SlickRiptide

[ QUOTE ]

I loved some of the new shield I hadn't seen, but was disappointed the high-tech, futuristic wrist shield has apparently disappeared.

[/ QUOTE ]

You buy the Talsorian shield with Vanguard merits. Get your shield wielder to 35 and bash some Rikti around in the RWZ.

In the meantime, the energy shield with the tint turned down to black or dark grey is somewhat similar, though it's downright blinding if you turn it all the way up to white.

I'm really impressed with the way you can combine the patterns and emblems to create some interesting looks. Shields are a great addition just from the standpoint of style. *heh*

This sounds promising!

Voiceover: Like sands through the hourglass. So are the Days of Our Lives.

((Fade-in to parlor in the mansion of the evil mastermind, Victor van Snidely, a handsome and wealthy 24-year-old villain, where he lives with his 45-year-old mother, the beautiful and only slightly less villainous Madame Tussaud.))

Victor: How could you betray me, Mother? After all I've done for you?

Madame T.: Don't you trust me Victor? Surely you don't believe that I called Inspector Clueless and tipped him off about the robbery? What would I stand to gain?

Victor: How many times have you told me, Mother, "It's my nature to be perverse?"

Madame T.: It's difficult to act against Nature, Dear.

((Victor stomps off up a spiral staircase to his bedroom. As he vanishes, a figure in military fatigues, with a wicked looking Frankengun strapped to his back, steps through an open patio door. Major Payne confronts Madame Tussaud.))

Major P.: Your criminal career is over, Madame Tussaud! I'm placing you under arrest, now!

Madame T: Arthur! What are you doing here? Go, quickly, before Victor finds you!

Major P.: I'm not falling for your wiles again, Alicia! You're going to the Zig, and your son is going with you!

(( Madame Tussaud holds her fists before her, wrists touching. She walks demurely towards Major Payne and tosses her hair provocatively as she steps within a few inches of him.))

Madame T: Very well, Arthur. Arrest me if you must! Just take me, now, and leave before Victor discovers you!

((Payne looks into her eyes and grabs her wrists roughly in both hands. He stares at her and his expression softens. Instead of slapping handcuffs on her, he releases her, then places his hands gently on either side of her face as he kisses her, diffidently, at first and then hungrily. Cursing his weakness, he pulls her into his arms and they wrestle passionately. A feral growl interrupts them, and they look up to see Victor staring at them, an expression of hatred on his face.))

Victor: Payne! I'll kill you!

Major P.: Van Snidely!

((He pushes Madame Tussaud roughly aside and tries to grab his gun as Victor, mad with hatred and anger, launches himself at Major Payne from the top of the stairs. They grapple frantically, and the gun fires three times as a red glow envelops Victors hands and he pounds Major Payne relentlessly over and over.))

Madame T.: Victor, stop!

((Victor pauses, Payne held unconcious in his left hand, his right hand raised for the coup-de-grace. Madame Tussaud throws herself bodily between Victor and his prey. He stands over her, a raging tower of barely suppressed fury.))

Victor: Out of the way, Mother. I intend to finish him this time, once and for all.

Madame T: I can't, Victor. YOU can't.

Victor: Why, Mother? Why should I spare him?

((Madame Tussaud lifts a tear-stained face to Victor. The music swells to a dramatic crescendo as she holds Major Payne's cheek against hers.))

Madame T: He's your FATHER.

((The camera zooms in for a closeup of Victor's shell-shocked face, then cuts too... an office somewhere in Port Oakes. The wood panel walls and the crates strewn haphazardly here and there indicate that we are on the docks someplace. Inspector Clueless, a 30-something man with chiseled features and a trenchcoat, and Billy Marcone, a dark-complexioned, classically handsome man of around 28, wearing a tailored suit that screams "Money!", glare at each other across Marcone's desk.))

Billy: If you've got something to say to me, Inspector, you'd better say it plain or take your goons and get out!

Inspector C: I'll have my say soon enough, Marcone. My team has traced the Superadine distribution chain practically to your doorstep!

Billy: "Practically" isn't worth the breath you wasted to say it, Inspector. If you had any real evidence you'd have arrested me by now. Did it ever occur to you that the reason you can't find the evidence is that it doesn't exist? I set up here in the sticks because I wanted nothing to do with the Family business. Whether you believe that or not is your affair.

((A police officer steps into the room, looks towards Inspector Clueless, and holds up his hands apologetically.))

PO: I'm sorry, Inspector. We've searched the whole area and come up with nothing. It's clean.

((Inspector Clueless steps to the desk and jabs his finger pointedly at Billy's chest.))

Inspector C: Don't think I won't find the evidence, Marcone. You may have fooled Alicia van Snidely, but you don't fool me. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!

((The two adversaries glare at each other through narrowed eyes, as the music builds dramatically. Each of them leans across the desk until they are inches apart.))

Billy: Remember this, Inspector. If a man goes looking for trouble, then trouble has a way of finding him.

Inspector C: Is that a THREAT, Marcone?

Billy: Consider it... a WARNING.

((The two men's eyes bore into each other as the camera cuts too... A high-tech installation. We know it's high-tech because of all of the cabinets covered by flashing lights and CRT screens with 8086 assembly code scrolling over them. This is the secret supergroup base of Excessive Force. Two twenty-something women, a blonde and a brunette who might have stepped straight out of the pages of Supers Fashion Monthly, are chatting near a large computer monitor that changes its display every few seconds. Dynamo Girl, the blonde, holds a wedding gown up over her hero costume as Miss Terious, the brunette, looks on admiringly.))

Dynamo Girl: Isn't it just gorgeous, Becky?

Miss T: You'll be the talk of Port Oakes, Jen. No doubt about it.

Dynamo Girl: I can't wait to see Billy's face when he sees me wearing it!

Miss T: I can't wait to see how long it takes him to get you out of it!

((The both laugh and Dynamo Girl folds up the dress to replace it in its storage box. Miss Terious abruptly turns serious.))

Miss T: Have you told Billy yet?

Dynamo Girl: Shhh! Do you WANT to ruin my wedding?

((A raven-haired, 30-year-old woman walks by. She is dressed completely in black, with a white skull and crossbones on her chest. Her pale skin and full red lips contrast beautifully with her uniform. Overhearing the conversation, she stops behind a computer console, unseen, and tilts her head to better hear what is being said.))

Miss T: I just think it will be better for Billy to hear it from you than to hear it from the rumor mill.

Dynamo Girl: That night with Major Payne was a one-time fling! He was broken up about Madame Tussaud's latest escape and I was heartbroken over Billy threatening to never speak to me again, after I arrested his Uncle Vito. Nobody knows except me, you and Arthur. There's no reason for Billy to ever find out!

Miss T: It's a good thing that Vito talked Billy into taking you back. He's a strange man.

Dynamo Girl: There's nothing strange about Vito. He just wants to see Billy make it as a legitimate businessman. I almost felt sorry about arresting him. On the ride to the jailhouse, he wasn't threatening and blustering. He was giving me recommendations on who should cater the wedding! Can you believe it?

Miss T: Maybe Arthur can arrange for a supervised release for him to attend the wedding.

Dynamo Girl: That would be wonderful!

Miss T: I still think it's dangerous to keep this a secret from Billy. Can you imagine if someone like Darqueness found out?

Dynamo Girl: That witch! She's been after Billy since the day she joined Excessive Force. I wish Arthur would just find an excuse to expel her.

Miss T: Jen...

Dynamo Girl: Not another word about it! It's over and done and I want to keep it that way!

Miss T: Alright, have it your way.

Dynamo Girl: C'mon! I want to show you the invitations that I've picked out.

((The two girls walk off chatting. The woman in black flattens herself against the console as they walk by and they pass without noticing her. As their voices recede into the distance, a predatory smile spreads across her face. She thinks for a moment, then the music swells dramatically as she takes out her cell phone and punches a series of numbers.))

Woman in Black: Hello. I'd like to speak to Alicia van Snidely. Tell her that DARQUENESS has some NEWS for her.

((The camera fades out to commercial))

Voiceover: Days of Our Lives will continue... After these messages.

Interesting turn of events...

Hmmm.... Two for two. I wonder what the odds are of a trifecta?

Are you terminally ill? Has the "medical community" rejected you and consigned you to a premature grave? Is your mind open to new possibilities? If so, then we can help. Reply to box 33333 or send a text message to VAHZ.
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W4M - I am a busy professional woman with a few extra pounds, but curves in all the right places. You are a self-employed 25-35yr old mechanically-inclined man with a knack for hydraulics and armor-plating repair. I like Walt Whitman, crusing across the Steel Canyon skyline, and reading Miranda rights. You like spanners, moonlight walks by Everett Lake, and old Bogart movies. If this sounds like a match made in heaven, contact me at box 33425.
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You rescued my purse and stole my heart! You left without waiting for thanks, but the flames wreathing your face ignited a fire of passion. I will be at the Yellow Line tonight. Look for me if you feel the same. Lady in Red
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Secret Identity Seeks Same - Help! My wife is beginning to suspect that my late-night outings are not just carousing with my buddies. I need to stage an extra-marital affair to distract her from the truth. If you're a female hero with similar problems, contact me at box 99889 and we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
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M4W - "Super-Sized" man who can bench 1260lbs seeks equally endowed BBW for long term relationship and more. Interested ladies, reply to box 15689.
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Your Personal Ad Here! - Lonely? Frustrated? Just looking for someone to hang out with? Post your ads here! Contact the Paragon Times circulation manager at 555-SUPER.
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Thank you Pulsar Man! We would be spare parts by now if not for you. God bless you!
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Are you from another plane? - Lonely extra-dimensional energy being seeks friends, maybe more. Must be willing to travel to the fifth circle of thought. All race, creeds, and genders welcome to reply to box 3333.
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The photogenic hedgehog prances under the twilight moon.
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Alice, he knows. Contact me immediately in the usual way. Arctic Thunder.
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Thank you, St. Jude, for sending Atomic Woman to rescue me.
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Have you always wanted to be a super hero? Researcher seeks man or woman, five-two to five-eight, HWP, with naturally red hair for late-night experimentation. Should not be claustrophobic. Hair MUST be natural! Reply to box 26543.
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To paraphrase Miracle Max, when you're an electro-mechanical being, there's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead.

Futzing around with the time/space continuum can have bad effects on a person.

[u]Somewhere in time and space[u]

The great universal steady-state carried on its customary creation and destruction that those intelligent life forms living within its boundaries thought of as Reality. In one tiny corner of the universe, a catalyst interfered with the equilibrium. Potential energy ebbed and flowed, as the quantum steady-state in that region moved, acted, reacted, and settled into a new path of least resistance.

[u]May 23, 2002[u]

The CCD’s within Eddi’s eyes adjusted to the dimness in less than a second. He turned automatically towards the light shining behind him, a light that had not been there a few moments prior.

The man he had seen on his first visit was in the room, holding a flashlight in his left hand that he was shining at a spot in the rubble. His right hand held a gun identical to the one in the photo that Detective Brogan had shown them the day before.

The hand holding the gun trembled slightly. Eddi’s neural networks analyzed the situation from a hundred different perspectives, calculated probabilities and energy expended, and within a few micro-seconds it had calmly and coldly informed his higher reasoning center that the man was about to pull the trigger.

Emotions have many functions, one of the most important being to help an organism react to danger without having to think and analyze. Eddi’s emotional processors reacted immediately and decisively.

He stepped towards the man, arms waving. "Doctor Armitage! Stop!" he shouted. The dim figure started and cried out. Eddi was momentarily blinded as the flashlight swung onto his face and his polarizing filters kicked into life.

"NO!" cried the man. "I don't know how you followed me but you won't stop me!"

His finger squeezed the trigger spasmodically and the roar of gunfire filled the cavern. Eddi's head rocked and he staggered briefly before regaining his balance. His chassis sensors informed his neural net that his head had been grazed by the bullet. Structural integrity remained nominal, but a second hit had a 28% likelihood of significant damage and a series of hits would almost certainly be fatal.

Instinctively, Eddi raised the EMP glove and fired at the shadowy form behind the flashlight. Lighting lanced across the room. The man convulsed in pain and the gun and the flashlight both hit the ground. The shield belt on the man's waist erupted in a cloud of sparks and smoke as the electronics inside were subjected to a localized pulse of electro-magnetic energy. Every light on the belt flared up and was extinguished.

The eletrical flare lasted less than a second. Eddi switched on his own spotlight. The man had fallen to the ground and was tugging at his belt shield in horror.

"What have you done?" shrieked Holsten Armitage. "You've destroyed the shield!"

He unclasped the belt and held it up to his face, then dropped it despairingly. Eddi reached out to try and help him up, still unsure how to handle this version of the man he counted as his friend. Armitage's eyes fell onto Eddi's shield and lit up hopefully.

Without warning he leapt at Eddi and knocked both of them sprawling. Eddi waved him arms frantically, as Armitage grabbed for the bindings that held the belt in place.

"Doctor Armitage, stop! What are you doing?"

Armitage ignored him and Eddi fended him off as best as he could while attempting to roll away. Armitage had the strength of desperation behind him, and he slowly began to pry Eddi's claws aways from the clasps. He gasped raggedly with the effort.

Eddi tried rolling again, this time on top of Armitage. The man avoided him partially and found himself entangled with the robot.

"Doctor Armitage, please! I want to help you! Please, don't touch that!"

Armitage's only reply was a grunt as he grabbed for the belt and placed his hands one either side of Eddi's waist. He pulled with al of his might, but the belt refused to give way. Eddi flailed helplessly, as Armitage grabbed for a firmer grip and his hand closed around the box with the recall button.

"No! Stop!"

Armitage gripped the box as hard as possible and his palm flattened the recall button.

An instant later, the cavern disappeared. Eddi felt a rush of wind, as if the air had been sucked out of the cave, then every fiber of his being reacted as he was slammed from every direction at once. He felt himself falling, bouncing, colliding, and crushed as if by a falling building from above and smashed by a freight train from below. His final thought before his neural net died entirely was that the belt had never been designed for two people.

"This experiment ends now!"

The scientist began spluttering in panic. "Detective, please! You can't mean..."

"I meant exactly what I said!" Brogan's fists went to his waist as he drew himself to his full height. It was no accident that his coat fell open to reveal the holstered pistol strapped to his chest, and no mistaking the threat implied by it.

The shock of the situation hit Armitage as if he had been physically given a one-two punch. He staggered backwards, steadying himself on the rack of computers behind him.

He ran his hand over his forehead and through his hair, then faced the policeman. “Listen to me, Detective. Whatever is happening in that cavern in 2002, it isn't me. At least, it's not me at this moment.” He indicated the monitor with it's picture frozen in time. “If you shutdown the investigation, it won't prevent whatever THAT Holsten Armitage is doing. It may even help it come about.”

Brogan's hands balled up and Armitage blanched. Before he could take whatever action was in his mind, he felt a cold weight touch him. He spun around to find Eddi's claw on his shoulder and he jerked back instinctively.

Eddi looked at him impassively, but there was an urgency in his electronically synthesized voice. “Detective Brogan, please!” he pleaded. “We're running out of time!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Brogan angrily.

“The time machine is synchronized with the last few moments of Professor Clark's life. Whatever happened to him is happening NOW! A moment's delay is the difference between his life or death!”

With one claw touching the sheriff's star on his chest, Eddi looked at Brogan with those cold, flashing eye lenses. "Is it not our job to protect and serve? Does it matter if the man that needs protection is five years away?"

"It sure as Hell DOES matter!" Brogan strode to the cavern entrance and looked out past the skyline of Atlas Park, to the grey horizon in the distance. The sun had managed to break through the clouds and cast a faroff rainbow out over Eastgate bay. Its brilliant band of primary colors, practically glowing against the night-dark storm clouds blowing in from the ocean, held his attention as he searched the distant thunderheads for answers; any answers. After a few seconds, he closed his eyes, exhaled sharply, and came to a decision.

He squared his shoulders and turned back to the conglomeration of electronics and work-lights in the cavern. With his course decided, he became the calm investigator once again.

"Do whatever you do to prepare for sending Eddi back," he told Armitage. "Wait until I give the go-ahead to push the launch button."

Armitage opened his mouth to reply and Brogan nixed him. "Don't say a word unless you want to give me a reason to change my mind."

The scientist paused, thought better of whatever he had to say, and simply nodded before resuming his place at the command console.

Brogan stepped over to the box that he had opened earlier and removed the object inside. It was a kind of a glove, made from a metallic silver cloth. The top of it was a small box with an electrode resembling an automobile spark plug that extruded from it. Wires led from the box on the glove to a battery pack with velcro straps attached. It took no great imagination to see that it was meant to be strapped to the arm of the person wearing the glove.

A couple of spare straps were in the box as well. Good old Horatio, he thought. He already figured on the possibility of it not fitting a robot hand. He gathered up the gear from the box and walked to where Eddi was standing impatiently at the launch pad.

"Hold out your right arm, Eddi," he instructed the robot. Eddi did so, and Brogan proceded to strap the glove to Eddi's "wrist" and then strapped the battery pack to his arm. Eddi watched curiously.

"This is a bit of extra insurance I borrowed from a friend at D.A.T.A." explained Brogan. "I told him about this project and he pointed out the outside possibility of meeting with a Rikti invader."

He looked into the eye-lenses of the robot and once again found himself non-plussed at the idea of trying to "read" a mechanical being. "My friend suggested this as a non-lethal method of self-defense. It's called an EMP Glove. It delivers a shock and an electro-magnetic pulse that will do all kinds of bad things to electronics systems, like a drone or a bolt rifle. A living creature, however, is affected about the same as being hit by a low-power taser."

Pointing to a raised stud set on the box behind the "spark plug", he told Eddi, "Touch this to fire it. Be very careful. It's experimental and this could be considered to be a field test."

Eddi's eyes flashed in a pattern that Brogan had begun to accept as his way of nodding affirmatively. "I understand, Detective Brogan. I am ready to go."

Brogan stepped back, nodded curtly to Armitage, and the bright lights of the modern cavern melted away, leaving Eddi surrounded once again by the musty closeness of the cave-in of five years previous.

FADE IN

EXT - EDEN - AFTERNOON - ESTABLISHING

A bucolic meadow. A primaeval forest towers skyward in the distance. The tranquility is shattered as SYNAPSE runs by in a blur of speed. A herd of DEVOURING EARTH monsters run after him.

The camera pans to the left, where we find SYNAPSE battling the DEVOURING EARTH monsters. SYNAPSE'S PHONE, a doppelganger of SYNAPSE, watches happily in the foreground.

SYNAPSE'S PHONE
(turns to face camera)

Beep! Synapse's Phone here. Synapse doesn't have AT&T, so he gets ZERO BARS out here in Eden. That text message you sent that the judges at Icon's latest supermodel fashion show all caught Vahzilok Plague, and Serge needs an emergency replacement? We're not going to get that message.

SYNAPSE
(pulls PDA out of his belt and looks at it)

Oh, geez! Only 20% done? C'mon, ONE of you guys needs to drop an emitter!

SYNAPSE'S PHONE
(grinning enthusiastically)
We're just going to hang out here and keep on grinding out our Devourer of Earth badge.
(gives the camera a thumbs up)

SYNAPSE

Wait, no! Not the fungi! AARRRGGGGG!

SYNAPSE'S PHONE
(cheering)

Way to go, buddy! Only 293 more!

CUT TO - AT&T LOGO

VOICEOVER

AT&T. More bars in more places.

SYNAPSE'S VOICE

Aw, man! Those were NEW shoes!

FADEOUT

Status Report
Star Strider Force[*] Name: The Artiste[*] Global Contact: @slickriptide[*] Reporting on Assignment: Star Strider Force Freedom - Front lines [*]Level of Alien Threat: High

Report Details:

Upon receipt of instructions from Freedom Corps Coordinator, codenamed 'Ex Libris', I called I.L.L.U.S.I.O.N. to order; meaning that I made a ham sandwich and tuned in the emergency forces scanner on the mission computer.

By the time I finished my lunch (Black Forest ham with Dijon on stone ground wheat. Delicious!) it was clear that there was unexpectedly fierce fighting around Skyway International Airport and that the ground troops were having a difficult time of it due to a lack of super-powered support.

I printed a copy of the orders from Ex Libris and wished myself over to Skyway, where I presented my compliments to Colonel Blakely, the commanding officer at the time.

Blakely has command of three of his own ground units and, at last check, a national guard unit that had retreated to his command post.

The scope of the fighting was overwhelming. A series of trenches and foxholes surrounds the runways. The army has resorted to conventional weaponry against the Rikti invaders. The technology that allows the Rikti to bypass the war walls allows them to bypass the defensive force fields that the Army had developed.

The only good news is that their own force fields are also affected by the dampeners and our forces are giving as good as they get.

My arrival was fortuitous. Blakely informed me that his forces had been forced to retreat back towards Concourse B due to the arrival of a force of plasma cannons around the north runway.

Aerial photography had determined that the cannons were all operating off of a central generator, but the permiter was reinforced well enough that any attempt to take it would result in a massive loss of soldiers that Blakely could ill afford if he meant to hold the airport.

His strategists had concocted the idea of sneaking into the Rikti encampment and destabilizing the plasma generator by activating the plasma detonator extracted from a UXB. The only problem with the idea - Nobody under his command was able to sneak across the enemy line or crazy enough to try it if they thought they COULD make it.

I smiled, set my beret at a cocky angle (I really need a new hat) and told him, "Get me this detonator of yours, and I'll get you a plasma cannon to hang on your wall as a trophy."

The detonator was the size of my head and weighed about three pounds. Blakely's aide, Wilkison, expressed some misgivings about giving a plasma detonator to a non-combatant. I believe his exact words were "I've heard of this nut. How do we even know he can make it, let alone take out the generator?"

I just grinned, made some hocus-pocus motions, popped up behind him, and put the detonator on his head. "I think I can handle it," I told him. I grabbed the detonator as he shook his head angrily and it dropped. "Woops! Wouldn't want to set THAT off!"

To his credit, Blakely took charge. "Stow it, Wilkison. I don't see you volunteering to carry it and we need whatever help we can get." He looked me squarely in the eye as he said "I need you to focus on this task, Artiste. Our success and our lives may depend on it."

Well, that was enough to get the attention of both of us. "We're depending on you" has always been my downfall. My shrink calls it my "White Knight Syndrome".

I tossed a salute to Blakely and a sneer to Wilkison and left the tent.

As I made my way towards the front lines, I became aware of a strange thing - Soldiers were passing me on their way towards the fighting in the nearest trenches. Despite the fact that there seemed to be a continual stream of them, the number of soldiers on our side didn't seem to be getting any larger.

Moreover, I became certain that I was seeing the same soliders multiple times. One private ran past me no less than six times.

At the front lines, I was just in time to see an attack on the foremost trench by a squad of Rikti drones. They were summarily cut down, but not before taking down three soldiers and wounding two others. The stricken soldiers promptly "de-rezzed" in a fashion that I knew all too well. It seemed that the military had setup their own mediport network, something that I ought to have expected.

I bent down to the two wounded soldiers and covered each of them in Green Goodness. Their gratitude was gratifying as the pain eased and the plasma burns roiled and healed into smooth healthy flesh.

"What are you doing here?" asked one of the soldiers as his partner picked up a rifle and began scanning for a target.

"I'm going to take a stroll across the battlefield here, and see if I can convince these aliens that our airport really wasn't intended for dropships."

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "You're crazy!"

I nodded. "I get that a lot."

Just then three soldiers arrived and I realized with a shock that it was the same three soldiers that had been mediported. "Good God!" I looked at the soldier I'd healed. "You come within a hairsbreadth of dying, port to a field hospital, get quick-mending, and rush back to do it again?"

The soldier grimaced as he picked up his rifle and checked it out. "Yeah," was all he said.

I shook my head. "You call ME crazy?" I asked to nobody in particular. I wished myself invisible and climbed over the trench into no-man's land.

I stood up and looked down the battle lines. With a sick feeling, I realized that every trench and foxhole had a stream of soldiers constantly running towards it, like ants to a hill. "It's only a dream." I whispered to myself, but the conviction didn't make the view any easier to bear.

I turned towards the enemy lines and plotted a zig-zag jump pattern across the battlefield, in case any drones were watching. I'd learned the hard way that machines aren't nearly as susceptible to my psychic mind-games as people are. If I ever wake up from this mad nightmare, I'm going to ask a real shrink why I'd dream things up that way. Maybe for the extra challenge, I dunno.

Right. The report.

I strode invisibly but carefully through the Rikti forces. Even if they couldn't see me, the drones were everywhere and they have a few mind-gamers themselves who might notice if they weren't pre-occupied with trying to kill everyone on the other side of the north runway.

The sick feeling didn't get any better when I saw the entrenched Rikti forces each had its own line of ants reaching back to their field hospitals.

Long story short, I almost made it to the generator.

A drone spotted me thirty yards from the target. It began firing and the nearest Rikti troops didn't waste any time wondering what it was firing at. I'll give 'em credit for that.

I summoned my doppels and a phant and ran for the generator, only to find myself unable to move. One of their psychic platoon leaders had caught me with my guard down.

I probed the hold he had on me, found a weak point, and broke free. It held up it's hand and I told it "You are NOT going to out-Jedi me!". We threw everything we had at each other.

A minute later he was cowering in fear of whatever it is that Rikti have nightmares about, and I was sailing through the air courtesy of a Rikti soldier with a really, really big power axe.

It's a good thing I've got the "green" or I think I might have become one of the ants myself at that point. As it was, I nearly blacked out from the pain. I pulled a desperate play from a trick I'd seen once in an arena league match - I Jedi'd the phant and shouted "Head's up!" as I tossed the detonator as hard as I could.

The blank face of the phant tracked the path of the detonator and blasted it to smithereens just as it touched the generator. The resulting flash outdid anything I'd ever managed to conjure up.

When I woke up later in the field hospital, I decided that maybe being an ant was better than the alternative. Blakely stopped by and handed me the forms, told me to write up a report for Ex Libris and you, whoever you are, have it in your hands.


Analysis of Current Situation:

Skyway International is currently under the control of our Army, but they're spread thin. They took back the north runway and repair crews have even managed to patch up enough of the runway to make it usable for relief aircraft to attempt. The ants are still running on both sides.

Suggestion of Action:

Just when my shrink has me thinking that maybe this place IS real, a situation like this comes along. It's insanity. The mediporters and Rikti medical tech have turned the front lines into a kind of never-ending video game fragfest. There's no way this can be real, because if it is, then we're all living in Hell already.

The ultimate winner of this battle isn't going to be the one that can blow the biggest holes in the enemy. It's the one that can out-frag the other so badly that the field hospitals overload and fall apart. Forget the plasma cannons. Concentrate on the mediport network and the field hospitals. Take out their ability to recycle their soldiers endlessly.

Frankly, you should do the same for ours. I don't want to think about the psychoses that the shrinks of the future will be dealing with as a result of this virtual undeath our military has created. Talk about job security...

If you're on Freedom, then you have supplied the answer to your own question. That is, it's NOT on Freedom, at least not so's you'd notice.

Virtue is the unofficial roleplay server. Go hang out on the Virtue forums and make some contacts there. It will help you find a group to play with BEFORE you land in Atlas Park asking "where's the RP?"

Red Dwarf had a funny episode in which the crew encountered a dead space station where they had discovered that there were positive viruses. Luck, charm, virility. You ever have one of those days where you felt wonderful and you could do no wrong? You caught a case of Good Luck. *heh*

Your kineticist could be a virologist who is infecting everyone around him with positive viruses. Unfortunately, the body tends to produce anti-bodies against them pretty quickly, or the human body is a hostile enviroment for the virus so it tends to die off quickly.

Imagine how thrilled your supergroup members will be to learn that you're "buffing" them by infecting them with experimental micro-organisms!

He's a quantum mechanic. He "tunes up" a person's quantum energy state by energizing their quarks and muons while boosting or reducing the gain on their strangeness and charm and ensuring that their up/down is properly aligned with their top/bottom. In radical cases, of course, a certain amount of spin control is neccesary. Just be careful when it comes time to replace a worn out part. You can't buy hadrons at the local Schucks! You definitely don't want used. No telling where it's been...

A properly tuned quantum aura is a thing of beauty.

Quote - "Your mesons are a little flavorless today. I can fix that for you!"

Thank you! Captain Blastoff was my first story ever and it's still my favorite. It's gratifying that other folks find something worthwhile in it every so often.

That's a good opener. I'm interested in seeing what happens next.

As much as I like to harangue the devs about the dearth of canonized back story, one of the reasons they've kept it sparse is to allow the players as much freedom as they like in defining just how their characters fit into Paragon City.

There's no "official" answer to your question, so play it however it feels best to you.

Nice work. I like the pictures that play around with the character concepts.

The only question is, when does "Eight-baller: The Movie" hit dvd?

According to the clock that Armitage had hung on the wall, it took ten minutes for the “pre-flight check”. They outfitted Eddi with his special belt, checking and double-checking all of his internal and external systems.

The tension was palpable as the moment of “launch” arrived. The rocket launch metaphor that Brogan had facetiously adopted to describe the preparations became eerily appropriate when Armitage said, “All systems are green, Detective. We are ready to begin whenever you are.”

The robot stood expectantly under the “floodlights” as Armitage began typing on keyboards and activating an array of electronic devices. Eddi activated the shield, causing a variety of lights on the belt to begin blinking, but Brogan discerned no other noticeable effect. He stepped up to the command console and placed his left hand casually near the recall button.

“Alright, Eddi. The initial exploration window will be sixty seconds. I'll recall you manually as a test of the emergency recall. I want you to stay in place and simply turn in a circle and record what you see. If there's any evidence, I want it undisturbed. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Detective Brogan. I am ready to begin.”

Brogan frowned and looked around the cavern. No obvious reasons to delay presented themselves, so he nodded at Armitage.

“Good luck, Eddi!” said the two men simultaneously. Grinning triumphantly, Armitage activated the machine, causing the “floodlights” to light up the cleared area where Eddi stood. One second the space was full of brass and plastic. The next it was empty air. The time machine did its work as Brogan watched the second hand sweep across the face of the clock and tapped his fingers upon the recall button.

[u]May 23, 2002[u]

Eddi had prepared in advance for the transition from an illuminated room to the near-total darkness of the collapsed parking garage of 2002. They had run several kinds of projections in an effort to predict the size, shape, and stability of the original cavern where Clark had met his demise. A human being would have sighed with relief that the projections had proved to be reasonably accurate. Eddi flashed his eyes rapidly, and turned on a spotlight that had been attached to his shoulders.

“I am beginning my visual sweep of the cavern,” he said. His internal storage would automatically keep a record of his sensory input. The narration was for the benefit of the men that would be viewing the record afterwards.

“I am turning in place.” He paused, and his vocal unit produced a puzzled tone. “I am seeing footprints in the dust, almost as if someone has been walking here since the collapse.” He turned until he was facing the pile of debris that covered the corpse of Professor Clark.

He stopped in mid-turn, and zoomed his ocular systems onto a metal beam that was sitting on the debris pile at an odd angle. “The debris shows signs of having been recently disturbed. There are marks on the metal beam that appear remarkably similar to hand prints...”

His narration was interrupted by a rattling cough from the debris, followed by the wheezing of a man who was struggling to take in even a short breath.

“Professor Clark? Professor Clark! You're alive!” cried Eddi. The mission immediately took low priority. A few seconds analysis was all it took for him to determine that the weight of the beam was crushing Professor Clark's chest. He would suffocate within a few moments if nothing was done.

Eddi stepped up to the beam and placed his claws upon it. He shoved as hard as he could, to no avail. He had been built for fun, not for utility, and his strength was only slightly greater than that of a man. Clark wheezed again, and Eddi looked around frantically. He found a piece of rebar lying loose in the rubble. Inserting it between the beam and a piece of concrete, he pulled, lifting the beam a scant two inches. Yet, that two inches was enough for Clark to suck in a chestful of life-giving air.

The robot arms may have been just for show, but the brain was another matter. Within a few microseconds, Eddi's neural network of quantum computers had determined precisely how much pressure to apply to the beam and the vectors along which to apply it in order to shift the beam without causing further harm to either Professor Clark or the debris ceiling that had dropped a few bits at Eddi's initial exertions.

With a muffled thump, the beam settled into its new position. Eddi paused expectantly. The ceiling held, however, and his aural sensors assured him that Clark was breathing steadily now.

Before the dust had settled, something unexpected happened. The room took on a slight glow, and Eddi experienced a sudden sense of “presence”. An all-too-human gasp behind him verified that he was no longer alone.

He turned around, and was stunned to see a man with a disheveled shock of white hair, an umkempt beard, and a tattered lab coat staring at him. A scar ran from just under his right eye down to his jawline.

The man reeled back. “An Inquisitor!” he cried, panic-stricken. His hand flew to a belt on his waist that was covered in electronics and he vanished.

[u]June 21, 2007[u]

A second later, Eddi's ocular sensors “blacked out”, and he felt a sensation as if he had been rolled through a fun house and dropped into a ball pit. When his sight returned, he was standing at the “launch pad”, with the two men regarding him expectantly. Brogan's left hand still rested on the console where he had just pressed the emergency recall button.

“What happened?” asked Eddi and his frantic tone was unmistakable. The two men exchanged worried looks. Armitage did his best to appear reassuring.

“There's a certain amount of disorientation to be expected...” he began, when Eddi cut him off.

“He's alive! I have to get back! We can still save him!”

Armitage strode over and began downloading the robot's memory record. Brogan looked grim.

“Eddi,” he began, and then he seemed to reconsider. He shook his head and growled. “I should have known better than to get involved in something like this!”

He shot a questioning look at the scientist.

“We'll know in a moment,” said Armitage.

As a police officer, Brogan had handled more than his share of hysterical witnesses, even if none of them had ever been non-human before. He stepped up to Eddi, looked him in the eyes, and put on his “good cop” persona.

“Alright, Eddi.” He put his hands on Eddi's shoulders. “Take a deep breath, calm down, and tell us what happened.”

It was strange hearing a robot inhale and exhale but that was exactly how it sounded to Brogan as the flashing of Eddi's eyes slowed and he began to sound like his normal mechanically calm self.

“I was examining the room, as you had instructed me, Detective Brogan,” he began. “I heard a cough, and I realized that Professor Clark was alive!”

Hid head began twisting from one side to the other as he glanced back and forth between the two men. Brogan placed his hands gently on Eddi's head and turned his eyes back towards himself.

“Focus, please, Eddi. What did you do after you found out Clark was alive?”

The eye lenses flashed. “I'm sorry, Detective Brogan," said Eddi apologetically. "I disregarded your instructions and acted out of instinct to save Professor Clark."

A corner of Brogan's brain was having conniptions over the idea of a computer with 'instincts', but he did his best to keep it off of his face.

"I understand, Eddi. I'm not sure but that I would have done the same in the situation."

There was something just little weird about hearing the obvious gratitude in the robot's voice as Eddi continued his description of events in the cavern.

"I determined that the weight of a metal beam was preventing Professor Clark from breathing. I moved it, and then there was another man in the room with me.”

“What?” asked Brogan in surprise. He looked over at Armitage and saw that the scientist was staring at a computer monitor with an expression that was half wonder and half trepidation. Without a word, Armitage pointed at the monitor.

Brogan strode over to the computer. Eddi followed right behind him.

“Yes!” said Eddi excitedly. “That is the man I saw!”

Brogan looked at the monitor and his eyes narrowed to slits. Despite the scar and the look of haggard fear, there was no mistaking the face looking back at them.

It was Holsten Armitage.

If NCSoft would show a bit more interest in the backstory of their own game, we wouldn't have to invent it ourselves.

I had a long comment here, but I'm going to scrap it and ask "What do you think 'ambiguity' means?" That's really the heart of my own opinions on the topic.

Despite what BlueBattler seems to be implying in his OP, I don't see "Kicks other people's puppies but cherishes his own" as ambiguous. The serial killer who donates $1,000 to build a homeless shelter is not ambiguous, he's complex. His villainy is unquestionable, immoral, and repulsive.

Michael Corleone was a wonderfully complex villain with noble goals, but he was still a villain. The nobility of his goals (depending on whether you're talking novel canon or film canon) is directly related to how sympathetic you are to him personally and his Family. To those on the receiving end of his violence and criminal behavior, his villainy is entirely unambiguous.

[ QUOTE ]
I remember when I first started playing COH my namesake toon had a crush on Ms. Liberty ...

Who knew that there was a real Ginger Grant behind her Marry Anne exterior?

[/ QUOTE ]

If I had been drinking a coke it would be all over my computer screen right now.

One of the sadder moments of the Dark WAtcher arcs. Tendaji was one of the few decent sorts we've seen in Longbow.

See, this is my problem with Longbow (sorry for the threadjack!) The arrogant thugs aren't all in the Rogue Isles. A lot of them are in King's Row, where they're as likely to beat a criminal into a coma as arrest him.

Likewise, the "good" Longbow agents are STILL basically arrogant fanatics who think that Longbow is the only organization with any brains or clue and that the world would be a much better place if everyone else would just butt out and let them run things.

The fact that this attitude appears to be a reflection of Ms. Liberty's attitudes is just an indication that she's hiring and training people who agree with her world view.

I'm exaggerating by comparing her to Stefan Richter, but at the same time, I'm not really sure it's that much of an exaggeration. All it would take is one traumatic, disillusioning event, and Ms. Liberty would become Ms. Havok and Longbow would be an enemy army, conveniently trained to think of itself as entitled to do whatever they feel is neccesary to save the world from itself.

IMO, saying
[ QUOTE ]
She's obsessed more with her own personal battles with costumed super villains than the actions of those under her command. She hasn't realized that a general's responsibility lies with her troops, not with her own personal war

[/ QUOTE ]

is basically saying that she's JUST LIKE Stefan Richter. The only difference is that she's embraced the example of Marcus Cole (for now) whereas Stefan utterly rejected it. Statesman could still reel her in if she gets too extreme. For now.

More frightening, perhaps, is the idea that someone less noble than Tendaji might become her trusted lieutenant and take Longbow into Evil territory and tear it away from her before she even realizes it's happening.

My problem with Longbow - They're marginally villainous themselves. They're the most arrogant, self-important "heroes" ever, and they demonstrate over and over that they believe that the end justifies the means.

Pounding the snot out of someone who's in your face daring you to do it, isn't really evil.

Ms. Liberty is one step away from becoming Lord Recluse, and she doesn't even realize it.