"Protector: Day of Vigilance" July 9 2011 - Official Event Thread!

"Protector: Day of Vigilance" Official Storyline



Prelude


The soft glow of the monitor belied the damage it had done to my weary eyes. I’ve been up too late too many nights in a row looking at these numbers.


Numbers… that bore under them a more insidious intent.



Too much traffic for those components. Too much for it to be simple market manipulation, although the buyers had done a good job obscuring themselves using irregular quantity transactions funneled through innumerable clearinghouses. Too much alignment of material and salvage quantities in the right combinations that all added up together to produce the final product.


By my calculations the exchanges over the last 2 weeks were enough to produce 5,000 base units of FREEM tech.

And the buys were getting bigger.



The good news was that the assembly process for FREEM, despite suspiciously rapid advancements by Crey since the first Rikti invasion, was still highly unstable in the hands of even the best industry scientists and production experts. To produce the finished product was an artisan task; it required both expert knowledge and the skilled surgical hand of an experienced genius-level inventor. There were maybe 3 people on the planet with both the intellect and experience to manufacture the quantities being discussed here. One could be discounted immediately; Ray Keyes wouldn’t do black market transactions, period. The other 2… were more problematic. One in particular, especially given a certain upcoming infamous anniversary for that individual.


I suppose I could hope it was coincidence, but I don’t believe in coincidence and hope is not a strategy.



Sitting back in my chair, there was no more time to wait. It was time to act.


.

I'll add a little more information in regards to this now, to make sure there's no misunderstandings later.



On July 9th, although KJSR.net has offered to relay some of the information out to their listeners, the only way to ensure we can properly coordinate activities that day will be to use the Protector Vigilance channel, the Calendar and the Twitter feed.

Of course, other channels are more than welcome to glean whatever information they wish to redistribute to their members. As a matter of fact, if you moderate another channel and you have any questions that I can't answer here in public, please contact me and I will answer any questions you may have to the best of my abilities.

To anyone who has not yet done so, for whatever reasons, I cordially extend the invitation for you to type in /chanjoin "Protector Vigilance" and keep track of this, and all other server activities.

[Protector: Day of Vigilance (Official Storyline)]

Special Report
The following article appears in the Paragon Daily Sentinel on May 23, 2011

　
Hiya Paragonners, Alexis Alexander here with a special report.

I had originally planned on bringing you my five part report on the state of the Paragon city sewer system; "Is the city keeping the books flush?" when I received the oddest thing in my E-mail. It came in with no signature and no source. It read simply:
There is a matter of great importance I need your assistance with. Meet me behind Wentworth's in Atlas Park at dusk. Bring a notebook.

Now, apart from the fact that reporters have not used notebooks for a decade or two (My last one was in third grade and had a pink Unicorn on the cover) this piqued my interest. Reporters are, by nature, curious beasts, and the idea of a clandestine meeting really appealed to me. Besides, I'd just spent two weeks in the sewers, anything had to be better than that.

A few hours later I found myself walking around the Atlas Park location for Wentworth's Consignments. For those of you who have never visited one of the Wentworth's locations, I would recommend them as a great site for Hero watching. Sooner or later, all of Paragon's heroes stop in to trade and sell some of their more exotic trophies.

Although there was a brisk trade going on the main floor and I could see the well known figures of Sonja Skull-Bearer, Nacht Jaeger, and several others, the loading docks were all but empty. Halogen bulbs shone over the access doors providing entertainment for the local moths, and deep shadows for people to hide in.

A low, harsh voice echoed from one of the shadows. "Thank you for coming," it said. From a different patch of shadow stepped a tall, dark, figure in cape and cowl. Yes, I'll admit it, even though I was expecting it, I was startled. Lets face it readers, it's not something that happens every day, even in Paragon City.

As the figure stepped further into the light, I could make out just enough details of his costume to make an identification. EtherFalcon.

EtherFalcon was one of the city's crimefighting elite. There were confirmed reports that he'd led two counterstrike teams that succeeded in bringing down serveral Rikti assault ships as well as routing three full Rikti assault teams during their last raid; so you can understand why I was beginning to wonder what he could need me for.

"Ms. Alexander, I've receieved information that several villains out of the Rogue Islands are planning a raid in force on Paragon City. I need to know when they plan on doing this and why."

"Um," I said in my most un-reporterlike tones (did I mention that I was still a bit intimidated here?) "Isn't this something that you can, you know, grab a few gang members off the street and shake them until they tell you what you need to know?"

He laughed quietly. ( I made EtherFalcon laugh!) "It doesn't always work that way outside of comic books, Ms. Alexander. I suspect the only way to find out is to go to the Islands and ask questions there. I cannot go myself, I'd be too much of a target. But you, Ms. Alexander, are a private citizen and an accredited reporter. You'd have a great deal more flexibility than I would."

I would by lying to you, readers, if I didn't admit that I almost dialed up the travel agency right then and there; but, not only are reporters curious, we also have a strong sense of self preservation. After all, getting the story of the decade is only worthwhile if you're alive to write it.

EtherFalcon read the questions on my face. "I'll arrange an escort for you. You can meet them on the Talos Island docks tomorrow morning. Please act quickly Ms. Alexander, the safety of the city could depend on what you discover."

[Protector: Day of Vigilance (Official Storyline)]
　
Continuing Coverage
(This article appears in the Paragon Daily Sentinel for May 26, 2011)

Good Evening Paragonners, Alexis Alexander here with a continuation of the special report I brought you earlier.

At the request of EtherFalcon, I'd agreed to travel to the Rogue Islands in hopes of uncovering the details behind a threatened attack on Paragon City. Now readers, I'm well aware of the stories that have circulated about the Islands; that they're Lord Recluse's private playground full of killers, murderers, and ne'er do wells; that they're a haven for pirates, smugglers, and monstrous abominations of science; that anyone travelling there will disappear without trace...

In some respects readers, those rumors are all true. Perhaps not as dramatic as the stories make them, but true enough that a healthy dose of caution is recommended. That is the reason I found myself standing on the Talos Island docks waiting for someone who would, in theory, be able to keep me out of harm's way while I investigated.

After an hour on the docks, enduring catcalls from the dockworkers (flattering in their own way but, guys, please) and glares from some of the more intimidating members of the local gangs (that is, before they decided to fade into the background when Monk Brawlin decided to stop and check something on his phone before heading out toward Icarus and the other out islands,) I was approached by a tall woman with pale hair.

"You the reporter?" she growled. When I nodded she started walking back to the far end of the docks. "You were supposed to meet me an hour ago."

At this point I felt compelled to defend myself. Of the many things that reporters can be accused of, being late to meet a contact is not one of them. "EtherFalcon just said 'the docks'. I suppose he is a busy punisher of evil but he could have been a bit more specific." This caused the pale woman to stop and look at me again. What looked like the beginnings of a rebuke faded into a disgusted expression and slight frown. "What did I expect from a man," she said to herself before gesturing me forward. There was a story there but I wisely decided not to press the issue.

I guess readers that I'm guilty of reading too many detective novels. I expected a tramp steamer or some other slightly questionable form of transport. What I was led to was a small yacht, complete with crew and a cook. It seemed that my escort was truly an ESCORT.

As we got underway (and sat down to a substantial breakfast) she introduced herself as Madam Masada; a very successful and highly placed 'procurer of exotic companions' for the elite of the Rogue Islands (and elsewhere.) She was the origin of EtherFalcon's tip about the raid. By taking the role of a new 'assistant' I would be able to accompany her on a tour of her 'business interests' in the islands, and hopefully be able to gather useful information.

Our Port of Entry would actually be in the Nerva Archipeligo, a small group of islands that functioned much like cold war Berlin. It was unofficially claimed by Arachnos but the UN, backed by a strong Longbow presence, had declared it 'neutral territory.' Neither side had yet to really press the issue, but small skirmishes were not uncommon. According to Madam Masada, she had several contacts there but one in particular that she believed would be our best bet.

A man called Stalemate.

Hellos people. This is Xedath.

[Protector: Day of Vigilance - Official Storyline]

Provocation


How do you bring back one of the greatest heroes of our generation, back from a personal quest of self destruction, back from the path we all want to take from time to time, back from the road that they had every right to travel?

Simple, you goad them.

Thinking about the circumstances of his departure, the base emotions veiled behind a wall of anger, it would not be hard to do. At least that’s what I hoped.

The first communication was ignored, a sign I hoped meant I had struck a deep nerve. That’s good. I would need to cut deep to extract what I hoped was still there, buried beneath layers of inconsolable rage. Forgotten but not lost.

I would need to send a stronger message. I would need something tangible to pull those memories to the surface, bring that rage back around full circle to righteous anger.

I would need… an emissary. Some might say a pawn, but I prefer to think of them as accomplices. Carrying out the mission without understanding the true value of their role.

I would need just the right homage. It would have to be perfect to get the desired effect just right.

So you got screwed, manipulated, your company taken over by thieves and the most precious things in your life stolen by unwarranted violence, all in one day?


Cry me a river.

Time to get over it, Stephen. Your city needs you.



.

[Protector: Day of Vigilance - Official Storyline]


Reflections of the Past

Receiving an encrypted message was nothing new in my business. Professionally or in my “other” functions, it was a common occurrence. What was less common was that the cypher key had not been shared. Someone was playing hard to get, or wanted to see if I could manage my way around this.

I set a brute force process in motion. Quantum computing and distributed processing made quick work of it once the encryption method was recognized: a Fermat pseodoprime variant. Exotic.

The message was requesting an audience for the purpose of discussing the recent resurgence of FREEM technology. Since the Countess had betrayed me and stolen my research I was an outlaw using my own discovery: FRacas Effect Energy Manipulation. Even if they could not bring their own developments of the technology to the level I had managed, they were still trying to usurp my ideas by force of law and intimidation.

I lost interest in the content. There was little for me to gain by sticking my head out that particular window. I looked back at the screen, more intrigued by the box than by its contents. The encryption key was still displayed on the OLED monitor’s lightly curved surface. A pattern was now visible.

The deciphering key was 2002523746, repeated until its end.

Year, month, day. A date.

And a time.

I flinched and felt blood rush to my head. Rage replaced curiosity. Someone wanted to grab my attention and had done so - with both hands, screaming into my face. The memories started flooding in.

For someone to use this information meant that they were either suicidal, or desperate.

I decided to wait it out, keep the upper hand by not replying just yet. If I was to be honest with myself, I would have admitted being too upset by this reminder of this dread anniversary to craft a coherent reply anyhow.

Where Crey had stolen my professional life, the Rikti had done the same for my personal one - just minutes before the date and time used in the cypher. In fact, a long torturous path had taken me from that point in time to where I was now in Grandville. From light into darkness.

Even if I had wanted to reply immediately, the flood of memories was overflowing. My mind started reeling and unraveling the past years, trying to make sense of it all, again. It was time for introspection. It was time to take a long hard look at my motivations for taking this road into infamy for the purpose of seeking truth.

In the end, I was left conflicted.

I was convinced that doing wrong, for the right reasons, was justifiable at one point. But until you’re knee-deep in it, it’s hard to see where the swamp starts. My actions at one point could perhaps have been justified, but now, months later with nothing to show for it but a path of destruction carved into the landscape of my life, I could no longer ignore the fact.

I wasn’t doing this to find the truth behind it all. Justice had little to do with what I had perpetrated in the name of making sense of my family’s demise.

I was in it for revenge.

Amazing what a string of numbers can do.

It can create structures, explain the complex process of life, or even render matter into its component building blocks.

In my case, it had pierced the abscess of my delusion.

It was going to be hard to keep pretending.

Sounds like a fun event -- thanks to those who're working on all the coordination this must require!

If I'm not working on the 9th, I'd love to be there.

[Protector: Day of Vigilance (Official Storyline)]

(This article appears in the Paragon Daily Sentinel for May 29, 2011)


Hello again Paragonners, Alexis Alexander here with part three of my continuing report.

A quick recap is in order for those of you just joining in. At the request of EtherFalcon, I have travelled to the Rogue Islands in the company of one of his associates, Madam Masada. Under the cover of reviewing her business interests around the Isles, she would act as my guide and bodyguard while I tried to uncover information which could help prevent a massive raid on Paragon city.

Now, if you recall earlier, I said I would be taking on the role of Madam Masada's new 'assistant'. To add some veracity to that role, Madam suggested I wear one of her company uniforms. Now, readers, given Madam's profession, I do admit to a great deal of initial reluctance.I am not puritannical in my views but I do prefer a more understated wardrobe. I was pleased to discover that the company uniform consisted of a gold tone, tailored blazer over a pale bronze blouse and pleated skirt. A quite tasteful ensemble, even if the skirt was a little shorter that I was comfortable with.

We arrived at Nerva shortly after noon. As we pulled into the marina, I noticed that the crew were now wearing sidearms and Madam Masada herself had added a pair of double edged fighting knives. "Arachnos doesn't encourage knife fights on the streets," she mentioned as we stepped down to the dock, "but it happens. Unless you're trying to cut up one of his people, Lord Recluse pretty much looks the other way."

The day quickly settled into a pattern. Madam Masada would lead me through the city to a small restaurant, or dry cleaners, or some other perfectly normal storefront where she would speak with the staff and look over some paperwork. While she managed her day to day business, I had the opportunity to ask questions. Readers, it might surprise you to know that some of the greatest spies in the world are right in front of you every day. It might be a bartender at your favorite club, the waitress at the diner, the little old lady behind the counter of the pet store; all of those nameless, faceless, people that are such a part of the background, you don't think twice about holding a cell phone conversation in front of them. Every single one of those people are listening and while, individually, they don't hear much, collectively it adds up to a large amount of information.

My last interview of the day was with someone who could, hopefully, make sense of that information. As a crimefighter, he called himself Stalemate but he disappeared from Paragon City, according to rumor, to pursue a private vendetta against Crey Industries. I made a mental note to see if I could get a more formal interview with him once this affair was over.

Again readers, I'll lay the blame on an early love of detective fiction for thinking that this meeting would take place in a dark alley or a smoky speakeasy. In reality, we met him outside a modest third floor office not more than four blocks from Crey's Nerva campus. His appearance hadn't changed much from the file photos I had been able to find. He was tall, and his auburn hair still had touches of brighter red. He had miantained a solid athelete's build, but the easy, slightly askew smile that was a prominant feature of his press conferences was missing. As he greeted me, I could see that his gaze was far more dull than expected. Not the glossy stare of a person under the influence, but more a resigned weariness.

As he turned to greet Madam Masada his gaze, and in fact, his entire body language changed. His eyes widened and he took one stumbling step back. His mouth opened as though to say something but no words came. It took him a moment to regain his composure and stammer out a brief if very...neutral...greeting. As he ushered us into his office Madam declined, offering to stay outside so we wouldn't be disturbed. "I remind him of someone and somthing he's been trying very hard to forget, " she said quietly. "You'll get more done if I'm not there." I looked into this later and discovered that Madam Masada bore a strong resemblance to Stalemate's late wife. Again, there was another story there, but it had to wait for another time.

After a few moments with Masada safely on the other side of the door, Stalemate seemed to wake up and refocus. Once he seemed ready, I gave him a synopsis of the information I had gathered. Most of it he dismissed as 'typical Rogue Island boasting' but one thing caught his attention.

"Someone buying up FREEM tech?" he asked. "Are you sure about that word?" I told him that it had come up often enough not to believe that it was important. "I haven't heard about this but if it's true it could be dangerous." FREEM, he explained was from the more unstable side of physics. "Damn near magical, " was his best definition. It looked like he was about to explain further when very clear sounds of fighting came through the door.

I've accompanied heroes on several fights readers so I knew exactly what to do in these kind of situations... I got out of the way. I hold a green belt in Karate which is a reasonable rank but nowhere near what is needed when energy bolts start flying. Stalemate was on his feet and through the door before I could move.

The hallway was a scene of minor chaos. From the doorway I was able to make some quick estimates. It appeared that a group of six men, none of them obviously superhuman, armed with knives and other handheld weapons, had come up the stairs and attacked Madam Masada. Two of them were already on the ground, alive but obviously bleeding from several cuts to their chest and torso area. Madam Masada was pressing the attack against two more who didn't seem to be able to adapt to her fast, two handed style. Stalemate had gotten the attention of the final two and was holding them off with a combination of Boxing, Savate, and moves from some other style that looked like a cross between Akido and the Three Stooges.

One of Masada's pair went down first as she dodged under his attack and thrust one of her knives between the ribs on his right side. At best that wound would result in a punctured lung; at worst, it would be fatal. It didn't look as she cared either way. Stalemate evened the score with a vintage Muhammad Ali style right cross.

Now readers, in a sensible world, anyone who went from a 6 to 1 advantage down to a 2 on 2 fight in less than ninety seconds, would either surrender or retreat. The Rogue Islands, it seemed, was not a sensible place. With a roaring shout, Masada's opponent made a short rush that knocked her backward off her feet. He seemed to be about to try and put his foot into her windpipe when Stalemate executed a Hollywood style Judo throw that launched his opponent into Masada's attacker. Both men went down in a tangle as Masada bounced to her feet with her left hand knife held outward at chest height and her right pulled back and reversed for a throw. Before she could make that throw, (which readers I firmly believe would have resulted in a knife in someone's brain) Stalemate pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and pointed it at the men. A short, barely audible screech sounded from the phone nearly blinding me but completely scrambling the neural impulses of the attackers. They collapsed bonelessly. Two minutes after it had started, the fight was over.

"Someone's taking this seriously, " said Stalemate calmly as he checked the bodies for identification. After a few moments he gave up; he hadn't really expected to find any. "You can tell EtherFalcon that he's on to something."

From down near the floor where she was wiping her blades off on the fallen attackers' shirts Madam Masada answered. "You can tell him yourself. I've already wasted enough time." She stood up and faced him, pale hair and eyes taking up his field of vision. "Make sure she gets back home, " she said pointing at me. "And while you're there, maybe you'll remember that you were, once, a Hero."

"Protector: Day of Vigilance" Official Event Thread

To Shine Brightly


Gaslight looked up from his alchemic tinkering to watch another spider web of arcane electricity crackle across the copper and glass globe in the corner of his lab. It had been doing that for some time, and he now recognized the signals. He, like everyone else, knew something was up on the Rogue Isles –Gaslight read the Sentinel after all, but that crackle of energy on that globe meant more than just danger approaching.


It meant that the luck and magic of his supergroup were becoming entwined with these coming events. There would be a chance for a member of the Society to make an impact somewhere here in Paragon City.


Where was this chance, and with whom?


A few more hours’ research into the now obvious signs yielded that Skyshard was the most likely member to be the focus, the carrier as it were, of this fate. After a time, and many more cups of tea, Gaslight completed the numerology matrix he had chosen to scry with and understood a bit more, but was puzzled by some of the traditionally unlucky integers chosen. Moving to the ashes in the fireplace he carried with him the various empty teacups and peered at the leaves in each one before placing them in a row on the hearth.


“So,” he said to himself as he relit the fire, “Not unlucky, just hmm, ‘unpopular?’” He thought over the portents and arranged his thoughts thus: Skyshard could positively impact events, could enrich Paragon City, by gathering to him those Heroes found unpopular, misfitting, or outside the norm. Together, they must tackle some sort of challenge traditionally considered beyond the capability of such a motley crew.


What challenge?


The next morning, Gaslight awoke to the sounds of the plasma being tuned to the local news. Clochard was in the media center, staring at an attractive lady reporting on those events in the Rogue Isles that had first been covered in the Paragon Daily Sentinel. He thought he heard Clochard mumble “pretty” over and over again as he watched the TV from about a foot away. Putting that image out of his mind, Gaslight tried to doze, but as the featured story faded and the daily recap began, phrases spoken by the newscaster resonated in Gaslight’s mind: “Trouble at Faultline Dam…Increased Clockwork Activity…Sonic Freakshow…New Mekmen…Corporate Cover Up…Woodsman.” Gaslight sat upright as these words fell into place and he knew what Skyshard was being called to do.


The events unfolding would take the attention of the most powerful Heroes, but danger and duty are no less diminished in Paragon City. Those unpopular and perhaps underpowered heroes that, by luck and fate, join Skyshard as he takes on these series of challenges will be enriched. There is an opportunity here for the misfits to shine as brightly as the superstars.


OOC Notes:
In plain English, I'm planning on running all the TFs for the Task Force Commander Accolade, starting at 11 AM Eastern on the Day of Vigilance (July 9). The theme to this run is getting some play time for rejects, outcasts, and misfits. You know those toons that tend to get picked last at PUG dodgeball; basically toons with spammy, knockback heavy, or “less efficient” powersets? Well now’s the time for them to get some play since the big name, sponsor-endorsed Heroes will be tied up with the main storyline. I will be playing a Storm/Electricity Defender (Skyshard); my wife is helping greatly by playing an Ice/Energy Controller, I mean Blaster, for this run. So basic mechanical survival is covered; bring whatever misfit you feel like, though first come, first served applies. If you know you're interested in the misfit TF Commander run, please reply or send me a PM.

If there are any questions or clarifications needed, please let me know.
@Lorax

Just updated with the new official poster - check it out in my opening post to this thread!

You asked for it, so here it is:

Protector Day - Outline

PVP activities

• RV Duel sessions
• 9 PM - Warburg Bounty Hunt
• Role Playing PvP revolving around a scenario.

• 11 AM - Misfits Task Force Commander Accolade
• Trivia contest in Protector Vigilance channel throughout the day
• Group TF race(s).
• Solo Ouroboros TF race
• Hide and Seek
• 5 PM - Rush the Rikti - Bombing Run
• Monster Island Clean Up
• Mentor Project activities

• Best Lore-centric Bio contest
• Best couple costumes
• Friday Evening, July 8 - Dress your Badge
• Now That’s Clever - most creative use of costume parts
• True Patriot – Patriotic themed heroes, incorporating Red/White/Blue
• World’s Finest – Best Hero costume - Costumes should reflect the types worn during the golden age of comics
• Avenging Angel – best Vigilante theme costume
• Dark Lord – Best Supervillain costume - Costumes should reflect the types worn during the golden age of comics.
• Heart of Gold – Best Rogue theme costume
• Mild-Mannered – best hero alter ego costume
• Seemed so Normal – best villain alter ego costume
• Boy Wonder/Girl Wonder – Best hero sidekick themed costume
• Second Fiddle – Best villain sidekick themed costume
• Dynamic Duo – Best Hero Team costume(2+)
• Unholy Alliance – Best Villain Team costume(2+)
• Chosen One – best Hero themed Bio
• Fall from Grace – best Vigilante themed bio
• Born of Darkness – best Villain theme Bio
• Road to Redemption – best Rogue themed bio

• Character Design Panel: Troy Hickman, JWBullfrog (confirmed).
• PVP Panel: Shining Magic, Evil Chiller X, EtherFalcon (confirmed).

[Protector: Day of Vigilance - Official Storyline]


FREEM!

The cruise back into Paragon City was thankfully uneventful. I was keenly aware of Alexis Alexander's glances towards me as we churned our way towards the Paragon Free Press offices. The armor was on, scanning and reporting but my mind was only half interested in those feeds. The waning sun over the water cast eerily colored shapes as melancholy did the same on the surface of my mind. A growing dissatisfaction was peaking. Mid-life crisis or regret - or both, it was hard to say what was fueling it. But the timing was right for a change.

It was odd for me to be in the presence of a reporter who did not feel immediately obligated to pry into my life as soon as we were alone. I had assumed the time spent navigating our way to Independence Port would be an endless series of questions. Perhaps that's why I was so forthcoming when her single question finally came. Still, it took a second to pry my awareness in her direction.

"So, you were a hero once?"

The query stirs up the already roiling maelstrom of self-doubt that has been percolating within me ever since laying eyes on Madam Masada earlier today. Her resemblance to my deceased wife was too striking to be called a coincidence. The center could not hold.

"Some would argue I still am, Ms. Alexander, but that my motivations have changed."

She maintained the silence just near the point of being uncomfortable and I added, "But yes, it would take a stretch of the imagination to say my actions of late had anything to do with heroism. I'm not even sure what I'd label myself these days."

The rest of the conversation, or rather my monologue, I asked that she keep off the record for the time being. Perhaps one day the rest of the story will come out. For now, given what was developing I did not think it wise to be overly visible in the media.

EtherFalcon met us as we berthed and after a few words with Ms. Alexander he came back and addressed me. I ignored the obvious attempt at intimidation inherent in the design of his costume and flashy headgear. In my own experience, the clothes almost never made the man.

"So, did you find what you were looking for over in the Isles?" Despite the provocative nature of the hero’s question, the delivery was deadpan, void of detectable emotion.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Falcon."

"Crey wound you up like a toy soldier intending to cut you loose on the city. It provided them a convenient cover for their propaganda about how their takeover of NCE was warranted. Somebody had to shake you out of it before you went all 'Law Abiding Citizen' on someone. I'm sure you'll forgive my direct methods in approaching you when you hear the dire situation I've uncovered." EtherFalcon's delivery was curt, matter-of-fact.

"I understand how far one must go to get answers, and that sometimes lines have to be crossed", I continued. "But don't let the fact that you've managed to get through my armor, so to speak, to sway me psychologically or emotionally mean anything. You still need to convince me logically that what you're presenting is fact," I retorted.

The mood was coldly professional, and neither of us seemed to mind keeping it that way.

EtherFalcon went on: "I understand, so I'll get right to the point."

"I have unearthed information that points to the acquisition of technology and blueprints which, in the right hands, could be used to construct Fracas Effect Energy Manipulation devices. My current estimates put the potential unit count at 6500 and growing."

I wasn't surprised by the information, but had to wonder how come this hero had information similar to that I had just received in the last 24 hours. His source was even better than mine, as what I held sheer luck had provided by an informant.

"I assume that if you're telling me this it's because you think I might be implicated," I replied.

EtherFalcon's stance relaxed a bit, in the way a snake appears to relax before striking. ""Put it to you this way," he exhaled slowly, "the first thing I did after identifying the finished product as FREEM tech was to update the targeting coordinates of my orbital base energy cannon." He turned his gauntlet over to project a small holographic set of numbers above his forearm. "You no doubt recognize the coordinates."

The only location of mine that was missing on the display’s rotating coordinates was the orbital station. This guy was pretty good. "Just in case you had to take me out of the game. People are right, you ARE paranoid."

"It's not paranoia if people really ARE out to get you, Stephen. Better to have an option I don't need than need one I don't have. That said, your personal involvement was disproved shortly thereafter. I don't think you're half as villainous as your reputation implies you are, or even yourself might think.”

I blinked.

"Also, links have been found to implicate Crey," he added.

I gritted my teeth.

"You really _do_ have a way to keep a person's attention focused on what you're saying," I managed. "But Crey doesn't have what it takes to handle FREEM tech. They can barely reverse engineer their way through the day when dealing with conventional technology. No creativity. This requires someone who's intimately familiar with not only quantum theory as applied to pan-dimensional interactions, but also nuclear physics. The only person I would suspect being able to eventually intuit the inner workings of FREEM would be - "

" - Dr. Aeon," EtherFalcon completed. "I've looked in that possibility as well. No go. And Arachnos wouldn't bother hiding their black market activities in gathering up the hardware if they were involved, so that's another possibility removed. The scope of this thing is phenomenal, but I don't think we're facing the usual peanut gallery."

The hamster woke up with a start and started spinning the wheel in my head. "Unless... Unless my own source of information was correct. Crey's deviousness would not surprise me. We need to act now before they realize we're on to them."

"I agree. What did you have in mind?" EtherFalcon said, shifting his stance in way that hinted of overdeveloped physical control.

"Your intel and mine complete a part of the puzzle. My own source tells me there's a possibility that some of the old NCE schematics might still be around in one of the automated backup sites we had, before..." I trailed off voluntarily, not wanting to lose my focus again.

"This facility in Baumtown is off the grid. It was exclusively linked to the NCE Labs but this is no longer the case. I'll get a team ready to investigate it. I can't go in person, for ... legal reasons, but there are still a few people I trust, and some which, I'm hoping, still trust me."

"You do that," EtherFalcon retorted. "I'll follow my own trail to a Crey warehouse that just recently saw its security updated. Not as if the Malta Group is worth much in terms of efficacy."

"You're going alone?" I said, weighing if his boldness was justified and whether or not this would affect the investigation's success.

“Yes" came his answer. "I’ll be able to operate more freely and quietly that way. If these glorified security guards get wind someone is on to them, they will tighten their game up and we’ll lose their trail. I want them unaware and making mistakes.”

"Fine," my own reply came a little colder than I intended. I didn't know him well enough to feel as confident as he did.

That was the extent of our goodbyes. As he turned away I summoned up the old armor into presence around me. Clarke was right when he declared that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Even in our current day and age of metahumans I still drew stares from the public whenever I did this.

Out of curiosity, I launched a scanning subroutine on EtherFalcon as soon as my systems came online. Analyzing weaknesses was a habit whenever I encountered other metahumans.

The report came in with a slight delay. He must have had some stealth mechanisms in place to account for the slowdown.

The costume was laced with a biomesh. The wireframe of which followed closely EtherFalcon's nervous system. At first glance I was thinking the suit gave him the speed and agility he was known for, but as I probed the incoming feed I realized it augmented an innate power. To quote a well-known hero: "Interesting..."

A computerized system was detected in the winged helmet. And here I was thinking this guy was simply trying to show off with a flashy costume. I wondered if there were other subterfuges in his arsenal besides misdirection. EtherFalcon turned slightly, looking over his shoulder. Surprise came in a double dose: the helmet's sensors apparently detected my scan, and EtherFalcon was wearing my face. Or at least, a mimetic hologram reproduced from an extensive database, reported my armor’s HUD. My own face smirked at me as he turned away.

The machismo-tinged interlude completed, I went back into a different kind of self-reflection, leaping away.

True, this current mission was still very much in tune with my ... penchant ... when it came to causing Crey Industries as much hardship as I could. To think I used to be on a first name basis with The Countess sent shivers up my spine.

I couldn't shake the betrayal I still felt, the ignominy of Crey's actions. But if I was to be honest with myself, some of my own actions fell right in line with what I once so reviled.

Despite all the improbable justifications I once used to explain myself, it was time to take some time to contemplate who I really am and make some choices.

I only hoped that the team roster I was contemplating: Dutch Muscateer, Ycebergg, Lady Cryostat, Talbein Vikshus, ... could still see in me that which I no longer believed I had. I could rely on no one else to explore the abandoned NCE facility and entrust with anything they found therein.





_______________________________________________
NB: To pursue the storyline, it is stronly suggested you play the AE Arc #500280: "FREEM!" Be aware that this can be a challenging arc for some archetypes or teams. This is intentional.

All times are eastern.

Thanks for pointing it out SG. I mentioned it in passing IIRC in the draft thread but it was never confirmed here.

He get's thumbs up for me for being specific enough to mention daylight time .

In this game, I've played with people in Korea, Iran, Sweden, Netherlands, England and Germany. Figuring out the timezone and standard/daylight time is important if you want to get online at the same time.

Precision never goes out of style.

PS double nerd jinx for posting at the same time, Stale.

I totally KS'd you there.

------------------------------------
*This story refers to events which occurred as part of "FREEM!", Arc ID 500280. If you have not played it it, it is highly recommended you take a few minutes now to do so.
------------------------------------


[Protector: Day of Vigilance - Official Storyline]


Middlegame

By EtherFalcon and Stalemate


"YOU'VE FAILED ME!", the nightmarish apparition rumbled at me. "YOU FRAUD!", it raged on.

The face changed, merged, alternating between the faces of the accusers: My deceased wife. Madam Masada. My departed son. Melissa Hartgrave. Even former associates and Alexis Alexander (which made no sense) pointed fingers at me in a succession of derisive, angry jabs at my psyche. The words hit me like arrows.

My subconscious opted to retreat from the onslaught and I woke up grunting, sweating, gripping the sheets with twitching hands.

3:36 AM.

Sleep was no longer an option tonight. I pulled on the jogging gear, not bothering to freshen up, and aimed my body at the pavement outside my home while my mind was kept pointed towards my internal discordance.

The accusations of inadequacy still burned in my mind. I couldn't shake their eyes from me and I speeded up, perhaps hoping to escape them. I'm sure a psychotherapist would have loved to spend some time analyzing what was happening to me, but in reality, I already knew.

I no longer had the luxury of pretending my decision to turn my back on justice and goodness had anything to do with seeking the truth. My thirst for revenge would never be quenched. The losses would always surpass the gains on the side I was on. I was nowhere near being in control of what had transpired in the last year and I felt used. Abused. Betrayed again.

By the time I was done calculating the options presented before me, I'd managed to find my way back home without really paying attention to the route. I was heaving, completely drenched, just shy of nausea and just in time to hear the alarm go off at 5 am.

Longest run ever, in multiple ways.

There was still some effort that would be required to go to finally get back to where I belonged. But at least the path was right, this time. The running was over.

On my way to meet with EtherFalcon at his base I took a slight detour when I learned someone was keeping a fake blog in my name and had publicly announced some misdeed "I" was to accomplish. It was time to get my reputation back in line and this detour allowed me to vent off a little more pressure at the same time.

The PSF War Room was everything I'd expected: high-tech, hard to find, and occupied by EtherFalcon already.

I didn't bother probing the surrounding systems deeper than the initial surface scan the AI had automatically put into effect. It wasn't that I doubted our mutual systems' abilities to skitter around each other, finding weak spots and leveraging advantages, but I simply did not want to. I needed allies, and despite the devious maneuvering this man had done against me I had no inclination to further alienate someone who had cared enough about his fellow man to go to those lengths with me. I reigned mine in when, if you'll pardon the metaphor, they started mutually nipping at each other's heels, but kept the countermeasures active.

That didn't mean we were BFFs, by any stretch of the imagination. The opening of our game had been approached in a coldly aggressive manner and I think we both preferred to keep things that way.

"So did you find anything interesting in that warehouse? I know I did." EtherFalcon asked as I continued approaching him. He didn't turn around, choosing instead to stay perfectly still in an at-ease position, facing the back wall bank of monitors that showed various locations throughout Paragon City and the Rogue Isles.

"My team uncovered evidence that Crey Industries had their tier 1 scientists plugging away at the FRacas Effect Energy Manipulation containment problem. Even with some partial blueprints they may have had access to, their progress is stalled," I answered. "There is still no way for Crey to cross the hurdle of actually assembling stable units - not without assistance at least."

I recalled the events surrounding the acquisition of this evidence, and the unpleasant outcome for one person who just wanted to do what was right. From now on, I was going to do my damnedest to be one of those who stood up for those who could not.

The voice from the other side of the winged helmet became increasingly clear as he turned slowly around, hand resting on his belt. "As suspected. And it sounds like you’ve learned your lesson about ‘trust’. They played you like a fiddle, but… try not to lose any sleep over it."

That last sentence… was that sarcasm? Was that intentional? Did he know more than he let on? One thing was certain, this guy could play mind games like no other. Strangely, that didn't make me trust him more, even if I now knew his intentions were just.

"I'm aware of this now. And I'm dealing with it", I replied curtly, hoping to avoid the subject

"I hope so. Let's dispense with the machismo and get down to brass tacks. Have a seat. Here's what is happening right now," he started bringing up files and I set my armor's AI to précis mode, absorbing any data shared.

EtherFalcon went to some length presenting his research, and parts of a plan he had set in motion already. He was quite the strategist. The number of FREEM units now suspected to be in circulation was upwards of twelve thousand.

“I managed to get a name off one of the Malta at that warehouse,” EtherFalcon paused, as if for effect, before finishing: “Hidden Demise”. His words confirmed what information he'd shared with my "fact-finding" team earlier.

"We've met," I told him. "Those Fights Nights are quite cathartic, as well as provide an copious amount of sources of information one could probably not get anywhere else. She's not exactly approachable, but she loves to see the stakes go up on good matches - including those where the rookies challenge her into."

"Well everything we've been collating so far points in her direction, so I've made arrangements to get more information from that end. There's something odd about her involvement in this. She's not usually one to get her hands in these types of mastermind plots," EtherFalcon mused.

I waited until he came back to the conversation: "In addition to what you already know, Hidden Demise had a plan in the works a while back to kidnap the Warburg scientists for ransom, which was ultimately ended by a mysterious backer funding their release. It wasn’t enough money to justify her releasing them, especially when her goons needed to be paid, so there must have been another reason.”

He turned back around, facing the back monitors again, and continued, “You said something back at the docks the other day… you said, ‘Crey doesn't have what it takes to handle FREEM tech. This requires someone who's intimately familiar with not only quantum theory as applied to pan-dimensional interactions, but also nuclear physics.’”

He continued, “Guess who else I found who’s familiar with nuclear physics, as applied to pan-dimensional interactions?” EtherFalcon put the monitor bank in side-by-side mode and brought up an Arachnos employment roster on one half of the screen while photo face shots populated the other half of the screen. As he tilted his head down I watched as the screen moved to position itself on the direction of his cowl’s gaze, until it centered on a name.

“Expand.” At EtherFalcon’s command, the screen brought up the full employment profile for Holsten Armitage. “This guy. Hired corporation, he was one of the co-developers of 'Project Architect', the dimensional simulator that’s popped up all over our fair city. Guess where Armitage was temporarily assigned after his little video game project? Warburg. Guy’s a nuclear physicist by trade, and claims to have built a time machine to come back to our time from 20 years into the future. Also, fun fact: he was stationed there during the time of the kidnappings.” EtherFalcon turned, sat back down in his chair, and stared directly at me as if he was expecting the answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

I tilted my head back, in an unconscious way of letting thoughts fall in together: “If this guy is an expert in both applied pan-dimensional theory and nuclear physics, it’s conceivable he could have been used to assemble and weaponize the FREEM, maybe even using the Warburg rockets as a delivery device. We need to learn what the ultimate purpose is for all this."

EtherFalcon looked up from the terminals. “And at this point, we need to start thinking pro-actively about how to match power for power.”

“You sound like you’ve already given this some thought,” I surmised.

I saw a kink appear at the corner of his mouth. “Santa Laws isn’t the only one that knows how to make a list.”

“War Room: Give me ‘Watch List’ on the back wall”, EtherFalcon commanded as he smoothly slid out of his chair. A list of hero profiles that covers the entire back bank of monitors in the War Room appears, cascading windows atop each other.

I stared at the listings. "This list reads like a "who's who" among the elite protectors of Paragon City. 'Vorac Jr., Drake Crator, Sooner Spirit, Rastafari Man, StormVyxen, Keltarn, Major T... This roster has enough firepower for a full scale meta-war."

"I'm worried it won't be enough," EtherFalcon said. "If there's as much FREEM being built as we estimate there is, we're going to need all the help we can get, and you're going to make that happen."

"Is your helmet on too tight? This was challenging enough when it was only to reach out to this list you have!", I argued.

"I got you to come back, didn't I?", EtherFalcon said with an expression like he had just promoted a pawn.

"Not funny."

He pressed on: "We appeal to their ego, and their wallets - then their sense of duty. We first announce a contests and competitions with a large prize package, big enough to get every hero in the city to come out, and then we present our case."

I started thinking. "Ok, great, but what about these other big names? They don't need the cash, and you don't exactly have the kind of reputation required to call in a favor from any of them."

"I'm not going to call them, you are. We need a shining beacon of hope to unite around. I'm not that guy, but YOU could be. Once again," he countered.

The voice synthesizer in my helmet couldn't process doubt, thankfully, but I still had to move this ahead and get things moving in the right direction for us.

"You mentioned the scientist kidnappings earlier," I said. "I think I just may have a foot in the door for your recruiting drive then..."

“Don’t you mean, YOUR recruiting drive?” he retorted. “Call me when you have something useful. I’ve got a date with a reporter.”

I let the vagueness of the comment slide, and left the War Room, already searching my contacts for a name.

A name that could open some doors that on my own I couldn't even look at right now.

Leonard Winklebean.

[Protector: Day of Vigilance (Official Storyline)]



Good Afternoon Paragonners, this is Alexis Alexander with my continuing report.


After the events of the previous day, my uneventful return to Paragon City was a welcome relief. Although I would not be accompanied by Madam Masada (who had stayed behind proclaiming that she 'had wasted enough time on this foolishness already') I once again had the use of her yacht and crew for the journey. More importantly (and much to my surprise) I would be accompanied by Stalemate himself.


Readers, if you have not had the opportunity to see a suit of powered armor close up, you might want to take the time. The idea of a walking tank isn't really new to those of us who grew up in the city, but usually its something we see from a safe distance. It's an odd thought I admit, but it was comforting knowing that anyone who intended us harm would either think twice, or kill us outright with a massive damage weapon (trust me readers, dying in an instant beats the alternatives.)

Stalemate spent most of our return trip monitoring the newsfeeds and other computerized reports from inside his armor. Perhaps its not what etiquette books would require of a host, but, after a single question, I got the feeling that he was a little too preoccupied with recent events to be interviewed. I would have to try again later.

Our final docking in Independence Port took a little longer than expected. We had to be diverted to a safe but slower route since Lusca had reappeared right in the middle of the main channel just inside the breakwater.

In some parts of the world (outside of, say, Tokyo) the appearance of a gargantuan octopus would be cause for major concern. As those of you who have lived in Paragon City for some length of time know, Lusca is now classified as a 'natural reoccurring navigational hazard' and local Superhumans regularly patrol the area to drive the so called 'Devil Fish' back out into deeper waters.

Although we were well out of the Cephalopod's reach and I couldn't see everyone clearly, I could see some familiar heroes already engaged and fighting back. Hovering on boot jets, Kreetch's massive blue and gold armored figure was holding the center of a loose wedge while, in a daring series of quick strikes, Sionaraa was using her Martial Arts skills to sting and (if such a thing is possible) steer the animal back away from the docked ships.

Once we got clear of the combat, it was just a few minutes later that we slid into our berth and disembarked. Stalemate had made his polite, if distracted, farewells and had moved a few feet down the dock when EtherFalcon stepped out from behind a stack of loading crates and addressed me with a simple "Ms. Alexander. You will be kept informed." He then walked over and began walking with Stalemate. It was obvious that they were having some kind of conversation that I was not meant to be a part of and that there were things happening that, as a reporter, I wanted to know about but neither of them was very forthcoming. I was certain that I would hear more about those 'things' soon enough.

It was, in fact, less that 48 hours later that 'things' reappeared. Another anonymous E-mail, this time reading:

"PCMSH, Hall of Armor, 8 PM. Briefing"

It had to be EtherFalcon, he had a tendency to speak in short phrases like that. Or, it could have been that he was texting his messages and was getting charged by the letter. In either case, it looked like I had plans for the evening.

I arrived at the Museum at 6PM, partially to avoid looking suspicious, partially because I freely admit to being a bit of a history nerd. The Paragon City Museum of Superhuman History was established in 1985 and has become the largest public collection of MetaHuman memorabilia. It was extensively rebuilt after the Rikti destroyed it and since that time, the primary feature of the museum has been a collection of armored suits used by both heroes and villains.

Most of them are detailed reconstructions but the museum does hold one of Positron's early suits, an actual, nonfunctioning, crab spider suit, and (my personal favorite) the red and green, rocket finned, enamel finish, suit worn by Kaptan Wunderfaal just before his retirement in 1966. By today's standards, Wunderfaal's tech is considered quaint and archaic, but most people forget that he was considered cutting edge in his day.

It was with that thought colliding in my mind with the events of the previous 48 hours, that I drifted aimlessly through the Hall of Armor as the clock ticked over to 8PM. It was, oddly enough, Wunderfaal's suit that EtherFalcon chose to step out from behind.

Over the last few days, I've begun to wonder if its some kind of learned response or some kind of psychological flaw that makes EtherFalcon unable to enter a room without first finding a shadow to hide in. While it might be impressive, and scare the living daylights out of criminals, it can be a bit overdramatic for a casual conversation.

"Ms. Alexander, you've done suitable work so far but we need you for a further assignment." He handed me an SD chip. "Here is the entire file on an operative named 'Hidden Demise.' Her name has come up as a possible lead in this case. We need you to interview her and find out what she knows.

Now, if you've been following my earlier reports, you'll remember that most reporters, myself included, have given up carrying notebooks in favor of more modern electronics. In my case, I carry a modified Blackberry (a small gift from one of the heroes I've worked with before) and that allowed me to slot the chip and look over the file.

"Arachnos operative... assassin... Hunted by all major Hero groups...Longbow file sealed due to demoralizing effect on field agents .... ARE YOU CRAZY!?"

EtherFalcon's crimefighting career has included epic fights with men, monsters, and (possibly) a demigod or two. He's faced the worst humanity has to offer but even he could not help taking a step or two back as my voice suddenly climbed in both pitch and decibels.

"As if sending me into the Rogue Isles wasn't bad enough, " I started as I stepped toward him, "now you want me to track down an assassin."

Step

"And not just any assassin, "

Step

"a Fortunata that even Longbow is afraid of."

Step. Step. Step.

"What have I ever done to you?"

Step

"Did I maybe kick your pet poodle when you were twelve?"

Step

"Did I write something that hurt your feelings?"

Step

"Did I, perhaps kill your parents in some dark alley forcing you to undergo a traumatic, life changing event?"

Step

"And do you even say Thank You? No! All I get from you is 'suitable'! Get. Someone. Else!"

In the interests of full disclosure readers, I honestly cannot remember how I ended up across the hall crowding EtherFalcon into the corner behind the 'Steampunk throughout the Ages' display. I can only attribute my lack of injury to the fact that EtherFalcon was either amused or unwilling to injure an innocent, if hysterical, citizen. In a small corner of my mind I realized that asking which might not have been the best of ideas.

It took him a moment to compose himself before he answered. "You- ahem- you will have suitable protection. I promise you. I'll be sending you in as part of a larger group. They will be acting as your escort when you travel to Recluse's Victory..."

"Where?" I had to ask.

"Recluse's Victory. " he replied, back on more certain mental ground. "Its a recursive time loop where good and evil are battling to change the future..."

"Ok, right, enough," I interrupted. Talk of time travel always made my head spin. I had enough trouble meeting deadlines without worrying about advanced temporal physics. "Why there?"

"Hidden Demise hosts a regular 'fight club' there for all comers. Going in with as part of a larger group should give you enough cover to learn what you can while they keep everyone occupied. You should be fine Ms. Alexander."

[Protector: Day of Vigilance - Official Storyline]


Assemble the Team


I was in mid-leap when Rastafari-Man answered my call.

"Hello?" He sounded a little winded.

"Leonard, this is Stephen," I said. I never used his last name. I wasn't sure if he was sensitive about it. "Winklebean" sounded more like a kindergarten taunt than a superhero's moniker.

I heard his breathing stop a few seconds before he replied.

"What-do-you-want?" he let out in one continuous breath.

"Your help, in exchange for some information you'll find invaluable," I continued. "Let's meet somewhere."

"El Super Mexicano in Faultline," he proposed immediately.

Faultine, or Overbrook, was in the process of being rebuilt, but the important infrastructures were already in place. Criminal elements were rampant, vying for a piece of the action in a town where the law barely had a grasp on things. It was a lively place.

"I hope you don't mind if I went ahead and ordered," Rastafari-Man said. He was in full costume, and working his way through what appeared to be a third burrito. An attendant appeared as I took the seat opposite him in the booth.

"Anything else, sir?"

Rasta, as he was popularly known, raised an eyebrow in my direction and I took the cue. "Nothing for me, thanks." Rasta followed up with a sentence where I recognized only the words "cerveza preparada". I wish I spoke Spanish. It had been on my to-do list for years.

"Long time no see, Staley," Rastafari-Man broke the ice. Despite my prolonged foray into the Rogue Isles, Rasta was never one to judge others based on actions that did not implicitly affect him. Plus, we'd worked together in the past. I was counting on our past and his benevolent character trait to grant me the time needed to plead my cause.

"Indeed Rasta. Too long," I replied.

We shot the breeze for a bit, and I painted the last year out for him on broad strokes, concluding with my current predicament of attracting some heavy-hitters.

"I hate to impose Rasta, so I'll level with you right now, upfront." I started. "I'm going to give you the names of everyone involved in the kidnappings in Warburg. The ones where your scientist friend was a victim." I handed him a tablet, where Hidden Demise's list of goons appeared.

Rastafari-Man swallowed hard, the greenish tint in his eyes intensifying. His eyes looked the list quickly over before he put the tablet down.

"I knew about Hidden Demise's involvement, like everyone else. She'd been rather proud to announce her deed to get the ransom payment. But until now, I'd had a hard time tracking down those who actually did the dirty work," Rasta said. "What do you need?"

It felt like we'd gotten right back into where we'd left off. If one could say one thing about Rastafari-Man, it was that you did not mess with his friends. Perhaps this collaboration could help cover up the stigmata an ex-villain like me would carry with him, perhaps forever. Having Rasta's backing was tantamount to free publicity.

We talked some more, switching from reminiscing about the past to planning for this future mission.

"So, let me recap," Rastafari-Man said. "I'll be causing a little havoc in Warburg by setting up a bounty on the heads of those involved, and perhaps even those uninvolved who can take it - it's a free-fire zone after all - to cause some confusion and commotion. We kill two birds with one stone."

"Perfect," I replied. "This way I can use the time getting in touch with more heroes, and hopefully get them rallied behind this cause. I can't begin to explain how much this means to me, personally, and how much help this will help thwart whatever evil scheme is being laid against Paragon City."

"Let me call a few people," Rasta concluded. "Open a few more doors for you. We'll meet in Warburg later as we planned. Miguel, my tab please!"

I let myself out while an argument got underway behind me about someone's money not being good in this restaurant, and whose pleasure it really was to have such great visitors.

After a brief rest, I headed back out, heading for Warburg this time.

This was a sorry town, one where the evil deeds of the Council had been replaced by the evil deeds of Arachnos. From bad to worse. The civilian population is tossed between the economic security provided by Arachnos and the public security that Longbow is trying to put into place. You could not trust anyone here, not even people who you'd assume were "friendly" if you met them in other parts of the city.

I headed straight into the underground, known as the "Web". I navigated my way down into enemy territory, nudging the stealth systems into operation. I was still visible to natural eyes, but mechanicals would have a harder time pinpointing my exact location, and I'd be a harder target to hit while they were in operation.

I skirted by Spiderlings and automated turrets protecting the Arachnos facilities, until I found what I was looking for in one of the inadequately lit recesses: a white laboratory frock. The trouble was, it was surrounded by misshapen humanoid forms which grunted and croaked menacingly around the bespectacled man wearing it.

"Help me!" he cried, and that was all the motivation I needed to edge closer to the group, scans targeting multiple mutates and returning whatever data they could find.

I had faced these before. Poisonous barbs. Webbing. Venomous spittle. One could assume they were the result of some disgusting pairing of human and spider, but in fact they were the end product of Project Fury. A synthesis of Lord Recluse's own blood flowed in their veins, and their hostility matched that fact.

This poor man's chances of survival would have been dim under other circumstances.

One FREEM-laden punch flashed out and one arachnoid fell. Four others circled around, one of them the apparent natural leader of this little clan, spiting webbing and neurotoxins and keeping out of melee range. Chesty Puller's words came to mind: "All right, they're on our left, they're on our right, they're in front of us, they're behind us...they can't get away this time."

The fight didn't last long. I knew to pace myself now, the armor's multiple updates and enhancements could allow me to literally stand there forever and take their attacks without damage. Or at least, no damage that was not immediately repaired by the nanites constantly seeking flaws in the exoshell and repairing them.

Servos silently exerted pressure, targeting systems pinpointed incoming attackers, energy was released through powered gauntlets, and arachnoids fell to the floor one by one.

"Thank goodness you were here!" the researcher said, painting and holding on to my arm for support. He was visibly shaken and I helped him steady himself while he continued.

"These creatures are getting increasingly bold and violent! I don't know what will happen if they're left to their own devices." He inhaled deeply and faced me. "Help me get out safely to my research bunker, and I'll make it worth your while."

I replied: "No need for payment, all I seek is information. While we head to a safer area, what can you tell me about the kidnappings that went on around here a few months ago?"

I lead the way and he followed closely behind. I kept the scanners activated, avoiding the arachnoids as much as possible. Some took notice of us, but did not attack. "I wasn't there personally then - I was hired after that whole thing went down," he said. "As a matter of fact, I was hired to replace one of the many who left after that incident. Arachnos doesn't mind paying for your knowledge and does invest in a decent insurance plan, but that organization has no concept of security. It's like they assume no one will dare take them on."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping to get some background on why Hidden Demise had suddenly changed her mind and released the kidnapped scientists back then, considering she apparently stood to lose money by doing so," I continued.

The scientist slowed down while I pressed forward, thinking before pursuing his way. "Well, I can tell you what the guy I'm replacing told me, if you'd like. Turns out he was quite talkative when he had a few in him. And he'd had quite a few already, that day he was supposed to be training me as his replacement."

I motioned for him to stop while I entered the corridor leading to the walkway, and was immediately attacked by spiderlings and turrets which spewed flechette rounds almost continuously until I'd dispatched them all. They crowded in so close I only had to use a spinning attack, hitting the ground with a charged gauntlet to inject the ground with a FREEM charge which suffused upwards almost immediately into the robots. Stragglers were taken out rapidly with shots of lasers.

"That would be better than nothing, I guess," I replied as I motioned for him to come up the ramp with me.

We wove a path through Warburg's dismal streets under the cover of night. Street lamps were lacking and the Arachnos patrols were noisy enough to hear them from a distance.

He explained to me how these former Arachnos scientists had been kidnapped from everywhere around Warburg in one fell swoop. The Web and the research bunkers had been assaulted with synchronized timing, and researchers blindfolded before being taken to an unknown location.

"That guy went on and on explaining how he'd been put to work on building some thingamajigs that could interface with the temporal anchors in Recluse's Victory. When they were done, they were immediately released with Hidden Demise saying something to the fact that someone out there had 'paid their ransom', but there was always something shady about that whole thing," he sneered. "He was so gone by that time I couldn't be sure if he was just making it up to appear more interesting than he really was. I never saw him again after that. Some heard he'd retired to Galaxy City."

The man in the lab coat eventually pointed out his final destination: a bunker guarded by Wolf Spider soldiers and a Toxic Tarantula. I made quick work of the Wolf Spiders - little more than hired thugs in flashy gear, but the tarantula proved to be a little more challenging. The nanites got a harder workout composing with the venomous attacks of the giant spider. Once the confrontation was settled, the lab technician came out of hiding and ran for the door, without so much as a look behind him.

I was taken aback by his behavior and as my attention wasn't on my scanners, I didn't notice the temperature gauges dropping.

That was my first mistake.

A chilling voice came from behind me: "Looking for trouble?"

I spin around realizing while the scanners return details on this new arrival that here was the reason my ward was in such a hurry. The electronic scanners, and my brain’s recognition came to the same conclusion at the same time. The air gets cooler still.

"Evil Chiller X," I blurt out.

"You *do* remember!", he grins, surrounded by shimmering air shocked by the sudden change in temperature. There are actual flakes forming around him as he lashes out with an attack before I'm braced for it. "Snooping around where you shouldn't will get you killed fast around these parts, Staley."

That was my second mistake.

Sleet and ice hit the armor with gale force. There is no real damage, but the servos are having a hard time dealing with the change in temperature coupled with the freezing humidity. A sluggishness sets in. I can actually feel the armor slowing down. The HUD announces a reduction in operational effectiveness while I start manoeuvring into a defensive position, activating countermeasures.

He sees he has the upper hand. After all, we've sparred before on the Fight Nights and I never could find a way to overcome his attacks. As a technocrat I firmly believed that science, and engineering would allow mankind to reach new heights. Unfortunately, technology was playing catch-up to some of nature's own innovations. No matter how long I had been weaving a line amongst Paragon City's metahuman culture, I wasn't one of them. Not really.

Here, now, this present conflict pushed that reality to the surface. This "villain" kept laying on the onslaught of his cold and ice based power onto me, just out of my reach, as I tried desperately to get in closer. Evil Chiller X's dominating tone foreshadowed the inevitable outcome. "My, my. I actually hoped you'd be a challenge out of the 'ring'. That you'd let loose and put up a fight this time - get into that whole survival instinct mode. This isn’t a game you’ll walk away from this time. HD will be grateful that you won't take that information with you."

My paltry beams were barely scratching the icy surface of his defenses. This was going nowhere, fast. Readouts were announcing the imminent shutdown of the mobility systems. The fluids just could not take all this paralyzing cold. Black ice was crusting over my optics. My foe formed an glacial spike over a fist which extended outwards, menacingly edged.

"Incoming!" screamed a voice off in the distance. I noticed first a roman styled flash of black and electric pink accompanied by others. "Concentrate on our objective, Chill!” Hidden Demise admonished. There were others behind her, and I could see the man I’d just rescued being manhandled away while another covered his head with a black hood.

Evil Chiller X turned in the direction of the sound and hesitated. "S**t," he muttered, "We'll have to finish this up later." And then he was gone. That was the end of it. What were they doing here in the first place? I hated not having all the facts.

I turned my helmet a little in the direction of the commotion, straining the gears in the direction opposite of where the villain had headed to.

A gloom shrouded red hood and cloak. Claws like shears flashing in the light, and an impressive armored figure in black and blood red bearing a shield.

Sooner Spirit, Major T, and Keltarn. An unexpected and quite welcome rescue team.

"Hold on there Stalemate," Sooner Spirit said. "Rasta told us you'd be around here and we-"

A voice cut into the conversation, simultaneously on our broadcast communicators and the city's public address system.

"Your attention please. I am offering a bounty on whoever puts some hurt on Evil Chiller X! Stay tuned for more names when I've received confirmation that this clown has bit it. *Everyone* who has had some link with the kidnappings that occurred here is about to get a 'talking to', Rasta style."

Maybe a little late for my taste, but never too much so.

Style indeed.

[Protector: Day of Vigilance (Official Storyline)]


Good Afternoon, Paragonners. This is Alexis Alexander with a continuation of my ongoing report.

Readers, if you never have the misfortune to be subjected to a dimensional portal crossing, consider yourself exceedingly lucky. I've travelled quite a bit in my career of a journalist without a single instance of motion sickness. I cannot, in all honesty, say that I have ever had the sensation of being pulled into the thickness of a fine wire and having my head propelled forward at the speed of light without consideration for the location or relative speed of my feet.

"Shouldn't have had Ramen," was all the sympathy I got from Kult as she, very kindly, gave me a few minutes to ... recover... from the crossing. Once I had composed myself (and accepted a few subtly offered breath mints) our group moved outward into the streets to find signs of Hidden Demise and her 'fight club.'

I believe I have mentioned earlier that I am much more at home in moderate clothing styles. Being dressed normally in Recluse's Victory would just shout, in Kult’s words 'I don't belong here. Hurt me now!' So, in order to avoid any unnecessary trouble, Kult offered to build a persona for me.That, readers, is how I found myself standing in a hostile, possible alternate future wearing an outfit that was a mix of Catholic prep school girl, steel spiked dominatrix, and leather clad biker babe (at least it was not bunny ears and a pink steel bikini, an embarrassing subject, readers, that I will not discuss further at this time.) Also, for some reason known only to Kult, I became known as Trickksy.

Just to give you a frame of reference, readers, Recluses' Victory is, exactly like the Atlas Park we know, with the exception that, in this future, Lord Recluse has defeated Statesman and the other heroes of the city. Our reality's version of Freedom Corps has established an armed presence there for the purpose of denying Arachnos full control.

As far as I understand it, the only thing keeping this pocket reality stable, are several dimensional anchors built into bunkers around the area. These bunkers are under regular assault since controlling them can either permanently establish or destroy this pocket dimension.

As fascinating as all that information was, I had far more serious concerns. My group had to dodge Arachnos patrols while at the same time looking for a group of people who were there simply for the purpose of beating each other senseless and improving their reputation ( or street cred, or whatever it might be called.) In a small stroke of fortune, we arrived at night which gave us some additional freedom of movement. Also, both sides of the conflict tended to halt operations after dusk. It seemed that the fight for control of the future,could wait until after breakfast.

The slopes around Prometheus Park were full of people. A large crowd had gathered and were staring down into the natural arena formed by the old river basin. A fenced in platform had been constructed in the middle of the lake and was the focus of several, bright lights. "Someone's been watching MMA fights," said Kult as our group spread out slightly and drifted into the crowd.

Our group had worked out a rough plan for finding Hidden Demise. Our stronger fighters would, solo or in small groups, actually sign up for matches hoping to draw the Fortunata's attention. The rest of our group would move through the crowd and gather what information we could. We had all agreed that, at no time, would I be expected to enter a match. Again, in interests of full disclosure, that was my personal preference, but I was not the person who suggested it.

I admit to some preconceived notions about what I would find. I expected a ravening, bloodthirsty mob, ready to rip each other limb from limb at the slightest provocation. In reality, the crowd wasn't much different than one you might find at, say a minor league baseball game or, perhaps the infield of a major NASCAR event (with, perhaps, the exception of three foot arm blades.) I could see some folks with grills and coolers, others had set up tote boards and were doing a brisk business in wagers; still others were queuing up to join the fighting. It might have been an enjoyable evening out, if it weren't so surreal.

The fights carried on into the night. Each round was well organized with fighters of similar abilities paired off to avoid mismatches. Generally the combatants favored the more purely physical combat styles (like my own Karate only far, far deadlier) but, occasionally an elementalist or something more exotic appeared in the ring. One of the more amusing moments of the night came when two energy projecting types blew each over the fence and into the water. I believe that fight was officially declared 'a draw.' A truly surprising realization was that none of the fights were to the death.

"They just want to fight. Dying would ruin the fun, " said a redhead who had walked up next to me. "Many of them aren't that good and they just keep coming back for...pride?...to deny their own worthlessness...who knows." She shrugged. "But," she continued indicating one of the next contestants "Some of them are truly gifted and those, Ms. Alexander, we may be able to use."

The sound of my name was a shock. I'd spent the night as 'Trickksy' and had all but given up on finding Hidden Demise; the very person standing next to me.

The very person with a hand on the back of my neck.

"Please come quietly, Ms. Alexander. Or..."

I had seen her file. I could think of several options she might apply to the conjunction 'or.' I decided very quickly that going quietly would be in my best interests.

In the movies I would be obligated to say something along the line of "you'll never get away with this" or "my friends will be here any moment" or "HELP!" But, having the well developed survival instinct I've mentioned before, I stayed quiet. I was being taken somewhere and I was still conscious and (most importantly) alive. I was certain that it would all make sense soon enough