jerichojones

Jericho Jones, head pirate of Champion Server.

'All I need is a tall ship, and a star to sail her by...'

I don't recall giving you permission to come aboard, matey.

Swimwear:

The CoT lifeguard did not approve of the idea of a topless beach, so I had to cover with something, right?

I spy with my little eye...

Formal Wear:

Proper outfit accessorization for Founders Falls: Assault Rifle, with extra mags tucked into your garter.

My thanks to Valkyrie II, without whom the magic of these pictures would never have happened. Your love and patience for screenshot photography is evident to all who see these.

Handsome Devil poked his head back in through the office door. The Popsicle and Seargent Schultz had left, but it was always good to be cautious. Except when it wasn’t. He slipped in, relocking and closing the door as he hopped across the room to the computer terminal. No password on the screensaver. Amateur.

The Devil quickly scanned the desktop files. Nothing interesting, except the folder named Private and Top Secret: Operatives. Either Lee Marvin was trolling for snoopers, or he was as dumb as he looked. The horned scrapper ignored the files and rapidly gained internet access through the desktop machine.

Security was a joke. So typical for civic employee workstations.

Moments later the machine was busy downloading files from several websites. Most involved animals, fecal matter, and ‘wink-wink special’ package tours of several pacific rim countries. A few were more obscure, sites with links to international terrorist organizations, assorted hate literature, and scenic locations like Rwanda, Treblinka, Somalia, the former Yugoslavia, and The Calgary Stampede. Pure carnage, thought the Devil.

Handsome’s fingers whirred over the keys, sending the downloads to obscure, seldom used files throughout the huge P-City Civic datafile storage system.

Sooner or later someone is going to kick over one of these. Won’t the Popsicle be amused then?

Keys jangled outside the door.

The Devil closed out the internet access and hid all of the pending downloads. Then he jumped up on the desk, turned his back to the door, and whipped his pants to his ankles in a fluid motion. Then he squatted down and started making gutteral grunting noises.

“Handsome Devil!” thundered Powerfrost, staring directly into the unruly scrapper’s bright red posterior. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The Devil looked shyly over his shoulder at his commander. “I was leaving you a present on your keyboard. But you came back and ruined the moment.”

He hopped to the floor, pulling his pants up as he did so.

“Sorry if it smells a bit funky in here.” He grinned. Did a few practice runs to warm up for the main event. Don’t worry. I’ll get you later.”

The warden was fuming. “Get. Out. Now.”

Handsome Devil looked hurt. “What? No threats to throw my punk-[censored] back in jail? Frosty, I’m crushed.”

The next thing the Devil knew, he was crashing through the brand new door to the FORCE offices, across the hall, and into the wall he so recently had bounced the snivelling weasel briefer off of.

Powerfrost stood in the doorway. “The door is coming out of your allowance. Now run along little man, before I spank that little red bottom of yours blue.”

The Devil gave a forced smile, picked himself up, deliberately brushed himself off, and sauntered out the doors of City Hall.

Handsome Devil walked back into the office, trying not to wipe his hands on his blinding white armani jacket. He grabbed a chair, plopped down behind a desk, and propped his bare red feet up on its blotter.

Can you believe that little weasel?

At the front of the room, Powerfrost crossed his arms.

Devil, the next time I see you lay hands on a citizen, you'll be on your way back to the Zig.

What? That? That's nothing! Listen mein Furher...

That was assault, Devil. And that cute little toss into the wall across the hallway, that's battery. You want to spend the rest of your existence in a ten by twelve foot room complete with bread and water roomservice three times a day, I can arrange it.

Handsome opened his mouth to retort, then shut it with a snap. He rolled his eyes, but offered nothing else. Powerfrost resumed speaking.

The rest of you, pay attention. You're on thin ice already, or you wouldn't be here. Your assignments are up here. Check with the indicated contacts for missions. Folks without assignments do street patrol. You'll be expected to report to at several checkpoints over the course of your shift. Dark Proton, you have task force duty today. Positron. Report to him in Skyway after briefing. Got a bunch of new heroes looking to get broken in. Everyone else, do your jobs, and stay out of trouble.

Slowly the room emptied, Handsome Devil lingering the longest, rolling his eyes again and snorting when he picked up his assignment: Atlas Park Street Patrol. Finally the door closed, leaving Powerfrost and Wille Der Macht by themselves.

How big a threat do you think Handsome actually is?

Powerfrost never ceased to marvel at how the blonde German was able to control his accent. Now it was almost unnoticeable. But when Wille wanted to, it could be was meatier than a bavarian sausage.

A threat? Middlin' maybe. He talks alot bigger than he actually is. But as a potential problem and grievance, he's awfully close to the front of the class. Most of the folks here, they're here working on a pardon, or redemption, or restoration of honor, or absolution for something. Others are just hiding out from their former associates. Devil, he's here because he fits the 'disposable hero' profile so well.

He wants to die?

No no no. The Devil was looking at the death sentence for drugs, extortion and multiple homicides. He turned state's evidence on everyone he'd ever worked with to get life imprisoment without parole. There's no pardon in the works for him. We'll never let him go, and he knows it. That every criminal organization in P-City wants his head to mount over their mantle is a joke to him. Everyone else in FORCE wants something from us, something we can give them. Devil, he doesn't want anything, except a chance to get out and lay down some hurt on people. That's not alot of leverage to have on a guy like him.

Perhaps he should be sent back to the Zig then. Is it worth the risk?

Powerfrost stood and stared at the door for a long time before answering.

We can't send him back. I know, I know. I threaten him about it all the time. But word from the top is that Handsome Devil is to remain active in F.O.R.C.E. 'until such time his employment as an operative is terminated by non-legal methods'.

Someone wants him to die out here, mein herr? Thats very interesting.

'Interesting' my gluteal armor plate. That's why I have him nabbing purse snatchers in A.P.: Hopefully it'll keep him out of harm's way until we can get a better idea of who's pulling the strings on this.

Powerfrost walked to his cubicle, sat down, and booted up his computer.

Now if you don't mind, Mr. Macht, I have paperwork to do that will save Paragon City from imminent invasion by magic pygmy rabbits or some such. Get out there and do a patrol or something.

Wille clicked his heels together and snapped off a miliary salute

Jawhol, mein Herr. I go to save the world.

The Warden watched the German Inmate leave. He smiled as he started up the appropriate program, and began to defend democracy and freedom one freecell game at a time.

((Hello, and welcome to the offices of F.O.R.C.E., the CoH version of The Dirty Dozen (or Suicide Squad for you whipper-snappers too young to remember the Lee Marvin classic). As heroes, you don't like us quasi-criminal types lurking here, and we wouldn't have it any other way. Please post your thoughts on the general goings on as you observe our operatives in their native habitat. It's a big and busy City hall, so whatever reason you're passing through, always feel free to stop in and poke the animals through the bars.

Where possible please bold any spoken dialogue, while any described in-character actions can be italicised for clarity.

And now... on with the hyjinks. ))

Superhuman Governmental Affairs Briefing, June 18, 2005

The bureaucrat giving the briefing looked like a fat bipedal rat. His suit is rumpled, and has many multi-hued foodstains, which appear completely beyond removal. He’s at least three days unshaven, and his facial hair is growing in patchy, like mange. His teeth are a gently rotting horror, and even from the podium his breath is worse. His black, beady little eyes gleam ferally under his monobrow, and as he speaks he seems to exult in his petty power to hold the attention of a room full of superheroes.

Ahem. Well, I know you’ll all be pleased. F.O.R.C.E., the Federal Organization for the Reassignment of the Criminal Element, has finally set up an office here in City Hall, Atlas Park. It is precisely the sort of demented left-wing social experiment that drives real heroes like you absolutely crazy, I know. A bunch of hardened, brutal, superpowered criminals taken out of their cages and put to work serving the public good in exchange for pardons, paroles, and opportunities for ‘emotional maturation’. Thankfully there’s enough right-wing knee-jerk reactionaries in government to make sure F.O.R.C.E. operatives get first crack at the lowest survival potential assignments that can be scraped up. And if there aren’t any suicide missions available, count on these 'people' being marched to the nearest sewer access to gather evidence for municipal planning strategems; seasonal elevations in total city sewage output, temperature gradients during heavy rains, that sort of menial work to try and keep them a little honest.

He stoped to drink from the styrofoam cup of coffee he brought with him. Nearly half of it makes it past his lips, the rest joins the nutritional value of the once-white, now gray-beige dress-shirt the little rodent picked out of the laundry hamper this morning.

Listen, I know how you must feel about this. Felons on the streets, doing your job? You gotta hate that. I understand. But listen. Don’t worry. I know a guy in the mayor’s office. There’s a lot of pressure to do something about all these gang problems around the city. These F.O.R.C.E. idiots are just meat for the grinder until we can get things back under control. If you see them out on a mission or something, just ignore them.

The rodent looked furtively toward the door, then back to his briefing group. He walked around his podium and moved to confidential distance to his listeners. His words hissed out of his mouth like water gurgling down a gutter to a storm drain.

As a matter of fact, you can ignore them whenever it’s convenient. Like say, you see one or two in trouble out on the street. You have better things to do than to babysit scum like these guys, right? Or if they… talk to you. You don’t need that sort of aggravation, do you? Just inform your superiors, or theirs if they have any, that whatever member was getting on your nerves was threatening you. Or citizens. Or was talking about breaking their parole. Whatever. It’s not like anyone would believe them over you, right?

The bureacrat straightened up, adjusted his greasy tie, and returned to his podium.

So, ah, that’s it. F.O.R.C.E. operatives will be in and out of this office for the time being. You can identify them by their black and white uniform coloring, and the circled-star device, which is their symbol. Their official title, I am informed, will be ‘Inmate’. Their Commander is named, ah, Powerfrost. His title will be, ah, Warden. We will post a full roster as soon as it is available. Keep your eyes open and be sure to say hello when you see these… people… out on the streets. Thank you, and good day.

None of the assembled heroes moved. The rodent’s nose seemed to twitch, sensing sudden danger.

What’s the matter? Something wrong?

A blonde man with Nordic cheekbones rose from one of the front seats. His armor was impeccably neat and shiningly polished. His blue eyes sparkled behind dark sunglasses.

Apologies, mein herr. Zerr hass ben zum confusion, ja? I am Wille Der Macht, Oberlieutenant to Herr Powerfrost, who vas delayed in court today. Za rest of zis room, we are der current roster of F.O.R.C.E., nicht war? Der ‘idiots fur der grinder’, ja?

The rodent went from looking merely ill to corpse-like pallor.

Oh. Well. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…

A tall man with red skin and small horns jutting from above his eyebrows stood and walked up to the man, seizing the bureaucrat by his slimy lapels.

Mornin’ sweetie. My name’s Handsome Devil. You can either shut your yapper and leave now, or me and the boys from cellblock b will show you what extended solitary confinement is like by removing all of your sensory organs.

The stench coming off the man grew suddenly thicker as his bladder let go. At the same time the door to the room opened, and an icy wind gusted in ahead of a floating, robotic-looking man in grey and crystal blue armor.

What are you doing, Devil?

The horned scrapper swung the briefer around like a toy, grinning like a lunatic.

Nothing, Massa Powerfros’. Just straightening the cookie- pusher’s tie. I think he had an accident. Too much coffee before show an' tell.

The Warden was not amused.

Handsome, I’m going to take you back to the zig someday and bury you in the yard. Now get rid of your friend. We’ve got work to do, and no time for your stupid games.

The Devil dragged the man to the door yanking it open, and tossing him out across the hall into the opposite wall. He smiled down at the bureaucrat warmly.

Thanks for dropping by, sugar. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.

His grin became icy.

Count on it.

The door slammed shut, and the rodent slowly picked himself up and moved, quivering and shaking, toward the nearby men’s room.

[ QUOTE ]
Is it bad if a paladin is built? Wouldn't you just get better exp?

[/ QUOTE ]

Much better exp if he's built. He scales to level like any monster, which requires a combined effort to stop. I'm a level 50 and got 4500 reduced debt.

However,

You receive NO BADGE if Paladin spawns. The idea is to kill all the little clocks sent to defend the worksite. Eventually they stop coming, you kill the construction site, and you get the badge.

This may be my imagination, but I think the number of times the purple-glowy clockwork spawn may have something to do with how often Paladin spawns. I believe this because he spawned twice today before I found a construction site suddenly built in the SW corner of KR. My advice, for anyone who would test this theory, would be to run at SS from one potential site to the next, waiting only long enough to see the lil' guys pop out of the ground, then move on to the next one.

Killing them does nothing. I think it only wastes time. Eventually the random number/spawn generator throws boxcars and whammo, there is the construction site. It's just a matter of causing enough spawns.

I think.