Smersh

This was a unique place on the Internet.

I don't think lightning can strike twice.

I spent a lot of time on this board (for much the same reason Glen did) and I will miss it.

(Thanks, Pogo.

This is the story I didn't want to write.

It sprang into my head, fully formed, the day they announced the end, but to commit it to text would have been too hard and hurtful.

In my head, the City will go on, the characters will go on, but they have to go on without us. There are no apocalypses here, no desperate last stands. It's just a time to tie up loose ends and pass the torch to new heroes and villains that we will never see.

It's a finale for us, the players. But the characters only die if we forget them.)

Eleven: Launch

11:07 am, Space Battleship Potemkin

The Space Battleship Potemkin was ready to launch.

A huge interstellar craft, originally launched by the Soviet Union, it was now a self-aware starship, controlled by the ancient intelligence known as the Savior Machine.

Yevgeny Korsakov was here to watch the launch.

It was bittersweet, watching the crew board the craft. Cosmonaut Alpha, a time lost space explorer, would be the captain of the vessel. She watched as the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps, the Potemkin's original crew, crossed the boarding ramp, clad in their mismatched spandex uniforms.

Next went the Fate Twins, Yuliya and Merry, Yevgeny's granddaughters from an alternate timeline. They were joined by a few other KGB agents, who would provide support to the Praetorians who wanted to reclaim some of the Rodina.

The Potemkin had weapons of its own, as well as an autonomous drone that housed a portion of the Savior Machine's intelligence. It had a variety of battle armored suits in its hold, all modified to be fully environmentally contained. Tatyana, Yevgeny and Alisa's Praetorian counterparts boarded as well, prepared to reclaim their homeland. A portal device was also aboard.

The Praetorians had come for help, help to save their world, to reclaim a small part from the Hamidon. And KGB Special Section 8 had provided that help. It was preparing to launch.

Yevgeny Korsakov and Tatyana Stepanova-Korsakova, former field commander and strike leader for KGB Special Section 8, smiled as Lady Midday gave Cosmonaut Alpha a kiss for good luck, and perhaps a little more.

Natasha Popov, Cosmonaut Alpha, looked at her watch, then stared across the way to Yevgeny. “Well, what are you waiting for, Commander? We need you to take her up for the shakedown flight.”

Yevgeny looked to Tatyana, who smiled. “Well, Yevgeny, it looks like we are going on a shakedown cruise. Let's go.”

Yevgeny frowned for a moment, and then smirked. “You have conspired against me, I think.”

Tatyana looked at him, innocently declaiming, “Me? Never. Perish the thought.”

Yevgeny crossed the boarding ramp, with Tatyana flowing closely behind, and saluted Cosmonaut Alpha. “Permission to come aboard?”

She returned the salute, saying “Permission granted.”

Natasha closed the hatch behind her, and they ascended to the bridge. She gave a number of orders, preparing for final liftoff. Yevgeny stood to one side, hands clutched behind his back.

He had been a mere boy when he had seen the parade, there in Moscow. Yuri Gagarin had just returned from space. There had been an upswelling of patriotism and pride in young Yevgeny, only four and a half years old, a yearning for exploration, a chance to see space for himself.

Yevgeny Korsakov, four and a half years old, had never dreamed of being a soldier, a spy, or a superhero. He had dreamed of being a cosmonaut.

“Field Commander Yevgeny Korsakov, you have the bridge!” Cosmonaut Alpha called out.

Tatyana gave Yevgeny's hand a squeeze, and then gave him a small push.

Yevgeny stood tall and proud, looking out the viewport.

“Comrades, launch this vessel! For the People!”

He smiled.

Fin.

Ten: Uniform

10:42am, another day, KGB Special Section 8 Headquarters, 1917 Industrial Avenue, King's Row

Tatyana was searching through their shared closet for her uniform gloves when she found it. The red button was protected under a clear cover.

“Yevgeny, what is this?” Tatyana called out.

“What is what, dorogoi?” Smersh asked, pulling on his left boot.

“There is a button hidden in the closet, and I did not put it there, Zhenya.”

“Er...”

Tatyana pressed the button. The back wall of the closet split and opened, an orange warning light rotating in time with a muted klaxon.

Beyond lay a familiar shape: the grey and red armor with the red star on its chest, waiting for the command that would turn its electro-active paint to the trademark red and gold that was Comrade Smersh's color scheme. The armor stood at attention, a hollow soldier awaiting a fighting spirit to fill it.

“Dorogoi, I thought you had given up your armor. That is why I gave up mine as well. That was the agreement – that you and I would both retire from being heroes.” Tatyana was cross with Yevgeny.

“Da, and I have given it up. All my suits, but this one, the original – I sent them all to Praetoria. But this one...” Smersh advanced and ran his fingers along the armored shoulder. “This one was given to me in trust by a government that no longer exists. It is the one that I have put all the upgrades into... the one that is too dangerous to give to another person.

“You still have your powers, comrade Siberian Spring. Your armor protected you, gave you flight, but your power is your own.

“This... this is my power. Like you, I have given up my power. And, like you, if the only way to save the world is to use my power, I will. Short of another worldwide Rikti war, though.... I shall not use it. I promised that I would be armorer to future heroes, and I will. This... I will not use this.”

Tatyana frowned, but chose to accept Yevgeny's words for now. “You had best not, or you will answer to me,” she said, deadly serious.

Yevgeny Korsakov bowed his head, accepting accountability. “Now, let us hurry, or we shall be late, da?”

Nine: Party

7:00pm, KGB Special Section 8 Headquarters, 1917 Industrial Avenue, King's Row

The party was a blur. So many old faces, some in their hero identities, some in civilian clothing. Doctor Trinity. Sayterra. White Geisha. Dwarf Star. Red Robin. Cog Sprocket and Aluminum Ant came, with several of their robotic children.

Polaron was there. "As for me? Well.."
The armored hero glanced towards where Synapse was chatting up a superheroine in bright green spandex. "I hear the Phalanx is hiring these days. Might try applying."

Thaneval. HEROID. SAR Dog. IceCicle. Ms. Independence. Knightward and Pogoman. Xanatos.

Colette was heading back to the United Kingdom with Troubadour.

A few of the Patriots were there. Lady Midday and Kohlstadt, Dragoslav and Moscow Doll, others. Some of them would be going to Praetoria for a time. Others... scattered to the winds.

Red-Eye and Savannah Shade. Fury Lass, long since retired and now a teacher, but still with the same bubbly personality.

Sinister Sidekick. Fox Masters. The Paladin. Water Damage. Connor Boone, the conspiracy theorist, was arguing with the hot-blooded Better Angel.

Shae Firewarder was heading home, to take up her duties within the djinn realms. Apparently, getting married off as well.

Automatic Lenin and Helshezag were in the back, talking to Mrwrk and the Dueling Dervish. Seigyoku and Lunar Lass were nearby. Agent Ravage and his robotic siblings.

Flea had been there, at least briefly. Yevgeny lost track.

Smersh wandered about, taking the best wishes of those assembled in stride. King Jones was the one who stuck in his head, the one who put some things into perspective.

“Man, you have lost touch with the Funk, the essential grooviness of the universe, man.” King Solomon Jones, Guardian of Funk, the Kheldian known as the Earthstormer, and recently elected as alderman for King's Row, put a hand on Yevgeny's shoulder. “You did what you could, and there's hundreds of people whose funk levels are significantly higher based on what you have done for them, dig? The Funk is hard to find when you are cold, or hungry, or sick, or living in fear.

“You've saved people, man, and helped to get them to where they can start helping themselves. Job training, union support, the clinic, the breakfast program... you didn't do it all, but you did your part, and a bunch of other people did theirs. The Funk is growing strong in the Row, man, and it might be lifting itself out of its economic unfunkiness.

“There's a new generation of heroes coming up in the Row, and some of them are patterning themselves after you. You're a symbol for them, and you can be there to support them. Even when you can't do it yourself anymore.”

Yevgeny smiled at the light-hearted alien. “Spasiba, comrade Jones. You are right... I can support them. I can help them... I can be an armorer for a new generation. I can pass the torch. And that is... funky, da?”

Jones grinned. “Right on, brother. That's funky.”

Jones excused himself and wandered away, and Smersh returned to the party.

Smersh nodded to himself. That was to be his new role. Not hero.

Mentor.

Eight: Dress Up

6:38pm, KGB Special Section 8 Headquarters, 1917 Industrial Avenue, King's Row

The retirement party was hard to endure. For hours before, Yevgeny had been in a funk.

He had built one of Paragon's greatest groups of heroes from nothing, it was true. KGB Special Section 8 would continue on, and he would still serve in an advisory capacity. Iron Joe and Soviet Shadow would be taking on full leadership roles, combat operations and administration, respectively. ?Yevgeny would serve on the board of the Community Outreach program, trading on his name and reputation for fundraising purposes.

But it would not be the same. He would no longer be saving the world.

Most of his armored suits were already loaded up, placed in coffin-like transport modules and loaded onto the Potemkin. They would serve those who would protect their motherland against their enemies, though on a different world. In a way, those suits were an extension of himself, and giving them up hurt.

After all, had he not given up enough?

What would his retirement hold for him? He was an old Spetznaz commando and KGB operative, but he could not go back to either profession. He had an ex-wife who hated him, and had estranged most of his daughters.

It had been worth it to save the world, he had felt. He had stood with the titans of his time, shoulder to shoulder with Captain Valor and Ascendant. He had fought mad gods and alien invaders, helped to defeat an extradimensional mastermind.

These were things he would never do again.

Tatyana was wearing a lovely dress and straightened the collar of Smersh's suit. “Time for your party, dorogoi,” she said with a smile.

Seven: Manifest

5:20 pm, Space Battleship Potemkin

Dedushka Zima and Comrade Siberian were impatient as they inspected the crates. Foodstuffs, weapons, technological marvels... they were all needed back home. Home in Udachny, the underground science city barely hanging on by its fingernails.

Home on Praetoria.

Cosmonaut Ninja Ivan, the blue and yellow-clad village idiot, came up with a smile. “Is for being amazing, da? Space Battleship Potemkin, soon to travel the dimensions! I was fixing engine and I was AWESOME!”

Comrade Siberian, Tatyana Korsakova from another world, facepalmed. “Yevgeny, do we have to use this crew of... exuberant individuals?” Her battle armor's servos whined as she lifted another heavy crate.

Yevgeny Korsakov from Praetoria, Winter Wind martial artist, shrugged. “In ignorance, openness, and in openness, wisdom.”

Various others of the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps, Olga, Yuri, Zoya and Toma, scurried around, preparing the mighty spacecraft for launch. Ivan ran towards them, calling out, “Cosmonaut Ninja Corps, GO!” as he went.

Comrade Siberian shook her head. “This had best be worth it,” she muttered.

Six: Parting

3:17pm, another day, KGB Special Section 8 Headquarters, 1917 Industrial Avenue, King's Row

Yevgeny and Tatyana sat on the couch, a bit stunned by this latest bit of family news. Jack and Jake, Yevgeny's twin grandsons, played on the rug with the People's Puppy, a grey-muzzled pug that had not been a puppy for years. Jack Paladin and Alisa Korsakova Paladin stood before them, delivering a bombshell.

“You want to just wander the world, solving problems, with your children in tow?” Yevgeny frowned and drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. “What is wrong with Paragon City?”

“Papenka, we think it is important for the children to see the world. I have seen the world, Jack has seen the world, and we can show them the world. We do not need much in the way of things, just our family.” Alisa crossed her arms, daring her father to contest her will. Jack was a bit more nervous, but that was to be expected. Smersh had never liked him anyway.

Tatyana smiled. “It sounds wonderful. So long as you come to visit every so often, da? And call? And send pictures?”

Alisa smiled back at her... mother? Ersatz mother? Stepmother? Dimensional travel was far too confusing.

Yevgeny was silent for a moment. Then he slowly stood, and extended his hand to Jack. “You take care of my daughter and you let her take care of you.”

Jack nodded, solemn, and shook Yevgeny's hand. “It's what I do. I take care of things and fix problems, and problems just aren't confined to Paragon. 'Sides, I'm just not built to stay in one place that long.”

Smersh nodded. “Just so, comrade Eternal Templar.”

Five: Game Over

8:02am, Bell Medical Center

Tatyana sat next to Yevgeny's bedside, taking in the news.

“Yevgeny, you live in a city with magicians and super scientists, healers of all stripes. There is no reason you should have to retire. Your heart can be...” Tatyana gripped Yevgeny's hand.

Yevgeny tapped his head with a finger. “It cannot. My neural structure... I do not understand all the words that were used, but deep structures in it were modified by the Komisar. It is possible that my heart could be healed or replaced... but there is a non-zero chance that my heart would simply stop working if the attempt was made. A booby-trap by the Komisar... his final revenge.”

Tatyana squeezed his hand. “Then you cannot put the armor on again! I know you... da, the world needs Comrade Smersh, but not at that cost! You have to...”

Yevgeny reached over, put his other hand over hers. “Tatyana... I want to live.” Saying it was an admission. A coming to terms with his own mortality.

Smersh had never let the fact that he was a baseline human prevent him from standing with the greatest heroes humanity had to offer, though he had often joked about his mortality, compared to the demi-gods, mutants and cosmic beings he dealt with often enough. But this... this was an admission that there were things his armor could not protect him from, and that he could die.

“I want to survive, Tatyana.” Comrade Smersh... no, Yevgeny Korsakov, exhaled. It was finished.

To each according to their ability. And now... now he no longer had the ability.

Four: Diagnosis

6:17am, Bell Medical Center

Yevgeny Korsakov, also known as Comrade Smersh, hated hospital beds. He hated hospital gowns. And he hated hospital food.

Doctor Vitalis, a former hero who spent most of his time ministering patients for KGB Special Section 8's free clinic, was tapping on a chart with a pen. It must have been some sort of nervous habit on the doctor's part, but Yevgeny's teeth were set on edge.

“Please, comrade doctor, pretend I am no medical expert. Can you... summarize what happened to me?”

Doctor Vitalis looked at Yevgeny with eyes that had not had enough sleep in years. “Well, you had yourself a heart attack. You're lucky you survived. And... that's the good news.”

Vitalis lowered himself onto the round wheeled stool. “Your heart's suffered extensive damage, damage we might have seen if you'd been keeping up with your yearly physicals. I'm amazed that it doesn't seem to be related to your cigarette habit, but you're going to need to give that up, starting now. No, what it looks like is that you weakened the muscle by firing huge amounts of energy across it, repeatedly, for months. Since it's not a common condition for people who do hero work, maybe you can tell me what happened?”

Yevgeny frowned. “This damage, it is... recent?”

Vitalis flipped his chart. “Nope. This damage looks like it was done over a course of months, but maybe... five years ago. Your heart's just been a ticking time bomb since then, just waiting for the wrong stressor.”

Smersh scowled. “Bah. For a few months, I had a... dirty hack in the software of my armor. I had the ACDAM system overloaded constantly, and just weathered the discharges as they fired through my body. I did not do it for that long, all told... before I found a better way.”

Vitalis shook his head. “Well, that was a damned foolish thing to do. You get back into that suit again, you try to go out and fight crime again, and you're going to die. Time to retire.”

Three: Authorization

3:52am, Dry Dock Competent

“Yevgeny!” Tatyana screamed as Smersh fell. She went to kneel by him, but somehow, Jack Paladin was there first. His hands were on Yevgeny's neck.

“There's no pulse and he's not breathing. No time. We need a mediport, now!”

Tatyana felt panic clutching at her heart, but she forced it down and nodded. She withdrew the teleport tag from her belt, and placed it on Yevgeny's shoulder. He disappeared in a flash. Tatyana was still staring at the spot Smersh had vacated when Jack shook her.

“You need to follow him! You need to enter your protocols, or he's dead!”

Tatyana struggled to comprehend what Jack was saying. The man she loved was dying, and his armor was not protecting him, and...

Armor.

Tatyana reached for her belt, but Jack was inhumanly quick. The teleport tag on her shoulder beeped twice, and she found herself in the emergency room.

Two paramedics were ready by the bedside where she found herself, but she did not need them. She would pay a fine for misuse of the system, but right now, she did not care. A group of doctors were gathered around a gurney, two spaces to her left, and working with a controlled urgency that showed it was desperate over there.

Tatyana pressed a button on her armor's wrist, and took a deep breath. She had to remember, to get it right...

“Initiate transport protocol Rho Chi Seven Eight Dash Two,” she said breathlessly. From the midst of the gathered medical personnel, she heard a crackle. A few moments later, as the hospital's security led her out, she heard someone calling out, “Clear!” and the distinctive whine of a charging capacitor.

Two: Falling

3:46am, Dry Dock Competent

Smersh stood slowly, and smirked.

“You two can come out now, da?” he called as the portal ceased operation below him. Tatyana and Jack – Siberian Spring and Dr. Paladin – stepped out from their hiding places. Smersh lit a victory cigarette.

“That was pretty ugly, chief,” Dr. Paladin said as he crossed to the controls for the portal device. “At least the antidote for the spores worked. But I've seen more grace from Agent Stalingrad.”

“Bah,” Smersh shot back. “It worked better – I did not have to duck into the portal myself and fight my way back. I count that as a win, da?”

“Da, Zhenya,” Siberian Spring chuckled, humoring him.

Smersh smirked ruefully, and pointed to the small housing attached to his belt. A spine the size of a large man's index finger protruded, sunk in to the second knuckle. “Also, she took out one of the solid rocket boosters that would have given me the mobility to escape her on the other side. I should think that trying to activate this now would be a... bad idea.”

Tatyana was checking the portal logs on an ancient CRT monitor, green letters and digits flowing by rapidly. “Just as well, I think. Even with the boosters, you probably would have been missing for several years. The temporal separation curve on that dimension... let's say that the Exodus Hunter will not finish falling until about 2075.” Tatyana smiled at Yevgeny. “And I am just as glad to not have you missing that long.”

Jack interjected, “I'm pretty sure that's the last of the Komisar's direct extradimensional agents on Primal Earth. That gives us some breathing room, and I...”

Jack was droning on, but Yevgeny was not hearing him. Something was wrong, wrong in his chest. He reached up to clutch at his chest, his cigarette dropping, turning slowly, slowly, end over end. Somehow, the sound of his ceramic-clad fingertips striking his chest plate was the loudest sound for miles.

Yevgeny could not breathe.

Grey fog closed in around the edges of his vision as he fell to his knees, and then blackness. He did not feel it when his face hit the ground.

One: Brawl

3:27am, Dry Dock Competent, anchored outside Independence Port

The alien stalked along the expanded metal catwalk, her eyes narrowed in the harsh mercury lighting. The passages were narrow, hemming her in on both sides, but open to the starry skies above.

Thus far, the infiltration had been a success. Only a skeleton crew remained aboard, and the majority of them were asleep in their racks. She had only come across two thus far.

One was wrapped in rapidly growing vines, gagged but alive. Exodus Hunter Maya wanted there to be a witness to this victory. The other had been silently slain, a needle-like extrusion of her body piercing his throat before he could utter a syllable.

Tap, tap, tap. Her clawed feet ominously clicked along the corridor. The final ladder lay ahead of her. She crouched slightly, and sprang to the top in a single bound. Her prize lay before her, a green painted, dual-hulled machine, all angles and edges. The machine that had humiliated her. The potential victory that could wipe away all of her failures, reinstating her position in the Imperial Combine.

The Space Battleship Potemkin.

She had already used a ninth-dimensional computation to transform her body into a more warlike form, covered in chitinous armor. A lower-level transformation, effected nearly instantaneously, shifted mass from local spacetime through her body, extending into numerous sharp spines, dense enough to pierce steel when propelled by the strength provided by near-total physiological control. All that remained was to gain access to the starship, and to infect it with semi-autonomous seeds. Seeds that would grow into vines - but vines capable of crushing and rending the internal systems of the ship.

The ship was locked down, connected to the dry dock with a number of gantries and umbilicals. It was a beast straining to escape, tied down by lilliputian attackers.

Maya advanced, a meter-long spike extending from her palm. Ripping through the airlock would be a simple matter. The end was nigh.

The roar of jet turbines stopped her cold. She willed her irises to expand as she scanned the sky above her. There, a red and gold streak through the air. She was unsurprised; she had half expected one of those humans to be here already. She only vaguely wondered which one it was, but she was unworried. Not a single member of KGB Special Section 8 could stand against her alone. If she were capable of smiling, she would have. This would only sweeten the victory.

The armored figure landed before her. Smersh. Of course.

Dust billowed around his feet as his boot thrusters cut out. “Comrade Exodus Hunter, you may surrender now,” Comrade Smersh, Field Commander of KGB Special Section 8 called out. A twitch of his hand, and his suit's energetic blade sprung into existence, bathing the area in a yellow-white light.

Maya did not mince words. Matter shifted through dimensions, becoming a handful of powder in her hand. She flung the hallucinogenic compound at Smersh as she dodged to the left, preparing to launch a devastating series of spikes with her other hand. The primary weakness of Smersh was his refusal to wear a helmet, rendering him vulnerable to environmental toxins.
Maya was surprised when Smersh's response was not to clutch at his throat or claw at his eyes, but rather to respond with a rapid blast of energy from his gauntlet. This would not be as easy as she had thought.

The battle was joined: where she rent Smersh's armor with acidic spikes and clawed tentacles, he responded with sword strikes and energized punches. Impossibly, he was driving her back, away from the spacecraft, towards the end of the catwalk and a thirty-foot fall into a tarpaulin stretched over some sort of machinery. The fall would not injure her, but it might leave her open to attack for a moment, and that was unacceptable.

The appearance of an opening, however, would be to her advantage. Smersh's second vulnerability: the cape he wore, a piece of armorsilk that provided minimal extra protection, but would certainly not rip.

Maya overcommited to an attack, the dripping needle from her palm deflected past Smersh's head by an
armored forearm snapping up to block. Smersh pressed his advantage, charging with his shoulder to knock her over the edge.

Maya fell, but as she did, a a whiplike vine extended from a fingertip, wrapping around the corner of Smersh's cape. The vine went taut as Maya jerked to a sudden stop. Above her, Smersh had been tugged off-balance, driven to one knee by her weight dragging him down. Now it was time for the kill, while Smersh was unprepared.

She pulled in the vine, ascending rapidly. Her other hand produced a deadly parasite, one that would wrap itself around Smersh's head and drill into his skull. The time had come to solve this interruption once and for all. The last inches of the vine disappeared within her finger, and she stretched out her hand to strike.

Smersh's armored elbow struck her at full force in the face, a not unexpected counterattack. What was unexpected was the fact that she began to fall once again, despite her grip on his cape. As gravity took her, she looked up at Smersh, seeing his fist jammed onto one of the mountings for his cape. Then the tarpaulin wrapped itself around her as she fell down, down... much further down than she should have.

Finally, she impacted the ground, but something was wrong. The steel deck of the dry dock should not have given as much as this ground had. Maya shredded the tarpaulin quickly, escaping to a brightly lit, swampy place. Trees grew out of a river, and the sun shone.

Above her, the portal that sat in midair, the one that led back to Primal Earth, irised closed quickly and silently.

Maya swore bitterly. Now she was trapped, and she had no way of traveling the dimensions without external equipment.

Trapped. And unlikely to ever have a Combine rescue team come for her.

Trapped. For the foreseeable future. And she could project a fair bit of future.

The real failure was one of storytelling.

Issue 10 - Invasion - was, in my opinion, the gold standard for what an issue should be. Zone revamp/new zone, four arcs in that new zone that came together to tell a single story, new map tileset, and a task force to tie it all together - a fun TF, but not the actual capstone of the story.

Unfortunately, following issue 10, we had a major drought of story content. Issue 11 gave us Ouro, with its mini-TFs that just didn't satisfy in the same way. It also promised a lot more than it delivered - shouldn't there have been alternate bad futures to explore after, say, helping Manticore go evil?

Issue 12 was Cimerora, which was nothing more than a spot to have a Task Force. It also had the Midnighter arcs, which really felt more like tech demos than stories.

Issue 13 had poorly written arcs in Cimerora, that really should have tied in to Ouroborus and didn't. Also, it destroyed PvP - not terribly important to me, but I'll acknowledge that it did.

Issue 14 was the Architect - so, instead of getting dribs and drabs of stuff, we could get fanfic.

Now, getting four mini-TFs in Ouro, the Midnighter arcs, a real TF, and four arcs that are the worst written in the game (I'm looking at you, Sister Airlia and Daedalus), we got farming and fanfic.

Mind you, at this point, it had been two years since we had gotten any meaningful content, and the reply seemed to be "well, go write your own."

Issue 15 barely qualifies as an issue, just having the Khan and Cuda TFs.

Issue 16 gave us power customization and no new story content - but power customization was really worth its own issue. Still, this puts us six issues on, and we have maybe two issues worth of content in two and a half years.

Issue 17 finally starts giving us arcs, and not only that, but arcs that actually take place within Paragon and the Rogue Isles. It had only been about three years since we'd had any such content (outside of the Maguffin Quests issued by Mercedes Sheldon.)

You want to know where CoH went wrong? It needed more content with stronger writing. The only content we've seen since Issue 10 that comes close in writing? The revamped Dark Astoria of Issue 22.

And that's not even addressing the All Praetoria, All the Time problem.

Rikti War Zone. Dark Astoria. Self-contained stories, optional conclusion, zone revamp. Strong plot - First Ward was self-contained, certainly, and had some neat moments in between everything, but the random events plot was pretty horrible, and I recall thinking at the time "WHY am I going to follow Master Midnight? I want nothing to do with him, ever, even if that means going off to join the Carnival of Vengeance.."

Where was I?

Anyhow - I stayed with the game for the people, but I really like a great plot. Too bad the game chose to take a few years off from actual plot.

(Also, there were too many female NPCs stuffed into refrigerators, starting with the First Ward and continuing through SSA 1, but we won't really discuss that here.)

1 - Character customization is king. What I look like should not influence what I can do. No gating of 'leet' looks behind arbitrary 'you're not tall enough' gates - No Ascension armor only being for Incarnates. Being awesome in street clothes should be just as valid as being awesome in superhero tights or mech armor.

2 - No holy trinity required. Want to run a team composed entirely of melee dps? Go for it. All crowd control? Rawr.

I can put together a team composed of almost anything and be successful in this game - I don't have to wait for a healer before my team can go and stomp faces.

49.

Taken: 28, 42, 47, 49