Sibling

Janice knew the shakes would stop, but that didn't make dealing with them any easier. The episodes were rare during the day, when she could stay focussed and active.

The two other recruits had caught up to her, Alan first and then the British guy. She paused far enough from the range to be out of earshot, the rattling of firearms low enough they could speak normally. A glow was rising from the range just now, apparently coming from one of the new arrivals.

She heard Alan offer, quickly followed by Lord Raymond. After dabbing tears from her cheeks with a piece of cloth she cleared her throat, apparently composing herself. There was no embarrasment in her face, or at least, none they could see.

"If you got the mission, I'd be glad to help. No street hunting, I don't go for that." Her tone was still flat, but not unkind. "Stopping muggings and the like, can do; jumping a bunch of guys in gang colors just 'cause, I don't. Man might wear colors, don't make him bad."

"All in all, yeah, I'm in. Need about an hour or so for my meds to start working. You want to meet there, or go together?"

The fires were out, the shooting stopped, even as the range was restored by the portable devices, but Janice continued to look out into the range. For her, the range was still an inferno, the recruits had fallen away, no longer there. Paragon City, the school, the clear day were all gone, replaced with scenes from her past. She saw the scene that haunted her nights, that brought her screaming back from sleep. Anyone looking could see her whole frame shaking, tears the color of fresh grass falling from her opaque yellow eyes.

“The A-10’s…but the war is miles away,” she mumbled, barely able to stay on her feet, her eyes on another time and not speaking to anyone. “No soldiers here…no one but my team…not the fuel tanks, not that…” she lazily stretched out one arm to a long gone comrade, “Dave…L-T…Waterboy…the fire…” her arm dropped back to her side, Topper almost grazing the dirt and forgotten in one hand. “All gone…women burning…smell it…maybe I can stop it…” The images in her eyes were of horrors, the last time she had seen her Ops team, or anyone in the small village, alive. “No soldiers here…”

The sound of one of the two men at the firing line drew her attention, though her eyes saw something different than reality. “No soldiers here! Just people!” She stepped closer to him, shouting, “Why? Why these people?!”

She blinked a few times, the scene changing back to the now, and stopped just before she grabbed the man’s shirt. Her hand still shook, but she turned the motion into a rub on her pants leg, trying to disguise the tremors. A moment later, her eyes hardened and a grimace replaced her non-expression.

“Ain’t all about blowing stuff up, boy,” she stepped back, “people die, perma-dead, but their eyes stay with you. Every gawda day.” With that she spun and walked away from the line, back to the dorms to wretch and shake for another half hour, just like she did every morning.

((OOC: This thread said characters had to have some psychosis or problems. MaDeuce suffers from DCSS, Delayed Combat Stress Syndrome, has to take medication for it, and cannot hold a regular job. That’s why she has returned to the only thing she fells fit for, fighting. I will PM her military files to the originator of the thread, for the instructors to disclose as they will. Put it this way, she watched her whole team go up in flames and a village of non-combatants as well.))

The range consisted mainly of long earthen tracks, gouged out of the hillside some ways from the training facility. Engineers had excavated and built to contain any sort of weapon likely to be used, several hundred feet of earth and reinforced Plascrete between the range and any inhabited areas of the city. At the firing end was a raised berm, from side to side, where trainees could take their positions and be at a vantage to see any targets.

Over 600 meters long ((this would be real world range for most shoulder fired weapons)), each lane was marked by sheets of plywood, laid on their sides and supported twenty feet off the ground by scaffolds. The left side of each sheet was painted white with a black number, the right side black with a white number, denoting the sides of each lane. A poor marksman could fire into another lane, but the standards every 50 feet down the range gave positive ID of whose targets were whose. There were two range towers, where the munitions officers could observe the goings on of the entire range from above, one at each side of the firing berm. Pop-up, remoted targets lined each lane, some hidden behind mounds of dirt or rubble.

MaDeuce was standing at the gunnery shed, where ammunition would be dispensed and range rules given, she saw DI Punishment and two other range officers approach from the one break in the otherwise encircling earth berms. Even when she was not being observed, she stood “at ease” or a position of “rest”, Topper gripped lightly in her right hand, muzzle pointing up and butt on the ground. When the ranking persons approached she came to attention, snapping the rifle hard against her thigh. When the DI was within ten steps, she “presented arms” smartly and stayed rigid.

The group stopped a few feet away, Punishment eyeing the extremely tall woman with his perpetual scowl in place. Military protocol required that the salute be returned. In the Army, one never salutes a Drill Sergeant, and that would lead to hours of “extra training”, but at this facility it seemed the correct greeting, perhaps more Marine Corps, thought Ma.

“Recruit Sartain,” the DI’s voice was less acidic than earlier, a genuine question seemed to lie beneath his tone, “what are you doing at the range…ten minutes early?” He glanced at the issue watch he wore, not minding the promptness, but hating to see a recruit anywhere ahead of him.

She did not move, did not speak. Her position did not waver as the clicks of his watch seemed to grow louder. Finally, his expression hardened and he snapped to attention and returned her salute. She came to attention, then when he shouted “At EASE!”, she assumed that position.

“Drill Instructor Punishment, Recruit Sartain requests permission to speak!”

“Speak, dammit, and you can do away with that garbage right now. This ain’t the Corps. You salute me once in the morning, once last thing at night. You keep me flapping my gawd man arm ((family script here, no DI would avoid using foul language every chance)) like this, I will have you pushing up King’s Row! You call me Drill and any other foul thing you can think up, that CLEAR?!” His face was red, but there was nothing but training force in his voice, no anger.

“Drill, yes!” she had a southern drawl, maybe Midwestern. “Recruit Sartain wishes to know if there will be moving targets allowed on the range!”

One of the other officers, not a DI but a noted armorer at Freedom Corps, cocked his head. He had already noted that the weapon she carried was not issue, and he really wasn’t sure what it was. He recognized the foregrip from a SAW, the peculiar bolt handle from a Barrett .50 caliber and some bits and pieces, but otherwise it looked unique.

“C,” he addressed the DI as no recruit could, “hang on one. Recruit Sartain,” no, his voice was definitely not command, “what sort of weapon is that?” He moved to inspect the rifle, and Ma came to “port arms”.

“Sir! Recruit Sartain warns you not to touch her weapon!” She bellowed with force enough to stop the man’s approach. His face registered shock.

“Sartain! Are you giving ORDERS to an officer?!” The DI’s voice was deceptively calm.

“Drill, NO! I do not surrender my weapon, but I will strip it and present it.” She proceeded to do this, calling out each major group for the officer to note. “Sir! H and K MP-5, Browning BAR Mark2 modified for magazine loading, M-203 chambered in 7.62, Spas-12…” she called out as each assembly came off in her competent hands and was placed in pouches at her waist. This went on for a couple minutes, her efficiency and confidence being noted by the armorer. Finally, the DI spoke again, while she reassembled the weapon.

“Recruit, what was that about moving targets? What did you have in mind.” He was still the superior, still giving orders, but his curiosity was creeping up on him.

“Drill, Recruit was asking about skeet. Had the optics off her weapon earlier and wants to make adjustments before the range.” The DI’s eyes opened wide and the armorer almost laughed.

“Your weapon weighs what, recruit, 40 pounds? And you think you can shoot skeet?” The armorer’s sarcasm was usual, Ma nodded toward a small contraption a few feet away. It looked like a tripod with a swinging arm at the top, spring loaded and trailing a rope. A small stack of steel discs sat to the side.

“Sir, Topper weighs forty-seven pounds loaded, but only forty-one and change with the BAR full up and everything else empty.”

”You want to shoot skeet with a World War Two full-auto thirty aught six squad rifle?” Both the officers were laughing, the armorer most of all, but the DI was considering this woman.

“Pull it for her, Tim.” He said, stepping behind the chalk ready-line.

“Pull!” A steel disc caromed across the field, moving from her right to left, low and fast. A single report from the rifle, a loud ringing from downrange, and the disc suddenly flipped over-end, quickly colliding with the ground. The next was a double, both discs landing within 20 yards of each other, dented from the rifle shells. She strode down the range towards the discs, tugging her earplugs out, and not paying attention to the somewhat amazed stare from the smart-mouthed armorer, Tim. After looking over the targets, she moved one sight a few clicks, keeping the weapon downrange and coming back to the line. The others had removed their goggles and ear protection, but only the DI spoke.

“Recruit, where did you learn to use a rifle?” She was good, he admitted, but his experience had seen many amazing things.

“Drill, grew up in Missouri, trained at Fort Bragg and Quantico,” she caught his eye, saw the question. “Fifth Group, Grim Reapers, three-eleven!”

Punishment noticed that several other recruits were coming through the entry, coming for their training and range time. His small smile disappeared, unseen by Ma anyway.

“Get DOWN! Front lean and rest position!” It wouldn’t do for recruits to think they got special treatment, so Ma would be exercising again. The other recruits didn’t have any idea what horrible offense she had committed, but were greeted by the familiar “One! Toop! Tree! Stay with me…”

((At range, military at least, every recruit would have a partner. Once Ma is done with her extra training, she will be glad to pair up with anyone and is a great weapon’s partner. No one stopped to chat with her earlier on the drill pad,

Also, is DI Punishment a sort of NPC that the RPers can have some latitude with? Meaning, if he is not to be RPed as an NPC, is there any other character our people can interact with like this? I have known many Drill Sergeants, and am trying to keep him in this vein, at least interacting with Ma. ))

Later, MaDeuce sat on the ground, back against one of the brick pillars that supported the breezeway roof. Scattered around her were various pieces of her equipment, and she methodically disassembled her gear. Inspecting each piece, she would either make a small adjustment, or leave it alone, but everything got the once over.

The faded BDU pants she wore would not pass inspection, but this was what she had for off-duty hours. The brown T-shirt had also seen batter days, but was clean and not tattered. Without her helmet, she resembled a woman a little more than in uniform, but her hair was still short.

A sweating can of soda was close at hand, and a couple half-eaten sandwiches on plastic wrap, to make up for the hurried meal earlier. Occassionally she would trim an errant string or frayed end from a web belt or strap with the scissors from her Victorinox Swiss Army knife.

When she came to her rifle, a roll of duck-cloth spread over the ground, stenciled with various shapes and circles. As she stripped the weapon, it was apparent the stencils matched parts. Her hands moved confidently and quickly, using a toothbrush and rag to clean and polish. The rattle from the can of "Break Free CLP" could be heard when she lubricated the working parts.

((Ma will carry on conversations without being quite as brusque now, she's off duty. She will talk about many things, but doesn't often chat about anything outside her opinions or military world. In other words, she doesn't watch TV or know what's playing at the movies. She is very easy to get along with, if you treat her like a soldier, and expect no feminine characteristics. She isn't mad at Raymond or Alan, was just in a hurry earlier.

Also, do not ask to hold Topper or touch the parts. A soldier would go naked at the South Pole rather than hand over their weapon. She also plays very good poker and Mum-le-peg.))

“Ain’t no ladies in the killing fields, English, so you can save yourself the polities and call me either Sartain or MaDeuce.” The woman downed the nasty tasting Kool-Aid and stood. “Was an E-7, SOG 18 Delta, but that was years ago. No rank now, just a troop like you. Look of ya, either SAS or M-I. Love to stay and chat, but that ground pounder DI wants to see my wigglin’ backside in about 2 seconds.”

She spoke loud, not by choice, but because spending years in the service, especially combat, either makes you broke or strong. She was used to being treated like a woman, until rounds started coming, then she was just another rifle. Granted, she held three honors from Quantico and still held the record for combat-shooting pistol, women’s, at the Bianchi Cup.

“Remember,” she called out as her boots pounded out the door, “might have some spare gear in the front, but I’m a troop. I can kick butt with the best of them.”

With that she was out the door, just in time to hear Corporal Punishment start his tirade about her being late.

((MaDeuce intends to be more involved, but has some exercise to do. She is tough, but someone who will watch your back, no questions asked. Treat her like a lady, she will show you she isn’t one, but performs like a machine under fire. She has two Purple Hearts and a Bronze Star, which she will not discuss, but might mention. A wicked scar on her right thigh, from hip to knee which will be seen in calisthenics, from Panama.))

There was a commotion outside the mess hall, and the sound of Corporal Punishment’s raised voice. Several of the cadets could see his Brown Round bobbing animatedly in one window, occasionally accompanied by a brief glimpse of the back of his shaved head. The window’s height was such that nothing below six feet was visible, and what seemed odd was that the front of his DI hat was pointed almost straight up, whoever he was speaking to was hidden by wall, but his voice carried well.

“And what, in the name of MY Corps, are you doing out here? Chow is served on time, and if you are NOT, I will eat your lunch for YOU!” One arm struck up, pointing at the hidden figure, who was apparently taller than Corporal. “What? Did YOU speak to ME?”

A voice, several times louder than the DI’s own, rattled the windows and set water glasses to rippling. Whoever it came from had command tone, and swore like a sailor, or more correctly, a Green Beanie. The face of the DI’s hat seemed to wither as the recruits watched.

“What I said, ‘afore you opened your cakehole, was that Fifth Group sent orders for me to report to Drill Instructor Punishment. Since I see by your flash that’s you,” roared the suspiciously feminine voice, “Janice Sartain, reporting for duty!”

“I don’t give a good God…” the honking of a truck horn drowned out the next few words from the DI, “but there ain’t no split-tail that talks to ME that way! Get down!” The hat became more animated, apparently DI Punishment was getting into his work.

“The Mountain Climber!” A short pause, “I can’t hear you, knockwad! I said, The MOUNTAIN CLIMBER!”

This time the phrase for the physical fitness activity was echoed by that too loud woman’s voice.

“One! Toop! TREE!, Stay with me,” counted in cadence by the grizzled DI. “You need to be counting out, recruit! You will be there until I am tired, do you understand!? Do I make myself clear enough for your Pansy-Axe, Mommy-Cuddlin’ self?” His voice dropped, a note of sarcasm mixed with typical rage. “Re-cover!”

Now the wisp of an extremely large figure moved past the window, very quickly, coming erect from the exercise position. The DI’s hat snapped up, whoever the figure was, they must have been very tall. The colors anyone was quick enough to notice were desert Camo: tan, yellow and beige.

“Now, you will fall in to the Chow Hall, and you will eat your square. In two minutes, you will report to me, at the Day Room, for discipline training…Did you smile? Did YOU flippin’ SMILE at ME?” He was a great DI, and had been at this a long time. “I am not your boyfriend! You do NOT smile at ME! Get DOWN!”

This went on for several minutes, interspaced with cadence counting, one-two-three and colorful adjectives particular to military forces. The woman’s voice continued to echo the DI’s, not mocking but in proper military respect. Finally, the Smokey Bear hat moved away from the window and a woman’s chest, at normal head height, came around the corner to the main doors. Her head was above the tops of the windows, the patch on her right BDU sleeve was a sword with three lightning bolts, the 75th Ranger Scroll above it.

She ducked only a little to enter the main doors, her Kevlar making a soft “thunk” where it struck the jamb. When she stood, all eight feet plus of her frame, she glanced quickly around the room, where several other recruits had already returned to their food. She was late, and there was no line, no shortage of seats to find next to someone else, but she chose an isolated corner to sit in.

Not only inhumanly tall, her skin was a sickly yellow and her eyes solid. The rifle she wore with a comfortable ease, slung muzzle down with enough slack that she could come to “ready arms” fast. Even in the far corner, her skin seemed to give off some light, but if anyone noticed, she did not return their looks. The rifle stayed on her back, her fork tracing a perfect ninety-degree corner between mouth and tray, straight up, straight in. Squares, meant as a joke by DI’s to frustrate recruits, she moved with incredible speed to finish her food and get to the Drill Pad on time.

((Anyone looking at her would notice the name “Sartain” on her uniform and only Velcro where the Branch name would be. Her unit patches, name and citations are also Velcro-ed. Above her left chest pocket is the CIB and Combat Jump Wings in subdued Desert. Her steps are precise, she leads with her left and squares her corners. She will be in a hurry to get to the pad ahead of DI Punishment, but shows little outward signs of the earlier workout, a little sweat under her arms. Her BDU’s are not starched, worn and a little wrinkled, but all of her gear is immaculately clean. This is MaDeuce, AR/Dev Blaster and her weapon is named “Topper” after Ad Topperwein. She’s an Army Brat, eight years prior service; Panama, Honduras, Desert Storm. She has military discipline, as hard-bitten as they come, but ruffles at non-combat types giving her orders.))

Wow, two bugs in one week. I posted this bug in CoH general, and apparently it is an ongoing, never fixed, Bug. Devs, please look into this and if possible, explain.

I thought all timed missions were identified, to prevent this exact thing from happening:

That cursed contact, Colin Larson (sp?) in IP, snuck a timed mission in on us this morning, about an hour before the servers were scheduled to crash. Curse his eyes!

This was one of those: complete on mission and then visit Colin to drop off results. So, we beat down some Freaks and Crey and see his name pop up in the mission window. Good old Colin, contact from way back, about three blocks from Tram in IP. Stop by his place and BAM! The 2:30:00 counter starts running and mission is in Talos. Aw crud! The servers are scheduled for maintenance in about an hour!

Rush to Talos, enter the building, and the mission plate now says: Rescue AI, Access Firewall, Access Router. We are set for Rugged, so everything is yellow or red, and there are bunches of Crey hanging out. Still, we have more than two hours, cool.

Found the Router, found the Firewall. Red letters on the message center, 30 minutes left to system crash! Alright! Found the AI and as soon as the bar empties the mission window says: Rescue AI. Huh? We just did that. Petition, Bug, Petition! We don't want the friendly AI to be corrupted by Crey.

You have been forcefully disconnected from servers. Servers are shutting down. Son....Moth.....Piece..... Stay calm, we will wait for maintenance to end, hoping it takes less than 2 hours.

Log back on an hour later. Whew, still have 30 minutes left! Of course, the mission is reset, but thanks to Sleep and Confuse, we get all three glowies in record time! Still wants us to free the AI? OK, 15 minutes left in mission timer, so we start a room by room, looking for another Glowie or something.

What the!??! You have been forcefully.... Server crash again! And, of course, none of our petitions were answered in time to help.

Now, Devs, hear our devoted cry: If you want to time a mission, make it clear it is TIMED! We would never had started this mission if we had known. We understand the need for downtime, and do not complain about that, but blindsiding a player with a mission like this....is....wrong.

No warning, no notice, just a 2.5 hour timed mission. And starting it an hour before the maintenance window is not cool, and I would never, NEVER, have done it if I had known. Not only that, but the final objective is totally undefined. Apparently, you have to defeat all the foes, but the window says: Rescue AI. Did that, no completion.

Now, I am very obsessed with completing every mission, timed or not and this marks two I could not complete because of bugs, and apparently bugs that are ongoing.

Devs? Any advice on how to prevent this frustrating experience? Thank you.

“What are you doing?” Narshawn gaped at the huge blaster, MaDeuce, as she rifled through the unconscious Marksman’s pouch belt. From her standpoint, this was defiling or worse, and she moved to stop the yellow-tinted woman. Vegas stepped between them, facing the frozen Sister.

“I don’t know where you’re from, lady,” MaDeuce didn’t look up from her efficient search, “but leavin’ these suckers with their equipment is stupid.” Occasionally she would pause to slip ammunition or grenades into her own packs, but the weapons she rendered inert like a professional armorer. Her enormous hands slid receivers, bolts and various metallic parts out, where she gathered them into a pile. She stood and tossed what looked like a smoking soda can on top of the stack, a moment later and the Thermite grenade started turning the parts into a mass of melted metal.

Everyone except Vegas looked on in surprise and wonder, MaDeuce just shrugged. “You don’t ever leave gear for the enemy to use. Looks like you all have powers that come from you,” she looked from one to another, all essentially wearing uniforms and nothing else. “Me? Only thing I got going is Topper,” she held up the huge weapon slung to her shoulder, “and my wits. He’s chambered for almost anything the bad guys carry.”

Vegas and Gal, the two most familiar with the outside workings of the world, noticed that the tall woman was meticulous and cautious, the weapon never came anywhere near pointing toward the group, even when the unknowing Gypsy or Narshawn cut in front of her. The way she moved, smoothly keeping the weapon loaded and on target made Vegas think of trained military. Even the way she spoke, quickly and with quirky phrases, was straight out of the movies.

Her camouflaged gear shifted to her satisfaction, she started off again, not sparing much in talk. The others were good at their work, she admitted to herself, they just seemed unfamiliar with the leader, Narshawn. And the way Narshawn, the tiny frozen woman, seemed unwilling to lead put Dark Vegas in a bad position of leading without followers. That the gunner could remedy, so she stopped and turned to the women a few steps back.

“Listen, you troops lost your CO and you want to get her back. That means you need to get your butts in gear and haul to the brig, ain’t much that sits in the cells here for long. I want Ubelmann, need some intel from him and I aim to get it, and orders are to frag anyone in between.” Blank stares, she looked into faces that were lost.

“Um, wha’s all that mean?” Gal’s voice was far deeper than the blaster’s own.

“Yeah, I need to find Ubelmann and….talk, to him. You need to find your leader, the woman you came with. Until then, we are together, but we need to move with a purpose before these guys eat our lunch.” She adjusted a lens under the barrels of her rifle without looking, confidently. “No mistake, we stay down here long enough, someone will drop us.”

“You seem to know what to do here,” Narshawn was making a decision she knew Gemini would never agree with. The other was not here, and this responsibility did not set well with her. “You lead us, we follow.”

All eyes were now on MaDeuce, but she was used to that. The official stand was that no woman was allowed in combat troops, but in Desert Storm, The Forces had needed a couple women to infiltrate certain bases. She was commissioned and brought into 5th Group.

Completely covered, in burhka and jalabea, she had been a natural, speaking Arabic and the dialect from her father’s side. Then, she had been barely five and a half feet tall and had olive skin and dark hair. That was before A-10 Warthogs had blown half her village to Hell by accident, rupturing the chemical tanks she was sent to secure. The mixture of depleted Uranium 30mm rounds and toxic gas had wiped her team out, and she had staggered out of the desert two days later like this.

“Damn straight, let’s go burn some rounds. I’ll snipe and keep ‘em at range, Gyp and Vegas get in there, no worry about Topper, I don’t hit anything I don’t want to. Nar and Gal keep ‘em out of the crowd.” She cocked her head, ripped open a pouch on her side and tossed several purple packages around.

“Hear Vamps,” she whispered. “Use those, now.”

The woman moved ahead slightly, glancing around a carefully chiseled wall, quickly scanning the catwalks, like a machine. Gypsy was closest, and caught the way the blaster crouched into one leg, bracing herself. The group tensed, almost as one.

MaDeuce rolled out into a small clear area, coming up with her weapon held tightly.

“Hey fangbags, meet Mister Browning’s favorite daughter!” her rifle roared, a steady stream of spent brass bouncing around her knee. The rest of the team quickly joined in, and in short order the undead were twitching on the floor, harmless.

“Recognize these mothers?” MaDeuce could see a flicker in Narshawn’s eyes. The woman removed several strands of garlic and zip-tie handcuffs from one of her packs, the plastic could hold Warwolves and the garlic would keep these guys down.

“These are the demons that attacked us!” Narshawn was excited, aiming a kick at one lolling head.

“Ho, ho there girl!” MaDeuce deflected the blow with one heavy boot. “That’s how they act, not us. You want info, give me a few with him, you take the girls back down the tunnel.” She cracked her half-gloved knuckles, a smile not at all friendly creeping across her yellow face.

Narshawn cast a baleful glance at the woman, she was anxious to get to Gemini, and this delay was not welcome. She realized this woman did not back away from challenge, the solid yellow eyes held little expression, but her mouth was set. The stance, the attitude, all reminded her of Gal, and dealing with her meant being honest and open.

“I wish to get to Lady Gemini, quickly. There are two others here as well, one named Diva and one named Sibling, they are also with us.” The other woman was removing something from a pouch, absently. “Whatever you ask, find out about all of them. Ubelmann is yours, we will help once the others are free.”

MaDeuce nodded in agreement, the position of her helmet did not shift, fitted properly for her head. This woman was a consummate soldier, down to the laces in her boots being dressed inside for combat. The object appeared to be a small, at least in her huge hands, brass hammer with a removable handle. MaDeuce noticed where the tiny woman’s eyes rested.

“Armorer’s hammer, for freeing stuck parts and actions. You want to get a little back down the tunnel, there’s gonna be some noise. Sibling, Gemini and Diva? You want anything else?” Her face was devoid of any expression, her tone one of a doctor giving a patient’s prognosis to another doctor. The end of the hammer handle was also a small crowbar device, about 2 inches across and tipped with steel.

“Vegas, take the crew back a ways,” she said when Narshawn shook her head.

********************

Diva had several ideas, and Sibling had some as well. They both were experienced, but the cells were obviously designed to hold heroes. Soundproofed, extremely heavy steel and ceramic composites along with no real visible weaknesses. The doors had only a tiny window, made out of some ballistic-proof plastic, no internal wiring but apparently some endurance draining system.

Diva could have used a Phantom Army, but had indicated that she couldn’t gain the strength. As soon as they felt a little stronger, it evaporated, just tapping out code was exhausting.

*****************

“Follow me,” MaDeuce strode up the hall about five minutes later. Narshawn had anxiously been watching for her, carrying on a lopsided conversation with Shock Bubble, who could talk to a stone and be animated about it. If Gemini was dour, Bubble was exactly the opposite, always full of energy and spritely.

The group started back toward the ambush site, then continued on over several gantries and walkways. They avoided patrols and Council workers, letting Gypsy sneak by and then distract anyone blocking the path. Raising the alarm would not serve their cause. At a cleared area, MaDeuce paused and spoke quietly to Gal. “Your friends are being held in the cells, a few hundred yards down that way,” she pointed to a side tunnel. “Ubelmann is at a CandC the other way. You will need this,” she unhooked a pouch larger than the others and passed it across.

“The cells are protected, of course, and use palm locks.” She held up one half-gloved hand to demonstrate. “No codes, and the guards won’t be able to open the main doors, safety protocol. Use that,” she motioned to the pouch, the others now listening, “one of the defeated Vamps was an L-T. He was keyed into the system.” She saw the look, “Yes, it is. Either you or Vegas, but I would bet you got more invested here.”

She made a sketch of a salute and headed down the side passage, not waiting for an answer.

***********************

That is a mob, she thought, sighting through Topper’s Zeiss PR2100 stabilized telescope. The range was well outside their detection, but that meant it was outside most of her ordinance as well, only two options, and with over ten troops and four ‘bots, she would be pressed, hard. Ubelmann stood with his hand on a console, lecturing some poor numbskull about how great the past was. Reading lips was a skill every good sniper picked up. She was working out how to even the odds when motion from her left drew attention.

A Mech and Hoverbot pair were within ten yards, appearing from a side tunnel. Patrol! She was good for cover from the Ubelmann side, but exposed from that tunnel as they continued to patrol towards her. Maybe the other group wouldn’t hear, there was no silent way to do this on bots.

The fifty caliber round brought the Mech face down first time, but it was a slow reload, getting off one short burst with the full-auto before the Hoverbot had her targeted. This was no danger, the flyer would be down quick, but the other group had heard and now she had way bigger problems.

Her gun got blistering hot, quickly, as she cycled through everything she had, trying to keep the Council out of melee range. Two knocked back by the shotgun, a couple slugs, the compacted M-60 keeping two occupied with a steady stream of 7.62, but there were too many, and then Ubelmann was right there.

He hit her, hard enough to knock her helmet askew and jam the action in the ’60. Then it got worse, he was every bit as big as she was and didn’t seem much phased by fists or butt-strokes from the rifle. Taking hits from behind, bots and the bolts Galaxy’s could throw, she was quickly heading for the hospital.

The Council leader was performing a time-honored tradition while he pounded her, the monologue. Of all the things she hated about criminals, this was one of the tops. She was hardly in a situation to argue, but it got her blood working, something to help get back up.

“You cannot hope to defeat me, MaDeuce!” Followed quickly by another hammering blow. “You heroes are all the…” The sentence ended with a loud thud, and Ma could see that his polished boots lifted from her line of sight. She quickly looked up from the floor, to see Vegas and a black-shrouded Gypsy standing right in front of her. With a second to think, she cleared the bolt of her rifle, opening up on the remaining Cor soldiers.

A moment later, the three were cuffing the soldiers, Ubelmann face down in the dust. Ma opened the second Heal-a-Minute energy bar with her teeth, downing it in one gulp. The floor was littered with brass, she stepped carefully to drop another Galaxy on the pile of prisoners.

“I figure you’re gonna ask what we came this way for?” Vegas smiled, showing one bloody lip and wiping her hands on her jeans.

“Would, but figure you’ll tell me.”

Gypsy took a step forward, the black cloud around her dissipating. “We do not forget. Sisters always pay their debts,” her accent was still thick, but understandable. Ma almost saw a smile, but it was quickly gone.

“Yeah, they have a code. I just wanted to roll some villains.” Vegas held out her hand, shaking the blaster’s larger one with a firm grip. “The others went to free everyone, Gal said she could do the pass-key part. Steps on an overhead gantry brought Ma’s rifle up, safeties clicking off, but something green caught the muzzle, overpowering her aim.

“You won’t need that, at least not for us,” Diva held the weapon away from her face, hovering a few inches off the floor. That made her only slightly taller than MaDeuce.

“These your friends?” Her finger had never been in the guard, and she snapped the safety back on with her thumb. This green-skinned woman was strong, she could probably have taken the gun, but once the initial shock was over, Ma had Topper back.

“Hey,” she narrowed her eyes, “aren’t you a…”

“She is not from this world,” a new, feminine voice carried from the platform above. Ma glanced up to see a slight woman with a winged tiara descending the stairs. “So do not insult her. She is, but there is no better friend or team mate.”

The speaker stepped across the floor, lightly and silently, followed by Narshawn and Lady Gemini, who had a few nasty gashes on her arms. The tall tanker, Gal, placed a gentle hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder, her troubled look replaced by relief.

“We are Sibling,” she indicated herself, “and this is Diva.” The large green woman nodded, smiling and showing strong canines to go with her thick arms.

“We understand you were instrumental in our release. For this, we owe you a debt.” The small group of women, with the exception of Vegas, formed a semi-circle in front of MaDeuce, bowing from the waist.

“Aw, Hell.” She blushed through the yellow, “Your crew just saved my butt, we’re even.” Salutes she understood, bowing she could not get.

“No, there you’re wrong.” Gal stood, staying near Sibling. “I got my partner back, when we would have been snacks for the zombies. You come to my place, owe you at least several dinners and a place to relax. Even gots chairs big enough for big women like us.”

“Dinner, maybe a beer, sounds great to me.” Vegas was placing the pick-up tags on the prisoners, her tone was energetic for that idea.

“Lady Gemini,” Sibling turned, “have you time? It would be a village.” That went past Ma and Vegas, but when a Sister said this, it meant completely informal and in good spirits, no obligation.

“To be with my daughter, and this group?” Her rare smile was a flash, “Of course.”

“I need to ask this jerk a question or two,” Ma indicate the Archon at her feet. “I’ll catch up in a while, where’s the place? And more importantly. Have you got Jack?”

Had the "Stop Archon Minetti and Close Portal" mission this AM. It is timed, 2 hours, and requires you to disable four computers, defeat the Archon and close portal.

Well, no problems until with 35 minutes left, the Maintenance Window opened. Still, everything was good, shut down all four computers, mission window changed to "Defeat Archon and Close Portal". Defeated Archon with 17 minutes left in timer and 12 left until Maintenance. All enemies gone, all goowies activated, all doors opened, no dark spaces on map. Ran the whole map, multiple times, petitioned and bugged twice, praying for help before the down time.

No such luck. Now, here is the question I would like help with: No deaths, no debt. I know they don't credit you for debt. But, this is part of an arc, and I hate not finishing mission, this would be the first time in about 6 months, and it wasn't my fault. The mission would not complete and support didn't get on before the server went down. Now, as a timed mission, there is no way to go back in.

Anyone?

Our take, and since we live in Paragon, this is how our friend handles it. ((Sibling is RP, always))

We have a friend named Lady Almira, and she is also unable to speak. Since she lives with a group in a religious order, being completely unable to communicate is not an option. She has learned International Sign Language, which is fine if the others know it, but not if they are unschooled in this method. Luckily, she is magically gifted, and in dire straits can summon something akin to a video screen, where her "voice" can appear as writing. It actually has to do with control of elements and flouresing of water vapor in the air, but that's another story.

If Scion has any access to technology, several firms are now manufacturing systems that allow communication via retina, hand or other motions. portal and Crey have teamed up to offer special gloves for interfacing with a computer, which would allow for typing without seeing any keyboard and can be trained through use. Gestures equate to letters and characters. A simple scanning LED array or semi-flourescent screen similar to Xerox's PARC system could serve for getting the word to others, mounted on your chest or such.

We look forward to seeing you on the streets!

It was apparent, at least from Vegas’ vantage, that the hardest thing about working with Lady Gemini was keeping up. She was one of the most focused fighters Vegas had ever seen. Silent, indicating to the team what she wanted by hand and head signals, and not looking back. A scrapper that lead from the front, for sure, and anyone not moving at a good clip would have been left behind.

Gal had gone from a tanker to another scrapper, with no need for standing in one place too long. Narshawn would root or tag the runners, Vegas and Gemini working at the fringes of the mobs and Gemini carving through the centers. In between mobs, Shock Bubble would up the force fields, and during the fights she would snipe what she could. Narshawn seemed to be enjoying herself, or at least she could smile about it.

They spared little time for mop up or looking into bunkers and rooms. It seemed that Gemini had an idea where she was going, and the team was making a straight line for it. As they moved through the tunnels, well lit and tidy as was typical of the militant Council, fighting rearguard was getting more and more difficult. Vegas and Gypsy were having to keep the enemies that did not fall to Gemini off the other’s backs.

Vegas looked aside at Narshawn, who was becoming more pale by the second, breathing hard. Another pair of Leonis Sonics had taken an unhealthy interest in the tiny blaster, Vegas stepped back into the teams wake to correct that. In the short time it took to knock them down the team was far up the tunnel, forcing her to run back to stay within helping range and not be cut off.

“Your friend seems to be in a hurry,” Vegas shouted above the sounds of Crey mini-guns and Zenith Mech Blasters. “We need to clean up this backfield before they start cutting us up from behind!”

The look from Narshawn was not pleasant, questioning her mentor was obviously not encouraged. She seemed about to make a comment, but glancing over her shoulder she realized it was true. Even her pupil, Gypsy, spared a rare word with a nod and “Da”. The frozen woman sent a stream of ice through the crowd, coming within a few inches of Gemini, the only signal she could send in the clamor.

Gemini made a wide swipe with her katana, clearing a small space about her as she pivoted. She quickly leapt up, catching one of the steel gantry rails, coming back to ground with Blossom singing through the air. She moved as though choreographed, a dance among the enemy, and easily dropped two more foes as she landed at Narshawn’s side.

“Yes?” Her accent could be heard even in the single word, shouting to carry over the noise.

“We have troops coming from behind, trying to box us in.” Narshawn made a simple statement, not questioning Gemini but giving space for her to make the decision.

There was no time for a leisurely discussion, Gemini cut low with Blossom, glancing at the other’s faces. She saw they were tired, Gal especially looked battered and was keeping her left arm tight to her body, blood flowing from where several Mechs had gotten a grip. Somewhere she realized that this group had only one member with a clearance above 15, and that was her.

“We hold here, clear the room and gain some breathing time,” her voice carried to Gal, who started working through the crowd and getting close to the others, Shock Bubble kept a few stragglers off her back, centering force fields over the tank. Keeping all the remaining villains between the group and themselves, several sets of booted feet went unheard, but not unseen, as they dropped from the cavern roof behind them.

“Whaampeer!” shouted Gypsy, using the ancient mountain word for the undead. The smokey aura around her dropped and was swiftly replaced by Obsidian plates, one of the only protections any of them had against the mind-wrenching a Parasite could give.

Bubbles never had time to turn, stars exploded behind her eyes as one of the hideous undead creatures hit with a Dominate, her bright pink ponytails splashing around her head when she hit the floor. Vegas surged by Lady Gemini, who was tearing open a strong-smelling package and holding the inner-cloth to her mouth, the Discipline-Five trademark prominent. She could see Gal’s eyes widen, still with her back to the threat, the tank had no defenses against psionics. With little room to maneuver and nowhere in reach to go, the tall woman could only turn and stand over the fallen Bubbles.

Gemini caught Vegas’ arm, spinning her face-to-face. She had the reeking cloth clamped between her teeth, freeing her hands for the fight, the vapors designed to help keep a hero’s thoughts clear.

“Run!” She counted five Vampyr on the ground, and what looked like several more coming up the passage ahead. “Take everyone, get OUT!” The cloth muffled some of her voice, but the words were clear enough.

Her sword was flashing as she cleared Gal, not looking back and physically impacting the nearest clawed monstrosity as the tanker lifted Bubbles easily. Narshawn was laying down ice, trying to buy them time and space. It was only the discipline of training that Narshawn would run from a battle that Lady Gemini was fighting, but the odds were very bad. The sound of Winter Blossom whistling through the air faded as the small group sprinted down the roughly hewn passage.

“We can teleport her to safety once we get there,” Gal panted to Narshawn seconds later, the tiny woman was swearing under her breath. Bubbles moaned on Gal’s shoulder, bouncing with every step.

“Ahead is all clear,” Gypsy’s superspeed letting her scout ahead where Narshawn and Vegas’ abilities were hampered in the close quarters.

Gal carefully placed Bubbles on a raised platform, shoving huge crates and boxes of Council-stamped equipment aside. Now a defender would have been helpful, Gal thinking that if Sibling or Diva had been there, they could have heals at the ready. Of course, she thought, if either had been here, they could have controlled the Vampires and this would all be unnecessary.

Narshawn placed a hand on Gypsy’s arm, careful not to actually touch her flesh. “Bring Lady Gemini here,” she asked quietly. The puzzled look that returned did nothing to improve her mood.

“I cannot,” Gypsy’s black hair followed the shaking of her head, a look of worry in her sharp face. “She is here, I know this, but I cannot reach her.”

“She’s right, Nar,” Gal was concentrating, “it’s like there’s a wall between us and her. I know she’s still in tha’ cave, but I can’t grab her.” It was similar to the effect war walls had on the ability, or at least it felt that way to Gal.

Bubbles was sitting up, holding her head, and Gal bent down to steady her. Narshawn was again senior in the small group, and was far beyond her experience.

Vegas found four pairs of eyes resting on her when the silence stretched long.

“I don’t lead,” holding both hands out and cocking her head. “I’m new in town, don’t play well with others and sure as Hell do not have the balls to lead back into that!”

Laughter from the still seated defender drew all eyes, but she quickly grabbed her forehead again, “Ha ha, OW! Jeez!”

“You’d be the only one here with them,” which brought a laugh from Gal and a puzzled look from Gypsy. Gallows humor.

“This whole situation is going to pieces fast,” Narshawn was pacing, now they had three members missing, and those three were far more powerful than what was left. What chance did they have?

“So, what do we do now? We don’t have time to…” The sound of metal harness and heavy boots from behind them brought Bubbles to her feet, still swaying slightly.

“Damn mess,” a voice carried from the direction of the boot-steps. “Looks like someone carried a lawnmower through these guys.”

A woman as tall as Gal, well over seven feet, and all over camouflage pouches emerged from the tunnel opposite the small group. She held a huge rifle at a ready-rest position, one sling over her shoulder as the pouches around her belt swung to her relaxed trot. Many heroes were tall or hugely muscled, but not many had the same sulphur-yellow skin.

“Hiya,” she called in a southwest drawl, “you the one’s making such a mess out’ta the Council troops?”

Narshawn allowed the ice-sword she held to evaporate, now that she knew the visitor did not wear Council colors. The woman could have been a Marine, scaled up a few sizes, but entirely military issue, from the techno-helmet to the battlefield boots.

“I would ask who you are, and what business do you have here?” The blaster, almost doll-sized next to this woman, closed the distance slowly, frozen mist wafting around her.

“Name’s Janice, MaDeuce on the Clearance Card, an’ this is Topper,” she held up the weapon with far too many barrels for anything made in a factory. “Lookin’ for a guy named Ubelmann. You?”

“We are here trying to find friends, but Ubelmann is a name we know.” Gypsy had come close behind the small woman, Nar could feel her, standing in a protective posture just in case.

The blaster considered a moment, “Perhaps we have a common goal, are you willing to work with us?” Another blaster would be invaluable against the likes of the Vampyr, with so little protection except distance and instant damage.

“Long as it gets me Ubelmann, or a piece of him, I’m in.” She made some adjustment in her helmet, looking at each new member in turn through a binocular attached over her sighting eye and keying in their bio-signature. The unseen electronics in her gear would keep them all in communication and out of firing arc, the auto-safeties in Topper preventing friendly injuries.

Vegas stepped forward, not constrained by the same protocols as the Sisters, “Glad to have you, my names Dark Vegas…” Introductions were quick, planning was basically that the group would let MaDeuce pull villains to the nearest corner, where the rest would set upon them.

MaDeuce checked the bolt in her weapon, then they headed back to the room where Gemini stayed behind.

Headaches. Not unheard of among Mind Controllers, but one of the least frequent ills Sibling would own to. Scars, bullet wounds, stabbings, fire, dark energies and all the rest, they happened more often than the twins could count, but headaches were one of the worst.

They had paced around the room several times, trying to figure out what had happened. They, D’ and Sibling, had gotten the tip about this facility from Colin in IP and come to Perez as fast as they could. Nothing to indicate there was anything overly special, just another one of the Council’s bases. The information about it having some special electronics equipment and being a sometimes hideout for Ubelmann only reinforced the need to shut it down.

A few minor scuffles, nothing unusual for a underground bunker, and D’ was soaking up villains with her Phantom Army. One of the many advantages running with D’, she could soak damage like a tank and deal it like a good scrapper with Phantom Army. That’s why it was so surprising that things went ugly so fast. Coming around one of the many blind turns in these places, two Equinox Adjutants had hit Sibling with a sleep. That normally wouldn’t have been too much, but something new called a Void Stalker had been there. Looked like Cor Leonis was recruiting or building something different that hit really hard.

Next thing they knew, the twins woke up here. It was a military stockade or cell, shielded and apparently with some sort of field that inhibited powers. They had tried the door for some time, and nothing happened. They hadn’t seen D’ either, but the worst part was, somehow the Cor had interfered with the medical recall system, they should have awoken at the hospital.

A faint sound from the rear of the cell caught their attention, something like an old radiator heating up or water falling in a tin pan. They walked closer to a small bundle of pipes, the ringing getting louder, and a pattern started. Morse code, one of those old systems of communicating that many in the day of electronics scoff at. Sibling had quickly searched their pockets on waking, and found that everything had been taken while they slept. They had even taken the winged tiara, but their boot heels would work well enough to tap on the pipes.

A great deal of banging and listening later, it was apparent that D’ was in a cell nearby, had started the tapping and was also completely unaware what had happened. She said that the Void had been the problem, both Vampires were well under control until the new villain had almost one-shotted her Army, a sleep later and this was where she woke. With no watch or clock, they could only guess at how long had passed. There was no illusion, both knew that escape was a priority, and so they started to plan.

******

Sibling and D’ may have been trapped, but the group Lady Gemini led was making steady progress. After entering the security corridor from Atlas Park to Perez Park, there had been no conversation, everyone knowing that the destination was a bunker somewhere in the maze of forest and streams. Under the best circumstances, the Park was a miserable place to work in, and under time constraints it was worse. Uncounted blind alleys and mobs of various villain groups frustrated heroes, and the time for fighting them all was not now.

Lady Gemini used her stealth to scout, signaling when a path was clear. Sometimes it was simply that there was no danger, other times the group would have to fight through, every tick of the clock being felt. Since the group moved as a whole, and everyone had different ways of traveling, movement was steady but slow.

To her credit, Gemini noted, Dark Vegas stayed silent. The few times she had spared a look at the younger woman, Gemini could read the anger in her eyes. The others all followed, knowing this was the way any Sister would have run the group, slow and steady and keeping everyone alive.

Actually, Dark Vegas was considering options for ridding the world of the accursed Park, and letting her frustrations out on the stray Circle of Thorns or Vahzilok they encountered. Images of fire, chainsaws and the like kept her mind occupied when Gemini was scouting ahead. She typically ran with a small group, or alone where standing around meant you were being lazy. This hide and seek only served to make her more anxious to finally reach the bunker, fight the people that brought this on themselves.

“Here.” Lady Gemini’s voice, not heard in several hours, surprised Vegas. They stood in front of an aging wooden door, the entrance to one of thousands of abandoned mines in the Park. Some partially worn numbers were all that marked it, that and a GPS coordinate that Gemini had used to find it.

“This is it,” the woman’s katana came silently from it’s lacquered sheath, which was also a weapon in the scrapper’s hands. She had not drawn it before, using fists on the minions and weak opponents, but knowing that whatever was here had swallowed two Ladies known for their skills meant going prepared. She placed a hand on the rusted door handle.

“We are all going to come out of this, and if D’ and Sibling are here, they are leaving with us. The job is to get them out, avoid fights if we can.” She saw the nod from everyone and gave a grim smile. Shock Bubble, Lady Gemini, Dark Vegas, Gal O' War, Narshawn and Gypsy's Queen quickly filed into the dim tunnel entrance.

This is not directed at anyone, and I replied to the last post simply because it was the last post.

This was an art contest, and I know little about art, but since this is an opinion thread, I always have one of those. Cut and paste for some apparently means art, it is possible an entrant was allowed to resubmit and there is no way everyone will agree on fair.

Some of the entries that were listed earlier on the web were removed and others posted. Perhaps it is lack of space, but the Halloween Contest had many more entrants posted than this. It would be great if they had room for everyone, if they don't, well that's how it is.

Cryptic, NC and the judges decided who was best. Just like any contest that is judged by opinion, it is impossible to qauntify the outcome. Art, books (fiction at least), movies, etc... I think that there were better entries. I think that cut and paste is orders of magnitude below hand work or fresh creation. I think some people will be sour grapes no matter what, and that some have legit complaints, at least about the rules.

I think we all pay our money to play the game, and the contests are cool bonuses. I think it's nice to see forums that let you vent or express your pleasure/displeasure like this. I think several of the posters have art that rocks, and I would buy it for wallpaper or just as images. When it all comes down, there is only one first place and one second in a contest, but does anyone who competes in the Olympics deserve to be called a loser?

If you submitted, you are probably part of less than 1% of the players who had the guts to stick your name up for ridicule or praise. Did you win the smoooooth Video Card or T-Shirt? No, but you got our respect, hand drawn or not.

/salute to you all.

Pardon us for being dense, but where is it? And, what is it called?

“I want everyone to stay in the station,” Lady Gemini spoke to the small group of women just as the whistle sounded for Independence Port. “It will take me two minutes to get to Colin and find out where to search. There are several pockets of Council between here and his office, and we do not want to waste time with street battles.” She spared a moment to look directly at Vegas, something between doubt and disappointment in her eyes. Vegas couldn’t see her mouth, hidden behind the shimmering half-mask she wore, but imagined there was a sneer.

None of the Sisters said a word, it wasn’t necessary. Lady Gemini was unquestioned leader among the group, and what she said was followed. It was the way Sisters trained and fought, but when Gal glanced over, she knew it did not sit well with Vegas. They had known each other only a short while, had been in one or two scuffles, and taking orders given like orders was certainly not her style.

The door to the platform was hardly open when Gemini dashed out, super speed at full and then she was gone. The women moved quickly to the main lobby, Narshawn and Gypsy keeping their own counsel, some instructions being passed between mentor and apprentice. Gal drew Vegas off to the side, next to a row of seats for waiting passengers, and spoke quietly to her.

“Vegas, don’t be angry at Lady Gemini, she’s always short on words.” Vegas looked aside at the tanker, her posture saying what her mouth did not. “I know it may be hard for you, but she’s one of the best at getting in and getting out with everyone. The rest of us have it drilled into our heads, years of this sort’a thing. Nar and Gypsy will keep up with her cues, the way Lady Gemini moves and subtle signals, they’ll know what to do. If you stay close ta’ me, I’ll know what she plans, too, and I can let you know.” She winked.

“Gal,” Dark Vegas looked far up into the tall woman’s face, not convinced, “It isn’t that she is the leader, I can handle that. The way she leads, and the way she looks at me,” her mouth curled and she made a sound, “I’d bust her in the chops if you didn’t say to trust her.”

Gal thought on that for a moment, absently brushing her afro aside to expose the tiara that granted her some of her powers. Vegas recognized it as a worry movement, something she did as she worked through an issue mentally. This whole mission was being run by someone unknown to Vegas, who was a good scrapper on her own, but also by someone Gal owed strong allegiance to. She wanted to show Vegas that she could trust this arrangement.

“Vegas, listen,” she motioned for her friend to sit, figuring they had a few minutes. “I mentioned before how the Sisters gained sovereignty and the Island.” Vegas nodded, it had been briefly discussed over dinner at Gal and Sibling’s loft. “Many of the Sisters helped during the Rikti invasion. Lady Morgaine sent everyone that was able to help the City, staying behind to hold the Island alone, ‘cept for a few very young initiates including Narshawn, who was an infant.

“Lady Gemini, The Lady sent her with a group of seven other Sisters,” Vegas knew that even numbers were important to their faith, a good luck token, “as leader of a raid party. One of the Rikti ships crashed some distance into Talos, and it was pouring out troops from several portals. Lady Gemini was supposed to go with her group and shut down the portals. I know this only because it is written in The Book, I was nowhere near a level to be with them.” Gal had mentioned The Book before as well, it was where all the history of the Sisters, every important event, was recorded. Guarded like a holy relic, The Book was regarded by the Sisters as who they were, few things were more revered. According to Gal, it was over a thousand years old, and was actually more like a library than a single book.

“Lady Gemini led the group to the site, stealth and secrecy. All the healers were being used, so it was three scrappers, a tanker and four blasters. Sibling was still young and was sent to help keep troops out of Atlas Park.” Gal was speaking quickly, wanting to get the information out before Gemini returned, trying to get Vegas to understand.

“Suffice to say, stealth did little inside the ship, which was huge. They fought to get into the wreck, the shields kept them from ‘porting in or out. The portals for the Rik’s are near the core of the ship, and Comm Officers control ‘em. Within half an hour, the team was down to three, they had almost no defense against the ‘Mezzers without controllers, so it was Lady Gemini, Lady Herstue, a blaster, and Lady Anvil, a tank. The medical transporters couldn’t retrieve the fallen from inside the ship, and there was a long way to go. Lady Gemini doesn’t speak about what happened, but The Book’s account is that she ordered the team to gather the fallen and get them to medical facilities, Lady Anvil doing the carry and Lady Herstue providing cover. Somewhere along the way they were jumped by a bunch of sword-wielders, and got separated. Lady Gemini considered it her failure and fought to reach the others, when she got there, Lady Herstue and Lady Anvil were down.”

Something tickled in Vegas’ neck, it sounded like on of those epics, where the hero is going to fail. She knew something about facing long odds, it was one of her favorite past-times, but only a fool bet on the house to lose. These odds sounded really long, she knew that casino’s were very profitable because gamblers always lose more than they win. She noticed that Narshawn and Gypsy had come over to their chairs, Gypsy listening intently.

“Lady Gemini was able to contact Lady Almira, let her know the situation, and then refused a superior’s order to recall. Not lost communication, not misunderstood,” Gal emphasized, “She refused to obey, and said so. She cut contact with Lady Almira. The next The Book mentions was when the portals in the ship went down four hours later, all seven portals. Lady Gemini has not entered what happened in The Book, but Sibling said she arrived at Talos’ Hospital barely alive and reported to Lady Almira.”

“I can add what she has told me,” Narshawn’s breath misted the air, a small patch of ice around her feet where she was looking, not meeting anyone’s eyes. This was only one reason she idolized her mentor. “She doesn’t remember much of what happened, her blood rage.” She mentioned that it clouded memories, the mind digressing to survival core, and that it was a martial discipline.

“She had carried Lady Herstue, the only Sister she could find quickly. Her clothes were gone in the fighting, she had made a drape from a Rikti Infantry Officer,” Vegas at first thought she meant the Officer’s clothes, but the pause and look in Narshawn’s eyes said it had been the Officer himself, Vegas felt her stomach rise.

“When the city sent in search crews, and the Sisters sent in healers and rescue, it was carnage. Gemini does not speak of it,” Narshawn used the familiar address, not realizing and caught up in her own memory of Lady Gemini reciting the story over a low fire one evening. She had been haunted, and turned to her apprentice to lighten the burden.

“It is said she had combed the entire ship, there were no whole bodies.”

Vegas swore and walked quickly toward the women’s room, she heard Gypsy speak in some language that was not English. Gal covered her eyes with one hand, and Narshawn simply looked at the floor, felling somehow less burdened herself.

Narshawn looked up after a moment, being almost level with Gal’s face when the tanker sat. She reached out one hand, the ice coating it becoming less dense, the temperature barely freezing. Gal looked up at the touch.

“Gal, she has nightmares and even Lady Almira cannot relieve them. Tell your friend, when she returns, that Gemini would never harm a friend. She led the search party that recovered the other Sisters.”

“Oh, don’t worry Nar,” Vegas was wiping her lips with a damp towel and walking across the terminal, “I don’t doubt Gemini, I just didn’t know she was such a bad [censored].”

“Indeed,” Vegas was the only one to see Gemini appear above the seating section, sitting on a ledge. Her stealth and invisibility faded quickly, leaving the scrapper seated just above Gal, legs dangling close to the tank’s head. Narshawn looked up quickly, her cheeks turning a shade of blue.

“It is fine, daughter. Perhaps it will help Dark Vegas understand something of how I fight, which can only be good for our team.” She landed lightly, hair remaining tightly bundled by twin hairpins, right hand back to grip the hilt of Winter Blossom.

“Just remember, all of you, do not get ahead of me, Blossom bites deep.” She pulled out her Transit Pass. “Colin says we need to go to Perez Park, The Council appears to be behind this. There is a base there with some answers, apparently parts for some machine and information about this Ubelmann.”

The arrival of the tram drowned out any further conversation.

It was slow, getting the name and location of the restaurant out. After the initial surge, mostly due to Sibling and the reception from Paragon University, business was decent, but many tables were still empty. Almost a week after opening, Gal would expect the place to be half full, which was about right. She was covering the bills, but seriously wanted things to pick up and show she could do this.

The mysterious owner of the building had inquired, through the lawyers, three times. It apparently galled Mr. Leskie, the main contact, that the owner was so forgiving of slow starts. Every time he called, his voice was delighted to hear things were slow and disappointed to say the owner was very satisfied with the progress. Some people wanted others to fail, and the aged barrister seemed to be one of them. The only actual word from the owner had been a huge shipment of flowers to decorate the opening with and a card with “Do well Sister,” printed on the card. That she had pressed between sheets of glass and hung behind her display grill, where only the cook could see it.

Last night had shown promise, word was getting around that good food was to be had at Ladies. Several heroes had stopped in, but the main part of the business was civilians and city workers, two security chiefs had come in late and asked about having two tables permanently reserved for police officers and SWAT members. They wanted a safe place for their men, and women, to unwind or have tactical discussions. That sounded promising, and she had sent flyers to all the precincts that the restaurant would offer free coffee and non-alcoholic drinks to any public safety personnel, along with a discount on meals.

Lt. Wincott had been very interested in the anti-eavesdropping system she had installed. That was another benefit of being with Sibling, their friend Mr. Fixit, had plenty of tech knowledge and designed the system. With white noise generators at every table and two spread spectrum jammers upstairs, no device could record inside and nothing could be transmitted from inside. The old windows had gone out for isolated pane units, preventing laser, or “bounce”, mic’s from picking up conversations. He was thorough.

She was also pleased with the staff, overall, but they would take some time to get efficient. Dark Vegas was both security and Head of Staff, her organizational skills made handling the rest easy. She had schedules out early, found some excellent wait staff, kept everyone honest and was good to talk to. It was a lot of work, Gal realized and had expected, but having good people around you made it workable.

It was finally Tuesday, the one day the bar and restaurant were closed. The staff thought it was odd, but didn’t argue about having a day during the week off. She should take off, but owning the place meant almost every day was for work. Between that and some minor heroing, she had little time to do anything else. D’ had been after her to stop by the Spa, saying she was getting frazzled. Only 24 hours in a day, she thought.

Mentally going over the menu, she marked a list to order fresh vegetables against stock. The cooler door was ajar, it was her habit to always block the doors even though there was a handle on the inside. Getting stuck in the fresh or frozen goods locker would mean a lot of damage done before she got out, and replacing the hinges would not be cheap. The sound of a phone ringing drifted from the office, four rings until the machine picked it up. Sibling was on patrol, so she wouldn’t risk missing it.

The second ring started as she cleared the door, catching it before it swung into the wall and giving it a good push closed. Third ring before she could get out of the grill’s double doors, they had hydraulic hinges and wouldn’t slam into anything, she was going full tilt now. The machine was going to pick it up, but Gal figured she could catch it before the beep. Her sneakers lost traction rounding the counter so one hand grabbed the edge, using her momentum to vault into the office doorway just as the answering message clicked on.

“Hello? Ladies of the Lake, Gal speaking,” she got out before drawing a deep breath.

“This isn’t Sibling,” an unfamiliar voice came from the phone.

“No, this is Gal O’ War. Who am I speakin’ to?” Raised in a small Midwestern town, it was still rude not to give your name first, and few knew that Sibling could be found here. Gal pressed the orange button on the phone’s base labeled “Locate”, another of Fixit’s toys, and a moment later the LCD screen showed an address in Independence Port.

“I am trying to reach Sibling,” the woman’s voice was adamant, but no more informative. “Can you tell me where they are?”

“Lady,” Gal was getting very suspicious and a little angry, “I wouldn’t tell Statesman where my partner was unless he showed me some ID. Now, who in Hel is this?” Gal heard the receiving bell ring, which meant someone was at the docks with a delivery. That shouldn’t happen today, unless someone had screwed up the paperwork, but she made her way to the rear of the building, carrying the mobile phone along.

“I beg your pardon,” much more conciliatory now, “this is Laurie Pennington, and I need to speak to Sibling. It is urgent, and I cannot reach their cell.

“Gal O’ War you say? Their partner? We haven’t met, but they have mentioned you. I cannot talk long, but pass this message: We have a lead on the Warriors and the doctor,” the way she said doctor did not rest well with Gal, “but the Circle of Thorns is also involved. They need to be careful, someone may have compromised Sibling’s involvement.”

Gal was standing at the rear entrance, looking at a small screen that showed the camera view of the dock. No truck, no person, nothing at the door but the bell rang again. This was becoming like a Hitchcock movie.

“Have to go, please pass the word.” The line went silent and then a dial tone. Gal was getting a really bad feeling about this and backed up from the door, the tanker didn’t worry about many things, unless her intuition buzzed. Her ears were ringing now, bad things were in the air.

Something shadowy moved on the dock, barely picked up by the camera. That was enough, her skin rocked over as teleport flashed, bringing the “guest” inside. The tattoo on her shoulder tingled in time to avoid stunning Shock Bubble as she appeared. A squeak accompanied her appearance, she was strung tight, much unlike the normally laid back defender.

“Girl, what are you doing sneakin’ around there? You look like you’ve seen a spook!” The normally brightly-colored girl was white like a sheet and her eyes glowed brightly.

“Gal, I hurried over here from the apartment, but as soon as I left, a bunch of Thorns jumped me. If it hadn’t been for some heroes close by, I would be at Cygnus, but that would have gotten me here sooner. Some woman called a while ago about D’, asking where she was and whether I knew how to reach her, I didn’t say anything of course, but she’s with Sibling and I was worried about them…” The Bubble Defender spoke so fast Gal had a hard time keeping up. The part about someone calling, that stuck in her mind.

“Bubbles, slow down.” She grasped the girl’s arms, physically interrupting her. “She already called here, looking for Sib. Now, what about the Thorns?”

“Well, they were waiting at the door for me! Ran right past a bunch of other people and started shooting away!” She made a flapping motion with her hands, Gal realized she was hurrying to say something. “Saw more of them on the way here. If the same lady called you, they could be coming!”

“They can’t get in, the place is too well shielded for that. What they want, that’s different. More than that, what do they want with us?” Sibling and D’ were the mentors, they would know better how to handle this. Too many coincidences, missing mentors and ambushes.

Several phone calls later, they knew that D’ and Sibling were not answering. Bubbles used her address book to get in touch with a contact in Talos, who contacted another in Independence Port. The word came back that several heroes were missing, and both Warriors and CoT had gone quiet. Gal had one more number to try, she dialed and listened, hoping a real voice came on.

“Shadows and Stars battered women’s shelter, this is Jing, how may I help you?” The quietly accented voice was like a lifeboat for the tanker, she had started to worry.

Jing Ching, pronounced “Ch-eeeng”, was a Lady in the Order. Very used to dealing with trouble and situations like this, she went by the hero name Lady Gemini when not in her secret identity working for the shelter. This Lady walked with a straight back, spoke little and had a very sneaky sense of humor. She let her katana, Winter Blossom, speak for her in battle.

“Hello, this is Ladies on the Lake calling to confirm your reservation for dinner tomorrow. It says here that you are having a group of three?” There was plenty of code in the statement, another skill Sisters were required to learn. There was no reservation and never would a Sister make a reservation for an odd number of guests. It meant simply: something is wrong, I need advice and my senior is not available.

“That is correct,” the woman on the other end confirmed, “for 5 o’clock.” She would meet Gal in five minutes, at the restaurant. The phone call ended, Gal filling Bubbles in and getting more about the defender’s harrowing flight.



“I am concerned,” Gemini knew Gal and Bubbles, all Sisters knew each other by sight or certain signals they used, but they were not familiar. The meeting was proper, bowing and silence greeted her words. The younger women paid close attention, something akin to a military briefing. The three levels of Sisters provided a rank structure, and this woman was many levels above, though D’ or Sibling would have still been senior here.

“I have not been able to contact your Ladies, and this is not normal. You know that many Sisters are traveling to, or already in, India for the rescue. I would call Lady Almira, but in her absence, we must find your partners.” She looked from one to the other, knowing the reputation of their partners, these two would be well able to handle themselves in combat. They were young, still initiates, but all Ladies had been once.

“I have called Narshawn and her daughter, they will arrive soon,” she felt better knowing that her previous partner would be there. Everyone had a particular fighting style, and they could feel each other, operate as a single machine. Keeping this entire group together would be taxing. She smiled, it was what every Lady did on occasion.

Gal and Bubbles took the smile as confidence, a small approval. That two more Sisters would be there, things were looking good. A twist of Gemini’s smile and the corners of her mouth turned down.

“We are five, not a good number.” Gal had heard that Gemini was slightly superstitious, and saw her rub the barely exposed hilt of the katana on her back.

“Six, if I count right.” Gal turned at the familiar voice and the jingle of keys from the front door. Lady Gemini was gone, invisible except for the flash of light as she drew Winter Blossom. Narshawn and Gypsy’s Queen were only a step behind her as Vegas locked the door again.

“Mother, all is well,” Narshawn spoke softly, walking to the now re-appeared scrapper. They exchanged a hug, Nar concentrating to keep her skin from freezing the other.

“I have missed you, daughter.” Lady Gemini stepped back, knowing the difficulty Narshawn had with temperature, touched by the act. The tiny ice blaster made a bow and proper genuflection. Gypsy bowed low behind her mentor, showing proper respect for the teacher of her teacher.

Vegas gasped when Gemini sliced across her own left palm, drawing blood, before cleaning the blade and sheathing it. It would be one of many small scars from the practice. The blade did not leave the sheath without blood drawn.

“Rise, both of you. Introduce me to your apprentice, then we will go and find out what has happened to Sibling and D’.” She wadded up a small towel and held it in her hand to stop the bleeding.

The introductions were made, taking a few minutes, and Narshawn also introduced Dark Vegas, flashing a sly smile and rubbing her chin for meaning. It was a story Vegas, Gal and Gypsy shared in, the other two women missing the joke.

“Vegas,” Gal spoke softly to her when Narshawn had Gypsy aside. “This is a senior in the Order. We will follow her, do what she says. You don’t have to, you wouldn’t understand a lot of what goes on.”

“Pardon me,” Vegas caught Gemini’s attention. “If Gal and Nar are going on this, and it has anything to do with Sib, I want in.” Blunt, something the protocol sensitive Gemini winced at. Vegas was not a Sister, and could not be treated like one.

“Narshawn indicates you can fight, but you understand we work as a team? Sisters train a very specific way, with a certain rhythm.” Her eyes were hard, mouth set in a slight frown; there was a reason students dreaded her weapon’s class, errors did not meet with her approval.

“I can follow Gal,” she started to say.

“You will follow ME. Gal will get her cues from me, and Narshawn and Gypsy.” The woman who had hugged Nar was gone, this was a commander. “What side do I draw my katana from?” The question sprang from seemingly nowhere.

“Right side,” Vegas quickly answered.

“What side, Narshaw?.” She asked again.

“Either hand, she summons her blade.” Vegas didn’t care for this, and let it show in her tone.

“Indeed,” Gemini was mildly impressed. It was a trick question, one she had answered right.

“Stay always on my left, and never step ahead of me,” Gemini motioned for everyone to gather what they needed. Gal walked over to her friend, slightly embarrassed that she had had to endure questions, but unable to speak unless Gemini had indicated. Now she drew Vegas aside.

“That’s Lady Gemini’s personality. I won’t apologize for her,” they gathered up some energy bars and drinks from a cooler under the bar, packing them into journey bags. “She usually don’t work with anyone outside the Sisters, but she’s a wicked fighter.”

”That’s Okay, I understand. She’s tough, I can get along.” She caught Gal’s arm, asking for attention. “What’s with the left and behind stuff?”

“One thing you should know, going in with Lady Gemini. She’s surgical with her blade, but anything to her right dies and she gets blood rage. When she starts cutting, do not get in front of her.”

“Nice,” Vegas said as the group walked out the door.

It had been a hard two weeks, everything from having the interior walls painted and paneling installed to getting approvals from the city. If it hadn’t been for her friends and their friends, the place would still be a shambles. As it was, Gal actually expected to open the Restaurant and the Bar tomorrow morning for lunch, and she thanked The Goddess for that.

Turning slowly, she surveyed the scene with more than a little pleasure. From the deep tones of the ancient wood floor, salvaged from two grain warehouses across town and proclaimed to be over 200 years old by one of the Ladies to the futuristic but appropriate stainless fixture lighting at each booth, the place was perfect. The tables were specially made, literally grown from the earth below the floor by a very eccentric Sister, matching the way the bar also seemed to flow into the boards. The Sister who could work such magick rarely left The Island, but a word from Almira about the place and she would have it no other way. The care and love that so many had poured into the work humbled the African woman, she sniffled and used a bar towel to dry her eyes.

Intricate designs in the glass behind the drink wall, lit by lanterns she still didn’t understand, seemed to weave on their own. The dark green leather upholstery, diamond tucked and copper-nailed into oversized seats that could hold heroes even larger than she; even the smoking section that was sealed to the fumes by a “liberated” force-field generator from the Raiders. She had seen that it could pull the odor off your clothes, but people and voices passed through with no problem.

Tomorrow morning, she thought, shaking her head. And Sibling already has the entire restaurant booked for her reception from the University. That troubled her a little, charity being anathema to any Sister, but it was her partner, and she would have been offended if the reception was elsewhere. She understood why it was going to be here, and had the coolers stocked with food fit for The Lady herself.

The swinging doors to the kitchen opened, Dark Vegas stepping through. The shorter, but no less imposing, woman was drinking from a huge mug of coffee bearing the emblem of two dice, one’s up. Gal smiled at the young woman, hair getting away from her pins and obviously reveling in being physically active. Two weeks and this woman had become a steadfast friend.

“Have the ovens ready,” she stepped lightly around the placed furniture, “that last Viking was a stone mother to get adjusted. Let me know who sold you that thing, I’ll visit him one night when he turns off the light.” She smiled a familiar smile, making Gal grin all the wider. This woman could have been Gal’s sister, physical differences notwithstanding.

“Nah, I’m gonna send him a batch of cookies, southern style.” The look told Gal the joke was lost. “Means cooked with Scotch Bonnet pepper oil!”

They both laughed at that, Vegas pulling up a chair and sitting astride the back as usual. Gal plunked into a heavy leather one, glad to be off her feet. She was content, only Sibling being off on that Freakshow mission caused her to be incomplete. It had been almost two days since the twins left, and regular calls told Gal that the mission had taken them all over, from King’s Row to Terror Volta.

“What’s up Gal?” Vegas caught the shadow on her friend’s face.

“Jus worried about Sib, hate not bein’ with them.” She shook her head, making a dismissive gesture. “Gets cold, ya know.” She winked, the relationship was well known, and Vegas had seen stranger.

“Yeah, haven’t found a decent guy yet. Been looking though.” It was her turn to wink.

“Well, D’ and Gypsy will be here soon. I think Nar has classes until later,” the giant tanker stood, brushing off the dust from her work-skirt. “Promised ‘em somethin’ ta eat tonight, get the grills and pans ready for the feast tomorrow. That cast iron needs a while to heat, so grab some of the steaks from the cooler, we’ll test ‘em out.” It seemed that tankers and scrappers were always hungry. Gal could cook like few people Vegas had met, and handled the pots bare handed, a bonus of being stone-skinned.

“Oh,” Gal caught Vegas as she walked into the main kitchen, “I had some of that Dos Equis delivered if you care.” It was Vegas’ favorite beer, but hard to get around the East Coast. Gal kept going to her display kitchen, built where everyone could see her in her cooking glory on a small pedestal.

Two eight burner Wolf ranges, two grills and a salamander, one of the largest hanging pot racks the professional supply could order and open shelving for bowls and implements. It was sight to behold, and Gal could not help but gaze in admiration, only for a moment before the burners roared and cast iron settled onto the fires.

It was great day to be alive.

“Very good, I will keep two seats reserved. One for you, Mathew and one for Ms. Jones. I hope you don’t mind, but there is a block reserved for some of my friends as well….They are interesting people.” She seemed amused at her comment.

“ I know a little Criminal Justice, but the main focus is on diagnosis and treatment of multiple personalities. Many times,” she arched an eyebrow toward the two young people, “it is a misdiagnosis. There are many factors that lead doctors to conclude the condition, but few truly understand the cause.”

Narshawn remained a step behind the instructor, apparently anxious to leave. The floor below her feet was becoming sodden, tiny trickles of liquid flowed from her exposed lower legs. Angela turned towards her, giving a shake of her head.

“For now, we are pressed for time. It was very nice seeing you again, Professor Clemmons.” The professor was emphasized just enough to be noticed. “Narshawn has an appointment and I have an interview to attend to. If you are ever in the area, stop by my office,” She handed a brief, simple address card to the students. “I might have some coursework, for credit, you could help me with.”

Somehow, the way she said “coursework” did not sound like college approved work.

“Remember, next week, Wednesday, at 11:30AM. Xavier Hall, and please come dressed, that means at least a shirt and tie, or long skirt,” her gaze crossed from the boy to the young woman in turn. “And bring an open mind.” She straightened and adjusted her jacket again, seeming to be uncomfortable in it.

A motion of her hand and Narshawn backed a step, just before Angela did the same. They walked out of the library, a cool breeze all that remained.

"Ms. Binks, the young lady is late in returning the book because I had borrowed it from her." Mathew and Dani could hear over the soft rush of the ventilation system, the voice was familiar to Mathew. It belonged to Miss Angela Barstoe, a guest lecturer with the University, normally working with the psychology department and antiquities. She was an expert in schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders, and had an office in King's Row.

Someone else spoke, but the conversation could only be understood from the lecturer's side.

"I am certain that she would have returned it sooner..." there was a pause and the other mumbled voice, "Really? Well, since I donated the book, and arranged the donation of much of that particular section, to the University, perhaps it can be overlooked this time?"

"Very good, and I can assure you it won't." The woman's voice was coming closer, rounding a stack of shelves groaning under physics texts that needed dusting, Angela was guiding a much shorter girl. The smaller woman had very pale skin and stayed very close to the teacher's side.

"... with a grain of salt, Nar." She looked up when she noticed the small group, eyes brightening at Mathew's presence.

"Mathew, how fine to see you in the library. Professor Clemmons," she made a very short bow to the senior staff member. It was custom not to touch others in her culture, unless in intimacy or danger. "I was just extricating Narshawn from Ms. Binks. Allow me to introduce you, Narshawn, this is Danielle Jones and Mathew, and Professor David Clemmons. Professor Clemmons is one of the senior staff in the Psychology Department, you may have one or two classes there. Everyone, this is Narshawn. Some friends from Lady's Island have asked us to tutor her and oversee her studies for a while in the City."

This close, it was evident the smaller woman was not human. Frost poured from her, cold waves and steam when she spoke, she also kept her solid white eyes averted. The stack of language books she carried were covered in a rime of frost.

"Hello," her words were almost visible in the steam, "Pleased to meet you all."

"We are on our way to the offices, but since you are here, Mathew, I would like to invite you to my lecture next week. It is on split personalities and how they can help people, allow them to work through catastrophes when one personality would be broken." She adjusted her suit, a small smile playing on her lips.

"It is an open lecture, but with your talent, I would like to see you here." Her look told Mathew she knew something, direct and lingering, almost a challenge. Being a Mind Controller and telepathic, she did.

"Shall I reserve seats for you, any of you?"

(Sibling, 5' 2", black hair, dark olive skin, Angela and Cliff Barstoe, both in one body, but totally distinct personalities. One a Telepathic the other Telekinetic. One is a reporter for the Times, the other a psychologist and therapist. Partners with Gal 'O War. For more info, see the Ladies of the Lake RP on this board. Narshawn is an ice blaster.)

“So, Mistress, what brings you to the City?” Gal was absently eating from a newspaper funnel of English-Style Chips, one of her favorite indulgences. The paper was already soggy from the grease, but the deli that served them used only Canola oil, so she thought that mitigated their bad qualities. She carried a large bag of sandwiches and snacks in the other hand, what wasn’t currently being consumed by the women.

Narshawn dropped a step and came next to Gal, Gypsy staying one step behind her mentor and anticipating the move from the ice-woman’s glance. Generally, Sisters trained from adolescence, learning from one main mentor and being exposed to others for various skills. Gypsy was a special case, already much older than Narshawn, but learning quickly the skills that made Sisters such sought after heroes. Being able to anticipate your team’s needs, compliment other’s skills and be deadly alone was the goal of a well-balanced member of The Order.

“Gal, you’ve known me since I started walking, you can drop the Mistress.” She held up one hand, “On the Island, in front of Lady Gemini, it might be different.” She motioned to Gypsy, “She has to follow the Code until her first Step is passed…”

”Excuse me,” Dark Vegas had been trying to follow along, drinking her iced tea and enjoying a tasty Reuben from the deli, “are you two using code because I’m here?”

Gal dropped her handful of chips back into the paper, “Ah crud, sorry. Forget you don’t know how it is. I’m being rude.” She blushed.

“Sisters have to apprentice,” she began explaining as they came within view of the Restaurant, “Gypsy is a novice, and is very early in her training. Narshawn is her mentor, like you hadn’t figured that out, but it means that Gypsy is not allowed to speak or do many things on her own unless Nar says to.”

“What!?” Vegas came to a complete stop only a few steps from the doors, an incredulous look on her face.

“It might seem very extreme,” Narshawn turned back to face the scrapper, Gypsy swinging in an arc to stay always at her back, like she was connected by a rope. “But for Sisters, discipline now means that all the rest is easier. It’s also a two-way street.” She made a small movement with one hand, Gypsy stepped up even with the ice blaster. Gal kept it from her face, but was amazed at the amount of change since their first meeting barely a month ago.

“While Gypsy’s Queen is my apprentice, she must study many different skills, not the least of which is combat within a team, part of the whole. She is already a very effective fighter alone,” this brought a short bow from the taller woman, in appreciation of the compliment, “but we train to be part of a team, well-fitted parts of a larger whole. I apprenticed for seven years to my mentor before I became Gypsy’s mentor, and Gal can tell you we all go through the same process. Until a Sister can understand all the reasons for a decision, they do not question their mentor…”

“Within reason,” Gal carefully added, still aware that Narshawn was superior in the Order, no matter her comment.

“Yes, within reason,” she amended. “Can we go inside, maybe explain a little more away from the streets?” Gal opened the locks, holding the door for them all. Once inside, and after Gal had dogged the door again, Narshawn continued while they ate, using whatever flat surfaces they could find.

“The Order has a great deal of history, but discipline has always been a founding principle. A Sister does not follow blindly, that would be foolish, but there are many things not obvious at the start of training. That means that a novice can disagree with any Sister, and be heard, but observation is the best teaching method. So, a Sister with some years of experience, after passing many tests, is given an apprentice to train in the real world. The Island is good for teaching some things, but nothing replaces the City for worst case scenarios and what-can-go-wrong-will.”

Gal nodded, unwrapping a corned-beef and cheddar hoagie. Gypsy was busy with a bowl of soup and very dense pumpernickel roll, Vegas had a second ham and cheese while she listened. Narshawn was a teacher by trade, and conversations like these became more like lessons, but she was not boring.

“The junior partner learns her skills from the senior, novice to mentor. The novice performs daily tasks, things like laundry, cooking, cleaning. You have to remember, the Sisters start training most of the novices in their early teens, being mother and tutor.”

“So, you basically get yourself a housekeeper and serf?” Vegas was casting a baleful eye at Narshawn, quickly changing to Gypsy and back again. Her sandwich half-eaten and almost forgotten.

“That would be wrong, and likely what most would think.” Narshawn smirked, an especially disturbing sight as needle-sharp teeth winked through her frozen lips. “While the junior partner has to provide some menial tasks, the senior is required to provide all the financial support and provide all other living requirements. That means that any need Gypsy has while my partner, I must provide or face measures from the Order. The Sisterhood provides no financial support to those with apprentices, the senior has to work and somehow give shelter, food, clothing, equipment and everything else to their junior.

“See, it’s a very real test for the senior as well. Once a Sister can prove she is able to handle combat and daily tasks like ironing, her next lesson is caring for others. That usually lasts many times longer than the apprenticeship, and there is much more to learn and understand. I studied for seven years to be at this point, Gypsy and I have been together only a month, she is my first student.” Narshawn looked to Gal, Vegas had finished her sandwich and was considering how much responsibility this arrangement required.

Gal was getting out of her chair, a smile on her face that Vegas could not understand. She watched the tank walk back over to the door, tossing the greasy newspaper from her lunch into a trashcan already brimming with construction debris. The ice-woman leaned back in her chair, apparently waiting for something, but keeping eyes on Gal. Opening the door, she bent and embraced a much smaller woman, lifting the newcomer in an affectionate hug.

“This is Gal’s partner, Sibling.” Narshawn spoke lightly, loud enough to indicate it was not secret but intended for Vegas only. The tiny woman rose from her seat, Gypsy coming to her feet at the same time and assuming a rigid posture. The senior partner of the two noticed, and gave a curt nod in approval.

The black tanker and lighter-skinned Sibling crossed the room with a few words, too quiet for Vegas to hear, but eliciting a deep laugh from Gal. Vegas stood, naturally assuming a relaxed posture, weight on her toes.

“Dark Vegas,” Gal introduced, “meet my senior partner, Sibling. Love, this ‘s Dark Vegas.” Sibling bowed at the waist as Vegas extended a hand, and stood for a moment, somewhat embarrassed and unsure what to do.

“Pardon us, Vegas,” Sibling’s unaccented voice somehow surprised her. “We do not touch others. Mind Controller, it is usually uncomfortable for both you and us. No offense meant.” Narshawn and Gypsy exchanged a glance, Sisters did not, as a rule, bow to anyone outside the Order. Narshawn knew it was Sibling’s custom, but it was still surprising.

“We are just back from the Port, please excuse our untidy dress.” There was nothing wrong with her black tights or head-dress that Vegas could see. “Gal asked us to come, perhaps chat for a while.” She looked away from Vegas, then politely “Excuse us.”

“Mistress Narshawn, Lady Gemini and Lady Almira sent word this morning,” The ice blaster bowed, placing a hand to her forehead as Sibling stepped to her. Gypsy bowed even lower, keeping her eyes averted as Narshawn rose. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Lady.” Narshawn began to bow again, but was stopped as Sibling waved a hand.

“Sibling, you know we go by Sibling even on the Island. Narshawn, be at ease.” The controller stood, a smile crossing her face. Narshawn was easily a foot shorter than Sibling, and she was much shorter than Vegas. The way the frosted woman treated Sibling was something close to awe, her eyes showed it.

“Will you introduce us to your apprentice?” Sibling stepped back to make the height difference less apparent, Narshawn’s neck didn’t need to crane so far.

“Indeed, Lady.” She stepped aside, “Lady Sibling, this is my daughter, Gypsy’s Queen, Novice of the Sisterhood.” Gypsy bowed again, palm to forehead and stayed low. All the bowing felt odd to Vegas, but there were obvious protocols.

“Well done Gypsy’s Queen, we see that you have learned many things since we last saw you. Please, stand and attend your Mistress.”

Gal came close to Vegas, who was watching with some interest this court behavior. “Basically, Sibling is senior in the room, very senior in the Order as well. Gypsy is about as new as you will ever see, Narshawn is my senior in the Order, but Sibling is my partner. Really complicated, and in the Circle, you’d need a program ta figure it out.” She kept her voice low as Narshawn and Sibling spoke together, Gypsy answering questions when asked. “We’ve all fought together, except Gypsy, but we know her from before, so there’s a lot less formality. Put it this way, the stuff hits the fan, everyone knows what to do, but Sibling will be callin’ the shots and nothin’ gets to her but through me.”

“Narshawn and Gypsy, they’re partners too, but you and Sibling seem,” she tried to come up with a word, “closer…”

“Yeah, we’ve been together for years, but we’re also more than fightin’ partners. We’re married,” Gal was blunt, like Vegas, “not many Sisters are like that, but I love her.” There was still some confusion in Vegas’ eyes.

“Sibling has a really involved history, but they call themselves ‘we’. Two people in that body,” Vegas’ jaw dropped slightly, “but that you can ask them about that.”

The two groups had moved together, the discussion between Sibling and Narshawn completed. The frozen smile told Gal that all was well, Gypsy apparently having done well in the impromptu test and Narshawn rightly being proud. Sibling stood beside Gal, comfortable with holding her hand, though to Vegas it struck her as odd that two so very different women would be fast friends.

“What were your plans for dinner, Vegas?” Gal shared a thought with her companion, and the mind controller followed it, knowing the answer before it was politely asked.

“Oh, ah, probably cold pizza and a decent beer. It’s the welterweight boxing finals for the US Olympics team on cable.” Blank stares from three faces met her statement, none of the others even owned a television, and traveling rations were two steps above cold pizza. Sibling had expected that answer or the twins expression would have been the same.

“Hell with that! You can watch all the boxing you like, but if you’re gonna work in my place, there’ll be no more cold pizza.” Gal was actually upset, Sibling patted her arm. “Unless you want to keep lookin’ for work, you’ll come over to our place tonight and have a home-cooked meal.” Sibling caught the quickly covered smile from Gypsy, Narshawn snickered.

“You too! Go laughing at some poor girl, gotta eat cold pizza alone. I know Narshawn can’t cook,” there was laughter in her voice, but she raged on for effect, “and I’ll send word to the Island if you all ain’t at our place in an hour.” The squeeze on her arm meant Sibling agreed.

“Cold Pizza! Gotta get my stuff,” she headed into the kitchen area, away from the group, still shaking her head. Mumbled words floated back, “Pete’s sake” and “ashamed”.

“We suppose that means everyone should be at the loft before five. Nar, you know the way but you’re welcome to come now if you like. Vegas, do you have time to get home and back? The loft is only a few blocks from here.” Sibling pulled out a card with the address, handing it over as Vegas was careful not to touch her.

“Sure, and um, she’s not really mad is she?” She looked over her shoulder to the kitchen where tools were clanging.

“No, you must have impressed her. She doesn’t get like that except around friends.”

I would like to formally announce my plans to run for mayor of this fine city. As a freelance reporter for the city’s largest newspaper, The Paragon Times, I, Cliff Barstoe, am throwing my hat into the ring, as it were. Being a reporter, I can bring the truth to the people and with my fellow citizens, get the city moving toward a brighter future.

True, my esteemed rival, Mr. Gaankak, has experience with the financial dealings of the city, but money cannot be all we care about. This great city needs a vision of success, driven by the will of the people and with the support of our hero community. Even if we overlook the City Council’s decision to INcrease hero health costs last year, and then their motion to place the costs on the civilian population, we still need to look for other methods to decrease crime and the ever prevalent muggings.

I have seen the groups of heroes, standing near the trams and statues of our fallen heroes, calling out for work, begging for influence calling for power-leveling. Who can blame them? Paragon has relied on one massive, incredibly dangerous nuclear plant for power long enough while overlooking the immense source of electricity and heat we have in abundance! If I am elected, I will begin a program that allows heroes to make Influence and increase their security levels simply by volunteering at power-providing plants. Heat-based heroes will create electricity and steam heat similar to the way Terror Volta does, but without the dangerous radioactivity. Electricity-based heroes can just have large transformers installed in their homes, during their free time, meters will calculate how much energy they provide the city. Checks will be sent direct to the heroes, ending the hours of boredom and “end-of-the-arc” complaints.

Another issue several heroes have raised with my campaign staff relates to the Hollows. This broken, dilapidated and extremely hazardous section of the City is the doom of many newer heroes. Why does City Hall insist on placing important contacts hither and yon in such a place? It is a question that deserves answering, and my answer is: There is NO reason! Some of the City’s contacts must take refuge there, to keep a finger on the pulse of activity, but they don’t need to hide in the furthest corners, exposing valiant youth to such horrors as Pumicites and Trolls many times more powerful than they are.

I will enlist some of the recognized Super Groups, whom the City already recognizes and is on good terms with, to clear this zone, once and for all and allow City Crews to repair the roadway. I also would implement a tram system here, serving the corners of the zone, getting heroes at least within sight of their goals.

Legalize Drugs? On this issue I would have to disagree. Superadyne is one of the worst plagues to settle here, and only total eradication will serve our population. City scientists are already at work on programs and treatments, but more needs to be done. We have many defenders who have stepped forward, interested in helping and healing those afflicted. Again, public service enhances the city and empowers our heroes.

So far as our “alternative” population, such as Trolls and Demons, we need to embrace diversity! Hold on, Hold ON! Quiet please, let me explain!

I have, on staff, a Trollkin who has been awarded some of the highest honors the city can bestow! A true Hero, who resembles our Trolls, but is from an alternate world and stands beside us as a friend. Would you know from appearances? No, but it is her heart that matters, and we would trust entirely to it. We need, as a city, to find common ground with the other races, not be divided from them. Many Trolls only seek a safe place to live, and heroes descending upon them at every celebration of their culture or block party is no way to do that. Demons, some of the deceased (life-challenged) and other misunderstood races need a place to air their grievances without fear of retribution! I will make this city safe for ALL inhabitants, who wish to be peaceful with their neighbors.

Vote for Cliff, vote for a free City!

PMed

“So, according to your resume, you’ve done this sort of thing before?” Gal had managed to find two chairs that had all their legs, and cleared off a counter enough to spread out the young woman’s paperwork. The response to her advertisement had been a surprise, it had barely been entered in The Times. She hadn’t planned to start interviews for a few days, but this woman had been interested and asked if today was soon enough.

“Yes, I’ve been doing security for years. Have all my cert’s and carry a security clearance through the Paragon SWAT,” she didn’t mention that it was under another name, trying to stay under the radar of some people. “There’s a couple letters of recommendation in there,” she hurried to add, “from out of state. But I like to make my impression in person, anyone can get a nice letter.”

Gal looked up from the papers, holding them in one hand and leaning back in a posture of ease. The chair was creaking on two legs, her size barely supported and threatening to break the shabby thing. The way the woman, Dark Vegas she called herself, had answered caused something in Gal to prickle, some sort of intuition, and she listened to her intuition. The tiara concealed in her hair grew warm.

“D’you mind if I make a couple calls on this?” She waved the sheaf of paper, Vegas’ coverletter and several certification documents. “Not that I don’t trust you, but this is Paragon City, after all.” She feigned disinterest, really paying close attention to the woman’s response. The quick shift of the other’s brown eyes, a fleeting expression, answered better than her words.

“No, no problem at all. Some of the phone numbers might be a little old, though…”

Gal stiffened, quickly putting the chair back on the ground, Vegas inconspicuously moved her feet to a position she could rise from quickly. Gal put the paperwork on the counter, smiling at Vegas, putting aside the mental message.

“I’d like you to meet a couple friends of mine,” Gal stood, indicating that Vegas should do the same. “You’ll find that in this town, you either make friends…or you don’t last long.” She let that hang while she walked to the main door, keeping the new woman in the corner of one eye. Her reluctance to be completely honest kept Gal’s instincts humming.

She was still a few steps from the door when the knock came, three strong raps that echoed. Vegas had stayed by her chair, balancing just on the balls of her feet, old habit from her childhood, trained in by her grandfather. This was not her home, not a place she felt completely comfortable, and you never knew what could pop up.

She could see Gal’s back, her size blocking the door from view, but the tanker was speaking to someone outside. The huge black woman stepped to one side, allowing two others to enter, and now Vegas was certain Gal was not a simple bar owner, unless she routinely had visits from meta’s. Neither of the newcomers could pass for simple citizens.

Narshawn stepped into the empty foyer first, frosty footprints and a cold mist following her in. The deep blue, almost green outfit she wore constantly cracking and reforming with ice while she walked. Vegas immediately noticed that the short woman’s features were faceted, she looked carved from ice, no soft edges. Even her long hair failed to sway or move with her stride, it looked chiseled by some instrument.

The woman who followed was almost the opposite, but seemed to have an air about her similar to the ice-woman’s frost. Looking directly at her, Vegas could see nothing strange, other than the webbed mask and deep red clothing marked by gold and black runes. Looking aside, there seemed to be a black cloud surrounding her, but only out of the corner of her eye. Her senses were on full alert, this second woman had an aura like darkness, even across the room it was palpable.

Gal turned back to the room, closing the door. Narshawn and Gypsy stopped just inside, the small ice-woman looking intently into the tall tanker’s eyes. Something passed between them, but Vegas was too far to notice, though she saw a quick motion of Nar’s head.

“Vegas, Dark Vegas, this is Narshawn, “she indicated the short woman covered in frost as they walked to where Vegas was still standing, “She’s an old friend. And this is Gypsy’s Queen,” she indicated the taller, dark woman. That one stopped immediately and bowed to Gal, a shallow bow, but Narshawn felt some appreciation that those lessons were remembered.

Vegas extended a hand to Narshawn, unsure whether the woman was really frozen or if it was some effect. The much shorter woman stopped a few steps away and a smile exposed teeth like small icicles, an arm extending to grasp her own.

Several events happened within a split second, too fast for Vegas to think, only time to react. A flash of light wrapped the masked Gypsy, she disappeared with a gasp of shock that indicated it was not her doing. The frosted hand that was moving to Vegas’ own was suddenly filled with a frozen blade, slicing across the span between them and glinting sharply in the light. Years of martial arts training saved her exposed neck, the blade coming close enough to leave a chill, and she rolled back onto the counter. She never lost the movement, fluidly catching the edge and using the mass of her legs for momentum.

One hand hooked her chair, swinging it up to where the ice-woman stood, quickly making the defensive move into an offensive one. Vegas was already looking to the area behind the counter, seeing a place to land and maybe launch herself for the door. The chair caught Narshawn under the chin, pitching her backwards to land on the floor. Vegas planted a foot and headed for the stunned sword-maiden, pushing the advantage. Another flash, a moment of disorientation and she felt heavy hands on her shoulders, triggering another of her instincts.

Blows rained faster than Gal could count, striking her firmly in the midriff as she held Vegas at arms reach. The giant tanker had just teleported Vegas, being the best able to reign in the scrapper without too much damage. As the last of the flurry stopped, she physically picked the woman up, still smiling. The stone-like abdominals under the light shirt could shrug off much more potent attacks, but she had felt them.

“OK, Vegas, if you could tag Nar, you sure ain’t some security guard.” Vegas found herself held at safe distance, but the woman’s deep voice sounded pleased. “So, tell it to me straight, what are you hiding from?

“Naw, wait, you don’t need to tell me. You come and meet my girlfriend, see what she has to say, then you might have a job.” Gal was pleased, she had a good feeling about this woman, and people who could move like that were always welcome friends.

Gypsy blinked, still slightly disoriented form the TP Gal had given her out of harm’s way. She would learn to read the signs as Narshawn had, the movements that had indicated to the frozen blaster this confrontation was needed. The small woman was rising, rubbing her pointed chin and smiling herself. She was walking back toward the three, Gal setting her new employee down softly. Narshawn stepped closer, staying outside physical contact range.

“I am pleased to meet you, but you would be well not to touch me,” she extended one hand, similar to how Gypsy would greet another, “frostbite can be painful.” Moisture came off her skin in frozen waves, the open palm seeming to smoke

“Is this a normal greeting for you?” Vegas turned to Gal, raising an eyebrow.

“If you intend to work in Paragon, in my place?” Gal raised her own eyebrow, “Only if you want to stay.” She laughed, Vegas was still on guard but felt a little less worried about this group. Apparently, she had found a place her secrets, and powers, would not be oddities.

“If you wanna work here, though,” Gal was moving through the empty space, casting around for chairs, “You’re gonna need to be straight with me. Got enough thieves and trouble on the streets, won’t have it in my place.” She came from around a small island of planters and pots that held flowers for the entrance, once that was finished. Carrying three chairs, none of them matching, she motioned her Sisters over to where the interview had been going on.

Vegas always tried to be friendly, but some things were not discussed after only a few minutes. “You’re kidding, right? I just walked in here an hour ago, and you want me to spill my life story? Come on, you could all be Crey or Nemesis for all I know!” She faced the three, shaking her head from side-to-side.

Gal sat in the heaviest chair, which still groaned under her, while Narshawn took a much smaller one. The tall woman in red, Gypsy, stepped behind her mentor and stayed standing, another of the lessons she was learning.

“You’re right, I forget that you aren’t from here, probably don’t even know The Sisters.” The tanker looked over to Narshawn, acknowledging the Blaster’s superior rank. “Maybe Narshawn can explain.”

“Vegas, all three of us belong to The Sisterhood, a group that is fairly well known in Paragon. Our Super Group is known as ‘The Ladies of Mystery’, and is but a small part of the entire Sisterhood.” A constant mist drifted from her mouth, like most would see outside in the winter, just the opposite for the frozen woman. Her breath appeared in warm weather.

“Being a Sister requires years of study and work, but it also means you can find safe haven and solace almost anywhere you need it. We aren’t secretive, but do not advertise either. Gypsy’s Queen,” she turned to include the otherwise silent woman, “has just started with her training. Gal has been with the Sister’s for some time and I have been in the group since I was a baby…”

“Let me cut you off, not to be rude,” she looked at each woman, catching their eyes, “but I’m not interested in religion. At least not anything different than what I believe in now. I wanted to apply for a job, not get converted.”

Gal chuckled, smiling when she realized that must be what this sounded like.

“No, you misunderstand,” Narshawn went on, “I am not trying to recruit you, we don’t work that way. I think Gal would want you to know before you worked here anyway, it explains a lot about how Sister’s work. We have certain understandings, like a big family.”

“A really big family,” Gal added.

Vegas was always game for a story. Catching one of the remaining chairs with a foot, she straddled the back and sat down, facing the trio. If they were selling, she wasn’t buying, but it never hurt to listen, especially when you were new in town.

“Anyway,” Narshawn started again, “if you meet a Sister, you can trust her with your life. We are sworn to uphold the ideals of fairness, decency and life. We do not answer to the City, and have an agreement that allows us to keep our own laws on The Island. We do treat all people fairly, follow a set of rules, always act like part of our family and keep our own council. Trust me, our rules are much more strict than anything Paragon has for laws.

“It is a religious group,” the ice woman spoke matter-of-factly, being a lecturer and teacher was her skill, “but we don’t discuss it in detail. Most Sister’s are happy to keep it that way. We have a simple creed: ‘Be well, Do good’. Some live on The Island, but we all have to make our way for some time in the City, part of our agreement with them. We are from all walks of life, many considered freaks where we come from and some driven from our homes. On the Island, we are all one family, all Sisters.”

“You mean, no men,” Vegas caught the meaning.

“No, no men on the island,” Gal and Narshawn shared a quick look, a private joke. “We, the Sisters, have no issue with men, they just aren’t allowed into the faith. Like I said, we have women from all walks of life, so it isn’t what you think.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Vegas wasn’t embarrassed, just straightforward.

“You didn’t, most don’t understand and don’t ask, we accept that. What most do understand, at least here in Paragon City and the region, is that if a Sister backs you up, you can have no better support. Everything we have is yours, we won’t leave you or stand by while someone is hurt. If a Sister or friend of one calls, there is instant help, no matter where or when. That started with the Rikti Invasion, and our agreement came with the city because of it.”

“The Rikti, they pretty much decimated the city. Didn’t see them in Nevada, but the newsfeeds carried everything.” This was something she could talk about, even halfway across the country, everyone knew about that.

“Yes, they cut through most of the city. The Sister’s had leased The Island from the City for decades, but when the Rikti came, who was who didn’t matter. If all the heroes hadn’t joined together,” she had been an infant, but knew the sight of the massive ships overhead, “history would have been different.”

“The Sisters were able to hold a large beach-head in Talos, kept the troops from landing and taking the tram, we sent many to the hospitals as healers and to hold the buildings. The leader of the Order held our Island, and because of our help, the City granted us sovereign rights there.

“Otherwise, we have jobs like Gal’s restaurant, pay taxes, enjoy personal hobbies and sports. We observe some codes that many would never even notice, and most don’t even realize we’re Sisters unless they ask. The reason Gal wanted it brought up, all this history, is so you know that we wouldn’t turn you in for any secrets you have. Unless you are the leader of The Council or a Rikti spy…” Vegas could see the joke in her smile.

While the small woman had been speaking, Vegas had been rolling the story around in her mind. She read the newspaper, had picked up some information off the streets in the last week since she arrived, and some of this was rumors. She did read people well, and the tanker struck her as dead-on, straight to the point; this blaster as someone more at home in a library than on the streets, but she had a wicked swing with that ice sword. Overall, as odd as the story sounded, it was just strange enough to be true.

“Heh, nothing so glamorous as all that.” She did not motion or even glance at the jewel she wore under her shirt, “Let’s just say that I have a few people to visit while I’m in Paragon. That may take a while, and I would like to make an honest living.”

“Fair enough,” Gal stood and offered her hand again. “I’d like to think we can get to be friends. There’s still my partner to meet, but they’re on a mission right now, that has to wait.”

“They?” Vegas wasn’t sure she had heard right.

“They. It’s an even longer story, but Sibling can explain it better that I could. For now, how about we go down to the deli, I’m starved. I’ll lock up here, the stove isn’t going anywhere.”

Vegas paused, Gypsy’s eyes held hers a moment, something dark and brooding flitted behind the mask. It was almost a recognition, and she thought the black jewel at her throat pulsed, then the feeling was gone. It would have been dismissed if the black haired woman hadn’t winked, giving a small nod. Even Narshawn didn’t notice, it was shared only between Vegas and Gypsy.

It has been two weeks since the date between Shock Bubble and Cliff, and life is returning to the daily insanity that defines a hero. With the experience, Sibling feels that being male once a week is enough to maintain the balance, and so the twins return to The Island every seven days to undergo their change. In the mean-time, they go on as before, living in the loft with Gal and patrolling the streets with other heroes, then being a part time freelance reporter for The Paragon Times as a job (Cliff Barstoe). Some things are still uncomfortable or being worked out, but overall the cast is coming to terms with it.

For now, Gal is finally getting all the equipment installed in the restaurant, the approvals and the licenses from the city. Gal long ago lost patience with the process and the various bureaucrats involved, and has enlisted the help of a friend more patient to handle the paperwork, Envie. We pick up on The Island, where Narshawn sits in her superior’s cottage, being called earlier for a meeting. Formalities are a necessary part of life for Sisters, and business is not discussed until after the meal, a matter of protocol.


“How goes the training?” Lady Gemini asked her apprentice from the small kitchen, just a few steps from the dining table where Narshawn sat. None of the Sisters, not even Morgaine, had anything approaching luxury in their homes or possessions. Part of their faith was a life of simple pleasures, shunning outrageous displays of wealth or opulence. This was a simple cottage, three rooms, clean like a surgery but reflecting the style of the Lady in residence.

Narshawn sipped from a very fine, very old bone china cup. She had been in the cottage many times, Lady Gemini was her sponsor and mentor, and they had been partners for several years. Now, Narshawn was being given her own pupil and Gemini would become another adept’s mentor.

“I try hard, but she is SO stubborn! She will not perform her duties unless I am constantly on her, and she still has this “I am royalty” attitude!” She placed the cup back on the matching saucer, a set well over two hundred years old, reserved for Gemini’s most favored guests. “How I was chosen for this Initiate…” she paused, realizing who would have given the recommendation.

“That would have been me,” Gemini laughed as she returned to the table, carrying a small dish of sweet crackers. They were Narshawn’s favorite cookie, a specialty one of the Sister’s baked.

“Nar,” they both used combat names when alone, tightly related by their times on the streets, “The Lady asked all the mentors what we would do with her. It was not an open meeting, but I can tell you more than I should. She was royalty, but we usually don’t accept apprentices of her age,” she sat down and pushed the plate towards her young guest, Narshawn took one cookie and nibbled. “She has special dispensation from The Lady, but it will get her no special treatment for being an apprentice, that was very clearly stated.” Gemini pushed the plate a little more, knowing that Narshawn would eat all of the cookies, and willing to indulge her. They were made with a witch hazel extract, and the Sister had tripled the amount when told who they were for. Narshawn’s frozen anatomy could handle such toxic amounts, and the extract was good for her skin.

“I knew you could handle her, truth be told, and that she would ruin most of the other Adepts. Oh, like you didn’t think you deserved praise?” Gemini pointed to the now sheepish girl. “Even your encounter with Sibling weighed well with the Council!”

The Ice Blaster’s eyes widened, she had been certain after that accident she would be demoted to initiate again. Some of the other Adepts had heard and good-natured stories of her “Meeting a Man in the Woods” had gone around the groups. She had been mortified when Lady Gemini had mentioned it before, now it was just embarrassing.

“Seriously, the way you handled that meeting with Sibling, it impressed several of the Ladies. When I volunteered your name to be Gypsy’s mentor, it was obvious that the meeting was only an excuse, everyone there had already agreed.” She paused and refilled both teacups, her favorite brew, made with mint and orange zest. The cookies were exclusively for her friend, acquired just for the frozen woman.

Narshawn used the filled cup and cookies to hide her surprise, giving her another matter to pay attention to besides the praise her mentor was giving. They had worked together, fought beside one another and probably acted less like a mentor/apprentice than some others were comfortable with, but were a good fit. Lady Gemini had a very small ego, took little credit for her accomplishments and basically was invisible in a crowd. Narshawn had grown to understand her mentor, being able to compliment her strengths, and Gemini supported her the same way.

Narshawn had come to the island much the same way D’ had, brought from another world by The Lady at a time of great crisis. Her world was ice and stone, two races with a ritual hatred for each other, and she had been born of one from each race. Her pain had been that she was born as an ice-maid in a stone village, so the violation was obvious and she had been driven out. She would have perished if Morgaine had not “rescued” her and placed her in the care of Almira, nine years ago. Her race aged faster than humans, so she was equivalent to mid-twenties women, but had only celebrated her tenth birthday.

Lady Gemini had been her mentor since she could walk, taking delight in seeing the girl grow and mature. She smiled now, knowing that her “child” was everything she could hope for, good and decent, the sort of daughter any parent would love. Gemini spoke little of her own past, but had confided as much to this woman as to anyone. Everyone on the Island knew she was quiet, earnest and very wicked with her katana, handed down through her family for 21 generations. She had taught Narshawn many things, from swordcraft to proper Japanese Tea Service, and was sought out for her knowledge of ceremony relating to the Sisterhood.

The pair, as close to mother/daughter as possible for two different races, stared across the small space, a feeling of expectation hanging in the air. They knew that this would be the last time this special relationship would be, now the daughter was striking out on her own, coming into her maturity. Gemini was not wistful, but excited for her charge, remembering what it had been like when this had happened to her. Narshawn was nervous and frightened, being responsible for another person, she felt overwhelmed.

“Daughter,” the silence had stretched, “you will do fine.” A smile covered the woman’s fine features. “You will teach her, and she will learn. The door to my home is always open to you, and you know that I will always be your friend. Every Adept comes to this point, and I know you will succeed,” she laughed, “I trained you!”

The two passed the next hour in small talk, some final words as partners. When Narshawn left, as the sun passed below the forest tops, she stepped into the role of mentor and out of the apprentice. The walk back to her communal home, shared with three other Adepts, did not register with her, mind on what was to come.

To train her apprentice, she shook her head at that task, they would travel to the City and begin working there like Sibling and D’ did. Gypsy would become what Gal and Bubbles were to their mentors, taking care of the minor tasks, learning how to survive in combat with other heroes depending on you. AND relying on Narshawn to provide shelter and sustenance, that was daunting.


Far across Paragon City, in a King’s Row loft, Sibling’s phone blared out the ring for her contact in Talos. A short conversation later, the twins grabbed a heavy Kevlast jacket and checked their carry bag for Inspirations, heading out to Independence Port. The word was that the Wheel of Destruction had been stolen from the MAGI vaults and several Tsoo groups were suspected. Usually they would handle the mission alone, but the information that came with the mission lead them to make a few calls of their own.

“Envie, it’s Sibling,” Angela’s accent was hard to mistake, “we need a little back-up with a mission. Would you have time?” The young scrapper on the other end of the cellular connection was bright, as always. “Great, we’ll meet you at this address…”


Two blocks away, Gal already knew what was going on, her mental link with the twins sharper now than ever before. Since Cliff had first gone out, her connection with Angela had increased immensely, and she was even grateful to the male twin. They had their agreement, Cliff was free to do as he wished with his time, and he left Angela time to recover. Gal had spent some time with him, and he was far more friendly now than ever before.

The creak of the steel security door brought her attention away from the grill she was installing. Covered in gritty, gray pipe-dope (a sealer used in natural gas work) and grease, she stepped to the kitchen door and pushed it open.

“Hello? No sneakin’ around, place isn’t open yet!” The deep voice boomed out across a vacant dining area, still devoid of even chairs or tables as yet. She was waiting until all the heavy equipment was in before she worried about the fancy fixtures, they were in storage for now.

“I’m not sneaking, I called a while ago about the ad in the Times.” Gal caught sight of a woman across the room, coming her way. “Remember? The security and safety ad?” Her sneakers left clear marks in the dust Gal had not bothered to clean up yet, a clear line across the wooden floor.

“Oh, yeah,” Gal wiped her hands on an oversized towel, walking into the room. “I forgot we had an appointment, sorry. Still working on gettin’ the place ready to open.” She looked at one dirty hand, even her dark skin showing the grease, but didn’t have a chance to pull it back before the shorter woman grabbed it in a shake.

“Glad to meet you, the name is Vegas. Dark Vegas.”

“Gal O’ War,” the tanker smiled broadly, this was the sort of employee she would like. The shorter, for Gal much shorter, woman stood somewhere about 6 feet and was built like a linebacker. A female linebacker for sure, not afraid to make herself look like a woman, but broad and muscled, straining a T-shirt. No pretense, she looked ready to work.

“If you need a hand, I’m pretty good with mechanical stuff,” she was looking far up into Gal’s eyes, giving a stiff grip.

Gal smiled again, this was going to work out better than she hoped.

OK, first, calm down. We are trained to help you with this delusion you are having, everything will be OK.

Now, this whole scenario reminds us of what happened when the Evil M*rve* Comics (name censored to prevent lawsuit) had the Bro*d come to earth and take over mutant's bodies, like BrickBat and fought the X-**n. We do not have room for another mind in here, two is plenty, so we will "Just Say No".
Besides, who saw those things? How are you going to get a skirt to fit?