Megajoule

Statesman, I appreciate that you're trying. I honestly do. And on behalf of my poor /SR scrapper, thanks for giving him something to protect him when he gets hit (which is happening more and more often lately).

But just as many people (including myself) on these boards are tired of constant sweeping changes to the game, frequent respecs and trying to hit a moving target, I have to ask: why can't our powers work the same ALL THE TIME? Why do we need power-up bars, visible or invisible, for everything? Why can't our powers just WORK?

And while we're on the subject of throwing Defense-based charactes a bone, I also would like to know what you're going to do to help my main, an FF defender. She's already seen her primary powerset severely weakened by I5, and it will soon be further weakened by ED; those six Defense slots in each of my three useful bubbles will count for even less. I asked Positron how you guys want me to slot this character - I haven't heard back from him.

Finally, IMO, adding Resistance to a pure Defense-based powerset muddies things and blurs concepts and boundaries, just as forcing one of the classic Resistance-based sets (Invulnerability) to rely much more on Defense did.

Thank you for your time.

VII.

I wrap the cape carefully around the neck of the mannequin, clasping it in front with the gold and red "V" brooch, adjusting it on the shoulders so that it drapes properly in back. My fingers trace down the front of the costume, lingering on the frayed edges of megamesh crudely stitched closed. Three puckered spots in the tough fabric, a nice tight group over the left ribs.

That might be me someday. Unless...

I turn to my audience of one - he's still pretty silent when he wants to be, but I sensed his approach. "I'm done pretending to be someone I'm not. I hope you'll both forgive me for taking her clothes, her name." My cheeks are hot with the shame of my crime.

"She wouldn't have minded," he answers with quiet certainty.

"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have, I had no right." I can't look at him any more. My voice drops to a whisper. "The Countess was right. We are just the same, under the masks."

"No." There's a footstep and I feel hands on my shoulders, old hands but strong ones. "Listen. The first time we spoke, after you rescued me... what I told you then was true, but it wasn't the whole truth."

"You... you said you didn't trust her, because she'd been in prison."

"And because I'd spent most of the last decade alone in this cave, curled up around my pain. I wasn't ready yet... but that's not my point. I've seen a lot of criminals in my time. And in my experience, there are two kinds: offenders and felons. Offenders, they get in a bad spot once or twice, they do something stupid, but they put it behind them and they go on with their lives. Felons don't. They're always looking for the angles, for someone else they can use, the next score. It's habitual with them, the only way they know how to live."

One of those hands lifts my chin to look at his face. His hair's mostly gone and there are wrinkles around his deep blue eyes, but those eyes hold mine and don't let me turn away. They're the eyes of a hero.

"You, my dear, are not a felon. You never were. Julianne... she talked a good game, said all the right things, but I could tell. She wanted me to help her get to the top. She didn't want to help the world, she wanted to run it.

"That's the difference. You don't do this for glory, or money, or because you want to be in charge. You don't do it for yourself. You do it for everyone else. You do it because someone has to."

I blink at him through tears. I want to believe him. I want to believe in myself again. But...

"I'm afraid."

That part, at least, was true. I'd looked into the abyss and I blinked first.

He smiles, a sad and understanding smile. "If you weren't, just a little, you wouldn't be fit to wield it responsibly. That's what keeps us, most of us, from going too far. It doesn't mean you're weak. It means you have a conscience, a line you won't cross. Some of the most dangerous people in this world are the ones who never doubt."

I don't care that he's a legend. I want to hug him, just for a moment. He lets me. His breath tickles my ear.

"You've been down in this place long enough. It's time for you to go back into the light."

I draw back from the tight embrace and nod solemnly, wiping at my cheeks.

"Own your power. Use it to help people, not control them. Follow your gut. Do good.

"Be a hero."



(end)

(( The one you've all been waiting for. ))

VI.

Men and women in black suits lay strewn about the rocky floor of the cave like discarded toys. Miss Megajoule moved among the fallen, attaching arrest tags to them and watching them vanish in small clouds of teleporter sparkle. At last she returned to the only other person in the chamber who was still conscious.

The Countess half-sat, half-sprawled against the base of a stalagmite. Her elegantly-coiffed hair was in disarray, matted with sweat and blood. Her glasses had come off at some point in the fight, making her face just a touch softer-looking. Her midnight blue sheath dress was torn. She would have bruises tomorrow. But as the hero who had defeated her approached, she pulled herself up into a proper sitting position, glaring defiantly at her captor.

"And now you read me my rights and send me off to jail, like a good little Girl Scout."

"Not just yet." Miss Megajoule looked down at her prisoner, seeming oddly sad for someone who'd just cleared her name and brought low the mighty Countess Crey.

"What, then? Kill me? You don't have the stomach for it," the Countess spat.

"Julianne..."

"DON'T call me that," she hissed. "I am Countess Crey."

"Your husband's name. You've had two, and tainted both of them." The woman in blue and white hunkered down, knees bent, to look her foe in the eye. "What happened to you?"

The Countess laughed. "What happened? I grew up. I figured out that the world wasn't going to change unless I made it change. And for that I needed power. I went to the heroes and none of them would help me. So I found another way. And I found out that I liked having power. I liked being important. Just like you do."

Miss Megajoule shook her head. "No. To you, power is a means to more power for yourself. I use my power to help people."

"By hurting other people. Enemies of the status quo. Street gangs. The Council. Nemesis. My employees." The Countess laughed again, echoes ringing mockingly through the cave. "The funny thing about the charges against you, my dear? Most of them were true. You have stolen, and trespassed, and assaulted people - some whose only crime was to work for me. Ah, but you're a hero, and I'm a villain, and that makes it all right. The ends justify the means."

"No," Megajoule repeated through gritted teeth. "You're twisting it, like you twist everything."

"Stop lying to yourself. Accept responsibility for your actions."

"I do!"

The angry shout bounced around the large chamber a few times before fading.

"No." The Countess smirked. "You submit yourself to the approval and authority of self-serving bureaucrats who tell you who is good and who is bad, rather than deciding for yourself. You're an errand girl for people who can't be bothered to solve their own problems. You color neatly within the lines, and you help keep things just the way they are. Because you're afraid of your own power."

"But what really scares you, Julie" - and the Countess took great pleasure in seeing the shock in the younger woman's eyes - "is the thought that we're so much alike. You've read that old diary, and now you've seen the person that foolish, naive girl became. You wonder if the same thing could happen to you. You've spent a week as a wanted criminal, seeing how the other half lives. Not able to rely on anyone but yourself, on the run, hiding... just like her."

The Countess pushed off from the stalagmite and rose to her feet. "I stopped being afraid years ago, Julie." She extended her manicured hand to help the other woman stand.

Miss Megajoule looked at the hand for a moment, then stood (a little more awkwardly) from her squat without taking it. If the Countess was disappointed, she didn't let it show.

"You're under arrest." The hero's face was a stoic mask. "On charges of corruption and conspiracy."

"Yes, of course." The Countess smiled. "And I'll be out by this time tomorrow. And the whole thing will start all over again."

Miss Megajoule held out an arrest tag. The Countess calmly took it, pinned it to her dress, and inclined her head graciously to the one who had defeated her.

This time.

"Be seeing you."

The words continued to echo after the speaker vanished.



(( and tomorrow, the epilogue. ))

[ QUOTE ]
Because by the time he was full up on the SO enhancements, every single gang had at least one mezzer in it. If i can't one-shot the primary threat he mezzes me and i'm rendered an easy target that just gets annihilated by his buddies.

[/ QUOTE ]

Ah, but where were your buddies to help you with that?

You didn't have any?

Silly rabbit! You're not supposed to solo! *laughs*

(( That's Kus, with the unnecessary(?) violence. We're glad she's on our side. (She is on our side, right?) ))

(( Next chapter will be posted later this evening. In the meantime, for the curious, here's what "the Vixen" looks like. ))

So... now what's the point of the End Rec I'll be required to slot in every power, since I'm no longer allowed to slot them all-defense or all-damage?

(( Perfect. There's a story from much earlier in MJ's career that I've been meaning to write; this is the perfect "incentive." ))

(( Sorry about the delay, folks. Two more chapters after this. ))



V.

Another night shift. Another eight hours guarding boxes for Crey. You like your job. It's easy work most of the time, pays well, gives good benefits; that's important with a wife, a kid and another one on the way. Crey takes care of its own. You're proud to put on the uniform. A guy like you could do a lot worse.

For the last couple of weeks you've been working at a warehouse in Venice, or what used to be Venice. (You're not even supposed to think the other name for it.) You're the closest thing to the rule of law in this part of town. Every evening you and the rest of your shift ride out here in a convoy of Hummers. Nobody's messed with you so far. And you know that if something does go down that you can't handle, all you have to do is hit the alarm and a dozen guys in power armor will be here inside of three minutes. You look out for Crey and Crey looks out for you.

The worst part of the job, really, is some of your co-workers. Most of the real losers, the guys who don't get the corporate culture, wash out pretty fast. Then you have the guys like Joey. One of the reasons you asked for the night shift is that it's quiet. You like it quiet. But Joey's a talker. Won't stay off his radio.

"... so then Lee, our Cryo Tank, he says... he says, 'Sir, I'm afraid this ID's expired. I'm gonna have to take you into custody.' And I swear the guy's about to pee his pants. He can't believe it. He grabs for the card, right, but Lee's not letting go. The rest of us, we're trying not to bust up laughing, cause we don't wanna blow it. And Lee's playin' him like a fish on a line, waiting for him to wise up and offer us a bribe..."

You turn the volume down - you can't turn it off while you're on the job, that's against regs - and do another sweep of the room. There's even more crates in here than yesterday, all of them stenciled with the big blue C. The forklift guys have been busy. Something major's going on. That's good. What's good for the company is good for you.

The radio's stopped murmuring. You twist the dial back up and key the mike. "Yeah, that's great Joey. You see anything at your end?"

"Nah, it's dead here. One a' them Vigilant guys is up in the office watching TV. Hey, listen, how about you and me go out for some beers later? I know this bar in Bricks, it's great. Anyone in a Crey uniform gets a cold one on the house. They're open mornings, too."

"Sorry, Joey. You know I gotta get home and see Marlene before she goes off to work." Not to mention you'd rather gnaw off a limb than sit on a barstool next to him for an hour.

"Sure, that's okay, I understand. You're a family guy. Me, I never..."

Was that a door slamming?

"Joey, shut up a second. I have to check something out."

You unsling your weapon - no 9-mil or pepper spray for you, this is a secure facility in hostile territory, and you're authorized to carry SMGs and assault rifles - and move quickly but quietly down the hall toward the front lobby. (All the freight comes in by truck, through the loading dock in back.) Taking a deep breath, you step around the corner...

Nothing. The lobby's empty.

Feeling a little silly, but determined to do your job right, you sweep the small room thoroughly. You even push lightly on the doors to confirm they're locked up for the night. They are.

With a sigh, you safety your weapon and start walking back to your post. "Checkpoint One, all clear. False alarm." You expect Joey to razz you, but he's mercifully silent for once. It's not until you get back to the big room that you realize you haven't heard him say anything.

"Joey, you there?"

Nothing.

"Checkpoint One to Checkpoint Three, acknowledge."

Damnit! Probably switched off and went to the can. He'd better not have gone out for a smoke, there's stuff out there that will eat him.

"Checkpoint Two - Mark, did Joey say he was taking a break? Over."

No answer. The hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle. You turn...

And there's someone right there, in a costume that's two shades of dark red, with a utility belt and a cape and cowl and... fox ears?

"Are they paying you enough for this?" she asks with a smile.

Then there's a bright blue flash, a wallop to your chest like you've just been sacked by a linebacker, and that's the last thing you hear for a while.

IV.

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

A heart monitor's steady chirps, measuring out a man's life. The quieter hum of an IV pump. The smell of clean sheets and disinfectant. Light from the corridor seeping in under the door. There's a police guard out there, in case the suspect decides to come back and finish the job.

*beep*

*beep*

A flicker of arc-bright light behind the drawn blinds. The quiet creak of the window opening. Rustling of the blinds as a lithe figure slips inside the darkened room.

*beep*

*beep*

Cold stab of panic as peaceful rest is ended by a smothering hand. The brief *pssht* and pinching sensation of a spray hypo. A husky whisper: "Don't be afraid."

*beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep beep beep*

*beep*

*beep*

Fear is covered, swaddled, rocked back to sleep. The patient is dreaming. He is dreaming that he is awake.

*beep*

Who did this to you? the darkness asks.

"Miss Megajoule... tried t' kill me."

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

Why?

"I work f'r Crey... used t' work for. Fired me cuz I wuz about to... to..."

What?

*beep*

"Tell people. 'bout their plan. Their secret plan."

Tell me about their plan, the darkness suggests.

So he does.

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

*beep*

(( Well, there IS that Crey hit team staking out her apartment in High Park, Kings Row. She won't be showing up there until this blows over, but you might want to pay a call? Just remember, they think they're well-hidden... ))

III.

THE NIGHT FOX'S DEN
UNDER THE BLACKSTONE HILLS
FOUNDERS FALLS

"Where did you find a giant Bicentennial quarter, anyway?"

"I said you could stay here for a while, not criticize the decor."

"So I guess asking about the robot King Kong is out."

"Hnn."

"Sorry. Look, maybe you're used to this place, but I'm not. I haven't spent so much time underground since I raided all of those Fifth Column bases to help Bastion, or Citadel, or whatever he calls himself now."

"Not claustrophobic, are you?"

"No, I just... I should be out there, doing something. Clearing my name. Helping people."

"As soon as you got near one of those new police drones, you'd be zapped straight to the Ziggurat. And even if you found a way around them, what would you do when you meet a regular cop, and he draws on you and tells you to freeze?"

"I..."

"... hadn't thought about that. Of course not. You've never been on the wrong side of the law before."

"And you have?"

"A few times. If Artie was still Commissioner, this would be straightened out by now. We had an understanding."

"Where is he now?"

"Oh, he died. Probably about the same year you were born."

"I'm sorry."

"It happens. Almost everyone I used to know is dead now."

"Except the Statesman."

"Marcus. No, he never changes; he's the same pompous [censored] he always was. But for those of us who aren't immortal... if some villain doesn't get you, time will."

"Is that why you..."

"Retired? Quit? No, not because I got old. I quit so I wouldn't get anyone else killed."

"The Vixen."

"..."

"I saw the costume. You patched it up?"

"There wasn't much to patch. A couple of holes... You should go."

"Where? Wait, don't, please, just... tell me something about her? Please?"

"..."

"I really want to know. I want... to help someone. Please."

"... She was amazingly smart. Much too smart to be hopping around rooftops with a crazy man, black belt or not. She had this trick memory, anything she saw or heard, she could memorize things instantly..."

"Photographic."

"Yeah. Used to bug the hell out of people when she'd quote their own words back at them. Kept me on my toes. And I always knew when she was thinking hard about something, because she'd play with her hair. Right, like that. Not even knowing she was doing it. Heh. She was the brains of the outfit, really. I was just the muscle. She could have been so... she should have let ME go in first, she should have--!"
















"it's okay, it's okay."



















"I'm sorry again."

"No, no... not your fault. I haven't thought, haven't let myself think about it for a long time. Not since that girl you were looking for, Julianne, came to me. But... I think she would have liked you."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Miss."

"Good night, Fox."

(( It's covered, as the next installment will show. But thanks. ))

(( Oh yeah - it's not actually mentioned in any of the chapters, because it doesn't fit the theme, but there is an APB out for her right now. Here's the link. ))

(( "Use of unnecessary violence in the apprehension of Miss Megajoule has been approved." ))

II.

SUMMARY OF SECURITY CAMERA VIDEO
CREY INDUSTRIES
EMPLOYEE PARKING (LEVEL 2)
TIMECODE 20:52 TO 21:03 EDT 09/20/05


[Former employee Quincy Howard exits the elevators on this level, carrying a cardboard box. He begins to walk toward his car, parked in space 2-36.]

HOWARD: (inaudible)

[A Hero (Crey file #9725, "Miss Megajoule") steps out from behind a company van parked in space 2-30 and challenges Howard, who stops where he is.]

MEGAJOULE: Quincy Howard?

HOWARD: Uh, yes?

MEGAJOULE: You work for Crey Industries.

[Howard hefts the box he is carrying.]

HOWARD: Not as of half an hour ago. Fired without notice. They had a security guard watch me clean out my cubicle. I guess they found out that...

MEGAJOULE: Close enough. You work for Crey. And now you're going to get what's coming to you.

[Miss Megajoule raises both of her arms to a firing position, aiming her fists at Howard.]

HOWARD: What... no! You're crazy!

[Bright streams of energy lash out at a spot close to where Howard is standing, blowing a small crater in the pavement. He dives behind a parked car in space 2-18. The hero adjusts her aim.]

HOWARD: You can't do this!

MEGAJOULE: Sure I can. I'm a hero. I can do anything I want.

[The hero's next blast shatters the car's windows. Howard is not visible, but continues to beg for mercy.]

HOWARD: Please, I surrender! I was going to quit anyway. I found out--

[Howard's words are drowned out by the sound of another blast and the louder bang of a tire bursting. Miss Megajoule begins to walk slowly toward the car, apparently looking for a better firing angle.]

MEGAJOULE: Come out and get what you deserve, Crey scum.

[An object slides out from behind the car. Miss Megajoule whirls and blasts it. The cardboard box explodes, scattering loose papers and desk toys everywhere. At the same time, Howard bolts from cover and runs toward the ramp to the lower level. Miss Megajoule tracks him with one stiff arm, building up power and finally firing a long-range blast. Howard is clearly hit and is knocked over the edge of the parking level, falling to the street below.]

END
TIMECODE 20:59:04 EDT
REMAINING FOOTAGE NOT FOR PUBLIC RELEASE

[Miss Megajoule lowers her arm and remains standing where she is.]

MEGAJOULE: I think so. Okay.

[The doors of the Crey van in space 2-30 open and Security Chief Alvarez emerges, followed by two technical staff in Crey scrubs. Alvarez speaks into his radio and begins to jog toward the spot where Howard fell, leaving the techs and Miss Megajoule by the van.]

TECH 1 (PRATT): Pretty slick, huh?

MEGAJOULE: Pretty slick, huh?

TECH 2 (YOUNG): Stupid. 628, end mimic mode and stand by for new orders.

MEGAJOULE: Yes, sir.

[Tech Young reaches up and pulls off Revenant 628's wig, revealing her bald head and earpiece.]

YOUNG: Okay, let's get her on the cart and back upstairs.

[Tech Pratt catches Tech Young by the arm, nodding at the unresponsive Revenant.]

PRATT: Hey, maybe first we could... you know...?

YOUNG: Don't even joke. That's misuse of company property. You'd get fired... or worse.

[Techs Young and Pratt briefly turn to look at Security Chief Alvarez, who is standing at the edge of the parking level looking down; he has been joined by several Patrol Guards.]

YOUNG: 628, follow.

628: Yes, sir.

[Techs Young and Pratt lead Revenant 628 out of frame.]

END
TIMECODE 21:03:45 EDT

END FILE

I.

A woman sits alone in a room.

The room is an office, smaller than one might expect for a person of such wealth and influence; if not for the Spartan austerity of the furnishings and the rather chilly setting of the thermostat, it could even be called "intimate." There is a large desk with two chairs before it and one behind it, high-backed and expensive, a queen's throne. Behind that is a window that looks out over the steel towers of the city; the glass is bulletproof, and a faint but constant vibration renders laser microphones ineffective. A single door, also armored, leads to a private elevator. Light comes from sconces set at regular intervals along the round walls, which are lined with shelves of rare books, trinkets, relics, and souvenirs. Some of these now lie in shards upon the office's mirror-polished floor.

The woman is a noble by marriage and mistress of a Fortune 500 company by her own ruthless hand. Her youthful beauty has hardened into cold severity as she approaches the age of 40. Her oval glasses are non-prescription; like her designer dresses, her hairstyle, and her custom-made pheremone-enhanced vanilla perfume, they are part of a carefully cultivated image. She has had speech coaches, acting coaches, personal trainers, plastic surgery, even retroviral gene therapy, to eradicate every outward trace of who she once was. Like her husband's company, the woman known to the world as Countess Clarissa Crey is almost entirely a deliberate creation of her will.

Unfortunately for her, it seems that she might not have been quite thorough enough.

The cause of her recent fit of pique, a lapse in her normally calm and controlled demeanor (which in turn led to the destruction of a few of her more breakable trophies), is the file sitting on her desk. The file contains the most recent surveillance reports on one of the city's innumerable costumed vigilantes, or "heroes." What those who compiled these reports did not know is that this particular hero's investigation into a 15-year-old missing persons case now threatens to expose the Countess' deepest secret. More secret than the true nature of the Revenant Hero project. More secret than the hidden features of the company's soon-to-be-released software. Something no other living person knows.

Animal passions - rage, fear, hate - have had their moment, and now cool reason can assert itself once more. Swift and decisive action is called for. To neutralize the threat, the hero must be discredited, stripped of support, and finally silenced. A brilliant mind assesses the options and resources available to it.

"Hopkins. I need you."

<Ma'am.>

As the elevator doors open, his broad shoulders fill the space between them. He has to duck his smooth-pated head as he steps through. His eyes are hidden, as always, behind a pair of Gargoyles; his suit is Armani, tailored to his massive frame. He is her bodyguard and enforcer, unquestionably loyal, one of the few whom she trusts to run things in her stead. He is, by some measures, no longer entirely human.

"Have Legal prepare a case against this hero." She leans across the desk to hand him the file. "Felonies to misdemeanors, the works. Make sure it's presented to one of our judges. Coordinate with Media Archives - I want a highlights reel for the police and the media. Maximum brutality edit."

A thought occurs to her as she looks down at one of the other files on her desk, less urgent but still worrisome. She allows herself a brief, thin smile at the possibility of eliminating two problems at once. "Also, have Alvarez find me a Revenant who can double for her and send it down to Costuming. We're going to shoot a little extra footage. Tell him I'll have a script for him shortly."

"Yes, Ma'am." He does not move, waiting to be formally dismissed.

"Find out where she's living now and send a field team over there. Sharpshooter on the opposite roof, the usual protocol. If the police arrive first, have the team stay out of sight until she shows up." She seats herself again. "Get on it."

As the doors close on Hopkins' broad back, the Countess turns her attention to other business. But first she takes a moment to look once more at the face displayed on her laptop, a blown-up portrait from a hero license. It's the face of a younger woman, somewhere in her twenties, with a guileless smile and eyes wide with optimism behind a domino mask. It's a face that's uncovered things the Countess thought long buried, a face that she hates with a cold fury. With the click of a button, she makes it disappear.

Let's see how you like being a fugitive, "my dear."

[ QUOTE ]
Actually, in one of the Ask Statesman sessions, someone asked about the loss of souvenirs and Statesman said that he is looking to replace them with a journal feature. Only problem is that he gave no indication of when that would be coming.

[/ QUOTE ]

I'm guessing "soon."

Issue 7 or 8 ... sure, no one here has a problem waiting another year for the Shard TFs to finally be made worth doing.

[ QUOTE ]
Part of the problem, from how I'm hearing those upset (and I do think the yelling is getting a bit loud and melodramatic), is residual resentment over the end of souvenirs and how that was handled. The change in procedure was made without communication to us (invoking the same stealth-nerf reactions) and the rationale for the change (that the souvenirs were only being awarded to TF leaders and team mates had to petition to get it) came off as disingenuous in contrast to player's in-game experiences and (IIRC) not given further explanation or an apology. (I know there are plenty of posters who wouldn't be satisfied by an apology for the misstatement, but I think it would go far to placating more players who will go silent on the issue.)

I think some of this furor carries over bad feelings from how the souvenirs ended. The reward was taken away without a plan to deal with customers who may be frustrated with the change. A pre-emptive message regretfully outlining why the change was necessary would have gotten some outrage, but would have generated less cynicsm in the long run than waiting until someone was dissatisfied to deal with the change. I think that addressing that would help people deal with this a bit.

However, I think the biggest problem is that a lot of players (evidently) don't consider two of the four Shadow Shard Task Forces worthwhile content on their own, that they're only worthwhile if they can get a souvenir or badge for it. I hope this gets consideration because revamped TFs feel like new content, as much as new TFs.

[/ QUOTE ]

Yes. Absolutely. I agree with all of this.

Thank you for the great post.

[ QUOTE ]
I'll pop in here so you guys have a new target.

The original Task Force Datamine took 3 months to finish. That was to go over 2 months worth of data.

[/ QUOTE ]

And you still never awarded me your TF badge. I had to spend another five hours (once auto-exemp was finally put in and working properly) running around Paragon picking up your laundry, again, to get it. That was over eight months later. So I guess you missed some, huh?

Thank God I:
(1) only recently reached the Shadow Shard; and
(2) had already read the horror stories about the mind-numbingly long, badge-less TFs to be found therein.

Coupled with the incredibly wrong-headed decision to take TF souvenirs out of the game rather than making them work again for everyone (and to say nothing of the I5 nerfs), I have to wonder why you expect us to endure any of this "content."

Protector of Innocents


Like birds alighting, two figures touch down on the edge of the concrete expanse of Atlas Plaza. Both appear to be women in their middle twenties - though this is Paragon City, where gods, immortals, and even stranger beings sometimes walk. One has snow-white hair and wears elaborate black armor marked with mystic runes and sigils. The other is a brunette in a form-fitting blue and white bodysuit, fancy boots, and a domino mask.

"You didn't have to escort me all the way back here, you know," says the first, known simply as Cloak, with a playful show of prickles. She is new to the city but is already making a name for herself. Two weeks ago, she was one of those who volunteered to accompany more experienced heroes for a day. Today, her mentor was finally able to deliver on her promise of a battle with a powerful archvillain. "I was fine once we hit Steel Canyon."

"Oh, I know," answers the other with a smile and a shrug. "I don't like leaving a job half-done, though. And it was an excuse to visit the park again." Miss Megajoule scans the familiar plaza, the steps leading up to City Hall and the statue of Atlas looming beyond. It hasn't changed much since she was a new hero herself, almost a year ago... though her eyes do linger on the Kheldian known as Sunstorm, narrowing slightly.

"Well," says Cloak, "I guess I should go see Ms. Liberty about getting trained." She offers her hand. "Thanks again. I really learned a lot, watching you and the others."

Miss Megajoule shakes the presented hand. "You're welcome, and we appreciated your help too. So - any last questions?"

"Just one." Cloak points to the small badge affixed to Miss Megajoule's chest on the upper left, a sawtoothed circle of silver and brass with a little "10" in the center. "The first time we met, I thought this was some kind of supergroup thing. Now that I know what it is, I have another question." Her brows draw together. "You're a big-time hero with lots of badges - so why do you still wear that one?"

Miss Megajoule chuckles softly, looking down at the bit of metal. "Well, it was one of the first badges that I was awarded when I got here. And I'm not the sort to go around bragging that I'm Top Dog." Her sudden grin turns shy as she continues to reminisce. "There was a ceremony on the steps of City Hall. Ms. Liberty pinned it on me herself, and I got a letter of congratulations from the Statesman, and... I felt like I'd made it, that I was really a hero now."

"But it's more than that. I've been around Paragon, seen the sights, read the historical plaques, put a whole lot of people in the Zig, but this..." She taps the badge with a finger. "This is what it's all about, really. Protecting the innocent. That's why I'm here. It's what I do. All that other stuff, all the accolades and celebrity, it's just frosting and glitter. People want to be heroes for lots of reasons, I guess, but for me... this is it."

Noting her companion's glazed expression, Miss Megajoule smiles nervously and waves it aside. "Sorry. Didn't mean to lecture. Bad habit." From grad school, she doesn't say aloud.

Cloak shakes her head. "No, you're fine. I guess I never thought of it that way. I think I understand, though."

"Good. You don't have to agree," Miss Megajoule is quick to add. "Find what works for you. You'll need something to keep you going when you're knee-deep in sewer muck. 'Cause let me tell you, the ones in Founders' Falls don't smell any better."

The two women share a laugh born of common (and disgusting) experience and make their farewells to each other, going their separate ways.



Later, in a cozy and well-maintained one-bedroom apartment in the High Park neighborhood of Kings Row, Julie Vernon emerges from the bathroom in a fluffy robe, scrubbing at her damp hair with a towel. A hot shower is her way of unwinding after a busy day of heroing, even when it does not involve slogging through the sewers. With a satisfied sigh, she plops down on the old sofa and picks up the remote, turning on the evening news. She glances around the apartment with a rueful smile; a month after moving in, there are still boxes that haven't been unpacked.

She had left Paragon City at the beginning of May and gone home, mostly because she felt crushed under the weight of the responsibility she'd taken onto herself, but also because she still felt like she didn't belong here. She'd had a series of temporary residences, from the government-subsidized dorms in Atlas Park to an overpriced studio in Steel Canyon, but had not been comfortable in any of them; nor had she wanted to try to get into a condo on Talos Island, or the projects in Brickstown, or live among the old money in Founders' (even if she'd somehow been able to afford it). Paragon seemed to have no place for her.

When Julie returned from her "summer break" with a new sense of balance, peace and dedication, her friends in the Crew had found her a place... right under her nose, in the Row. Their words carried a lot of weight in the community, and so Julie was allowed to move into an apartment recently vacated by the unfortunate passing of the previous tenant, welcomed as "good people" by the other residents of the grand old Art Deco monolith. She already knew most of them by name and was fairly sure that at least half of them knew she was a hero, if not exactly which one. That might have had something to do with the sudden (one might say "explosive") drop in crime on this block shortly after she moved in.

Still later, after the sun has set and the Thorns come out, lighting the rooftops of the Row with the green plumes of their dark rituals, Miss Megajoule will go out on patrol. Right now, Julie Vernon finishes watching the news and goes into the kitchen to microwave a bag of popcorn. One of her favorite movies is about to come on, a movie with a dragon and a hero and a Code she can quote from memory:

"A knight is sworn to valor.
His heart knows only virtue.
His blade defends the helpless.
His might upholds the weak.
His word speaks only truth.
His wrath undoes the wicked."



(Just in under the line, and commemorating one year (almost) of CoH.)

Further up the thread, Lord_Recluse said:

[ QUOTE ]
Just because you're in SG mode doesn't mean you automatically get Prestige. You still have to do things.

[/ QUOTE ]

Good enough?

Might as well base it on the amount of hours spent doing the 'boombox' emote.

Fashion Pixie:
While I understand your desire for more badges, more content, more things and goals for your level 50 character to pursue, I doubt you'd appreciate the badges you have as much if they were just blank squares with a label. Or imagine if your character (the Fashion Pixie) could only wear a blank white set of tights. Presentation does matter.

The badges will get done when they're done. When they are done, I would like them to look as nice as possible.

Badges alone are not an adequate substitute for TF souvenirs.

It was working for a while. (I've got three of them.)
Someone, somehow, broke it.
Don't just take it out, fix it. Make it right.

Give us this reward for taking the extra effort to experience the content of this game, rather than power-leveling or street-sweeping; give us something more to remember the experience by than a bar with a Roman numeral on it.

Prove that you want us to care about content ... or don't.

I would also like to see the Earth Thorns toned down a bit, but not completely neutered. There's room in the middle.

I will say it's been very frustrating trying to solo CoT missions - at Heroic! - with my FF/EB defender. Even two or three Earth Thorns laying their Quicksands on me at once effectively negates the +Def of my bubbles, leaving me naked to their attacks and any Guides, Behemoths etc that might be in the vicinity. All I can do is hope to take at least one out with my alpha strike, and then endure the beating from everyone else until the Quicksand(s) finally wear off.

So basically we have two groups here:

"I don't like Galaxy City - there aren't any crowds."
"I love Galaxy City - there aren't any crowds!"

To add my voice to what many others are saying here:

If you want people to actually use dropped Enhancements, change how they drop so they're actually useful. Right now, it's somewhere between "a little extra Inf, but only if you stop your heroing to go sell" and "insulting."