Nalrok_AthZim

Edit: Whoopsie, thought you were yelling at me.

Yes, thank goodness he has such debilitating pancreatic cancer.

I'm defensive for a reason, buddy. Every time someone from the Mac community says "Hey, could we get a fix? We're kind of being ignored over in the mac forums" some wiseguy has to make a post boiling down to "lol macs" or "just use windows" or some other ******** remark that turns the entire subject into a Mac vs. PC argument. It's sickening and in a community where people are almost always friendly and willing to help, the mac users and windows users interactions are the biggest disparity.

Imagine if you will, trying to tell your doctor you have a lump under your arm, and whenever you get to the word 'lump' his nurse opens the door and just goes "EEEWWWWW," laughs, then stares at you blankly. You have a legitimate problem and every time you try to talk to the one entity who may be able to help, someone else butts in and just has to open their mouth.

So you don't consider the Mac client crashing upon trying to access the market a showstopper?

I oughta slap you with a frying pan.


Every time the mac community takes one step closer to having their issues fixed a comment like this sends them two steps back. If the tables were turned and the Windows client couldn't access the features in Beta without crashing to the desktop I would absolutely HATE to be a moderator here; all my time would be cleaning up whining, moaning and screaming about how the devs are useless and they don't care.

We've been at this for TWO DAMN YEARS trying to get our "supported" mac client fixed, so you can take your jokes and your "I think I'm funny when I make fun of macs" and SHOVE IT.

From what it looks like, if you're paying 15 a month for VIP you'll be able to get on Exalted (the VIP server). If you ARE locked out and you ARE paying for VIP, that's something to contact support about. Since I21 hasn't launched yet, we can't really say that'll happen. Your hypothetical situation is a "wait-and-see" thing, unfortunately. I doubt there'll be problems though.

I'll explain, and I'm not trolling you.

When you click the Beta servers and it says you do not have access, this is a restriction placed on the server itself; they can put a measure in effect that will display that message and reject any user that meets the criteria of the access control.

Say your account is labeled "Customer". Paragon can set up their server access control to say "Do not allow Customer accounts." Whenever a Customer account clicks the server, it will say "Sorry, you don't have access!"

This has nothing to do with the live servers or the content of Issue 21. If Issue 21 went live tomorrow, or even today, the server lockout wouldn't be a problem since the live servers have no access control.

Another example of this is the time shortly following a major patch; if you're early enough, clicking on a recently-rebooted server will result in "The account (account name) is restricted from accessing this server as it is currently only available to developers for internal testing purposes."

So the problem is with the server and your account, which is something support SHOULD be helping with, yes. However, this has nothing to do with I21 and won't make any impact when it goes live since the conflicts causing it technically don't exist on the live servers.

Make sense?

I do hope you're joking, Chaos.

The server's restrictions have nothing at all to do with the content in I21.

((Zing.

But seriously, Calhoun's sense of humor may just save his ***.))

((Many thanks to you Mr. Kaison. There will be humor here and there, but the story will get progressively less humorous and more serious as Calhoun begins down the path to ERA.))

((In a good way? XD))

Part II
The Face of Time
Everwood Grove Apartments, Seven Gates, Brickstown

"Thom! Thom, where the hell are you?" Booker slammed the door shut behind him and locked it, starting with the deadbolt and ending with the forty-two digit biometric lock. He set the plasma cannon in it's storage tube and nodded with approval as the tube sealed and the words "CHARGING: 20%" crawled across the smooth gray exterior of the tube itself. "THOM," he roared into the house. From under the floor came a heavy thunk followed by a series of about six whirring noises all of which differed in tone and speed.

Thomson Clerk-Maxwell Calhoun rushed up the stairs. He looked almost identical to his older brother; blue eyes, short cut black hair, high cheekbones, a stern mouth, and a sharp jaw. He was wearing his usual white sweater and blue jeans, with the occasional marring of soot from possible explosions or singing. "What, Book? The hell's gotten into you?" He looked at his brother as the elder Calhoun's armor opened up like a body-shaped double door refrigerator.

Booker stepped out of the suit and snatched a canvas grocery bag labeled "Paragon Prime Marketplace" from the suit's hand. He opened it and dumped the pocket watches gingerly onto their kitchen table. "This is what's gotten into me, Thom. Pick one up. Go on."

Thomson eyeballed him for a moment, then did as requested. The moment his hand touched the watch he could feel time slow. It was eerily similar to the way it felt when one submerged oneself in water; the sudden depth and sluggishness of the new environment coupled with the constant embrace of a substance that was no longer air. "Holy hell," he said aloud. To Booker, it sounded like his brother had been recorded at 25RPM and played back at 33.

"I know, right?" Booker said with a grin. To Thomson, his words were slow and elongated, just like hearing something underwater. He continued to grin as Thom set the pocket watch down. "I found them in a dumpster in Kings. I thought they were awesome looking so I snagged 'em. Turns out if you touch one time slows. If you touch all six, time stops. Now, here's where you come in."

"You want them in the X-0 suit," Thom said.

"Y-yes, how did you—"

"Because that's an incredible idea! Not only will it make you that much more efficient in combat, your hero name is even better! Beam Time!"

"Exactly, that's exactly what I said! Now it only works if you're touching them, I've noticed. So I need a way to turn them on and off, if that makes sense."

"I have an idea. You'll need to take a break from hero-work while I work on the suit though."

"Yeah," Booker said. "I think it might be time for a break anyway."


Longbow had organized an investigation of the "Millstone Incident," the name they had given to the theft of the Timepieces of Millstone; these were the gorgeous and intricate pocketwatches Booker Calhoun had stolen to both save his own life and further his own power. Gathered in a dimly lit Longbow conference room was a group of heroes designated Task Force Fugit: The swordsman Herr Geist; the frozen queen Zambonia; the impervious Safeguard; the undetectable Desert Runner; the Freakshow-Champion-turned-hero Dr4k3 M1tch3llz.

"Zis comes as no surprise to me," Herr Geist said, the mask he wore flexing with his jaw as he spoke. Dressed like a very eccentric man from the mid 1800's and wearing a ghostly white mask, the most striking thing about this extremely tall, extremely lanky hero was the two glowing orbs hovering just in front of where his eyes would be behind the mask. "Zese new heroes, vith all ze gusto und all ze fire are almost always after somesing greater. For Beam Time, he vanted to steal ze Timepieces of Lord Millstone. Und he did, just like zat. Now, Andret is in ze hospital and ve are ze ones tasked vith finding ze fool."

Behind him, an even taller figure emerged from the shadows of the Longbow conference room. His well-built frame was coated in a flexsteel fiber bodysuit. Teal, white and gray colored the bodysuit in sharp, clean patterns. Cold gray eyes regarded the room from a very handsome but stern and tanned face. Polishing off this herculean hero was well combed blond hair. "Your hubris aside, Geist, our first task should be finding out how to track a man who can bend time in any way he likes. We have an advantage already; he hasn't had the Timepieces for long. He'll only know how to control their most basic aspect."

"So vat do you propose, Safeguard? Surely ze juggernaut of our little posse has ze plan of ze century," Herr Geist quipped.

"We need to find someone with the technology to detect temporal abnormalities. The Timepieces will show up like a hot iron on a thermal camera."

"H0w exactly," Dr4k3 began while fiddling with his absurdly yellow mohawk, "do y0u know this, d00d? 4 all w3 know t3h w4tchez 0nl33 ma3k wa\/ez when th3y'r3 j00zed."

"He's right. I watched this Paragon History Network show about them. Some ancient guy in Steel Canyon had a "tempor-ometer" or some crap and it spiked whenever the watches were nearby," Zambonia said in a flat and fittingly cold tone. She shifted her hips and tugged her thigh-highs up her strong-looking legs. (In truth Zambonia could kick in a steel door despite being classified as a Defender; she was very satisfied with her kickboxing class.)

Safeguard tapped his chin. "Then the problem is finding someone with that technology."

Sitting at the head of the conference table was another man clad in khaki rags and baggy clothing. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a post-apocalyptic style video game. Over his face was a faded green bandana and a pair of goggles with reflective blue lenses. "I know someone," he said with a dry, hollow voice.

Safeguard nodded. "Do tell, Desert Runner."

Desert Runner took out a battered ballistic-looking phone. "Her name is Terri Malevolon, and we're going to need to meet her in the Isles."


"Okay Book. Try it out. Just like I said; all you have to do is focus. The neural transmitters in the helmet will do the rest," Thom said.

Booker nodded in the suit, his HUD booting and outlining the room's various power sources with a faint grid overlay. He wished he could turn off the ability to recognize lamps and the like, but he wasn't about to ask his brother to code out light sources. "Systems online, Thom. Say when."

"Okay then. I want you, on my mark, to focus and move from where you are to the other side of the living room," Thom said, gesturing to the china cabinet at the opposite end of the room. "Three, two, one, mark— JESUS!"

"What, what?!" Booker looked around and almost fell on the couch, an accident that would smash the furniture to splinters.

"That was FAST! The second I said 'mark' you were over there!"

"Then it works?"

"It works like a champ! Now remember, you can remove the watches from each compartment with your ring and thumb prints on the surface for three seconds. Sound good?"

"Sounds great, Thom. You're the best damn brother a guy could have. It's too bad I don't have more of these watches; you could join me in the fray! Beam Time and," he thought for a moment. "And Tempus Fusion! Scientist and time-traveller extraordinaire!"

Thom laughed, standing and patting his armored brother on the top of his helmet. "Crime fighting isn't for me, Bookie. I'm the guy that makes your awesome gadgets, remember?"

"If you say so Clerky." Booker laughed and shot his brother the bird in jest. The two chuckled idly and, after exiting the armor and putting away equipment, sat down to shoot the breeze and watch Deadliest Warrior.

Twenty minutes in, a "boop boop boop boop" sound came from the basement. "Oh hell," Thom said. "I gotta go get that, it's a call from a colleague I've been expecting since noon."

"Go dude, go, make history," Booker called after his brother.

I've teamed with him an absurd number of times; he's a cool cat and a REALLY effective Grav/FF 'troller. Nice group.

((Correctamundo, my friend. I'll see you online soon!))

Taking the place of my first one if I happen to screw it up before I buy IO's.

IC:


Booker Wheldon Calhoun slammed himself back against the wall of the hallway as hard as he could, to keep himself from moving and to keep himself upright. This was more than he could handle. He'd been told that this would be right up his alley. He'd been told he could walk in, work his magic, and walk out. What he'd walked into was a veritable war zone. Walking up the hallway with heavy thudding noises was a man—at least he thought it was a man—in a gargantuan suit of pneumatically assisted armor.

"Come on, hero. I know you're here. You screw up my heist, you die. Now man up."

Calhoun shouldered his plasma cannon. It had been his since his brother had designed it for him. With it, and his trusty (and patented) armor, he'd been on the streets of Paragon making a name for himself as (and he loved this name) "Beam Time." He tapped the side of his helmet, his targeting computer refocusing and analyzing the reflection of the monolith war suit in one of the jewelry cases nearby. With a pump of the charging rod on the underside of his cannon, he spun around.

"Stop right there, Mechanoxx! Do you know what time it is?!"

The enormous hulk stopped, and stood motionless. "You're… you're kidding," the distorted voice projecting from it said. "I know exactly what time it is, it's on that clock over—"

His words were cut short by Calhoun, the young man's roar of confidence being swallowed by the sound of an energy source whining to full power.

"IT'S BEAM TIME, SUCKER!"

"What the **** is beam ti—" was all the powered villain could say as he staggered backwards before an absolutely eye-searing beam of orange light erupted from the barrel of Calhoun's comically-oversized plasma cannon. The sound it made as it tore across the room was not at all unlike the thumping "wob wob wob" of recent dubstep songs. The beam smashed into the pneumatic robber, arcing around him with visible momentum, blowing out the back wall of the high-security artifact warehouse and liquefying the metal-clad man from the knees up.

"Oh ****," he said as the two legs fell to either side. "Oh man, this is bad." He sprinted over to the smoldering lower legs, almost hurling up his breakfast as he saw that—yes—there was a man in there. The operative word being was.

"Drop your weapon" a young voice bellowed from behind him. Lined up along the wall, as silent as they had been as they entered, was an entire firing line of Longbow Nullifiers. "Drop your weapon," the man in front of them said again. He stood at a modest five-foot-eleven. That was all that was modest, however. From head to toe he was clad in gunmetal gray, white and gold plated armor. A soft buzzing noise was coming from his right arm. Calhoun identified the sound immediately: It was a very long, very bright, very deadly-looking energy sword. It hummed and sparked from blade to blade, glowing brightly even in the lights of the warehouse. His hair spilled out from atop a faceless visor, soft beeping sounds and glowing designs scattering across the interior. Behind that were a pair of startlingly green eyes; bombardier's eyes. Accenting it all were a flared pair of metallic gray wings. Armor plating was wrapped around the joints and the feathers looked like knives.

"I… I didn't mean to kill him," Calhoun began. "I had no idea my plasma cannon would—"

The armored man stepped forward. "Drop your weapon or die at the hands of Andret." He raised his sword, the blade crackling and humming.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Andret guy. I'm a hero, like you!" Booker reached around to his utility belt and popped one of the compartments open.

"DROP IT!" The armored angel-like man rocketed forward and crashed into Calhoun, slamming him backward into a glass case holding a collection of old pocket watches. The barrel of the plasma cannon smashed into Andret's body, the weapon firing. Orange light burst from the back of Andret's shoulder and seared another hole in the roof of the warehouse.

"Jesus Christ," Calhoun shouted. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" He rolled Andret off of him putting the plasma cannon down and going for his medical nanodevice emitter. Andret looked at it, his eyes widening behind his visor.

"K-kill… him," he groaned at the firing squad. They responded immediately, opening fire on Calhoun. His life flashed before his eyes, his muscles seized, his body reeled backwards into the shattered shelf of pocket watches, his heart stopped—

— and so did everything else. He took a sudden breath. Another. A third. He jerked slightly and the shelf of watches shook. The bullets that were just a few feet from ripping him several structurally superfluous new orifices inched forward. He looked back at the watches. No, it couldn't be. He reached an arm down to grab his plasma cannon and the bullets began to inch forward, faster now. Reactively he slammed his hand back against the shelf.

"Oh, my, god," he spoke aloud. He reached back gingerly and plucked one of the watches from the shelf. Then another. Then another. Finally, he had all six of the positively gorgeous and masterfully-made watches in his hands. He stuffed them hastily into his belt pockets and picked up his cannon. "I guess I'm a thief now, too."

He noticed his hero ID card on the floor, and picked it up after weaving between the bullets hanging in midair. He picked it up.

Beam Time

"Beam Time," he read aloud. He suddenly laughed, a bark of a noise. He glanced up at the frozen faces of the Nullifiers. "Beam TIME," he laughed out. He stepped forward and got in the face of one Nullifier who wore a particularly scornful expression.

"Do you know what time it is, sucker?" He began to laugh even harder, holding up his ID card and his plasma cannon as if both were equally powerful weapons. "It's Beam Time! I'm Beam Time!"

He left, laughing, into the bright afternoon, flipping up the helmet visor of a passing motorcyclist.