Tyrantula

I can't believe I'm arguing about this dumb [censored] on an internet forum, but hey..

For the Taskmaster currently using a shield.. I point you to:

Cable & Deadpool #36 (March 2007)

Look it up yourself, or better yet, PM your address sos I can mail you a copy.

Here, have some pie. It goes good with that foot.

{Thanks Buckeye, I must have missed that one in my looksies over the net}

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taskmaster

Fast and quick.

[ QUOTE ]
Wrong about Taskmaster. I've seen him and he does NOT use a shield. I'm standing by my statement that the Shield Power would just rip off everything Captain America does with his shield.

[/ QUOTE ]

Believe what you want, and check your "research". Cause it's flawed. I'll see if I can find a nice screeny of some Perez drawn Taskmaster someplace okay?

Oh, if you don't know, Perez is a comic artist, not a hazard zone.

[ QUOTE ]
Shields though is a VERY specific power that only one character I know of uses: Captain America. So I can see why that wouldn't be included when its a pretty obvious infringment/ripoff. I'd rather they NOT include shields so actually that whole wah wah wahing about shileds and the "people" is WRONG! I wouldn't vote for such a blatant ripoff power of Cap, ever.

[/ QUOTE ]

I read until page 9, then this caught my eye. I really wish posters would be more aware of what they are writing. Here are a few off the top of my head:

Taskmaster (Marvel)

U.S. Agent (Marvel)

Captain America (Marvel)

Guardian (DC)

Vance Astro (Major Victory) (Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy.. yes it was Captain America's shield he had, but a cool hero nonetheless.)

Power Princess (Squadron Supreme, Marvel)

Red Guardian (Marvel)

Patriot (Young Avengers, Marvel)

Blue Eagle

There are tons more I'm forgetting, alot from the golden age I suspect.

Not putting this up to hate on Dual Blades or the quoted. Just saying the good Captain A. may be the highest profile shield slinger, but he is not the only one. I'm sure anyone that has even browsed a comic or two within the last ten years has probably stumbled on one or two.

/shrug

Not to sound all gooey, but it's simple things like this thread toward the community/dev interaction that keeps me around.

You just don't see stuff like this anywhere else!

Now back to my regularly scheduled meanieheadlyness.

Woo, thanks Lady!

“Johnny? You in here?”


The burly police officer held his hand wide, and opened the warehouse door all the way. It opened with a slight groan, complaining about it’s rusty hinges. The stark daylight of the suburb of Paragon City known as Brickstown streamed across the front foyer of the renovated warehouse. Dust and some debris claimed the floor in some areas, a tell-tale sign that the owner didn’t really care about niceties, or maybe it was purposely, he didn't know for sure.


“Comon Johnny, I don’t want to spend the rest of my vacation looking for you..” Said the officer of the law, “I know you’re here someplace...”


The officers gravely voice carried empty in the musty air of the warehouse, the giant hand of a seasoned veteran felt the master electrical switch as the old steel door creaked shut with relief behind him. His dark eyes spotted the tiny red beacon up high on the wall in front of him, blinking a silent greeting. He immediately knew that John had some type of auxiliary power humming to the small security camera. He blinked back at the tiny red eye, and flicked the master switch upwards. I mighty banging noise momentarily rocked the warehouses silence, and the yellow hue of florescent industrial lighting began to wake the still confines. It blinked and winked at the big cop, nodding an acknowledgment of electrical glee.


The officer stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the burgeoning light. The dust on the floors went undisturbed into the warehouse interior, but it didn’t matter. He knew old Johnny had other ways in and out. The cop, who’s arm insignia dictated he was a sergeant, shifted a small pile of manilla folders in his hand, straightening the edges square. He sniffed the air diligently, hitched his sagging blue trousers up with a gnarled hand, and began to walk around the foyer wall to the interior of the warehouse. The dim lighting of the warehouse was at it’s peak, it’s now old and abused lighting was giving all it had to give. The inside of the warehouse was all wide open, all of the walls had been knocked down. The mustard colored florescents gave the hue of everything was washed with a greasy rag, a few toward the back of the bulding were unceremoniously winking on and off, in the death throes of the bulbs shortened life.


The big cop, walking forward on well worn heels, stopped just out of the foyer and looked around slowly. Over in the far corner, a tousled bed, a four poster with some old intricate design on the headboard. Three filing cabinets, and old rusted grey, ran along the same wall. The one on the end had a huge dent along the bottom edge and the drawer was sticking out slightly. The police officer paid no nevermind, and smiled a little at the corner of his mouth when he looked toward the off-center of the massive interior. There he was!


The figure had his back to the cop, sitting in a large, well worn high backed leather chair. A tuft of yellowish stuffing poked it’s head out along the bottom, the chair had definitely seen better days. A rounded visage of matted dark red hair jutted out form the top. The figure was leaned back deep into the leather chair, his attention focused seemingly in front of him, on the giant oaken desk. A new light came from this direction, a soft white in stark contrast to the old yellow hue from above. The officer traced a bundle of cables snaking away from the desk, disappearing into the dark recesses of the warehouse. It seemed as if his old friend was watching a small television.


The older officer began to speak, parting his lips momentarily. His eyes caught a quick glimpse to his left, and he stopped his speech before he began. Along the far left wall, was some kind of old coatrack. Hanging on it was a straight-brimmed dark green fedora, cocked to the side. Underneath it was a leather coat of the same color, trimmed in a faded black. The officers eyes went wide for a moment, and he quickly regained his composure. He had only seen his old friend unmasked twice in seven years. It was about to be three. He saw that underneath the well worn leather jacket was the trim of his wide cape he wore, he spied a sliver of the giant black spider insignia. It was his friends intimidation, the moniker. The giant black spider. Everyone hated spiders. Even the cop who pretty much seen everything.


He was in the domain of the Tyrantula, and he couldn’t help swallowing a lump in his throat down. The old veteran officer walked toward the desk, and his old friend.


“Vampires”


“Pardon?” The old cop said, being caught off guard in the silence, as he walked around the old desk to face his friend.


There was a minute hesitation, and the Tyrantula spoke again, his voice low. “Vampires. Look.” The man raised a tightly corded forearm from the chair and pointed at the small monitor that washed it’s light over the hero. The old officer snatched a glance at what he was pointing at, and saw a half skewed black and white jumble of figures on the screen. Shadowy and faded, despite the seemingly crisp overall picture. He squinted at the screen to try to see what he saw, but old eyes and a distracted mind couldn’t find it. The veteran half sat on the desk lightly, just off to the side of his friend. His feet hurt badly, too many years on the streets.


“Johnny, where have..” The cop began but was cut off by his friends soft voice.


“Johnny’s dead. Don’t call me that.” The heroes voice was low but firm, he said it and expected it to happen. People always seemed to do what he said.


The veteran sergeant looked over his old ‘super hero’ friend, and he had definitely seen better days. His hair was long now. Long to below the neckline. It’s dark red and blackish waves cursing haphazardly everywhere. Matted and unkempt. He had also let a beard grow from when he saw him last, it was huge. A darkish red tangle of facial hair obscuring most of his face, his cheeks were gaunt, slightly sunken. The only thing that remained the same was his eyes, the cold steel blue eyes that stared transfixed on the desk monitor. There was a fire there that still burned, how much he didn’t know. The old cop wondered if his hero friends mind was still intact, it certainly didn’t look like it.


The cop spoke, “Sorry Chamber, that’s what it was right? From the old days?” The old cop expected to play a bit of a game with his hero friend, he would do so, he respected him too much to think otherwise.


“Yeah, that’s my old nickname..”, The hero known as Tyrantula seemed to trail off slightly, then picked up the pace, “What are you doing here Carl?”


It didn’t seem like a question, but rather a warning. Carl knew by now though, it was just the way he worked.


“I’ve had some stuff for you to look at Chamber, had it for awhile. But you have been off the grid for months. Where the hell have you been?”


The hero hesitated long, and never took his eyes off the monitor. Carl the veteran noticed a small black remote in his friends right hand, a gnarled thumb lightly pressing a button every few seconds. He seemed to be scrolling through different images through his monitor. He didn’t look at it. Then his friend spoke, low again.


“Around. Taking care of things.”


“Good to hear Chamber, thought maybe you went on a sabbatical or something.”, The cops attempt at humor failed, his pal just stared at the screen. He sighed and lay the manilla folders on the desk beside the monitor, he kept his eyes on the Tyrantula’s own. His friends attention dipped momentarily to the folders, then back at the screen. The cop continued, “You feelin’ okay bud? You look like hell warmed over.”



Tyrantula was silent, just watching the screen. Flicking the images with his thumb. Carl knew to give his super friend a wide berth, in everything. He saw this guy doing amazing things, impossible things. But he was different this time, something in his demeanor suggested that something was off. His veteran instincts told him to press the issue:


“Look, Chamber..” He said firmly, “Remember a few months back you took care of that supposed serial killer? That girl you saved not to far from here? ((See my other story "Creep")) Well, we had to reopen the case. Either someone is copycatting or we have a new player. Found a couple of young girls not too far from the University a few days ago, same M.O., skinned like deer. Hung the same way too. Can you have a look?”


Chamber said nothing, just continued to watch the black and white images. Their shadows played across his haggard face. Carl the cop sighed again, more vocally this time.


“Okay, I’ll leave the files here.” Carl said remorsefully, “You can get in touch with me the same way as always.”
Carl got to his worn feet, and began to move his bulk toward the front of the warehouse, back to the city streets. Carl was definitely worried to a small degree about his semi-partner, he had seen John ‘Chamber’ Killien tackle some pretty heavy things over the course of the years he had known him. Nobody on the Paragon Police Department knew about his relationship with Tyrantula, and the fact that when the local police were stumped, he came to his old friend for insight and possibly some super-powered help. It wasn’t like the myriad of other supers and meta humans running around Paragon and it’s many suburbs, Tyrantula usually took cases and investigated the seedy ones, the ones nobody else wanted to touch or just blindly ignored.


Carl shared his friends distaste with the local super-human population. There were far too many self absorbed and only in it for the glory and prestige. Those that called press conferences when they had a high profile arrest, or wanted their picture in the paper after donating to a children’s charity. Hell, one of them was even running for a seat on the city council. Tyrantula was a throwback in Carl’s mind to another day, another time. In both their minds the ends justified the means. It went unspoken between them, but it was true. Sometimes he winced in the past when Johnny would tell him the why’s and how’s. In the end of it all, in the severe amount of cases they worked on together, he felt comfortable with knowing that justice was met. Tyrantula put and end to crime, literally. Most other ‘heroes’ would prolong it, by arresting or handing the criminals over to those that couldn’t handle them. They would usually escape, or be broke out, only to start the whole vicious circle over again.


“Vampires”


Carl turned as he was shuffling his bulk to the main exit, hearing his old friend speak again. The voice was clearer now, Chamber had stood from his meditation on the monitor and was facing his friend. His partner was a bit stooped over, not standing straight. He could see that he had lost some weight. The tightly corded muscles that honed a body built for combat were still in prime form, but looked.. Well, out of place.


Carl took the sight in and replied non committal,”What’s on your mind?”


Chamber hesitated for what seemed like minutes, the dusty silence of the warehouse a dusty silence between the two veterans. Chambers eyes locked their steely gaze on his friend, then he finally spoke with a bit more air about him:


“Vampires, it’s just getting weirder Carl. It’s not just them. It’s everything. Everything is ramping up out there and I..”


“What?”, Carl urged him to continue. He had never been in this position before with Tyrantula, some sounding board, or a venue to vent. His curiousity was all at one peaked and somewhat deep down, afraid too. His friend continued with obvious hesitation:


“Well, three days ago, I took down a small outfit that was a manufacturing house for illegal drugs. Nasty stuff, smelled like rotten eggs. I tore the place apart. During the fight, one of those stupid bastards who was jacked up on the stuff got a drop on me. Hit my leg full bore with a ten pound sledge. Broke my leg instantly.”



Carl winced.


Chamber’s voice went on,”Took six hours to heal.”


“So?”, The veteran friend replied, ”Isn’t that.. Uh, normal for you? I mean, you heal fast and stuff right? A normal guy might be laid up for-“


“No” Chamber interjected, “It’s not normal. I can heal my body from even the most serious wounds in minutes. It’s been this way for months Carl. Gunshot wounds take forever, bones need hours to mend. It’s like I’m losing my abilities.”


“What about.. What about the other stuff?”


“Well, my ability to eject my bones as weapons is okay. It has always hurt like hell anyway when I pierce the skin. But my healing factor keeps the open orifice in check. Makes sure I don’t bleed out. Lately it’s not doing the job.”


Carl was stunned. He never really heard of a super-hero losing his power. A million thoughts cascaded in his head all at once. He knew of Tyrantula and his past, he knew of his passion for his brand of justice. It must be devastating for a ‘hero’ to lose a gift, like taking away a mans ability to walk. Carl didn’t know what to say. He was floored.


Chamber, still a bit hunched over, walked with authority slowly toward his ornate, four poster bed. His gnarled hand gripped the end post, and he started speaking to his friend again, this time in a more hushed tone.


“I have never been afraid my whole life Carl. Never. Even when I was locked in that basement as a kid for all that time ‘cause my.. ‘parent’.. was a drunk old fool and ignorant. Not when I went halfway across the world to learn how to better use my ability and to train in the East. Before that, when I was dubbed a super-criminal and was in prison. I wasn’t scared. Even when I got my reprieve and went to work for the city as one of their ‘heroes’, I knew I had a pretty daunting task before me. Changing the public view of a once villain gone legit”, Chamber lightly sat his smallish frame on the edge of the old bed. He continued, “I fought in battles underground that would make most supers crap their pants. I have seen carnage and death. I was never scared.”


Carl interjected, his voice almost a surprise to himself, “Maybe your body is just tired, take a few months off or something. Go to Cabo, re-energize. Get your head straight.”


The man known as Tyrantula looked at his old partner with an iron gaze. Most men would look away from those eyes. Carl didn’t. Chamber almost smiled, a small crook formed at the corner of his mouth, barely visible by the bushy, wiry beard. He said:


“It’s not that. I thought of that too. It’s just not possible. For some reason I just know, I know it’s happening. I’m losing my gifts I was born with.”


A sudden surge of anger flushed in Carl’s cheeks. Surprisingly, he also felt a small rush of repulsion. Carl choked it down and cursed himself for thinking so selfishly. He couldn’t help it. The Tyrantula had been an underground force to be reckoned with against crime in Paragon. While other heroes went to nightclubs with their bravado and capes billowing their egos, taking pictures with fans and making quotes in USA Today, this guy had been silently waging war on the underbelly and most elite villains ever to hit the country. He never asked for adoration or compensation. He didn’t want a action figure made of him, or waiting around for photographers to capture him doing his thing to show up in the local police blotter archive. He didn’t care. He didn’t want it. In Carl’s mind, this guy was justice incarnate. Criminals knew that fact more than any other.


The silence between the two men continued, and Carl seemed to look upon his friend with pity. It disgusted him to do so. He hitched up his uniform trousers and shuffled to the desk where he had lay the manilla folders that he wanted Chamber to look over. Opened the one on top and began to scan the conglomeration of photos. Brutally murdered women in awkward poses, blood and gore. Sickening in picture, but even more so in reality. Carl thought, and turned his head to his friend.


“Well, I guess.” His tone was low and a slight monotone ensued, “I suppose there are dozens if not hundreds of men and women out there who can take your place.”


He hesitated, letting the words ebb in the dusty air.


“Faster. Stronger. More able to do the things you can’t now.” He continued, now staring hard into the top of Chambers slightly bowed head as if to bore the thoughts right to his brain, “What does it matter to me anyway. I’m just a cop with a gun and a badge. I’m too old to be a part of the PPD Elites, and I have no superpowers to speak of. All I ever really had was a good friend who was on the right side of the law. Who saved my life and who I helped in my small way to bring a few criminals to justice. Now I stand here, with another case that needs an ending.”


Carl walked away from the desk, toward the foyer and exit of the old, dilapidated warehouse. Before he turned the corner to leave, he rested his large frame against the wall unceremoniously. Minutes ticked away in the silence. Then he spoke again, whispering almost again to the dust and old:



“The man I knew, the man I have worked with for years never backed down.” He swallowed hard, “The man I knew as The Tyrantula can’t die, can’t be knocked down or defeated. He’s immortal. He’s the scourge of every single criminal out there, super-powered and not. He’s the one that the bad guys scan the rooftops for when they move around at night. He’s the one they fear.”


He turned his head slightly toward Chamber, “That guy isn’t here right now. I don’t know where he went. Do me a favor, next time you see him, tell him there are still people to save. That need him. And tell him an old cop who always wished he could have done more says thanks. Tell him that, okay? I’ll see you around.. Chamber.”


With those words hanging in the air, the old veteran cop left with hardly a sound. The old front warehouse door seemingly respecting the silence and hardly making a commotion.


Chamber sat on the edge of the bed, hands tightly clasped together. It was one way he can keep them from shaking like they have over the past few months. He sat there in the semi-yellowish light of the warehouse unmoving for almost an hour before he sat up. His took his lean body over to the desk that he knew so well over his self imposed seclusion. He stared at the manilla folders, now closed again, that Carl had conveniently left on the desk top. His gnarled fingers brushed the top of the folder, tracing the letters of the stamp that said ‘open case’ and a file number with a finger. It was as if it was a locked box, a sealed safe that only he knew the combination to.


Slowly, ever so slowly the folder opened. Shaking hands lifting color photos from it’s haven box, and cold steel blue eyes looked upon them.

((The next few, and I imagine there will be three, is the end of Tyrantula as he is known.

I have been writing about Chamber and his alter-ego Tyrantula for over a year and I tire somewhat of the anti-hero aura that surrounds him. I want to move in different directions as a writer. I'm not going to say if he dies or not, for anyone that has braved my stories so far that is something left to be seen yet.

This is my opus, my endgame. I wish I could find the other stories I have written about his adventures, but alas I cannot. Tyrantula finds himself at the end of the road here. In a troubled life full of ups and downs, what is left? When you see the things you come to expect as normal fade away and dissapear, what would you do?

This is the final arc in his saga. Tyrantula is truly a hero, albeit a different kind, but a hero nonetheless. Aptly titled: The End. I hope any reader enjoys it as much as I had writing it.))

Julie was scared.


Not an irrational fear, just a fear of the unknown. Jack Thomas the warehouse manager usually was her temporary escort to the parking lot every night when she would finish up the last bit of paperwork on the days shipments to the pharmaceutical company. Jack had been the night shift supervisor for two years, and he routinely escorted a few of the ladies to the absurdly distanced parking lot that worked in the front offices before his shift began. Jack had been ill lately, word was he had some type of flu bug that kept him away for most of this past week.


Pride and stubbornness kept her from asking another one of the gentlemen to walk her out to her Nissan so far away. She absolutely hated walking between warehouse four and five to get to her safe haven of her vehicle. There were complains from quite a few of the employees that the lot was too far away, they had construction going on closer but the new lot wouldn’t be finished until after Halloween.


Maybe it was just the upcoming ‘holiday’ of Halloween that had Julie wide eyed at the shadows lately. All Halloween was to her all her life was dressing up as a princess when she was young, or passing out candy to the children as she grew a bit older. Lately, with all of the activity in the city and this fast approaching holiday, all she was feeling was fear. A fear that crept up the back of her neck and a heavy feeling on her stomach. It wasn’t so bad the first night that she was without Jack and his tall broad shoulders, but as the week wore on, she could swear she was being watched.


It took about eight minutes to reach her silver Nissan from the door of the accountants building at a steady gait. Her internal time clock told her so. Eight minutes. Julie sighed as she began to approach the tight pseudo alley between the looming warehouses with the blue ‘Crey” symbols attached. Last night, as she recalled, she could have swore that she heard footsteps behind her. She remembered turning quickly, and the shadows of the warehouse had played a pre-holiday trick on her eyes as she thought she saw a man sized figure slip out of sight. She nervously laughed a little thinking about last nights ‘vision’, and let out a breath of nervousness.


Somewhere in the back of her mind, as she began to make the short trek between the darkened alley created by the buildings, morbid thoughts crossed to the forefront. Being mugged for her pocketbook, beaten by a gang or worse yet, [censored]. She scanned the alleyway ahead of her, trying to see something, anything. The shadows enveloped all, and even made the small dumpster look like a looming beast. She dared not stop. Julie cursed lightly under her breath for being so afraid, after all she was a tomboy growing up in Indiana as a little girl, remembering climbing trees that made the other neighborhood boys make excuses not to climb. Moving to the big city wasn’t so scary later on, but the night seems to make even the strongest of wills collapse with fear.


The fear grew slightly as Julie found herself in the middle of the darkened alley, her thoughts piercing the here and now. She heard her scuffle of her high heels on the concrete pavement, her legs and feet moving forward seemed to have a mind of her own. She began to feel disembodied, looking at herself from a distance in a way. She unthinkingly slipped her right hand into her purse, wanting.. needing to hold her small can of mace. What would mace do if it was a gang waiting for her on the other side of the alley? Julie thought about running now. Fear slowly lacing her thoughts like a venomous snake’s bite. The shadows began to have a life of their own, making fun of her. They became shapes of demons and men with knives. The feeling crept back over the nape of her neck that she was being watched again. She could almost feel the eyes boring holes in the back of her skull.


Julie shook her head slightly as if to whisk off the fear as if it hung to her head, and giggled a little nervous laughter at how silly she was. Scaring herself like that was childish! Then she focused her gaze to the end of the alleyway, where moonlight slightly broke the gloom.



There was someone standing there.



Julie sucked in air and let out a small gasp of gutted fear, her eyes glazing over a real fear, a real threat. Not a figment of her imagination. Her legs instantly locked up and stopped moving forward, she was paralyzed. Her skin crawled goosebumps and fel a surge of panic at the front of her forehead. Her hands and feet felt numb, not there at all. Her mind screaming on the inside, a jumble of conflicting commands.


The thing was shorter than her, but bulky. Almost completely enveloped in shadow. It moved forward to her, seemingly in her mind almost floating. She could see some type of green mist enveloped the figure and some type of sickenly sweet scent assaulted her nostrils. It’s head was covered with something, bulbous at the top with a straight line intersected. Julie wanted to scream as the figure moved toward her. Her bladder let loose.


Julie screamed as she felt giant hands grab her from behind, wrenching her around. She looked in horror at another figure had been right behind her, and she now stared into the eyes of fear. The man was huge, dressed darkly with a hood covering most of his features. What she would remember later was his eyes, filled with childish glee. Like a lion about to slaughter an antelope.


In a sudden rush of hot wind she felt herself ungripped and sprawled onto the concrete alley, her head spinning and eyes unfocused. The cold concrete snapped her senses aware that the two ‘things’ were upon each other. The muffled sounds of rusting leather, then a quick but sharp snap that again brought silence back to the alley of new horror. Her eyes struggled against the fear to focus and to regain control of her senses. She recoiled as she felt a hand on her forearm, light but unforgiving. Then a voice, low and seemingly full of gravel spoke to her, just by her left ear.


“Are you hurt.” The thing said, the sickening smell of sweetness again assaulted her nose, her whirlwind mind trying to pinpoint the scent.


The ‘thing’ lifted her onto her feet with ease, she wavered slightly, still having an uncontrolled urge to run with the wind. She was shaking and smelled of urine. She didn’t care, embarrassment was the last thing on her mind. She braved a focused look at the ‘thing’ and saw a dark green mob of leather. A straight brimmed hat covered the what seemed to be a mans head. A cowl of cloth covered his mouth and nose, and saw the whisps of green leaking from around his pupil less eyes. Her fear mounted, and she began to struggle for her life against this terror. Striking out at nothing, sometimes her dainty fists catching dark green leather.


The ‘thing’ held her arms both, it’s visage only inches away from her own face. It shook her once lightly, but hard enough as a smack to the face to make her stop.


“Listen to me.” It said, the deep voice filled with authority, “The man behind you wanted to kill you. I have been tracking him all week.”


“Wha..what..?” Julie stammered, finding her voice so far away.


She felt the thing relax slightly, it’s leather covered shoulder slumping an inch or so. He spoke again:


“This man is a serial killer. I have been tracking him for almost this whole week. You were to be his next victim Julie.” He continued, “I finally found his apartment this night and found pictures of you, you name written and time schedules. Where you worked also. I also found the dead body of a man named Jack Thomas in his freezer.”


Julie fainted.




When she awoke from what seemed like a nightmare, she was comfortably sitting behind the wheel of her Nissan. The motor was running and a soft tune was playing on the radio. She blinked the disorientation from her eyes and focused on the walnut dashboard, trying to think if it had been a bad dream. She felt a light breath on her left cheek, and snapped her head toward the open window of the door. There the strange benefactor stood, leaning into the window of the car. She could see him more clearly in the moonlight now. His dark green leathers he wore, worn out and faded. His wide, straight brimmed fedora covering most of his face in shadow and mystery. He looked straight out of a pulp novel from the 1950's. He had a small insignia of a crawling spider on the lapel of his leather. He spoke, and the words reverberated up her spine.


“Julie” He said, with an almost forgiving tone, “Not all heroes are bright. There are those of us who take care of things that other heroes only fear to tread into. I understand your fear. I live it. But remember that sometimes, sometimes things that go bump in the night aren’t so bad.. Do you understand?”


Julie absently nodded in agreement, somewhat still in shock. Then with a light whisp of wind, the ‘hero’ was gone.


It seemed like it took forever on the drive home, her thoughts coalescing on the nights turn of events. As she pulled into the driveway of her home she saw that she has absentmindedly forgot to turn on the porch light when she left this afternoon. As she fumbled with the keys in the darkened hollow of the porch, she found she really didn’t mind the dark so much anymore.

[i]((This story is one of my all time favorites, simply because it was inspired by real life events. No, not serial killers, but an ugly thing called sterotyping. I won't get into the details, but something happened in real life one day that had my son ask me about it.

Lessons were learned that day, the biggest one is never judge anyone by the way they look. It may seem superficial, but everyone wears masks. Everyone. What lies underneath is the true discovery.

As I said, this is one of my favorites. It's title is Creep. Pay attention though, this is a sort of prelude to the end of Tyrantula as I know him. This is where the endgame begins.))

Chamber sat back, his tousled dark red hair matted with sweat staining the leather back slick. It was another dream, haunting and out of control. Ever tick of the clock faded the memory of the nightmare. Images blurred and burned, only leaving a sense of desperation. Closing his eyes against the pain of something lost, something just out of reach. It was another dream just like the last over the past few days.


He had thought following the first dream it was because of his decision to retire, the never ending struggle to do what was right for the citizens of a city that could not defend themselves. The guilt he knew would come following that decision to let the younger heroes and heroines fight against those who would bring darkness and vile actions against a city he loved. He felt as though he had lost a step, trying to keep up with those ones. He knew the guilt had been coming, it was going to be hard and fast after he had locked up his persona inside the plain metal closet. There it hung, he could almost feel his old leathers begging him to reconsider, to return. ‘Just once more’, they seemed to say, ‘Once more for old times sake.’


Chamber shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow, the memories fading into just faint images. He ran his gnarled fingers lightly across the scar that ran from his cheek to his lip, a constant reminder of the gifts he had been blessed, and cursed, with. The scar that would never heal despite a constant regenerating physiology, the eternal childhood wound that sparked his latent mutant abilities. It was with this scar that triggered the creation of the beast within, he had once been the unholy mastermind behind the Order Of The Spider. He had been the best. If someone wished someone else dead, he would do it with great care and ability. He had gathered around himself a small fellowship of others like him to participate. Some were only followers, and some he had loved both in friendship and desire.


That was long ago.


Even though the scar would never heal, it wasn’t just a reminder of dark days, but of redemption. He had been captured in his days as a criminal, served time in places that would twist even the most purest soul inside out. He was given a reprieve years ago by the greatest heroes that had ever lived. They would pardon him for his crimes if he would fight for justice truth and everything they thought was pure. The fight was easy, the villains dropped by the wayside. They disappeared from the night and soon began to whisper his name not in audacity, but in fear. The trouble was in knowing what he had done before he was a ‘hero’ and living with the guilt and self redemption he had longed for.


He found that redemption, the heroes who helped him find his way were the greatest beings to walk the earth. They took him in, despite his past and stood along side his rough road as he walked down it. After awhile, he had to walk alone. He was a hero. Resolved of the stains of the past.


Chamber rubbed his eyes and looked to the end table, where the only memento of the past he had kept lay to see. It was a photograph of her.


The only loose end that had never been able to tie. He gently rubbed a rough thumb over the two dimensional image of her, his once teammate in crime and violence who had died at the place where he had been first caught. She had been his passion. She had been a wild and untamed soul, even to the point that she couldn’t be caged and would have rather died before being locked away. He had succumbed before he could prevent her dying. That was the only guilt left..the guilt of not being able to save the one he loved.


“Maybe if I had told you that.”, Chamber said aloud to noone. “If I would have just told you once..maybe..”


He lay the rumpled photograph down and walked to the window, his tightly corded muscles slowly relaxing from the nightmare. When had it begun? The nightmares? Why would they not stop? Then with a sudden shock that halted his mindseye and locked it like a vice. There she was.


Chamber looked down onto the darkened street of Founders Falls, from his temporary apartment. There in the shadows of the streetlight was his poison. This was the one who tormented him now. He had remembered seeing her days ago. He placed is scarred hand upon the pane that separated him from the cool night air, was it her? Could it be? The anger boiled inside him like a furnace. This couldn’t happen to him now, not now.


He had finally found some peace in a haunted soul, and the woman standing below had brought it to the surface like a rocket. What was she doing and why?


Time to play again.


Chamber opened the steel locker, and his dark green and black leathers sighed. It was time once more. His heart raced as he put on his skintight leathers, and strapped up his boots he had once used to crush those who would hurt others with a streaming ballet of violence. The cowl and straight-brimmed hat was last, and at last, he was whole once more.


In the darkness of the night, when so many of the other protectors of Paragon were asleep in the warm beds. The red insignia of the Tyrantula burned red once more.


Tyrantula sat crouched on the rooftop of his building, his poison coursing through his system leaking from his eyes at the adrenal rush of the night and cool air permeated his senses. The girl was gone.


He knew her, this one.


He knew her heart and what it needed, he remembered now. He heard her words in his nightmares again, ringing in his head. He remembered it all.


“I will not run.” Tyrantula whispered to the night. “I am sorry for hurting you in my ways, fair one. My heart is pure and my actions just. You cannot condemn a man for being who they are. I failed you once, and I am truly sorry. I am a hero. Maybe not in your eyes, but I cannot let your memory ruin this which I have worked to hard to be.”


Tyrantula leaped off into the darkness, to once again bring an edge of justice to those who deserved it.


He is.


I am,


A hero.

[i]((This next one is a bit shorter than most, but captures a moment in time when things in Tyrantulas past were catching up to him. Another player had taken interest in Tyrantula, and his origin, and particularly the woman known only as Venomiss. His once love that was killed before him (supposedly) years ago.

As I said, you don't need to know the character to see what I really am writing behind the scenes. This tale is coming toward the twilight of Chambers rocky road, his long going struggle with being a true hero and what it means to him. Revenge and vengeance is a powerful passion, and can truly humble someone as it engulfs your life. It can humble you, or raise you to new heights never before possible.))

I simply titled this: Just A Hero.

Thanks Jordan!

Not quite done yet, I have a few more yet to put up. Appreciate the reading.

The best is yet to come!

Chamber ran his rough finger over the scar that crossed his mouth, it was a blemish that ran from just above his left side of his lip, crossing over to the opposite side and down to the right side of a stubble speckled chin.

“Does that bother you, Mr . Killien?” The man asked.

Chamber looked at the man half heartedly, and dropped his hand to the arm of the plush dark purple chair his lean form now enveloped. He turned his head to the giant bay window that gave a spectacular view of the harbor of Founder’s Falls. “Does what bother me?” Chamber asked back, again with a loss of interest to the tone.

“The scar you have, you seem to touch it absently may times during our conversations.” The plump grey haired man began to scribble in a notebook as he left the question hang to Chamber.

“I do?” Chamber furrowed his brow a little, creating minor lines across a chiseled forehead. “Never really thought about it doc, is it important to you?” He spared himself a slight smile at his imposed wit.

“Look, Mr. Killien.” Plumpy Grey Doc said with a slight air of impatience. “You are here because of a mandate imposed by the government of the United States and the wishes of the local laws here. You are under no obligation to talk about anything personal, but you are obligated to spend a certain amount of time in my care. It was a stipulation of your release from incarceration. Do you still realize that Mr. Killien?”

Chamber shifted his weight in the oversized chair, just enough to give himself a better look at the raised bridge far beyond the window. Dozens of Paragons civilians milled about, going about their everyday lives.

“Sure doc, I know why I’m here.” Chamber spoke softly, “Am I boring you?”

A moment passed, and the small older man replied. The air of impatience vanished. “It is not a matter of you ‘boring’ me Mr. Killien, I simply...”

Chamber cut him off sharply.

“Do you know what I do every time I come in here?”

“Please continue Mr. Killien.”

Chamber offered the fat doctor a smile, “Every time I enter this room, I look for a way out. Every way out actually. Not just this room either. Every building, every structure.” Chambers eyes slowly gazed across the blue, calm inducing colored carpet. “Do you understand?”

“No, Mr. Killien, I don’t. Can you please elaborate..err, explain further” Plumpy Grey Doc began chewing on the end of his silver pen.

Chamber smiled widely at the doctor of psychology, “There are three ways out of your office dear sir, one is through the doorway that I arrived in. The second is through the large duct that is almost hidden behind that potted plant.” Chamber nodded slightly in the direction of the garish tree thing the office had as decoration. “Three is out this bay window.” He poked a thumb at the giant window pane with the spectacular view.

“I see.” the Doctor began to write on his yellow pad nestled on his lap. “Please continue, Mr . Killien.”

“Sure doc, sure.” Chamber rose slowly from the plush chair, clasping his hands behind his back. He began to look out the massive window. His stance was relaxed, complacent. “It’s a habit doc, one that took me a very long time to hone. Actually a skill, if I may be so bold.”

Chamber continued, “I not only look for a way out, but a way in. It’s the nature of the beast.”

A ripple of silence floated around the air, and the Doctor spoke. “Can you please tell me what this ‘Beast’ would be Mr. Killien?”

An even longer pause saturated the room, Chamber smiled at the glass and continued in his soft spoken voice. “The ‘Beast’ is killing, my good doctor. In more civilized terms, ‘elimination’ or ‘removal’ may be more palletable for your notes.”

“Ah” The plumpy grey doctor replied, Chamber almost felt his glee of revelation. The Doctor shifted a few pages of his notebook, and continued, “Your ‘specialty’ used to be along these lines Mr. Killien? You refer to the ‘Beast” as what you had done in your past? If you wish, I would like to discuss this area if you are comfortable? I believe we have made great strides today Mr. Killien.”

Chamber let the happiness of the Doctor subside, he liked giving the old man little nuggets of information to chew on. After all, he was the supposed ‘couch doctor’ of the supers across Paragon City. He had been in the little guys office four times now, as mandated by his release from the Zig on good behavior to help combat the crime that rolled rampant throughout the streets and boroughs of the entire metropolis. Initially, Chamber hated saying anything at all, but decided that just passing the time with silence was really just boring.

“I was a killer of Superheroes doc, and a very good one I might add.” Chambers tone was one of casual, speaking of things so simply as if he may have been just mailing a letter or some other mundane task.

“Sometimes”, Chamber continued, “I would watch contracts, umm, heroes..sorry doc, for months at a time. I watched them eat breakfast, watched them arrest people, I knew more about their lives than they probably were aware of.”

“Did you enjoy watching them Mr. Killien?”

Chamber stifled a grunt, and continued. “I did so because I was paid to. I was paid to watch, learn, evaluate and eliminate. Pretty simple actually. People are sloppy, especially heroes. Most think that because they possess powers and abilities that they are above certain things. Did you know that when heroes rent an apartment they usually take the ones on the highest floor? Did you know that most heroes do their own laundry? These things aren’t very fascinating, but they make me more efficient at what I do. Or did rather.”

Plumpy Grey Doc shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair. He spoke in a seemingly forced monotone:

“With your skills as an observer, this made you a more efficient..ah, eliminator in your chosen work. Were you proud of your skill Mr. Killien?”

“Absolutely Doctor. I was at the point where my observation time was cut down by almost half. You see, my ‘job’ was very similar to yours. I watched, listened and learned. What separates you from myself, was, in the end. I acted upon my observations with prejudice.”

“Mr. Killien, I am a doctor of psychology. I take great happiness in believing I can help those with problems that occur in behavior and in the mind. I want to ask you..” The doctor paused briefly, “Did you find happiness in your preferred field of work?”

Chamber looked at that baby blue carpet, and spoke even more softly, “A question for a question doc, are you happy with your paycheck?”

“I don’t see why this would be related to..”

“Just answer.”

The doctor shuffled his notebook a little, seemingly uncomfortable, “I have worked hard to achieve my position, Mr. Killien. In fact, since I am the only psychologist licensed to provide to the super human population of Paragon City, I have helped many, so yes. I am happy with my ‘paycheck’. I provide a service for the betterment of the community.”

Chamber turned to the doctor, still with his air of calm. His voice still soft. “I used to kill for money. I was very good at it, too good actually and I got caught. I spent time in prison for my crimes until the powers that be decided that for whatever reason, I could be rehabilitated to help the heroes in their war on crime, and for the war about to begin.” Chamber paused slightly, looking at his feet, “Once upon a time I thought what I was doing was right. I got paid to hurt and maim others. Permanently. I WAS happy with my paychecks, even if they were for the wrong reasons.”

He continued, “You mention my scar, my only blemish. You see it as something deeper than a physical imperfection. Your right. But that is not something I wish to tell a strange doctor that thinks he can cull the turmoil within a mans soul. You seek to ‘fix’ the problems in me and others like me, but your time is wasted. If I may, good doctor, let me analyze you for a moment.”

“I don’t see the need, Mr. Killien, but please. Continue.” The air of smugness jumped a notch around the plump doctor.

Chamber smiled as he resumed his soft demeanor, “You come to work every day, you are a creature of habit. The only variation of your day involves the things you do with your clients like me. You are safe in your ivory tower so to speak, you actually believe that the work you do in this office has an impact on society. You seem to help ‘shape’ the supers of Paragon City to make them better heroes. Moral, honor bound heroes. Heroes that little kids look at on the front of cereal boxes. You can’t change me, in fact...you really don’t want to.”

Plumpy Grey Doc raised an eyebrow, “Interesting. Please continue.”

Chamber smiled, “When the days come when I am supposed to come in for an appointment, your security gets increased in the building. It is subtle, but it’s there. You have technicians double check the devices used to suppress and dampen certain powers within the building on the days I arrive. You have an unregistered, illegal Crey handgun in the top drawer of your oaken desk there. Very within reach I might add. You are afraid of me, and you should be.”

A thin bead of sweat began to appear on the forehead of the good doctor, “Mr. Killien, I don’t think that..”

“Oh, it’s necessary.” Chamber leaned forward slightly, cutting him off again, “I scare the hell out of you because I don’t wear brightly colored tights, or pose for pictures after saving a few children. I’m the guy that takes care of the drug dealers in their houses, before they sell their poison. I visit the bomb makers before they deliver that bomb someone wants to plant on your new car out in the parking lot. Because of me, and others like me, you sleep soundly at night. You should not try to change what I am, and what some of us are. It’s best left alone.”

Chamber Killien walked to the door of the lavish office, and began to make his way to the outside world once more.

Outside, in the fresh air of the suburbs of Founders Falls, Chamber Killien stood in the glass and steel archway of the massive professional building. Reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette pack. Lighting a cigarette that had no effect on his constantly regenerating body, inhaling deeply and looking out upon the sea of pedestrians on their individual trips. The door behind him opened after he had almost finished the minor respite. It was the psychologist.

“Mr. Killien?, here. Please dispose of this for me.” said the doctor as he handed him a small hastily wrapped package, it was the illegal Crey handgun. Chamber took it.

The doctor opened the door to return to his ‘tower’, but turned to speak again to the hero.

“And Mr. Killien...Tyrantula?”

“Yes doctor?”

“Do everyone a favor..please continue.”

Night was falling quickly over Founders Falls and Paragon City, it was time to go to work.

“Will do doc, will do.”

((I had a idea on this next one. It's about the mid point in Tyrantula's career. I got to thinking what would happen if Chamber would be sitting in the office of a shrink. The intelligence war between two men. I knew my hero would win the day.

This also serves as a little more of his origin, shedding some light on things like a scar on his face. The story is very low key, but I love how the premise of what it means to be a real hero comes into play. From this point on it's the center of my writings about the spider. I like exploring that avenue of him.

This one I titled: Insiders View. Mostly because I couldn't come up with anything else.

Raining again...


Well, at least it looks like it. The clouds overhung Founders Falls, like a looming signature of turmoil that Chamber felt inside. It had been raining that night, in Brickstown. Pouring actually. The dark swelling clouds were about ready to give up their precious gifts of water and mist, washing away the litter and dust of another day. Chamber looked up into the sky above, wishing it would wash away everything else.


Chamber sat on a small iron and wood bench, on the eastern end of the beautiful city, in one of the grassy areas overlooking the river. The city had so many of the little ‘parks’ set so as to anyone can just stroll out of their apartment building and have a nice conversation with friends or family. This was one of the few though that did not have a fountain...Chamber thought they were too grossly adorned and a sore sight on the eyes. The population was beginning to become heavy in this area, the brave citizens of the fair city were going about their daily routines and such..a few were taking a bit of relaxation in the park as he was. Today wasn’t too awful bad as far as any uproars of violence or crime, there were minor skirmishes by the highway to Talos, but they had been contained quickly.


Chamber scanned the citizens with his eyes, seeing them as no other human or inhuman could. One of his gifts. He never looked at their faces anymore. It wasn’t as if he cant, but something placed a mental block on his mind that he just would rather not look them directly. Perhaps the past and its nightmares shine through the eyes of the common man and woman. He absentmindedly rubbed the scar going across his mouth, traced the line from his cheek..across his lip, and to and end at his chin. It was a scar that would never heal, even with his extraordinary power to heal himself. He traced the scar again, ending at the chin. It was the reminder that everything must have a beginning, this was his. It was the precursor to the realization to his gifts that he hadn’t known he had as a small boy. A very painful one, but a reminder nonetheless.


He reached inside his dark red leather jacket and switched off the small communicator attuned to the local police band, and leaned forward clasping his gnarled hands in front of him. Concentrating ever so slightly, he opened up his senses to his surroundings. The children laughing just across the way on the bench opposite him, the man and woman talking on the catamaran in the river..the waves lapping at its hull. A couple having a friendly argument on the fourth floor of the apartment building behind him..close to the window. Something about a movie. Chamber closed his eyes, and decided it was time to decide...


‘What’s it gonna be?’


He remembered the kindness and support from the Chief Warden of the Zig, even though he was a convicted killer. He remembered the look of hope on his old and grizzled face as he had walked him to the gate the day of his release. The memories came rushing back in a tidal wave, everything that had happened to leading up to his becoming this ‘hero’ he was supposed to be. Memories...



Yesterday:


Tyrantula felt the shock that rocked his body to the core, seemingly frying every nerve ending from head to toe. The blast this time was centered on his chest, a blinding white burst that was like a super nova of heat and light. It made such a charged sound it even hurt his ears. He hadn’t seen it coming, even with his senses attuned to the surroundings. One moment he was leaping across an alley, the next was lying sprawled out in it. He had tried to get up, but something was draining the strength out of his limbs, sapping his willpower just to think! Everything had started spinning and lights of all colors had danced in his vision. It had been the beginning of a living nightmare. Pain (pain!) Was shooting through his body as something was repeatedly smashed into his midsection, his legs were being seemingly crushed by something heavy and weighted. He felt the hotness of liquid streaming from his shoulder blades as his skin had been pierced through by something...


He couldn’t see, the lights had been too bright. The pain blacking out his eye sight..


He couldn’t move, something or some power had him held fast. No commands had reached his body to flee OR fight.


He was repeatedly pummeled by someone, or something that stacked the pain to an almost unbearable wouldn’t.


Tyrantula, once the leader of the most elite team of contract hitmen alive, reduced to a whimpering puppy in a matter of SECONDS.


The voices had begun, many of them. He focused to hear what they said and to put a ‘face’ on the attacker or attackers? Laughter, loud and vivacious came into his head. Laughing at him! The pain had let up slightly, just barely. He opened his eyes to the dark alley and amid the shadows of light that permeated his peripheral vision, he saw them:


Crey...


..and they were NOT alone.


Malta!


The one laughing the loudest was one of the Freakshow gang, solitary in the group of mixed people and groups he had once worked with. The Freak wasn’t the typical type, he was one of the leaders of that rowdy unorganized squabble of idiots. He stepped from the shadows clearly, and through a smile that showed his teeth adorned with braces of solid metal, spoke with gravely voice:


“Hit ‘em again malta-boy!”


Out of Tyrantulas right side, another shadow stepped up slightly. Still obscured by the darkness of night. The only thing plainly visible was the white hot tip of some type of rifle...humming with a metallic whine that assaulted his hearing even more. The lance of pain that shot forth from it was almost unbearable. Everything began swimming again. Death was imminent. Tyrantula fought the urge to pass out, to succumb to the onslaught of this seemingly organized group of different gangs and organizations. But he wouldn’t..he opened his eyes again, and gritted his teeth. Fury rose to the surface. The old insatiable bloodlust he had often given into in the past so many times, the urge to act was there, but his body would NOT.


A voice, at his ear. Through the pain and agony, spoke a volume. It spoke truth from the teller. A story written by them, a story of finality:


“Chamber Killien”, The voice was soft, female..laced with venom, “My name? Doesn’t matter. My employer? Does. I belong to Crey Industries. I’m here with a few of your friends...You know them well..Does the ‘Council’ mean anything? How about the ‘Skyraiders’? Were all here little spider. You should be honored..We have reached an impasse with the heroes of Paragon City, we have formed a small organization to deal with the biggest threats to each of us. Hell, even the freaks came out to play..Guess who made number one? Thats right my arachnid hero..YOU did. Why? You may ask? Because you worked for us all once. You simply just know a little too much to be going around playing superhero. Understand?”


A small silky laugh bushed his ear, and the voice continued. “Much to my dismay, and to the others..you will live tonight. You see, you’re a verrrry special person. You know and can do things WE cannot. You have one single choice, come back to work. Reform the ‘Order’ and do as we say, or...the next time. Well, I think you can figure that out..”


A hot wet tongue licked the side of his face, it was the girl. She spoke again,”You have twenty-four hours”


Just like that, the laughter died. Tyrantula hadn’t known how long he lay there..his broken body slowly mending, his costume smoking from the Maltas life sucking cannon. He hadn’t remembered going back to his warehouse off of Brickstown...



Present:


Chamber hung his head low, as he sat on the iron bench in Founders. The thoughts of the past creeping up to the middle of his mind, no matter how hard he pushed them down. The wounds from last night, all of them, were gone. Healed by his extraordinary gifts. His head rang, his heart filled with sorrow as he knew it would never stop. The reprieve given to him by the courts and by some of the most legendary heroes ever to exist, meant nothing. Either way, he was going to be hunted. Good and evil had always been two sides of the same coin, one he so carefully had balanced himself upon these many, many months. Was he a hero? Was the breath of the girl that spoke the single thing that would blow him to one side or another of that coin? His head reeled..


“Mister?”


A voice, a childs voice. Spoke from in front of him..


He looked just enough to see that it was a small boy, about eleven years or so of age..


Chamber hesitated, then spoke. “Kid, didn’t your mother teach you never to talk to strangers?”


“Yeah, she did.” The kid was eating an ice cream cone, Chamber knew it was vanilla without even looking,”But, you looked kinda sad. So I wanted to say hello”


“Alright..you did. Now go away”



“Your one of them arentcha?” The boy spoke..his voice was so innocent...so alive!


Chamber looked up slightly to see the boy pointing toward the sky, he followed his train of sight..to a hero in the far distance. A superhero flying somewhere..to save or do something.


Chamber thought, for just a moment. And shrugged his shoulders slightly, still looking at the sky he almost felt the boys face light up...


“Wow!” The boy exclaimed, “You mean...”


An explosion happened far away..about a mile from where he was sitting! It was so violent it shook the foundation to where his feet were planted. Instinctively, he reached inside his jacket to his micro com unit, just to hear the end of the communication that the Council was on the move...Chamber stood..and looked the boy in the face. Terror was written there. Horrified looks of helplessness. The boys face was white as snow. He was shaking...


“You...” The boy trembled out, “You g...gonna do something about them?”


In the eyes of a little boy sat all the hopes and fears of a society that cant help themselves. In the eyes of a child the frustration of a population under extreme odds and lack of hope. In the eyes of the future had lay the answer to a villains question..


Chamber took the frightened childs head in his hands, and looked him deep in the eyes...


“Yes” He swallowed hard, “Yes I am.”

((This next tale is a bit more straightforward, with a little refection of where he came from. I began writing this as a beginning of an arc that made Tyrantula the hunted. As various villain groups wanted his head on a silver platter.

It's gets a bit touching at the end, when a little boy helps Chamber decide what road to follow. Sometimes you can find inspiration in the strangest places huh? I did write two more episodes in this arc, but I cannot find them.

This arc beginning was when I was in the Supergroup 'The Dawn Patrol'. They are the only SG that was given permission to use the name in actual City Of Heroes canon. They are still around, and are great players all.

This one is aptly titled Balance. Because we all need a little balance in our lives sometimes, Ty's was always a little harder to find. Enjoy.))

“Freak”


When she told me that I had to stop for a minute, just a minute to clear my head from the slight way things had went askew. I didn’t expect it, nor did I really want it. But I guess that from her point of view, I am a freak. Many of those who run around with super-powers or abilities ‘beyond the human condition’ are labeled as such, others use more callous words to describe or to mark. Ones that wouldn’t be proper to use in polite conversation. Though I cannot take the full weight of the meta human populace on my shoulders, it sits there anyway. I don’t want that burden of label, but I can’t help but to defend it when it is thrust into my face.


I was initially going to let someone else tell my tale, from a spectators eyes. But I came across something very valuable amid my musings on what I wanted to tell. There is one thing that most story tellers cannot replace, it’s the sense of ‘being there’. That they miss. Ever in their four-color descriptions of the weaving of stories they miss the most fundamental aspect. To be there. Simple as that. Can those who weren’t there see the sweat beading on a liars brow? Or the smell of fear in a cowards heart? Those are all pictures I will try in my limited way and small vocabulary to share with you, the reader. I hope you will stay to see what has happened to me in my life, it is really extraordinary and a few hair raising things have came and went throughout. I’ll try my best to be as candid as I can, come along for the ride. I swear when I am done, it will be worth it.


She called me a freak that day. I really don’t mind it so much now, but in thinking back I was a little I suppose I was wounded some. Wounded in spirit I suppose? She called me a freak, after I had saved her from some low rent men who sought to take her goods for a quick nights junkie fix, or a pleasure of the flesh. They were easy to stop, mostly done so with a little more than average intimidation. Some physicality was used, but I didn’t kill anyone. Well, not this time at least. This story I am about to unfold for you is not of the woman I saved last night or what she said to me. Neither is it about the men who’s faces I smashed in and left hanging for the local police to take. It’s a story about me. About being human.


I would like to say that I had a normal childhood up until such-and-such happened. But I really didn’t. It wasn’t really normal in any sense of the word. I think it’s funny because the children of the world today use harsh tags and monikers to describe people like me. They call me names because of a simple premise of living in a harsh world and choosing to be open with it. It’s been far too long since I was first asked to tell my story, I will do it now because I simply feel as though I need to. I hope you stay with me for a little while, just a little and I will show you.


I lived in a broken home mostly, when I was old enough to understand the way things were and how they were supposed to be. My mother, who’s real name really isn’t important was a sad lady. Oh, she cared for me in the beginning I guess, as all mothers I think do. After awhile either t was the drugs or alcohol, or maybe a combination of both that drove her from motherhood and our home. We lived in a run down neighborhood, pretty close to here where you are now. It’s your atypical slum where families on the edge go to try to live. “Amid the garbage and the garbage” I head once. My mom wound up leaving around the time I was ten, maybe eleven? I’m not to sure, that’s pretty good coming from someone that’s supposed to have a memory as sharp as a razor blade. I suppose it was traumatic for me then, and why I cannot remember to much about that particular instance. I always imagined she left for better things, trying to rationalize it I think. After I knew deep down she wasn’t coming back I thought that maybe she went to a better place and a better family. When she was here all she ever did was sleep and look withdrawn when she was awake, her cheeks always sunken and her eyes always looked ringed with black. Even as an adult now, I wish her to that better place, maybe she would smile there. Before, when she hadn’t left yet, her and the great one used to argue all of the time when they were together. The ‘great one’ is a reference to my biological father. They would smash up and have fun shattering glass together, telling each other at the highest pitch of their voices how much they cared. The Great One almost never came out the loser, but he did lose the war in the end of it all with her after she left.


Things got no better after she left, as the Great One’s attention was solely focused on his only son, who would soon come into his own as a man in the throes of puberty and beginning manhood. That son was me. When I was thirteen, I began to be able to do things that a lot of the other slum children couldn’t do. I ran much faster, saw further, and I could outrun the police when a few of us would steal from the corner convenience store. No big deal right? Wrong. I knew something was not normal with me. I didn’t have to eat or drink much either, it was just that I wasn’t hungry or thirsty much.I remember once I went an entire whole week of not eating to see how long I could go, Same for being tired, I just didn’t want to sleep. Oh, I tried to, I guess I just didn’t need it anymore. It wasn’t like a little boy that fights to stay awake either. This is and was a full blown wide awake all of the time. My mind was always two steps ahead of everything. I was fumbling for doorknobs while solving complex calculus problems. Figure that out. It was when things became obvious that they turned for the worse. The Great One was always someone on the edge of eruption. I think he hated every thing and everyone, literally. He had some really crappy job at some run down factory that he used to drag himself off to every morning, and for kicks and giggles he would use me as his frustration bag after my mom left. After awhile I didn’t mind it so much, the beatings. They stopped hurting almost instantly, and any bruises or cuts healed moments after.


I wasn’t the only one who saw it too. Nothing escaped the Great One. He saw I didn’t whimper anymore when he would strike me, or cry from being hurt. I never said a word to him about it at all, but he saw it too. The day he saw me pop my bones from my palms of my hands and back in again in the kitchen by accident is a day I will always remember. He called me a freak. That’s all he said to me. In a world that was being overrun by things that fly, and have abilities like that, to see a small thirteen year old doing a miraculous thing was finally the icing on the Great Ones cake. He just quit doing everything for days. I left and spent the night at my friends house down the street, his name was William Madison. Willie was not like me at all, and he took everything that happened to me with a grain of salt, maybe it was just he didn’t want to lose the only friend he had? I don’t know, Willie was weird, but he was my friend.


I came home after a few days while the Great One was at work. He had left me a note on our dirty stained kitchen table to clean up the basement before he got home or there would be “hell to pay”. I grabbed the half eaten broom and dustpan and headed to the cellar door, just off the living room. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see the outside for four years.


The Great One had done something to the door to the basement. He was some kind of steel worker at his hateful job, and he had rigged some kind of closure on the door after I entered it. I would see later on that he had reinforced the whole inside of the basement so I couldn’t get out. Nice of him wasn’t it? He decided to beat me by beating down the only thing he couldn’t physically hurt. My spirit. It almost worked too. I spent the first three days down there trying to get out, yelling and screaming and breaking things against thick steel plates. He was kind enough, and I say that with the utmost humor, to have a small square hole cut into the door frame for the cellar so he could let me eat. I really think he might have cared. There was already a bathroom down there, he had put one on the year before. After a time I was beginning to think that the plan didn’t call for me in the beginning. I had what I needed to survive, but what he wouldn’t let me have was my freedom. I counted my days there one by one, and I would seriously be lying if I said that I didn’t have days when I thought I was going nuts. In four years I think would have driven anyone insnae, but I had one person with me who would save me from the rigors of being alone. My mother.


My mother, before she became the zombie like creature that I recalled, had been some kind of school teacher. Down in the basement were boxes upon boxes of books of all types, from grade school to junior high to college courses. More than enough to satisfy even the most picky of scholars. There were books from the entire range of subjects, from Western Philosophy to Advanced Calculus to Choo Choo The Tiny Train. Among them were her notebooks, from what I gathered she had once taught at pretty much all levels of school systems.


So by the light of one single white dirty bulb, I read, and I learned.


Four years takes it’s toll on anyone, even someone who is classified as a mutant. I even learned abut that in those books, I leaned about who and what I was. I learned the tricks and terminology of what I was. A mutant who in turn can control the very regenerative molecules of his body. For the layman, I was able to heal myself. My bones were another matter. There was nothing in those books that spoke of what I could do. In short, I was able to make my bones grow by a mental command, the grew from wherever I wanted them too. I freaked myself out more than once testing this theory. My favorites were the palm of my hands, I could eject my bones straight form my forearms, through the palms and out about a distance of about a foot and a half. Any more than that made my entire skeleton inside me hurt very badly. What was the most curious thing was that inside my bones, almost solid now and very strong, was a liquid that secreted from glands located somewhere I couldn’t identify. It was strange and had no effect on me. I had nothing to test it on but a loose conglomerate of spiders that shared my cellar home in the corners. So I did, and guess what? The died instantly on contact.


Funny how life throws you curveballs isn’t it? I was scared to death of the Great One. Scared he would come down after work with a chainsaw and make me tomorrow’s garbage. I was even scared of the giant arm of his that reached in to give me bags of food, and to occasionally take my bags of trash. I was afraid he had an axe or something else gruesome waiting for just such an emergency right at hand, since he had obviously done so well locking me down. So I read, and exercised. I practiced with my bones (as funny as that sounds) and I slept and washed myself and my clothes in the back of the toilet. I thought of a way to escape at least once per week, and actually tried a few times to disastrous results, hell I even caught myself on fire to try to get him to open the door. All he diud was call me a freak and chucked the kitchen fire extinguisher down to me. I just could’ve stay burned, since I was regenerating so fast, but I didn’t want to risk the books. I couldn’t sacrifice the books. They were the only thing of hers I had, and her memory was tarnished enough.


I did escape from down there, I did get out. I did become someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley and I did become one of the bad guys. I went across the sea on the Great Ones dime too. Eventually I did become a hero in the same city I was born into, but not for years later. A hero. Imagine that. For a thirteen year old nothing to something was quite a feat. That’s why someone once pestered me to have my story written for me. Wouldn’t you agree that It would be best for me to write my own? To smell the fear and taste the sweat? Or maybe you would like to hear how I let the only woman I ever loved burn in a ball of fire. Well, I’ll be here waiting for you.


After all, I’m only human.

((I was asked by a few individuals, some very kind, to repost my stories about my main hero 'Tyrantula'. I write mostly for my own enjoyment, my own pleasure. It's satisfying as a roleplayer to be able to breathe life into fictional characters. I cringe upon posting my fiction here, but as I said, I have been asked to share. So I will.

The stories about to follow are a bit disjointed. I cannot find everything I have written. But what I do have will be in order as best as I see in the 'life' of my hero. Before each story, I'll try to give a brief description and maybe some background to help along the way.

You don't have to know my hero at all to enjoy the stories. I have been told they are an easy read. I like to explore the avenues of what it is to be a hero, even an anti-hero such as the spider is. Looking within ones soul is the most interesting parts, you get to see things that don't necessarily bob to the surface.

To those about to continue, I thank you. I am about to wrap up Tyrantula as a character and move on a little later. He is very dear to my heart. Sit back and settle in to read, I promise you will be entertained.

This first tale is just about Tyrantula talking about himself, from a first person view maybe. Sort of like Anne Rice did with Louis in 'Interview With A Vampire'. I imagined someone talked Tyrantula into revealing his origin (Maybe Carl The Cop, you'll meet him later.) So instead of having someone pen his autobiography, I saw him like talking on a tape recorder. The text is a bit thick, so be patient. It all comes together.

I've blabbed enough. Here's the first part. I called it More Human, enjoy.))

-Tyrantula

Great guide Cyclone!

Although I'm not a number cruncher, I find your guide very literate and extremely useful. One of my alts is an Ice/Ice and has quickly shot up the ranks of one of my all time favs to play. I just recently hit 39 with him.

After many respecs trying to find the best mix for me PvE wise, using your knowledge will help me forego any more stupid mistakes in power selection and slotting. I just love the single target damage, AoE-ness and controller-like power in my hands. Very fun set to play.

Eight thumbs up for you dude!

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Great guide, only problem is you mixed and mashed the eras of comics, Golden Age is pre-1960 (roughly, I think the actual cutoff year is 1958 or something). Stuff like Spiderman, Dr. Doom, are Silver Age. All the examples you give as "Silver Age" were actually "Bronze Age". Bronze age is generally considered the 1970s. Not a big deal, but in a post about naming, it's probably best to strive to be as accurate as possible about terms.

[/ QUOTE ]


Aye, I knew I was blurring a few lines when I was picking names from various ages. I'm usually a fountain of comic book history but I was writing off the top of my head and hadn't crunched the whole thing into hard facts. I think I wanted to use some names people might be familiar with today, in describing a short history. My writing a guide combined with a hella hectic work schedule.. makes me wonder how it came out coherant to begin with!


I guess I want to help as many people as I can come up with something relatively unique. I'm sure many a casual gamer will never see this, but if I can inspire one or two people to avoid making "Dark.Assisn-" clone #3877 then I did okay!

Oh yeah! Another addition to my guide is that I was rummaging through the local mall's record store in the heavy metal section. It got me to thinking that there can be many song/band name inspirational type names there too. Not clear rip-offs, but inspirations.

Thanks people for adding to my guide, much apprciated.

Hello!


Welcome to a hopefully handy guide to assist with one of the more smaller parts of our game, City Of Heroes/Villains. In the subject ahead, I will help you decide in different ways how to define your place in the world of spandex (or leather, whichever you prefer!) But first, a brief history to put you in the context of why this might be important to you and your hero or villain!


Part 1:History


Heroes and Villains, since the dawn of pulp and our current age of comics books in many forms, have always been defined by their name. A select minority have been able to be identified by a symbol or some such, but for most it is the name. That’s what this old spider is gonna help you with. Iconic characters in comics such as Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Wolverine, Daredevil and so on are usually all associated with having a great name, and a look to match. See that blazing red and yellow “S” symbol coming into focus? You instantly know it’s Superman coming to save the day. Green Arrow is another good example, you know what he’s about and what he can do.


There are many different “ages” of comics history, depending mainly on the time period. You have ones like the “Golden Age”, where characters like the aforementioned Superman was born into. It was a simpler time, a new open range for characters to exist in the minds of the creators. Names along this period are often very straightforward. Batman, Spider-Man, Invisible Woman, Doctor Doom and so forth. These names are instantly recognizable and are some of the most honored names in the culture of comics. Doing a simple search on the internet for Golden Age will expound on this area. The next one I will briefly explore is the “Silver Age”. Things started to become more loosely based, the lines between good and evil sometimes encountered a grey area. Heroes and Villains of this period generally are more defined in depth, such as some X-Men for example. With names like Wolverine, Banshee, Colossus, Nightcrawler and the like. Also the Punisher is a great Silver Age example. These character names were more focused on character persona, abilities and certain areas of precise expertise. It wasn’t that all the good names were ‘taken’, but more a sign of the times. Heroes and Villains created in the Silver Age would almost undoubtably fit into it’s prior age, just because the mechanics of naming were still very similar.

Jumping to the “Modern Age”, which we enjoy now. Created names more often are very versatile, some overly complicated and some yet so basic you could plug them into a comic book from yesteryear. It’s as if the comic creators have taken the best of all the combined comics canon, and learned what is just best for the current character created and used it. I see it as a wide open area of creativity, and we have had many names along the lines that are possibly, instantly recognizable. Some Modern Agers include ones like Deadpool, Longshot, Sunspot, Mighty Man, Booster Gold, Venom, Prime and so on. As I said, many names could easily be plugged into any era. Some names like the villain ‘Trevor Fitzroy’, may not. It’s all about the style and panache’ of the creator. Truly a sign of the current times.


Part 2: Your new character!


This can be extremely difficult, and often leading to frustration! Maybe with this guide, I can help ease the burden a bit. We play in a closed MMO that has a remembrance of a name database that every subscriber uses. It’s common in almost every game developed online. You just cannot have two people with the same name. You can vary your names, but I’ll get to that a wee bit later! First, I propose you simply start one of two ways:

A.) Come up with a name first, before costume and power selection begins. Or..

B.) Create your costume, select your powers. Based on those two factors, try to come up with a fitting name.

Now.. Before I go any further, there are many, many gamers who really don’t give a hoot about what their name is, they just want to play the content and explore the game. Most of these don’t care about costumes either. It’s all about the gaming. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. Say your name is Johnny Ray Bumplestien. Now making an Energy Blaster and calling his new guy “JRBPower” is just fine with me. It’s your money paying to play, do whatever floats your boat! But for a lot of gamers here in CoH/V, the right name and look is just as important to them as the gaming itself. It identifies you, gives you a voice and a stigma about your character. Just a quick note, I have encountered some who’s names are like they smashed their head on the keyboard. Just remember, if your not feeling very creative, that is a perfectly honest way to get a name! AND it’s almost guaranteed not to be taken! But do you want to play an avenging mutant hawk theme character with a sweet costume? Then read on!


Focusing on my two methods listed above, I’ll try to help you decide. There is nothing better than having a really cool name and costume to match.

Okay, so lets break it down.. What do you like? What are you hobbies? What kind of work do you do? Are you a bird lover? Have a weird fixation with sea life or snakes? Do you read every book you can about vampires or werewolves or even the occult? Are you a self proclaimed nerd who works on computers all day? Maybe a construction worker? Many questions right? That’s the point, the way to having a great name for your digital persona can be staring you right in the face. And the possibilities can be endless.

Take for example the line I just wrote about a construction worker. In just the minute I was writing, I thought of a few. Like say, ‘High Steel’ or even “Concrete Pete’. (Okay, those may be lame, but you follow my way of thinking!) Can’t get ‘Concrete Pete’ on your server because it’s taken? Try mixing it up a little. Replacing a letter or two. ‘Koncrete’ or even ‘Konkrete’ will still be just as good, and maybe gives you style points!

Remember that the possibilities are virtually endless. It all depends on your imagination. Really want to create a Fire Blaster or a Fire Tank but everything that may even contain the words ‘fire’ seem to be taken? Use words that are similar to fire. Like Ashes, Charbroiled, Heat, Singe, Roast and so on. All that it takes is a few minutes to think about the word in question. Don’t feel particularly imaginative? Are you as dumb as a box of doorknobs? Then I can steer you to the wonderful world of the internet. There are many ways using the tools provided by the thing sitting on your desk to help you. Using an encyclopedia, a dictionary, or just typing a word into a search engine on the internet can help you decide! Knowledge is power my friends, and if taking a few extra minutes to find that right name will increase your enjoyment of your playtime then do it, it’s so simple it hurts!


Now, your just about there right? You have a concept in mind, a general name in your head. That perfect name is only a step away. But it’s taken! Don’t give up! As I said before, I’ll retouch again. Just swap a letter or two. Maybe using an adjective before or after your needed name. ‘Konkrete’ taken? Try ‘Super’ or ‘Grey’ or heck even ‘Quick’, or ‘Kwick’. “Kwick Konkrete” !! Booya! (For anyone in construction, you know what I mean!)

Also another proven method I often use myself is word merging. You take two words and make one coherent one. Take my namesake, Tyrantula. I simply combined the two words ‘Tyrant’ and ‘Tarantula’ to make a unique hero. (See my sig link if you want to see the guy, he’s an homage to the heroes in the past like the Shadow and the Spirit from pulp-type fiction) Another good example of word merging is my Ice/Ice Blaster. My son and I had just come from a trip from Dairy Queen and had gotten some ice cream. He ate his too fast, giving himself a funny case of ‘brain freeze” (when you get that skull killing headache!) I said that was a cool name for a super hero. His reply was that it was so common it was probably taken, so I dropped the ‘B’smushed the words and ‘Rainfreeze’ was born! For his villain counterpart, all I did was use a word similar to ‘rain’, sounding evil and came up with “Reignfreeze”.

Another great way to quickly ease the naming blues is using a common first name, with something exaggerated as a last name. Many heroes and villains in the comics canon has used this method. Real ones like Jonny Thunder for example. The possibilities are endless here as well. And sometimes they sound pretty darned good. Want the name ‘Roadkill’? Besides being a violation in terms of service, you can quickly change that by calling him ‘Randy Roadkill’ This type of naming system works well, and virtually guarantees you a name. Most one word names are hard to come by, but anything split like that has a better chance to be available.

Names are all around you, it’s a matter of adjusting the english language. Have fun with it and I promise you won’t be dissapointed!



Part 3: Violations, “leet” speak and Links.

Okay. If your playing our wonderful game Cryptic and NCSoft has so graciously provided us, chances are you have some type of understanding of heroes and villains, and possibly even comic book knowledge. Are you an obsessive Superman fan? Maybe Spidey? That’s great! But here in the City of Paragon and the Rogue Isles they cannot exist. No matter how much you love them, do not try to copy their names and appearances. It’s a violation of the terms of service and usage of previously copyrighted material. I suggest any new player bone up and read the terms of service. You can find it right on your ‘City Of’ updater when you go to log in your game. Believe me, I am one of the most biggest X-Men fans around, but me making a Wolverine clone and trying to get away with it in game is a serious violation! You could have your character wiped out, genericed without a real name and costume or account suspension. Please read your terms of service!

The name violations segue’ into my next subject. The use of ‘Leet” speak. While I won’t get into the history of it, it is a viable way of naming your characters. Transposing a letter with a number, like ‘3' for ‘E’. Or using a combination of various letters or punctuation to make one letter. Like using forward and backward slashes to make a “W”. Like this: \/\/. Now that’s nifty and all, but overall it is generally frowned upon by various reasons by the community which I won’t touch upon here. People use it to try to get away from having a violation type name. My biggest pet peeve about this is that it’s mind numbingly difficult to invite people like this to teams when typing it out. I suggest you try more traditional types of methods before resorting to this. Please!


Okay, lastly, here are two links that have ‘name generators’ to help you in your ultimate search for that great name:

Super Villain Name Generator

Seventh Sanctum


Remember to enjoy yourself, and maybe one day your new character will be remembered with the likes of Paragons best, and The Rogue Isles worst!



{Disclaimer: If I accidentally used anyones character names in here as examples, it is most definitely not intentional! Oh, and "assassin" is spelled like that <-----, Okay? }

I remember that day when I worked a double at the plant, came home and did some work on my house that I am renovating.

Exausted and on the verge of passing out I logged into the forums to look at some builds in the AT forums and saw alot of crying on things 'used to be'. Bleary eyed and tounge-in-cheek I wrote a silly, sleep deprived story and posted it.

12k views and a few rednames later, I still don't remember writing any of the content of the OP...

Hahahaha

[ QUOTE ]
If you get to play the cranky old man after a year and a half, what does that make those of us who have a year on you?

[/ QUOTE ]

Hehe, Amber

I actually have been here since November of '04 though. I was still skipping back and forth between this game and SW:G. I found that I really liked it here much more.

I didn't really ever hit the forums for quite some time. I think my first character was in his late 30's maybe early forties when I knew I needed advice on how to build and slot and such. I found a really great guide on DM/REG here and followed it to the letter. I think I still have that printout someplace.

Besides that stuff, I do recall people were still doing lots of stuff in Perez. I also remember one or two of my them SG mates setting up the Kraken teams in the ASN. I thought it was really fun doing that, even though the XP gain was insane per hatchling, at least we all were fighting and not standing by the door. If I ever came across one of those teams herding something or dumpster diving, I bailed. Not fun.

Eh.. I guess my intention of my OP was a shout to all the newer people to just enjoy themselves now. We had our ups and downs then, just like they are now. It's all about the good times.

Oh yeah, final thought, I hated the Hollows real quick even back then. Haha.




What are you still doin' here?? I say get offa my lawn!!

Bad_influence inspired this old feller I tell ya. I read me a post just not hear long ago by bad, talking 'bout the golden days of June and July!

Well, pull up a seat and let me speak of days gone but not lost. Humor an old man.. willya!?

*puts 'veteran' hat on*


When I fist started way back in ought five, things weren't so bad. All of the PL'ed Winderlordy whippersnappers were too busy trying to figure out how to tank and slot flurry for maximum wiffage in P.I. (with three travel powers too! Heee!) They didn't have a clue nohow. They was asking heroes up there what was a Dreck and braggin' themselves up a storm by saying how six-slotted sprint was the next big thing! They were crazy kids then. Crazy!! I say!

Me? Well, I took in the sights and learned my ropes. I leveled the hard way, uphill in the Hollows both ways inna snow. The few old folks who came before ol' Tyrantula was kind enough to show me them there ropes. They taught me perma hasten and perma DP was the bees knees and the fitness pool was what all of those new kids were tryin'. I saw me an honest to goodness man on fire once collapse an entire warehouse fulla them kung-fooey types! I think that man, I remember his name well mind you.. It was 'burninatorade' or somesuch, he took about near a hunned of them poor china men and burnt 'em all! Them shiny beefcakes back then were only a myth too, you know the ones.. they said they was in-vul-ner-ab-le!

Why I used ta hear whispers of them 'vulnerable beefers, some say they usedta herd entire zones fulla men like cattle. CATTLE I SAY! I mighta even saw one of em once! She was all shiny and a glowin'. She told me to stay put behind this here plie o' boxes. In just a few minutes, I got me a might scared. I peeked around the corner and what did ol' Tyrantula see? Why she was bringin' a whole loada Freaky looking men a zappin-and-a-snappin mad as hornets right to old Ty! I got my spider rearend right on out of there!

There was whispers thay them there 'vulnerables were gods themselves! Blasphemy I say!

So.. I learnt me the hard way. I was just a smaller fella. Havin' spines and all stickin' out everywhere. They used ta laugh at old Ty, they called me names back then in them days. Called me gimp. gimp!! Why I'll show them! Now things weren't always so bright and big for Ty I mean to say. I had my share of goobers comin' on my teams and blastin' everything in sight! (Most of them feller blasters were still cryin' about some smoke grenade thingy-mcbob nerfer. Whatever that was)

But I learnt. I was a super-hero just ike in them comical books! Soon I was regenin' my way up the ladder to the mythical P.I. and those stories of herdin' wolves and that feller Dreck were callin' to me. (Now mind you whippersnappers, ol' Ty don't herd t'all. I just lays 'em out cold real quick like nowaday. Bad knees and all.)

Things were fun back then, the sun seemed to shine right outta my rear end. I swear to ya, I saw the light of the lord allmighty when I got that Instant Healin' toggle! Them mythical 'vulnerables didn't have nothin' on old Ty!

Then that dirty feller rode inta town. That feller was so mean and nasty, he didn't even have a name. People just called him by his initials. He went by the name E.D.

That feller shot everyone down, made everyone beg fer mercy. He was powerful, that E.D. He took everything ol' Ty knew and turned it upside down! *wheeze*

But.. I learnt again. I got me back to being all powerful again. But them poor beefcakes weren't nomore. Old E.D. got the best of 'em. Last I hear they livin' up there inna moutains, somewhere out there where E.D. can't go. *sniff*

So let this be a lesson to ya you young whippersnappers! Enjoy what you have while you have it partner. Ifin ya have a bad day, or find yerself onna team when things ain't goin' so swell just laugh like old Ty.

After all, you coulda been born back in ought five and been one of them Winderlordy children!

Now get offa my lawn!

*grumbles*



(Just for fun folks. Just for fun. And I love the game just how it is! )