TheSoviet

“…Is fickle.” Ramier grunted, hefting a large piece of machinery to the other side of the doorway-like construct he was working on, deep inside the Serial Killer’s base.

“Yeah, yeah, you told me twenty freakin’ times.” Alpha One groaned, flipping a random switch (Which got him a sharp glare from Ramier, causing him to flip it back.) “Man, I hate these Serial Killer guys. I thought you were Malta Group, not some [censored]-[censored] stereotype.”

“Keep talking, pilot.” Ramier snarled, flicking a lever and testing the electric current he was getting – several terawatts. “And you may lose your tongue.” The Soviet bent down, unrolling a large cable to the Serial Killer’s main power generator. “Yeah, yeah.” Alpha shot back, “Man, ain’t no real killers in thi-gluk!”

Ramier had grabbed the pilot at his armored collar. “Finish that sentence.” He dared, “And we’ll see who kills around here. Our newest could send you to the ground any day, Malta Operative.” He eased his grip, and Alpha took a step back. “Christ…” He muttered, “You’re lucky I ain’t in a chopper, man, or I’d—“

“Silence.”

“Power on.”

And for a split second, every light in the Rogue Isles went off. The frame of the door exploded in energy, and Ramier looked back through it.

There he was.

On cue, his robots rocketed through the dimensional portal, blasting past him, and then passing him again. Ramier smiled to himself.

“Operation Resonance is go.” He nodded, recording the exact starting time in his central computer. “Cold War Ramier is inbound.”

Thinking back, Ramier knew exactly how this would go. In fact, he knew most things about this time period – When Recluse would be defeated, what really happened in numerous nineteenth century mysteries worldwide. Ramier never missed anything – Because Ramier walked time. Through his time portals, he could link himself, to himself, at any time in his life. Certainly, Ramier himself would die of age eventually – But this was all in the sixth dimension. Ramier had, in effect, shaped himself. He’d instructed himself to work hard and fight harder, leaving him able to conduct his Rogue Islands business at the age of sixty-four. Certainly, he had his insane moments, but lifelong training had left him ready for all he would face.

And today, he knew, he would be working with the TESLA Combat armor – Right next to the experimental time portal he had built months before that cold Russian day. He knew he would step through. And he knew the first thing he’d do would be to scratch his head in wonder.

The figure that passed through the portal was certainly as armored as Ramier always was, but it was obviously a different suit. The TESLA class – Electrical melee combat. Built much in the same way as Ramier’s suit, the armor had obvious body strength enhancers– Which allowed for a super-far jump.

He scratched his head.

Roflcakes. (Whatever that means.) Also, Diov, you're almost there.

But the sacred phrase: BOOM! Headshot!

FPS Doug.

You know it! More to come tomorrow, as I'm turning in.

Can't wait to get back in the gang.

Indeed it does.

I decided I just couldn't leave good old Malta Groupin', Tro'Boy blastin', RP-centric CoH behind.

And you guys being here helped in my decision too

BOOM! Headshot!!

That is all!

(([ QUOTE ]
For the meta-humans of two countries, the United States of America and the Rogue Isles, had been plotting to throw the world into chaos and take it for their own, believing that they were God's true children, being more powerful than any mere human. And so the third World War began. Not with nuclear bombs and radioactive winters, but with might super-powered beings waging war against the rest of human-kind and those few metahumans that stood with them. These were known as the End Times as it seemed that the world itself was coming to an end as every country started fighting, trying to conquer the others or eliminate them altogether.

The End Times culminated in the Great Battle, where the last surviving armies of each side met and clashed in what used to be Spain, scarring the countryside and killing thousands. It seemed that the world would truly fall into darkness under the heels of these metahumans, that is, until the Overmagus decided that enough was enough.

[/ QUOTE ]

))

((Wait, so you mean the Malta group LOST to the Metahumans?!))

(( AGGGHHH!!!))

I was always so amused that Virtue liked Rowr so much.

She was just a catgirl, ya? Big whoop!

And then I started reading her posts and stuff, and realized that she was awesome. It's the player that makes the toon. So I'd say they get some attention for just bein' all around good peoples.

[ QUOTE ]
A story that will give Blightlord a big character development

[/ QUOTE ]

Yar

Many guards now wandered the halls with the hightened threat.

Shoulders and feet of one Omaro Vasquez could be sighted several times as he busily whisked through the building, now in full Powersuit armor, and holding a rather large rifle that seemed to be composed of many guns somehow attached together.

Valedictorian THIS, [censored]!

((Almost, but the equation is simple. Forums = yay, forums do not = over $100 a year.))

(( ))

((CRAP! I COULD BE A FREAKIN TROLL AND I QUIT! TWO FREAKING NEW THREADS THAT I COULD DO AND I--))

((*smashes face into keys*))

The guard checked something on a computer screen and nodded.

"Yeh. Okay. Jus' be careful testin' wiff dat stuff."

One of Vasquez' personal troopers walked up, lightly tapping the briefcase with his foot.

"Pop 'er open."

((Sorry Leo, but even the 1337-est Stalker of all can't keep me paying for forums...Heh..))

((FOR GODS SAKE I QUIT THE DAMN GAME AND TOM STARTS POSTING))

((*impales self with spork*))

Vasquez was asleep, slumped against the side of his post after the previous night's action.

One merc was kicking at him.

"Sir? Sir?"

"Hruh?"

"Sir, the day's starting."

"Why'm I still here?"

"Sir, you slept here."

"Oops..."

With grumbles and grunts, Vasquez went off to the armory to change body-armors and take a quick shower...

((Wait...Wouldn't the heat make the guns work again? And I'll have you know that many guns could work in such a cold. Think of the Russians.))

Dark tendrills began seeping through the ice even as it was made, and suddenly, a torrential wave of darkness blasted out of the ice.

The Maltans looked around at all the heros and villains who could no longer attack.

"Dis giv me ah idea." Marcus grinned.

((Zomg. Essex helped the Maltans invent Sap Technology.))

((Yeah, uh, there are like, fifteen Trolls. Prikker and Snikker are just the bosses.))

"Hawr." One grunted just before Prikker flung up a huge barrage of thorns to impale the woman.

Most of the Trolls easily broke their icy holds and bum-rushed her, pummeling her and firing their guns as quickly as they could.

[ QUOTE ]
GLOCK

[/ QUOTE ]

I'm sorry. I have to personally thank you.

I hate it when people write/type "Glock."

IT'S GLOCK!

*Strokes chin*

Prikker: Har, har, lat guuin flat! *53 Damage*
Vern: *Burble**Plop* *Lightning for 130 damage*
Prikker: EY!

Heh...I don't have AIM, just ICQ, but heck, I can get it for this \

And, uh, Thanks...I'm honored.

AIM SN = SovietTroll, of all things.