Rusted_Metal

Patriot Brigade Personnel Database
Subject: Skrunchie

Name: Renee Hammond
Registered ID: Skrunchie
Status: Hero
Supergroup Affiliation: Patriot Brigade

Vital Statistics
Sex: Female
Date of Birth: 29 May 1998
Race: Human
Phenotype: Caucasian
Height: 4' 9"
Weight: 85 lbs
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Brown
Identifying Marks and/or Scars: None
Offensive Abilities: Rocket Powered Sledgehammer
Defensive Abilities: Fire based
Inputting Member: Colonel Victory

Skrunchie is a young girl rescued by Tachyon Hammer toward the end of the destruction of Galaxy City by the Shivans. Suffering from crush trauma, Tachyon Hammer was adamant about not allowing Skrunchie to be hospitalized, instead insisting that Miss Moral heal the young girl.

From what we've gathered from her constant chatter, Skrunchie was born and raised in Galaxy City. Her father was a superhero with telepathic abilities, and Skrunchie claims that her father was forced to quit after "hurting his back" and when "brown people took away his position at Hero Corps." The absent-minded, almost innocent racism in many of the young girl's quotes about her father's parental "wisdom" give me serious concerns about the way she was raised. Her mother was apparently an unpowered woman who was completely submissive to Skrunchie's father, and I can't help but wonder if the girl's father used his telepathic powers to dominate an innocent woman.

Skrunchie shows rapidly maturing fire powers, as well as wielding, of all things, a rocket-powered hammer larger than she is. For such a small girl she is incredibly resistant to damage, and is amazingly strong, nearly as strong as my old friend Zuka.

The little girl doesn't sleep much, preferring to watch Cartoon Network with Zuka at night, sitting in the Day Room of the superbase in her pajamas and eating bowl after bowl of sugary cereal that she's usually put at least a cup of sugar into. This also concerns me deeply, even though Miss Moral has assured me that it is not causing any physiological or psychological harm to the little one. Much like Tachyon Hammer, who seems to have a strange attachment to the little girl, she seems fueled by sugar, although thankfully she doesn't imbibe alcohol, caffeine, or nicotine like Tach does. Miss Moral has assured me that she requires massive amounts of sugar to fuel her superpowers, which is another reason the little girl seems to me like she is constantly eating everything not nailed down.

I have to admit, walking into the Day Room to see her curled up and asleep in Zuka's lap will never cease to amuse me. Something about a 13 year old little girl, wearing Spongebob pajamas, curled up and sucking her thumb in the lap of a 10 foot tall zombie makes me smile.

Skrunchie wears private school uniforms that she begged Tachyon Hammer to buy her. Usually these uniforms look like the same uniforms various young girls on Japanese cartoon shows wear, and Miss Moral assures me that the this is all part of her repression.

And with that, I must address what we have come to piece together of the girl's past, even though it both pains and angers me.

Skrunchie was raised by a mother and father who apparently were racist toward anyone "not white like Jesus", and her father was apparently mentally abusive in a way that only a telepath could be.

If her mother had not performed household chores or "pleased" her father to her father's standards or desires, her mother was put in "the punishment box" in order to "repent for her sins of sloth" until her father was satisfied.

Right before "I" saved her, her father had apparently crafted Skrunchie a "punishment box" of her very own. Skrunchie mentions that "the box is in our minds, so we can always carry our punishment with us and can never just hide from it." Miss Moral spent many hours carefully dismantling and removing what she referred to as a "Domination Trap", and told me that she'd found "memories" that Skrunchie had spent days at a time locked in that box.

The thought that a father would trap a little girl inside of a wooden box that existed only in her own mind sickens me.

The destruction of Galaxy City is where Skrunchie completely loses connection with reality, and despite the fact that I want to deny her claims, I cannot, in good conscience, leave that little girl with nobody.

According to Skrunchie, I am her grandfather, who came to her house and took him to live in his superbase with him until she can gain control of her fire powers. Sometimes she claims that I arrived because I'd heard she needed my help, other times she claims that her father sent her to me after she burned the garage down.

In reality the Shivans killed her family and destroyed her house. She had ran to the garage, where she was convinced her mother was in her "punishment box", and used the hammer she had built in JR High shop class to defend herself. Her fire powers kicked in in self defense, and the garage began to burn. It partially collapsed on her, trapping her in the burning wreckage.

It was then that Tachyon Hammer saved her. Tachyon Hammer claims that she heard Skrunchie screaming, and I hate to say this, but I do not believe her.

Skrunchie watched that terrible 1990's "Patriot Brigade Adventures" cartoon show when she was younger, and built an elaborate fantasy that I was her grandfather and would soon come to rescue her from the abuse she was suffering. Miss Moral has told me that many abused youngsters craft such fantasies and suffer such delusions.

Since she was roughly 10 Skrunchie has had unrestricted access to the internet, and apparently is a fan of something she calls "slash-fiction". I'm not sure what that is, and Tachyon Hammer has told me to just let it drop.

I'm worried about the little girl. She's far to young to be trying to play hero. With the Praetorian War, the Rikti War, and the Shivan Invasion, now is an even more dangerous time to be a hero.

Despite my concerns Tachyon Hammer, Zuka, and Miss Moral all insist she not only be allowed to live with us instead of being remanded to an orphanage, but she be allowed to continue living out her fantasies.

I pray for her.

--Entered by: Colonel Victory

ZUKA LIKE SKRUNCHIE!!!!!

SKRUNCHIE AND ZUKA LIKE WHEN MAGIC DANCING BUNNY DANCE THE CRYING DANCE AND THE I HAVE RIGHTS DANCE AND THE I WANT A LAWYER DANCE AND THE PLEASE LET ME GO DANCE!!!!!

SKRUNCHIE AND ZUKA FRIENDS FOREVER!!!!!!!

--Entered by: Sergeant Longshot

Did I leave my account logged into the supercomputer? I don't remember accessing this file.

--Entered by: Sergeant Longshot

Although the good Colonel is concerned for Skrunchie, he should not be. Hades had claimed her soul, she was supposed to enter his domain as the Fates had already determined that the child would die. Tachyon Hammer somehow saved her, and my questioning of the Fates revealed that Tachyon Hammer has no thread of life.

The good Colonel should remember that Primal Earth is at war, facing the Mad Tyrant of Praetoria, the Devouring Horde, and the Angered Ones, and in war, people die. It was not long ago that "children" Skrunchie's age marched into battle alongside adults.

Skrunchie is now a threadless one, one who's destiny cannot be determined, one who is beyond the Fates.

The good Colonel should be patient, and remember that even the smallest things can make the biggest impact on the world.

Skrunchie has her part to play, as do we all.

--Entered by: Mythus Prime

Longbow Database
FILE: JET-4427591-TH-001a

Name: Julia Eloise Thevra
Registered ID: Tachyon Hammer
Status: Hero
Supergroup Affiliation: Patriot Brigade

Vital Statistics
Sex: Female
Date of Birth: 29 May 1987
Race: Human
Phenotype: Caucasian
Height: 5' 4"
Weight: 135 lbs
Hair: Red (Often dyed blue)
Eyes: Blue
Identifying Marks and/or Scars: Circular irregular burn scar: right forward thigh, 3" diameter (Scar patterning consistent with Arachnos beam mace); unknown creature bite mark: upper right rear biceps, 4" diameter, 17 conical teeth in lower, 21 conical teeth on upper (Resemblance to Devouring Earth bite); surgical incision scar, left torso below floating rib, 6" long (No recorded surgery on record); horizontal scars above kidneys, 4" long (consistent with Vanguard energy blade); tattoo of a cross inside a wreath with letters "R.I.P. Paragon City - 2012" on upper right shoulder (Unknown reference), monochrome color, examination suggests it may have been done with a wire and crude oil in the same method as Freakshow tattoos; UV ink enhanced laser bar-code and serial number on the back of left hand consistent with Arachnos prisoner of war tattoos given to those who took part in the invasion of the Rogue Isles in October, 2005. Tattoo serial number coincides with the Caup Au Diable POW camp, Section 9D, and was given to REDACTED and the subject is not recorded as having taken part in the assault on the Rogue Isles.

Archetype: Blaster
Primary Powerset: Electricity
Secondary Powerset: Electricity
Ancillary Powerset: Electrical Mastery
Tertiary Powers: Hover, Combat Jumping, Superjump, Spring Attack

Personality Notes:
Personal Interactions: Ms. Therva seems to make friends easily, is often chatty and engaging, and quickly forms alliances both while performing missions or while relaxing. This is in strange contrast to a little under a year ago, when Ms. Therva was social only to her fellow addicts and those she planned on taking advantage of. She often touches those she speaks to, and seems to have difficulty maintaining personal space. She also displays strangely low levels of personal modesty.

Combat Approach: Highly aggressive in combat, unlike most blasters, subject is not a distance combatant but prefers to close into hand to hand range. She works comfortably with all archetypes and personalities, with the sole exception of people she deems "cowardly." Empaths and controllers are not seen as "cowardly" and she often encourages them to remain at a distance from the combat. Ms. Therva also seems to demonstrate advanced knowledge of small unit tactics, ambush tactics, military tactics and jargon, and guerrilla warfare, despite having no formal training in such.

Appearance: The subject is a young woman in excellent physical shape. She has been described as "lush bodied", "wicked looking", and attractive. She is aggressive in combat as well as picking up temporary lovers in Pocket-D. She shows little to no signs of her extensive drug addiction, as well as no tendency to return to her addictive behavior. She often wears pink, with the exception of the Christmas holiday season, when she wears green and red. She wears a targeting reticule of unknown design, although enhanced surveillance video images have revealed that the earpiece has "Defenders of the Motherland" written in Russian engraved on it. She is never seen without a blue beret, which has been confirmed to be a genuine UN beret. The pin on the beret is an anomaly, as previously it was of unknown design, but following the Praetorian invasion the pin's design surfaced as the crest awarded to UN Vanguard personnel, stationed in the Rikti War Zone, who took part in repelling the attack of Kings Row. Even though the subject took part in the defense of Kings Row, arriving almost at the exact time that Praetorain forces arrived. Examination of the footage of the unit crest has determined that the pin is at least six years old, despite the fairly recent creation of the crest. The artist who designed the crest in Finnish, has never set foot in the United States, and denies knowledge of the subject's crest.

Behavior: Brash and outgoing, she's known for referring even to new acquaintances as "baby" or "honey", as well as referring to combat as "the hurty game" with a smile. When not spending the night with someone she met in Pocket-D that night, she usually sleeps in the superbase of the Patriot Brigade. She's known for partying in Pocket-D quite often, usually after missions, however after fighting the Devouring Earth, she's well known for getting highly intoxicated, as well as alternating between being belligerent and melancholy. She shows little personal modesty after her reemergence in 2011, in sharp contrast to her previous shyness. Longbow psychiatric analysts suggest that this is in response to her years of addiction. She habitually seeks to physically touch people, no matter their outward appearance, and has been seen to refuse to associate or interact with those who do not allow her to touch them. The subject has no permanent residence, no vehicle, and very few personal possessions outside of battle trophies and small trinkets gifted to her by lovers. ADDENDUM: The Longbow Behavior Analysis Unit has determined that the subject's habitual casual sexual encounters appear to have a pattern. Prior to the Shivan attack upon Galaxy City she initiated sexual encounters with several heroes who later gave their lives in the defense of Galaxy City. Three encounters described as "of note" by LBAU were with superpowered heroes that died alone, and one female hero had told a friend that the subject told her several times that "Whenever you think that nobody cares, honey, remember that I do." Prior to the attack by Praetorian Earth the subject initiated casual sexual encounters with individuals who died in the defense of Primal Earth, often those who died under heroic circumstances or died alone. LBAU located an associate of one hero who died during what is now known as "The Apex Strike", trying to prevent multiple War Walkers from attacking a PPD emergency medical station, and was last seen facing off against five War Walkers by himself. In a statement to LBAU, the associate commented that the subject told the deceased "Tachyon Hammer will always be with you, baby." and that the deceased also mentioned that the subject gave the deceased a picture of her, a closeup focused on her eyes. Investigation showed that the deceased was found holding onto the picture, having bled to death while the Praetorian Earth medical jammers were active.

Habits: Subject is known for excessive alcohol consumption, causal liaisons, dancing, and an almost gleeful attitude when engaging in combat. She is also known for referring to herself in the third person at odd times. She possesses an involuntary habit of rubbing the scar on her right thigh when agitated, or clicking her tongue thinking.

Notes:

Feb, 2007 Subject is typical in mindset of newly powered heroes. Physical and Psychological testing have revealed no anomalies. Cleared for Hero Corps duty.

August, 2007 Subject suffered severe injuries during Second Rikti Invasion. Post release from the Paragon City Hospital after a 2 week stay subject has resigned from supergroup and disappeared.

October, 2007 Agents in "Boomtown" have confirmed that subject has become a drug addict and lives in various Lost encampments.

October 2008 Annual review has determined that subject remains addicted to drugs and is currently homeless.

June, 2009 Subject arrested by PPD for shoplifting

July, 2009 Subject arrested by PPD for possession of a controlled substance, sentenced to six months in Zigursky prison.

September, 2009 Subject released from Zigursky prison early on good behavior. Department of Corrections noted that subjects powers have degraded to the point where subject can do little more than a mild electrostatic shock on skin to skin contact.

October, 2009 Annual review has determined that subject's status in unchanged.

December, 2009 Subject admitted to Galaxy City hospital with pnuemonia and suffering from hypothermia after subject was found asleep in an alley.

February, 2010 Subject arrested for solicitation. Sentenced to 30 days.

April, 2010 Subject hospitalized after attack by Hellions. Subject fled hospital upon awakening after allegedly stealing narcotics from a nurse's cart.

May, 2010 Subject arrested for panhandling in Atlas Park.

June, 2010 Subject has resurfaced in Pocket-D, engaging in extensive alcohol consumption. It appears that subject has developed Bipolar Type II. Subject seen wearing pink leather jacket, pink leather mini-skirt, pink fishnet stockings, Crey Series jet-boots painted pink with blue highlights, a UN beret, and forearm bracers consistent with gifts to guests at Manticore's wedding. Subject is in possession of monetary funds, appears clean and well groomed, and subject's powers seem to have returned.

July, 2011 Subject has resurfaced on the streets of Paragon City, often intoxicated, fighting superpowered criminals. Security footage has shown that her powers have seemed to gained strength, but she shows previously undocumented combat expertise and control over her powers.

July, 2011 Agents in Pocket-D have witnessed a confrontation between superpowered individual "Mythus Prime" and subject, resulting in a loud vocal disagreement. Afterwards subject has vanished. It is presumed she has returned to addiction and squatting in Boomtown. Longbow Behavior Analysis Unit believes that the subject has not returned to her previous life as an addict, but instead has left Paragon City.

August, 2011 Between 2007 and 2011 subject was another junkie living in Boomtown and frequenting Pocket-D to make drug deals and find partners for casual sex. An extreme personality shift seemed to take place in June of 2010, and biometric scans have concurred that Ms. Thervan is indeed who she says she is. Scars that have become present since her initial Hero Corps intake physical are presumed to be from living an addicts life in Boomtown. Additionally, a hair sample acquired by an agent in Pocket-D shows that subject has been clean of drugs in at least eight months.

September, 2011 Subject accessed Ouroborus with an unregistered portal device. Agent investigation has shown that the device possessing the energy signature and serial number of the device used by the subject is currently in the possession of the PPD evidence locker, and was previously the property of REDACTED. The device was secured by Longbow, and even though it has been in Longbow custody, the subject has repeatedly used the device. Examination of the energy signature has also shown that the subject has modified the device in such a way that in effects Devouring Earth telepathic communication. No other device is has shown these properties.

September, 2011 Subject participated in the defense of Galaxy City, rallying PPD, Longbow, and Vanguard units that had been cut off and almost overwhelmed repeatedly. Subject only left Galaxy City after rescuing a young girl now known as "Skrunchie" who had been seriously injured by Shivans who had destroyed her home and killed her family.

October, 2011 Agents placed in Pocket-D have made note of the fact that while subject still spends much of her free time in Pocket-D looking for casual sex hookups, subject does not maintain her usual intoxicated state. Additionally a blood sample aquired by an agent posing as a vampire showed no traces of any drugs in subject's bloodstream.

November, 2011 Subject was seen by Longbow agents in the Rogue Isles. Intelligence gathered showed she was searching for a subject known as "Code Vatnya" AKA Mikheal Vatnya, rather than enlisting in the employ of Arachnos or other known terrorist organizations. Subject left the Rogue Isles after a confrontation with known superpowered criminal "Bankshot Bart". Three days after Subject left via Pocket-D portal, "Bankshot Bart" was found deceased in Port Oakes. Autopsy showed that "Bankshot Bart" was shot in the back of the head at close range with a plasma pistol. Injury was consistent with a Longbow service pistol possessed by Longbow Warden John Finnegan, currently REDACTED and now part of an official investigation into the murder. ADDENDUM: Warden Finnegan has been found guilty of REDACTED after official investigation and is presumed to have executed "Bankshot Bart" as part of his criminal activities.

November, 2011 Subject has attempted to convince those responsible for crafting Ouroboros portal devices to include the modifications present in her own device. Subject claims that the device allows those using it to create ambushes by luring Devouring Earth to the location of the portal, as well as causing Devouring Earth to become somewhat disorganized. Subject was highly intoxicated and verbally abusive to a Longbow Warden who was meeting with one of the Menders, and is quoted with the following: "How do you feel knowing that I personally slit your throat and left your body for the Hunters?" She then accused the Warden of leaving children to die at the hands of "Hami-Spawn" and said "For an empty ration can I'd slit your throat right here with one of your own spines if I knew that the Herald was going to arrive, REDACTED." Subject knew the Warden's actual name, as well as the name of the Warden's adolescent sister, who the subject accused of "throwing in front of Hami-Spawn to save your own worthless hide." This agent suggests additional investigation regarding these statements.

November, 2011 An attempt to take the subject into Longbow custody for questioning regarding accusations made against Warden REDACTED as well as the assault against Warden REDACTED in the Rikti War Zone resulted in multiple Longbow agents being severely injured. Subject has employed Alfred van Bortel, a well known attorney, and has been granted a restraining order against Longbow by Rhode Island Superior Court, citing "illegal surveillance", "organized stalking", "pattern of malicious intent", and providing evidence that Warden REDACTED attacked the subject without provocation, contrary to the Warden's claims.

December, 2011 Subject has shown a rapid increase in power and ability. Subject has shown a reluctance to engage Praetorian Earth forces outside of those forces invading Primal Earth. Additional evidence has shown unwarranted aggression toward Devouring Earth subjects, to the inclusion of dropping the search for a missing child in order to engage a minor Devouring Earth incursion in Founder's Falls. ADDENDUM: Investigation has verified that subject has been repeatedly sighted in First Ward, more concerned with Devouring Earth and Hamidon Seed events than Arachnos or Resistance forces. This agent feels that the pattern of aggression against Hamidon creatures may require additional investigation.

January, 2012 Agents searching Boomtown, following the tip of an anonymous Lost informant, located the corpse of a young woman in a ruined apartment. Initial DNA scan has shown that this woman is the same woman who joined Hero Corps in 2007, and autopsy and crime scene investigation has shown that the young woman was murdered May to July, 2011. CoD was manual strangulation with a scarf. Fingerprints found on the scene have been verified as Warden Finnegan. ADDENDUM: Longbow Internal Investigation Division has determined that the deceased female may have been the Praetorian Earth version of the subject, and was killed by Warden Finnegan, making her his 32nd victim.

January, 2012 Evidence regarding the murder of the subject was presented to Paragon City law enforcement as well as to the judge reviewing the subject's restraining order against Longbow. Alfred van Bortel, who is representing the subject before Rhode Island Superior Court, has presented this evidence of "Longbow's vendetta" against the subject.

Psychological Profile Note: Subject appears to have developed Biopolar Type II mental disorder sometime during her long tenure as an addict. Often observed to have violent outbursts, long periods of depressive melancholy during which she self-medicates with alcohol and sexual intercourse usually following encounters with the Devouring Earth or Hamidon, and alcohol abuse.

ADDENDUM: Mihkeal Vatnya has been confirmed as Captain Mihkeal Vatnya, Russian Spetsnaz (Deceased), and was killed in Afghanistan in 1983. Preatorian Earth Mihkeal Vatnya was killed during the Hamidon Attack. Subject's interest in the deceased is unknown.

ADDENDUM: When intoxicated, and at times when subject is excited, under stress, or distracted, subject has been heard to refer to Paragon City as "Paradise City" and the Portal Corps facility as "Portal's Corpse" for unknown reasons. Additionally, Agent REDACTED has heard subject refer to Statesman as "Failstate" on numerous occassions when subject is intoxicated and the Statesman is brought up in conversation.

ADDENDUM: After the death of Alexis Cole-Duncan Statesman vanished and subject has almost obsessively engaged in combat with Devouring Earth, even going so far as to enter The Hive alone in order to engage DE in combat, as well as convincing other superpowered subjects to accompany her to First Ward to face the Seed of Hamidon. As of 08 Jan 12 subject became extremely intoxicated in Pocket-D and was heard to refer to Statesman as "The Herald of Hamidon" and told REDACTED, who was present during an assault she led on the Seed of Hamidon and had accompanied her to Pocket-D after the mission that "You ain't seen nothing yet. If Statesman comes back as the Herald of Hamidon, what you saw there in First Ward is pretty much what all of Paradise City will look like. Hope you didn't have many friends who work at Portal Corpse or you're gonna be investing in some black wardrobe additions." Subject was escorted from Pocket-D by Mythus Prime immediately while being berated for her "gossip" after the statement and encouraged to cease binge drinking by Mythus Prime. While most intelligence analysts consider this to be little more than intoxicated rambling, this analyst believes that this statement may be information that should not be ignored.

AT Enhancements: I was REALLY looking forward to this. I wouldn't mind having to buy them with reward merits, even though I despise the Reward Rolls and usually don't do them. (I use AE tickets to flat out buy enhancements, and Reward Merits to buy stuff, I don't do the random roll crap) I wouldn't mind if they were orange or purple drops.

Super Insipirations: I get along just fine without them.

Enhancement Enhancers I think I've used my enhancement unslotters to pull some Luck of the Gamblers out and that's about it, and that was so I could delete the character.

Costume Parts: Gimme gimme gimme. I'll play the same Snaptooth missions over and over and over to make sure I get the snowflakes emote, the hat, the gloves, EVERYTHING so my characters can play dressup.

So what's my problem? I dislike the "we want the players to keep pulling that lever" attitude Positron and who knows who else seem to have regarding us.

I am NOT a Skinner Box Rat.

Yeah, I can afford the $15, so can my wife, so that's $30 right there. Now with the Paragon Market we devote another $20 between us, and that's $50 for our entertainment budget right there.

Someone said I wouldn't have been able to afford the game before Freedom launched, which is really odd, since my wife and I afforded it for 7 years prior to this.

But I dislike the fact that now I'm obviously being treated as a lever pulling rat. And not only that, I'm expected to enjoy the fact that instead of food when I pull the lever, I might crap.

This whole "purchasable booster pack" crap reminds me too much of cheap tactics to milk the player base for everything they can get while minimizing the content. I'm not great with statistics, but I have a feeling that taking in the law of averages, you'd need to spend more than $250 to get all of the 250 items when you're doing 6 random rolls.

And what about the AT's themselves? Let's say I win some, or buy them with my reward tokens... Are they account wide, or character specific regarding those AT enhancements and costume pieces?

So, are we rolling at a $1 a throw, in our little Skinner Box, PER CHARACTER, or account wide?

Judging from what I've read, it sure looks like you're throwing for 1 set. That's it. 1 set.

Now take a look at your power tray for your Blaster. See all those blaster powers? Each power will need it's own set.

Start pulling that lever, monkey.

Three thoughts:

I dislike the idea of those with more money get the full game, complete with all the options, while those of us on a tight budget are just out of luck. Will these "random booster packs" make it so the only way to compete is to buy the packs and hope for your luck?

The fact that it IS gambling, and a lot of people will look at it like that, might actually affect sales. Some religions/ethics/personal beliefs forbid gambling. And seriously, what about recovering gambling addicts?

Third: Even though I'm a subscriber, I'm starting to feel a little nickle and dimed here. New powersets? Shell out $15. New costume parts? More money. Now, for enhancements, I have to shell out even more money? I was all for the microtransactions, I understood the whole thing, understood the pricing, and understood that it would allow the company to take risks, but this just feels like "Here's our equivalent of a collectable trading card system! Buy up, suckers!"

I hate to say it, but I don't gamble with money. At all. I don't play the nickle slots, I don't play video poker, I don't play punchboards. I. Do. Not. Gamble.

And I strongly resent the fact that Paragon Studios has decided that if I want to be able to play the game, I have to gamble. I find it insulting.

Adding in costume pieces that you either have to wait half a year to get, or start playing costume/enhancement roulette at a $1 a throw is just a cheap shot to me.

Sure, I'll get stuff, and that's the argument. But when you bought trading card packs you got cards.

It's just a lot of them were worthless, had no playability, and you might as well have thrown your money at a homeless guy, at least it would have done some good.

So now I have to gamble, for stuff that might be completely worthless, for possibly getting the same things over and over and over, without ever getting what I am really after, or without getting that costume piece I want so desperately.

I object to this in the most strongest terms.

And I'll vote with my wallet.

I won't purchase a single one. Ever.

And I'll encourage everyone else to boycott these packs.

I don't play City of Heroes to throw dice for a dollar a shot.

Please please please be Statesman.

It should be Statesman.

He's a bigger villain than Lord Recluse, with innumerable crimes to pay for.

DEATH TO STATESMAN!

Feel free to use my new sig picture if you agree.

Tachyon Hammer moved through the base, stopping briefly to rub her fingertips across the molded metal head of one of Code Vatnya's mechanical minions, pushing down an urge to laugh as it purred and pressed against her fingers like a cat. The supervillian had told her that he had not programmed them to do that and acted confused about the little assault drone's actions, but Tach secretly believed that the Praetorian version had done it, it was one of the little things that separated the two men in her mind.

She patted the little drone on the head, her pink polished nails clicking on the battle-steel, and kept walking. She passed by weapons mounted on the walls and other trophies that had been taken over the decades of Code Vatnya's career. Here a US Army M-16A1 taken from Afghanistan; there an plasma rifle from the First Rikti War; objects picked up from all over the globe from a thousand battlefields and fights.

She peeked in the communications center as she moved past and saw it was empty, then moved on to the medical lab and finding it empty. She shrugged and wandered through the lab until she came to the labs. She could hear the sounds of a plasma cutter working on battle-steel before she ever got there, and felt her mouth twitch with the beginnings of a smile.

Mihkeal was busy putting a new armor compound plate onto one of the assault robots, standing on a ladder with the goggles pulled down over his face. She stared for a long time at the image before she walked in and leaned against the table, crossing her table and watching him work for a long time until the Russian finally snapped off the plasma torch, flipped up his goggles and began climbing down the ladder. When he turned around and saw her, he smiled.

"What brings you down to the slave pit?" Mihkeal asked, setting down the torch and goggles.

"I was looking for Steel Jaw." Tach answered.

"He's not in the communication room?" Mihkeal asked.

"No, nobody is."

"That's odd." Mihkeal mused, looking around. He pulled up the VRKeyboard and typed in a few quick commands. "He's still registered on the base, logged into the secure communications terminal."

"I'm telling you, he's not there." Tach said.

"I believe you, little one." Mihkeal said, walking out of the workshop. The keyboard followed him, floating along and beeping out the tune from a popular children's show that Mihkeal liked to sit and watch.

They looked into the communications room, finding it empty except for a little metal figure that spotted the pair and began squeaking excitedly and jumping backflips.

"He's listed by the systems as sitting right here, accessing databases." Mihkeal said.

"Then where the hell is he?" Tach answered, looking around. "It's not like he's a Stalker."

"I don't know." He twiddled the keyboard again for a moment. "According to Little Happy Gus, that little drone that hangs out by the armory, Code Vatnya opened up the armory and grabbed a bunch of stuff before leaving, but according to the mainframe the armory hasn't been opening since you did inventory yesterday."

"What did he take?" Tach asked, bending down and rubbing her finger on the little robot's head when it paused. It squeaked and jumped up and down.

"Gus doesn't know, he's not that smart." Mihkeal answered honestly.

"What did he take and where did he go?" Tach asked.

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Five)

Despite what the media portrayed, Dark Astoria is not empty. Souls walk the streets, still going about their lives as if all living things in the suburb had not vanished one dark day. Cars litter the streets like toys discarded by a giant child who had been called in for lunch. The Banished Pantheon moves about performing unknowable tasks beneath the watching eyes of their ancestor spirits. Penumbra Council soldiers move about in squads, keeping close together, searching the city for things known only to their high command.

Heroes moved about, now and then, but none ever stay. The smell of rust, mold, overturned fresh dirt, and decay fills the fog, making it a thick miasma that sticks to clothing and armor together. Shadows seem to move of their own accord, and it has been said by some that a person's own shadow seems to fill with a malevolent purpose. It is not unheard of for a team of heroes to go into Dark Astoria on a mission, and to come back missing a member that had gotten lost in the fog and never returned.

In the northeast corner of the area a vast cemetery had been constructed, the final resting place for Paragon City's heroes who had fallen in her defense. Beneath a large hill wound catacombs where tomb after silent tomb held the mortal remains of those who fell in defense of the city. While city officials would consult their maps and shake their heads at the fact that there was only a small catacomb section according to official documents and those who had been contracted to build them, but the reality was that it was a large and twisting area that held homes for dead since before the city could have been much more than an English colony, conflicting with the fact that the city had been founded in the early nineteenth century.

The Banished Pantheon Storm Shaman lifted up his head from where his minions were excavating a grave to pull free the casket and saw a bloom of light move through the gate that led to the cemetery. His guards, drawn from beyond the veil of death to serve him, moved up to intercept the intruders with their weapons drawn, but the Shaman waved them back. He recognized that bloom, the way it wrapped around the one who produced it like a shroud, and had no desire to lose the servants he had spent long hours crafting and bending to his will.

Four others followed the bloom, and the Shaman bowed as the one wrapped in flame passed by. The show of respect did not go unnoticed as the small group passed, the flame wrapped one curtsying as she moved, a movement that should have looked stilted and awkward but instead flowed with her movement.

The Shaman could feel the immense arcane power in an object carried by the thin purple woman, and while he would normally order his minions to attack the group in order to gain possession of such an artifact, the Shaman knew that any attack would be futile, and so let the group pass unmolested. Even the powerful spirits that inhabited the lovingly hand crafted wooden masks moved back into the mists rather than risk another devastating confrontation with the four that moved to the catacombs and disappeared within.

Once they had moved into the depths of the earth the Shaman ordered his minions to continue to remove the casket from the grave that was marked with a date from the 17th Century.

The thudding of bootheels echoed through the tunnels of the catacombs, occasionally there was a crackle as the flames wrapping the lead figure incinerated cobwebs that had been lovingly built across the passageway. Deeper and deeper into the catacombs the heroes went, until at long last they arrived at a tomb door decorated with crossed hammers and a tribal shield.

Once the door was opened, the giant figure on the stone bier within was revealed, the flames around the lead figure causing shadows to dance within the crypt. Against the wall, in the far corner, a thin purple corpse lay where it had been tossed, its chest malformed and caved in.

"Another one?" Global Betty asked, pointing at the sprawled corpse with the stub of a cigar.

"Uh-huh." Inertia Flare answered, moving over to the opposite side of the stone slab that the massive unmoving form of Zuka was laid upon.

"Who's going to do this?" Colonel Victory asked, pulling shut the stone door.

"I'll do it." Inertia Flare told the others, reaching out and moving aside the shield and hammer that lay on the massive undead's chest. Betty nodded and reached into the bag she'd collected from her mercenaries. She pulled out the engraved and inlaid skull, the runes burning with an inner fire and the gems that had replaced the eyes glinting with an inner fire. Betty reached forward and placed the skull over Zuka's heart and stepped back.

Inertia twisted her hands on the shaft of the sledgehammer to get a good grip, took a deep breath, and brought the stained and blackened steel head down on the mystical skull. Part of her expected it to bounce away in a shower of arcane sparks, but instead it crashed through the bone and inlay, the skull erupting into a cloud of purple glimmering dust that puffed along the outlines of Zuka's body.

The dust settled, covering Zuka, and the light from it slowly disappated, leaving the massive undead unchanged. For a long moment silence stretched while everyone watched expectantly.

"That's it?" October Octogenarian asked, "What a waste..."

With a roar Zuka sat up, his massive hand stretching out and snatching his hammer from Inertia's grasp.

"Every damn time." October swore, shaking his head. "Everything's gotta be so melodramatic."

Zuka turned and faced October, his burning red eyes amused. "It is the way of magic, you of all should know that."

October shrugged and leaned against the wall, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather duster. He watched as Zuka stood up and picked up the tribal shield. hefting his hammer and shield, he moved over the undecayed corpse of Global Betty sprawled in the corner, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

"This one is an empty shell, a husk that has never known the bond of a soul to its flesh." Zuka said, kneeling down and reaching out to touch the corpse's brow with talon-like fingertips. "I sense another behind this husk, someone else who used this husk as another would use a horse."

"Really?" Inertia perked up. "Is there any signature left for you to track?"

"Alas, no. Perhaps Miss Moral can tell us?" Zuka looked around. "Where is the Maiden of Virtue?"

"I'm sorry, Zuka, she's gone." Colonel Victory said, shaking his head. "We went back to the base and checked, but it looks like they captured her." He looked as old as he was, the graven lines on his face deep, "She's listed as deceased in the Longbow databases, and they buried her in an unmarked grave."

"Another fallen." Zuka rumbled, his hand still pressed to the forehead of the "corpse."

The Male Mantid slowly moved over to a broken stone column and sat down, his breathing a heavy wheeze in the oppressive silence of the tomb. The real Global Betty moved over next to him and knelt down, laying her head on his thigh, and watched Zuka with empty eyes. Her friend was dying, and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The silence stretched for long moments, only broken by the gathered heroes breathing and the bubbling wheeze of the huge insect warrior. Zuka knelt, unmoving, for what seemed to be an eternity, until he stood up and rolled his head, the bones in his neck crackling loud in the silence.

"The one who rode this shell was a woman, she watched through the eyes of this creature, and moved it as a puppet. She had come to discover whether it was true or not that I lay dormant and still." Zuka stated, moving over to the books and other paraphernalia on a massive desk. "One such as I does not die, we merely become torpid until we are called back from our slumber by what binds us to the world of the living.

"Whoever was riding this shell had intended on causing it to explode with an overload of psychic energy. If it had not been for the protections I keep within this chamber, and Inertia Flare killing this shell, it would have exploded with enough force to severely damage my corpreal form and possibly even kill Inertia Flare." Zuka finished.

"How did you know it was me?" Inertia asked, the smell of drier sheets suddenly filling the tomb.

"The scorch marks, the wounds themselves, and the faint traces of your anger and rage." Zuka answered, "We have been comrades for many years, I recognize you in ways more intimate than you understand."

Inertia shivered briefly at the thought and turned away.

"All right, enough with the creepyness." Victory said, stepping forward and pointing at a blank wall with a piece of chalk. "May I?" Zuka nodded, and Colonel Victory moved over to the wall.

"All right. What do we know?" He asked.

"Ever since we listened to the Mad Russian on that Roman beach, we've been hunted." Inertia Flare snarled. Victory nodded and wrote on the wall "Code Vatnya's Speech"

"Longbow seem to be the primary aggressors." October Octogenarian stated. Victory nodded and wrote "Longbow aggression" on the wall.

The small group went through what they knew, which Victory had to admit, wasn't much. They also went through their assets, which wasn't much better. When Global Betty brought up the Lost, Inertia shook her head, telling her friends that this wasn't the Lost's fight, and that dragging them into the fight would serve no other purpose than to kill hundreds of them.

"We don't seem to have many options." Victory stated, stepping back and looking at the wall.

"We have one." Betty said, standing up and puffing on her cigar.

"What? Assault Longbow and hope to shake something loose?" Inertia asked.

"No. Something that nobody would expect." She grinned, the light glinting off of her triangular teeth.

"What? Spit it out." October said.

"Code Vatnya." She smiled at all of them. "We know he's alive. He more than likely knows that we know he is alive, and probably knows that we know that he knows that we know he is alive." Victory shook his head at the old joke.

"We team up with Code Vatnya, and we find out what the hell is going on." Betty smiled.

I figured I'd bump this to let everyone know that I haven't abandoned this thread.

I should be posting more images and story tomorrow. I'll worry about the story first, and the images later.

The plot, I believed, has thickened, and now it is time to sort through the strands and begin to determine the truth of things.

Who will survive? Who will emerge victorious? Who will die (and some will)? And who will lost everything?

Keep reading.

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Five)

"And do you feel better, now that you have your vengeance upon that man?" Vatnya asked, squeezing Tachyon Hammer's hand. She smiled at him, all teeth and cruelty. Her blue hair was wrapped in a green towel, and a pink towel surrounded her torso as she sat at the table with the two men.

"Wouldn't you?" She snarled. "I may be easy, but that doesn't mean someone can come along and take it. It's mine to give, not someone else's to take."

"It was wasteful and childish." Code Vatnya told her coldly, his steel teeth flashing in the harsh fluorescent lighting. His expression was, as always, completely emotionless, his eye empty of humanity, and his voice as noninflected as a poorly programmed speech utility.

"Just because I didn't use a knife to torture it out of him doesn't mean I did not get the information, steel jaw." Tachyon snarled. "What was I supposed to do? Go to Longbow and say 'Gee golly wilikers, Ms. Liberty, this guy there, he might have taken liberties and junk with me while I passed out after he tried to cut my kidneys out and bashed my face in on a sink and all kinds of icky mean stuff!' and expect justice?

"Don't be a steel toothed moron. They would have just taken me out back the courthouse and blown my brains out with a pistol." She finished.

"Do not talk to me that way, child." The steel toothed Code Vatnya warned.

"Then don't talk to me like I'm one of your mechanical minions." Tachyon shot back, her eyes locking with his single one. "I'm not a child, and I have the scars to prove it."

"She has you there, brother." The Praetorian chuckled. When the other glared at him, he waved it away. "Save it, brother, I too am a supervillian, and that look might intimidate heroes, but like you, I watched Tyrant (Statesman to you) tear through the 15th Armor Division in order to intimidate the Soviet Union into giving back American spies."

The steel toothed Code Vatnya glared at the man and woman at the table for a long moment, then his features went back to emotionless. His voice was void of inflection when he continued, "So what did you learn?"

Tachyon Hammer smiled. "Well, first I learned that revenge is hot, sweet, and delicious. Other than that, I learned a lot." She picked up a glass of whiskey and coke and took a sip off of it. "Apparently, not satisfied with Longbow, there's a division of them called the Blackstars. These guys are deniable agents, most of them listed as killed in action, and used for wetwork and other covert operations.

"This group answers only to select members of the Vindicators, Statesman, Ms. Liberty, and that's it. They're the ones responsible for the increase in violence in Litak, they're the ones that assassinated Prime Minister Volinstra last year and blamed it on Arachnos, and a lot of other dirty deals.

"They have access to Longbow, Vanguard, Hero Corps, and Arachnos equipment, as well as are well plugged in to most of the intelligence networks. Apparently they've even managed to take over, refit, and redeploy a lot of old Soviet and American satellites. They've got heavy duty psionic support, most of it highly trained in mind control. All in all, the Blackstar are the bloody knife that Ms. Liberty uses to advance her schemes."

Both men nodded, the Praetorian jotting notes on an electronic notepad.

"The hitter who caught me in the bathroom is a deep cover Blackstar agent who helped with Ms. Liberty's little plan to take over Vanguard earlier this year. He was a fairly high ranking intelligence agent in Vanguard, and has not only been passing information to Longbow, but also to the Rikti." Tach took another drink off of her glass.

"To make Vanguard look ineffective and the UN foolish." the Praetorian nodded.

"Yup. Anyway, after some more questions, we got down to the meat of the whole thing." She sighed and shook her head. When both men looked at her questionably, she shrugged her shoulders. "Give me a minute, the shattering of all my childhood beliefs is pretty rough.

"Apparently, even if Statesman isn't guilty of everything you claim he is," She nodded at the steel jawed Code Vatnya, "He isn't exactly the upstanding guy people thinks he is. Apparently he is planning on invading Praetorian Earth to 'liberate the oppressed people who live there' and doesn't seem to care about the collateral damage."

"He never does." Code Vatnya snarled, his steel teeth flashing, motioning at the base around him. "He destroyed large sections of Paragon City, killed hundreds, left thousands homeless, because he was too arrogant to realize that dropping Rikti assault ships on a populated city might be a bad idea. The capitalist dog thinks with his biceps. He is the ultimate believer in might makes right, and cares nothing for those he..."

"Anyway..." Tachyon Hammer interrupted. "He plans on ramping up the propaganda machine and sending a whole bunch of heroes in to invade Praetoria, and while that is going on, Ms. Liberty will be sending in the Blackstars to do what they do best. Blackstar looks to be Longbow's advance party into Praetoria." She leaned back and folded her arms. "That's pretty much it, with one little itty bitty extra."

"What's that?" the Praetorian asked, setting his hand on her bare knee. Tachyon Hammer smiled at him, reached down, and squeezed his hand.

"I've got the location of one of their main operations and command centers." Tach said. "We'll need to make plans."

Both men smiled.

"Don't look so happy yet, gentlemen." Tach told them, "First of all, we need to go over the data we have, find out where our data has holes in it, figuring out what the enemy knows, and where they are weak or where we can manufacture weaknesses. We need to go over our allies, our enemies, and those we can hire or bribe. We'll need a complete inventory of not only our weaponry and assault equipment, but our spare parts, or repair and medical faculties, and our intelligence sources. Both electronic and HUMINT."

The Praetorian smiled even broader, listening to the young woman who's rough edges he'd worked to file away. She spoke with no hesitation, her eyes clear and focused, and she had obviously thought her way through what she was saying. The Praetorian had been impressed with the operation she'd put together. True, it was a little bit more complicated than he'd like, which was the mark of an amateur who was trying to cover every angle, but still it had been effective.

"Code Vatnya, my first question, is how did you figure out the conspiracy?" She asked, pulling her hand from the Russian's and clasping both hands on the table.

The steel toothed Russian looked as if he wasn't going to answer, his face immobile and expressionless until finally his mouth opened and he began to speak.

"I have had my suspicions that Statesman is not the hero everyone thinks he is for many years." Code Vatnya started. "Here in America, he was considered a hero for invading Russia, killing hundreds of soldiers that stood between him and the legally captured spies who had invaded the Soviet Union's airspace. He destroyed tanks, killed soldiers, shattered towns and farms, and slaughtered civilians during the fight.

"Oh, I've heard all about how if we had not fought so hard, those casualties would have never happened, and it was all our fault." Code Vatnya growled. "Americans seem to be happy when they can blame the dead on others, and love to ignore that it was Statesman's blatantly illegal 'might makes right' attitude that forced us to defend our nation. We had to defend ourselves, or we would have weakened ourselves in the eyes of our many enemies..."

"OK, I understand. You were there, right?" Tachyon asked, and Code Vatnya nodded. "So, after that, when did you suspect that he wasn't the hero that people thought?"

Code Vatnya's expression went cold again, and she gathered his thoughts, visibly pushing back his memories. "It was after the Rikti War. Hero One had not returned, but Statesman had. Hundreds of heroes died in the depths of the earth, but Statesman had emerged covered in glory, hailed as the entire world's hero. None remembered that Hero One and Statesman had been at bitter odds over the last few years, all everyone remembered was Statesman talking about how Hero One was his friend.

"Hero One is the one who caused the nations of the world that mattered to stand back from nuclear war, he was hailed as the hero of the entire tragedy, as he had relied on diplomacy, not strength and a belief that he could do no wrong. Everyone forgot that part."

"All right, I understand, Code, but I need to understand how you put this all together if we're going to figure out how to fight." Tach stated.

"Two things made me go back and look over everything." Code Vatnya finally admitted. "When heroes found those Manticore androids, and when the rumors started of Ms. Liberty and the Vindicators trying to take over Vanguard. It made me go back over everything and start questioning everything. I journeyed to Orobous and convinced them to tell me if anyone had gone back to Afghanistan the year I was maimed." Tachyon Hammer could feel the rage and malevolence rolling off of the steel toothed archvillian. "I found that several Longbow had gone back, with crates of weapons, and that Ms. Liberty had convinced those who dwell between time to allow them to go back in time."

"All right, so after you started investigating, Ms. Liberty sent a strike team armed with modern heavy weapons back to Afghanistan to kill you." Tach nodded.

The steel toothed Code Vatnya nodded. "I was told by those who dwell between time that they had warned her that it would not work, that I had made my mark on the timestream too deeply for her to kill me in the before. She apparently became very angry, but eventually left, furious that she could not go back to before I was ready for her and have her victories the way she was used to, by using other people or by fighting those much weaker than her. Like a true bully, she..."

"Enough." Tach's voice was harsh, and Code Vatnya just looked more cold, but he stopped speaking. Tach nodded, "Better. Continue, please." Tach said more gently.

"After that, Longbow began stepping up its attacks on my bases, reacting quickly to any sighting of my minions, to the extent of ignoring bank robberies, hostage situations, and bombings." Code Vatnya continued. "In the end, I ended up faking my death in order to get some breathing room." Code Vatnya admitted, "I had to abandon many of my secondary bases, all over the world, since even after death she kept up the heat, destroying my automated factories, trying to erase my very existence from the world, like the yellow bellied cur she..."

"I understand." She turned to the Praetorian. "Mihkeal, any comments?"

Code Vatnya stared at Tachyon Hamemr a long moment, and when she didn't flinch, didn't look away, a flicker of respect went through his one good eye and he looked down to his datapad, breaking eye contact first.

The Praetorian talked for long moments about how advanced weaponry kept being smuggled into third world nations, how he had spotted Longbow 'advisors' on both sides, and how both sides had massive funding to wage wars. He spoke about how it was the same tactics that Emperor Cole had used to weaken the nations of Praetorian Earth, so that they could not resist him. He spoke about how he had been more careful, setting up a network of contacts, had tracked weapon shipments, searched out and followed the money trails, and had managed to slowly collect data on where Longbow prison sites, Longbow bases, and Longbow assets were located.

Once they were done talking, Tachyon Hammer stared at both of them for a long time before speaking.

"All right, first things first." Tachyon Hammer told the two men. "We work together, no more lone gunman crap like you two have been doing, and like I did in the War Zone. We choose our targets carefully, and plan together."

She looked at the both for a long moment.

"It's time to take the fight to Longbow."

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Five)

WARNING: This post, while I consider it to be rated PG-13 and no worse than many horror movies, may disturb readers. However, it is important to the story, to the character development, and I attempted to leave a lot of things offscreen. I hope this doesn't offend anyone, but remember, you were warned. If it starts to offend you, skip to the next post.--Tim Willard

It was raining in the Rikti War Zone, the drops sizzling as they struck the war walls and vanishing in little puffs of steam as they were obliterated into their component oxygen and hydrogen. The rain had just barely been going long enough to first thicken the ash layer, then begin to wash it into the refuse clogged streets in long sheets of black liquid. Grenade pins, empty ammunition magazines, armor fragments, all of them joined the black ash as it slowly moved into the gutters. Here and there bone fragments glittered, mute testimony of what made the ash.

The fallen of the Rikti War Zone.

Their bodies had been carbonized by plasma weapons, crushed by gravity fields, and rended apart by other means. The wind that had preceded the rain had blown the scraps of uniforms and banners around to catch on eaves. Now just the ash remained, slowly washing away to end up in the remnants of the sewer system.

Ignorant or uncaring of the rain, taking shelter under the eaves of a long abandoned warehouse, several Longbow troopers stood, smoking cigarettes and keeping watch for any wandering Rikti Monkeys or a cruising strike team. Their red and white suits kept them comfortable, and the rain didn't matter to their carefully oiled assault rifles, providing they cared for them once they got off of guard duty.

The young woman had been watching them for over an hour, contorted to hide herself in the remains of a Vanguard tank, trusting the stealth field she had borrowed to keep her hidden for as long as its power cells held out. She'd watched Longbow teams move in and out of the warehouse, seen them salute a Warden as she'd entered the building, and even watched as one Longbow Squad had drug a dead or unconscious man covered in thick keratin spines into the building while they laughed at him. She had felt the psychic sweeps slide over her, the skills she had attained fighting in the Second Rikti War allowing her to keep herself hidden from mental abilities.

She could feel her thoughts trying to intrude on the puddle of emptiness she projected, could feel her desire for revenge and mayhem trying to cause ripples in the puddle, or to discolor it in such a way that a sweep would pick her up almost immediately, and continued murmuring her mantras. She kept her powers completely suppressed, willing to run the risk of an ambusher catching her flat footed and defenseless over the risk of someone detecting her.

Lightning crackled off in the distance, and she knew that it was dancing across the Rikti pylons that kept the forcefield over the mothership. The Rikti knew that the pylons were in the most danger during lighting storms, so most of their troops were huddled around the pylons, defending them from Terran strike teams as well as repairing the damage the Earth itself did them. If the shield were to drop for long enough, NATO and Vanguard would call in fighter-bombers, A-10 Warthogs, Comanche and Hind helicopters, as well as call in massive artillery batteries and MLRS wagons, all to pound the mothership to scrap.

That meant that they were all alone out here. Just her, Longbow, and what intelligence had whispered in her ear would soon be here.

The target.

She had sabotaged the radio system during the night, using a small specially built robot to slowly move in and slice the grounding wire from the communications array. The robot had been loaded up with stealth features, had used passive sensors only, and the braided copper cable had been sliced by simple sharp blades. The entire robot had been made of Rikti technology, and after it had completed its mission, it had rolled off into the night, looking for and eventually finding a Rikti Monkey pack. Once in the middle of the pack, it had released the death stench of a fallen Rikti Monkey, and the monkeys had been driven mad, pounding the machine into scraps that they carried off to their lair, shrieking their unearthly victory cries.

Thunder rumbled again as a man dressed in Vanguard purple swooped out of the sky, his jet-boots flaring, and landed in front of the building. The Longbow went alert, one covering the Vanguard trooper, the other scanning for any backup he might have nearby, and the young woman went perfectly still, knowing that the rain would have almost entirely eliminated her IR profile.

She cocked her head, activating the directional microphone on the reticle she'd worn since the Rogue Isles Assault a few years prior.

"...stone cold ***** out there tonight." The Vanguard soldier was saying. "Something has the Rikti all stirred up out by the mothership."

"Haven't seen any out here." One of the Longbow troops said. "Sergeant of the Guard says they were expecting you, so go on in." He opened the door, and the Vanguard agent went into the building.

"Say, did you hear about Warden Pews?" The other Longbow trooper asked once the door shut behind the Vanguard agent.

"No, what?"

"Apparently he was found beaten to death in the showers out at facility Lima-Three."

"Really? Good. I hated that smug *******."

"Yeah, they're saying that Victory guy did it before he and that Major Frost guy got broken out by some mercenaries."

"Pfft, my money is on someone from his own platoon. That guy had a serious attitude problem."

The young woman shook her head. They gossip like old rich women. She reached down and picked up a small shielded cellphone that had been heavily modified to lock down total EMCON on it, and punched in a quick code. Here's something for you to talk about.

"Yeah, apparently he mouthed off to one of those Blackstar guys, and I'll bet that guy ripped his lungs out." The original speaker said, hawking and spitting out into the rain. "Those guys don't take crap from nobody, not even Wardens."

Blackstar? The young woman raised an eyebrow.

"Blackstar? No kidding? I didn't think any of them were in Paragon City right now." The second said, stretching.

"Nope, the had some guarding those two old dinosaurs for some reason, I kid you not. I heard they've been pretty much deployed to Litak in order to keep everything stirred up there, but apparently some of them are back here for some reason."

"Probably whatever has Ms. Liberty's panties in a bunch." The second one grinned nastily. "She was screaming at Major Welsh last night."

"Eh, she's been freaked out since those mercs busted those two old relics out of jail." The first one spit again. "Dude, I'm telling you, she's a prime example of why split-tails shouldn't be officers. First sign of trouble, they get all freaked out and start screaming."

Split tail? You just bought a ticket to the morgue, jackass.

Both of them started laughing, and the young woman kept one ear on the conversation, which had moved into unflattering discussion about several of the female Longbow troops they worked with, while she watched the dim screen of the modified cellphone. Six red dots were moving closer, sweeping around the collapsed bridge and through the defunct electricity substation.

The six dots paused, waiting, and the young woman pulled out a radio detonator and clicked it. At the base of the sliced off copper grounding cable a small dime sized piece of equipment activated, gallantly suiciding to complete its purpose. The entire communications array became charged, and less than a second later, a massive bolt of lightning struck it, illuminating the entire area for a split second. The purplish white flare caused the two Longbow to throw up their arm to shield their faces and curse, and the thunder drowned out any sound.

As six combat robots suddenly broke from cover, dropping their stealth fields, and charged the building.

The young woman had designated the one who had made the "split tail" comment as a high priority target, and the man didn't even have a chance to scream as a heavy laser cannon shot hit him mid-body. With the massive transfer of energy, the man's bodily fluids were instantly converted to steam, the cell walls exploding outward, and he was rent apart in a shower of red mist. His fellow guard didn't even get a chance to scream as the heavy assault robot decided that hitting the building he was guarding with 20mm rockets would incidentally kill him with the shrapnel, and a burst of 20 rockets erupted around him. His body was shattered by two missiles that hit him, as well as the backblast of destroyed cinderblock and the shrapnel of exploding missile casings.

Come on, come on, you son of a *****... the woman kept the thought cold, still, a small chunk of ice floating in the calm pool of her mind. Her rage and need for vengeance frozen. Do it... do it...

Particle beams punched technological lightning into the building's structure, the heavy ferrocrete crinderblocks cracking under the sudden energy exchange. Lasers ripped at the ballistic shielding, and missiles blew chunks out of the building's passive defenses.

A second lightning bolt hit the communications array, throwing the parking lot the abandoned factory in stark relief.

The Longbow were reacting with confusion, some exiting the rear of the building, others trying to fire from the prepared positions behind the armor plating that had been hidden behind the glass windows. The woman punched in another code on the EMCON modded cellphone, and smiled viciously to herself as the Longbow saw the laser beam appear in the midst of the group at the back of the building, and reacted by lashing gunfire back up the beam hoping to hit the spotter or sniper, or whatever was lasing them.

They'd just started to scatter when the ERLIX mortar rounds, 4.2" laser guided munitions with proximity fuses that carried 45 anti-personnel submunitions each, erupted into a sheet of flame above the troops. The submunitions dropped to less than 10 meters above the Longbow troops, who were still trying to engage a target that didn't exist, and detonated into ceramic shrapnel that scythed through them. The kinetic energy transfer when the small chunks of hypervelocity shrapnel splashed flesh and bone alike, leaving only one man alive, and that man screaming and holding onto the stumps of his legs, blind and deaf.

What's wrong? Poor widdle Wongbow doesn't wike it when someone else uses tactics? the young woman sneered. Those of you who survive will probably whine how it isn't fair that I didn't come pounding in like some Brute with a too tight helmet and a too small codpiece wrapped around brass balls.

The roof burst open, the concealed Longbow fliers that had been hidden in the warehouse clawing for altitude, their pilots reacting with horror over the fact they were being lashed by radar and lidar before they'd even cleared the roof.

Longbow had known that the Vanguard anti-aircraft missile vehicles were hulks. They had sat there for months, over 5 blocks away, and so no attention was spared to them. They hadn't noticed a pair of Stalkers working on the vehicles, replacing fire control boards, rerunning the control cabling for the missile pods, and they certainly hadn't noticed the fact that all six vehicles had missiles sitting in the tubes smuggled into the US from the civil war in Litak.

They'd known that those vehicles were hulks, and so they'd never paid any attention.

Ten Longbow Chasers clawed for airspace, desperately trying to gain altitude and get away from the radar and lidar that was painting them from the robots. They were concentrating on the robots, who ignored them except to light them up with active targeting, and never saw the missile fire from the vehicles they knew were dead.

Until the first wave of modified Stinger missiles crashed over them.

Five fell from the air in flames, crashing back into the concealed flight bay they had just left. One spun away, the pilot flung free to smash into the street and bounce bonelessly, shedding flight armor and pieces of body in equal measure. One dove for the street, the pilot rolling the throttle all the way back and gunning for it.

He was the lucky one as the followup salvo killed the other three that tried to get clear of the targeting systems.

THERE! The young woman's thought was fierce, and if it had not been for the chaos surrounding the attack, she would have been picked up by the three psychics who normally swept the area around the building.

The Vanguard agent came rocketing out of the flames that were boiling out of where the hidden flight bay had been, orienting himself and shooting for the Vanguard Base in the southeast of the zone.

The young woman rolled out of the hulked tank, shedding the stealth blanket, and kicking on her own rocket boots. She shot up into the air, static electricity crackling around her. The Vanguard agent wasn't even looking, and she sped after him, gaining on him quickly. Her reticle insisted that she was within range of the few ranged attacks she had left, but she held her fire as she rapidly overtook the fleeing Vanguard agent.

The agent dashed rainwater out of his eyes, knowing he was close to panicking, but feeling the need to get out of there. One minute he'd been standing in the flight bay admiring the Longbow Chasers, the next he'd been in the middle of a fiery holocaust. He'd seen men and women flail around, screaming, entirely wreathed in flame. Other men and women torn apart as someone had guided another mortar attack into the launch bay. He'd been right next to a young Warden as she explained how the new cooling system would increase the speed and endurance of the next generation of Longbow Chasers when she'd almost seemed to explode, not even screaming as one of the hydrogen fuel tanks detonated and shredded her.

His arm came back covered with strings of crimson, and he knew he had to be covered in the woman's blood. Normally it didn't bother him, normally he reveled in the spray of blood, but that was when he was doing it, when the blood flew, the bone cracked, and the skin split because he willed it, not because someone else was calling the tune to a dance he hadn't even wanted to go to.

He could see the landing lights on top of the guard towers that surrounded the Green Zone, and felt elation bubble up inside of him. He'd get in there, report to Lady Grey that the Rikti were attacking a Longbow Chaser squadron (and incidentally forget to mention where they had come from), and get rewarded by both Vanguard for acting quickly, and by Longbow for saving any who remained.

The agent was already going over what he was going to say when a crushing weight hit him. A leg looped around his, an arm snaked around his waist, and a hand grabbed his wrist. Before he could do much more than gabble in surprise, whoever it was wrenched his arm around behind his back, pushing his wrist up, past his neck, and he felt his arm go.

Whoever it was let go of the arm, reaching up to grab his helmet and shove it forward, and he realized that whoever was holding onto him was aiming him toward the ground. He tried to kick his legs out to slow himself, but whoever it was had control of one of his legs, and all it caused was for him to go into a flat spin. Whoever it was let go, rolling off of him in mid-air, and still managed to kick him in the side with full throttle jet boots. The pain from the exhaust burning through his armor flared, made it hard for him to get control, made it hard for him to...

The young woman watched the Vanguard agent slam into the ground and bounce into the fence, dropping down to only inches off of the tarmac and following him. Electricity wreathed her body, snarled around her fists, and danced across her teeth that were bared in a murderous grimace. Before the Vanguard agent could recover, the woman hit him in the center of the back with both fists, backed by all the momentum her rocket boots could generate. She arced up, carrying him with her, and looped up while he flapped his one broken arm and tried to scream from the agony in his kidneys.

She suddenly cut the thrust, letting him drop, watching him flail for a moment before regaining control, hugging his broken arm to his chest, and trying to reorient himself on where the Green Zone and the Vanguard Base was. She swooped behind him, cutting off her jet boots and wrapping her legs around his waist, one arm looping under his good arm and her hand grabbing the base of his neck.

Her body bucked as she let the electricity pent up inside of her out with a burst, heard him scream as the amperage rampaged through him. He went limp in her grasp, and she unwrapped her legs and brought the two of them down to the pavement. The agent could see a Rikti Headmaster's skull staring at him as he went through the petit-mal seizures of the aftereffects of a massive dose of voltage.

The woman raised her free hand into the air, and lightning came down from the sky, and she screamed in ecstasy while he screamed in agony as the electricity coursed through both of their bodies. Once, twice, three times she altered her base charge to bring electricity to her, feeling almost painful pleasure rocket through her at both the massive overcharge of amperage and the shrieks of pain from the man whose legs were intertwined with hers, who she held in a half-nelson. She dropped her arm and lay on him for a long moment, panting, while rain pounded down on both of them.

The Vanguard agent began to stir, the pain of his burns and the white hot throbbing in his arm dragging him back into consciousness. He felt the person on him shuddering, and mistook the aftereffects of her pleasure as weakness and tried to roll out of from under her. He only managed to rock slightly to one side before she brought down one half-clenched hand crashing onto the break in his arm like the butt of an axe. He threw his head back and screamed as best as he could with the way she held him.

"I like it when you scream, *****." She crooned in his ear, reaching up with her off hand and tearing away his helmet. She brought her hand down on her arm again, and when he threw back his head to scream again, the tendons in his neck standing out, she ran her tongue along the inside of his ear.

"Remember the last time we met?" She asked softly, almost lovingly, sticking her tongue in his ear. She squeezed her legs tight, the heavy muscles that had earned her the affectionate nickname "Thunder Thighs" from her old team-mates squeezing him like a vise. "It was Saturday." She nibbled on his ear, and let the field of static electricity that surrounded her caress him gently, stimulating his nerves. She heard him groan, not all of it pain, beneath her, and smiled.

"There was music, and dancing." She crooned, and slammed down her fist onto his arm again. When he screamed, she leaned forward and kissed the base of his neck, letting electricity flow from the tongue she had pressed against his skin, voltage tickling his brain.

"God, it makes me so hot when you scream for me, baby." She whispered softly, mockingly, then drove the knife-edge of her hand into the break once, twice again, each time bringing a scream. She raised an arm again, changing her charge to attract another bolt of lightning, and screamed in pleasure as the electricity rocketed through her system. As she hit her peak, she tensed, her legs tightening, the half-nelson grip tightening.

Another lightning bolt hit, and she was over the edge, panting wildly and squeezing with everything she had. The thunder masked the sound of the Vanguard agent's right hip dislocating and his left knee going out, as well as his scream as she rubbed his face into the asphalt, the gravel that the rain had not swept away grinding into the wound.

"Oh God, that's sooooo good, baby." The woman crooned, letting him go and slowly sitting up. "Was it good for you?" She asked cruelly, reaching down to wrap her fingers in his hair. She pulled his head back and took stock of the injuries to his face, the way his nose had been abraded to reveal cartilage, how his eyebrows were gone to expose raw bone.

"It's almost just like the first time we met, when you did me so good." She whispered, leaning forward and sticking her tongue in his ear as she pressed his face ruthlessly against the tarmac. "God, I still remember your moves." She grabbed his hair with both hands. "Remember this, what brought out the stars?"

She pulled his head back till his back crackled, and drove his face into the tarmac.

"Remember this, *****? REMEMBER THIS?" she howled as she slammed his face three times into the tarmac. She stopped, panting, and pressed his head so his swollen and broken cheek was against the pavement. She could see that he had been knocked cold by the force of the blows, but the steady dark blood flowing from his nose and where the skin had been ripped off told her that he was still alive. The rain was pounding hard enough that it washed away the blood, making it seem as if the wounds were almost bloodless.

"No, I didn't give up on you, sweet cakes." She whispered, reaching back behind her to grab between his legs. "Wake up, lover boy." She crooned, and sent a jolt of electricity through her hand. The agent came awake screaming, and the woman on his back laughed.

"God, I remember how you introduced yourself to me with just a touch that I felt deep inside of me." She said after another peal of thunder rolled away. She drew back her fist, snarling electricity wreathing it, and drove it into his kidney, and he screamed again, long and loud, before it was drowned out by another peal of thunder as if the heavens were mocking him.

"Remember me now, baby?" She asked, laying across his back, smoothing his hair, and ignoring his sobs.

"Please..." he burbled, the rainwater, missing teeth, and the blood making his speech almost incomprehensible.

"Oh, baby, you don't think I'm going to leave you hanging, do you?" The young woman mocked the injured man, her voice and laughter harsh. She stood up and grabbed his broken arm, using it to roll him over onto his back and bringing forth another scream. She sat down on his abdomen, squirming up his body and leaning forward until they were face to face.

"I was looking forward to my date, remember?" She whispered, the rain bouncing off the pavement as the storm's fury increased. She kissed the swollen and torn lips, gently, and pushed her tongue into his mouth to toy with his shattered teeth. "You found me, and you took me, right there in the bathroom. You made me yours, remember?" She moved back and looked at his face, where his regeneration abilities were knitting back together the skin.

The agent shook his head. "Please, I'll tell you everything..." he gasped when she leaned back.

"Shhh, we don't need to talk yet." She said, kissing him again. "You thought I wouldn't know what you did." She leaned back and smiled, undoing the belts on her pink leather jacket. She opened her jacket and leaned forward, letting him see that she wore nothing underneath. "The gravel in my skin told the story." She kissed him again, harder, then leaned back. "The bruises and tearing spoke louder than words." Lightning flashed, and the agent saw the merciless depths in her eyes. "It happened out here, didn't it? Out here, where nobody would know." She smiled, sitting up and leaning back, letting the jacket fall open.

"You figured that it couldn't hurt, that nobody would know." She smiled at him, running her tongue across her teeth. "But medical evidence never lies. Your medical records don't lie." She grabbed his arm and wrenched at, bringing another scream, and ran his hand across her torso. "What's wrong, isn't it good for you?" She pouted when he screamed again as she twisted his forearm. She dropped his arm, where it fell limply, and smiled at him. "DNA, DNA, it's relative in a way..." She sung softly, smiling at him.

She squirmed back down him as lighting flashed and thunder roared. He could feel her opening his belt, could see the hunger in her eyes. It was flat, ugly, and belonged to a savage creature of the ocean depths, not the beautiful young woman who sat astride him. The lightning reflected in her eyes was muted by the burning savagery in their depths, and the Vanguard agent felt his bowels and bladder let go.

"Oh, honey, don't worry, it happens to everyone." she cooed when the cold rainwater hit his skin and he flinched.

She held up two fingers, letting him see the electricity arcing between them in the darkness.

"Mama's little helpers." She smiled. "It works on coma victims, it'll work for you, baby."

Thunder drowned out his screams.

(Author's Note: The following takes place during The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Four)

"How ya feeling, Big Bug?" Betty asked, sitting down on the couch next to the massive insect warrior and patting his leg.

"Just fine, thanks for asking." Male Mantid said, turning his head to look at her.

"Guess what I found." Betty grinned. When Male Mantid flicked his antenna in curiosity, she held up a brown satchel with alien script on it. Male Mantid reached out and took the satchel, opening it up and digging around in it until he found a spray can. He shook the can for a moment, then handed it to Betty, who had set the satchel on the coffee table in front of the couch. She took the can as Male Mantid leaned back on the couch, then sprayed it across the bubbling yellow resin on his chest. Male Mantid clacked his mandibles and clenched his graspers as she sprayed the clear aerosol across the resin. She carefully sprayed all over the resin, then tucked the can back into the satchel.

"Better, Big Bug?" She asked, as she pulled out a heavy metal tube with a button on one end. He nodded, closing his nictating membranes over his eyes as she pressed on the pebbly plates that covered him until she found the right spot. Satisfied, she pressed the button and the device gave a sharp KLUNK that Betty knew was a heavy duty needle punching through the soft spot of the armor. Male Mantid shuddered as the cocktail of nanites, synthetic hormones, and drugs flooded into his system.

"That should help a bit." Betty said, tossing the empty autoinjector onto the table and rummaging around in Male Mantid's till she found a cigar. She lit it with the muzzle of her rifle's flamethrower, then leaned back, laying her rifle across her lap and puffing on the cigar while the Male Mantid shuddered from the effects of the shot.

"How is he?" Came Colonel Victory's voice from the kitchen. Betty looked over, and saw Colonel Victory closing the refrigerator. He cracked open a beer and stared at her.

"Bad. Real bad. I haven't ever seen him suffer an armor breach like this one." Betty admitted.

"I'm right here..." Male Mantid whispered.

"Indeed you are." Colonel Victory said, taking a drink off the beer. "How do your feel?"

"Not bad." Male Mantid said, taking the cigar from Betty and taking a couple drags before Betty snagged it out of his mandibles with a grin.

Colonel Victory chuckled and saluted Male Mantid by lifting up the beer toward him. "Good to hear it, Mantid." Global Betty grinned at the old human male. Both of the oldsters that her mercenaries had rescued had bounced back within a day and a half, their artificially enhanced metabolisms knitting bone and flesh, repairing cartilage and sinew, in record time. All of the bruises has faded, and both old men had been chafing under the restrictions of hiding out in Perez Park.

"Bring back any weapons?" October Octogenarian asked from where he was sitting by the window where he was watching the street outside. With the exception of Global Betty, nobody in the small apartment was armed. The weapon that the dead copy of Global Betty had been carrying (which was currently laying the bathtub and covered with the shower curtain) had been used to replace the damaged parts in Global Betty's battle rifle and was now a stripped frame.

"No. Looks like someone found the cache, but even though they took the weapons, the cash, and the ammunition, they left the stuff that was marked with Big Bug or my personal insignia." Betty shrugged. "Looked like the Lost found it, Hellions wouldn't have cared about our insignia, or would have urinated all over the cache." Colonel Victory snorted at that, knowing full well the disdain that Global Betty held the Hellions in. She hated them with a burning passion, and felt they were nothing more than vermin that should be stamped out.

It could have had something to do with they were everywhere, caused all kinds of trouble, and the bounty on them wouldn't even cover Betty's ammo costs.

"Dangnabbit." October mumbled, returning to watch the outside street.

Victory moved up and sat down next to Betty, taking another long pull off of the beer bottle, then wiping his mouth. He put his boots on the coffee table, and Global Betty kicked them back off, which brought a grin to his face.

"Think those mercs of you will get that artifact Inertia told you about?" Victory asked.

"They're some of the best, we're talking top drawer, experienced, highly skilled stem-winding headstompers." Betty told him, snagging Mantid's cigar and puffing on it. She gave it back to Mantid and continued. "The people I hired can do it, if anyone can."

"Good, no offense, Mantid, but with you so badly injured, we need Zuka pretty bad." Victory said. Mantid waved away any possible insult, and Victory continued. "They're in pretty deep, any idea how to get them out of it?"

"No. These guys have a lot of allies, and are experts at laying low, and understand they're in this for the long haul." Betty opened her mouth to add more when October interrupted her.

"Get on the clock, I've got five, make that six, Longbow assault craft coming over the War Wall." October said. "They're coming in hot and dropping down to the deck. Looks like the weapons are hot, I can see that the miniguns are up and spinning."

"Dammit." Victory said, draining the beer bottle and standing up. "Think we can take them?" October nodded.

"No, you can't." Betty said, standing up and grabbing Victory's arm. "I need you to get Big Bug out of here. They'll kill him if he goes wading in to take the fight to them."

"I'll be fine. It is a warrior's way to die in battle, we are told the names of those who fell in battle while still in the egg, that it is a glorious end to our lives." Mantid said, struggling to his feet. He stopped, panting, and the viscous yellow resin cracked through the clear covering and leaked from the edges.

"Look at the bigger picture, Bug. If you die, it's more than just your life." Betty snarled, "You can barely stand. Think about strategically, not tactically. Don't be chitin covered moron."

"But..." Mantid began.

"No buts. I'll meet you at Drop-point Papa. If I don't, I'll be meeting the mercs I hired at Point Tango-Two, so send someone to make sure that the package is retrieved." Betty said. She looked at the two male humans. "Get him out of here. I'll hold them for as long as I can, then fight my way out of here."

All three males nodded, knowing that she was telling them that if that she couldn't fight her way out of it, that they had to meet with the mercs and retrieve the Skull of Sam Harlow so that Zuka could be resurrected.

"Get out of here." she snarled, moving to the window and activating her rifle's magnetic acceleration coils. She busted out the window as the three men moved into the kitchen and pulled aside a chunk of the wall, exposing the inside of the apartment building's elevator shaft.

Colonel Victory grabbed the ropes where they had been coiled up on the hook installed in the elevator shaft wall, and dropped them down the shaft. October Octogenarian grabbed the harness made out of cargo straps, and started putting it onto the Male Mantid, careful to avoid the leaking yellow patch on his chest.

"Ready!" Victory said, hooking himself up to the ropes with the D-ring.

Betty sighted through her scope, aiming at the starboard wing of the oncoming Longbow assault craft. The heavy duty Lockhead engine was obviously working at top performance, and Betty aimed at the blurred central hub, exhaling and slowing both of her hearts down. She waited until in between both sets of beats, and pulled the trigger. The magnetic acceleration coils grabbed the iron coated sabot and flung it out of the barrel at hypervelocity speeds, the sabot peeling away from the depleted uranium submunition. The round punched through the hub casing, blowing away the support for the intake fans, and the engine shattered.

Victory strapped the Male Mantid onto the rope, grabbing one of the main main sling loads, throwing it over his shoulder and clipping the end to his belt, then stepped onto the other rope, which had looped footholes. October grabbed the other one, threw it over his shoulder, and clipped the end onto his belt. He reached out, grabbed the other foothold prepared rope, and swung for a second, catching his balance. Out in the apartment, another gunshot sounded, and a muted explosion could be heard.

"Come on, Mantid." Victory said, reaching forward and tugging on Mantid's harness. The massive insect warrior stepped out into the shaft, and both men grunted as they took his weight. Neither rope they stood on so much as popped, and they nodded together as another explosion sounded out.

"We'll take it slow." October reassured him as another shot sounded from inside the apartment.

"I would prefer to stay and fight." Mantid groused.

"And then we would die, and nobody would ever know whether or not Code Vatnya had discovered the truth." Victory said, slowly moving down the rope. The two humans were careful, taking one step after the other had taken one, and lowering the Male Mantid between them slowly and gently. Upstairs the single shot stopped, and they could hear fully automatic weapons fire.

"She fights alone." Mantid said as they reached the basement of the apartment building. "She faces what may be her final fight, with enemies that were brought down on her by my insistence that we hear the words of a supervillain, and I am not there."

"Didn't you say that you learn in the egg that every warriors wins every fight but their last?" Victory asked, undoing the sling. "Did you not say that there is no dishonor in falling battle, if your cause is just?"

"Do not throw the teachings of the Holy Egg into my face, human." Mantid growled, but the threat was robbed by a sudden bubbling wheezing.

"Only reminding you, friend, only reminding you." Victory told him, reaching over and pulling the elevator door open. "Looks clear, let's go." The sounds of bullets smashing into the apartment echoed down the elevator shaft, and Male Mantid looked up, grinding his mandibles and chewing plates.

"If she falls, not even Statesman shall be able to stop my vengeance upon Ms. Liberty." Mantid swore, "I shall tear Longbow down around her fascist ears, and then beat her to death with it."

"Later, right now, we gotta get clear of this building." Colonel Victory reminded the massive insect warrior as they moved through the basement. An explosion's echo rolled down the elevator shaft, the last part of the sound cut off as the elevator doors closed.

The three males moved across the basement, over to where a large couch was against the wall, and Victory helped October move it, revealing a hole that led into the sewers of Paragon City. The three males entered the sewer, pulling the couch back to hide the way. Once in the sewer, Victory popped a red road flare, and October Octogenarian summoned a warrior made entirely out of ice.

"Let's go." Victory said, moving ahead of the two others. "Tell us when you start getting breathless, Mantid. Betty will kill me if you die here."

Darkness closed around them, pushed back only by a sputtering red road flare.

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Four)

Inertia Flare, wrapped in heavy rags, followed the Lost Prelate down into one of the many caves that riddled the earth beneath Paragon City. The entrance to this one had been an old mine shaft on a tiny island off of Talos Island, and the tunnels had led deeper and deeper into the earth as the pair descended into the depths. Skeletons lay here and there, some of them clad in superhero outfits from decades before, other clad in the robes of the mystical cult known as the Circle of Thorns.

They moved through an underground chamber where destroyed equipment was scattered about, and the unique skeletons of the Rikti invaders were mixed with that of heroes, a legacy from the First Rikti War. The chamber was one of many scattered all over the world, where the Rikti had used dimensional and spacial portals to bring in reinforcements and resupply for their invasion force. Inertia Flare and the Prelate, Contemplation of Strife to his people, Dave to Inertia Flare, drew closer to one another, memories of the war strengthening the ties that bound them.

They passed through the cavern, slowing only once so that Contemplation of Strife could kneel down, kiss his fingertips, and press them into the earth. That done, the two companions moved through the rubble and left the cavern, heading deeper into the labyrinth beneath Paragon City. Contemplation of Strife led the way, for he had been there once before, taking the one they sought to safety after he had been gravely injured by superpowered vigilantes.

Finally they reached their goal, a massive door, made of iron, covered with brass inlay and runes that sparkled with arcane power. Skeleton lay in front of the door, some wearing the garb of the Circle of Thorns, others wearing the garb of explorers and treasure seekers, and a rare few wearing the colorful outfit of superpowered beings. A few Rikti skeletons lay about, their weapons missing, testimony that other had been there after they had died, but the door is what held their attention.

Contemplation of Strife reached forward, pressing his fingers upon a huge ornate ruby inlay that throbbed with arcane power. For a long moment there was silent, only the large veins on the Prelate's head throbbing in synchronization with the glow of the rune, until the Prelate stepped back and the door separated down a previously invisible seam and slid silently into the walls.

Beyond was a vault, with shelves that held dusty tomes, items of arcane might, weapons that had not seen the light of day for decades or centuries. On the far side of the vault were stacks of books, which were piled high over the bed in the center of them. A single basin of water was in the corner, and a horn had fruit and meat spilling from it.

In the middle of the room stood a Rikti, or what appeared to be one at first glance. His fingers were longer, more delicate, his eyes were burning blue that lit the chamber, and his posture was slumped. He held a staff surmounted by a dark green crystal, graven with strange and glowing glyphs, and he watched the pair warily.

Inertia Flare took three steps into the massive room, going to one knee, her heavy flanged mace upright with the butt of it thumping onto the stones of the floor. She bowed her head, pulled the fire around her into herself, and waited. She felt more than saw Contemplation of Strife do the same, placing his empty hands on the floor of the vault before him, and silence descended on the vault once the door grated shut.

"I recognize you, Strength of Striga." The creature said, his voice holding a soft southern American states accent, the I changed to Ah. "You brought a woman to my side, a healer, to heal my wounds, and spoke kindly of me to assuage her fears at my visage."

"Yes, Holy One, you were gravely injured, and the one next to me told me that he felt your life must be saved." Inertia Flare said, holding still as the figure moved closer, and one hand reached down to touch her hair.

"So much rage, so much anger, for one so young." The figure whispered sadly. "You are caught in a war not of your own making. A war of secrets, of shadows, of lies. You fight bravely, but your soul has already been wounded, a casualty of this war. Friends have fallen, and your heart is wounded, the same heart that went out to me as I lay dying. The same heart that led you to try to protect the innocent of your home city, the same heart that has led you down dark paths in pursuit of what you felt was right."

Inertia Flare did not answer, instead holding silent as the figure's hand left her hand and the figure moved to the Prelate who knelt with her.

"You bring her, but fear for her." The voice was a whisper that could not be ignored. "Your love for her shines like a beacon."

The figure shuffled back, and Inertia Flare heard the creak of bedsprings and a sigh.

"Rise, both of you, and tell me why you have braved these caverns to see a hermit such as I, who has left behind the world to instead dwell within these dusty tomes."

Inertia stood up, slowly hanging her mace on her belt, and stared at the figure in front of her. "I have a comrade who lies near to death, and I need a way to return him to wakefulness, since he has long since passed from life."

"Does your friend have a name, young one?"

"Yes. His name is Zuka Jilipiza, he fights for those who are oppressed, who suffer under the lash of a cruel master, and for those whose spirits cry out for vengeance." Inertia answered.

"I have heard of him, often the void between life and death I have even seen him, and spoken to him in my dreams." The figure said, "He has offered me counsel, as I have offered counsel unto him.

"Is he a casualty of this war?"

"Yes, Holy One. He fell in battle, ensuring that the wounded could escape from a deadly battle, and that innocents were not harmed during the fighting." Inertia answered.

The figure was silent for a long time, and Inertia waited patiently. Staying silent even when the figure got up and began examining books, shuffling through them and shaking his head. It took nearly an hour of silence before the figure looked up, and Inertia had the feeling that he was smiling.

"I believe that there are two artifacts that may work." The figure said, showing Inertia a picture of a rune engraved skull that was streaked with old and clotted blood. It sat on a table with a twisted blood stained knife that Inertia knew the Circle of Thorns favored for ritualistic sacrifices.

"This is the Skull of Sam Harlow, and the followers of the Cult of Baron Zoria often harness its mystical powers to reach beyond the veil of death to retrieve the souls of those of particular importance." The figure said, turning the book around and examining the text beneath the picture. "It will difficult and dangerous to reach, for it will be guarded to the best of the those who dwell within Oranbega."

"Retrieve the skull, use Zuka's sledgehammer to crush it while it sits upon his breast, and it should achieve two goals. Bringing back Zuka to his undying state, and delivering a serious blow to the zealots of Baron Zoria." The figure finished.

"And the second?" Inertia asked.

"The second lies behind the blade of Forlorn Waif, held in the hands and controlled by the will of the Empress of Undeath herself. Her magics, learned in the shadow of powerful creatures such as this world could not bear the footsteps of, would find it a small task to return your friend to his undying state, or even to life." The figure held up a hand, "But to do so would wrap a collar more cruel than iron around his neck, for he would become her creature, to further her goals in our world, and I see nothing but misfortune, sadness, and death, should you try."

There was silence for a long moment, until the figure waved his hand, and the doors slid open, letting the chill air of the caverns sweep back into the room.

"Good luck, Strength of Striga, both in this endeavor, and in your war." the figure told her, waving at the exit.

Together, Inertia Flare and the Prelate left the chamber, pausing as the door slowly ground shut. The looked at one another and both shuddered in unison before beginning their trek retracing their path.

As they passed through the massive cavern where the battle had been fought and forgotten, the Prelate broke the silence.

"We were lucky."

Inertia nodded, keeping an eye out for any surprises.

"Not too many people encounter a full blooded Sorcerer of the Lost, one who was to become one of the first Rikti Magus, and live to tell the tale." The Prelate expanded. "If we had been any other pair, we would lie dead before that door."

Inertia nodded again, and they continued their trek in silence. When they came to the entrance of the original mining shaft they had followed in, they paused before going their separate ways. Inertia gathered up the taller Prelate in a fierce hug, embracing the inhuman figure for a long time before letting go and looking up at him.

"Disappear, Dave. Find one of the Lost encampments you normally stay away from. One buried deep and hidden well. I can't bear to lose you too." Inertia told him.

"You won't, little sister." The Prelate shook his head sadly. "Of the two of us, I am the only one who knows what is to come." He cradled Inertia's face in his hands for a long moment. "But you would not be who you are if there was any other outcome."

They stood there for a long moment, each of them lost in their thoughts of each other, before hugging one last time and returning to their own tasks as the sun set, turning the waters around Talos Island as red as if they had become blood.

I'd like to take this time to thank the following people:

The Dev's, for creating a timeline which can lead to different interpretations of what went on, and providing such a rich backdrop for the story. Plus, I'd like the thank them for the AE system, which provided a way to let readers experience part of the story.

Rangy-Lil, for allowing me to use her signature characters.

GMSupremeSteve, for the same.

Heather-Dawn, for her characters and input.

Wolvorine, for acting as sounding board and providing his input, as well as letting me determine the ultimate fate of some of his favorite characters.

Witch Engine, for advice on the story and pointing out a few plot holes.

Finally, to the people who played the AE Arcs and sent me messages suggesting ways to clean up the missions.

Thanks for everything.

The story will still continue.

(Author's Note: The following takes place before The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Four)

The gulls cried out as they drifted on the cold wind coming in off the ocean, circling the small town of Cimerora, on the lookout for any returning fishing vessels, or any refuse they could feed from. Below them people in togas walked the cobblestone streets, their sandals slapping as they went about their daily lives, often staring at the strangely garbed beings with the powers of gods that often talked to a few important people, who rumor said defended the small village from attacks from the renegade legionnaires who sought to overthrow the rightful rule.

Many walked down The Street of the Gods, where temples were dedicated to various dieties. Stalls set up by those hawking sacrifices or charms were plentiful on the street, despite the disapproving stares of the priests and priestesses of the various temples. Statues lined the street, of Gods and Goddesses, some strange and foreign, brought by the strange Nubians, or Egyptians who had brought spices and luxuries to the small port village.

One temple was devoted to a minor demi-god by the name of Mythus. A warrior's god that the Roman Empire had adopted when his worshipers were conquered by Rome's endless legions, the demi-god was adopted by many legionnaires, not only for his battlefield and combat values that appealed to warriors, but for the "benefits" that the priestesses provided, as well as the priests, when Amazons from strange lands visited the temples. While many warrior diety's temples were full of iron and steel, Mythus insisted that his temple be filled with song, flowers, silky cushions, and all manners of delights to be offered to his worshipers, as a promise to what awaited the faithful in the afterlife.

Within the temple, beyond where the prayers were held and the sacrifices were made, a small room held a stone bier upon which a woman lay. Her ivory skin was a wonder to the priestess, and her honey colored hair was spread out beneath her head. Her bare hands were folded onto her bare breasts, and she lay, totally nude, on the stone. Only a laurel wreath made of beaten copper adorned her, and her body had been washed with scented oils and blessed water.

She had arrived over over a week ago, appearing in a crackling snarl of golden lightning before the altar, with blessed Mythus' voice ringing out, charging the faithful within the temple of caring for the woman. She had been close to death, garbed in a strange way with wonderous and mysterious cloth.

The priestesses had removed the clothing, using sharpened bronze knives to slice away the cloth, which was strangely resistant to the highly honed edge. Twice the priestesses had to resharpen the knives they used, but when the uniform was removed, they had taken stock of the woman's injuries.

Her alabaster skin, a wondrous and exotic thing, was covered in bruises, and she had many grievous injuries, that even though they were scabbed over, still put her life in danger. Her hair had been filthy, fouled with clotted blood, soot, ash, grime, and dirt, but the priestesses had washed her hair as they had bathed her, combing it out until it shone like honey in the sunlight.

She was always attended by at least two priestesses, who sang praises to Mythus, as well as sang prayers to Hades to stay his hand from this women, pleaded through hymns with the Fates that her strand of life remain uncut. The priestesses had noticed that the strange woman did not wither and waste away, but rather seemed to gain health as time went by. Her cheeks, once so pale, had been found that morning to have a rosy blush to them, and her breathing was soft and easy, no longer harsh and labored.

The High Priestess had come in, rubbing the strange woman's temples with her strong, yet delicate, fingers, declaring that the woman had moved from strange dreams of darkness and was now moving toward the waking world. That her mind, like her body, had made great strides in healing from the injuries that the priestesses had tended to.

Many of the younger priestesses viewed the strange woman jealously, aware that her exotic appearance and classical features would make her attractive to those who came to the temple for comfort. Even the scars that her body bore would merely make her more exotic, more desirable, to the warriors who frequented the temple, and they knew that she would gather much in the way of coin, attention from powerful men, and gifts from powerful admirers. Although it shamed them to admit it, many of the younger priestesses wished that the woman would never wake up, that they would never have to compete with her, and all of those who were jealous prayed for forgiveness each night.

The High Priestess had revealed just that morning that she had been blessed with a dream in which Holy Mythus himself had appeared. In the dream, he had told the High Priestess that the strange woman was vital in a war that was fought in a far off land, as removed from Holy Rome as the lands of the gods themselves. He had told her that she would be strange in her ways, and might be afraid when she first woke up, but the High Priestess was to copy down the runes that Mythus drew in the air with golden lightning, and show the runes to the strange woman when she awoke.

Not if. When.

Mythus had charged all within the temple of teaching the woman the ways of the temple, how to speak the language spoken by civilized people who lived in the modern world, and to protect her until she had regained their strength.

When the High Priestess had awoke, she had known that the dream was not merely the fancy of a slumbering mind, but a vision from Mythus himself by the way the runes still hung in her vision until she had laboriously inscribed them onto expensive parchment with squid ink. She had then told the other priests and priestesses, and the stranger, who had become almost blase, had suddenly gained a renewed interest.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, a young priestess entered the room, approaching the naked woman where she lay on the carved stone bier. She carried a bowl of chilled water, blessed by the priests, and a clean cloth. She stopped at the woman's head, dunking the cloth into the water and then handing the bowl of beaten copper, painted with sigils praising Mythus, to a neophyte priestess.

She carefully folded the cloth, and laid it on the strange woman's head.

And Miss Moral opened her eyes.

(Author's Note: The following takes place after The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Three)

Inertia Flare sat next on the torn and stained couch, watching as the inhuman form of a Lost Prelate enter the room, sitting cross legged with her mace held in her lap. The Prelate was wrapped in bandages, his leathery skin completely hidden except for his hands, but the concealment of the cloth did nothing to hide his inhuman form. His legs and arms were too long, jointed strangely, his body too thin, and his forehead bulged weirdly. He moved wrong somehow, his very stride shouting out that he was no longer fully part of the human race, but instead, something different. The rags that covered him were dirty, not from any aversion to cleanliness, but rather due to soul crushing poverty and the hardships of being on the bottom rung of society.

Being in a Lost encampment was something that always made Inertia Flare melancholy. Outside of those encampments, away from places like Boomtown, Dark Astoria, and Perez Park, it was easy to see Paragon City as a bright future-opolis, a place where utopia had nearly been reached. Inside those encampments, or in the shattered sections of the city, the reality of living in a city full of super-powered beings was brought home.

Outside the camp Boomtown still smoldered, and weapons fire could be heard at all hours. Recently the Fifth Column and the Penumbra Council had began attacking one another out in the open, each trying to prove who was the better fascist. Boomtown had been dangerous enough before, with clockwork scavenging through the wreckage for more metal, but now anyone skulking through the rubble ran the chance of getting caught between the two fascist groups as they duked it out, or even worse, getting captured by either side. Those who were captured disappeared, only occasionally turning up amid the rubble.

But the Boomtown Lost encampment had something that most of the other encampments did not.

Electricity and internet.

One of the Lost, months ago, had led the others into an old superhero base that had been long abandoned, hooking back up the power with an illegal tap, splicing into the fiber-optic trunk at a splitter, in order to provide some medical attention for any of the Lost who had been wounded by over-zealous police officers, Longbow agents, heroes, or just bad luck.

But with the Fifth Columnists and the Council goons slugging it out in the streets, the base had been abandoned, deemed too dangerous to use, too dangerous to risk bringing pregnant women or the injured too.

Pregnant women who were captured by either of the fascist groups were never seen again, and the wounded were often executed on the spot. Some victims were devoured by the Vampyrs or Warwolves, some were hunted for sport, and others, particularly the women, were abused before being murdered and left in small, pathetic, rag wrapped huddled masses.

"I appreciate this, Dave." Inertia Flare said, standing up and crossing the room to enfold the Prelate in her arms and hug the alien looking figure. "You know this is going to be risky."

"Despite what some may believe, the Mad Russian is not the boogie-man to those of us who are cast off and have nothing that he is to those who have much and are still embraced." The bitterness in the figure's tone could curdle milk, but all Inertia did was hug him tighter for a moment before letting him go.

"Can I stay in here, or would he be more comfortable if I went and waited in another section of the base?" She asked, glancing at the entrance room of the base. She could see a figure's glowing red eyes within the darkness, and make out a twisted form, but instead of trying to peer at the figure, she looked up at the Prelate.

"I told him that you often act as our champion when none else will." The Prelate said, waving the other figure forward. "Although he is in great pain from The Change, he will help you."

The figure that entered was rail thin, moving in the jerky way that Inertia was familiar with. She could see the muscles spasming as the creature moved, could see the malformed and twisted bone structure and muscles.

"I thank you for this." Inertia said gravely, bowing slightly to the other creature.

"As you help us, I shall help you." The figure said, sitting down in the battered and worn chair that Inertia Flare had dug out of the rubble and carried to the base. He stared at the computer in front of him, cocking his head as he studied it.

"This is not an Arachnos computer." He said slowly. "The case is from an Arachnos mainframe, the data on the screen is common to Arachnos standby displays, but what lies within this pulses and crackles with menace."

He turned in the chair and stared at Inertia, who stared back impassively.

"You were warned that this computer was in the possession of the Mad Russian." The Prelate reminded the other creature. The other creature nodded jerkily, and turned back to the computer, long thin fingers reaching forward to caress the keyboard that was attached to the machine.

"The keyboard is a trap. Any input into it would result in this system self-destructing. There is a Rikti implosion charge built into it." Inertia Flare saw the creature's eyes open wide. "The breadboard that the circuitry is built into is some kind of explosive resin designed to insure the total destruction of this device."

"But can you access it, young one?" The Prelate asked.

"Yes, Holy One, I can." The creature answered, standing up and pushing back the chair. He crouched down, running his fingers over the casings, peering into thin cracks or almost invisible dents, until he finally straightened up. He cocked his wrists at an odd angle, and a glittering holographic keyboard appeared in mid-air, obviously generated by the computer. Satisfied, he began typing quickly, and Inertia was amused by the fact that computer added in clicking sounds to go with the typing. It was a small thing, a sign of an affectation, but it amused her all the same.

Long moments passed, Inertia Flare standing next to the Lost Prelate she called Dave, as the other Lost continued typing, often cocking his head as if listening to something while he paused at typing, before launching into another flurry of keystrokes.

Inertia reached out and grasped the Prelate's hand in hers, interlacing their fingers, and she felt the Prelate squeeze slightly.

"I believe I have disabled the security and managed to decrypt most of the files. The machine is full of many things, from nanite construction instructional coding, to video footage of Paragon City, to intercepted communications." He turned his head to look at the Prelate, saw that the two were holding hands, but managed to keep his shock out of his face. "There are even pirated MediCom transmissions."

"I wish one simple answer." Inertia said, tugging her hand free, aware but not commenting on the fact that the Prelate tried to hold onto her small hand for a moment.

"Is Code Vatnya alive?"

(Author's Note: The following takes place during The Bounty Hunter's War: Part II Arc 318122, Mission Three)

Tachyon Hammer could hear the sound of a drill as she approached the workshop of Code Vatnya, the Mad Russian, as well as the chattering noise of a high-torque impact wrench. The unblinking red stare of the targeting optics of the base's flame throwers watched her, the muzzles of the weapons tracking her, as she walked down the hallway toward the sounds.

She felt proud of herself. She'd managed to get past the Russian's guard during practice the day before, catching the older man square in the face and bloodying his nose with a satisfying crunch.

Of course, he'd retaliated with a kick to the crotch that made her almost pass out from the pain as the toe of his boot lifted and separated things that were supposed to be treated a little more gently.

Still, she'd managed to hit him, managed to slip past his guard and land a good solid blow, and even the fact that her crotch was still sore the next day wasn't enough to lessen her feeling of victory. The Mad Russian wasn't known for his hand to hand skills, and most people probably didn't even know that the legendary supervillain even knew how to throw a punch, but Tach had learned there was more to the man than even the legend hinted at. She shook her head, running her hand through her short cropped hair, and waved at one of the automated weapon systems as she turned to the hallway toward the work shop.

"Can you hand me that actuator?" She heard Code Vatnya ask in Russian as she approached the entryway to the huge laboratory. She smiled, knowing that the older man had a habit of talking to his robotic minions. It wasn't uncommon to find one of them reading a book, juggling tennis balls, or dancing in odd places of the base. Code Vatnya claimed that it was just odd fragments of code that made them do such things, but Tach suspected he programmed his robots to do things like that just to throw off visitors and spies.

"This one?" She heard Code Vatnya answer himself, still in Russian, and frowned.

"Da, be careful with it."

Is he talking to himself? Tach wondered, stepping around the doorway to look into the lab, her eyes immediately picking out the Russian.

He was standing by the chassis of one of his heavy assault robots, the armor on the right hand side of the torso removed and the access panels swung open. He was wearing his old style urban combat battle dress uniform, complete with shined boots, and she could see a smear of grease across his forehead. He was holding an impact wrench in one hand and Tach arrived just in time to see him catch a heavy duty actuator in the other hand.

Code Vatnya was also standing next to a suit of power armor that was old and dented, scarred with mute evidence of battles fought. The right forearm access panel was open, and Tach could see that the focusing array for the force bolt weapon system was half removed. He was wearing a beat up black trenchcoat and an old Spetsnaz uniform, with a gray beret perched on his head.

Both men turned to look at her, then turned and looked at each other, and in the moment before they turned back to look at her, she could feel something pass between them. She stood stock still, barely risking breathing, as her senses told her that neither of the men were an android, neither carried the bio-electric signature of a clone, that both men were flesh and blood. Their bio-electric signatures were not identical, close to one another, yes, but not identical. The Code Vatnya by the assault robot sported steel front teeth, the Code Vatnya by the power armor had a patch of scar tissue on his forehead that Tach knew was from the edge of a broken helmet cutting into him. They weren't identical, but they were damn close.

"This is the point where I've found out too much to be allowed to live, isn't it?" Tach broke the silence, surprised at the calm and steadiness in her voice. "So are you twins?" She took a deep breath and smiled. "This is the point where you, as a nefarious supervillian, launch into a monologue that explains why there are two of you, right before you toss me into a crappily conceived death trap so I can escape." She laughed nervously, "Or knowing you, just shoot me in the face."

Both men laughed at that, setting down the tools they had been using. The Code Vatnya who had been standing on the ladder climbed down carefully, and both men moved around the table to sit down.

"Not exactly." The beret wearing one started. "I am not from this world, and I am the one that saved you, fixed you, and have been training you, I came here fleeing the version of Statesman of my world, a version that does not bother trying to conceal his crimes behind a thin veneer of righteousness."

"And I have been busy salvaging some equipment from an old base off the coast of Saint Martial." The other one shrugged, his steel teeth flashing as he spoke. "I'm the Code Vatnya everyone here knows and fears."

"You're a Praetorian." Tach guessed, and both men nodded.

"I told you she was intelligent as well as beautiful." The beret wearing one said.

"Da, you were right, brother." The other answered.

"So do you both go by the name of Code Vatnya?" Tach asked.

"Da." The Praetorian answered, "Although I wanted to be called Mihkeal Six Gun." He grinned suddenly, and Tachyon noticed that it made him looks years younger. "I always enjoyed the spaghetti westerns staring Clint Eastwood." His hand dropped to his hip, to the holster that Tachyon Hammer knew that the Code Vatnya everyone else was familiar with carried a Skorpian machine pistol, and the Praetorian drew an old engraved six-gun, showing it to her briefly, and then reholstered the ivory gripped 'shooting iron' with a smile.

A beeping noise interrupted the conversation, and both men lifted their hands and cocked their wrists at the same time, both of them typing in complex codes before the screens lit up. Tachyon Hammer moved around behind the beret wearing Vatnya, putting her hands on his shoulders and squeezing as she watched the screen go from arcane and mysterious computer coding to video links.

The video showed a ruined base, and people searching it, fighting androids that sought to protect the ruined stronghold.

"Longbow mercs?" Tachyon asked, "Or some of Coyote's hirelings?"

"No, these ones are professional mercenaries, some of the best." The man Tachyon Hammer held on to stated. "They aren't Longbow lackeys, they pretty much work for whoever can cross their palms with enough rubles."

"Then what are they doing there?" Tach asked. "Who would be hiring mercs to check out your old bases?"

"They are seeking to confirm whether or not we are dead." The other man stated. "Look at how they are examining every blood stain, every body, and taking samples."

"This base is the one that Longbow claimed they killed me in." Vatnya said from between gritted steel teeth. "Someone is seeking to discover whether or not I still live."

"Kill them?" The Praetorian asked.

"Nyet, confuse them, but let them live." Vatnya answered.

Tach saw both men smile.

This thread just boggles my mind.

Considering that Paragon Studios actually put out a call for experienced RPG writers with a background in computer coding not to long ago as part of their expansion, I can see a lot of content being redone.

Yes, AE makes it look easy, but let us face it, it is too easy to walk into an adventure that has serious bugs and the authors didn't catch it. We'll excuse that on an AE mission, we wouldn't accept it for "canon" missions.

I see sections of the game getting a long needed facelift, as well as new contacts being added, and the possibility of more missions being offered depending on the "alignment system" once things shake out a little.

Right now, if they've hired anyone, they're being shown "behind the curtain" so to speak, as well as sitting down with the rest of the staff, and discussing where the story is going to go from here, how they expand on it, and what they can do.

War Witch did a tremendous job on revamping the Hollows, and she did it without new artwork, and with very few resources. However, the core of the Hollows is still the same. Faultline got revamped, and is now interesting.

I would say, a few months after GR, we're going to see some major changes, as old contacts are replaced, or have new missions added, and new contacts/zone changes go on.

From here, I'm going to say: Story line progression and game world expansion.

And that's without touching on the revamp of the game engines core, the wireframe model rebuilding, the changing of pets from standard wireframes to player specific models, and all the other stuff that is undoubtedly taking place.

Johnny the Skull woke up slowly, groggily, his head muzzier than when he spent all his bank job loot on Dyne and whiskey. There were bright white lights over his head, and when he went to sit up, he realized that he was strapped down. He tried to lunge up, tried to reach out and find the dark powers of the Netherworld, but neither attempt did anything more than bring a pained moan from his lips as his head throbbed worse.

"It is of no use, comrade." Came the gravelly voice, and Johnny felt fear congeal in his belly.

"It's impossible. You're dead." Johnny said, trying to move his head to look around and catch a glimpse of his captor, but something had a hold on his head, and trying to move it just sent pain scything through his thoughts.

"Nyet, comrade, although I believe that soon you will wish I was." The voice answered. "I have questions of you, and you will answer them."

Johnny began screaming as small hooks were attached to his eyelids and drug them open, and sensation began retuning to his body, making him feel as if he was covered in biting, stinging ants. His captor asked him nothing, and Johnny realized that this was worse than a drug fueled nightmare.

"Please, don't hurt me." Johnny pleaded.

"Tsk tsk, young Skull." The voice chided. "Is it not your motto that life is pain? That is what you preach as you victimize the people around you." Droplets, soothing liquid, fell into his eyes. "For a gang that is spread all over the lands of the United States, as well as the Rogue Isles, you seem particularly unhappy."

Johnny tried again to move, and found that even though he could feel the tingling pain, he was unable to tell if his fingers even twitched.

"Please, I'll tell you anything." Johnny tried again.

"I don't want to know anything, little Skull." The voice told him. "I want specifics."

"Please, don't turn me into a monster." Johnny couldn't feel the sweat that he knew had to be covering.

"Is that rumor still about? My dear young man, I do not change people without their consent. To do that is to create a defective tool, that will shatter when I least expect and injure me." The voice moved around his head, and eyedrops were reapplied. "You will answer my questions."

The light was blocked out by the head of the questioner, and when Johnny saw the confirmation of who held him prisoner, the fact that he had lost control of his bladder and bowels in fear held no shame.

The hair was iron gray, cut into a severe military flat top, with a black beret on top. One eye was covered by an eye patch, with heavy scarring around the eye socket, the cheek, and almost to the ear. The iron gray beard was neatly trimmed.

Johnny began screaming as man smiled at him.

"So loud, and the questions have no begun." The supervillain smiled. He leaned back out of the light. "You see, you can deny it if you wish, but my, shall we say, sources, have told me that the police believe there is something going on involving terrorists."

There was the snapping sound of rubber gloves being put on, and Johnny began sobbing, tears rolling from his wired open eyes.

"If the incompetent lackeys of Statesman at the Paragon City Police Department know that this plot is brewing, then someone of your lawless skills must know." The voice mused. A long thin metal probe showed in Johnny's views.

Johnny screamed as the metal came down, the point almost at his eye.

"Tell me, young man, the specifics of the shipping container full of weaponry you were guarding in Peregrine Island." The voice was hard as the steel that made up the probe that was only millimeters from Johnny's eyeball. "Tell me who such heavy military grade weapons were meant for."

"Please."

"Young master, begging is for those who think they might have hope." The gravelly voice chuckled. "You have no hope. Only the promise of pain should you deny me my information."

"Who were the weapons meant for, young master? Rocket launchers, surface to air missiles, armor defeating munitions, land mines. Who would the shipping container belong to?" The voice chuckled. "Tell me about these terrorists..."

Well, to be honest, I'll be finding out exactly what it means.

While I believe that the graphical representation, the powers chosen, etc, are property of NCSoft (That's so they can rebroadcast it, possess backups, use it in pictures, etc, as far as I know).

But, I'll actually be calling and asking if characters already created by an author, and used as either a hero or a villain, are retained by the author, or are taken over by Paragon Studios.

I'm really curious, and it will affect whether or not I decide to yank an AE mission I'm building, as well as deleting a couple of characters.

Plus, I want to know just how far they intend to take it, if they do indeed decide that the IP switches to them. If I mention something, do I lose all the rights to everything associated with that something?

Back to Myths...

Myth: Nemesis sent robots to the Rikti homeworld to instigate the war.
Fact: Too many heroes found androids, found the workshops, found the plans. We are to believe that Nemesis created several score of those labs, and only got back Manticore for each of those labs?

FREE TALOS! NOW AND FOREVER!