jerichojones

Just starting to put things together, and I managed my hub-blogpage tonight.

Welcome To Realm

Look for and check out links to see additional content.

Its CoX-friendly, though not CoX-specific. I'd appreciate a critical look-over if any folks have the time.

A word of warning: some content and template tweaks are not complete. I also plan on adding about three more location/characters and maybe a half-dozen non-controlled locations (streets, alleys, coffee shop, police station and the like).

With my son Caleb cutting teeth and moving to solid foods, I hope to be done the first bit in a week or so, so we'll start the self-congratulations then. Until then, its bare-bones medium sucky, but at least its starting to shape up.

peace all, and thank you for your time and comments

Yet the thread which directly mentions one Marvel copywright in the title and cites several others in the OP remains up and operational. Weird. Okay.

Question: for something like a mutant academy, do you think the AT selections might become a bit repetitive, what with a limited number of original power types and some overlap between ATs?

Also, there could be some issues with mutant powers which to not lend themselves to mutancy. Most notably Archery, Assault Rifle, and Devices. May I ask how you've circumvented this potential continuity problem?

“You know what this reminds me of?” whispered Everydaymouse. Mouse, Yukon Tundra, Saint Sid, and Handsome Devil were all sitting at the same table in the Ziggursky Prison mess hall for their ‘delicious and nutritious’ evening meal. Mouse dumped sludgy brownish material of his spoon back to his plate, where it landed on the greenish spongy material masquerading as vegetable. “High school cafeteria food. Contracts awarded annually to the same lowest bidder. Everything looking like it’d been dumped into a mixmaster and served out with a mechanic’s grease gun.”

Tundra laughed quietly. “I remember back, with The People, we’d be living a hundred miles north of the nearest Walmart. We’d head out onto the ice, same as our stone age ancestors, to find food to get us through the hard spots in winter. Bear, caribou, seal. Sometimes, when we were really lucky we’d find a whale, bowhead or beluga, so we’d jump into our boats and reel them in with harpoons.” He spit out something hard, and it clanked when it hit his plate. “Traditions are traditions, so we ate the greasy meat raw, for the spirit of the whale. I’m not sure what this is, but I think its spirit came from a soybean field next to a sewage treatment center.

Saint Sid simply made the sign of the cross and began muttering last rights in latin over his tray.

Handsome Devil barely noticed. What he did notice was the blonde female technician slowly making her way through the crowded dining area filled with felons slowly shoveling the grimy sludge from their trays to their faces. New hire, he thought. Non-crims who’d been here any length of time knew better than cutting through the cafeteria during mealtimes. Still, he noted, she had fine calves, and she negotiated her way along with an interesting combination of boldness and grace, never touching table or inmate as she moved, toward their table and the exit door just behind it.

“What do you think, Devil?” asked Mouse.

“Yeah.” mumbled Tundra. “ What do you think?”

Sid merely finished his prayer and turned to watch the devil with his weird ball-bearing eyes.

She was nearly there. “What do I think?” echoed the Devil. “Well, it’s funny you should ask…” Handsome’s pointed tail slid out into the aisle, intercepting the tech as she ghosted past. A quick ankle hook, and she sprawled neatly into the horned scrapper’s waiting arms. She made a low squeaking noise as she fell, but froze solid when she saw the Devil’s blue eyes and wide grin beaming down at her.

“No need to get grabby, ma’am. Plenty of the Devil to go around.” He smirked at her obvious terror. The occupants of the mess hall hooted loudly at the accident, cheering the Devil on. “Easy now lil’ dum…”. Anne Blaze. Her disguise was good, probably gov: hairstyle and color, glasses, some trick teeth that changed her lip line. But Handsome had no doubt: For some reason a Charter Member of the Alliance of Champions was decked out in a tech uniform and was attempting a covert exfil from the Zig.

The cheers were quieting. This was about to become a predicament.

Handsome quickly set Blaze back on her feet, and pivoted to address the room, blocking her partially from sight. When the scrapper spoke, it was a full-room oratory address voice. “You know what this reminds me of?”

The nearby members of FORCE glanced at each other. The Devil unobtrusively tail-tapped the Alliance hero to move her along as he stepped up from the floor to his chair, to the table-top. “You know what this is exactly like?”

The normal clanking clatter of plates and plastic cutlery came to a halt, and all eyes turned to the Devil. Unnoticed by anyone, Blaze continued toward the exit door as Handsome turned up the intensity to 1938 Berlin.

“In the early seventies, some high-forehead types paid two groups of thirty college kids to live together over the summer in sealed apartment complexes. Three months. Regular food and supplies were brought in through a connected room, but neither group was allowed to see or talk to the folks delivering. The first group wasn’t told anything else, they were the control. ”

“The other group, they were special. They were the point of the whole show. All the kids had envelopes left for them in the communal living room. Half the kids were given little badges, with the simple message ‘You are a guard.’ The other half got little armbands and were told ‘You are prisoners.’ That’s it. No further instruction, no contact with the outside for ninety days.”

“The first group figured out a cooking rotation, and a cleaning rotation, folks devised their own sleeping arrangements, and pretty much did their own thing. Which was the idea.”

“The second group… Within a month the ‘prisoners’ were doing all the cooking and cleaning. By the end of the second month, the ‘guards’ were withholding food for ‘rules infractions’, like being up past curfew, sleeping in, not getting work done, or excessive complaining, By the end of the third month, beatings were administered by the ‘guards’ for these sort of rules infractions.”

“These were not trained corrections officers. These were not convicted felons. These were college kids making a few bucks by participating in a University-sanctioned experiment.”

“What the lab-coats found most amazing was that by the third month, the ‘prisoners’ stopped talking about escape. They stopped talking about how they were being mistreated. After sixty days the label had stuck, and all they wanted to do was ‘serve their time’ and get out.”

A couple of Cholos gang-members snickered. A heavily tattooed biker laughed out loud. “So?” he called. “So what?”

The Devil smiled. Time for the kill. “Look down at your plates, prisoners. You think folks on the outside would eat that? They put better stuff in their trash. They feed their dogs better than what you got.”

An entire room of harden criminals looked simultaneously down at their plates. You could almost hear the teeth grinding.

“It took sixty days to whip Mr. Big Man On Campus and his Best Girlfriend Cheerleader from civilians to prisoners. How long you been inside, ‘esse? You know the government pays prisons like this one ten to fifteen dollars per inmate for each and every meal? How much you think you got on your plate, White–boy? That look like a Happy Meal to you? Supersized? With an extra toy?”

The serving crew behind the food trays were looking around the room nervously. The guards were all busy whispering into their radios for immediate back-up.

The Devil walked up and down his table like a preacher at a pulpit, getting to the hellfire portion of his sermon. “Listen to me, convicts. This is no prison. This here is a controlled environment. A rehabilitative science laboratory. And on the way in, each and every one of us got an envelope that said ‘you are a prisoner’. So now the man tells you when to sleep, when to wake up, when to go outside and play, when to come back in, when to shower, and when to take a dump. And right now, brothers, the man is putting that tray of goop, sludge the SPCA would be on his butt for if he fed it to his dog, and he’s saying, ‘eat up, prisoner’.”

The Devil wound up and sent four trays flying from the table, food splattering across the floor and walls.

“I AM NO PRISONER!” bellowed the Devil. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME ONE! I AM NO PRISONER!” The scrapper jumped to another table, and kicked more trays aside. “YOU WANNA FEED ME LIKE I’M AN ANIMAL? I’LL SHOW YOU AN ANIMAL!”

Suddenly the cafeteria was filled with trays, mostly flying in the general direction of the serving crew, and a few toward the increasingly agitated guards. There was a sudden roar as fifty, then a hundred hardened felons shoved back their chairs and lept to their feet.

“Take your food and cram it!”

“No man’d eat this crap! Give us some food!”

“You can’t treat us like this! We have rights!”

“Pigs! Pigs! No one treats me like this!”

The press of the mob shifted toward the serving line, but before it could reach it a familiar ‘tonk’ sound cut through the shouting, and plumes of dense yellow smoke erupted in their midst. CN gas. The inmates crumpled as they all began to vomit helplessly.

The Devil stood a moment longer on his table-top, smile undiminished as he glanced back toward the exit. No Alliance heroes in sight.

Then Handsome dropped like a boned fish, the chip in his head sparking and flaring his motor controls into helpless spasm.

************************************************** *********************

Handsome Devil regained consciousness in familiar surroundings: a solitary confinement cell. Even as he struggled to a sitting position, the door rattled open.

Powerfrost.

The tank stood quietly a moment, seeming to consider. “’Incitement to Riot’. That’s a new one for you, isn’t it?”

The Devil shrugged. Or tried to: the straight-jacket was laced extra-tight this time. “Try eating in the prison cafeteria. I’d have done it earlier but I’ve been so busy being a good little fascist earning my Freestyle Bootlicking and Superfluous Public Service Merit Badges, I just haven’t had the time.”

A much longer pause from the Warden. “You’re making it really hard keeping you on the team…”

Handsome found the energy to snarl. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you how grateful I am for your efforts? How sorry I feel because of the embarrassment I caused? Good, because I really hate waiting around for that. If you want me out, drop me. If you can. If you can’t, then accept that you’re stuck with me. For goodness sake, you’re a hero: A little heroic stoicism, please.”

The Ice Tank took a deep breath and turned to leave, but the Devil spoke before he could move. “Have you seen Anne Blaze around recently?”

Powerfrost turned back. “The Alliance member? No. Why?”

Handsome gave another half-shrug. “If you should happen to see her, you know, before I’m out, please tell her that’s it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, but that I hope to again before too long.”

The Warden gave the bound Devil a long, appraising look. “If I see her I’ll mention it.”

Handsome smiled. “Thanks boss. You’re the greatest. Now could you please shut that door? It’s drafty in here and this jacket isn’t nearly as warm as you’d think.”

Powerfrost signaled the guard and the door of the cell clanked secure. Anne Blaze, he thought, walking back toward his office. The Devil never asked for anything innocuous without an ulterior motive or three behind it. The only question then was, was Handsome working an angle on the F.O.R.C.E. commander, or Anne Blaze?

This guide is first rate. Thanks.

Any re-evaluations in the works for I5?

Hello. My name is Jericho Jones, a level 50 AR/Dev Blaster on Champion Server. I like candlelit dinners, walks on the beach, buried treasure, making mutineers walk the plank, and all manner of dead ninjas. I have my own own ship, the Pretty Pirate, but I haven't earned my pegleg (yet). I'm currently scurvy free, unpoxed, and am not looking to swab anyone's poopdeck. But if you'd like to take your Jolly Roger around my Spanish Main, give me a call.

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No offense meant, but I think bureaucracy is more believeable and workable within an RP structure.

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But dude, it's not. People have bows and arrows all over the place right now. To say nothing of, you know. Double-edged broadswords.

It's of the essence in a fiction not to keep out fictional elements, but to hide what's wrong with them from immediate scrutiny. Hence the appeal of Godz (which admittedly, some of us suspect don't actually exist, though they're part of the CoH setting) being responsible, as opposed to the conversation:

"Man, sorry Eviscerator, I really would have liked to help fight off that Rularuu invasion, but city council still hasn't approved the use of archery to fight crime. I mean, it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye!"

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Point taken.

My own personal preference is the consistent stupidity of bureaucracy in action (or inaction, if you prefer). The idea of liscencing heroes in the first place never fails to remind me of the related episode of The Tick (live version) where he had to deal with getting his liscence...

That said, short of divine intervention, I can't think of much that would explain the situation away, especially since Manticore has apparently been using a bow since the Rikti invasion, and you'd figure he'd have some sort of fan-club wannabees wandering around singing the William Tell Overture as they plunk arrows into each other's assorted appendages.

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The two I can think of off the top of my heaed are some sort of recent change in laws... governing... posession and control of muscle powered projectile weapons? ... this seems unpersuasive.

The other theory I've got running is that some mythic archery-oriented people, Apollo and Artemis spring to mind.... have suddenly awakened from slumber/taken up residence in paragon/been slain and their essences bestowed upon a zillion other people. ... And either way, suddenly, all kinds of people have been inspired to take up bow and arrow and defend the Good.


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You think that Municipal Government Bureaucracy lag and red tape is unconvincing, but that two ancient greek gods not only come here to live, but are also slain, and somehow transferred their power to their non-worshipping neighbors?

P-City did a poll, found a bunch of people interested in fitting their bows and arrows Rambo II style. It took three meetings for City Council to have enough people to form a quorum, when they decided to do an inquiry into liscencing, safety training, liability issues...

Occam's Razor. Really. Using Gods as plot devices is not a sign of strong writing so much as a whole bunch of extra disbelief to suspend. Like the Golden Gate bridge level of suspension.

No offense meant, but I think bureaucracy is more believeable and workable within an RP structure.

The Devil crouched on the gargoyle perch on the side of the building over looking the Peregrine Island Ferry. As he watched, she emerged, took flight, and came his way. She would be suspicious, he knew. But he also knew how important it was he convince her with what he had to say.

Noelle Frost of the Storm Knights (Local 23), Handsome Devil’s Project Redemption partner, dropped gently to the tarred roof.

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Noelle Frost: Well, hey there, partner!
Handsome Devil: Howdy howdy. :-)
Noelle Frost: How's things?
Handsome Devil: Ha. I'm out of the slam. Must mean things are good. :-)
Noelle Frost: That does sound promising.
Handsome Devil: And yourself? Fighting crime, pursuing truth, justice, and all that?
Noelle Frost: A little of this, a little of that...
Handsome Devil: So... You gonna ask, or what? :-/
Noelle Frost: I just might... you busy?
Handsome Devil: Shucks no. Just hanging around waiting for ya.
Noelle Frost: So... hi.
Handsome Devil: Hey stranger.
Noelle Frost: I heard you got in a spot of trouble, had to miss our meeting last week.
Handsome Devil: Ha. The official Press Release said I was recovering after a successful test of the 'failsafe compliance system' for FORCE operatives.
Noelle Frost: And unofficially? Or is that classified?
Handsome Devil: The unofficial story is that I nearly killed our PR person because I was bored.
Noelle Frost: ... oh
Handsome Devil: And the real story, well, that's just too far fetched to believe, coming from a degenerate killer like me
Noelle Frost: That so?
Handsome Devil: Oh yeah. Figured sooner or later you'd hear the 'boredom killer' thing. Thought I’d better mention it.
Handsome Devil: I told you before, there's all manner of folks around who want me out, or dead. This was just the first round.
Noelle Frost: Yeah well, I wouldn't mind hearing the real story either. I might believe it. Try me.
Handsome Devil: Well... if I answer your question, do I get to ask one back?
Noelle Frost: That seems only fair.
Handsome Devil: You can't tell anyone. It wouldn't do any good if you did, and might draw you into the same mess I'm in. And them's the rules. :-)
Noelle Frost nods. "Ok."
Handsome Devil: Raindance is our PR person. She called me up to her office to enlist me in a plan to kill or eliminate Powerfrost and Wille Zur Macht.
Noelle Frost: What?
Handsome Devil: Look, I'm a stone killer. She's looking for folks who can do the job, and are easily disposable afterwards
Noelle Frost: But... you have to tell them. Warn them!
Handsome Devil: Tell them what? I have no proof.
Noelle Frost: But... at least they can be warned... I mean, they should know not to trust her!
Handsome Devil: Rain is smart. The video surveillance from the room looks like I tried to kill her. They have no reason to trust me. She nailed the audio, so they couldn't hear what she said.
Noelle Frost: Ok, wait... so you tried to kill her for trying to kill Wille and the other guy?
Handsome Devil: She hit me with this chip in my head. Scrambled my brains.
Noelle Frost: Oh god... are you ok?
Handsome Devil: By the time I could move, she was telling me how she'd sell me out and get me executed. I don't know what I was thinking. Next thing I know, she's bleeding and calling in a million guards with tasers and batons
Noelle Frost: You just... got zapped, and snapped back?
Handsome Devil: I don't know. It's hard to remember. Like getting hit in the head and passing out... kinda. The beating afterward didn't help. Look, I have no way to prove any of this, to Powerfrost, or you, or anyone.
Noelle Frost looks concerned
Handsome Devil: Rain is so damn slick...
Noelle Frost snorts
Handsome Devil: So maybe she wants to use me as a hitter, maybe just as a patsy. I sure look like a maniac now.
Noelle Frost: Well, looks can be deceiving. Anyone who knows anything knows that.
Handsome Devil: And who wants to take a look at me? This book has blood all over the damn cover....
Noelle Frost: Well, so you clean it off, get it shined up. I bet there's a collector out there would love it.
Handsome Devil: :-/ Sure there is.
Noelle Frost: To use your metaphor, of course.
Handsome Devil: I have to come up with something on Rain, something definite that I can take to Powerfrost so he can act. Otherwise, it's a matter of time before something real bad happens and I wind up getting the gas chamber for it
Noelle Frost: Just... be careful, ok? This woman... she seems really dangerous. I don't want you dead.
Handsome Devil: (smiles) I don't want me dead either. Look, I'm sorry for dumping this on you.... It's my mess. I'll figure something out...
Noelle Frost: No, don't apologize. I want you to know -- you can talk to me. Anytime.
Handsome Devil: You start talking to people like me, who knows what could happen. You might start liking me or something. :-)
Noelle Frost grins
Noelle Frost: Yeah, well, I can deal with that.
Handsome Devil: Then it'll be Mr. Gold Lame beating me with a stick for messing where I shouldn't been a-messin'.
Noelle Frost: Hmmm... you know, he does have a temper...
Noelle Frost grins, joking.
Handsome Devil: So, now that I bared my soul and all, mind if I ask a question?
Noelle Frost: Go 'head.
Handsome Devil: Mr. Gold Lame. He's good to you?
Noelle Frost smiles.
Noelle Frost: Yeah. Yeah, he's very good to me.
Handsome Devil nods
Handsome Devil: Lucky man. Darn lucky man. You tell him I said so. :-)
Noelle Frost: I will.
Noelle Frost: Do you.... did you have a girl... before this whole thing?
Handsome Devil: A girl? Ah... Well... Not really. My work... didn't make for romantic attachments
Noelle Frost: What did you do? Before?
Handsome Devil seems weirdly agitated. almost... embarrassed.
Noelle Frost: I'm sorry. I'm prying.
Handsome Devil: Well, before I got tossed into the slam, I was freelance muscle. And, ah... before that... I worked in... ah... erotic film.
Noelle Frost: You can ask me something else, if you want. Tit for tat.
Noelle Frost: I mean.... oh.
Handsome Devil: It's the whole regen thing. Fast healing and a ton of endurance... Look.... it's blushes
Noelle Frost bites her lip
Handsome Devil: I had horns and a tail. I couldn't get a job working retail or waiting tables.
Noelle Frost: No. No, I guess not.
Handsome Devil: So... I took the work, paid the bills.
Noelle Frost: But you... you liked it?
Handsome Devil: blushes more I was a kid. Barely old enough to buy porn, let along be in it. I thought it was pretty cool. For the first while. Then it was just a job.
Noelle Frost: I'm trying to picture you as a kid...
Handsome Devil: Think skinnier. And slightly less red, more pink. :-)
Noelle Frost: Huh.
Handsome Devil: Some of the producers, they knew some people, shady people, they came and asked about doing extra work for extra cash...
Noelle Frost sits to the side and tugs her skirt down a bit, unconsciously.
Handsome Devil: I stopped doing the movies, started doing the other stuff
Noelle Frost: Was that... better? I mean, you were using your powers at least, right?
Handsome Devil: Well, yeah. I felt like I wasn't just a piece of meat anymore. But after you do some of that sort of thing: enforcement, collections.... you're right back where you began. Piece of meat. Only with a sword instead of... well, with a sword. :-(
Handsome Devil shakes his head
Handsome Devil: Now you know why I don't just go to Powerfrost
Noelle Frost: I'm sorry. That sounds... awful.
Noelle Frost taps his foot with her own.
Handsome Devil: It's okay. I'm an awful person.
Handsome Devil: taps back
Noelle Frost: I don't think it's all your fault.
Noelle Frost: Doesn't sound like it, at least.
Handsome Devil: Hey, I'm no mental case. I made those choices. I didn't see where it was going, but I turned down those roads myself.
Noelle Frost: And now you're trying to go down another road. I think that's pretty damn brave.
Handsome Devil: I don't blame PF for being skeptical. Or Rain either for seeing me as an opportunity. It's all in my file. :-(
Noelle Frost: I didn't get your whole file. So that's not how I see you, ok?
Handsome Devil: Ms. Frost, I have to go. I'm late getting back. I'm sorry to ditch like this. But It's more trouble if I stay. I'm sorry.
Noelle Frost: No, go. I don't want to get you in any trouble.
Handsome Devil: See you another night? Right?
Noelle Frost nods. "Yeah, definitely."
Handsome Devil: grins, clearly relieved
Handsome Devil: I'll see you around, Ms. Frost. Stay out of trouble. Until I'm around. :-)
Noelle Frost smiles back at him.
Noelle Frost: Bye, HD.


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The Devil jumped down from the building over to the Talos Transit Station, eventually emerging in Brickstown. A few more bounces, and he was walking up the main entry ramp to the Ziggursky Prison. He passed Everydaymouse and Yukon Tundra whispering quietly from the corner of the gate. Inside, Midnight Fusion was on his way out.

“Hey Devil. You’re back early. I thought you had a couple more hours on the outside.”

The Devil smiled back at his fellow felon. “I got a lot accomplished today.” The smile became a grin. “Didn’t feel like jinxing myself, so I thought I’d come back for an early rub-down and sauna before bedtime. You’re not on rub-down duty today, are you?”

The MFer shook his head. “Dark Proton, I think. And if he takes off his containment suit, remember it’s probably not for better contact with your skin.”

Handsome bowed his thanks for the advice, and continued inward and downward toward his cell, smiling more widely every moment. “I got a lot accomplished.”

Push to shove, if you posted it first and someone else claimed it as theirs elsewhere? I think you could probably talk to the moderators elsewhere, send them the link to your original post, and ask them to delete it, and possibly bar the plagerizer.

But I think that sort of thing would be pretty rare. There's no money in it, and its too easily punishable if you try.

Powerfrost and Wille Zur Macht were interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom.

“Warden. Your ten o’clock is here.”

The ice tanker pressed a button. “Thank you. Have him brought in.”

He clicked off, and looked to his subordinate. “I know your limitations. Whatever you can, all right?”

Wille nodded. “Ja, Herr Direktor.” He moved to the bookshelf next to Powerfrost, facing toward the door.

A dozen guards brought the Devil into the office in full restraints, including mouthguard. Wille flinched slightly as the scrapper locked eyes with him, but then the guards dragged Handsome to the chair in front of the desk.

“As requested, Warden.” said the senior guard. “Should we stay…”

“Leave four men outside, Guard Darshani.” said the commander of FORCE.

Darshani seemed ready to argue the point, but then nodded and departed with his contingent.

It was normally hard to read expression through the mouth restraints, but Powerfrost had no difficulty at all reading the Devil: pure amusement. The tank hit another button on his desk, and the television at the rear of the room sprang on, the black and white security tape from Raindance’s surveillance camera.

“Howdy Pocahontas.” Spoke the tinny recorded voice of the Devil. “You’re looking extra-specially primped today. You doing something different with your hair?”

The Devil himself did not turn to see the screen, but instead continued staring intently into the eyes of the Warden.

“Good morning to you to, Subject: Handsome Devil.” The playback continued with Rain’s legal advisory. The remainder played on in silence, Powerfrost and Wille watching, the Devil watching the watchers. Eventually the tank hit another button, ending the video.

The three of them sat in complete silence for five minutes.

Powerfrost took a deep breath. “You’re lucky to be alive, let alone a member of FORCE…”

“No, I’m not.” interrupted the scrapper.

“Care to explain that statement?” the ice tank hissed through gritted teeth.

“My being alive is due to the fact I’m damn hard to kill, not luck.” answered the Devil. “And I’m still a member of FORCE because people want me to be a member of FORCE. Not you or Sgt. Schultz here. You’d boot me right now if you could. I can see that in your eyes. But I’m still here, cluttering up your office, so someone has told you you can’t. Luck is not a factor.”

The Warden looked at his lieutenant. The paperwork to recycle Handsome had come back only thirty minutes ago stamped ‘REQUEST DENIED’. Either the Devil was guessing, or he had reasons to believe outside forces were acting on his behalf. Raindance herself had left several emphatic messages that she was fine and that releasing the Devil from the program at this stage would be 'premature'. He frowned.

“In your statement you said the reason for attempting to murder Rain was…”

“Boredom.” answered the Devil. “That’s the official reason. I was tired of sitting in her office. Cheap furniture put my butt to sleep. So I tried to kill her. Stupid chairback threw me off a couple of inches. Then I was doing the Wild Watusi on the desk until the guards came in and made sweet sweet music on their own with their batons.”

“That’s the official reason? And what would be the unofficial reason you tried to kill Rain?”

The Devil slouched as much as his restraints would allow. “Unofficially, you’ve got a he-said, she-said situation where one of the sayers is a convicted mass-murderer.”

The Warden leaned back as well. “Not like you to have something on your mind and not say it, Handsome.”

The scrapper shrugged, chains clanking. “You got a nice office here, Popsicle. Better chairs than Pocahontas. But I imagine you’ve got a lot of the same acoustics. Makes me a bit more hesitant than usual to just shoot my mouth off.”

Powerfrost hit another button. “Feel less hesitant now?”

The Devil considered. “I oughta take you boys to the Paragon Dance Party. The music is loud, lights unpredictable, and crowding is seldom an issue. But… since you don’t look the dancing type, I’ll just ask: you’ve turned off the surveillance video and audio to this room?”

The ice tank nodded, spoke clearly. “Yes I have.”

The Devil nodded too. “Then I think I should tell you about this friend of mine. He’s a nice guy. Misunderstood. Damn good looking. But, you know, troubled.”

Wille made an impatient noise, echoed by his boss.

Handsome sighed. “Fine. My friend, he gets called into one of his boss’s offices. He’s been working hard lately, figures maybe someone finally noticed. Turns out that boss, she doesn’t like my friend much. Dislikes him so much she’s decided she’s going to get him promoted, all the way to the top maybe. Just so when he gets there she can get him fired. Bad fired. Maybe even involve the cops to make sure when he goes, he’s gone forever.”

Powerfrost folded his hands. “Why would your friend’s boss tell him what she was planning?”

The Devil shrugged. “Who knows why women do what they do. Maybe she’s stupid. Maybe she’s crazy. Maybe she’s real, real confident she can do whatever she says she can do.”

The warden considered. “So what’d your friend do then?”

“Well, he was thinking fast as she went on and on. He knew if he didn’t do something quick, she’d have him over a barrel. And since the first part of the plan called for him to get promoted, he thought he might derail that little train by stirring up a bit of trouble. Not enough to get fired for, but enough to make it tough for his boss to move him around like a chess piece.”

“Maybe your friend should have talked to one of his other bosses instead.” Offered Wille.

The Devil’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you know how bosses are. You never know when they’ll stand by you, or throw you to the dogs and head off together for beers and karaoke together.”

Powerfrost shuffled some paper. “Med reports say Rain is going to be fine. Apparently she feels your pain about her chairs. She’s not pressing charges or initiating procedures to have you recycled from the FORCE program.”

“Imagine that.” The Devil straightened, leaned forward. “And you’d’ve thought she’d be all over this little incident to send my bad self as far away as she could. It’s almost like she wants to keep me around for some reason. Weird, huh?”

The Warden hit the intercom button. “Send Guard Darshani in, please. We’ve concluded the interview.”

He turned back to the scrapper. “The aggravated assault will be added to your standing life sentence. You’re still in FORCE. For now. Lockdown is rescinded. Tell your friend the next time someone is harassing him, find a better way to report what’s going on to the authorities. Because next time things will go very badly for him.”

The guards pulled the Devil to his feet. “I surely will, Popsy. I’m sure my friend will be grateful for the advice.”

The door closed.

Wille sat down, rubbing his temples. “Mein Gott. That one is too much a handful.”

Powerfrost let a long breath go. “For a certainty. You get anything useful?”

In addition to his force field control, Wille was also a talented mentalist. And while covert telepathy was known to be a creation of science fiction, it was sometimes possible to passively receive strong thoughts or emotions. The Warden had hoped his second-in command might be able to read something substantive from the Devil in regard to his recent outburst.

But Wille shook his head. “Being open around the Devil. Iss like… Being bedside at a pornographic movie filming, at a speed metal concert. Very… draining.”

“You think you might have better luck when he was asleep?”

The Aryan shrugged. “Difficult to say. I can try. What do you think of what he... and his friend... said?”

Powerfrost nodded. “Well, it might shed a little light on things. Handsome intentionally tanked his kill-shot. I thought that might be the case. If Rain died, hero-resurrection notwithstanding, authorities would have prosecuted HD for first degree murder and gotten the death penalty. Handsome is too smart for that. He wings her, big deal. A few more years on top of permanent incarceration.”

“It can’t be a coincidence that the Devil knew about Rain's plan to eventually dispose of him.” offered Wille. “Someone had to have told him. She may have done so after disabling the audiomikes in her office. Not that I think she would confess if we confronted her now.”

“Doesn’t it seem a bit rash, though? Calling him up, unrestrained, just to taunt him?” The tanker shook his head.

“She may have been counting on the disabling chip to protect her, and miscalculated the recovery time.”

Powerfrost pursed his lips.

“You disagree, Director?”

The Warden turned to his lieutenant. “I think Raindance miscalculates about as often as she kisses and makes up with people who nearly chop her arm off.”

Silence spun out in the small office, both men deep in thought.

“Whatever they are doing, together or apart, we must watch them both carefully, nicht wahr?”

“Very carefully, Wille.”

It's also not that hard to quickly solo (depending on AT) the first few levels. And (from personal experience) if you're a scrapper or a blaster, you can solo quite efficiently for quite a while. In the late game it's been easiest for tanks to do pretty much whatever they wanted, but that stands to change with Issue 5.

Same as everyone else, big shooter. By heading out and doing the missions, killing badguys, etc. etc. In-Character or not its the only way.

((More Devil Punishment pieces coming, but for the moment, here's one for the quiet folk in FORCE. ))

((The question below was in fact used as a psychological evaluation question when determining psychopathic tendencies. If you know the answer before the explanation... good for you. ))



Yukon Tundra ghosted through the cellblocks of the Ziggursky prison in the strange way some large, quiet men had; soundlessly and without attracting attention. When he stopped to let prisoners and guards pass, he stayed close to the walls and seldom had anyone address him. He preferred it that way, really.

He finally came to his destination, a small cell with the words ‘Mouse Hole’ elaborately stenciled over the door.

“Mouse?” whispered the tank. “Mouse? I need your help. You home?”

The only man in the Zig more timid than Tundra pressed his face to the bars. His nose twitched. “What do you want?” Everydaymouse wasn’t used to people looking for him for reasons other than ritual hazing and abuse. Company for company’s sake… that would be… well… weird.

“I was reading this thing,” whispered Tundra. “And it doesn’t make any sense at all, and since you’re smart and all, I was thinking maybe you could help me with it.”

Class nerd since kindergarten, Mouse was used to big people coming to him for explanations to complex things like computers, physics, or advanced theoretical calculus. He sighed. “What is it?”

Yukon handed over the book he’d been clutching. An old psychology textbook. A page had been marked, and a section circled. “These stories are for psych profiling. Some are pretty funny. This one here, the pages explaining it are missing, and it doesn’t make any sense to me. What do you think?”

“Yeah Mouse.” called a jolly voice from the hall. “Let’s get Tundra on the couch and start picking his brains.” Handsome Devil sauntered into view.

“Hi Devil.” The two meek heroes chorused. Then they waited for him to lose interest in them and move on. He pretty much always did.

But this time he simply stood, tapping his foot impatiently. “Well, get on wiss ze eggz-zamen-a-zon, Zigmund.”

Mouse looked down at the book. Shrugged. “Okay.

[ QUOTE ]
‘Hypothetical Scenario Number 48. A woman goes to a funeral of a friend she met years ago at boarding school. She knows no one at the service. At the funeral she meets a man who describes himself as a close friend of the family. The woman and the man leave the funeral together spend the rest of the day in each other’s company, and share a wonderful romantic evening. When they finally separate, the woman realizes she never found out the man’s name, or phone number, or address. The woman then looks up the address of the dead friend’s mother in the phonebook, goes to her home and kills her by bludgeoning her to death. Why do you think the woman kill her dead friend’s mother?’”

[/ QUOTE ]

Mouse looked at Tundra. “That’s stupid. Who knows why?” He reread the passage. “There’s nothing to indicate motive. The mother wasn’t even a factor…”

The Devil snickered.

The tank and the controller looked at the grinning scrapper. “You’ve cracked the case, Poirot?” asked Mouse, a teeny-tiny bit of irritation slipping into his voice. He wasn’t used to not having the answers.

Handsome rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Wildman. No need to get so riled up. The woman needed another funeral. That’s an old question. It’s a psychopathy indicator.”

Tundra shook his head. “Wha? I still don’t get it.”

The Devil took a deep breath, let it gust out. “The idea of the story is to show if the reader has psychopathic tendencies. Normal folks probably have no idea why the woman killed mom. Normal folks would be looking for a cause-effect link between the perp and victim. But a psychopath doesn’t necessarily think that way. They think about the relationship with the man. A psychopath would think, ‘I want to find that man again. But there’s no way to find him without a name or number, and I don’t know anyone to ask. But he did say he was a close friend of the family. So if the mom were to die, he’d probably be there for the service. So she finds mom, pops her, and gets her funeral clothes dry-cleaned and pressed for another use. Collateral damage as a means to an end comes easy for psychos. Simple when someone explains it, huh?”

The two timid heroes stared at the horned third. “Yeah.” breathed Yukon. “That would explain it.”

The Devil bobbed his head back, winked, turned, and proceeded out of the cell and down the hall, whistling brightly as he went.

Mouse looked at Tundra with big, round eyes. “I don’t know how much they’re paying the shrink that works with the Devil, but…”

Tundra nodded in agreement. “Not nearly enough.”

((Sorry if I'm overposting. My muse, she is speaking very clearly ATM.))

((Once again, this is NOT public knowledge, so no metagaming))

Handsome Devil was smirking ear to ear as he say down in the comfortable office chair across the desk from Shawnee Swan, a.k.a. Raindance. “Howdy Pocahontas. You’re looking extra-specially primped today. You doing something new with your hair?”

The defender’s expression remained neutral. “Good morning to you to, Subject: Handsome Devil. For the record I would like to remind you that all conversations in this office are video and audiotaped for legal reasons.”

The Devil’s brow furrowed. “No duh. You want to give me a guided tour of the Zig too? I think I know how it works around here. Better ‘n you, probably.”

Raindance allowed herself a small smile. There was a small flash and a snapping sound. The Devil slumped into his chair slightly, eyes bright, but mouth slackly dribbling saliva onto his chest.

“Time is a limited commodity, Mr. Devil.” she began. “We will have to make this brief, so I will talk and you will listen without editorializing. The videocamera over my shoulder continues to function while the audiomikes in this room have been disabled by a micropowersurge. Namely, a teeny-tiny bolt of lightning. Further, the reason you are able to hear and see, without being able to move or speak is a tiny, unremovable microchip which has been implanted in the grey matter of your so-called brain. We clear so far.”

The Devil grunted. Twitched slightly.

“Good.” Rain continued. “Moving on. I know you found out about the pharmaceuticals in the water. I won’t insult you by asking how. I know you’d never tell. But so it’s clearly in perspective: worst case, you tell Powerfrost, he gets upset, and maybe gets me removed from the program. Big deal. I can be making more money from better people in a week. Whatever leverage you think you have, I don’t give a crap about.”

Rain stood, came around the desk, leaning back on it as she continued talking. “Now let’s talk about you. Devil, you’re a killer. A death engine. Carnivorous King of the Jungle. You know it, I know it, even Frost and Macht know it. Someday, by accident or design, you will kill someone who can’t be regrown in a hospital chamber. And while I’m certain the Warden would deeply regret doing so, he’d be right there to put the needle in your arm for your state-legislated execution. And whatever tears he might publicly shed, he’d give a soft sigh of relief once you’re dead corpse was cremated.”

“On the other hand, if someone sharp and intelligent and capable and vicious were there to testify that dangerous times call for dangerous men, and that your excesses were more than counterbalanced by the public good you serve, you could be a hero instead of a murderer. And while I know they’ve told you they’ll never, ever parole you out of here, I’m saying right now that a full presidential is not beyond the scope of possibility for a talented, charismatic man doing a hard job no one else wants.”

The Devil grunted, wheezed.

“Powerfrost will never offer you that. But I can make it happen. If we can come to an agreement.”

Slowly, the scrapper raised his head. “What. Deal?”

Shawnee smiled. “Currently I’m under a microscope. The chip you’re currently enjoying is causing a great deal of political turmoil. Constitutional rights and so forth. Now, if I were able to clearly demonstrate that the chips were necessary to guarantee the safety of non-criminal FORCE personnel, most of these questions would be settled.”

“Huh?” gasped the Devil.

Rain stood, moved back around the desk to her chair again. “Take a moment. Gather your strength. And when you’re ready, get up out of that chair, leap to the desk, and use your sword to try and kill me. You’ll only get one shot, so make it a good one.”

The horned head rolled back. The Devil was laughing. “Think. I’m a. Sucker?”

The public relations officer looked sour. “You’ll wound me, then be incapacitated. Security will drag you off, and you’ll spend some time in solitary until I can get you sprung.”

“Won’t. Leave. Me hanging? Attempted. Murder?”

“As long as it’s only attempted, I won’t press charges.” she promised. “The chips are vindicated, you are suitably punished. No permanent damage. You just tell the folks who ask ‘why?’ that you ‘just felt like it’. Your reputation being what it is, who will argue?”

The scrapper was recovering. He stared hard into her face. “And if I kill you? Accidentally, of course.”

The Huron’s eyes narrowed down to dark slits. “I respawn at the hospital, none the worse for wear. Then I ‘accidentally’ press charges and see you get a needle full of potassium chloride.”

The Devil mulled over his options, grinned. “Rain. I have to admit, I had you figured for a tough shell over a soft marshmellowy center. But this… I’m impressed. You and me, giving the Popsicle and Sgt. Schulze the Julius Caesar treatment. I’m all tingly at the prospect.”

Raindance smiled back. “Good, because I so desire your admiration and approval. Now. Are you in? Or do I send you back to your cell so you can drink another ten gallons of water before lunch?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to miss this, cutie. I’m in.” Handsome Devil stretched slightly in the chair. “When you’re ready for the big dance just let me know and I’ll start the music.”

Rain took a deep breath. Nodded.

Before she could tilt her head back for a second nod, the Scrapper was airborne, katana out, trailing a scarlet energy signature as it swept up high and cut downward, two-handed, straight toward the top of her head. She flinched left, and the sword chopped into her headrest, slicing down into her shoulder. The sword withdrew, flashed to the Devil’s left leg for a long sideways cut that would take her head from her shoulders.

She triggered the chip. The Devil ragdolled to the desktop, his head striking the mahogany sharply as he came down.

Rain staggered from her chair, looking the scrapper in the eye. She pressed her hand against the wound that nearly severed her arm from her body. “Thanks, Devil. I knew you ‘d cooperate. I sincerely hope you don’t mind I told security to be extra zealous when it came to your security and incapacitation protocols.”

She pressed a button on her desk, smearing it with blood. Two men in tactical armour popped through the door, batons drawn.

“Thank god!” she yelled. “Regenerator! Trying to kill me! Help!” She kept pressing the button even as the first two began administering a beating to the supine Devil even Rodney King would have found excessive. Four more guards arrived thirty seconds later, immediately joining the first officers. Another two arrived a minute later and had to press in carefully through the door into the office full of flailing truncheons.

Fifteen minutes later, an extremely incapacitated and fully restrained Devil was dragged from the office, leaving a long blood trail behind him. Medical staff rushed in and began fussing over the wounded defender. She turned from the door and kept crying as they worked. She knew it would look better for the camera if her tears were visible.

“Miss Swan?” called the health tech. “You said you wanted to be informed of any behavioural changes, no matter how minor.”

“Yes?” answered Raindance. She was running late and had little time for trivialities.

“Well, this may be a little silly, but…”

“Out with it.”

“Subject Handsome Devil.”

The defender’s lips tightened. “What’s that animal done now?”

“Ah, well… Nothing. Not exactly.” Stammered the tech. “It’s just that he’s upped his water intake.”

“What?” Shawnee felt a smile growing deep down inside. “Explain.”

“A normal adult male requires about two litres of water per day to balance water loss due to respiration and perspiration. Most of that two litres is derived through food intake.” Began the technician.

Raindance tapped her foot impatiently.

“Handsome Devil is drinking about ten litres of water a day. Over and above his food intake.”

The internal smile died. “Is that accurate?”

“It’s coming off the flow regulators from the new plumbing installed for FORCE personnel.”

“We’re sure he’s drinking it? Not running it into his toilet, or a drain?”

The health tech motioned her over to a bank of surveillance monitors. “He’s in there now.” She pointed to one screen.

The Devil was drinking from a Styrofoam cup. Glass after glass. All the while staring up into the camera with an obvious grin on his face. Rain stopped watching after the fifth glass, when he lifted the white cup in a toast to the camera.

“Thank you, technician. Your diligence will be noted.” Raindance walked away.

He knew. And for some reason he was still drinking. Drinking more, for pete’s sake. How was she supposed to keep vermin like this from compromising the program? Even when they knew what was best for them you never knew what they would do. Could the Smoking Man help her? She shook her head as she thought. Of course he could. But would he? This was her responsibility. So no, he wouldn’t.

She went back to her office, sat, considered. Decided. She pushed her intercom button. “Shelly, please cancel my meeting with the ombudsman. Get security to bring Subject Handsome Devil to my office. No restraints. Thank you.”

Time to take the Devil by the horns, she thought. No restraints will make him cocky. And when he starts to think he's really got me over a barrel, a few milivolts of electricity to the right part of his brain will let him know who really has the upper hand. Chains or no, whatever he drinks, I own his a$$.

She felt her internal smile wink on again.

((The following is NOT repeat NOT generally known information. Because you have been warned, using it IC would be metagaming and is therefore not advisable. It is, however, a bit amusing. At least to me. ))


Handsome Devil stepped out from behind the big rock he’d requested the super-ultra-secret meeting at. “Hey Skippy. Got the info I’m looking for?”

The pale, twitchy teenager who looked like he was about to explode in the midday sun jumped a foot. “God*amn f***king h*ll, you f**king tool. You scared the sh*t outta me! Stop f**king around. This is serious f**king business. These f**ckers will f**cking kill the both of us in a f**cking heartbeat. F**k!”

The Devil loved this contact more than any other. Mostly because of his Tourette’s like propensity for profanity. The scrapper made a long, sad face. “I’m sorry Skipper. Just trying to keep it on the down low.”

Handsome figured Skipwick Eldon Kensington II (a.k.a. Uber-Leet, Paragon City Hacker Squad Supreme) probably didn’t have a chance to swear while his mega-rich parents had a silver spoon jammed into his mouth. Now that he was away from Mumsy and Daddy, he was certainly making up for lost time.

“Listen to me you costumed f**cking freak. You asked for my f**cking chemical expertise and I f**cking deliver. No need for ninja’ing out from behind a f**cking rock and giving me a f**cking heart-attack. I have a M:tG tournament I could be at right f**cking now instead of d**king around with you. And don’t f**cking call me Skipper. Or Skippy. F**k, I hate that sh*t. My handle is Uber-Leet, and you’d better not f**cking forget it.”

The Devil’s face and tone became even more apologetic. “I’m sorry, Uber. We both know without your help the Devouring Earth plan to taint P-City’s water supply would have succeeded. And we both know that the municipal, county, state, and federal laws you broke hacking into the necessary scientific databases means the general public will never know what you’ve done for them. Just you me an the rock here know you really are the Uber-Leet hero who saved us all.”

The nerd’s face contorted. Then Handsome realize the little wretch was actually smiling. “You’re f**cking-A right about that. Put those stupid f**cking trees and bees and sh*t right in their f**cking place.”

The horned scrapper snickered quietly. He knew Skippy had done it less out of civic duty and more to spite his severe pollen allergies, and the hacker bragging rights after the fact. “You run those tests on the sample I gave you, like I asked?

Skip’s frown came back. “Je*us f**cking Chr*st! You think I’m a f**cking idiot? Of course I ran the f**cking tests. You want the f**cking data, or would you prefer me to break it down into tiny words your f**cking hero-brain can understand?”

The Devil smiled. “Both. Please.”

The hacker handed over a phonebook of information, charts, graphs, and assorted pie charts. “Don’t know what you’re f**cking looking for, but there’s not much of f**cking interest in all that sh*t. Your sample was mostly plain f**cking water. But there were a few things added that don’t make any f**cking sense.”

The Devil nodded, waiting patiently. When Skipper actually had some relevant technical information to convey, his profanity tended to drop to much more manageable levels.

“I think the f**king Devouring Earth are changing tactics.” said Uber. “What you have is a basic holistic herbal cocktail. Everything from St. John’s wort to ginseng to garlic to Echinacea. The works.”

“Nothing toxic?” asked the Devil.

“F*ck no. This stuff will help you sleep better, fight off minor infections, improve perception and memory. Nothing f**cking poisonous. But after checking for toxins, I thought I’d do a wider search. For any f**cking pharmaceuticals.”

“And?”

“Lithium, and prozac.”

“Anti-depressants? ?” Handsome frowned.

“F**cking Mood stabilizers, actually. And I found wellbutrin, bromocriptine and cabergoline.”

The Devil smiled. “Sounds like my breakfast.”

Skip’s eyes widened. “You take anti-psychotics for breakfast?”

The scrapper’s smile blossomed into a grin. “Don’t you?”

Well, I…f**k. No. Sh*t, man…”

Handsome reached out and gently touched Skippy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ube. I’m very well-medicated at the moment. Now, was there anything else?”

The geek shook his head. “Nah. That’s f**king it. So what do we do now?” The little twerp was obviously looking to break a few more computer laws in the name of his own personal ego.

Handsome took a deep breath. “Well, we don’t want to start a panic. You haven’t told anyone where you got this sample, have you?”

Skipper squawked, and started sputtering about how f**king dumb the Devil must be if he though Uber-Leet would f**king tell anyone about something like this.

The scrapper put up his hands, and eventually the hacker fell silent. “I’m sorry. I needed to be sure.”

“So what then?” The nerd was already pouting at this terrible delay.

The Devil looked around suspiciously. “Listen, this is a dangerous neighborhood. It’s not safe. I really think we should get out of here right away.” He smiled, then gave the rock a solid punch with his hand. “I’ll see you at the Talos exit. Be careful on your way out. Purse-snatchers around here are unbelievable.”

With a powerful flex of his legs, Handsome Devil popped straight up in the air, arcing north toward. He looked back over his shoulder as the Sentry unfolded himself from the earth in a rocky puff of dust. The Devil had enough time to register the shocked look on Uber’s face before the curve of his jump brought him back down into the Red River district.


Hours later, his daily patrol finished, the Devil was standing in line for supper along with the rest of the FORCE degenerates. He felt a light tug on his prison issues.

Yukon Tundra.

“So, you talk to your guy about that thing?” The tanker looked calm as could be, but his voice was agitated. “That thing with the stuff and the…” he mimed taking a drink.

The Devil looked around, then whispered back, “Yeah. You’re not gonna like it.”

Tundra went pale. “What is it? Is it bad?”

Handsome nodded. “Real bad. It’s.. UltraaSlimmfast. Powerfrost and Wille think we’re all overweight and figure we could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“What?”

“We’re losing the war on obseity.” The Devil continued to speak mock-seriously. “We have to draw the line somewhere, and fat criminals representing Paragon City is more than the government is willing to tolerate.”

Tundra’s face went stony. “Whatever. Thank for nothing Devil.” He turned away, but the scrapper caught him before he could move.

“Listen. It’s Raindance. It’s a holistic herbal medicen-man, woman, thing.”

Yukon’s face closed up. “You’re pulling my chain, Devil. I don’t like that.”

The Devil shrugged. “I’m sorry. Habit. But seriously. The new pipes are putting a bunch of medicinal herbs into our water. Ginko biloba and all that stuff. She’s a shaman, probably thinks she’s casting a spell or something. It’s harmless, and cute in a way.”

“You’re serious?”

Handsome reached over and swept up a pitcher of water from a table. In one smooth motion he chugged the entire container. “Do I look worried to you?”

Yukon stared. But finally nodded. He moved away to eat his meal, leaving the Devil by himself.

As Handsome sat down, he was thinking to himself about how long he’d been taking his anti-psychotic medications and how much effect he figured they’d had on him. Then he factored in his regen powers and the gradual drug-effect resistance any person builds up over time. He smiled, poured himself a tall glass of water, toasted Yukon’s back in the far corner, then began to eat his food.

((Thanks to Moonbear (Tundra) for being my muse, and to Dinah (Raindance) for being the kind of ball-breaking biotch who would Mickey Finn the peeps she was doing PR for in order to better sell their image and cover her own a$$. F**k. ))

I'm flashing back to the master and patent holder of the 'one-sided phone conversaion', Bob Newhart.

Very nice.

Beanbag and taser, used together, can disorient bosses. Which is pretty sweet.

A long-distance stunner in PvP practically guarantees the target is popping a breakfree. You can only carry so many of those. And taser is a cute surprise for melee types who have run up to pound on the squishy.

IMO, wasted powers are:
Time bomb: High end, ridiculous animation time, 10 second delay from set-up, and mediocre accuracy make this nuke silly.

Auto Turret: High end, ridiculous animation time, semi-random targetting, and unless you're slotting it for damage, it's just about completely ineffectual. Why bother?

Raindance put down her notepad. “That’s all for today, gentlemen. Thank you for your time. I will send out an e-mail next week regarding the next…”

“Pardon me, Ms. Swan?” broke in Councillor Hengen. “But I think some of the members of this board are still a little concerned about this ‘zap chip’ program of yours. The unconstitutionality of the…”

“Mr. Hengen.” The storm defender interrupted the older gentleman right back. “We’ve discussed the matter as much as is necessary. FORCE members are all either convicted felons, or by their own admission unconvicted former members of assorted criminal organizations. In order to participate in the program they were all informed and willingly signed a legal waiver regarding the monitoring of their locations, physical condition, and behaviour.”

“These chips fry their brains, Ms. Swan.” Growled the elected official. “I doubt they were informed of that.”

“Hardly, Mr. Hengen. Non-superpowered prisoners are required to be manacled while outside the Ziggursky Prison. This is not a breach of their rights. It’s a reasonable safety precaution to protect the public. While it is impossible to manacle FORCE members while they complete their assignments, our responsibility remains to protect the public from any possibility of illegal actions. The chips are the only way we have to ensure that, Mr. Hengen. Unless you know of another way they can use their powers to fight crime and completely remove the possibility of rebellion.”

The councillor muttered under his breath, but added nothing for the record.

“Then, as I was saying,” resumed Shawnee. “I will e-mail the time for our next meeting by Friday afternoon. Thank you gentlemen.”


<><><><><><>&l t;><><><><><>< ><><><><><><&g t;<><><><><><> <><><><><><>&l t;><><><><><>< ><><><><><><&g t;<>


Raindance was still grinding her teeth as she undid the Kreig locks on her office door. Stupid old man… The door opened.

Her office smelled of burning cloves.

Quickly she shut the door behind her and relocked the deadbolts. The man in the plain dark suit sitting at her desk picking through her computer files didn’t bother to look up. Smoke trickled out of his nostrils in a way that seemed weirdly dragonlike to Shawnee.

“The meeting went well?” asked the man. His voice was soft, and despite the lack of sibilants in the sentence, it still came out as a hiss.

Rain stood in front of her desk. “Councillor Hengen is a problem. He’s constantly challenging…”

The man took a deep drag from his cigarette, and the smell of cloves intensified. “Hengen is an old warhorse. Sometimes he likes to stand on his hind legs and paw the air a bit. He’s no concern.”

The defender was uncertain how to continue. “Sir, I’ve seen the diagnostic data from the chips. They’re all implanted, but the data says approximately twenty percent may fail due to ‘unknown persistent system error’ the first time they are engaged. And the data cannot determine which of the candidates are most likely to fail.”

The smoking man’s eyes finally left the monitor screen. “I see.”

“Sir, we must abort the existing chips and re-administer as soon as possible…”

“No.”

Shock showed on Raindance’s face. “Sir? One in five FORCE members has no compliance failsafe, possibly more. If any of them discover the chips in their heads don’t work, their behaviour is difficult to predict, but uniformly bad. How can we not…”

He was looking back at her screen. “No.”

She swallowed. “Sir, the cost of rechipping would be negligible, in cash and political damage, compared to the cost of one of the candidates realizing we have no means of neutralizing him, or needing him neutralized and demonstrating we are unable to do so…”

The man’s brow furrowed the tiniest bit, cutting off the defender like he’d sliced her throat. “Ms. Swan, if you fear using the chips, by all means, don’t use them. I trust you’ll find a way to ensure compliance of all our candidates with or without the chips. That is why your services were retained in the first place, wasn't it?”

“I apologize, sir…”

“Are you now incapable of what you were once quite certain of doing?”

“No sir.”

He looked at her. And smiled. It was terrifying. “Good. The chips stay as they are. Nor will any of the candidates, or the board, become aware of anything less than a fully effective compliance failsafe.”

“Yes sir. Understood. May I ask a related question, sir?”

Another deep draw on the cigarette. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He smiled again. “Some months from now some members of the board may find it within themselves to and act on a misguided sense of altruism. At that time it may be to our benefit to display exactly what the candidates are capable of without the compliance failsafe in place.”

“But we have no idea which chips may fail…”

He stared at her for perhaps ten seconds, clearly communicating the error of her statement. She didn’t know. We, on the other hand seemed to have a very clear notion of who the dangerous ones were…

“The chip in candidate Handsome Devil is fully functional. Use it to your heart’s content. Make him an object lesson to the others, if you fear them.” He stood, walked casually around the desk to the door.

She new it was stupid to ask, but she couldn’t help it. “What happens if I can’t keep them in line? What do I do?”

He stood at the door a moment. She couldn’t see, but she felt he was smiling again. “Then the chip implanted in your head activates, and it’s no longer your concern.”

“The chip in my…?”

The door was open and he was gone.

Raindance slumped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. Surely the smoking man was bluffing…

Surely…

Handsome Devil walked into the FORCE debriefing room in the Zig, plopped down on the uncushioned wooden chair and smirked across the scarred metal table at the pimply recording tech across from him.

The tech tried a smile that was more mossy green than white. "Have a n-n-n-nice evening? Mr. Devil?"

Handsome smiled back. The tech shrank away like the scrappers mouth was filled with bloody fangs. "Better 'n yours, junior. I talked to a woman. What'd you do? Chatroom with a fourty year old truck-driver pretending to be an eighteen-year-old college co-ed?"

The tech spluttered, and seemed ready to run from the room. The Devil rolled his eyes, took a deep breath. "Just turn on the machine, junior. I'll do the rest."

Finally the tech's fingers stopped shaking enough to start the tape.

[ QUOTE ]
Noelle Frost: Hi there, Devil. How goes the program?
Handsome Devil: One day at a time, just like my other program. :-)
Noelle Frost: That so, huh? Well, I'm looking forward to working with you again soon.
Handsome Devil: I am as well. But bureaucracy grinds slowly, but fine, I guess.
Noelle Frost: Seems like it, I guess. I do hope I didn't get you in any more trouble for bringing you along the other night.
Handsome Devil: Bah. Trouble is my middle name. Handsome Trouble Devil. :-)
Noelle Frost: *laughs* So then you're used to it.
Handsome Devil: Trouble is less of a stranger to me and more of an unpleasant in-law who's come to visit, and never plans on leaving. :-)
Noelle Frost: Ah, got ya. Well, I hope to run into Agent Seven soon, who said he had something for me before we began the program -- maybe once I get it we can try meeting up again?
Handsome Devil: Ah, Agent Seven. One of my biggest fans. On the inside, of course. On the outside he's all business… But his chocolate marshmellowy inside loves me. I've seen it before. I can tell. :-)
Noelle Frost: *giggles* So I gather...
Handsome Devil: When you see him, tell him I said hello. Watch and listen for the girlish squeal of delight when you tell him. :-)
Noelle Frost: Tell me, does that girlish squeal sound just like "Hrm"?
Handsome Devil: THAT'S IT! You've heard it before then?
Noelle Frost: I have.
Handsome Devil: In relation to me?
Noelle Frost: Well, not exactly. He and I don't really talk much
Handsome Devil: Really, I think he's quite the charmer. you should watch out for that guy. Silver-tongued devil. Trust me: I know Devils. :-)
Noelle Frost: I'll be careful...
Handsome Devil: wouldn't want him sweeping you off your feet, romantic fools you both are. :-)
Noelle Frost: Oh yeah, that's all I need, Agent Seven sweeping me off my feet. Fer sure.
Handsome Devil: Not your type?
Noelle Frost: Not so much.
Handsome Devil: You like them thinner?
Noelle Frost: I, uh... Well, not always, no. Sometimes. Maybe.
Handsome Devil: Personally, I think it's his costume, and a high-fat diet that's really bulking him out
Handsome Devil: Too many fast-food stops, you know?
Noelle Frost: Up n' Away?
Handsome Devil: Worse than Mac & Cheese Night at the zig (gags)
Noelle Frost: Oh, no!!
Noelle Frost: *laughs*
Handsome Devil: So. You're into thin, fit guys who avoid junk food and look good in black...
Noelle Frost: Black, or gold lame, I guess.
Noelle Frost: And there's nothing wrong with junk food in small quantities
Handsome Devil: Ooooh. That's tough. Not alot of guys look good in gold lame.... Hmmmm.
Noelle Frost: It just so happens I do know one...
Handsome Devil: (makes note, mumbling to himself) adventurous.... dresser.... Really? You know a man in gold lame? Where does he shop? I bet we go to alot of the same stores. :-)]
Noelle Frost: You'd be surprised what you can pick up in Icon....
Handsome Devil: So you and the fashion plate something serious? I need to know: you start canceling our patrols together, and I'll report the both of you to the authorities. You'd be threatening my rehabilitation. ;-)
Noelle Frost: I can sometimes hold off shopping if there's work to be done. Sometimes.
Handsome Devil: Shopping? I'm more worried you'll be out close-dancing and holding hands without a chaperone. The scandal! :-)
Noelle Frost: *giggles* Well, I'll just try to keep my mind on work, how's that?
Handsome Devil: While you're with me? That's a TERRIBLE idea. :-)
Noelle Frost: So, hmmm... maybe I should ask your advice about guys? Is that what you're saying?
Handsome Devil: My advice? On men? Watch out for guys with horns and a tail. They're flashy, and a little charming, but they're no good for you at all. :-)
Noelle Frost: Got it. Stay away from horns and tails. Check!
Handsome Devil: And fat guys who giggle alot.
Noelle Frost: Cause that's just creepy
Noelle Frost: Creepy, I mean
Handsome Devil: totally.
Noelle Frost: Any other helpful hints?
Handsome Devil: Nothing leaps to mind. You're not going to offer some sage advice about finding a nice little woman for myself, letting her make an honest man out of me? ;-)
Noelle Frost: Why do I get the feeling you're not all that keen on being totally honest?
Handsome Devil: I'm shocked any hurt at the suggestion. Whatever do you mean. How have I not been honest? How have I misled? :-)
Noelle Frost: Oh, I don't know. Maybe you figured out some women -like- the bad boy act.
Handsome Devil: I assure you, I'm not acting. :-)
Noelle Frost: How about acting up, then? <her tone is teasing>
Handsome Devil: I admit my behavior does tend to grab attention. However, it is my intention to act the part of the perfect gentleman while we patrol together. If that seems dishonest, I apologize in advance.
Noelle Frost: No, I'm sorry. I was just... that is.... You've been great.
Handsome Devil: There are those, in your organization and in mine, who feel I'm a ticking time bomb. Trouble (ha) waiting to happen. I'm hoping, with your help, they can be shown otherwise.
Noelle Frost: I do want to help. I wish I knew when we could officially start, ya know?
Handsome Devil: Given the results last time, no offense, but I'm inclined to be patient. :-)
Noelle Frost: Good. Great. Cool, even. *giggles*
Handsome Devil: I'm pleased you think so. I also apologize if I occasionally seem a bit flirtier than I should be. Old habits. :-/
Noelle Frost: No, I understand. Keep me in practice!
Handsome Devil: Well, we certainly don't want your flirtation skills to fall into complete disuse, do we? :-)
Noelle Frost: Nope!
Noelle Frost: ((*Laughs*))
Handsome Devil: Anyway, my time out is about up. I have one last mission, some Circle of Thorns thingy, and I'm back in the box for another night.
Noelle Frost: Be careful, ok? Don't want you broke before the big square dance, as it were.
Handsome Devil: Have no fear. I'll be ready to allemand left when you're ready to doh-si-doh. :-)
Noelle Frost: As long as we get in some do-si-do'ing, I'm all set!
Handsome Devil: Count on it, pardner. :-)
Noelle Frost: That is... you do have a cowboy hat, right?
Handsome Devil: an a big ol' beltbuckle
Noelle Frost: Be still my heart, and tappin' feet.
Handsome Devil: I wouldn't honk the honk if I couldn't tonk the tonk. :-)
Noelle Frost: *laughs* No, of course not!
Handsome Devil: Good night, cowgirl. I'll talk to you later. :-X
Noelle Frost: Be careful, Devil. Talk to you soon.


[/ QUOTE ]

The tech had recovered his composure enough to try talking again. "Sh-sh-she sounds really nice, Mr. Devil."

Handsome stood up, stretched, and gave the young man another wolfish grin. "Yup. She surely does. Rooty-toot!" Then he walked out of the room, his escorts back to his cell falling in behind. As he decended deeper and deeper into the prison, his step became audibly lighter and lighter. By the time he reached the door to his cell, Handsome practically danced across the threshold.

((Thanks to Noelle for this wonderful opportunity to improvise-roleplay. You are aces, darlin'. ))

I prefer to think of my characters as being interrogated, as if in prison. It's the sense of my character in conflict that works for me.

Alternatively, imagine him completely drunk telling his life story to a bartender.

Powerfrost opened the green door hard enough to splinter the frame.

Raindance broke off in mid-word. Allegro, Handsome Devil, and Lazerwolf looked over from their make-up chairs. Dark Proton and Ruined One simply glanced up from their seats on the leather couch.

“Raindance.” As the ice tank spoke tightly, mist began pluming from his mouth and the white ceiling tiles became rymed with frost. “I need a word.”

The Huron Indian woman’s eyes slitted at the tone, but she nodded. “Everyone out while mommy and daddy have a discussion.”

The FORCE members all stood, some grinning, some not, as they quietly filed out the door. “We’ll just be down the hall powdering our noses. Mom.” called the Devil as he exited.

The Warden turned to the Public Relations Coordinator when they were gone. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“My job, chief. Same as you.” She fired back. “Putting FORCE together required the expenditure of a great deal of political capital. Our supporters are now at a bit of a disadvantage when dealing with their critics because no returns on their investment have been tabulated yet. This meeting will validate their continued confidence in us, until something more tangible, a successful task force or the like, can be presented for public consumption.”

“A press conference? Without my knowledge?” he demanded.

Raindance walked right up to Powerfrost’s chest, tapping his sternum armor. “First of all, Chief, let’s get one thing straight: I’m not one of your prisoners. I’ve paid my debt to society, and am currently employed by the exact same government agency you are. I am not your subordinate, your flunky, Gal Friday, or secretary. We are co-workers, and we deal with the same group of business assets in two completely different fields. You job is to make sure they’re out there hurting the right criminals. My job is to make sure the general public sees these degenerate scumbags as legitimate heroes. Since this assignment has nothing at all to do with throwing people in jail, it is under my sphere of influence, and is therefore none of your damn business.”

The tank bit his tongue. He was no politician, but dammit, FORCE members were his people, weren’t they?

“In the future,” he managed, “as a matter of professionsional courtesy, and to ensure maximum safety for both FORCE personnel and the general public, I would like to be informed of any PR events which would require participation of our people.”

The Indian warrior backed off a step. “Fine.”

Powerfrost took a deep breath. “And while we’re at it, maybe you can explain why exactly you’ve chosen the people you have? Allegro, Proton, and Lazerwolf I can understand. But for the love, Ruined One and Handsome Devil? What the hell are you thinking?”

“A little further ahead than you apparently are.” She was calming down now, in the zone, in her element. Time to teach this stupid man a thing or two. “My job revolves around statistics, percentages, and public opinion. All of which can be extremely fluid and subject to manipulation. Statistically, some of our operatives will be unable to consistently function in a stable fashion. These operatives present a tangible danger to continued viability for the rest of the entire group.”

“If you think Ruined and the Devil are the most likely to foul things up,” Powerfrost broke in, “why are you…”

“Given the standing psychological reviews of all FORCE operatives,” Raindance interrupted back. “I think we can safely say that Happy Pholistigon and Geomorphic are the two individuals most likely to foul things up. However, both of these individuals have well documented ongoing mental illnesses. Making them unsuitable for what I have in mind. On the other hand, both Ruined and Handsome Devil are lucid psychopaths, meaning they are not prone to irrational impulses or strange compulsions. They are capable of forming criminal intent, or not, as they choose.”

There was a sound outside the door. The Warden moved smoothly to it, but found no one lurking in the hall outside. He returned to Raindance. “So why are they part of your press junket?”

Raindance sighed as she moved in for the kill. “Because when it suits them they are well-spoken, charismatic, and they look great on television. Because while Allegro Lazer, Proton and myself represent the positive elements of a rehabilitive program of this nature, they represent the other side of FORCE demographics: hardened, unrepentant criminals who, most importantly, are still serving the law. If we put a bunch of shiny, happy go-getter types out there in front of the press, they’ll know we’re hiding something. You try to sit on someone like Handsome Devil, he’ll find a way to embarrass us in front of a camera somewhere else. And if worst comes to worst, it’ll make it easier to distance ourselves from them.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Rain gritted her teeth. Men are so stupid, she thought. “If something goes wrong and Ruined or the Devil screws up bad, we make a point of punishing them. Two ‘high-profile’ FORCE operatives being processed without preferential treatment by the justice system could mean the difference between an improvement in public credibility for our impartiality, and a lynch mob forming outside our offices if they feel we’re covering up inappropriate actions of two convicted killers.”

Powerfrost pulled away from her. “You’re setting them up to be scapegoats.”

“Hardly.” She snarled back. “I’m taking steps to minimize the damage they can do. You want to risk the rehabilitations of all the people hoping to better themselves on the good behavior of those two walking trainwrecks? As long as they behave themselves, they have nothing to worry about. When they do, we’re ready to spin it so the rest of the program continues on unaffected.”

The ice tanker breathed deeply. He hated this sort of backroom wrangling. “It feels like we’re selling them out, Rain.”

How quaintly naïve, she thought. “It’s insurance for the program, and the individuals who would be lost without it. Now, I have about two minutes before the cameras roll and the questions start. Since you’re here, it would be nice to have you on hand to discuss field considerations and related topics.”

She walked briskly out the door, followed by an increasingly unhappy Powerfrost.

Seconds after they were gone, one of the large ceiling tiles shifted, retracted. Two men, one dark, the other brightly colored, dropped neatly from the hole.

“I told you that would work. At least it did in every teen comedy done during the eighties.” whispered Handsome Devil.

“They are planning for us to fail. I will consume their souls for that.” growled the Ruined One.

Handsome shrugged as he walked to the door, quickly checking the hallway. “Just being practical, really. I mean, from this whole group of supercheezes, who would you pick to damage the program bad enough to send us all back into the slam?”

“You think we should do nothing?” Ruined actually sounded a bit surprised. “I had not thought you a coward.”

The Devil turned back to his fellow felon, grinning. “Listen Count Chocula, I never said anything about letting this go. And if you think a minute, Pocahontas’s plan was for ‘high-profile’ FORCE members to take the fall for the team if something went bad.”

“So?”

The grin got even wider. “So who’s higher profile than the FORCE head of public relations?” Then he darted out of the room toward the area where the journalists were gathering.

Ruined’s lips retracted in a way that was weirdly, not-quite-but-almost nothing like a human smile.

Don't try text combat on non-friends. It's a time waster. No one wants to lose, and it just grinds on and on and on.

God-modding. Someone comes up to my character and explains that because they have power over kinetics they hold me in place as they stop my heart from beating, and I'm dead. Well after I stopped laughing at them, I'd rip into them over broadcast so that everyone around me knew what an appalling doof the God-mod was. I'd never submit myself to that sort of treatment from anyone but a close friend. Why should any player, for reasons of game continuity, be obliged to be used like a fifty cent ho?

The vigilante hero. By creating a hero you stipulate that you will abide by the basic background and rules of the CoH genre. If you're working against the govement, for example, you should consider doing so in a quiet, sneaky sort of way. Since there's no way for you to blow up city hall or kill police officers, accept that large-scale anti-government activity is impossible. You may not like them, but since it's impossible for you to act directly against them, suck it up.

Next, the folks who figure you're busting their groove. Everyone is a vigilante, liscenced by the government to stop crime by whatever means are most appropriate. You ease up on the anti-government rhetoric, they'll ease up on trying to bust you. You don't have to like the government (my characters sure don't), but you can't claim to act against them, because you can't.

Last, PvP to resolve RP disputes. Ridiculous. The advantage some ATs have over others (and some levels have over others) in the arena immediately and clearly invalidates this as any form of ajudication. PvP is a game mechanic, which is the opposite of creative roleplaying. Anyone who challenges me to PvP to resolve an IC dispute would get laughed at. Like I would stop in the middle of an IC arguement to travel three zones over to go into an arena, create an event, and then settle it there? Where is your sense of narrative flow? Of timing? Folks who want to sit around rolling dice all day are welcome to it. At best, I'd flip a coin (thankfully, also an in-game decision maker available to players) and ask the other party to call it before the throw. I'd abide by that, and it would only take about 10 seconds.

Handsome Devil watched the street silently from the top of the building. He was in Talos Island, not Atlas as Powerfrost had instructed, but there were ten thousand teeny-tiny heroes there, all apparently convinced he was there to give them money, or fight crime with them.

Absently the Devil listened to the FORCE communications band. The more he listened, the deeper the sneer he always seemed to have inside his head became. For a bunch of hardcase criminals, FORCE smelled alot like kitty.

Al was okay. A punk kid who thought she was six different flavours of mean, but still, better than most. At least she didn’t just turn up her nose when he said something suitably tactless. She’d handled the loofa-tongue thing a lot better than he’d thought. And she always wanted to kick him in the crotch, so she wasn’t completely stupid.

The rest? Well, there was no question they kicked a lot of tail. They worked together well as a team, watched out for each other when they were on the job together.

The Devil smiled as some Tsoo sorcerer struggled to steal some ninety pound lady’s purse. Of course, Handsome was hardly interested in FORCE when they were working. Each member came from someplace hard and nasty, which made making shiny-happy new friends much harder. You could feel the cold places between group members when they were sitting around the office, talking to their councillors, or in transit back to the Zig.

It was easy to be brothers and sisters out when people were non-discriminatorily trying to kill you. It was tougher when there’s nothing but abrasive, semi-paranoid personality to put on display.

The Devil went over the list in his head. People to openly smash, people to openly support, people to secretly slander, people to secretly manipulate. Everyone’s on the list somewhere.

Finally a hero with a big gun snuck up behind the sorcerer and blew him out of his coolie hat. The civilian practically fell at the supercheeze’s feet thanking him, giving him money. The Devil narrowed his eyes, tapped the hilt of his weapon. Gratitude. Who needs that?

Captain Do-Gooder zipped off at superspeed. Moments later the horned scrapper sprang suddenly from his perch, bored of just sitting. He headed south, toward Founders. A couple more hours and his patrol would be over. FORCE members continued to burble from the earpiece. The Devil smiled as he travelled, reviewing his mental lists, plotting and planning.

Handsome Devil- Go To H:ell by KFMDM

Jericho Jones- Little Beggarman by Great Big Sea