Samuel_Tow

Yeah, that's kind of the spirit of the responses I got from my friends, who didn't have the benefit of a disclaimer (I didn't think I needed one, but I was wrong). I thought it might come over better if I attached a warning. I AM going somewhere with it, and by popular advise, I've made it a point to get most of the way there in the next chapter. I have it finished, and I'll post it as soon as I get home.

On a side note, hating the guy is something I'd consider a success I did my best to make him as heatable as I could. I sort of had to.

Two questions:

One: Couldn't you just put the secret identity name in the bio and use a second costume slot?

Two: What about those of us with characters who don't have secret identities?

Oh, and Suggestions is City of Heroes Forums > English > For Fun! > Suggestions and Ideas.

I respect Blizzard for what they do, which is to make high-quality games that are basically ripped from everyone who ever made a successful game in that respective genre, even if that was Blizzard themselves to begin with. The WarCraft series is particularly amusing, in that it basically takes an established RTS framework and runs with it.

The original Warcraft was built around the C&C model, as seen in Dune 2: Battle for Arakis. One main construction yard that every other building has to be connected to either directly or via other buildings and roads. From there, you pick from a small selection of units and use a graphical representation of Dunes Move To/Attack/Etc/Etc menu. It's a good game. A better game, in fact, but it's not a unique idea. I'm not familiar with the rest of the Warcraft series, as their timelines begin to blur a great deal in my head, but I do know that they ape each other quite a bit. Not unexpected, but hardly innovation.

That's really not to insult Blizzard or insinuate they steal. It's good business. Find something someone else did that worked, then do it better. A LOT better. It's a perfectly legitimate, perfectly reasonable business model, and indeed one few companies manage to pull off. What Blizzard have always had working for them is sheer quality and luxury. Their games feel polished, complete, thought-out. They have cinematics, they have good graphics, they have wide-scale voice-overs, they have impressive if corny plots, they have lots of backstory. They're basically one serious piece of work written around a proven idea. Solid, dependable, profitable.

Of course, that wasn't always the case. Blizzard started out with games like The Lost Vikings and Blackthorne, which in their own right are unique, original games, even if Blackthrone does ape the Prince of Persia a fair bit, but then who didn't at the time? Flashback certainly did, as did Abe's Odyssey, and no-one ever brings that up.

City of Heroes is an inherently innovative project, and as such has no established fanbase. Even though our actual subscriber base may not be huge, we've seen a lot of churn here, and the age of super hero MMOs seems to only keep getting richer. In another 10 years, of MMOs are still as popular, a City of Heroes knockoff might well prove to be the dealbreaker WoW was. But right now, this is a niche game. In fact, a niche intersection game. It aims to attract people who are both comic book fans AND MMO fans, and these customer bases just don't intersect by as much as you'd think. Either people like comic books but aren't too hot on that MMO thing, or they like MMOs, and are naturally fantasy fans, because that's practically what MMOs have been ever since they were invented.

As far as I'm concerned, for this game to be the next WoW, it just has to have been made about 10 years from now by an established developer with a large-scale fanbase. For what we have, I don't think we're doing too bad. Considering this is a game that's getting on six years and still hasn't gone the way of the Matrix Online or Tabula Rasa or Auto Assault, all innovative niche games in their own right, I still count this as a decent success.

Anyone who thinks these will be called anything other than levels is in for a system shock. The developers may call them Incarnite Levels, but since, from what I can tell, they're ten more levels of another kind you can earn on top of the previous 50 levels of another kind, I can guarantee you that these will be the equivalent of raising the level cap from 50 to 60, only by another name.

Of all the ways to add end-game rewards...

While I don't roleplay, I do write (kind of), and I've found one thing to be true above others - you can write for ANY character of ANY morality if you can find some way in which that character relates to any part of your own personality. For instance, I can take my frustration with carefully-laid plans and lots of effort gone to waste, and from that I can create an empire-building, ruthless dictator whose entire point in existence is to have carefully-laid plans AND SUCCEED. If need be over the dead bodies of his enemies. Or I can take the feeling that you're surrounded by idiots (we've all felt that way at one time or another) and run with it, to produce the hyper-intelligent, arrogant scientist who wants to replace all the world's living creatures with machines, starting with the end of the world as we know it and complete disrespect of the sanctity of life.

I like to think of myself as a nice guy. I like to think that, give the (clear) choice, I'd do the right thing, I'd be the hero, I'd make the sacrifice and so forth. The truth is, I'm not as virtuous as I like to think. I have a hard time believing anyone really is. Not deep down inside. We may all ACT like heroes, but that's because we manage to suppress negative emotions, thoughts and desires. I find that it sometimes pays to take such a desire and run with it. That will always give a character a unique, believable trait, because you're not making it up. It really IS how you feel. Or rather, how you would feel if you didn't have a conscience, say.

On that note, I've found that if I have to stop and ask myself: "OK, how would Villain Man react to this?" then I'm doing it wrong. The only real way I've found to write an evil character who disagrees with my methods is to sort of get into character on a subconscious level. Psyche myself up, run through the motions and get my brain in gear until I can actually THINK like that particular character. For me, that's always quite an experience, and it does take a certain amount of suspension of good sense and taste, but it works to make a pretty compelling story.

Phase one: Remembrance

How did my life turn into such a mess? I look back at all the things I’ve done, I can trace my steps and I can see why my actions would have led me here, fate and karma notwithstanding, but I am still left wondering why. Why did I do those things? Why did I commit all of those atrocities? What manner of madness was it that led me to these decisions? I look at my life now, I remember my history, yet it feels like it isn’t mine. It’s almost as if one day I awoke inside another person’s mind and body, cursed with his history and doomed to pay for his sins. I find myself lost, now, among memories so frightening and confusing it is difficult to believe that they are truly my own. Memories of old thoughts best left forgotten, of feelings that once reigned supreme, of… Ambitions that terrify me to my core.

What I once was, what I must have been… This is a fate I would not wish on any man. It is a dark, cold, lonely place from which I can remember only pain, hatred and suffering. Even my greatest moments back then were mere blinks in the turmoil of a jaded mind. My jaded mind. Mine, and yet so foreign that I can scarcely believe this was me. It scares me to think that I may have believed these things, that I could have held them so strongly. Why? What could have possessed me to be this… This monster? It is utterly, completely incomprehensible to me, this sense of… Belonging, of attraction to that dark, horrifying place that she saved me from. My personal hell, the one I built to entomb my own soul. My hell that I paid for with my life, as well I should have.

But why? I keep asking myself this question, and I can never find an answer. By all rights I should just leave it alone, pretend it never happened and move on with my unlife. But she pulls me back. Every time the call grows louder, I can see her, I can feel her. I every time I drift away into the ether, I remember what it is that kept me here. I remember what it is I stayed behind to protect. I cannot leave. Not until my mission is complete. Not until she is safe. If this is my personal hell to protect her, if I must pay for my sins by being her guardian, then so I will. It is more than I deserve.

And yet I return to the question why, time and time again, to the point it interferes with my purpose. I try to put it behind me, I always do, but an old yearning keeps rearing its ugly head. An old feeling pulls me back towards the darkness, ever stronger, ever faster, ever more powerful. A part of me, perhaps? One that I have kept so hidden that I no longer sense is there? I must know the truth, lest I lose my mind to that familiar madness which always waits for me like an old friend nearly forgotten. This is not a curse that can be beaten. This is a curse that must be understood. Perhaps if I put my story down on paper, if I see it written before me, set in stone... Perhaps then I will understand what it was that went wrong with me. Perhaps then I will understand how to defeat it.

I was born Mathew James Tuss all the way back in 1968. I wish I could say that I was raised in a bad home, that my father abused me or my mother neglected me. Perhaps then I could have some kind of excuse for the monster I became. Perhaps then it won’t have all been my fault. But I have no excuse, for I grew up in the most idyllic family. Rich, middle-class parents living in a quiet suburb of nice people and friendly faces. My mother was caring, my father was stable, and we even had a lovely dog. Poor, poor thing... Perhaps the only thing I didn’t have was siblings, and perhaps this is what I could contribute my... Other life to. I don’t really know. I just know that I had no reason to grow up wrong. And yet I did.

From an early age I learned the power of a convincing lie. My father did his best to teach me out of that habit, and to his credit he really, really tried. But his efforts were for naught. Rather than teaching me to stop lying, he merely taught me to craft ever more elaborate, ever more believable lies, to the point where I built my own imaginary world that I put before my parents like a curtain of deceit, while I had my own little life hidden away in the corners and the nooks and crannies. Before my mother, I was polite, considerate and caring. Before my father, I was driven, hard-working and ambitious. But in the dark where no-one could see me, I built another person. A person of dark depravity, a master of my own domain. No longer was I the little child, doted and cared for. Instead, I was the rule, the authority, the master. This was MY house run by MY rules.

At first it was innocent enough, just basically roleplaying the rise to power of one toy over all the others. When my mother objected to this game, I took it back behind the bed in my room where she couldn’t see it. But it became more... Real as time went on. To some extent the good nature of our neighbours helped let me get away with it. So trusting were they that they simply left their children in my care, as I was the oldest of the bunch. Any time one of them cried, they simply handwaved it away as kids playing. After all, how could that charming Tuss boy do all the bad things their children were obviously making up? Those fools! It makes me angry even now to remember how willingly they trusted their children people they couldn’t oversee.

My games didn’t turn violent, not yet, at least, but they grew ever more sinister. It started out as your typical “boss” roleplaying, but it evolved into something much worse from there. Humiliation, insults, psychological torture... I experimented on those kids as I developed my techniques for breaking people, and I enjoyed every moment of it. I wasn’t the power of it that drove me on. On the contrary, it was the notion that I could manipulate these kids so freely even when I had no power over them. At first they resisted. They had the good sense to, and I don’t blame them. But eventually they broke, little by little, as they adjusted to a life of constant torment. Eventually, they gave up. They stopped resisting me. They would do practically anything I asked them to. And that’s how things got a lot worse.

I guess these awful games we played explain a lot of how I developed into such an unnoticeably secretive person. When I was with the neighbour kids, I was cruel, rude and abusive and it felt right. But when I was with my parents or around other adults, I had to be this charming, trustworthy child that you couldn’t help but hand over your own children to. From a very young age, I lived a double life. This taught me to plan ahead and anticipate dangers that could expose my secret. It taught me keep my wits about me even when my parents were unwittingly within an inch of discovery, slyly leading them away instead of panicking and breaking character. It taught me to segregate my real emotions from my fake ones, and to fake a very convincing, utterly non-existent person the majority of my time. I learned to be some I wasn’t, and in such a convincing manner that no-one ever suspected that I was more than met the eye. And no-one ever did, which I don’t think is something I should feel proud of.

But things like these never last, not in the long term. Sooner or later, something goes wrong. Someone breaks and talks, someone makes a mistake, someone walks into a room completely unexpectedly. Or you just go too far. This was the fate of Buddy, my old dog. He was such a good boy, so trusting, so gentle. They say animals can sense evil, but either that’s a lie, or I was too good of an actor, because Buddy always trusted me implicitly. And as much as it turns my stomach to admit it, I used that trust against him. Buddy was a big, strong dog, a proud beast that my father actually looked up to. There was no way for me to harm him even if he didn’t try to defend himself. But what I did to him was much worse than that. What I did to him, I did in a fit of petty jealousy that I fail to comprehend even to this day. He was my father’s best friend, probably of equal affection to me, and I could not allow this to happen. Not in my made up world. Not where I was master of everything.

I had little Jimmy take his mother’s new set of knives she’d gotten for her birthday and rallied the kids behind their house, waiting in ambush. I called to Buddy to come over, right around the corner into our killing field. This was supposed to be the kids’ final test of loyalty before they could be admitted into the cult I’d built myself. They complained, they squirmed, but I’d broken them long again. It wasn’t hard for me to force them into an act even I couldn’t understand. Buddy came to me, perky as ever, believing we were going to play when we all attacked him with the knives. I know dogs don’t really have facial expressions like humans do, but the look of utter shock in his face is an image that will haunt me forever. My best friend, my loyal companion, betrayed, and for what? For absolutely no reason, but to satisfy the madness of an evil, broken child.

At first Buddy didn’t resist, he just sort of tried to back out, but we didn’t let him. We never let up, we just kept on attacking him over and over again. He was such a proud, powerful enemy that he tossed us around like ragdolls, but he didn’t have the heart to actually bite any of us. How could he? We’d been his friends for so long. He trusted us with his life. He trusted me. And I betrayed his trust so completely. Buddy was a great dog, and it makes me feel dirty to remember the hatred with which I attacked him, for no reason other than to destroy a symbol of beauty and greatness. Buddy was my father’s pride and joy, and I could not stand for it, out of nothing more than spite and envy.

The way he squealed and squirmed, the way he pleaded for his life... I can’t even believe this has happened. I looked into his eyes, right before he expired. I don’t know what I saw then... Sadness? Disappointment? Confusion? It wasn’t hatred or anger, that much I know. Even with his final breath, Buddy could not bring himself to hate me. The kindest, most loving creature on Earth, with a heart as big as the world, and I killed it. And for what? For what? Because I was evil? Because I was cruel? Because I wanted to destroy everything that was beautiful in the world? Buddy should have hated me. He should have seen though my disguise. He should have recognised me for the monster I was. But even when he realised that I wanted to kill him, he still wouldn’t hurt me. He was a good boy. Even in death, he was a good boy. That stupid, kind-hearted fool, that... That... That beautiful dog deserved better. He deserved to live a happy life with people who loved him. He didn’t deserve to be born to such a... And abomination like me.

And I deserved much worse than I got. My parents and their neighbours still trusted me most of all, so it was easy to frame the other kids. It was Jimmy’s mother’s kitchen knives set that was the murder weapon, and it was Jimmy’s back yard where the deed took place, plus Jimmy himself had always been afraid of buddy. He was a small, skittish kid. Very easy to intimidate and influence. I’d pegged him as the scapegoat since long before, which is why I’d had him pick on Buddy by hitting him with sticks and throwing rocks at him, so everyone immediately believed me when I said it was him that set it all up. The other kids were too far gone to resist my influence, so it was easy enough to get them to corroborate my story. Jimmy himself snapped during the act, as he had a weak stomach, and he became basically catatonic for a few years, and even after that, he never spoke of the act again.

Getting away with murder... Literally murder proved to be far, FAR easier than it should have been. So easy, in fact, that it surprised even me. I’d planned for every eventuality, covered up loose ends, thought up alibis, even made up evidence, and at the end of the day, everyone just took my word for it. Unbelievable. It was then I realised a basic truth about life – you can get away with practically anything if you make sure no-one ever suspects you. Once they suspect, they will question everything you say and check every fact you give. But when they suspect nothing, they will take your words as absolute truth and never even consider you. This was exactly the wrong lesson for spiteful, hateful, manipulative child to learn, and in the end it basically sealed my fate for the next thirty years.

My parents were horrified, of course. We lived in a nice neighbourhood with good neighbours and high standards. To see something as horrible and as brutal happen to what was basically the fourth member of our family sent them into shock and outrage. It utterly broke my father, and he never really recovered. He used to be a proud, driven man building a career, but from that day onward he grew ever more sad and reclusive. He never regained his will to forge on. My mother, once cheerful and happy, grew distant and irritable, constantly on edge over my father’s declining spirits and the breakdown of our family. I’d seen the consequences of my actions first hand... And I didn’t care. Why? How is it possible that I could see this much suffering, this much pain... How can I know I caused it, and STILL not care?

I look back at my past, and I see myself doing these revolting things. It sickens me to remember them, sickens me to my stomach. Every time I think back to Buddy and how I repaid his trust, it feels like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. I feel queasy, disgusted to be the man who did this horrible act. Yet I remember my reaction at the time, and it was more one of glee and satisfaction. And this just makes me hate myself in a way that’s difficult to describe with words. If there truly is a hell, then I assume this would be it – an endless slideshow of your own greatest sins, seen through your eyes once you have been given a conscience, showing you what kind of despicable, repugnant human being you were, playing over and over again until you wish that you had never even been born. Constant, overwhelming disgust always pushing in on you like a bad smell that makes you want to throw up. And then you once again remember: “This is me. These are the things I’ve done that are making me so nauseous to remember them. These are my sins.

I remember it all in perfect detail. One would think it would be bad to have that kind of perfect memory, and indeed it is a curse, but I would not trade it for the world. It is this foul stench that is so deeply rooted in my stomach, it is these putrid memories, the horrible recollections that remind me of how far a man can fall. It is they that remind of how deep human depravity can really sink to. They remind me of where I came from. Never again. Never again will I commit these crimes. Never again will I submit to these cravings. Never again will I hurt the innocents who trust me. I need to be reminded of how dirty it feels to be a betrayer trust and a destroyer of dreams. I deserve to live with the consequences of my actions.

Due to the... Shall we say unexpected responses this story has generated from friends of mine, I've decided to post it here, basically for appraisal. I have to warn you about one thing - it's dark. Darker than I actually intended, as I tent to write them by the seat of my pants, and they tend to go however they "want to be written." If you go into this, be warned. I just want to reassure you that I AM going something with this. It's not just dark fro the sake of being depressing.

Now, the original idea was to set up the backstory for a character, but with how this is turning out, I may have to reconsider that. I'm not sure at this point. The real purpose of the story, though, is to get my brain in gear, as it were, as I haven't produced anything even halfway decent in years. Nothing dramatic, at the very least. That's kind of why this is laid on thick. If you have some time to have a look at a long-winded, pretty dark story.

Let me know what you think. Good or bad, long or short, I want to hear it. It's not done yet, but it will be, and I want to know how it's turning out as it goes along.

As always, thank you for your time.

I don't normally do this, but even though it doesn't detract from my gaming experience, I'm still going to argue against the inclusion of stereoscopic 3D in City of Heroes.

As far as I'm concerned, coloured paper glasses 3D needs to die in a fire. It's a dead-end technology that, despite its recent and inexplicable popularity, is an utter dead end. Fake hologram perspective does more to hurt your eyes than it does to improve the experience. It relies on light-filtering glasses, which dull and dim the image, it causes confusion and detracts from the actual contents of what you're seeing and even when it works perfectly, your brain simply tunes it out almost on the spot.

I've avoided watching movies in 3D before, but I couldn't avoid watching Avatar in 3D because that's the only ******* version of the movie they show in cinemas. After giving myself a headache, a bad case of crosseye and missing practically half of what happened in that movie, I'm determined to never see anything in 3D ever again. The faster this gimmick dies, the faster something actually decent can be invented, or at the very worst, we can watch movies and play games the old-fashioned way without gimmicks interfering with the experience.

It always boggled my mind, too. The zone is 25-40. It should sell enhancements that characters in that level range can use.