PERC Presents: Tell Me a Story! -Victory-

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The below flier is posted on behalf of the player organization promoting the event.
For more information about having an event flier posted, please see the <a href=http://boards.cityofheroes.com/showflat.php?Cat=0&Number=8952225">Event Posting Rules</a>

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<c><img src= "http://i59.photobucket.com/albums/g302/LightDragoenix/storybanner.jpg"></c>

<font size=4>Hey Victory, I want you to tell me a story![/color]

This is a forum based event, but if you so desire you can send in or post a screenshot of the character(s) you wish to tell me about.

Here are the objectives:

-Pick a character or characters of yours.
-Write a story utilizing your character(s).
-Stories can be an origin story, a day in the life of your hero/villain, or about any event they encountered.
-USE YOUR IMAGINATION, no real life story of how you created them.
-You may not use any slang or internet lingo; unless you are using it in a conversation!
-A maximum of 1500 words, no minimum. (Remember, depth counts)
-Punctuation and grammar count!
-You may write in any Point of View! (1st, 2nd, or 3rd.)
-Be creative, it can even be in journal entry format to look a bit more realistic.

How to enter:

Either post your entry into this thread or e-mail it to me at Madame.Pistacio@gmail.com attaching your story using Word Document, also attach a screenshot if you desire!

Judging:

Each reader will read and score your entry using a basic story rubric. Then each judge’s total score will be totaled for the final score. There will be four judges, three judges from PERC and a special guest judge.

Due Date:

June 1st by 11:59 pm PST

Prizes:

First Place will be awarded the forum title: “Victory’s Own Story Teller” AND a piece of artwork of their character done by a guest artist.
Two Runners up will be rewarded with a Chibi style drawing of their character done by a guest artist.

Please PM, post, or contact @Madame Pistacio or @Schatzie with any questions regarding this contest.

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Sounds like fun.

Go Go creative writing 405.

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This contest is still open!! If you have any questions at all, just let me know.

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How long do we have? when is the deadline this is the first ive seen of this contest??

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...It's in the op. Did you read it?

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Due Date:

June 1st by 11:59 pm PST

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I'm just a holy fool, oh baby it's so cruel


Thessalia, by Darkchildx2k

/e Points to his .sig

That IS my story.

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"I swear you could fling a man hole cover across the street and hit more notes than 90% of those idiots on American Idol" -Desmodos
"Every time you post I feel like I been hit with a fist full of smart! Thanks." - Volken re: Sucker Punch
Arc #36984 V'kta A'cha Vox'm

Some questions people asked me:

Q. I do not live in the US, can I still enter?
A. Absolutely! All prizes will be handled via email, so you may enter no matter what country you call home.

Q. If I write a story about one character and I win, does my artwork prize have to be of that character?
A. No. You may choose any character you like to be depicted for your prize.

Q. If I win 1st prize, can I give my friend my forum title?
A. No, only the account that enters will be granted the title.

Q. The story I would like to write is more than 1500 words, what should I do?
A. Only stories that grossly exceed the cap (over 500 overs the limit) will be heavily penalized. The words "a", "and", "the", and "an" will not count towards your total. The word limit should be used more as a guideline than a penalty structure.

Q. The story I wrote is "R" rated, what should I do?
A. I invite you to post your teen rated stories on the forum, R rated stories should be submitted via email to madame.pistacio@gmail.com.

Thanks all! Hope to see some entries soon!

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Only a few days left!! I have received a few entries via email, but need more. Don't miss out!

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Woah, forgot about this. I will see if I can't create something fantastic for this.

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Guide: Tanking, Wall of Fire Style (Updated for I19!), and the Four Rules of Tanking
Story Arc: Belated Justice, #88003
Synopsis: Explore the fine line between justice and vengeance as you help a hero of Talos Island bring his friend's murderer to justice.
Grey Pilgrim: Fire/Fire Tanker (50), Victory

Does the story have to be prose or can it be in a poetic form?

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The story can be written in any form you like- narrative, journal entry, prose, etc. Just remember, good grammar and spelling will count.

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Emailed one to you. Its over the limit, but if nothing else let me know what you think. It's cute and different, or so I have been told.

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<sigh> Viv says its no longer "all me".
http://wendy-mags.mybrute.com/

Thanks Toril! I look forward to reading it.

I have several entries emailed to me, but we need more! Remember, we are going for a guest artist's sketch of one of your characters and a custom forum title! 2nd and 3rd place will get cute little Chibi drawings!

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The etchings around the portal glowed intensely as blue mist drifted from them and spun into a vortex in the center. The wind masked the voices of the immerging shadowy figures. Wings flapped as the scantily armored form materialized, left arm stretched out, as if to grip the air. Her right arm held back by the weight of her load. She stumbled to a stop as she yanked her victim through and the wind ceased almost if dispersed suddenly by the sound of their voices.

“…and how exactly is you yanking me thru supposed to make me feel any better about these things” Cynsaya shouted to her abductor. She flailed her arms as to shake off some unseen dust or foliage. Her oversize navy sleeves stuck out her petticoat vest as she tugged it down in some feigned futile attempt to cover her expose abdomen. She stopped patting her suede pants and yelled “would you let go of me already!”

Desmidas smiled at Cynsaya, holding up both hands to prove she’d already freed her. Cynsaya pointed in earnest to Desmidas tail, still wrapped around her suede pant leg. Desmidas feigned surprised , giggling as she unwrapped her tail. “You’ve been in Paragon City long enough; you should be used to portals by now.”

Cynsaya protested, “I didn’t say I wasn’t used to them, I said I don’t like them. They’re unnatural, while we’re at so is wrapping tails around peoples legs…”

Desmidas went from giggling to all out laughter, “Unnatural!?!?” She struggled to stay on her feet, reaching out for one the large wooden benches leading away from the portal. She barely avoided knocking over the oversized candelabras lighting the foyer. “You humans …..have crazy ideas ……of what’s natural”

“I’m never taking you out for ice cream again, I swear it affects you. And kill the “you humans” noise, I already told you..” The portal interrupted Cynsaya.

Desmidas actually stopped laughing long enough to get to her feet. Cynsaya on the other hand, did not notice new arrival's speed, she barely got her armors up before the red skinned figure plowed into her. The two sprawled out onto the marble floor of the foyer, knocking over candelabras with a very loud crash. Desmidas eyes opened wide as she dodged the accident. She stared blankly until she recognized the figure, “Magda, YOU’RE WEARING A DRESS!!!” Desmidas collapsed on the bench again, laughing hysterically.

“GET OFF ME, Magda!” Cynsaya shouted. The two shoved each other as they got to their feet. Cynsaya dropped her armors as she admired Desmagda’s dress, “What’s the occasion, hot date? “

“What’s with standing in the doorway?!?!” Desmagda demanded, “and no there’s no hot date, I’m just late. We’re late, and why didn’t you two dress up?”

Desmidas stopped laughing abruptly, “We were supposed to dress up? "

Heels clicked on cobblestones from the distance. A blue skinned elf turned the corner, her silvery mythril gown shined so brightly it seemed to get there before the rest of her. She whispered loudly, “You’d think it was Tanker Tuesday in here with all the racket you three are making.” She looked Desmidas and Cynsaya over condescendingly, showing disapproval for their attire. “You’re all late; now keep it down, ‘Nica is all batty over this.”

Cynsaya glared at Desmidas, “They are all dressed up, and I couldn’t go back to my flat to freshen up? I had a dress picked out of for this, but nooooo, you had to get ice cream. So help me ‘Midas we’re gonna have a one on one about this.” Cynsaya stomped after Desduende.

Magda and Desmidas stared at each other dumbfounded for a moment before Desmidas asked, “Where’d you get the dress?”

“’Nica loaned it to me, she always seems to know where to find low back cuts, perfect for tails.” Desmagda modeled the dress for her.

Desmidas rubbed the velvet dress on Magda’s hips, declaring “Very nice, she does know how to shop.” The turned Magda to admire the front of halter dress, but then turned to Magda’s face quickly, “Who told you to dress up? “

“’Nica did. She said we’d be having a special dinner with everyone, so we should dress up.”

“Dinner!? Down here?!?” Desmidas nearly shouted, “This can’t be good” She stormed thru the foyer, nearly dragging Desmagda.

Desmidas nearly hit her with the large gothic oak door as she opened it and yanked Magda into the dining chamber. As they crossed the ring of pillars around the chamber, Magda pulled her hand free and stared back at the door. She turned her head to see the room and then back at the door. How could this room possibly be so big? It doesn’t make any sense. Maroon silk draped downward from each pillar towards the center of the room. Each drape met at the large cast iron ring, seeming suspended in air by the silk. Beneath the ring sat a large stone table, surrounded by oversized wooden chairs. Torches hung from the ring, lighting the table. Torch flames reflected off the ice crystal that refused to melt despite the orange flame inside it. On back of a the wooden chair, sat 'Nica, her attention was on a door. Her royal blue, satin skirt drifted over the chair. The satin cloth wrapped about her torso, avoided her flapping wings that balanced her vicarious perch.

“’Nica, you said nothing about this being a formal gathering,” Desmidas accused 'Nica as she pulled back a chair.

Eyes still on the door, ‘Nica jerked her arm to fling something at Desmidas, “You’re worst than your sister.”

Desmidas caught the cell phone, opened and closed it before tossing it on the table. “I told you I hate those things, I’m and magical creature, there are limits to how much technology I’m…” Desmidas stopped mid sentence as ‘Nica flung something else at her. Desmidas caught the unraveling scroll with ease. She turned to Desduende, who watched everything with a wine goblet in her hand. “She throws pretty good for a defender,” but Desduende seemed disinterested.

'Nica snapped her head towards Desmidas, “You have no kingdom in this dimension, princess. You’re not the only scrapper I have to look after. Learn to take some stinkin’ responsibility for your…” A loud crash came from behind the door. Everyone moved behind ‘Nica as she flew for the door.

A powerful voice from behind the door stopped them all suddenly, “’Nica so help me, if you pop you pretty horns through that door one more time you’ll wake up in the resurrection alter with half your skirt!” The scrappers stared at each other as 'Nica stood frozen at the door. She seemed about to say something when the voice shook the door “SIT DOWN.”

Desduende smiled wickedly as she pulled ‘Nica from the door, “I believe the phrase is “guess who’s coming for dinner.”

Desmidas stayed by the door as the others found seats, “What’s going on?”

'Nica mutters something beneath her breath while stretching out her arm. A smoky skull shot out from her hand, flying across the table, catching the scroll in its gaping jaw. The skull looped around back to ‘Nica and disappeared as it collided with her open hand, dropping off the scroll. ‘Nica then flung the scroll at Desmidas.

“Would you please stop with the throwing things at me?” Desmidas yelled, catching the scroll and unraveling. She shook her head as she read to scroll.

Desatanica glared at Desmidas, “Your sister is making us dinner”

Desmidas dropped the scroll on the floor, and turned her head upwards, seeming about to pray. She seemed to remember something abruptly and turned to Desduende, “Where’s the bottle?”

Desduende’s arm dropped to her side, her hand disappearing beneath the table, “Took you long enough.” In one swing she brought up a glazed ceramic flask and flung it a Desmidas, whispering “catch.”

Desmidas caught the flask, “Shut up, elf.” She then flew up to the cast iron ring above the, grabbing two wine goblets, dangling from it and plopped into a chair next to Cynsaya. “Drink,” she ordered as wine flowed into both glasses. “Whose idea was this?” Desmidas asked as she bottomed up her goblet.

‘Nica smiled, “Mine.”

Desmidas immediately refilled her glass. Cynsaya noticed Desduende managed to produce another flask to fill her own goblet. Confused by all the concern, she sipped her wine, “’Nica, I take it Desmodas doesn’t cook very often. Is that the reason for the special occasion?”

‘Nica crossed her hands and placed them on the table, “No, this is a training exercise, one with rewards and penalties.”

Muffles screams come for behind the door. Cynsaya paused to listen before asking “Training for whom, and what are the penalties.”

“Everyone actually.” ‘Nica beamed as she revealed her plan. “Since you scrappers, are notorious for not working with others, you were given directions on how to work with tonight’s events. Sinllema is being trained to be free, I’m being trained to let go, and Desmodas is being trained to be patient.”

Desmidas pulled her face out of the goblet long enough to ask, “All this from one dinner?”

Cynsaya interjected, “Wait where’s Sinllema?”

Another large crash followed by indiscernible screaming came from the door before ‘Nica could answer. She paused for the noise and then pointed towards the door with a worried expression, “In there with Desmodas.”

“They’re making dinner together?” Cynsaya asked in amazement, to which Desatanica nodded. “And our assignment was to dress up?” ‘Nica kept nodding. “And our penalty for not dressing up?”

“You taste the food first” ‘Nica’s voice almost seemed to deepen as she answered.

Cynsaya turned quickly to Desmidas, “You are so off my friend list.” Cynsaya propped her boot on Desmidas chair and shoved her way. She then grabbed the bottle, gulped what was in her goblet and moved near Desduende to refill.

Desmidas pulled her chair back to the table, seemingly unaffected until she noticed her empty goblet. She pointed at it and frowned at Desduende. Shaking her head, Desduende produced a third flask and hurled it Desmidas. Desmidas caught it with childish glee, filling her goblet as she asked, “so what’s the reward Magda and the elf get?”

“They get to ask Desmodas one question, any question, no restrictions. “ ‘Nica stared at Desmidas as she answered, “and her highness as agreed to answer truthfully, no matter the question.”

All four scrappers gasped as they sat up. Magda and Desduende exchanged pleased looks. The goblet in Cynsaya’s hand shattered. She turned and mocked Desmidas “I don’t like the ice cream in Founders. The shop in Faultline is better. Blah, blah, blah.” Cynsaya flung the pieces of shattered crystal at Desmidas, “We could have gone to my flat and had the freaking ice cream delivered instead of leaving my dress on the stupid hanger,”

Desmidas collected the pieces of shattered crystal out of her hair, “Would you please shut up about the stupid dress in your crumby flat. I already told you I didn’t…” the exploding kitchen door never let her finish.

They fully expected the door to disintegrate, but it merely flung open with a loud thud. Flames licked the frame of the arched doorway as a cart came rolling out. On the cart sat Sinllema. A charred apron adorned the usually naked creature who was nearly covered in an array of powders and gooey fluids. She seemed to notice everyone staring at her when she raised her arms in the air to declare “Dinner’s done!”

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~1658~ Two men cautiously approached each other in a dark tunnel under the streets of Paris. They spoke softly, afraid to be overheard. The language was somewhat like French, but with obvious differences. "Is everyone prepared?" the elder of the two men asked. "Yes, everything is packed; the women and children are ready." "Then we leave tonight." The younger man nodded and walked away briskly, they could not be found together, it would have been too dangerous.

Hours later the men met again, this time at a port. They quickly loaded men, woman, and children onto a vessel. "Count them, we cannot leave anyone behind," said the elder gruffly. "41..." said the younger man, a slight panic in his voice,” Someone is missing." "Marcel" the elder said sighing. Marcel, a boy of 14, was always getting into trouble. In fact, it was the boy's fault that they were fleeing France that very night. Marcel had accidently led the French authorities to the sect's underground hide out. The French government was not keen on any "alternative" types of people, especially those that moved around dipping into the dark arts. The police considered the Children of Enos (as they called themselves) to be on the same level as gypsies, worthless filth needing to be cleansed. It was only by sheer luck that the elders of the group were able to get all of the women and children out of their dwelling before the police arrived. A fight ensued, leaving all but one of the policemen dead and several of the sect wounded. That episode had been two weeks ago. Now that Laurent and Jacques were healthy enough to travel, they knew it was time to make their escape.

Suddenly the sounds of dogs barking filled the air... the hounds. The authorities were on their way. The sect was in no position to fight, so if they didn't leave immediately, their fate was sealed. The last of the men jumped onto the boat and pushed it away from the dock. Both men thought the same thing- how were they going to break this to Angelique, Marcel's mother? The men gave one last look at France and began their descent into the ship's cabin. "Wait!!" a shrill voice cried out. It was Marcel. He was running, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. There were two dogs inches behind him, snapping at his ankles and heels as he ran. The boy had two choices- swim with the fish or be eaten by the dogs. He dove into the water, swimming in a pathetic doggy paddle in attempts to catch the boat. Laurent peeled his jacket off and jumped in after Marcel. He grabbed the boy by the waist and dragged him to the boat. With some help from David, the elder, both Laurent and Marcel were able to get safely onboard.

The journey lasted for about 3 months. The people were plagued with scurvy, dehydration, and slight insanity from the cabin fever. Two of the children died along the voyage, but everyone else arrived to America intact. As they looked around, David became puzzled; this was not what the new land was supposed to look like. He studied his surroundings and realized that this could not have been the colonies, but somewhere south. The thought of having their very own land was quite tempting and the sect decided to stay in this new land lush with mountains, trees, and a few scattered local villages.

At first, the Children of Enos tried to make their way on their own, but they were unsuccessful in this new rugged environment. However, they were thrilled to find relics and partial ruins that suggested a history of dark magic in the area. They enslaved local tribes by kidnapping small children and threatening to kill them if the adults did not obey. It took years but soon a beautiful, ornate fortress was built.

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The Children of Enos lived for decades, perfecting their magic and uncovering dark secrets. They created curses and voodoo to plague their enemies in France. The sect also developed magics beyond their wildest dreams- ways to dominate the mind of their opponents, elemental powers such as fire and water, and so much more.

Generations of the Children of Enos were born and died; some were wiped out by the Snakes, others by disease or in fights with local tribes and spirit guides. The Rogue Isles were also invaded by pirates around this time. Approximately half of the sect join in the piracy, some willingly, others not. In the late 1780s, the Children of Enos were so whittled down that only 16 of them remained. They realized that they would need new blood to keep their legacy going.

The area they lived in had become a settling ground for new groups of people who formed villages and towns, rather than just crude tribes. These settlers were European descendants, people with similar bloodlines of the CoE. The elders of the tribes talked and the plan was born. They would kidnap girls and young woman and bring them into their sect. The children would be taught magic and everything the Children of Enos could do. The new blood would be enough to sustain themselves. By 1810, the Children of Enos were back in full power.

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Very little has changed with the Children of Enos over the 200 years since their surge in power. They remained largely unground, letting the settlers in the area believe that they were extinct, overthrown by the Snakes. When girls or young woman went missing in towns, the villagers almost always blamed it on the Snakes or the Circle of Thorns, a group that had recently become present in the isles.

~1996~
"Do you like any of them son?" Jean Claude Moreau asked his 8 year old son, Antoine. "No." Antoine said and shook his head stubbornly. It was the fifth time they had looked at possible wives for him. "What about her?" Jean Clause asked, pointing towards a very active girl of about 7 doing cartwheels across the grass with her friends. "No, I don't like her." Antoine was very spoiled and because his father was the leader of the Children of Enos, he was used to getting what he wanted. Jean Claude sighed and began to lead the way home from their current hideout in the trees.

"Wait Papa!" Antoine said after a moment. "I want her!" He was pointing at another girl, one sitting all alone playing with her doll. She was petite with fair skin and hair. Jean Claude looked over his son's choice and smiled. Leave it to Antoine to pick not only the prettiest girl, but likely the most submissive at that. Jean Claude smiled at his son and agreed... whoever the girl with the fair hair was, she would be Antoine's.

Her name was Megan Miller and she was six years old. She was mysteriously taken out of her bedroom, there was no sign of a break in, no evidence, and her parents didn't even hear her scream. Megan's name was changed to Celeste and she was given the middle name Aurora, to be a member of the CoE, it was expected that one would have a fitting name.

Celeste was taught the ways of the Children of Enos from her first day with them. She resisted only slightly and after being punished several times for disobedience, she learned to obey. Celeste was a quick study and with Antoine's help, she became accomplished at basic magic. He looked after her, as she was his duty and would later be his wife.

~2008~
Unfortunately for the Children of Enos, their leader, Jean Claude, was killed while dueling several mages of the Circle of Thorns. Antoine was now 20 years old and Celeste nearly 18. It was up to Antoine to step up and take his father's place as leader of their sect.

Antoine, being bolder and more arrogant then his father ever was, decided that they should no longer be hide in the underground, but make their presence known through the Rogue Isles. His plans included taking over all of Cap Au Diablo as his ancestors had and reclaiming the land theirs. Along with his betrothed, Antoine had set the plans in motion, including taking his revenge on the Circle of Thorns for murdering his father. Other brave members of the Children of Enos will follow.

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Clarifier- This story is kind of the story of an entire group, not just one character, but I figured it went within the rules. Thanks!

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The Vanumlli

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There exists in this world of super heroes and villains a pair of individuals that are uniquely suited to the phrase, “two sides of the same coin.” One is a hero that has been working behind the scenes for countless centuries. He is, what was once called, an avatar. More specifically, he was created an Avatar of Shadow. The name of the coven that spawned this hero is now lost to the mists of time.

The other side of the coin is a villain who was created at the same time as the hero. She to is an avatar, only not of shadow, or light, she is an Avatar of Night. Through the ages while the hero has been at work she has slept, held in check by the final shreds of power of the coven that created her. Now, however, she wakes, and with her a new threat.

In the room of the Avatar of Shadow, on a small desk speckled with candles that provide the sole source of light for the room, a journal resides. This journal contains the final thoughts of one of the coven members, and the only written record of the birth of Vanum and Ummli.

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If these words are now being read then the Avatar of Night has finally broken the seal that contained her. We, the members of my coven, spent the last of our life energy to contain the beast. We had hoped the seal would be able to draw power from the beast for all eternity, thus keeping her trapped. But as these words can now be read it is apparent that it was not enough for the spell that kept these words hidden were tied to the seal as well.

We were a proud coven; full of ourselves is more like it. We wished power and to that end began to research the old spells. We traveled around the known world secretly searching for any form of mystical power that we could bend to our will. Eventually we uncovered The Vanummli, an ancient text written when the gods still walked the earth. In its pages we found power unheard of for ages. Power enough, we thought, to rival the gods.

And so we studied this text, recalling the coven to concentrate our effort. Simply holding the book caused our most difficult spells to seem as child’s play. In time we found a way to pierce the veil and draw on power none in our time had even heard of, the power of legends. This, more than anything, was the beginning of the end.

As with those new to the craft we craved to do more and more powerful magic. It was as if all our experience to the contrary simply vanished. We found warning after warning that the magic found in the book should only be attempted by those properly prepared for it. In our lust for power we searched the book for a way to conjure a being capable of crushing our enemies and placing ourselves in power. And find it we did.

Nearly a month from the end we gathered the requisite sacrifices and prepared the circle. The vessels to contain the power were a man and a woman, one an enemy and the other a member of our coven. We knew from our research into the spell that the man would be destroyed and the woman made unrecognizable, but we cared not.

As the time approached we bound both with magic, intending to keep the coming creature contained and able to be bent to our will. During the casting, however, something went wrong. The power of our enemy was greater than we thought and it threw off the spell. Between the two bound captives rose what can only be described as a living blackness. This blackness was supposed to enter the member of our coven while consuming our enemy, turning his light to darkness and using that converted power to breach the veil. This, of course, did not happen. The blackness instead split and entered both the man and the woman. Almost immediately they were both changed and the bonds that held the man in place broke. As he looked around his eyes finally fell on the bound woman and, at the exact moment their gazes met, a void began to build between them. When he noticed the void he quickly shrouded himself in shadows and left.

Being nearly drained of power we looked to the bound female and saw a bloodlust there that rivaled our own. At that point we knew that if she ever broke free our lives would be forfeit. Quickly we worked to reinforce the seals that bound the beast. We did not notice that as we worked the sky became black as night, even though it was still midday. Finally we managed to increase the strength of the bonds so much that her body turned to stone. We could still feel, however, great magic within the stone statue and knew that she could wake, given time. And so while the coven worked to create a seal in which to hide and bind this avatar for all time I wrote these pages so that the mistakes of the past would not be repeated.

In the end we used The Vanummli as the key to the seal, binding it to the seal and the seal to the statue of the beast. That, however, took the last of the coven’s power, and also their life. I alone was left to bind these words to the seal as a warning. Do not allow the avatars of shadow and night to meet. Should they meet no matter the strength of the avatar of shadow the night will devour him and make complete the creature we tried to summon. The night will grow more powerful than mere words could hope to explain. Have no doubt that she will consume the life essence of every last being on the earth, perhaps in time even the life essence of the planet itself. Should the Avatar of Night be allowed to consume the Avatar of Shadow it will be the end of all.

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The End

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Victory PvP Boot Camp 2.0 - Rules Committee Member

The sun was a blazing hot orb of oppressive fire on the morning horizon.

Ok, not really, but Linarra had already been awake for 26 hours, tracking down yet another Nemesis Plot, and she was tired. Just having received some crucial information from a source that only required a small amount of ‘encouragement’, she leapt up to depart, but then she heard loud, clanking footsteps she recognized as marking danger – or at least, inconvenience. Before she could turn, she was battered from behind by strong, cruel fists gloved in steel. She turned about and saw her assailant- Repartay. She thought a better name would have been Repetetive Cliché, but what could you do?

His expectant eyes darted about as Linarra leaped up to hover over her attacker. She knew he wanted to play the little game he liked to play, and she had to admit it made her laugh. Sure, he was a villain, but he was Mostly Harmless, really.

“You are SO ugly,” she said to him, baiting, while she nocked a few arrows and let fly, trying to penetrate his thick armor.

The low, dullard voice responded, “So’s your MOM!” He laughed at his cleverness. The arrows bounced off of him.

“You smell like poo!”

“So’s your MOM!” He smirked at her, once again impressed by his brilliance. More arrows, more bouncing.

“Your mother dresses you funny!”

“So’s your MOM!” A brief look of confusion crossed his face, but again, he laughed at his comic expertise. One arrow got through, but he didn’t seem to feel it.

“I could use some coffee…”

“HA, So’s your MOM!” He thought this observation was particularly insightful.

She had had a few run-ins with Repartay, and he had had trouble dealing with her flying above him, as he never figured out how to attack anyone far away from him. Not the sharpest knife in the ...shed, as it were. But she had never been able to defeat his resilience and his protection. She considered trying again to defeat him, but realized she was too tired, and decided to fly away…

Moments later she found herself several dozen feet from where she was standing, sprawled in a ‘fragrant’ pile of garbage, wondering what had just happened. She felt like a flying truck had hit her. Turning, she saw another familiar enemy, and before she could react, she found herself frozen in place by strong sticky strands, and unable to retaliate.

‘Margravine’ Noblesse, she called herself, and as much as Linarra despised her pompous attitude, she often wondered how in blazes this villainous woman with the crazy title always found time to get her hair just right. And she saw that the Margravine had her bubble of protection in place, the one that made her immune to Linarra's arrows, and everything else, for that matter.

“You are SOO easy to track, little girl. All of you heroes are so easily duped. ‘Here’s some information, go talk to so-and-so.’ And BAM! Ambush. Simple as that. HA!”

“So’s your MOM!” Repartay yelled as a greeting at Noblesse, waving to her.

“Quiet, buffoon! I’m speaking – NO interruptions!” She turned back to Linarra. “Right where you belong. My aim is flawless. Well, now that you are in my clutches, I have to decide what to do with you. Will I put you on my wall, a new trophy to add to my collection? Will I infiltrate your mind, and make you betray your friends, without you even knowing?” Noblesse reeled back with an empty fist again, and that empty fist directed what felt like a giant hammer of air at her chest, knocking her windless and gasping.

Fortunately, Noblesse LOVED the sound of her own voice – and this gave Linarra time to think. And then she had it! No, she had nothing. She was a bit stuck, and the hours awake had muddled her mind.

Repartay began to move toward her, but then looked to his right, out of view around the corner, then turned in the opposite direction and ran, muttering a clipped, “So’s your mom!” as he dashed away.

The reason became clear – a group of heroes rounded a nearby corner, when one of them turned and spotted Linarra. “LIN!”

Noblesse turned to see Desmodas Siazar and a group of her colleagues redirect their focus… from concerned glances at Linarra, to infuriated looks at her.

The moment Noblesse spotted Desmodas, Noblesse began her retreat. As she started to activate the device that would convey her to her base, she smiled at Desmodas – but it was a smile cracked with doubt. Desmodas zoomed up to her, while her colleagues focused an onslaught of attacks on Noblesse. But their attacks all splashed off the bubble around the Margravine.

Noblesse’s smile became more confident. But it turned to panic as, with seconds to go before she disappeared to her lair, her bubble dropped. “NO!” she shouted, and Desmodas took the opportunity to strike her so hard with his shrouded fist that she felt a few of her teeth loosen. As the tentacles of dark power threatened to overtake her, Noblesse disappeared to her den.

Desmodas mumbled a few curses under her breath after swinging a few more times, only striking air. “Thanks, Des… what are the chances?” Linarra asked from the bottom of the trash pile.

Desmodas extended a hand to Linarra. “Lucky we came along. You need a trip home… and a looong, hot shower,” she concluded, recoiling as Linarra’s new bouquet assaulted her nostrils.

----

Some time later, after the swelling of that one strike, (that one palpable strike, she had to admit), had subsided, Margravine Noblesse, in a delightful berry-scented bubble bath in her luxurious apartment, filed her lovely nails painstakingly. While her mechanical menagerie moved about her, performing all the demeaning, menial chores that she would never deign to do for herself, she mused on her future. All she needed was one more Big Win, one coup that would convince the Conclave to move her to a higher, more deserved, station.

With luck, she would soon be Duchess Noblesse, and though she didn’t love how that sounded (too “Hello Kitty” / “High School Musical”), she DID love the promise of ever-greater power. Perhaps she could invent a title that sounded better with her moniker. The nobility did it all the time…

One of Noblesse’s lackeys burst into her bathroom – HER BATHROOM! Before he could realize his mistake, he ran up to her and held out the object of his enthusiasm. “Nobl- um, Margravine! This letter! It tells where… and when! You can finally get her!”

Noblesse ripped the note out the mook’s hands. And then backhanded him. “You KNOCK before entering, bootlicking dimwit! I could have your EYES out for resting them on my deshabille! And you would PRESUME to tell me what I can and cannot do???? Get out of my sight before I let him test his new assault arsenal on you.” She indicated the gigantic robot looming behind her, and it focused all three of its targeting lasers on him... presumably, just in case. The nameless minion scurried away unseen by the Margravine Noblesse while she read the intercepted communiqué. Then she put on a robe, scribbled a short note of her own, marked it with her seal, and sent it off with a messenger.

----

Repartay sat in his apartment at his kitchen table, pen in hand, a blank sheet of paper before him. He knew he could think of the ultimate comeback, he was sooo close. He would show them, he would show them ALL how smart he was. Especially Noblesse. She was so pretty, and so smart! On the other hand, what he always said was SOOO clever already, and always demoralized his enemies – why mess with a great thing?

A knock came at his door. A local kid, hat pulled down , handed him a note. “The witch Her Highness sent this,” the boy said, his voice low and demoralized. “I don’t take that crap from anybody. Gimme 10 bucks.” He handed Repartay a sealed note.”

He gave the kid $10, and the kid sped off to another errand, or mark, or whatever.

Repartay tore open the note. After struggling with a few of the words, the look on his face changed from intense concentration to open ecstasy. “She wants me to help! ME! I knew she liked me!!” He dropped everything, and ran out the door.


---

Noblesse entered the warehouse, and it appeared to be empty. She traveled through slowly, and found nothing moving. As she entered the largest room, she saw that it looked like a reliquary of stolen art – paintings, stone statues, wooden carvings, all celebrating villainous exploits throughout the years. “Some of these would look great in my den,” she thought to herself. There was even an effigy of Ms. Liberty hung by a noose from the ceiling. Nice.

At the far end stood Repartay, with a giant grin on his face. He started clapping and jumping up and down when he saw her. She approached, and saw the crumpled bundle at his feet. The red hair and the costume revealed it to be Linarra.

“You were SOOO Naïve, little girl. I mean, look at you, crumpled there, beaten by a simpleton!”

Repartay broke in eagerly. “I waited, just like you said in your note, Mis-“

She fixed the large oaf with a withering gaze. “Don’t interrupt, feeb.” She turned back to Linarra. “Now that you belong to US, we will make an example of you. We will show all of the heroes that would DEIGN to presume that I would do anything that they wanted… we will show them that they must answer to ME, and…My note?”

Repartay interrupted her, his timing, as usual, atrocious. “Yeah, what she said! And, So’s your MOM!”

Just then Repartay gasped, as one of his strongest protections expired. He bent over double, swallowing huge gouts of air, but held up a hand, as if to say, “I’m ok.”

“What note…” asked Noblesse again, but as clever as she was…

The only thing that surprised them more than the voice behind them was the small sound that preceded it.

twang “So’s your faces!”

They wheeled to see the effigy hanging above them… but now it was floating with a bow in its hand. An empty bow, with a humming string...

A whisper escaped Noblesse’s agape mouth. “That doesn’t even make –”

An uncountable number of arrows descended from the air, the only sound a series of tiny fwips, one skewering one of Repartay’s thighs, disabling him, and another lancing Noblesse’s shoulder, the pain rendering her impotent as well. The illusion of Linarra’s defeated body faded, and the disguised archer floated down from her perch, reverting back to her usual appearance with a dizzying spin.

Over the pained moans, Linarra pulled out her cell phone. “PPD, Linarra here, I need a cleanup crew at my GPS location. Two villains to run in – yeah, they’re disabled. And I brought the donuts, so get a move on.”

“Here’s a souvenir for you,” Linarra said to the large man. She tossed a hat at Repartay. “Hey,” he said after a few moments of Herculean contemplation, “this looks just like that messenger’s hat from that… message!” M. Noblesse just shook her head.

She couldn’t help but gloat at the “mastermind”. “Villains will always lose, because they expect Heroes to be DUMB.”

---

Arc #6015 - Coming Unglued

"A good n00b-sauce is based on a good n00b-roux." - The Masque

“Finally,” Nick mutters under his breath. Some nearby commuters glance at him. Nick realizes maybe he didn't say that as quietly as he thought. The Green Line pulls into Talos Station frequently enough. Usually he doesn't mind the short wait. But, today it's different. It's because of the dream, he's sure. It was different last night. And that had him worried.

Nick carries his coffee and copy of the Times. He finds a seat and settles in for his ride to Independence Port. Just a regular Thursday, he tries to tell himself. But, the dream was different. Maybe I'll go see Azuria after work, he thinks. She wasn't much help on the last visit. But, there was something about her. About the way she was acting. Before the last visit, though, Nick had never met Azuria, let alone talked to her for any length of time. So, maybe that's just the way she always acted. Distracted. Distant. And he could have sworn he saw her wiping away a tear. Who knows. Maybe it was just dust. There was a lot of old stuff in that room in City Hall.

And Nick had overheard stories about Azuria on the train. From Heroes. They weren't supposed to talk about those things, he thought. But little phrases would slip out. “How does she keep losing these powerful artifacts?” “What kind of security do they have on that vault?” “She'd lose her head if it wasn't attached to her body.” She sounds kind of flighty. Like she would be easily distracted and would forget to tell you something important. Well, what can it hurt? It's not like he had any plans for tonight anyway. He'd go to M.A.G.I. and tell her about the new dream. She did say he could come back if the dreams persisted. And they had. Every night for the last three weeks. Since that night.

He had thought about going back to Azuria anyway. Because the dreams happened like clockwork. But Nick wasn't sure what she meant by “persisted.” For Azuria, maybe was a year or more. Who knows? He could go to S.E.R.A.P.H. or D.A.T.A, but he was pretty sure this was something mystical. Because of the guy's “costume” if that's what you could call it. And besides, he really didn't want to have his blood drawn or be scanned with God knows what equipment. Equipment that would probably have side effects. Severe ones. At least with Azuria, if anything, he felt better, more at ease, after talking to her.

Let's see, thought Nick. What's in the Paragon City Times today? “Hero A saves something.” “Villain B is up to no good.” Typical. It should be no surprise. This city is full of villains and heroes. But it would be nice to read some normal, mundane articles every once in a while. Just one article that has no mention of a hero or villain. “Tag, you're it,” the man had said. Just before he disappeared. Nick put the paper down. He knew he wasn't going to be able to read it today. He leaned back and closed his eyes. And remembered the dream...

He was in a cave. But, you wouldn't really call it a cave. More like an underground lair or base. With military symbols everywhere. And there were many men. All shooting at him. Or running up and trying to hit him with the butt of their gun. Or attacking him with martial arts style kicks. The kind you see in movies. And there were robots. Some smaller than he. Others almost twice as tall. Shooting some kind of energy blast. Or swiping at him with their massive, metallic, sharp arms.

And he was dodging their attacks! He felt calm. Like this was something he did every day. Sure, his heart was pounding. But pounding as if he was out for a jog. And he was attacking them with a large sword. Nick didn't know what kind of sword it was. It kind of looked like the sword some of the Warriors carry in Talos. The Warriors that he tries to carefully avoid.

It was exhilarating! His attacks were so fast. And he was moving so quickly. Jumping or running from one attacker to another. Defeating them with one or two strikes with the sword. Or letting himself get surrounded by them and using the sword in spin or slice moves that would hit several at once. It's pretty clear that these men, this military group, was no match for him.

Then the beast came. The monster. He... No... It was 9 or 10 feet tall. It had the face of a wolf. But the arms were like grizzly bear arms. With claws. Those claws. Nick knew what was coming next. In the dream, he ran up to the beast. Determined to defeat him. Just as calm as he was with the other foes. They closed in on each other. He dodged the beast's first attack. And struck at the beast with his sword. And hit him! But, the beast seem barely phased by the strike. The beast swung his arm again. The beast made contact this time. Nick looked down to see the medieval armor that he had on. The beast's swipe had torn a hole in the armor! Ripped the metal apart. And the beast struck again. At the same spot...

Nick lurched awake. Both times. When he had the dream this morning. And just now on the train. People looked at him for a moment then went back to whatever they were doing. Nick just realized something. A connection he had not made before. Yes, he would see Azuria after work. As a matter of fact, he didn't want to wait till the end of the day. Maybe he would go at lunch time. Sure it would be a long lunch. It takes a while to get to Atlas Park. But, yes, he would go then.

That tear in the armor. It was the same tear. The one the man in the alley had that night. With all the blood.

“Tag, you're it.”

Lunch time. Back on the train. Yellow line to Atlas. All morning he couldn't get the dream out of his head. Nick wishes now for the old dreams. They were almost fun. Like watching an action movie. Fighting on a battlefield. Wearing armor. Fighting with a sword. Fighting other men with swords or crossbows.

Ahh, Atlas Park. At least the walk is short to City Hall. Nick starts walking at a brisk pace. Impatient to get there. Halfway to City Hall, he hears someone yelling. “Hand over the valuables and no one gets hurt.” About 50 yards away a group of men have surrounded some poor woman. She is holding her purse tight to her chest.

How can this be happening? In the middle of the day? In Atlas Park? Nick looks around. There are no heroes. No police. No Longbow. Where is everyone? This is not the first mugging he's seen. But there has always been someone he can call. Call for help. Not this time. He can't decide what to do. Should he run? Run to City Hall? There's sure to be someone there who can help this poor woman. But by then it will be too late. City Hall is still a few minutes away. What else is there to do, though? There are five of these... Hellions. Yes, that's what they are called. He recognizes now the red and orange gang colors with the satanic symbols. He wouldn't be a match for even one of them.

This indecision. It feels like it takes forever, but it really all happens in just one or two seconds. Then Nick feels calm. Calm like he did in the dream. When fighting that military group. He starts to run at the pack of Hellions. One of the Hellions catches him out of the corner of his eye. Nick half expects him to laugh, but instead the Hellion looks at him wide eyed. “Oh, no. A cape!” he says. What? Why would the Hellion say that? Nick is not a hero. The Hellion runs away! The other four do not, however. Nick can see the grim determination in their eyes. Mixed with... Fear? Why? They are looking at what he is carrying. But Nick isn't carrying... He has a sword in his hand! Where did that come from? And his hand... He's wearing a metal glove. He's got medieval armor on now. Including a helm. He does not know where the armor or sword came from, but they feel natural. Like he's supposed to be wearing this armor and wielding a sword. He fights the Hellions. It is difficult. He is clumsy with the sword, but still, there is some proficiency. Nick knows that skill wasn't ingrained in him. It came from somewhere else. As well as his ability to dodge some of the Hellions' attacks. Another Hellion runs off giving up. He defeats the other three. The woman thanks him.

Nick proceeds on to City Hall. He has the feeling that won't be the last fight he has. Not the last by far. He finds Azuria at M.A.G.I.. She has this strange smile on her face. Like she's been expecting him. “Welcome, Medieval Power. Myself and others here at the Modern Arcane Guild of Investigation have sensed a disturbing trend. The Hellions are making...” Medieval Power... He had never heard that name before, but yet... It is his name now.

“Tag, you're it.”

---

Turn the Other Coat

Giulio lit his next cigarette from the embers of the last. The last few rattled softly in the pack, and he wondered how long he’d been here, stamping his feet against the cold night fog that rolled in over Crey Cove. Several smokes worth, that much was certain. On nights like this, a smoke was a panacea, against the damp and chill if nothing else.

No amount of nicotine could calm his nerves tonight, though. Every time a car rattled along the bridge overhead, every time a distant light momentarily illuminated the roadside shadows where he stood, his heart skipped, and a shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Giulio kept telling himself this was the right thing to do. The honourable thing. Boss Carmine had always said that the Family looked after everyone; that was why they were a Family. The police, they just looked after the rich folk and corporations. The Family was there to represent the interests of the other people. And that was why Boss Carmine had never gotten involved with these newer gangs; their interests were, so to speak, out of the Family’s purvue. ‘No good can come of it, Giulio,’ he’d said.

But Boss Carmine was gone now; even he couldn’t beat old age. And almost as soon as he’d gone, the Superadine had started rolling in. Giulio had seen the effects of ‘Dyne on those addicted to it; convulsions, psychoses, mutation. And that was for Superadine that was properly made – the contaminated gunk that came out of the substandard Troll and Warrior street labs made regular ‘Dyne look like candy.

Despite that, ‘Dyne remained all too popular among the kids in the neighbourhoods, the ones that hoped to take the easy road into the Don’s favour with a few flashy superpowers. Too many of them reminded Giulio of himself as a kid, hanging with his crew and doing legwork for the Button Men before they grew up and joined the Family proper. And too many of them were getting seduced by the lure of ‘Dyne, and not growing up at all.

It was one thing to disagree with your Boss. It was quite another, though, to take the next step, and call the Paragon Police. ‘Informant’ was the dirtiest word the Family knew; a betrayal of every principle the underworld had.

Yet that was what he would soon be, as soon as his anonymous police contact showed up. Many sleepless nights had gone into this decision – he was betraying men he might have called brother, in happier times. He was selling out his own Family. At least he wasn’t doing it for something as dirty as money, not like that rat fink Johnny Gambini, who now slept with the fishes somewhere out there in Independence Port’s black water. Giulio told himself that this was the principled thing, repeated it to himself over and over in his head. Fat Tony wasn’t doing right by the Family. I’m doing the right thing, he insisted. I’m doing what Boss Carmine would have told me to.

His own life was the least of his concerns, which was fortunate, since turning stoolie guaranteed an early grave if you were found out. Giulio worried about the younger kids in the Family, worried what might happen to them when the police and heroes started cracking down. He worried about his own relatives, the blood ones; his aunt in King’s Row, his sister and her kids down in New York. They’d be dead too, if he were discovered; the Family made sure the consequences of betrayal were well known.

The rhythmic slap of waves against the bridge pylons grew louder, and Giulio squinted out at the water, before realising that the sound wasn’t coming from there at all, but rather from the shadows further along the path. Three figures emerged, not ten feet away, and Giulio’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

“Giulio, Giulio, Giulio,” the lead man said softly, an unpleasant smile on his crooked lips. “Mighty cold out for a constitutional, wouldn’t you say?” He shrugged theatrically in his long woollen trenchcoat.

“I got nothing to say to you mooks,” Giulio sneered. Somehow, the knowledge that he was dead brought with it a certain calm – there wasn’t any going back now.

“Course not, Giulio,” the first man continued, conversationally. “But I bet you’d have had a lot to say to the cops, hmm?”

Giulio’s hand closed around the pistol in his pocket – maybe he’d be able to take one of them with him. “How did you know about that?”

“Oh no, my friend,” the Capo tsked. “Can’t give away all of the Family’s secrets. I could tell you, of course, but then – I’d have to kill you.” He chuckled humourlessly.

Giulio ground his teeth. “Boss Carmine woulda tossed gimps like you out long before you could disgrace his name.”

“Boss Carmine ain’t boss in these parts any more.” The Capo’s voice grew hard now, and one of his henchmen popped a switchblade with a harsh, sibilant hiss. The blade caught a stray scintilla of light, almost appearing to ignite for a second. “Boss Antonio calls the shots now – just a shame not everyone understands that.”

“Fat Tony?” Giulio scoffed. “He’s still a dirtbag – just a dirtbag in a cheap suit now.” The three men bristled, and the one with the knife ran the flat of the blade menacingly over his unshaven cheek.

“You’ll die quick, Giulio,” he said. “But your sister and her kids – we’ll make sure they scream. A lot.”

“You always were a punk, Manolo,” Giulio growled, and went for his gun.

He never got it out of his pocket. Without warning, Manolo slapped his free hand up against one of the bridge’s wooden pylons and drove his switchblade through his own hand, the knife sinking into the wood with a sickening crunch. He screamed in agony, but then snapped his head forward viciously, as if jerked by an invisible string, slamming it into the pylon. Slowly, Manolo slid into merciful unconsciousness, dangling obscenely from one hand like a broken marionette.

“What – ?” The Capo looked around in shock, his own pistol out but pointing aimlessly at an unknown enemy. He looked to his other henchman, but he was curled up on the path, covering his head with his hands.

“No…” the big man blubbered, shaking and weeping like a child. “Please… no… no more monsters…” Bewildered, the Capo stared at Giulio as if expecting him to somehow be doing this, but then his face went blank, his eyes crossed grotesquely, and his gun slipped from nerveless fingers. A moment later, both he and the pistol hit the ground with solid thumps.

Giulio stepped forward slowly, still in shock. Slowly, his senses returned, and he became aware of a police siren in the distance. “They’re on their way, Giulio,” a soft voice said just over his shoulder, and he whirled, raising his gun.

A slender figure melted out of the shadows before his eyes, a ghostly form in black and grey, almost a shadow itself. It was a man though; a dark hood and blue crystal visor obscured his eyes, but an enigmatic smile played across his lips, and he lifted a gloved finger slowly. “Put the gun down,” he said, and Giulio’s hand opened of its own accord, his fingers refusing to obey him.

“Where did you come from?” he demanded, his voice quavering only slightly.

“Been here the whole time, actually,” the man said, kneeling to disarm the incapacitated gunmen. “I just haven’t let you see me.” Giulio peered intently at his hooded face.

“I heard of you,” he said slowly, wagging a finger that was now back under his control. “They call you Spyware. Tommy Francone saw you – you busted him and his whole crew when they were doing a deal last month in Platinum Lake. They turned themselves in – begged to be locked up. Jimmy the Geek’s still in hospital – thinks he’s a dog.”

Spyware nodded knowingly. “Your friend Tommy has a strong mind – I couldn’t fully erase his memory.” He stood up, the edges of his armoured suit hissing slightly as they glided over each other. “Oh, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing too.”

Giulio blinked, nonplussed. He felt the irrational urge to plug his ears with his fingers, as if that might stop his thoughts leaking out. Instead, he said haltingly, “Hey – my family – “

“- had the sudden urge today to go to the police and place themselves into protective custody,” Spyware finished for him. He pulled the edge of his hood down a little, turning away.

Giulio stared down at the whimpering Button Man for a long moment, watching him curl up and start sucking his thumb. “Hey,” he called after Spyware, “hey – thanks.” His voice was lowered now, in gratitude. “Thanks – I won’t forget this.”

Spyware shot a half-smile over his shoulder. “Sure you will.”

---

Spyware, that's a heck of a first post. Good story.

---

Thank you - recently returned to the game and thought I'd look at the forums for the first time.

---

Welcome back! I am flattered your first post was here!

---

Today is the last day to submit entries! I hope to see a few more, great entries thus far!

---

Wrapping up mine, here, I'll throw it up when I've tweaked a couple of things.

*added*

Here it is. I'll e-mail it to you as well, MP, just in case that helps things.

I know what she wants. She is tired of the failure of her plots and underlings, their continuous losses to the heroes of this city. But no more- I have been made to change that. She has had me modeled after her most faithful lieutenant and stolen the most advanced android technology the corporations of this world can offer: all to make me. She has made me powerful. She—the Countess—has made me to care for her and only her. She has made me care for her absolutely. And I do. She has so many burdens and concerns, how could I not care for her?

She has also programmed me with the most advanced combat abilities. I can move like a grand master of Kung Fu, but I can kick through armor made of solid Impervium metal. I can regenerate damage done to my gears, servos, and synthetic skin. I am powerful. I can shoot energy beams from my eyes. I can fly.

Oh, can I fly. Just now, she told me she wanted me to fly. I accessed the correct subroutine to activate my anti-gravity thrusters. To understand the process I downloaded information the Crey Corporation’s databanks, and watched avians of the subfamily Accipitrnae—hawks—in flight. They moved with… I did not know what at first. I had to access Crey’s databanks again and find the word. They flew with… grace. They were large, but they flew. I processed this information for a long time—for me—but then I was ready. In 0.4 seconds, I knew what I had to do. I stretch out my arms like those hawks and I flew.

“Where’d he learn to put his arms like that?” I hear the Countess ask a technician, which worries him. The technician wants me to work perfectly. He is afraid of what she will do if I do not work as she wants.

I do not care, for I am flying. The anti-gravity thrusters hum gently, setting off a vibration in my synthetic skin that I find—I access the databases again—pleasing, not unlike the wind fluttering the feathers of a hawk in flight. It is a sensation similar to when I look at the Countess. With the thrusters running, I no longer notice the bulk of my android body: the power requirements of the thrusters are less than when I have to run, jump, or kick.

I access more records to understand and appreciate flight more. I learn to swoop, loop, and dive. The wind sings in my audio receptors as I complete each maneuver. I look for more data and watch a mother hawk bring food to her offspring’s nest, nurturing her young. I watch this video for its full 19.63 seconds. It is clear that she cares for them like the Countess cares me.

Curious, I access more records to determine how this food is found. The databases show me a small bird flying, also graceful. But then the small bird is flying no more: white wing feathers explode through the air as a hawk pinions its prey . The sight startles me, my flight through the air falters, and I fall several feet before I catch myself.

My visual and audio receptors pick up the Countess narrowing her eyes and asking the technician another question, “Is he supposed to be doing that?”

“Of course,” the technician replies, fidgeting and adjusting the sleeves on his labcoat. “He’s merely practicing evasive tactics that I have programmed in.” He clears his throat roughly.

I decide that I should follow the technician’s instructions more closely, so I limit my flight patterns for the rest of the test. They call me in when the test is complete.

“Everything checks out, Countess” the technician says.

“Excellent,” she replies. The Countess looks at me, reaching her hand out to touch my shoulder gently. “I have a job for you, my Hunter.”

“Yes, Countess?”

“Hunter, there is a superhuman in this city, named Swan. She has allied herself with one who seeks to hurt me, to stop my plans.”

“No!”

She smiles at me. “Yes, my Hunter. And they must be stopped. I want you to eliminate Swan. Watch her closely and destroy her when the time is ripe.”

“As you wish,” I say. I activate my anti-gravity thrusters and leave the Crey facility, seeking my prey. To ensure the success of my mission, I engage my stealth mode so that I may hunt in secret.

I first patrol the air over Independence Port. A v-shaped flight of geese are flying through, and I join their formation. I listen to the beat of their wings as they call out to each other. Minutes pass as we cross the port area and I ignore the calls of my mission programming, telling me to move on. As I follow the geese, I see a superhuman flying below us, so I decide to… practice. I fly at top speed close to him, scaring him and knocking him sideways with the wind of my passing. He shouts, startled, and I hover nearby to by to process the effect I have had.

He looks around, trying to locate whatever startled him. After several minutes, he starts to fly on and I consider buzzing him again. But my mission programming tells me to take more care. I finally decide to fly on to Brickstown, lest I jeopardize my mission further.

As I enter the Brickstown neighborhood, I fly over the Mashu Bridge. Halfway across, I see her, the Swan. She has… white wings and is flying as well. She has an irregular flight pattern, however. She is diving- she will crash and hit the ground! I move in sharply, but then I see her goal. She has caught a person that was pushed off the bridge. Now she is setting them down on the ground. They are… thanking her. She smiles at them and touches their shoulder. She… cares for this person.

I halt my flight over her and process. There is too much data. Too much.

“I want you to eliminate Swan.”

The falling person is leaving. Swan is taking off- she is flying away. I follow.

“I want you to eliminate Swan.”

My flight pattern falters, but then I move. Faster. Faster. I collide with Swan painfully and her white feathers fill my eyes. Swan crashes on to the top of a brick building and I land next to her. I hesitate.

“I want you to eliminate Swan.”

I stand above Swan, android foot poised to crush her throat. She looks at me. I know she wants to live, that she does not want me to kill her. I know what the Countess wants me to do: she wants me to kill Swan. But now I know what I want to do.

I want to fly.

---

Guide: Tanking, Wall of Fire Style (Updated for I19!), and the Four Rules of Tanking
Story Arc: Belated Justice, #88003
Synopsis: Explore the fine line between justice and vengeance as you help a hero of Talos Island bring his friend's murderer to justice.
Grey Pilgrim: Fire/Fire Tanker (50), Victory