The_Implausible

I'll just chime in here that the same's happened to me. I was a hidden stalker, just looking around Oil Spill for some Hellions for a mission, when BAM! A Wolf Spider shoots me through my Hide and proceeds to go all Benny Hill on me.

And it's another story!

For those who aren't following along, The Implausible's origin story is detailed HERE.

For the record, I'm making this up as I go along, so be kind. =) Also, any suggestions are quite welcome.

The CoT's Love Plot - Part 1: Sleepless Nights

Paragon City never sleeps. Whether it's the whirring of the Clockwork as they scamper about creating safety hazards, or the guttural burbling of the Hydras as they wade around doing whatever it is that they do, there's a constant, pervasive white noise that colours every hero's life.

Right now, it's colouring Walt Lansbury's life with a big noisy crayon, denying him the sleep he so desperately craves. Well, the background noise, and the fact that Walt now has several mental maladies due to the unforunate and not-accidental death of his girlfriend. That sort of thing will really take a whiffle-bat to your thought processes, even if you weren't particularly fond of her, a fact that Walt has a habit of pointing out.

Whatever the case, he's sitting in bed, mulling over the day's group therapy session. It'd been the usual "Hi, my name's Vengeance Dog, and I've been a super-hero for seven weeks now" nonsense, followed by another hour of shop talk, with everyone bragging about how many criminals they'd apprehended that week. You know, standard stuff. He couldn't see how it was supposed to be helping him, but the meetings had grown to be as routine as donning his black, white and blues and patrolling the neighborhood, and it was starting to scare him.

It wasn't as scary as what happened later in the meeting, though. Vengeance Dog, while never outright rude, had usually kept to himself during the socializing portions. It wasn't that he was shy, or that he didn't like his fellow heroes, it seemed more that he just really liked the little sandwiches that the caterer provided. One time, during one of the earlier meetings that Walt had attended, Liquid Lad had made the mistake of trying to talk to Vengeance Dog while he was hunched in his corner, wolfing down sandwiches, and Vengeance Dog had BEATEN THE LIVING HECK OUT OF HIM. After that, Vengeance Dog and his corner were off-limits.

But tonight.. Tonight was weird. Instead of the usual snatch-grab-and-run, Vengeance Dog had seemed downright civil. Walt had watched him, warily, as he'd made the rounds, talking with people, making sure to look them in the eye, and sometimes even leaning forward to pat another's arm in some sort of sympathetic gesture. It wasn't like Vengeance Dog at all, Walt had mused, watching him over the rim of his can of soda.

Then, Vengeance Dog had pushed The Tungsten Bolt over and begun to do something that's hilarious when a small dog (possibly a yorkie) is doing it, but incredibly distressing when a grown man in a superhero costume is the perpetrator.

It had taken seven of them to break it up. Seven of them. Including Ultimate-Man.

Jogging home, too, Walt had noticed that something was awry. He'd seen a bizarre little scene play out in an alley in Atlas Park, where a Skull Girl had apparently fallen in love with a Hellion Boy, and instead of fighting, the two gangs had squared off and began snapping their fingers at each other. Walt hadn't stuck around, as dance-fights weren't his cup of cake, but he was fairly sure it ended in tragedy. Or Happily Ever After. Whichever. He'd also seen two Nacht Fists sharing a malt in the stereotypical fifties restaraunt, but he'd chalked that one up to his fevered imagination and fractured psyche. It was easier that way.

And so Walt sits there, considering the events of the day. Then, without a word (for the best, as there's no-one else in the room) he rises, walks to his closet, and carefully slides it open. Inside, the black, white, and blue beckons. Walt Lansbury may be powerless to comprehend the rampant bizarre behavior, but for The Implausible, the bizarre is commonplace. (For the record: The really bizarre is bizarre, so it kinda evens out.)

And so he sets off into the night. At the worst, he'll have a couple arrests to brag about next week. Heck, maybe this'll be the adventure that makes him well again.

He just wants to be well.

To be continued in The CoT's Love Plot - Part 2: Citizens on Patrol!

Every story has its turning point, right? That moment when the actual story kicks into gear, making it worth telling? Making it interesting?

Interesting, but not always good.

For me, my turning point was finding pieces of my girlfriend in my fridge. Horrific, sure, but one heck of a plot point, right?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was working on a new project.. Cowboy Justice 2: Justice Rides a Pale Horse. It was going great. The Pale Horse was suitably pale, and I was having a whale of a time trying to re-create the arid wilds of Oklahoma in the cheery confines of a Hollywood backlot. A special-effects guy by trade, illusions were my forte, and the movie was suitably challenging for an artist of my calibre. In fact, in hindsight, it was a little too challenging, as I was devoting entirely too much time to it. After all, there were green-screens to erect, horses to paint, and actors to suspend from wires. What kind of sensible person would want to go home and share a bed with a stranger?

That's what she was to me, to be honest. A stranger. Hey, it's Hollywood, right? It's not about people, it's about looks. She was inoffensive enough, sure, but I can't honestly say I ever truly cared for her, which makes.. my condition, all the more confounding.

Basically: I was late getting home, again. It had been a terrible day, and some anonymous extra had managed to somehow spill grape juice all over my favorite animatronic cow. Bessie was a beaut, a holstein of the highest sort, and you know how grape juice gets when you let it settle. Anyway, I got home around three or so, and immediately knew something was amiss. Although somewhat absent-minded, Justine had never had a habit of leaving the front door open, let alone bashing off the hinges (with what looked to be a hammer) and leaving it several paces down the front walk. Entering the townhouse, hackles raised, my foot came down on broken glass. Somebody had broken my television. This was no absent-minded girlfriend at work!

Rushing to the kitchen to ensure that nobody had eaten my porridge, I stumbled upon a horrible sight. One female running shoe, lying on its side, in the middle of the kitchen floor. Just sitting there. Innocuous. Mocking me. Where was its partner? Where was the foot that was supposed to inhabit it? If only I'd fled. If only I'd not been so thirsty..

Reeling, I lurched for the fridge. I'd needed a stiff, stiff drink. Somebody had been in my house! Somebody had been touching my stuff! Opening the fridge, I saw.. Her. It. Well, several its. In my absence, somebody had murdered Justine, and left several pieces of her in my fridge! Beside my food!

The police arrived promptly, and were very kind about the whole matter. I was a suspect, of course, but several co-workers had seen me stamping around the set, irate at Bessie's purple-splotched state, so I had a valid alibi.

Of course, the culprits were never found. Apparently, random thugs are hard to track down when they don't steal anything or leave any incriminating evidence behind. We never even found the murder weapon.

Whatever the case, things soon returned to normal. Well, as normal as things can get when you can't sleep. As some sort of horrid by-product of the shock of finding Justine in the fridge, I found myself unable to sleep at night. No, I wasn't haunted by images of her or pieces of her, or whatever you'd assume I'd see. I just couldn't sleep. I'd close my eyes, and.. nothing. But not the good nothing. Bad nothing.

After a week or so of insomnia-induced haphazardness, the director of Cowboy Justice 2 let me go. Apparently having the star of your movie suddenly burst into flame during the climatic love scene isn't beneficial.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I hadn't visited my psychiatrist since we'd worked out my irrational fear of sea monsters (Think about it. A sea monster's attacking.. Where do you go? You're in the ocean. How's swimming three feet to the left going to stop a sea monster from eating you?) but I'd gladly pay his fifty-dollars-an-hour fee for the ability to sleep again.

His answer?

Become a super-hero.

Become a friggin' super-hero.

Apparently, the number-one method of coping with the slaying of a loved-one (or not-so-loved one, I guess) is to dress up and fight crime. Who knew? "Wellness through cathartic vengeance", as the good doc put it.

So here I am, tired as hell, and wearing a silly costume. It took me a week or so to fit all my proprietary special effects gear in my gloves and chest-jewel-thing, but I think I've got it all up to par. It'd better be up to par, as apparently the thugs in Paragon City play hard.

Random thugs, if you're out there, you'd best watch out. I'm trying my best to be a hero, and I won't hesitate to blind you, maybe punch you a couple times, then convince you that you're dead.

Hopefully, somehow, that will make me well.

I just want to be well.