it, "What the?"

His left arm was pinned down by a... well... not heavy weight, but a weight that shouldn't have been there. It was a lithe woman with bright red hair and...

Kip's eyes narrowed at the cat ears.

"No fricking way!" he shouted as he rolled Mynx off of himself.

She fell off the bed and gave a loud, shrill shout. Kip leaped for the other side of the bed and got into a defensive stance. She picked herself up by crawling up the side of the bed, peeked her head over the edge and glared angrily at the young man.

"Well, that was a Hell of a wake up call!" she shouted at him, "What the Hell, Kip?"

"What the [frick] are you doing in my apartment?" Kip shouted back.

"Uh... I think it's fairly obvious..."

Kip's mind raced through a check-up to determine what that could mean. Most obvious answers didn't measure up.

It didn't help that there was now a huge gap in his memory.

"You have got to answer that fricking phone!" she shouted, "It's driving me nuts!"

Kip reached down and picked up the receiver.

"DUDE!"

It was Cedric.

"What?" Kip asked.

"I just saw a tabloid of you out last night with-"

"I'll call you back," Kip interrupted.

"No man!" Cedric's voice was still clear on the way to getting hung up, "I want details! DETAILS!"

*click*

"Okay..." Durj intoned as he relaxed his stance, "I'm... I'ma little freaked out right now... Last time we met, you weren't by any means interested in me, frankly, I didn't care. Now, I find myself lying next to you, in my apartment... What the Hell is going on?"

Mynx blinked at him and shook her head. Pressing her face into the mattress, she seemed to be trying to stifle a giggle. When she looked up again, she was clearly smiling.

"We met a couple nights ago, Kip. I remembered you from the past couple times we met, but something was different... We were in Pocket D, you seemed to just be chilling out and we got to talking. Then dancing... Then... Well... Dinner last night."

"Nothing else, I hope," Kip narrowed his eyes at her.

"You... You're a vir-"

"Yeah," Kip replied, "And, frankly, I'm of a rare philosophy... You know, first time should be with someone special and all that."

"I'm not special?" she batted her eyes at him.

Something seemed odd about that.

"I don't know you," Kip replied, "We weren't friends... Not even good acquaintances. And now we suddenly move on to sleeping with each other? Suffice it to say, that [dung] don't fly."

"Maybe we just fell for each other really hard," she smirked at him mischievously, "You know? Passions ignite, pheromones and hormones do their work and two people find themselves inextricably entangled for a long, intense moment..."

"Is that what happened?" Kip's narrowed eyes and the way he tapped the belt on his shorts indicated his skepticism.

She looked around the room for a moment. Her posture was playful, not shy. She was enjoying messing with Kip's head like this.

"No," she finally replied curtly, "You are, for as loud, abrasive and blunt as you've been, a gentlemen at heart."

Kip relaxed again and sat down on the bed, cradling his head in his hands. Mynx crawled back under the covers and looked to him calmly. His slumped shoulders were a bit of a let-down, however.

"What's wrong?"

"I..." Kip turned and looked to her, his face grim, "I haven't been myself these past... I don't know how many days. The last thing I remember is getting injected with some weird stuff... Now... I don't know what's going on..."

"So what are you saying?" she asked, her tone full of worry.

"I'm saying... I'm saying I can't be sure if this is real or not. I'm saying I need a few days to collect myself and figure out if this is just a Crey plot to get me to reveal hero secrets, if this is all a dream, or if that shot just altered the way I think about things... I've got this gap in my memory, and it's already driving me bat-[dung] crazy..."

"I understand," Mynx sighed, "I... I have my own problems with Crey. They made me what I am. They made me a monster..."

"Come on," Kip turned around so she could see he was looking into her eyes, "You and I both know that's not true. A monster is defined by its actions. The people we put behind bars have no qualms about harming or subjugating innocent people. They seek to throw the system into upheaval just for their own selfish ends. You and I... We fight against that. We have gifts that Fate saw fit to grant us, and we've made the choice to serve and protect the people who can't do the same for themselves."

He felt odd saying these things. It was a cleaner and lighter version of the philosophy he used to reconcile the terrible violence he visited upon the criminal elements he encountered on a regular basis. However, what he found odd was that he was reassuring one of the major heroes of the city.

"I know the speeches," she murmured, "I know... It's just... I sometimes wish I had my normal life."

"Well, you have your alter ego..." Kip shrugged, "It's not like anybody knows who you are without your kitty-ears."

She hummed at that.

"What?" Kip asked.

"It's just... Maybe you should know who I am without the kitty ears before we go any further..."

"Give me a few more days before we talk about that again," Kip rolled his eyes, pushed himself off the bed and started heading for the door, "Alright, look, I'm gonna start breakfast. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

She took a moment to consider before answering with a question, "How good are your eggs?"

"I make some mean eggs over easy," he replied with a grin, "Is that cool?"

"Yeah."

----------

"Soul?" he asked to his empty apartment after she'd left, "Hello, Me?"

"...Yes?"

"Is something the matter?"

"Quite. But I don't know what it is."

"So..." Kip started pacing in his living room, "Am I awake?"

"Yes. I'm certain of it."

"More certain than that last time?"

"I wasn't a cognizant entity back then... You mistrusted your gut instinct that day and ignored the evidence. That wasn't my fault."

"Oh yeah..."

"Much the same applies here."

"With Mynx?"

"Yes."

"Figures."

"Be very careful around her. And that's not some aspect of your natural paranoia rubbing off on me. f anything I'd much prefer you to be social. However, something stinks to Hell about this situation (we zonk out and wake up with a celebrity? Sorry, but no), and it just isn't safe to pursue any kind of romantic liaison until we figure out what's going on. Besides... You aren't ready to forget Amy yet."

"How the [frick] am I supposed to even begin doing that!? She's in some secret facility in the Aquarius Medical Center! She may have even been moved or kidnapped and subsumed back into the Rikti ranks!"

"And ignoring the problem these past years has really helped. You realize this is a form of insanity, right? Arguing with yourself..."

"Yeah, yeah..." Kip walked over to his apartment door, yanked it open and stepped outside, "Okay, we can stop now. I've got work to do."

Martin landed by the "Bloodhound." The rest of the crew was materializing in their various methods, but Martin preferred the standard "dropping out of the sky/Death from Above" method.

Landing by the monster, he held his hands up in a defensive, yet friendly pose. It worked with hungry strays, it should work for a semi-tame magical beast...

"That's a good... Boy... Girl... Something," he whispered as he backed away and it glared at him through narrowed eyes, "I didn't realize I was landing so close... Relax... Relax... Good..."

He turned back to the rest of the crew and grinned. He didn't understand why, but it felt good to be in an adventure of some certain import.

"Retreat?" Kipland asked, "Where to?"

Not waiting for an answer (or maybe just multi-tasking), he moved toward the ledge and peered down.

"I'm gonna have to tell Psych."