A writing challenge...

... for all the creative protectorites (and I guess others who feel so inclined) out there.

I am feeling a little bored, and I guess, more then a little silly.
So here is the challenge.

Write a new story based on one of your characters, with a maximum of 2500 words.
Post your entry in this thread, limit one entry per person. Starts now, ends at the end of February. Give me one week after that to read and judge the entries.

The prize for first will be 100 million influence, emailed to the global name of the winners choice.

I know it's not much, but it's what I can afford now, and as I said, I'm feeling a little bored and silly right now.

One final note, no prize will be awarded without a minimum of three entries.

Good luck, and lets see what you've all got. =)

Ooooo, this sounds like fun

I will see what I can do to encourage some others to enter. We do have a very talented bunch here.

For myself, I'm not sure I'm capable of limiting myself to 2500 words!

Read my stories!

Yeah, that's a pretty small word total. There are styles of writing that could work with it, of course.

Seems like an awful short window to enter, though, if someone were inclined.

can it all be in Haiku? If I have the time to work on it I'll try to submit something, but I actually have a busy work schedule for once!

A viable challenge indeed. This should be good. I assume we just post what we've written in this thread?

Quick note 1: Whipped this up today, just to see if I could do it.

Quick note 2: This is meant to fit into the lore already created for my main character, to explain why he has switched to villainside. In RL, I just wanted the badges.



There will be no turning back.

In fact, turning my back was the last act I imposed upon my peers. Despite not being a true metahuman like most of them, they trusted me, even to the point of granting me the privilege of serving them by leading them against evil and injustice. The hardships we encountered, within and without, only strengthened the bonds uniting us.

That is, until I severed them myself.

No one could have guessed, in the years I exerted my role and various duties, that this day would come. That one who had been so vocal in his support of everything heroic could so easily switch sides and head willfully into a world he opposed.

But I’m getting ahead of myself and jumbling the occurrence of things. I do that sometimes.


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The Sky’s The Limit

2002 was the year everything changed and destiny brutally confronted not just me, but the entire city as well.

Perhaps I had grown complacent in thinking intellect and technology alone could usher man into a new age. I was younger, and more than a little optimistic about New Camelot Enterprises spearheading a new era of proud scientific achievements. It was the heyday of knowledge - both scientific and arcane, and NCE was carving a path alongside other promising ventures such as Portacio Industries and Wetware Inc.

I know now that I should never have left my guard down when Crey Industries approached me to work on some ideas together. They were seeking to get back in the limelight then. Their support of Hero Corps having been a public relations disaster they were now seeking new opportunities to regain the trust of the populace. NCE was approached first in 2001 and in no uncertain terms offered to be bought out by Crey as a means to inject “new blood” in their own ranks.

In retrospect, maybe I should have accepted. Refusing the offer did not prevent Crey from obtaining my projects and blueprints anyhow, which I realized only years later.

“Look, dear, your company is struggling for a position in the market and we have all the business channels you need to get there. This is exactly the strategy you need right now”, the Countess proclaimed.

“We have experience integrating ‘up-and-comers’ such as yourselves. Our business acumen can only be an asset to your promising venture,” she continued. “We care for and protect our own, Mr. Greenwood, with an intensity some would qualify as a feverish zeal. Your interests, once they become our mutual interests, would receive all the attention they deserve.”

The Treo 270 I had been sent when it was still called “Atlanta” wouldn’t stop vying for my attention, buzzing and vibrating its announcement of communications it deemed crucial in importance. The device had potential, and I could already see the positive impact this could have on corporate communications, but right now it was intruding.

This meeting was turning into an unwanted intrusion on my schedule, extending past the time I had allotted for it. It was late in the day and this provided a practical reason for shelving this proposal for later discussion.

My wife had accompanied my son’s class to the Terra Volta plants today. She had called to say there had been sightings of red lights in the sky, but this was Paragon City. Such things were expected here and normalcy was the exception. She had called to say they were being delayed and would probably stop to eat in Independence Port once travelling was allowed again. She had called our chauffeur already to plan ahead and have him pick them up just outside Terra Volta, where Valor Bridge ended.

“I have no doubt in your leadership skills and the ample resources at Crey Industries’ disposal would be a boon to NCE’s pursuits in nanotechnology and studying further the Fracas Effect Energy Manipulation theories. I’m convinced there is a way to harness the energy released by this pan-dimensional interchange to provide mankind a nigh limitless, clean source of power. Our own nanotech research is currently centered on synthetics but it could be adapted to biologicals - perhaps even be a factor in bettering your own husband Alphonse’s comatose condition,” I started explaining. She shifted in her seat.

“We’ve done good business together these last couple of years, Countess. Even shared labs and collaborated on some projects that were simply outstanding in long-term impact. Unfortunately I’m not convinced that NCE stands to benefit as much from this deal as potentially Crey would in return, so I’ll need -”

A door swung open, so fast the air whistled a little when rushing out of the way.

“Sir! There’s been an attack on the power plant your wife and son were visiting today!”, an assistant barged in almost shouting. Countess Clarissa was visibly miffed that a subordinate would intrude in this fashion but her countenance relaxed at the mention of my family.

I had taken this opportunity to have this meeting after working hours and had planned on meeting my family by taking out the prototype FR.E.E.M. jump boots for a spin. This new cybernetic endeavor aimed to combine the nanotech and FR.E.E.M. divisions’ results into a more cohesive whole. I had been itching to find an excuse to use them in public. Plus, what father didn’t like showing off to his son while he could still compete for his attention against all the real superheroes out there?

“What are you talking about?!” I said, half-rising out of my chair and leaning over the cluttered desk. Even the Countess turned to better take in the information being profered.

“Sir, I’m afraid there’s no good way to say this... there’s been reports of an alien attack on several zones in the city. Power plants were among the areas targeted.” He started sobbing. “The news are reporting that.. that...”

My chief of security barged in, radio in hand. “SIR! I wasn’t able to reach you on your phone, and... Sir, you’d better come with me. This place is not safe right now.”

“I’ll see myself out, Stephen,” Clarissa whispered as she got up and I slid back into my chair, stunned. It took a few seconds to get focused again and leave my office with the security team, barely noticing that Hopkins was escorting her out to the helipad while we headed for the underground parking lot.

The clock on the abandoned smartphone read 7:36, May 23rd. It kept buzzing until the NCE labs and offices were bombed, a few minutes later.


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Reboot

Grief is expressed in a multitude of ways.

Some cry, enraged by loss and concentrating their ire on fickle fate.

Others escape reality to find solace at the bottom of a bottle or needle, or getting into bed with strangers for a brief human contact.

After some months spent hating the universe for allowing such a thing as the Rikti to exist, and trying to honor as best I could the lives of my wife and child, I went back to work.

Crey had not been so distraught by the alien invasion, taking advantage of the situation to leverage their position as shareholders in New Camelot Enterprises to obtain a majority of shares, and therefore claim all my existing patents for their own use. What had not been destroyed or killed that was mine, Crey legally took away. What resources I had left I secreted away.

So the work I returned to was experimental, sometimes blueprinted but more often just figments of my imagination, pursuing the idea of integrating FR.E.E.M. and synthetic nanotech.

It took months of subcontracting small parcels of the project to various parts of the world. I even created fictitious companies to distract anyone who was keeping an eye me. All my energy and every waking hour I could spend on this idea was invested in one central focal point: I would personally put to use the skills I had for the public good, instead of fattening my wallet.

My free time was invested in bettering my knowledge, expanding my fields of research, and maintaining my body fit for the demands I was to put upon it. There was no time for socializing, no need for another outlet, I felt any romantic relationship would have cheapened the memory of the wife I still loved.

While the world changed around me the way only the threat of war could shape, I labored. A new generation of metahumans arose in the wake of the loss of the Omega Team. Some chose to satisfy their own lusts and desires. Others opted to adhere to promoting public peace and safety. All considered Paragon City the nexus of their kind.

New menaces appeared. The Clockwork. The tech pirates known as the Skyraiders. Hamidon Pasalima crossed the line of no return in both magic and science, becoming an ever present threat. The otherworldly Rularuu crossed into our reality. The 5th Column was overtaken by the Council from within - a hostile takeover / coup that reminded me of how Lord Recluse had usurped Arachnos in years past. Nemesis remained a stick in everyone’s craw.

And new guardians also rose. The Hero Corps rose again, for which I’m certain Crey had dealings with - for better or for worse. Kheldians joined our fight against their evil counterparts. The Longbow were created and the Freedom Phalanx remained a beacon for all aspiring heroes.

It was by conscious choice that justice became the driving force behind the sleepless nights, the reclusiveness, and the outcome was my crowning achievement: a Fracas Effect powered, carbon nanofiber-laced plasteel armor augmented by an advanced quantum supercomputer.

While I could not be a “true” superhero in the sense that I had no powers originating from my person, I was confident that equipped properly, I could restore justice, right wrongs, and give villains a very valid reason to seek other employment opportunities.

For me grief was similar, and yet radically different. I became a superhero. A grand roque occurred where the rook was brought into play, the king having withdrawn into a safer area.

Stalemate was ready for battle.


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What if... ?

Nine years have passed since I started on this path, placing my life in jeopardy so that others could feel safe.

Nine years where anguished grief gave way to respectful mourning, and then to honoring the memory of my wife and son. The justice I sought keeps eluding me. It warms my heart to be able to assist others in obtaining it.

The road has been long, and an account of my deeds as a hero are best kept for another day. Suffice it to say that I am satisfied with the work I did in the past, and the allies who chose to associate with me during it all. Our combined efforts accomplished more than I ever could have hoped to do alone and I take pride in having been a part of it.

I was reminiscing upon this when I first learned of the concepts of Power Proliferation that this “Dr. Brainstorm” was espousing. It was an interesting theory, that piqued my curiosity when coupled to what Positron told me about the origins of power: that it fed both heroes and villains.

What did that imply about who I was as a person, as a product of this underlying net of power, as part of a whole.

What if all this had happened for a reason?

What if manipulating the Fracas Effect had adverse effects, causing enough pandimensional instability to provoke links with other worlds such as the Shadow Shard, or other Earth variants such as Praetoria?

What if my biggest personal loss was, in fact, a catalyst to launch me into who I was intended to become?

What if such destiny was orchestrated unbeknownst to me, and others, like pawns?

When I learned Crey was also involved in researching this under the guise of a Hypothetical Framework, my moral fiber started... twisting a little. I broke the law and got into a few of their server farms and looking around. I hired a few hackers to get Crey Industries’ security looking into a destructive DDOS attack while a few more slipped in under the radar to get me the information I needed - and more.

The black hats had tracked some audio files where Countess Crey had ordered the destruction of NCE headquarters as they pulled away from the rooftop. They had used this occasion to get what they wanted in the end.

I tried to rationalize the later attacks I conducted on a few labs and compounds but I need to come clean: Revenge is definitely a dish best served cold. It felt good to strike back at them for their betrayal.

Just like it felt good to participate in the devastation of the Rikti in person when they started coming back. I’ll even hang out in White Plains where one of their ships crashed only to hunt them down. For a brief time, when I take out another Rikti it lessens the void left by the loved ones they took from me. But I know this is a blood feud no one will win - even if their worst doesn’t scratch the armor with its latest improvements.

When eventually I consulted the menders in Ouroboros even more questions were spawned. The answers I held no longer fit, like puzzle pieces from the wrong set being used. Time paradoxes and endlessly forking possible outcomes.

What if... in the end, it’s all for nothing?


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Fact Finding

I’m no longer at the crossroads. My quest for what makes me what I am today has taken me beyond laws, beyond morality.

There was only one thing that could have made me alter my stance on such things. One single thing could have blurred the lines between good and evil. There is only objective left.

Truth.

If there’s a reason behind all this... If indeed there is some sort of master plan at work, I’m going to find it.

My road has taken me from revered hero to reviled villain. My associates think me a traitor to the cause, and I’d be hard pressed to argue the finer points convincingly with them. But right now, the cold hard truth is: I need answers more than I need friends.

This is indeed a lonely road. Knowing it was to be so ahead of time does not lessen the emotional impact.

I need to know.

I perpetrate acts I used to condemn. I have become what I hated. Perhaps this is another method of coping with grief?

Throughout this temporary transition so far their memory has sustained me. They would not approve of this path and were they here today I would not even be on it, trying to sort out the intricacies of Stefan Richter’s Operation: DESTINY.

Eventually, I *will* know.

Glad to see a couple people have entered. Hoping for a few more. =)

Yays and such!!

And to those who wondered, I picked the small duration for applicable entries, and small word count so it would be a challenge.

Or something. Could have just been something random I picked out of thin air. Who knows. =)

Having difficulty with another project, otherwise, I would be submitting something.

This intrigues me, but finding the time (ie being left alone long enough) to do it is hard!

Fatherhood

When his wife brought the young child home from her adventure in the Isles, he didn’t know what to say. As a police officer, he should have been incensed that she had so brazenly made an unlawful incursion into a foreign land, regardless of her status as a hero.

He had no idea that the situation had been handled so smoothly that Arachnos didn’t even know what had happened. He had no idea that it was a mission the organization probably wouldn’t even care about.

When he saw the big brown eyes that looked fearfully up to this stern-looking man while hugging tightly the woman he loved, his concern melted away. Whatever they did, it had to have been right to get such an innocent out of such a Hellish place.

“Joe,” Sarah Grey-Durnan said to her husband, her white hair bobbing as she turned first from him to the startled face of the little boy in her arms, “Meet Kennedy.”

“Um…” Joe’s face melted into a gentle smile and he knelt down to put the frightened child at ease, “Hi there, Kennedy. I’m Joe.”

“He’s going to be your daddy,” his wife squeaked as she gave the young boy a loving squeeze.

“Just like you will be my mommy?” Kennedy asked, looking up to her, curiosity and confusion masking his face.

Sarah could simply nod. She didn’t trust herself to keep her voice from cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t have asked for a more adorable son. She hugged him closer and didn’t let go for what felt like hours as they found the couch and just cuddled. They were broken from their reverie by Joe, who gently roused them to inform them he’d cooked dinner.

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Adopting the Etoile Isles native was a challenge, not the least of which was the fact that Kennedy’s dark skin was a surprising contrast with Sarah and Joe’s Caucasian pigment. While the two hopeful parents weren’t bothered with the idea, they were (repeatedly) informed by Social Services that it would be an issue. It wasn’t until Joe got fed up and pointed out that they were making it an issue that they dropped it.

In the end, the fact that Durnan was a cop, and a well-decorated one at that, helped the most. It proved that Kennedy was going into a reasonably stable household with a strong moral fiber, so Social Services approved the adoption and helped file the necessary paperwork to officially transfer the boy out of the Etoiles.

The day they could officially call Kennedy their own was just as happy as the day Sarah had brought him home. She joked that now they would have to find a house in the suburbs to live in. Joe talked nervously about it, worried about how they would pay for such an endeavor, but he really was in agreement with her. He’d always wanted to give the classic suburban setting a shot.

He just wished her father would get off his back. Randall Grey was never happy that Joe had “taken his little girl from him.” The big, gruff man took every opportunity to take jabs at Joe’s ego, his character, and his marriage. Sarah and her mother, Charlene, would often cut him off or nag him to be nice or behave, but Randall would always find some way to interject how he really felt about the young man.

“I don’t know what to do, Snuffy,” he said as he embraced his wife while she washed the evening’s dishes and Kennedy curled up with a stuffed bear in the living room, “Your dad, he… He just hates me…”

“Joe… He’s giving you a hard time. It’s what he does.”

“He never relents… If we’re in a room together, alone, he either gives me another jab or he just sits there, drinking his beer and not saying a word…”

“Well, he was really surprised when you dealt with that Talos Island situation and rescued those people while under fire.”

“He never says this stuff to me, Sarah!”

The lithe, white-haired woman turned and gazed into her husband’s blue eyes with her pretty hazels. Joe met her gaze and they looked quietly to each other like that for a moment.

“I know he accepts you, Joe,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “I had to break my rule and read his mind to be sure… But he does.”

“You read his mind without permission?”

“Yeah, and that’s not easy. His head’s got some weird mineral lattice around the skull… But… Joe… He would be there for you, no matter what. Just like you’ll be there for Kennedy.”

“Missus Durnan?” they heard from the kitchen door.

They turned and saw the little boy they’d just adopted. He was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he dragged the large, plush bear behind him. Sarah couldn’t help but giggle, seeing him standing there in Statesman pajamas like a classic image of childhood.

“Aw, Kennedy, honey! I told you! Call me Mommy!” she cooed sweetly as she gently broke from her husband to walk over and scoop him and his teddy bear up.

“Okay…” he said quietly, “Mommy… I’m thirsty…”

“Oh, okay, sweetie, let’s get you some juice…”

Joe smiled at the idyllic scene as he turned to the dishes. He was actually a bit surprised that his life had turned out this way. It was enough to curb his normally cynical attitude that something was going to come along and take it all away. Perhaps he could finally be happy, he just had to stop being bothered by whatever his father-in-law was saying.

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Later that evening, Sarah got a call from Pocket D. One of the bartenders couldn’t make it in for the night shift, and they were wondering if she’d be willing to take the shift. Since she’d be getting overtime pay for it, she agreed and set to getting dressed for work. Since it wasn’t a celebratory night, she stuck to a simple party dress and the strange golden halo she levitated over her head with her power.

“Okay, Joe, honey,” she kissed him on his forehead, “Bye-bye!”

She did the same for Kennedy and left the two of them cuddled on the couch, watching television. Kennedy was out like a light after a few minutes, snuggled comfortably against Joe’s ribs, his teddy bear between them as he quietly sucked his thumb.

“I hope I make a good father,” Joe quietly said aloud.

After a couple hours of television and changing channels, he decided it was time to call it a night. He lifted the small child carefully so as not to rouse him and carried him to his room. Wrapped in blankets and surrounded by a small army of stuffed animals (most were gifts from Charlene, Roland and Cedric; Joe often wondered why the Greys were so obsessed with the toys), he slept soundly and peacefully.

Durnan had just put the dishes away and was about to head for the bathroom when he heard a knock at the door. Confused that he was getting a visitor so late, he turned warily to the door. He walked to the wall safe and unlocked it. It could just be Roland or Charlene dropping by unexpectedly, but it could also be a domestic situation. He and Sarah lived in Steel Canyon, so they didn’t have to deal with the same depravations as found in Kings Row on a regular basis, but enough people in their building knew he was a cop and had called on his assistance for a number of situations.

There was another knock. This one was more insistent. If it were Roland or Charlene, they would have announced themselves.

“Be right there!” Joe called out as he put his badge on his belt and strapped the holster with his pistol on his thigh.

When he opened the door, he didn’t know what to say. It looked like a man, covered in flames.

“I was told I could find my meal here,” the creature said in a strange, echoing and booming voice that sounded like three or four voices talking out of sync with each other but just close enough to be understandable.

Without warning, the door was kicked inward and Joe was thrown across the kitchen and into the living room. He crashed into the coffee table and tumbled into the radiator.

Joe forced his eyes open as he saw the fiery demon thing simply stride into his apartment and chuckle at him. It was like something out of a movie, but right here in front of him.

“The Circle’s wizards contracted me for a task,” it explained, “But a part of my price is the life of an innocent… They didn’t have one available, so they directed me to where I could find one. Tell me, Officer Joseph Leslie Durnan… Where is the boy?”

Joe narrowed his eyes and glowered at the creature. So, the Circle of Thorns had made another deal with the devils. He didn’t know what the creature was hired for, but he understood why it was here in his apartment.

“How do I know your name?” the demon asked, its multiple, uncoordinated voices sounding amused (except the one that sounded sad), “Simple, I can read it in your soul… I could find the location of the boy in the same manner, but this… Making you betray one who has placed his trust in you… This is so much more satisfying…”

“I’ll die first,” Joe barked as he drew his pistol, loaded a clip and fired three quick shots into the demon’s chest, the large caliber rounds throwing the creature back in surprise and over the kitchen counter, “But that’s not Plan A…”

The creature was on its feet with a reality straining roar and it barreled back into the living room, flames erupting about it like a torch. The furniture caught fire and the television exploded. The walls scorched and the alarm let out a shrill warble before shorting out and melting.

Joe blasted more rounds into the creature’s chest. One round went too high and struck it in the head. Still, it came on, the grievous wounds closing rapidly. It extended one of its wicked claws, grasped the officer by the shoulder, lifted him up and pinned him to the wall with one hand.

“Your torment will be exquisite,” it rasped with one voice while the others let out low chuckles.

The gun was batted out of Joe’s hand and he was slapped across the face. The creature was displaying remarkable control over its fiery powers as it burned the officer just enough to injure and cause pain, but not enough to make him pass out or die immediately.

Durnan tried to fight back, but it was like trying to pummel a hot pipe. The demon had too much of an advantage over him. Joe’s mind buzzed as he desperately tried to think of how he could save Kennedy.

There was a light knock at the door. It must have closed when the demon walked into the apartment.

“Your wife?” the demon asked as it read the worried thoughts flowing from Joe’s emotion-wracked soul, then chuckled as it saw an image of her in his memory, “Oh yes… This will be a tasty morsel indeed…”

“No!” Joe shouted as he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor and the creature strode confidently away.

“Coming!” the creature announced with its victim’s voice as it reached the door, “What took you so long?”

An impossibly large fist smashed through the door and grabbed the demon by the chest. The thick skin looked like it was chiseled from stone and its grip was exceptionally strong and painful for the fiery creature.

“AUGH!” it shouted with all of its voices as it was yanked through the door and into the hall.

When the demon was able to see its assailant, it gulped in fear, a sensation it had fed on for centuries. Towering over it, at eight feet tall and almost half as wide, was the immense, bulky form of Randall Grey.

The grizzled old man glowered down at the creature, his glittering eyes sunken deep under a low brow. His gray beard was at one time trimmed, but had allowed to go shaggy through a lack of grooming.

Without a word, he raised his fist and smashed the demon down the hall. Smoke detectors trilled loudly as it passed and Randall continued to close with the creature, beating the life out of it with the raw determination of a man protecting his family.

A moment later, the demon was slammed through the wall of the apartment building and it fell to the street below, landing on a dumpster and looking up in shock. It had never faced something so powerful or furious before.

It let out a hideous scream that rattled windows as it saw that Grey wasn’t done with it, though. Randall plodded through the hole and plummeted straight down onto the demon, smashing his fist into its face and reveling in the satisfying sensation of his target’s form buckling and giving under the impact.

“You like to eat children, eh?” he growled as he picked the demon’s crushed form up out of the garbage, “Well… I’ve been known as something of an ogre, myself…”

The demon lashed out at him, but the big man batted the strike aside and delivered three savage punches to what approximated a ribcage on the demon, shattering what could be called bones and driving them into its innards.

“Sucks when it’s happening to you,” the giant man continued, “Doesn’t it?”

The demon whimpered as it tried to puzzle out its situation. It had never dreamed that creatures like this existed in the world. What brand of commoner could hold such power?

“Somebody sent you here...” Randy said quietly as he grasped the demon’s head with one massive hand and started to squeeze, “I want you to tell me who…”

When the inhuman screams finally stopped, Joe had just finished spraying the apartment and hallway with an extinguisher. Oddly enough, Kennedy was still sleeping soundly, his teddy bear hugged even closer and the stuffed animals oddly close to him and facing outward.

“They’re adorable when they’re like that,” Randall’s gravelly voice intoned suddenly, causing Joe to jump in surprise.

“Randy…” he said when he composed himself, “What… What happened?”

“Sarah felt your fear and sent a message to me,” he replied, “I couldn’t let anything happen to him…”

Joe nodded. They stood there quietly for a few minutes, Kennedy’s quiet murmurs the only sounds.

“I’ll see you at dinner this Sunday,” Randy finally announced before turning to leave, “Let me know if you have any trouble getting a new place.”

Joe watched the big man lumber into the night. He didn’t know what had changed, but he got the distinct impression that he’d somehow proven his character to the old man.

Okay, no more entries will be accepted now. Shame, that.

I will be reviewing the entries and will get in contact with the winner within the next week. Thank you all who entered, and who considered and may or may not have tried to come up with something on short notice.

Good luck!

I have proven myself completely incapable of writing a story in under 2500 words, or I'd be here too!

Thanks for doing this, Saint. I'm so proud of our tradition of fiction on this server, and I love to see you encouraging it.

Read my stories!

I'd certainly have done something had my brain not been so completely paralyzed by real life right now. Still is, and there's porn ready to be written that I just can't get onto paper. :/ darn shame. lol. not coh porn. >_>

I should shut up now and wait for the winner to be declared.

I liked all of the entries. I think the final decision is going to be tough.

This is just a heads up to the authors...

... I am having a really hard time deciding between the three entries. I need some time to confer with my wife to see what she thinks. Sorry about the delay, folks.

Upon conferring with my dearest Snowkitty, it has been decided that Stalemate just barely edged over the curve into first place.

Please contact me privately with the global handle you would like the prize to be emailed to.

Thank you all who entered and considered doing do.

All hail the random whims of Saint!!

Gratz, Stale.

Who knew such talent was lurking in that mind?

Congrats Stale!

I did what now?

Well, I'll be truthfully honest (not in my usual "humble-braggy" way): I never expected to win, given the competitors and their entries. Thanks for your submissions guys - I really liked them.

TBH, this was my second fiction about a CoH character since I started playing, not including bios. I just might have to give this another shot.

Thanks for the opportunity to do something different, Saint.

Grats! And yes you should - there's no reason not to keep writing!