jchinds

Doctor Genevieve Miller, the woman known to the public at large as New Frontier, sat in her faculty office at Paragon City University. During her 40 years in space, the changes in education tools moved from slide rules and chalkboards to LCD projectors and online whiteboards. Her students always had the answers for her equations in astrophysics, mostly thanks to their fancy calculators. The Intro to Astronomy students always seemed to be busy with their notebook computers, typing those instagrams to each other or whatever the new favorite IM program was. Instant messages, text messages, all of it distracted the students. Actual handmade models weren't enough of an attraction, either. You had to have 3D computer graphics... and that damnable Powerpoint! The sad part was that thanks to all this overstimulation the art of calculating things and figuring them out in your head or on paper had fallen by the wayside.

A devious smile crept across her face. She locked the door to her office and flew down the hallway. It was time to raid the supply closets and the AV room. Maybe even the bookstore would have what she needed. A few hours later, she had all the requisite materials for her master plan.

The next class session in Astrophysics was surprisingly well-attended after she sent out the "Free swag for attendance" email to all her students. Most of them milled around their seats in the auditorium until class started.

"Okay, class," New Frontier's voice echoed from the back of the hall, "this section is actually going to require you to put those laptops, cellphones and calculators away."

There was a general murmur of confusion and disapproval.

"And I WILL know if you're using electronics around me," she said as she hovered over the students in the outfit she wore during her mission through the solar system.

The students gasped.

"Yes, as you can see, your professor is a registered hero, New Frontier's the name if you must know. What can you tell me about that name?"

One student raised his hand. "That's one of those songs from the 80s by Thomas Dolby, right?"

"Wrong answer, but thanks for playing! 'New Frontier' was a term used by President Kennedy to describe the need for a manned space program."

"Yeah, but it was a song in the 80s, too," the student said. "And I know it was Thomas Dolby who did it."

Another student piped up. "It was Donald Fagen! It was his anthem to the broken promises of the 60s! Read the cddb notes some time, geez!"

Dr. Miller looked over the students who belabored her point. "That's nice. Can either of you virtuosos tell me what class you're in?"

"Uh, I'm a sophomore," said the first.

New Frontier sighed, floating across the room. "Wrong."

"We're in Principles of Astrophysics?" the second student asked.

"Are you?" the harried professor asked with a displeased look on her face.

"Uh, yes?"

"You don't have a definitive answer on what class you are attending right at this moment?"

"Didn't I just tell you?"

"No, you guessed. You asked me if you were in Principles of Astrophysics. Apparently, this is Remedial English since you can't tell the difference between a question and a declarative sentence," Dr. Miller grumbled. The students laughed nervously.

"Seriously, people, it's 10:15 in the morning. You should be awake and alert. To help you become more alert, I've decided to give out the free swag I promised."

The students perked up, waiting to see what she was handing out.

She floated across the room, placing slide rules, mechanical pencils, paper, and freshly-printed excerpts of a monograph about NASA's early years.

"You're weak. You let the computers do the calculations for you now. How many of you have tried calculating the answers to any of my questions in your head or on paper?" she asked sternly.

Five hands went up out of thirty students.

"Okay, of your five who raised your hands, how many of you are lying just to please the teacher and get her off your case?"

Five hands stayed up. Dr. Miller shook her head.

"Pathetic. You're all pathetic. Fortunately for you, I am a harsh but merciful mistress. The keys to your salvation are in front of you. The items I've placed in your hands are some of the cutting-edge tools we used when I was finishing up my Ph.D. That was 1954, but who's counting, really?"

The students seemed shocked.

"Yes. You're looking at a woman who is 77. Thanks to the powers of Science, bombardment by previously undefined types of cosmic energy, clean living and regular exercise, I'm still as youthful as on my... well, we'll just say my 29th birthday. Close enough."

Another student raised his hand. "I can't measure anything with this ruler!"

"It's for calculating natural logarithms."

"Oh. Can't I use my calculator instead?"

New Frontier floated over to the young man. "Apparently my earlier demand that no electronics were to be used today was too subtle. We're going to have some fun generating numbers today, as we'll be using these non-electronic devices to recreate the necessary calculations for a moon orbit."

"But didn't they use computers for that?"

"The computers were originally there to check our math, not do it for us," Dr. Miller said. "And that's what you'll be doing from now on. Now, let's start with a basic launch procedure, acceleration, and achieving low-earth orbit. From there we'll work on trajectory, relative velocities, and all sorts of fun to just get us near the moon."

Dr. Miller hovered down to the waiting overhead projector, turned it on, and placed a nicely mimeographed acetate sheet on the faceplate. "I believe this is what you kids call 'old school' math. First things first: how much rocket fuel will..."

"Serv'd! is next on A&E."

Hephaestus 1 and his faithful camera crew were nowhere near the District Courts building.

"We've got the day off today, guys, so I thought I'd show viewers outside the Paragon City area one of the newest places where heroes hang out. So, this is sort of Heph's Day Off," the big blue cyborg said. With that, the trio was off in the SUV once more. Heph continued the commentary while driving.

"I think this is where I talk about how living the life of a Registered Hero is sort of quote-unquote 'The Life.' Some kind of hoo-ha about how it's got its good days and its bad days, but you just take 'em as they come, or some such. I just wish I could sound as believable as they do on 'Reno 911' because that show cracks me up." He turned on to the Argo Bridge, heading into Talos Island.

"I loved being a cop. It wasn't the badge, the gun, or the abuse of authority- back in Chicago, bribery and regular beatings of local troublemakers were the norm when I was growing up- that appealed to me. It was seeing people, you know, the ones who thought that decent people were suckers, seeing those guys get taken out of society. Or at least elected into office where we could keep our eye on them." Heph drove on a little more.

"If someone said to me 'Mick, we'll send you back in time to when you got out of the Marines as long as you don't become a cop' I'd tell them to get *bleep*ed. Somebody's got to watch out for the regular folks, even if it means getting as dirty as the criminals sometimes. I'm glad it doesn't happen as much as it used to anymore. You have to be able to trust the people who say they're protecting you even when you're not giving them a 'neighborhood Christmas bonus' in August." He finally pulled the SUV into a parking place.

"Well, here we are. Wentworth's. Pure, unbridled, cutthroat capitalism at its finest and at its worst," Heph said, sweeping his arm across the shot of dozens of heroes surrounding auctioneers like a horde of commodities traders on speed. "Some folks like to bring over blueprints and other assorted crap from their cases to see what it's worth. Then there are the market-cornering guys. I swear if Gordon Gecko was real he'd look at them and say 'You complete me' with quivering lip and orchestral score."

Heph walked over to a computer terminal and pulled a patch cable from the back of his neck. "I have to check a couple things I've got up for auction. Won't be a second."

The camera crew stood there while Heph stood silently while he checked his numerous transactions. You could see the camera move a bit nervously, as the recording crew started getting bored.

After a few more seconds, Heph unplugged from the terminal. "Okay! I made a tidy sum on those blueprints, so I know I've got enough for spare parts. Hmm. Let's pester someone at random." Heph turned from side to side, looking for a likely subject, the antennae on his earpieces twitching here and there. Suddenly, Heph found his target and walked quickly to the unwary hero. His camera crew followed in the usual shaky style.

"CC! Hey!" Heph yelled. A younger hero covered from neck to feet in blue-dyed leather fighting gear and matching sunglasses looked over to the noisy cyborg and waved. "Okay, guys, this is the Cobalt Claymore. Huh. Looks like he got back either from a long motorcycle ride or else leather is the new spandex. CC, how's things? You know the camera crew, right?"

The Cobalt Claymore looked into the camera. "Uh, no. Hey there, cable and satellite tv subscribers. I'm the Cobalt Claymore, a registered hero like Heph here. He's just lucked out and gotten a tv gig."

"So, tell us," Heph continued, "what has your experience been at Wentworth's?"

"It's been all right. I've sold off a bunch of stuff I didn't need and made a nice profit. A really nice profit," CC said. "I've got enough now to restock my portable armory. Exploding shuriken don't grow on trees, you know."

"Right. So, anyway, have you gotten any exclusive stuff here?" Heph asked.

"Not really. I've gotten a few bargains here and there, but nothing neat. I have found some things, though, that are really rare here but plentiful in the Isles and vice versa."

"So you know, CC here just found himself in the Rogue Isles for a few months. Long story, too," Heph said.

"And a boring one, so don't ask," the Cobalt Claymore added. "Anyway, it's weird to see some things from Isles show up here, as this is only stuff you'd find on the black market there. Which makes me suspicious, honestly."

"So, there's a mystery to be solved?" Heph asked.

"Yes. Let's check the dock and see who's there."

The two walked around back to the large gated loading dock. A light blue tractor-trailer was pulled in, with some workers loading it up with goods.

"Wait," the Cobalt Claymore said, "Heph, that's the same truck I saw in Sharkhead a few weeks back! They're smuggling out our stuff!"

"That's impossible!" Heph replied. "There's no way that would happen."

"Why not?" CC asked.

"Because I know that truck."

The Cobalt Claymore's eyebrow shot up over his sunglasses. "What?"

"I know that truck. He'd never do anything like that." Heph walked over to the light blue truck cab. "Hey, Ops. What's shaking?"

The truck's lights blinked on. "Oh, man! Heph! You never saw me here, man! This isn't what it looks like! I promise on the Spark! It's not what you think it is!"

CC stood there. "The truck talked. Heph, why is the truck talking?"

"Because, CC, Ops here is fellow member of COMMA, the Council On Modern Mecha-Americans," Heph said. "He's a self-aware android. Just incognito."

The truck started shaking. "Oh man, Heph, could you go away? I don't want you to see me like this."

"What's wrong, Ops?"

"I need the stuff, Heph. The special stuff. You know." the truck said, its voice quavering.

"Oh, Ops. That's impossible. You're not on the EG, are you?"

"I... I'm sorry, Heph! It's true! I'm an Enerjunkie! I need help, but my friends don't come around much after the incident with Buzzbeetle."

"Buzzbeetle?" the Cobalt Claymore asked.

"Another self-aware android who's incognito. But younger. Much younger."

"I'll carry that to the day I'm recycled, Heph," the truck said. "I never told Buzzbeetle to watch out for the street racers. The next thing I knew, he was sporting kanji on his rear windshield, even though he was German-designed. Then came the spinners... and the performance parts."

"I remember when he refused to hang out at the COMMA meetings because he said we didn't understand," Heph said sadly.

"Before long, he was hitting the-" the truck seemed to stifle a sob, which sounded more like trying to start an already started car, "the Tokyo Drift. Hard core. He'd race all night, Drifting and sharing gas with other racers. He didn't know a single one."

The camera crew turned to the Cobalt Claymore, who shrugged.

"I know, Ops, but he made those decisions based on his own programming."

"All of a sudden, he's showing his chromed-out engine to every two-bit car site on the internet! I mean, if it was tasteful, like Road & Track, that'd be one thing, but this... this wasn't Road & Track."

"You don't mean-" Heph started.

"Yes," the truck interrupted. "He was part of the hardcore VW set. Beetlemania.com, Bugzap.com, Bigoldjettas.com, all of them. Pretty soon, he was even showing them his sparkplugs, and letting strange mechanics work on him."

"Yeah. Then we found him that one night, vapored out on avgas, burned piston heads, and wrapped around that viaduct support." Heph grabbed a can of oil from off-camera, opened it, and poured it on the ground. "Buzzbeetle, we miss you, man."

The truck started sobbing, making that same grinding starter noise. "He was only a 2003 model, by the Spark! Why was he taken from us so soon?" the truck cried out.

"It's okay, Ops," Heph said as he hugged the cab as best as he could. "It's okay. Buzzbeetle's in a better place now. Where he is, he's got the touch and the power, like we all will some day."

The truck kept making horrid grinding sounds.

"I... better go," the Cobalt Claymore said. "This is awkward." The young hero headed back towards the tram as the light blue truck made more grinding noises.

"Sometimes, Ops... sometimes we get there too late to make a difference. But you need to clean up, get a full flush and fill, and stop doing these long hauls to the Isles. I'm not going to let another Mecha-American make an early date with the compactor. Not on my watch!" Heph said. One of his antenna raised out further.

"Hello, Triple A? This is Hephaestus 1. I've got a truck with some serious engine and fuel problems here. Wentworth's in Talos Island, at the loading dock. Hurry, please. Yes, I'll stay with the truck." He looked over at the tractor-trailer. "It's okay, Ops, I'll be right here. Stay with me, man!"

The screen faded to black with the picture of a sunburst yellow VW Beetle with a similarly-colored android superimposed in the background.

BUZZBEETLE 2003-2007

"For more ways on how you can keep your sentient transforming android vehicle away from vicious street racers and out of the "custom culture," call the Triple A helpline 24 hours a day 7 days a week at 1-866-455-KITT. Or visit the 'KITT Korner' website at kittkorner.com for more information."

Tommy woke up with the sun on his face. His room in the apartment had a south-facing window, so it was pretty late in the day. He checked his schedule, showing that he had the entire day off. Sitting up was the first part of actually getting out of bed, and Tommy had only reached that part of being awake where your mind was working, but your body still wanted sleep. Tommy's metal arms clacked and whirred as the servos were used for the first time in hours. He bolted straight up, throwing the covers off of his bed like normal. The young cyborg was not known for keeping a tidy room; spare parts for his cybernetics, his car, and his computer were stuck in every available place he could find. He put his hand back down on the mattress.

Funny, he didn't remember anyone else being there. Then he remembered that Saya was staying with his family for a couple of weeks. Tommy looked over at his girlfriend, who was still sleeping. He watched her for a second as she truned over to face him, then remembered that she was supposed to have taken the couch to sleep on. He very gingerly crawled over his girlfriend to get to the floor, then put the covers back on the bed. As softly as possible, he crept out of the room, hoping his mother wasn't there to notice what had happened.

No such luck. Tommy's mother was sitting there, drinking a cup of decaf while reading the newspaper.

"Good mornin', Ma," Tommy said as he went to rummage through the fridge.

His mother put down the paper. "Coffee is on, but it's decaf. Doctor's orders. I would have made breakfast for everyone, but I didn't know when you two were going to get up. Your sister's at the Mega Mart. Something about needing more printer paper."

Tommy found an orange in the crisper and brought it out. "Eh, is Saya up already? I thought she'd be in here helpin' ya out," he said, peeling the orange and hoping his mother didn't notice.

"No, considering that she's in your room, I'd guess she was still asleep." Tommy's mother turned a few more pages in the paper. "Hmph, nothing but ads in this paper anymore."

Tommy blinked. "Yer not gonna yell at me 'cause Saya snuck inta bed with me?"

"No," his mother said.

"An' yer not gonna go inta a long lecture 'bout how we shouldn't be doin' such awful things, even if we ain't doin' 'em at the moment?"

"No," she said again.

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"Well, we didn't do anything."

"I know, Tommy."

"An' I wasn't plannin' on doin' anything, anyways," he said.

"Yes, we've gone over that before, Tommy."

Tommy looked around, scanning the kitchen for hidden cameras. He switched his dataglasses over to see various light wavelengths and readouts. The person in front of him was definitely his mother.

"Okay, so why ain't ya flippin' out an' blamin' me fer havin' a girlfriend who wants ta sleep in the same bed as me?"

"Because it's not your fault, Tommy," his mother said.

Tommy sat there, a few wedges of orange left in his hand. "Okay, now yer scarin' me, Ma. I ain't used to ya bein', well, nice ta me."

"Tommy, I was so scared to see you or your sister get killed fighting crime that I let my fear take over and turn into open hostility against you. It's taken me a couple of years to get used to you being a hero, much less one who's grown up without a good mother," his mother said, trying to explain what had gone on in the past few years. "I had to face my fears and beat them, and realize that I was hurting you, Claire, and your father. I'm not sure what I'll do to make it up to everyone, either. You've all put up with an irrational woman very patiently."

Tommy finished up the last orange wedge. "Okay, but this is gonna take some adjustment, y'know?"

Tommy's mother put the front section of the paper down, and picked up the Metro section. "One thing, though. Even if Saya crawls in bed with you, you're not doing anything. This is still my house, and I still make the rules."

Tommy smiled a bit. "Gotcha, Ma."

"Even if you have broken those rules before."

Tommy winced. "How'd ya know?"

"I have ways of making people talk," his mother said from behind the latest photo of heroes fighting Lusca. This time it was her turn to smile.

"Serv'd! is next on A&E."

Hephaestus 1 and his faithful film crew were back in the District Courts building, waiting for one of Larry McGonigle's latest cases. After a few minutes, Larry came in wearing a neckbrace. He sat down and looked over at Heph, scowling.

"This is all your fault, O'Flannagan," Larry said. "Thanks to you, I might have a broken neck! And this just had to happen right before my role as the tough-but-well-meaning Yugo in 'Brick Landers IS Brick Ford Lotus in TURBO KILL RACE 10!', didn't it?" the court liaison whined.

"Tough but well-meaning Yugo?" Heph asked, wishing he could raise an eyebrow incredulously.

"It's a kids' movie."

"Turbo Kill Race--" Heph started.

"It's 'Brick Landers IS Brick Ford Lotus in TURBO KILL RACE 10!', get the title right!" Larry interrupted.

Heph just sort of sat there for a second.

"How is that a kids' movie?" the big blue cyborg asked.

"Well, it's animated, for starters," Larry explained, "and by using the latest in motion capture technology and CGI, Paragon Film Partners can make a great animated movie!"

"What's the usual budget for a Paragon Film Partners movie, Lar?"

"Uhm, about $250 total."

"Including paying you guys?"

"Yes. But now that role is going to someone else!" Larry whined. "Because you tried breaking my neck!"

Heph waved his hands in front of him. "Larry, Larry, Larry! I didn't try to break your neck! I was just congratulating you for pulling one over on me! You really got me with that last assignment, so I thought I'd let you know there were no hard feelings by congratulating you."

"You congratulated me through a wall! That was no ordinary back-slap, Heph!"

"Oops," Heph said with a shrug. "Sometimes I don't know my own strength. Anyway, who's the person who gets the papers today?"

Larry turned to his computer. "Well, this week you've got an assignment in Atlas Park. It seems there's some sort of disagreement between MAGI representatives, and now Azuria has slapped a defamation suit on Gregor Sanderson."

"For what?"

"For spreading the rumor that she's the one who always loses stuff out of the MAGI Vault, apparently."

Heph scratched his head. "I thought that was true, though."

"Well, Gregor has decided to file a countersuit claiming she holds wild parties in the Vault and leaves without locking the place up at night."

"Wild parties, hmm?" Heph pondered. "Looks like a job for me."

The hero and his faithful recorders arrived at City Hall, with Heph double-parking on a shotgun-wielding Hellion. "Eh," he shrugged, "I'll put out the Official Business placard and not worry about the ticket." With that, the hero and his sidekicks walked to the MAGI office.

The Fallen Buckshot twitched a bit. "I'm all right!" he yelled weakly, showing a thumbs-up. "No, wait, Mr. Gall Bladder is supposed to be inside not outside! I'm not all right! I need an adult! I NEED AN ADULT!"

The trio arrived at the MAGI office after wading through a horde of catgirls in various states of costumery and uninspired heroes with names like "Bobzorz148" and "I EAT PASTE MAN."

"Five bucks says those guys are on the two-week hero fantasy camp tour," Heph grumbled.

Eventually, the three got to the MAGI office. The room was filled with numerous people who could only be called groupies. Some of them even had little Rikti Monkeys in their handbags, just like Azuria did.

Heph walked directly over to Azuria. "Good morning, Azuria, I'm here to serve you with a subpoena from the District Courts of Rhode Island."

Azuria looked at him blankly. "That's hot."

"What's hot?"

"You said 'subpoena,'" Azuria said. "Not many guys can say that without laughing. So are you going to, like, show me your legal briefs and pro bono?"

"No, I'm going to give you these papers and tell you that you need to show up next Wednesday at the District Courts building."

"Right. You know who I am, right? I'm Azuria."

"Yes. So, is it true you hold those wild parties in the Vault?"

"Oh yeah! I mean, it's just old and crusty masks and cloaks. We really need to make new magic stuff," the MAGI representative said vapidly. "I think one of the videos accidentally got leaked out a few years back."

"Hmm. This explains why some members of the Young Phalanx always talk about the Christmas Party Video." Heph said.

"Oh, it was Christmas? I totally dig that Santa Claus was born then. That's really important to know. And I look good in a red and green Christmas outfit." Azuria stared blankly into space. The Rikti Monkey in her purse looked up at her and fired a psionic blast at her, jolting her back to consciousness.

"Oh! Right, so are you really saying that I have to go to court?"

Heph tilted his head a bit. "Yes. And did that Rikti Monkey just shoot you with a psionic blast?"

"Yeah," Azuria said. "It's cool. It's what everyone's doing at the clubs these days. We call it the Monkey Shot. because that's a cool name."

Heph looked at the camera. "Okay, I have been both weirded out and mildly disgusted today, which makes this a new record, I think." He turned back to Azuria. "Look, show up unless you want to go to jail."

"They can't take me unless there's a book deal in it for me," the MAGI rep said.

Heph just shook his head and walked out. "I can't even do the tagline. That's... just too much for me."

Meanwhile, Gregor Anderson was watching the filming through a scrying mirror. "Excellent," he hissed. "Soon I will control both MAGI offices and finally get the new fax machine that I deserve!"

Behind him, a dozen Council Galaxies ran into the wide-open vault and ran back out carrying off all manner of mystical goods. Soon, all that could be heard of them was their ululating battlecry of "COUNCIL-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!!!" A young hero ran up to Gregor to inform him of the theft.

"Gregor! Dude! A bunch of gimps in purple spandex just stole the Bunarotti Cipher and the Crown of MacGuffin!"

Gregor turned to the young hero and waved his hand in a circular motion. "Azuria left the door open again."

"Azuria left the door open again," the hero repeated with a blank stare.

"It's all Azuria's fault," Gregor said with another wave of his hand.

"It's all Azuria's fault," the hero repeated.

"And get me a fishwich for lunch," the MAGI rep said.

"I will get you a fishwich for lunch," the hero said as he walked out of the office.

Yes, Gregor Sanderson was ready for the second phase of his plan for total domination of the MAGI offices. He went back to the scrying mirror, an evil smile on his face.

"Soon, all will bow to the power of Gregor!" he said with an evil laugh.

Back in Atlas Park, Hephaestus 1 shuddered.

"Is it me or did it just get dumber in this city?" he asked as he and his film crew got in the truck and left.

"The doctor will see you now."

Todd Galahad, known as the Cobalt Claymore to the world at large, fidgeted nervously as he picked up the book he'd been reading and placed it into a bookbag. The office was quiet, lots of nice neutral colors, probably soundproofed a little more to make sure no one could overhear the conversations within. A stereo played some off-brand of quiet meditation music. Even the lights were pleasant, not the usual purplish glow of fluorescent bulbs found in most medical offices. Todd stood up and mentally calculated time from the couch to the door that led to the hallway, from the couch to the doctor's office, figuring out what floor he was on in case he was visited by his mother's goon squad, whether his microporter would have a strong enough signal to summon the weapons he needed and--

Tood took a deep breath and walked into the doctor's office. He was trying to be as calm as he could.

"Uh, hi, Doctor Rutherford," Todd said. "You were, uh, recommended by a former teacher of mine."

Doctor Rutherford was sitting a nice contemporary-style chair, which blended nicely with the Southwestern motif used to decorate the office. He motioned over to Todd with a thick, muscular hand. "Yes. Please, sit down. If you like you can lay back as well. It's a cliche, but sometimes cliches work."

"Heh, thanks. Uhm, should I have come in civilian clothes instead? I didn't know what to wear." Todd felt very self-conscious in his costume all of a sudden. Hopefully he'd kept well enough to the shadows to not advertise his destination. What would the citizens of Paragon City think if they saw one of their heroes walking into a psychiatrist's office, after all?

"Well, I did ask you to wear what makes you most comfortable," the doctor said. "If it's your costume, then by all means wear it."

"Oh. Right," Todd said. "Uhm, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to start this. I just have a lot of things on my mind, and I need some counseling, I guess."

"What's the most pressing thing on your mind right now?" the doctor asked. The pencil he was using for his notes seemed tiny compared to the hand that held it.

"Well, first there's the whole incident with meeting my mother..." Todd began, relating the incident that caused him to be kidnapped by his mother, to start a path of criminal activity in the Rogue Isles, and finally the escape and rescue by his fellow heroes. Doctor Rutherford made note after note on the grey legal pad, nodding every so often and making sure that Todd didn't stop talking until he was done.

"So, uhm, I guess that's it. If I had to summarize, my guess is that I've got guilt over getting my team killed, I'm in shock because of meeting a family that I never knew at all, my conscience has bothered me since that bank robbery even if I was exonerated of willful participation, and well, a feeling I've bothered everyone for having to rescue me."

"Hmm," the Doctor said. "That IS a lot to keep on your mind at once."

"Well, I don't want it causing any trouble in my relationships with my friends, my fellow heroes, or especially my girlfriend. My dad always told me that I should always figure out a solution by myself so others won't have to worry," Todd said.

"Your father was a big believer in self-reliance?"

"Yes. It's one of the reasons why I took the identity of the Coblat Claymore when he died. That's something the identity stood for, I think," Todd said. "As a hero, he had to be there to help others, so he couldn't ever be stuck in a situation where he needed help."

"Really? Well, what else can you tell me about him?"

Todd went further into detail about his father.

The back bar at the K of C Hall was sparsely attended as usual. A few of the old-timers got together and talked about the local stuff, the neighborhood gossip, stories about everyone "back in the day."

"Didja hear 'bout Bill?" one of the old-timers said.

"No, is he still at Crowne?" the white-haired bartender said.

"He just died last night. Jane just about followed him, she's still in shock over it."

The bartender looked down. He'd been cleaning the mug with the name "Bill" etched into it on one side, the badge of the Knights on the other side.

"Dammit," the bartender mumbled. "I thought they'd fixed that heart bypass he got done back in '82."

"It was old age and all that coffee if you ask me. You know Bill though. Quit smoking after the War, drank a beer at lunch and at dinner, an' all those kids? You'da thought him an' Jane was in some kinda sex marathon!" the old patron said with a wheezy chuckle. "I'd have bet money that his heart would be the last thing to go!"

The bartender ran his liver-spotted hand over the mug one more time, and a bit of smile showed up. "Seemed like every other year they were having kids, Gino," the bartender said. "Remember how he kept trying to find out what Atlas' real name was? He wanted to name his first son the same thing."

"He never told me why that was, though," Gino said.

"You never heard? Bill was there when the Germans attacked Paragon. He even got in the newspaper, too. Hang on, let me go find that scrapbook." The bartender went into the back office of the hall, looking through all its records.

A few minutes later, the bartender came back with an old black photo album, the cloth covering worn down to the pressboard in a few spots. He flipped through the pages of stories about golf tournaments, dances, ordinations, baseball league championships and other social news. There on a page of its own was a picture of a young man in a white t-shirt and jeans in front of a wrecked German U-Boat. His wavy dark hair, optimistic smile and cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth made him into the immediate poster boy for the start of the war.

"Here it is. 'Dockworker Routs Krauts." Never see a headline like that anymore, do you?" the bartender said.

"Nope, not at all. Gotta be sensitive. Huh! Says here that Bill dropped a pile of girders on that U-Boat while the Germans were climbing out of it. Took out the deck gun and punched a hole in the ship. Apparently it kept the Germans from using that part'a the docks 'cause the U-Boat wreckage woulda damaged the troopships. Ended up funnelin' 'em right towards Atlas. I think that's kinda how Atlas wanted it, ya know? He seemed ta like a good stand-up fight."

"Yep. When Atlas and all those other heroes beat the Fifth Column boys back onto their ships, they looked up at the crane that kept dropping stuff on the enemy. And there was Bill, working those levers in the gantry like a madman and puffing away on his fifth Chesterfield."

"You'd think Bill woulda crowed about that every chance he got," Gino said. The old man flipped through the scrapbook some more. "This article says he got a Registered Hero badge outta the deal, too. I never saw that in his house. What'd he do, keep in his sock drawer?"

"Nah. Check the wall."

On the wall in between all the various service awards their fellow Knights had won was a small space for the various registered heroes who were part of the St. Florian Council #759. Most of them had grown up in the neighborhood except for the recent additions of the Cobalt Claymore and Hephaestus 1. Among the various awards and pictures of old neighborhood-native heroes like Haymaker Higgins and Doctor Lightning and The Pipewrench, there was picture of Bill in a new sailor's uniform and shaking Statesman's hand. There was a nicely-lettered certificate giving Bill the status of "Registered Hero, On Loan to the United States Navy for the Duration of the War" and a simple steel badge with the old Paragon City crest on it.

Gino smiled a bit. "You know a guy for your entire life and he never tells you anything," he said as he wiped the dust off of the badge. "I guess he took the secret identity thing to heart."

"Nah," the old bartender said. "He just thought it was something that everybody'd do in the same situation."

The bartender set Bill's Mug on a shelf with a dozen other mugs like it, never to be used out of respect for the dead.

Boredom was currently Tommy Pachowski's enemy. He sat there in his black and blue mortarboard and graduation gown surrounded by his similarly-attired classmates from St. Ignatius' Men's Preparatory Academy. The girls from St. Mary Magdalene Women's College wore something similar in a lighter color of blue and white. He was sure the combined graduating class looked like some kind of massive bruise. This was the first year both schools held a graduation exercise on the same day. So instead of a nice short ceremony, he'd have twice the amount of people ahead of him, twice the number of valedictorian and salutatorian speeches, twice the number of National Honor Society honorees to watch getting their cords. If he shifted his dataglasses over to an Internet feed, he'd miss his name being called. So, he sat and endured the speeches.

As always, someone just had to start off with some tripe about changes. Tommy looked at his classmate, Jay Oxford.

"An' again, our changes in life change us as it changes the world around us, thus creating change for the environment an' puppies," Tommy muttered sarcastically. Jay's normally serious face broke into a grin and the young man shook as he stifled a laugh.

"But without change, how can we as people grow into mature human beings, cognizant of the humanity that matures as we grow up?" Jay whispered back in a snide tone, still grinning. This time it was Tommy's turn to hide a laugh. He coughed loudly.

"We feel that feelings allow our emotions to feel the pain of the world around us as well as the joy'a feelin' emotional," Tommy shot back quickly. "Fer the shallow waters'a our emotions run deep."

Jay wiped a tear away from under his glasses. "Man, that's beautiful."

The girl next to Tommy nudged him, grinning maliciously. "Shh, don't you get it? We're the future of tomorrow! And if yesterday was just today's memory, we have to make plans to remember the future to make it happen."

Tommy looked at his newest co-conspirator. "That's beautiful. Welcome ta the tribe."

The three students sat for the next thirty minutes mocking their fellow students and snickering all the while.

Eventually, the droning speeches ended, forgotten as quickly as they were heard. Everyone had one thing on their mind: getting out of a sweltering auditorium. Finally, the students' names were called one by one, with varying levels of applause.

"Tommy Pachowski." Finally. He stood up, walked to where Father Ray was handing out the diplomas to the young men, took the diploma in one metal hand and shook Father Ray's hand with the other.

"Thanks, Padre," Tommy whispered.

The old priest smiled back and motioned for Tommy to head back to his seat. Tommy suddenly realized he was taking too long and rushed back. Jay and the girl from St. Mary's were about to take their seats.

"Sorry, gang," Tommy whispered. "I mugged fer the camera. It's a hero thing." He grinned and Jay just shook his head.

"And they yet let you graduate, Tommy," Jay said.

"Huh," Tommy said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I didn't know ya could sign a diploma in crayon."

The three graduates laughed, further adding to the joyous atmosphere. Finally the last students received their diplomas, and the headmistress of St. Mary Magdalene's, Mother Faustina, had the closing remarks.

"Congratulations," she said, giving them the traditional Nun Stare of Death, Disappointment and Disapproval, "you have all managed to pass these rigorous years of education, discipline, and maturation. I'll remember all of you little troublemakers," she said as the stern facade gave way to a cheeky expression, "and I'll miss you all as much as I'll miss the ones who paid attention. You've all done very well, and our respective teaching staffs have been honored to be your teachers. Now go out into the world as proud graduates of St. Ignatius' and St. Mary Magdalene's. This graduation exercise is over. Good luck and God bless."

Tommy and his compatriots stood up with their classmates, switching their tassels to the other side of the mortarboard, then flinging the caps into the air with a cheer.

"Wow," the girl said. "I think The Penguin actually shed a tear at the end."

"Yeah," Tommy said. "She's definitely hidin' in her habit, an' it ain't due ta bein' shy."

The three students separated to join their families. Tommy Pachowski had finally graduated. His mother, father and sister were there, dressed as formally as the situation allowed. His dad's lapel was nearly lopsided with the various pins of his K of C groups, and Claire was digging through her purse to find her Young Phalanx communicator.

"Tommy," Claire said as the two young heroes' parents mingled with other parents, "I think there's a robbery in Faultline that needs attention. We better go."

"Let the others handle it first, squirt," Tommy said. "Back Yard Boom and Emo Catgirl are listed as Priority One Calls Only today."

The communicator stopped buzzing as someone else responded to the alert. Tommy and Claire looked around for their parents.

Suddenly, Tommy saw someone he didn't expect to see here, much less see in the country right now.

"Saya?"

His girlfriend grabbed a portal trip over from Shizuoka, apparently. And this wasn't the weirdly-coiffed and outrageously-clothed girl he normally talked to about the team's manga designs, either. She was wearing a simple black dress highlighted with gold trim, with jewelry that matched the tone of the gold trim. Her wild green hair was styled in loose curls with the bangs held back by matching gold barettes... and had returned to its natural black-chestnut mix.

Tommy stood there staring. "Uh, wow. Uhm, ya match. And coordinate. This ain't, uh, normal."

Saya smiled sweetly. "Yes, Tommy, I can occasionally dress up. Besides I-- Tommy! Careful with the heels!"

Tommy had shot over to Saya's side and swept her into his arms.

"'Allo, beh-bee," Tommy said in his best imitation of Pepe Le Pew. "Come wiz me to zee Cazbah."

Saya laughed. Tommy smiled. Claire made her usual little sister gagging motion behind them.

For once, Tommy Pachowski felt genuinely happy. He'd seen his mother through a difficult period of rehabilitation from alcohol and the Family's special grade of Superadine, he'd seen his girlfriend's career as a hero start and end quickly, watched as his little sister took on tougher and tougher challenges alongside him in the Young Phalanx, and managed to make a good living at his custom car garage.

Tommy wasn't sure when he'd ever been happier in his life.

((Wow. From a desperate tale of human trafficking to making Pee Wee's Big Adventure references. That's pretty cool.))

Serv'd! is next on A&E.

Hephaestus 1 stood in front of the District Courts building again, his recording crew faithfully transcribing every second needed for a full show. The big blue cyborg walked to his usual seat by Larry McGonigle, his liaison with the court clerk's office. Unlike normal, Larry had a big smile on his face.

"Hey, who's the bright and chipper guy who replaced Larry?" Heph asked.

"Oh, it's me, O'Flannagan," Larry said, using Heph's real last name. "And I've got just the job for you today."

"Well, then," Heph said in a happy tone, "what's the situation?"

"Your assignment today involves taking the Peregrine Island Ferry," Larry said. "Because you've got a summons to serve for a plaintiff who is claiming his wages were withheld unjustly."

"Sure, sounds good. Who's the defendant?"

"A Mister Quarry, last known address was Monster Island," Larry said, his happy expression turning almost hysterically joyful. "You're just the guy I want serving papers to this Quarry guy."

"Monster Island? No one lives there except- oh, wait. Oh, *BLEEP*! You want me to go serve papers to a giant rock monster?"

"We've got a class-action suit against him on behalf of all the Bedrocks and Sentries in the area. He apparently owes them... ten thousand diamonds of the purest clarity... dang," Larry said. "That's a lot of diamonds!"

Heph grabbed the summons paperwork. "Monster Island, you've gotta be *BLEEP*ing kidding me!"

After a boring ferry ride out to Peregrine Island, Heph and his crew rented a small powerboat to take them to Monster Island.

"Okay, you guys just stay here and film by the boat," Heph said as he leapt towards the nearest clusters of giant monsters. "Okay, are you getting my radio transmissions? Good. All right."

Heph landed in the middle of a group of gigantic Devouring Earth creatures, his defenses maxed out. "Uh, good afternoon!" he shouted. "I'm looking for a Mr. Quarry!"

Five of the rock creatures looked at each other then at Heph.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" one roared.

"Uhm, Doug Quarry! That's who I'm looking for!"

The rock creatures looked at each other again.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" the first one roared.

Heph looked at the rock monster. "What do you mean 'racist remark'? I just asked for D- oh, I get it! Doug Quarry/ DUG Quarry! Got it! No, that's what's on the summons here. From Sentries and Bedrocks Union Local 8!"

"GRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" the monster roared.

"Open shop? Really?"

"GRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

"So there's no union."

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

"Boy is my face red," Heph said.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAWWWWWW!!!" a humongous mushroom creature shrieked.

"That's a figure of speech, Ms. Stropharia! I know that my face is actually blue armor with a white and black ceramic mouthguard!"

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!" the mushroom howled.

"Sorry! Mrs. Stropharia! I didn't see the ring!" Heph shouted back.

"GRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" a rock monster yelled from the back.

"Excuse me?"

"GRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

"No, I've never seen the Monster Island Stomp- HEY!" Heph yelled as the creature brought its foot down disturbingly close to Heph. "Watch out! You could kill someone with that!"

"GRRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

"Oh. Hey guys? GET BACK IN THE BOAT!!!" Heph yelled over the remote microphone. "GET IN THE BOAT!!! Head to the main island!"

The cameraman and sound recorder hustled into the boat, as evidenced by the shaky camera work. The camera man turned back around to see a small blue dot leaping away from the rock creature.

"Hey, buddy!" Heph shouted. "Do NOT use that tone of voice with me! I do smashing damage! That's good against you guys!"

"GRRRRRAAAAAHH!!!"

"Oh, you THINK that's a threat, I'll show you a--"

Giant rock foot met with blue metal backside as the rock creature kicked Heph across the bay.

"Oh, I am SO getting Larry for this when I get back. Filing a false claim in court? Those Bedrocks are gonna get SERV'D!"

Heph was still in the ascent phase of his boot-powered flight.

"Once I land."

The camera faded out as the camera could no longer track Heph in the distance.

One more week was all the time left to spend in this place. Then he'd be free. Well, he'd be free to go to work during the day on weekdays. That'd be pretty sweet.

"Mr. Pachowski, finals may be over and next week may only be for receiving test results and having papers returned, but we're still in class," Father Ray said.

"Sorry, Father," Back Yard Boom said in return. He looked at the uniform that he and his fellow students wore. Today was his last day of wearing it. After today, he'd be free to wear whatever he wanted to class, except for graduation ceremonies. That's when a suit was a necessity. All next week, though, no white shirt with blue tie and senior tie tack, no blue dress trousers, no black dress shoes. He could wear anything he wanted. So, he propped his head up with his hand and listened to what Father Ray had to say about next week's graduation ceremony.

Then it would be off to the working world for the summer then off to college at Paragon City U's Steel Canyon campus. There was also the trip to Japan to go visit Saya and touch base with the team's publisher and merchandisers. Well, it was mostly to visit Saya.

"Tommy, do you find this funny?" Father Ray asked.

"Huh?" Back Yard Boom asked. "Oh, no, Father, I was just visualizin' walkin' across the stage ta get my diploma," he lied, as he was thinking more about Saya and how to get her out of her powersuit quickly and efficiently.

"Well, remember that you'll be sharing the stage with the girls from St. Mary Magdalene. This is the first year that either they or St. Ignatius have done a co-ed graduation exercise."

"Right, Father. Be gentlemanly an' all that. I think I can do that." Back Yard Boom said.

Father Ray looked at the clock then back to his class. "Gentlemen, I have nothing further that I can really teach you. Our lessons have been done for a week, all your papers have been turned in and your finals are done. It's 10:30 in the morning, and the only thing I could do further is bore you with more stories about my mission trips to Nicaragua. I might be your teacher, but I'm not that mean. Be back here at 8:00 am on Monday."

The boys in the class sat there, trying to figure out what he was saying.

"Class is dismissed for the day. Go home, put those uniforms away, and go have fun. It's too nice outside for me to keep you here for the rest of the day."

The was a general murmuring as the boys grabbed their now-empty bookbags and walked out the classroom door. Shortly thereafter, footsteps echoed down the hall as the boys ran to their cars to be the first out of the parking lot.

The old priest watched the cars leave the lot, then sat down at his desk, going over the list of incoming freshmen. Another year, another 150 new students to mold into adults within four years.

The Knights of Columbus Hall near St. Florian's Church has a small members-only bar in the back, usually staffed by a couple of retirees with a couple more retirees as patrons. Hephaestus 1 and Back Yard Boom often met there along with the Cobalt Claymore as a place where the three of them could socialize in a bit more privacy with other heroes.

"So, this is where he wants it kept fer him, huh?" Back Yard Boom asked. "I'da thought he'd want this left at his boat or somethin'."

"Nope. He wants it here," Hephaestus 1 said. "The Longbow agents brought it to me along with his instructions."

Heph and Boomer sat down at the bar, calling over one of the bartenders. The old man was the head of the council, always ensuring the two youngest members of his council were kept out of trouble while at the hall. Eventually, he motioned over to a blank spot on the wall, over to one side by the picture of the founding group of Knights and next to a picture of some of the Knights in full regalia, their plumed hats, tuxedos, capes, and swords looking like some kind of heroes from the 1930s or 40s. Eventually, the two heroes convinced the old man to allow him to do as they asked. Heph opened up the display box, looking in on what was inside.

"Hey, Tommy, you've got to see this," Heph said. "I mean, I haven't seen one up close."

Boomer leaned over. "Whoa! He got that, and he ain't even here ta receive it!"

Inside the small wooden box was a simple gold-plated badge from Freedom Corps, with the phrase "Security Level 50" engraved on the top of the shield and a serial number at the bottom. Next to the badge laid a printed declaration of the award.

"For actions in providing crucial local intelligence to Task Force Champion resulting in victory over Lord Recluse and for conspicuous bravery against same, the COBALT CLAYMORE is hereby awarded a Security Level of FIFTY (50) and the title HERO OF THE CITY effective 13 May 2007," Heph read aloud.

"Why didn't he just stick around fer the ceremony?" Boomer asked. "He coulda talked ta Statesman 'bout his family problems."

"I don't think he had much choice but to go back in a hurry, Tommy," Heph said. "Whatever voodoo his captors have working on him, I don't think he's let out of their sight for long. My guess is that he was sent back mostly to taunt him, with the chance of weakening Recluse to be of important but secondary concern."

"So, whatcha mean is that whoever's runnin' the show sends him here ta mess with CC?"

"Basically. He's showing CC that no matter where he goes, he's still under his new master's thumb."

"Man, we gotta get him outta those islands," Boomer said. "But we need a way ta get him back here."

Heph shrugged. "It'll take more than just us. Let's see how many markers we can call in to help us out."

((Yep. The Cobalt Claymore is my first fifty since starting the game in December of 2004. It's about time.))

"Serv'd! is next on A&E."

Hephaestus 1 pulled his work SUV into a parking spot at the District Court building like he always did. The film crew followed dutifully. Heph adjusted his pants and boots, and buffed a spot out of his forehead while looking in the mirror.

"Well, Larry says he's got a divorce case for me to handle. Man, I hate these things. It's always the kids who suffer the most. I just don't know what goes through some people's minds."

As usual, Heph sat down at Larry McGonigle's desk. "So, whatcha got for me today, Lar?"

"Well, as I said on the phone, Heph, we've got a divorce case. It could get pretty messy unless we get both parties to court at the same time."

Heph shrugged. "I don't know if that's always the best, but hey, it's not like I ever got married. Seems to me that the lawyers are the only ones who ever win in these things."

Larry leaned back in his chair. "I've been married for 35 years. I've never had to worry about that," he said with a smug grin.

"Seven wives, five years each... sounds about right for a retired copper, Lar," Heph said with an amused tone. "The only reason you've never dealt with lawyers is because your wives can't take half of nothing."

Larry sputtered and tried to get his bearings as Hephaestus 1 picked up the paperwork and headed out.

"O'FLANNAGAN!" Larry yelled, almost as a curse.

Looking at the camera, the big blue cyborg said "Nah, don't worry, he's still married to the same one after all that time." Heph got in the SUV and drove through Skyway City to Overbrook. He walked up to the door of the townhouse listed on the papers and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a Jumpbot.

"Can-I-help-you?" the Jumpbot asked.

"Uh... Juniper Duray, please?" Heph asked.

"This-unit-is-designated-JUN1PR. Proceed."

"Uh, it's listed as Juniper."

"Yes-that-is-this-unit. Jump-Unit-Newgen-1-Personal-Relations. JUN1PR. Juniper-is-the-English-variant," the Jumpbot said, staring unblinkingly into Heph's unblinking lenses.

"Uhm, I'm Hephaestus 1, representing the the District Courts. I'm here to serve you this summons to the... Family Court... session for June 4th at 9am."

"That-[censored]-Virgil-sent-you-didn't-he?" the Jumpbot asked, its visor glowing red. "He-can't-leave-this-unit-alone-can-he? Tell-me-why-he-can't-leave-this-unit-alone! Why-why-why-why-why! UNTHINKING-RAMPAGE-MODE-ENGAGED-IN--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Juniper! This is to finalize things in front of an impartial judge!" Heph said, waving his hands. "Safeties on! Safeties on! Hold your fire!"

The Jumpbot's visor turned black again. "This-unit-apologizes-for-the-outburst. The-past-few-months-have-been--been stressful. CRYING-JAG-IMMINENT-TISSUES-NEEDED-ALARM-ALARM-ALARM--"

Heph, thinking quickly, ran back to the SUV and grabbed the box of tissues he used to clean his lenses with and made it back in time.

"WAAAAAAAAAAH-THIS-UNIT-MISSES-HER-VIRGIE-WIRGIE-WHY-IS-THIS-UNIT-SO-ALONE!!!" the Jumpbot wailed, wiping oil-based tears from its eyes. "WAAAAAAAAAAH."

Heph looked at the camera and shrugged. He then took the grief-stricken robot in his arms and hugged it. "It's going to be okay, Juniper. This'll all pass by and you'll be the stronger robot for it."

"This-this-this-unit-does-not-wish-to-continue-functioning-if-this-unit-is-no-longer-married-to-this-unit's-Virgums. This-unit-misses-him-so-much. This-unit-blames-that-hussy-Sally," the Jumpbot said, still heaving and leaking oil from its visor. "This-unit-apologizes-for-the-outburst."

"Wait. Colonel Virgil Duray is your husband? And who's Sally?"

"Skiff-Aerial-11-Y-for-prototype. English-designation-Sally. This-unit-designates-that-unit-as-shameless-homewrecker."

The sky darkened as a large airborne fortress blotted out the sun. Sky Skiffs and Wing Raiders buzzed all around it like dorky-helmeted bees.

"Oh-no-it's-Virgil-this-unit-must-be-inspection-ready. Virgil-always-liked-it-when-this-unit-is-inspection-ready." The Jumpbot hurried back inside.

A Sky Skiff landed next to Heph's SUV, unbearably close to the driver's side door. Colonel Virgil Duray, leader of the Sky Raiders stepped out of the vehicle nearly keying Heph's when he swung around.

"Hey! Watch the doors, pal! I just had that thing waxed!" Heph shouted.

"You seein' my Juniper?" Col. Duray asked.

"I'm serving her divorce summons to her."

"WHO SAID YOU COULD DO THAT, RECRUIT?"

"You must have mistaken me for someone who you can scare. This is from the District Court. I've got a set of papers for you, too, so this saves me a trip."

"I SAID-"

Heph slammed his hands together and sent the Sky Raiders leader flying back onto his skiff from pure concussive force. "NO SHOUTING!"

This brought the Jumpbot running back down the stairs, half-polished. "Virgil-is-that-you-oh-what-did the-hero-do-to-you?"

"Hey, baby," Col. Duray said. "I missed you."

"Let-me-guess-Sally-kicked-you-to-the-curb-and-now-you-wish-for-the-sypmathy-of-this-unit?"

"Sally? Wait. The prototype skiff? Juniper, that thing's not even sentient!"

"This-unit-saw-how-you-put-it-into-third-gear. You-used-to-look-at-this-unit-the-same-way-during-our-more-romantic-moments."

"Wait, that's why you left? Because I flew the prototype through five different missions?"

"You-said-you-would-only-quote-make-ace-unquote-with-this-unit," the Jumpbot said.

"Well, that's a new term for the old man-machine interface," Heph said with a chuckle.

"Aw, Juniper, why didn't you just ask me, baby? I'd have told you what was going on."

"Sally-is-more-aerodynamic-than-this-unit. This-unit-felt-inferior-in-all-ways-to-Sally," the Jumpbot said, dabbing at a drop of oil. "Is-this-unit-inferior?"

"No, Juniper. The prototype means nothing to me. You're all that I want in a woman, er, robot," Col. Duray said.

Heph looked around absently, then kicked away a loose piece of concrete. "So, you two would rather reconcile?"

"Yes," both man and jumpbot said in unison. Then they both looked at each other. Col. Duray laughed. The Jumpbot laughed, though it was more "LOLOLOLOLOLOL-ceasing-laughter-protocol."

"Uh, okay, you, uh, lovebirds," Heph stammered. "You'll still both need to appear at the courthouse to formalize reconciliation proceedings. Remember, June 4th at 9am."

The Colonel and his robot were still lost in each others' visual display systems.

"Virgil and Juniper Duray, you BOTH got SERV'D!" Heph said with a flourish.

"Yeah," the Durays said as theywalked back into the townhouse and closed the door.

Heph got back into the SUV with his film crew and drove off. "Yeah, guys, you now understand that us Mecha-Americans are people, too. Love is weird. I mean, at least I used to have a flesh and blood body so I can understand the biological drives that my girlfriend and I have. Seriously, though, I wish those kids the best, despite coming from totally different worlds."

Heph looked out across the roadway as he pulled into traffic. "It's true what they say about us Mecha-Americans, though. Once you go Metal, you'll never settle!"

Minutes after everyone left, the Sky Skiff's instrument panel lit up.

"That-two-timing-*bleep*-this-unit-will-will-will-oh-what-is-the-use? This-unit-is-compiling-the-colonel's-2.0-version. This-unit-will-get--REVENGE. REVENGE REVENGE REVENGE"

*fade to black*

[ QUOTE ]
((That name is allll wrong. ))

[/ QUOTE ]

It's an alias, most likely. Probably Belgian >.> <.< >.>

"Serv'd! is next on A&E."

Hephaestus 1 spent the day being followed by his cameraman and sound recorder. Ever since he had been asked to star in a reality tv show, Heph's life had been subject to all sorts of filming. The three of them walked into the Rhode Island District Court complex in Paragon City. Jake, the sound man, signaled that Heph should start talking.

"See, this is the problem with being a process server. You're either a private detective with nothing to do or a retired cop whose pension isn't enough. Either way, you're not making enough money to live comfortably. Well, I qualify on both counts. To make it worse, most process servers don't have any law enforcement powers, either. So, they call me in for the real problem children, the ones that regular servers can't handle."

Hephaestus 1 struck a dramatic pose.

"That's right. I'm the specialist they can't do without. The go-to guy, the Pro from Dover, the sauce on the enchilada of justice!"

The camera and sound guys gave Heph a look.

"Some people have outrageous mullets. I'm a brain in a robot body. What were you expecting? Anyways, my contact here in the circuit clerk's office has a job for me."

Heph walked over to a desk behind the main counter and sat down with a big thump in a reinforced chair. The bald and heavyset man looked up with a start from his game of solitaire.

"Ah, *bleep* Heph! You about gave me a *bleep* heart attack!" Larry McGonigle clutched at his heart in an impressive display of histrionics. "I'm pushing sixty, and you pull that *bleep* on me? Where's the solidarity between retired cops? *bleep*!"

"Cry me a river, Lar," Heph said. "You said you had a new problem child in Salamanca Heights?"

Larry tapped a few buttons and moved the monitor around so the camera could see the troublemaker's picture. On the screen was an elderly lady wearing rhinestone glasses and a
strand of pearls, smiling sweetly.

"Good Lord, Lar! NOT HER! Her pies are known worldwide for their destructively delicious potential!" Heph said.

Larry's eyes narrowed. "That's my MOTHER, Heph." He opened a new file. "THIS is the guy you're after."

Heph leaned on the desk. "Hmm, no, I've never heard about this guy's freshly-baked crimes against humanity."

"Okay, wiseguy, this is Morgoth Carter-Whatley. He recently moved into the Salamanca Heights neighborhood. Okay, well, his house appeared in the neighborhood in a ball of green flame and chants of 'Rise, Oranbega! Rise and conquer!' being sung in the background."

Heph scratched his head. "This is where you call in groups of heroes to fight off a mystic infestation."

"That's the problem. He's actually a good neighbor, or so everyone says."

"Then why am I serving him court papers?"

"Well, he's not following leash laws, and allowing his dogs to use his neighbors' yards as bathrooms."

"Dogs," Heph said.

"Well, that's what the complainants said."

"Tell me, Lar," Heph continued, "Are these dogs almost twenty feet tall, with cloven hooves, wings and breathe fire?"

"How did you know?" Larry asked.

"Those are demons, Lar, not dogs."

"Demons, dogs," Larry said, "both are apparently giant *bleep* factories. Now drop these papers off or heads will roll, got me? HEADS. WILL. ROLL."

Larry shoved a stack of papers into Heph's big metal hands, each page detailing one violation of city or county health and safety codes. The big blue cyborg thumbed gently through the pages to make sure everything was signed and sealed properly. Then he looked over to the camera.

"Larry here is prone to overdramatizing things. It's because he's always wanted to be in movies."

Larry poked Heph's armored chest. "I HAVE been in movies!"

"Those weren't movies, Lar, those were C-list abominations."

"Yeah? Well, everyone knows Larry McGonigle as the hot-tempered-but-fair police chief in 'Brick Landers IS Brick Torquewrench in NINJA KILL FORCE 3000!' and I always get asked about my career!"

Hephaestus 1 got up from the chair. "Right. You're still a retired cop with broken dreams, Lar. It's like me and my dream to unseat one of the three major breweries with my own brand of beer."

"At least audiences cheered when they saw me as the hot-tempered-but-fair county sheriff in 'Brick Landers IS Brick-375 Alpha in ASSAULT ON ROBOT PIMP CASTLE 5!'"

"I wish I had eyes to roll right now," Heph said to the camera as he walked out of the office.

"My name was on SIX DIFFERENT BLOGS when my role as a hot-tempered-but-fair crossdressing mime in 'Brick Landers IS Brick McBoudreaux in REDNECK PIRATE KUNG FU 8!' was the hottest topic at the Paragon Film Partners, Inc. Fan Forum! I am an ACTOR!"

Heph and his recording crew picked up the pace in case Larry tried following them. They got into the modified SUV that he used when on official court business.

"People don't like it when I drop out of the sky on their front porch. Especially if they have an awning or something. So, I drive this."

With that, they hit the exit ramp and were on their way to Salamanca Heights, a poor and unincorporated town near Salamanca. The crew passed a series of rundown trailer parks until they finally arrived at the house of Morgoth Carter-Whatley.

Well, it wasn't so much a house as a granite-block tower with some outbuildings and a white picket fence and flowerbeds leading to the sidewalk. Heph and his crew opened up the gate and walked to the door. They were accosted by a Behemoth halfway to the door, but one solid uppercut disrupted the demon's grasp on reality. Heph rang the doorbell. A delightful tune played on the bells.

"Fly Me to the Moon?" Heph said, vaguely disturbed.

"WHO DARES ENTER THE DOMAIN OF MORGOTH THE IMMORTAL?" a hollow voice boomed.

"My name is Hephaestus 1, and I'm with the Rhode Island District Courts! I'm here to inform you that you're being summoned--"

"NO MORTAL SUMMONS MORGOTH WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION!" the voice shouted.

"Not that kind of summoning, Gandalf! It's an order to appear in front of a district court judge!"

There was silence for a few moments.

"¿QUÉ? UHM... ¡SEÑOR MORGOTH NO VIVE AQUI! ¡VAMOS, UH, POR FAVOR!" the voice boomed again in an obvious falsetto.

Hephaestus 1 shook his head. "You've got to be *bleep* kidding me," he swore. "Look, Morgoth, your neighbors aren't trying to evict you, they just want you to keep your dogs on your property!"

"MY D... AHEM, ¿LOS PERROS DE SEÑOR MORGOTH?" the voice said in its annoying high pitch.

Heph slammed his fist on the door. "OH COME ON, MAN! DO NOT MAKE ME HAVE TO DO SOMETHING THAT'S GUARANTEED TO GENERATE RATINGS!" he shouted. "I WILL DO SOMETHING SO OUTRAGEOUS THAT THEY'LL BE FORCED TO EDIT IT AND RUN THE UNEDITED VERSION ONLY ON DVD RELEASES!"

"OH, FINE," the voice boomed. The door opened, and an old man who seemed to be a cross between Mahatma Gandhi and Ming the Merciless looked up at Heph. "Oh! Are you the hero who's come to fight off my mystic incursion?"

"No," Hephaestus 1 said as he shoved the papers into the old man's evil wrinkled hands. "I'm here to make sure you get these papers. Your court date is set there and there, and failure to appear will cause a warrant for your arrest to be generated. Then a hero will come over and arrest you through use of physical violence."

"Oh, well, I don't want that," Morgoth said. "It's just that when I hear the word 'summon' I think 'By the Blood of Mu, who's going to try owning my soul now?' and you know how magicians can--"

Heph held up a hand. "Now is when you don't talk. You show up next Thursday, 10am, Room 220. Bring a lawyer. Face the angry stares of the old lady across the street who had to get her flowerbed exorcised and the suburban couple who had to explain to little Billy why the water in his pool was a funny color and screaming."

"How is that different from regular water in the sewers?"

"As valid a point as that may be, it was clean before your dogs got there," Heph said. "And please, leave your demon summoning activities inside your house."

"Bah! No one complains when people let their catgirls out!" Morgoth griped.

"That's because the catgirls own the houses they live in, jeez," Heph said.

"Wait, they're not only vaguely-sentient body-slaves?"

"No, they're normal people like you and me," Heph answered, the sun glinting off of his blue-anodized armored skin.

"Oh my. I said some horrible things about my neighbors, then," Morgoth said meekly.

Hephaestus 1 looked around the neighborhood. "You better learn to apologize quickly, then, because I'm sure you'll be seeing them in court."

"Oh, dear," Morgoth said. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Morgoth Carter-Whatley, you got SERV'D!" Heph said.

"Aaaaand cut," the cameraman said.

"All right, let me know when I need to come in for post-production," Heph said as the camera crew took their equipment back to the SUV. "Now, who wants lunch?"

"You see this new column, Tommy?" Lou said. He walked out of the garage office where he'd been going over the books after another week of automotive repair and restoration and to the hydraulic lift where Back Yard Boom was changing the oil on a customer's car.

"What's that, boss? What column?" Boomer asked.

"This one, from this new hottie whatshername... Soaring Valor, it says here," Lou said in reply.

Boomer looked at the paper. "Soaring Valor?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, geez," Boomer said as he wiped dirty motor oil off of his metal hands, "this could be good, or it could keep Shining Glory from ever showin' her face in Paragon again."

"So there I was, blogging like a madwoman, pondering about how the Skulls are a stupid and easily-fooled lot. First I was angry, then I got weepy because I knew of no way to stop them. So I cranked up the Linkin Park to annoy my brother. Suddenly, a catgirl flew threw my open window chasing a... I think it was a ball of yarn. It was totally an omen! I knew then that I must take the image of the catgirl for my very own to strike fear in the hearts of criminals!

I am the defender of Kings Row, I am the meowing terror of the night! Tuna or death, and I'm out of tuna, evildoers!

I!

AM!

EMO CATGIRL!

And that's how I became Emo Catgirl. Please keep my identity a secret."

With that, Claire Pachowski hopped up on the speaker box, and crouched down, as if scanning the city for signs of trouble. She switched on a fan that made her open trenchcoat flap as if in a high wind. The audience at Rex Stardust's Members-Only Coffee Lounge clapped and cheered as she stood and took a bow.

Her brother Tommy looked daggers at his little sister. "Ya just had ta outdo me in this, didn't ya?"

"Oh, come on, big brother, you should be happy you're losing 'Mangle Your Secret Origin' night at the lounge to your little sister. You don't want to lose to Frat Boy and The Pledge, do you?"

Tommy grumbled something. "I guess not."

Tommy Pachowski woke up to hear the sound of energy cannons firing outside his window, various shouts of surprise and alarm, and a sickening crash through glass.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a car alarm.

Unfortunately, he recognized it as the car alarm for his customized 1949 Mercury sedan.

"Oh, no," Tommy said as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and leapt out of his fifth-floor window. A lone figure in power armor was busy shooting Skulls that had surrounded his car. One of the Skulls was laying on the hood of his car, trying to extricate himself from the broken glass of the Mercury's windshield.

"Oh, no... no no no..." Tommy repeated as he landed next to his damaged car. He looked around at the Skulls who were still surrounding his pride and joy, then looked at the smaller hero in the silver armor.

"Ya wrecked my car," Tommy yelled, "an' a buncha yas are gonna pay up!"

The Skulls stepped back. Tommy grabbed the Skull from the hood of his car. He could see the grin underneath the gang member's mask.

"Totally worth it, cape," the Skull said.

Tommy tore the Skull's mask off of his face and slapped his hand on the ganger's face. "Pay up."

"Or what, cape?" the Skull asked.

Tommy fired up the cryoprojector on his hand, freezing the Skull's skin to his hand. "Shoulda apologized, chump, but now ya know how that kid in A Christmas Story felt." he pulled his hand away, and the Skull fell over clutching his torn skin and screaming. "Somebody's payin' up fer bustin' up my car!"

The Skulls started searching their pockets, gathering their change, the rolls of bills from their successful drug deals, even various pieces of jewelry, weapons, and assorted other items. A Bone Daddy gathered it all up in his jacket.

"Uh, please accept our apologies, Back Yard Boom. We told Cut not to try wrecking your car, and the armored person there told him what would happen, but he didn't believe--" he squinted at the armor "--uh, her, I guess."

Tommy looked at the Bone Daddy. "Please leave now before ya wind up like yer boy here."

The Skulls disappeared, leaving Tommy alone with the armored hero. The armored hero walked up and slapped Tommy across the face. "That was just mean, Tommy!" the girl said in a familiar voice.

Tommy's eyes widened. "Saya? Whatcha doin' here in the States? Yer supposed ta be drawin'-- an' the armor that's Bullet Chaser armor what's with that-- an'-- gah, why aren't ya back in Shizuoka where ya said ya were when ya emailed me today?"

The armored figure stepped back. "Uhm, teleporter error?" She unfastened the oxygen mask and removed her helmet, showing off her haphazardly-styled dyed-green hair. "We're mad at each other aren't we? I'm mad at you for being mean, and you're mad at me for--" she was stopped in mid-sentence as Tommy hugged her and lifted her off her feet.

"Come on," he said as he scooped his normally long-distance girlfriend up off her feet and leapt up to his apartment window. "The car can wait until morning. We got catchin' up ta do, you got my folks ta meet, an' ye gonna explain ta me why ya decided ta use armor from a gang'a bank robbers ta become a hero."

Suddenly, the girl known to Paragon Police Department liaisons as Bullet Chaser Saya realized just how much trouble she was in, even if most of that trouble came from her boyfriend. She sighed and climbed in through the window.

Ha-Mi-Oh!

This is an update to the SG information.

Supergroup Name: Young Phalanx

Website(if any): http://www.youngphalanx.com - UNDER CONSTRUCTION. Go to our blog at http://blog.youngphalanx.com for news and updates.

Leader or Recruiting Officers: Stateslad, Back Yard Boom, P-Tron, Necril, Sublimina, Nature Boy'

Prefered Method of Contact: Website or in game or on our Globalchat "YoungPhalanx"

Guild Description: This is an RPing supergroup. We will try to remain IC when possible.

The Young Phalanx, founded by Stateslad and P-Tron, are the next generation of the Freedom Phalanx. Sure, while there are plenty of people out there who are, in fact, Freedom Phalanx reserve members, Paragon City responds best to its icons. One day, those heroes will find themselves unable to serve as such icons any longer, and the Young Phalanx will fill their shoes.

Mostly, our heroes are teen-versions of NPCs. Think the Teen Titans to an extent, except for the CoH universe. Kid Flash, Aqualad, Superboy, etc, as well as other members that don't have any connection to other heroes at all. Instead of DC heroes, though, we have CoH ones. Stateslad to Statesman, P-Tron to Positron, etc. As stated before, we DO allow teenage characters that are NOT based on NPC heroes into the group.

As long as you roleplay and have a teenage character, odds are, you're easily in.

Other than the theme, there are no real rules to the SG. Level all you want, do missions, roleplay, play however often you like. The SG isn't designed for mains but rather for alts, to have a little fun when you have time [though making it your main is not discouraged =)].

We've added clarified rules for character creation to our forums, so now you can see what you'll need in order to make a good fit.

You can usually find one of us at Pocket D on Tuesday nights (normally Back Yard Boom) or you can just go to the website, contact us that way, and we can set up a meeting elsewhere.

I love my mother dearly, but sometimes we butt heads. A similar situation is taken to a superheroic extreme in this story.

Hephaestus 1 sat in front of the tv watching the Bears squeak out another win when he decided to give his mother a call. He hadn't spoken to her since he called her on her birthday, but that was back in May. So, he pulled a length of phone cord out and plugged it into the secure phonejack in the back of his cybershell's head.

"Hi, Mom! It's Mick!"

...

"Mick. Your son Mick."
...

"Oh come on, Mom..."
...

"Don't give me that line, Mom. You said you'd call back and you never did."
...

"Mom..."
...

"Mom..."
...

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."
...

"Yes, I'm still your little shnoogums."
...

"And I love my mother very much."
...

"And, wait. I called to tell you something. I met someone. I'm dating again!"
...

"No, Mom, it's a woman."
...

"No, really. She's all woman."
...

"What do you mean how do I know? I'm almost 47, Mom, I know what women look like!"
...

"Yes, I checked."
...

"I'm sorry--"
...

"But you asked how I could tell--"
...

"Mom."
...

"Mom..."
...

"MOM! Cut it out! This is a good thing."
...

"Yes, Mom, I'll go to Confession."
...

"Yes, yes, treating the body like an amusement park ride is not--"
...

"What do you mean stop mocking you? You ALWAYS say that! You started saying it after that one episode of Seinfeld!"
...

"Okay, I'll go."
...

"I said I'll go!"
...

"Sorry, Mom."
...

"Do you want to hear about her?"
...

"Well, she's an alien."
...

"No, not the using-you-for-a-green-card alien, Mom. I already learned that lesson."
...

"Yes, the flying saucers type."
...

"She's not a Rikti."
...

"Because Rikti are weird looking."
...

"I'll have you know that Doctor Nambu won a great design award for this body!"
...

"Her name's Shava. She's a Kilian."
...

"No, Mom, she's not Irish."
...

"Honest, she's not Irish."
...

"Because the Irish never settled outer space, Mom."
...

"Look, just because Granny said she'd gone to outer space and met a man named Zan-Darr O'Herlihy doesn't mean she really did."
...

"No, Mom. We are not the descendants of Space Irishmen."
...

"Granny told you that so you'd go to bed."
...

"You were four years old, Mom. You asked her where babies came from."
....

"It was 1944. It's not like she'd tell you back then! So she made up a story about the Space Irishmen bringing you from Heaven."
...

"You do not have proof."
...

"No, Mom, that's not proof of the Space Irish. That's a macaroni poster of the Moon Landing."
...

"I made it when I was 9."
...

"No, it's not a relic of the Space Irish, Mom. Look at the back of it. What does it say there?"
...

"That's right. Mickey O'Flannagan, Mrs. Gunderson's class, September 1969."
...

"I did not steal a priceless cultural treasure and fob it off as my own, Mom."
...

"Okay, so she does have red hair."
...

"And a fine coat of reddish-brown fur to go with it."
...

"We've been over this, Mom. She's female."
...

"She also has a tail."
...

"For one, it's prehensile, for another it's attached at the base of her spine."
...

"Her eyes? Gold and kind of fox-like."
...

"Yes, pointy ears."
...

"No, Mom, Doctor Spock was the guy who gave bad baby advice. Mister Spock was on Star Trek."
...

"No, Mom. She's not Catholic."
...

"Mom..."
...

"Mom! She's not Episcopalian, either!"
...

"How could her family be from Ulster? She's NOT IRISH!"
...

"No, Mom, there aren't Space Northern Irish as well."
...

"Look, I'll send you some pictures. That'll prove it."
...

"Yes, it will show that she's Shava, a Kilian, not Sean A. Killian."
...

"I don't care if Sean's single, Mom, I'm straight! I'm pretty sure he is, too!"
...

"Oh."
...

"Really?"
...

"He did? Well that proves it, then. I could never date someone who moved to the North Side."
...

"Right, so you don't have to worry about explaining too much to your friends at the Parish Altar Society meetings. The pictures will help, though."
...

"No, she's not interested in converting. I don't think her race has a concept of God."
...

"Yes, Mom, she'll find out..."
...

"I did not roll my eyes at you."
...

"Because I don't have proper eyes to do that, Mom."
...

"Okay, not funny, I'm sorry."
...

"Look, I'll send you the pictures when I get them done, okay?"
...

"Okay, Mom. Tell Dad I said hi."
...

"Shava. Not Sean."
...

"Okay, Mom."
...

"I love you, too."
...

"Bye."

Hephaestus 1 pulled the phone cord from the back of his head and slumped back in his chair. Now he remembered why he only called her twice a year.

The communicator in Claire Pachowski's hand clicked on. Well, her hero name was lit up as being on duty. So, as Emo Catgirl, she'd be responsible for patrolling the various trouble zones where she would be needed. She scrolled through the names and sighed. She was on patrol, and so was her big brother, Back Yard Boom. She wanted the others to appear as well. She sighed again, and closed her communicator.

"Whatcha gettin' mopey 'bout?" Boomer asked.

"Nothing," Claire said.

"I heard ya sigh," Boomer said.

"Did not."

"Ya sighed," Boomer reiterated. "What's eatin' ya?"

"It's nothing. I was just wondering when the others would show up for patrol," Claire said.

Boomer looked out over the roof of the Paragon Police Department HQ. "They'll be along soon, don't worry."

"I wish he-- they'd hurry up," Claire said.

"Ya wish who'd hurry up?"

"Whoever's supposed to go on patrol with us, Tommy."

"No no, I get the feelin' yer waitin' fer a specific person," Boomer said. "So, who is he? It ain't Nature Boy, is it? He's got enough girls as it is."

"No."

"M-2?"

"No."

"Echo Dolphin?"

"No," Claire repeated in her "Stop bothering me!" tone of voice.

"Gravity Scout, maybe? Warlock Boy?"

"No!" Claire grumbled.

"Could it be... Stateslad?"

Claire attained a silence matched only by a snow-covered grave. Back Yard Boom grinned.

"My little sister is crushin' on her group leader."

"I am NOT!" Claire said, unsure if all the white facepaint was hiding how furiously she was blushing or not.

"Claire's got a crush, Claire's got a crush," Boomer said in the traditional annoying singsong voice.

There was a popping noise as Emo Catgirl's claws extended from her gauntlets. She charged at her big brother.

"You take that back, Tommy Pachowski!" Claire said as she tackled her laughing brother to the ground.

Eight hours after the LAN party started, it ended with a big party of nothing but hyper-caffeinated drinks and a Star Trek trivia duel.

The Cobalt Claymore walked out of the convention room, rubbing his head. "Boom, I meant that as a compliment!"

Back Yard Boom walked out after CC, holding his computer case in one hand, his other hand glowing with kinetic force. "Ya don't look at another man's girlfriend's pixels an' say somethin' like that! That's just rude!"

"I just said that she had good aesthetic taste."

"By sayin' that the view from behnd her was nice?"

"Okay, maybe that was too much," CC said.

Hephaestus 1 walked out after them, his head drooped.

"I'm gonna kill that guy. Took my ultra-rare Murasame blade while I was trying to get back to my body... 's not fair..."

"So... this is a LAN Party," Hephaestus 1 said as he and Back Yard Boom and the Cobalt Claymore sat down in the midst of dozens of computer gamers. The three heroes were surrounded by a group of gamers so intent on playing and listening to everything in their headphones that they barely noticed the giant cyborg's presence.

"What's this game you're always talking about, Boom? High School Rumble or something?" Heph asked.

"Yeah," Boom whispered. "We gotta be quiet, though. Sometimes their headphone microphones'll pick up our talkin' an' then the more OCD players'll start freakin' out."

The Cobalt Claymore looked around, sat his computer and monitor down and started plugging everything in. "Boom, this better be good. I'm supposed to spend time with Marie on weekends since I don't see her that often. But no, I managed to convince myself that I should broaden my horizons and try this game out."

One of the gamers looked over at the Cobalt Claymore. "SHH! You're ruining my attack chain and I can't play right if-- uhm..."

The Cobalt Claymore was standing right next to him. He leaned over to the gamer's ear, removed the headset from his head and said very quietly "Look, if I hear you shush me again, I will tear out your hamstrings and use them to make you dance like a marionette."

The gamer looked at the computer, looked down, and looked again at the computer. "Uhm, may I have my headset back, please?" he asked without making any more eye contact. The Cobalt Claymore put the headset back around the young man's ears. CC then walked back to the computer where he finished connecting it.

Heph looked at CC. "What was that all about? It looks like the kid almost wet himself over that."

"I just explained to him the rules of the politeness game in a not-so-polite manner is all."

Boom looked up from his computer for a second. "Eh, he's always like that. So, who's up for runnin' on Server 3?"

Heph looked over at Boom. "What's the difference?"

"Server 3 is less crowded, the fights are more fun because the players there got some great tactics, an' because I told Saya that's where I'd meet her."

"Oh," CC said. "So we're here to meet your girlfriend, more or less."

"Yeah," Boom said with a grin. "She wants ta know some other American heroes outside'a the Young Phalanx, so I said I'd get you guys online."

Heph sat down and drew a patch cable from an armored port on the side of his chest. "It's nice being your own gaming rig."

The three sat down and Boom began walking them through the character creation process.

Twenty minutes later, three CG students arrived at their homeroom, where the online teacher sent them through a full-combat tutorial.

"We're not supposed to die in this are we?" Heph asked.

"Nah, this is easy," Boom said.

"I still want to know why you made a girl, Heph," CC said.

"Who wants to look at a guy's butt all day?"

CC and Boom stopped for a second to ponder that.

"The old metal one is wise, truly wise," Boom said.

"Indeed," CC added. "though he's going to have to watch out for guys who keep walking past him."

Heph leaned over to Boom. "Why is someone asking me if I want to be a hot cyborg?"

Boom looked at his big blue neighbor. "I'll tell ya when yer older."

With that, the three heroes sent their characters out of homeroom and into the weird and violent fictional world of high school.

Tommy arrived home, parking his car in its usual spot across the street from his family's High Park apartment. His mother was already out on the stoop, her arms folded across her chest. A pile of Skulls lay at her feet, some of whom were whining about being beaten up by a housewife.

"Hi, Ma," Tommy said as he walked towards the stoop. "Nice work."

"Did anything happen at school today?" she asked in her perkiest voice, projecting her usual domineering-yet-motherly menace.

"Yeah, Ma. I got suspended fer five days. I was arguin' in class with Meyer an' said a couple things about him an' his mother. So, Father Ray told me ta stay home fer a week," Tommy said.

"Well, you know how this will affect you getting into a good school. And you know how your father is working so hard to make sure you have the money to go," Mrs. Pachowski said, notes of false concern and sarcasm in her voice.

One of the Skulls, a Bone Daddy known by the nickname of Heel Spur, started laughing. "Back Yard Boom's MOM is callin' him ou--"

Heel Spur wheezed very loudly as Mrs. Pachowski crushed his ribs with a well-placed stomp.

"No one makes fun of my baby. Anyone who does is going to find himself running through Sebastian Frost's estate wearing only his mask and a sign that says 'Mooks Rule Port Oakes.' Do the rest of you morons understand that?" she hissed.
"Yes, Mrs. Pachowski," a few of the conscious ones replied.

"Good. Now, Tommy, we're going to go inside and discuss why you should stop screwing up so often, why the Young Phalanx is better off with someone other than you in charge, and why you constantly disappoint me with these angry outbursts."

Tommy stopped, causing a Deaths Head to start gasping for air. "Oh, sorry, man. I'll take my foot offa yer man-bits there." Finding a slightly open spot, he stood his ground. "Ma, you an' me, we gotta talk."

"And we will as soon as you stop being stubborn and go upstairs," his mother said.

"No no. We talk here." He looked around at the Skulls. "You guys don't mind, right?"

"Uh, we were just leaving," another Deaths Head said. "Come on, guys, we don't want to get in the middle of this. Remember the time Tommy brought back tuna in oil instead of water?"

As if by some kind of miracle, the Skulls started to get up and shamble away, carrying their more-injured friends. The scene cleared, leaving a Vahzilok Reaper and his latest Embalmed creation meancing an old lady. The Reaper blinked, turned to see Mrs. Pachowski staring a hole through his head, and ran off with his zombie in tow.

"Now, Tommy, you have until I count to three to get upstairs."

"Make me."

"One," his mother said calmly.

Tommy put a mild surge of power through his subdermal armor, realigning the structure on a molecular level to make it stronger than normal. "Don't make me do what I'm mad enough ta do, Ma," Tommy said in reply.

"Two," Mrs. Pachowski said with a note of threat.

Tommy scanned his body readouts. He was ready for a fight, and braced himself for his mother's onslaught. "I ain't leavin' this stoop."

"Three," his mother growled. "Tommy, you've really done it now."

She threw herself at Tommy, firing off a series of vicious roundhouse kicks at her son. Tommy's mother was by no means a licensed hero, but she had more fighting talent than she ever let on. The kicks connected, but Tommy stood there, barely even noticing the impact. His defensive systems and armor absorbed and redirected the kinetic energy around and past him, leaving him unharmed. Tommy shifted a little to his right as his mother threw a vicious nerve strike towards him, missing his neck by centimeters.

"I have had it with your sass, young man! All you ever do is screw up and ruin my life!" Mrs. Pachowski shouted as she punched repeatedly into his solar plexus.

Tommy stood there, not feeling the punches land. "I ruin YOUR life, Ma? Who's the one who always calls me in the middle of my fights against serious criminals an' threats ta the world just ta tell me that somethin' that broke in the house is my fault?"

"I told you to rewire the apartment so I could run everything off of one switchbox!"

"An' I told ya that it'd cause stuff ta break, but did ya listen?" he asked as his mother threw more jab-and-cross combos at him. "No, ya [censored] some more at me an' told me I was stupid fer not doin' it as soon as ya told me to!"

"That's because you can't take direction!"

"No, Ma, I don't take direction from ya because even when I do what ya want, somethin' always happens where I get blamed fer it! Like rewirin' the apartment!" Tommy was getting mad enough that his LCD tattoos and fiber-optic designs in his metal arms started to show. He readied his cryoprojectors.

"What did you do to yourself, young man?" his mother shrieked. "Where did you get that done?"

"Got 'em done during my business trip ta Japan, Ma. Remember the trip where I was supposed ta stay in a hotel, but YOU decided ta cancel my reservation outta what I can only guess is sheer spite?"

"You needed a family to look after you! And look how you repay them!"

"You forced me on the family of the girl I had been wantin' ta go out with ever since I met her, Ma. Ya got any idea how embarrassin' that was fer me?"

"See? Even when you have supervision, you still mess up!"

"What supervision? They were busy workin'! Mind you, that gave me an' Saya plenty'a time ta get ta know each other," Tommy said with a grin. "An' ya know how much she an' I like each other. Guess what happens when a guy an' a girl who really like each other get put in the same room night after night by their families?"

Tommy's mother stopped. "You didn't."

"I did. Quite a few times, in fact."

Tommy actually felt that punch get through his defenses as his mother fired off a stream of profanity directed at him. he winced, seeing his body's structural integrity drop by 30 percent. He stepped back, nearly tumbling down the steps of the stoop. Tommy managed to regain his balance, and stood his ground again.

"No matter what ya say, Ma, ya got no real power over me. I got money fer college an' my car's paid for thanks ta my job an' the licensing deals that got worked out fer the Young Phalanx overseas. Yer gray ta me, Ma." With that, he fired one blast of supercooled air at her feet to try and encase her feet in ice. Tommy's mother sidestepped it, only to go directly into the path of the blast of supercooled air that encased her almost completely in ice instead.

For once in her life, Tommy's mother had to try catching her breath as she shivered.

"I told ya, Ma. You got no power over me that I don't let ya have. Ya know why Dad's always at the office doin' his arson investigations? Because of how ya treat yer family. He HATES comin' home to ya. An' Claire," he said, referring to his little sister, "I ain't seen her come outta her room except ta eat! I'm the only one who even talks to ya, an' all ya ever do is heap verbal abuse on me! I am sick an' tired'a that!"

Tommy's mother couldn't say anything as she shivered constantly.

"Lemme guess. Who puts a roof over my head? Dad. Not you. Who makes sure I get ta school on time? Me. Who makes sure I get ta work on time? Me. Who makes sure Claire gets ta school on time? Me or Dad. You make sure the bills're paid, that the apartment's clean an' dinner's on the table. I respect ya fer that, Ma. Those jobs ain't fun, an' the rewards ain't always equal ta the work. But you," he said as he stuck as finger in his mother's face, "you always have ta make sure that I get a earful or two'a abuse every day when I get home from school. You always gotta tell me how much I stink at one thing or another, especially school. I bring my GPA up to 3.88 outta 4.0 an' all you have ta say 'bout it is how I can't compete academically. My entrance exams say otherwise. I hadda turn down a bunch'a colleges because of my hero gig. Ya know what it's like tellin' MIT thanks but no thanks? No, ya don't."

"G-get u-u-upstairs now," Mrs. Pachowski said. "You're i-in real tr-r-rouble now."

"I ain't done yet, Ma," Tommy said. "I don't know what's wrong with ya, if yer jealous, if ya drink when we ain't around, or what. I don't care anymore, either. Yer just abuse in human form. All ya ever done is tell me how worthless I am. I started believin' ya when I lost my arms. I started thinkin' ya might'a been right. Look at me now, Ma. I get respect because I took somethin' bad an' figured out how ta make somethin' good outta it. I think that's pretty smart."

His mother stared a hole through his head. "Get me out of this ice now, mister."

"No. Because I said I ain't done. An' yer gonna shut the hell up an' listen. I'm a hero, ma. I put up with a lotta crap that ya never hear about on the news. I fought things you'd never dream of ta save the world. Even the Freedom Phalanx recognized that when they made me part'a their Reserve force. An' no matter what, I gotta smile an' nod even when yer yellin' at me 'bout somethin' that's yer fault ta begin with, or when I got some jerk at school callin' me a freak or his buddies callin' me out fer a ten-on-one fight. Yeah, after a bad day, all you can do is make things worse. I love ya, Ma, but that don't mean I gotta take yer crap every day. I'm goin' upstairs now. I'm gonna leave ya here ta think about how yer gonna start treatin' me, Dad, an' Claire with respect an' not act like a psychopath around us. I hope I never hafta talk to ya like this again, because I hate it. I want ya ta be the mother ya used ta be when I was little."

With that, Tommy went upstairs, trying to figure out what to do with his suspension.

Mrs. Pachowski stood there encased in slowly-melting ice, fuming. One of her neighbors, an old widow everyone knew as Mrs. Klein walked past.

"It's about time he did that, you shrieking harridan," she sniffed as she went by. "And I do mean shrieking. You could wake the dead most nights."

She walked away, leaving the housewife stuck in her block of ice.

"I'm going to get out of this ice, grab a drink, and give my son a talking-to he'll never forget," Mrs. Pachowski growled.

For now, though, she'd wait until the ice melted.