Dr Archeville

Televisions all across Freedom City, but especially in Southside December 20, 2010 The blank screen suddenly opens to a video of a couple dozen young children having fun in a playground. Then it switches to teenagers sitting around a school lunch table, laughing and eating. Once more it changes, this time to college students cheering and enjoying a concert. Now it's adults, sitting in a living room with a roaring fire, chatting and sipping on drinks. The video stops, and suddenly the screen displays four pictures, one of each of the previous scenes. A rich baritone voice begins speaking, albeit with no visible source at this time. “Human beings are, at a fundamental level, social. We interact with other people on a daily basis. Many of our best memories are those we made with other people. We try to surround ourselves with family and friends.” Suddenly, the pictures change, to various shots of lonely individuals. “But sometimes, that doesn't happen. We find ourselves lonely, and we get desperate, until some people resort to any means they can find, just to make the loneliness stop.” The entire screen is the picture of a “generic” gang of teenagers and twenty-somethings, all holding pistols and posing aggressively. Suddenly, a man walks into view in front of the picture. He is clothed in white, and it's quickly apparent he's the superhero Gabriel! “And it's times like those that many younger people choose to join gangs. As much as we may not want to believe it, statistics bear this out.” The pictures go away, and as Gabriel begins to talk and speak on statistics, the display behind him changes appropriately. “First, let's look at some root causes. Look at these numbers for kids living with only one parent in Freedom City. Here are the number of kids living in the foster system or in outright orphanages. The number of children who report feeling like a social outcast among their; this is the estimated actual number of children who experience this..” The numbers are soberingly high. Gabriel's grave expression and tone of voice reflect the subject matter at hand. “And here are the number of teenagers joining some sort of gang or similar group each year. Notice how this number is going up? However, correlation is not causation, so let's be more direct. This is the percentage of gang members who fit into one of the above categories; kids from broken homes, or kids who experience notable social problems. The question is, of course, why.” The statistics vanish, replaced by a small collection of photos of gangs, or individual gang members. One notable thing is that almost every ethnicity is present in some way or another. “Gangs today give their members a sense of community, solidarity, and even purpose. Members report that after joining, they feel better about themselves, as they are often emotionally encouraged by their fellows. And the sense of focused purpose many of their activities can give seem to help them...at least in the short term.” Now the screen displays what's likely a stylized photo, with several rows of bodies under white sheets. Again, statistics overlay the picture as Gabriel speaks. “But being in a gang is a dangerous life. Look at the number of gang members killed in inter-gang warfare each year. As well as the number killed by solo super-villains and other such parties. Here's the number killed during confrontations with the police and federal authorities.” The picture switches to several shots of men and women in prison clothes, sitting in small, barred cells. “Of course, then we have to look at the numbers in prison, on probation, or even facing enforced community service. Staggering, isn't it? But what can we do about it?” The screen goes blank for a time, before displaying the information that Gabriel references as he speaks. “First, I urge families to talk to each other. Parents, try to help your kids feel like they are loved, at least at home. Give them a safe place, and try to encourage them to make some friends. Kids, cut your family a bit of slack. If your parents just seem tired a lot, maybe they're working hard for your sake. Don't be afraid to talk to them. That said, I understand that, sometimes, even family doesn't feel safe. If any child, teenager or younger, ever feels they need help, please call one of these numbers. Your privacy will be respected, but you will get the help you need. If you feel like you just need to talk to someone who will listen, and try to help you to the best of your ability, call one of these numbers. These people really, truly care. Finally, anyone currently in a gang, who wants out, please call these numbers. Again, your privacy will be respected, and they will talk you through steps to keep yourself and your family safe. There are other options for your life, and there is hope. It's not too late. Good night, and God bless.” The screen behind him goes blank, and Gabriel walks off to the side, before a quick burst of “sponsored by” messages flash on the screen.

Last Year Murdock sat alone beneath the Silver Tree, closing his eyes as he felt its radiance soak into his pores. The instrument of great power that had kept away the agents of Omega for so long was now a source of strength and comfort for him, its glowing radiance a sign of his freedom and independence. I am a man. He reminded himself, his voice sounding sure and strong in his head. I am a man, and no longer a slave. If his sleep was disturbed by nightmarish visions of his past, at least his mind and body were free. "I am a free man. A free man." "What are you doing here, drone?" He turned his head at the venomous voice behind him, and gazed up at the face of Blade-Master, the weapon-wielding Furion whose swords had cut his way through a legion of drones. "This is my place. You won't take it from me." Blade-Master was a fearsome warrior who'd killed many drones, it was difficult not to be afraid of him. Murdock had tried so hard not to hurt anyone here, for all the horrible memories he had of violence at this place. A mighty starship fell, burning into space, its crew falling out its every crevice, captain and first officer reaching for each other... "I'm sorry," said the drone apologetically, rising to his feet and raising his hands in surrender. Blade-Master had made no secret of his dislike for allowing the freed drone to move freely on the home world of the Furions, and Murdock had done his best to stay out of his way. "If this is your spot, I'll move on-" A space-going star ranger sacrificed himself to save a family of cowherds, giving them only more time to make peace with their gods before their world burned. "Where? Back to Omega, so you can tell your dark lord all about us?" On closer inspection, Blade-Master had been drinking the spirit-ale of the Furions. He gave the drone a challenging look, towering over him as he poked him in the chest. "You may have fooled the others, but you don't fool me. You have no place among the heroes of the Terminus, and you never will!" Smash his jaw. Drive your blade into his brain. The voice in Murdock's head wasn't Omega's. It was his own, and his own memories of violence that he tried to push past. "Please. I want only to live among you in peace and forget the past. I will let you have this place and-" "FORGET THE PAST!?!" It had been the wrong thing to say; Murdock wasn't sure there had been a right thing. "You think I can forget you filthy scum murdering my friends and family! Children burning to ash because they-" A volley of Omega-fire ended the screaming of the younglings in the nursery; the thing in Murdock was pleased that their shrill cries would no longer interrupt "Leave me alone," he begged, hand falling to his side as he took a step back from the angry giant. "Please, I don't want any trouble, I just want..." Spitting foul oaths, Blade-Master was reaching for his weapon. A pacifist would have stood there and taken the beating he no doubt richly deserved; perhaps a true hero would have. But as the gleaming star-silver sword came hurling towards Murdock's chest, he acted. Armor erupted from his body as he brought up the pike to parry the swordman's blow, deflecting a lethal strike from his midsection. A witch threw herself before her child's cradle, dying with him in the same rush of cosmic fire. A robotic champion as big as ten drones together died a centimeter from regaining the spark that would have saved his reality. A black knight's head exploded. "Stop it." He brought the blade up and stopped another strike. "Stop it. Please. STOP IT!" He screamed, and suddenly drove the crackling power pike upwards, scoring it along the Furion's face, then smashed it into his ribs. The Blade-Master dropped, exposing the back of his head, and Murdock hefted the pike, lethal energy crackling along its tip. A black-clad cyborg's smouldering remains fell into the same pit that had taken his daughter and son a moment earlier. A metal-handed man wielding a garden tool died spitted on a pike. "STOP IT!" A moment later, the blasts from the other Furions took him, hurling Murdock away and into unconsciousness. It was Freedom Bird who met him in his cell, full of apologies. Sober, Blade-Master had confessed his guilt where Murdock himself had stood mute, and the Furions understood that the drone had been provoked. Behind plaststeel energy bars, Murdock looked away from the man who'd saved his life. "It's my fault. I can't stay here. I am a monster."

Stesha slipped into the cloudy, scented bathwater with a sigh of pleasure, sinking down into the deep tub that was definitely the best part of the hotel room she'd splurged on. She could easily have stayed at home in Freedom City in the last days before the wedding, teleporting to Chicago as necessary to help finalize the million details required by the last-minute nuptials. But there wasn't going to be time for much of a honeymoon, with as much as Derrick was still working, so she'd decided to go all out and rent a beautiful hotel room for a few days, an oasis of peace in the chaos. It had been an excellent decision. Even tonight, though it was New Year's Eve, Derrick was out working, saving the world from danger and injustice. Stesha admired that, she really did. She would never have his work ethic, that was already more than clear. If she'd really insisted, he would've stayed back with her, but it had seemed churlish to ask. Given how sleepy she got these days, she'd probably be in bed by midnight anyway. Skipping the parties and staying in had seemed like a very attractive option anyway. And now, submerged in a warm milk bath with essence of lavender oil perfuming the air, she thought this too was a most excellent decision. Her skin was acting up a little bit lately, and with her unique physiology, using medication or even too much lotion was a chancy sort of thing. The last thing she needed was a green rash on her wedding day! Her wedding day. Two days away! It was enough to make her heart go pitty-pat, even though the wedding had been her sole focus for the past week, and a huge chunk of her life for a month before that. She'd thought it wasn't going to happen at all for awhile, and now here it was, along with the most amazing surprise she'd ever had! Under the water, her hand moved to cover her stomach, which was now prominent enough that her dressmaker had added a ruffle to the waist of her dress to keep everything looking nice. It was hard to tell, but she was sure that not all of the flutters she felt in there tonight were simply anxious butterflies! Someone else wanted her to get this show on the road! "It's going to be wonderful," Stesha said aloud. "You'll see pictures of it someday, and be amazed at how beautiful it was, and I'll point you out, hiding behind all those yards of satin. At least, hopefully I'll have to point you out," she added with a rueful chuckle. Stesha lingered in the bath, ignoring the many little things that still needed to be done, the favors that needed to be tied into bags, the place cards that needed printed and folded. That could all wait until tomorrow, when her army of relatives would all be on call to help with the last big wedding push. Tonight was her night, and even if Derrick wasn't going to be able to ring in the new year with her, she certainly wasn't alone. Eventually she got out and dried off, wrapping herself in a thick terry bathrobe and padding barefoot into the main room of the suite. She flipped the television on to the Rockin' New Year's Eve celebration and poured herself a flute of sparkling white grape juice. While the music played and the commentators nattered on about how cold it was, she walked to the window and looked out over the lights of Chicago, her own hometown. It was a very different skyline from Freedom City, one that was familiar and strange all at once. Chicago was her hometown, but it wasn't her home anymore, she realized. Freedom City was her home, and Sanctuary her home away from home, and wherever she went with Derrick, she could learn to make a home there. She pressed her fingers to the glass and wondered where he was, then blew a kiss into the darkness, trusting it would find him. Despite her very best intentions, by the time the ball dropped in New York City, a full hour before New Year's in Central Time, Stesha was curled up sound asleep in her bed, the lamp beside her still turned on.

It was a very busy day in Gina's lab! Sure, it was almost Christmas, but crime didn't take holidays, so neither did the people who supported the crimefighters! And what was Jack of all Blades going to do if she didn't finish his electrogauntlets before Zappo, the Energy Beast from the Fifth Dimension, found his way back from the space maze he'd been thrown into? Not to mention Victory's upgraded foot servos, the ones that would let him leap tall buildings in a single bound without needing to expend energy by flying! What if Santa Claus was endangered this year and someone needed to leap to the rooftops to save him? Right now though, she was stuck on the phone with her superior at ArcheTech Labs, delaying all her work for yet another conversation on monster-proofing the labs after the last ransacking by Froggenstein. "Yes sir," she murmured into the phone, "but if it could just... yes..." Her voice got even quieter as she held onto the phone with both hands. "Yes sir, of course. It'll be done by New Year's. Yes... yes... yes, of course. I understand. Merry Christmas." She hung up the phone with a sigh, massaging her temples with her fingertips. That was the worst thing about being an engineer for heroes. Having to work with strong-willed people and never being able to stand up to them, even when they were wrong. If only she had more courage! That was a foolish hope, though. Gina wasn't a brave person, and she certainly wasn't a bold person. She couldn't even bring herself to speak to the handsomest hero, the one with the most beautiful blue eyes, the most stunning smile... Whenever he was around, her mind went blank and she could barely work, let alone socialize. It wasn't as though he'd ever noticed, anyway, she reminded herself. She was the perfect support technician, competent and as good as invisible. Heroes looked at heroines, not at plain, shy women in lab coats. And it wasn't as though she begrudged Freedom City's heroes and heroines their glory; they worked hard for it! They kept the city safe by putting themselves in harm's way, day in and day out, and they deserved the applause they got. Sometimes she just wished there might be a smidgen of a curtain call left over for others at the end of the day. Speaking of the end of the day, it had come and was long gone into the evening by the time Gina finished her work for the day. She didn't mind, work was her life after all, and there was no one waiting in her boxy little apartment for her to come home. Besides, when everyone else had gone home, she could concentrate on her own project... Slipping out of the lab, she walked down the hall to an unused storage room, one she'd secured with an unbreakable combotron lock. Opening it up, she slipped inside and turned on the lights. There, gleaming softly under the fluorescent bulbs, was the realization of all her dreams, a red, white and blue chassis with the face of a beautiful woman and the power of a superhero. Her chance to be a hero, her chance to be noticed! Working quickly, Gina tugged off her lab coat and rubber soled shoes, and climbed into the robotic suit. It was a snug fit, but in moments, she was totally covered by the suit, her own movements directing it in how to move and where to go. "Hello, world," she said experimentally, the words coming out a dulcet purr from the robotic throat. She smiled, and in the mirror on the far wall, she saw the robot suit emulating the motion. It was working! Gina Evans, mild-mannered engineer, was gone, at least for the night, and in her place was the beautiful superheroine, Miss Americana!

Fusion sat at one end of the big conference table, flipping over the spec scripts that the TV station had provided for her. Joan Collier had ties to the media, even if she was a print girl at heart, and that meant she'd been able to win (through channels) a little more autonomy for her super-self than the typical superhero had in these situations. You've just got to know how to handle these situations, she thought pleasedly. And how to handle these people. "Okay, Terry, why don't you show me what else we've got?" She looked up at the bearded young executive who'd been sent to meet with her, and he smiled as he handed her the first storyboard. "Okay, well, this first piece is from the government," he said blandly. "You mentioned an interest in wanting to do a PSA for kids, and this is one targeted directly at children today. New Jersey has long-established programs dealing with urban drug use and violence, but only recently have they started working with the problems of rural drug use and kids. I think you'll find this will more than meet what you were looking for. The tentacled wonder flipped through the pages of the storyboard, then suddenly shot a daggered look at the young executive. "You want me to look into the camera, say 'Don't do Meth: Not even Once', and then cut to the DARE logo?" Terry started to protest and she fired off, "That's...I don't even know where to start with that one!" Her tentacles whipped around her irritably, and Terry stepped back. "Try something else." It took several minutes before she found what she wanted, and there were several more false starts on the way. She opted out of telling teenagers to get tested for STDs before it was too late on the grounds that it was sending the wrong message to use her, decided against encouraging people to practice safe sex (remembering how her daughter'd been conceived, that was right out), and agreed with Terry that the PSAs about drunk driving, staying in school, and others didn't match her at all. But this one, though..."Yes. Yes, this one is me." -- SCENE: The Waterfront, by night. Two DRUNKEN TEENS carrying a sack of empty beer cans are headed for the docks. DT #1: "This is a phat plan, yo! We'll drop the cans in the river and Moms'll never know we were drinkin'!" DT #2: "Word, it's totally radical! But what about the river? Aren't we supposed to not pollute?" DT #1: "Pfft! That's LAME! Why..." SUDDENLY two giant tentacles come lashing out of the water and grab the TEENS by the ankles, pulling them off their feet and dragging them towards the water. Though they scream and flail, one clinging to the dock for long seconds, his fingernails cracking as he grabs onto the water, within seconds they're both about to go under when... ENTER: The Mighty Fusion, leaping out of the water and dangling the two boys by the ankles, upside down in mid-air. She gives them a GLARE that gets them both looking at each other before rapidly blaming the other for the clever scheme. FUSION: "Save it! Polluting the waters of our fair city is no joke, you two." Still carrying the boys, Fusion walks to the water and dangles them over the river. "This river feeds into the ocean! Your little cans could have choked turtles a thousand miles away, or left poisons in the water for a whole generation! Your kids could be drinking what you left behind, forever!" DT #2: "Yikes! I don't want that!" DT #1: "Spluh, that's for the FUTURE, lady! What bad stuff could ever happen to me?" FUSION gives the kid an evil glare, bringing him very close to her face. "What could happen to you? What could happen to you? Have you ever seen an Atlantean warcannon up close and personal? Seen an air-barracuda swarm pick the flesh off a man's bone in ten seconds flat?" DT #1 swallows guiltily: "Uh, no..." Still holding the teens, Fusion faces the camera directly and says: "Atlantean attacks have tripled in the last ten years, and with global warming, scientists think even more ocean-dwellers could be planning to come to the surface to punish everyone who dwells on land. If you can't think of our world and of your children, think of your family, your city, and yourself." KEEP ATLANTEAN SEA MONSTERS UNDERWATER WHERE THEY BELONG: DON'T POLLUTE

Early December Gaian Knight sat in a chair in a black room, the only thing visible in what could have been a yawning cavern for all the viewer could tell. Though his face was hidden under hood, goggles, and cloth his posture was all business as he leaned forward and pulled something out of his coat pocket. “This,†he said, holding up something small and unidentifiable and speaking in an absurd voice, “is cra--“ The film crew cracked up and, when they could get the breath to do so, called cut. The hero leaned back, chuckling and holding up what was now clearly a small, average white rock. “Sorry, sorry,†he apologized, holding up one hand while the other put the stone back in his coat pocket. “We’ve been at it a while...I couldn’t resist!†Aside from some good-natured scowling no one really seemed that put out. The earthmover put his game face back on as the lights went down again (I really hope this is the last take.) and the crew gave him the signal to go. Gaian Knight sat in a chair in a black room, the only thing visible in what could have been a yawning cavern for all the viewer could tell. Though his face was hidden under hood, goggles, and cloth his posture was all business as he leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “Everyone,†he said, “has heroes. Most people wish they were heroes; they wish they had that kind of power, to fly, to fight crime, to....†He pulled a little crystal out of his coat, floating it above his hand. “....to make the earth move.†He frowned at the crystal for a moment before letting it drop, catching it in a closed hand as he stood up. “But this isn’t really power, is it?†Shaking his head, he slowly walked to the side, camera turning to follow him. “Anyone can get exposed to a meteor, or find some ancient artifact, or be a little too close to a science lab explosion. But you know what real power is?†He tapped the side of his head. “It’s up here.†The camera stopped following him now, and as he left the screen the background changed to an airport.... “Do you know who can fly? Pilots can.†....to some officers leading handcuffed villains away.... “Do you know who can stop crime? The police.†....to a construction site. “Do you know who can move the earth? A civil engineer.†As the image faded back to black the camera caught up with him again, as he’d apparently walked in a large circle and made it back to his chair. “As cheesy as it sounds, real power - honest to goodness true power - isn’t in a glowing rock or an Atlantean staff or a chemical explosion. Real power is in you, in your mind, and in the limitless potential that mind can give you. And the only way to exercise that power, the only way to make sure that you are the best, the most powerful you can be, is to stay in school. So go to class, pay attention...and be the most powerful thing of them all: your own hero.â€

Laces and Braces June 21, 2010 “So, whaddya think?” The steel helmet sat on the bed, empty and waiting. It wasn’t exactly a masterwork – obvious signs of soldering and the marks of a blowtorch stood out under careful examination – but for what it was, it wasn’t bad. Joe Macayle had spent the past few weeks working on it, and his little brother Andy was currently running his hands over it. “It’s not bad... you’re sure this was how it looked?” “I’ve been reading the files on Granddad for months. They’ve got a lot of photo references on that helmet. And a lot of physical photos, which I don’t think I ever needed to see.” “I’ll take your word for that. Is there anything else? Going for a Spartan look?” “Nah, I’d look like crap in leather undies. ‘Sides, it’s not like I need armor or anything. It’s more to cover up my mug than anything else.” “So, what else are you gonna wear?” Andy realized just what Joe was going to wear as he went for the closet. “Joe, you’re not really --” “Yeah, I am,” he said, throwing the clothes on the bed. A few old MA-1 flight jackets in shades of red, black, and green; jeans, blue and black; suspenders in various colors; and a beat-up pair of Doc Martens with black laces. On top of it all was a white T-shirt depicting a cannon firing into the air. “I’m just saying, the whole city’s gonna be looking at you, wondering who this new guy is, and... well, dressing like a skinhead might not win you any favors.” “Not at first,” Joe said. “I know that much. But if I get out there, I can at least try to clear things up. Show ‘em that we ain’t all a bunch of terminally stupid Nazi bootlickers.” “Yeah, but until that happens, they might just think you’re one of ‘em.” “Look, when Granddad went into the war, he did it to serve his country. But he also did it to show that you could be a socialist and still stand up for America. Same thing here.” Joe started laying out the pieces on the bed, trying to find out what worked best. “I wanna show the world what it really means to be a skinhead. Not this hate-filled abortion the boneheads put together, but to stand up together with no mind for borders or barriers, ‘cause we’re all down fighting the same fight, day in and day out --” “Dude, I heard the speech when you gave it to Mom and Dad. And hey, it’s your choice.” Andy took a look at the clothes assembled on the bed. “Good luck, though.” “Thanks.” At this point, Joe was laying out a red jacket and comparing it with a black pair of thin suspenders. “This might work...” “Man, there’s a lot of this stuff. And I thought red was out.” “Eh, that usually just pertains to laces and braces.” “What?” “Laces...” Joe held up the pair of Doc Martens. “And braces.” He held up the suspenders to compare. “Red’s the color most people know – boneheads usually tote ‘em around after they’ve beaten the crap out of someone. White can carry the same meaning, though – ‘white pride’ and all that crap. Black, yellow, and blue are usually neutral, but in some cases they mean you’re a SHARP, like me. ‘Course, it all depends on where you are – some places, red can mean you’re a Communist, and white might not mean anything at all. And that’s if you actually ascribe meaning to ‘em...” “All right, I think I’ve had enough of the fashion plate talk. Though I’m guessing some guys end up getting yelled at if they don’t wanna play.” “Eh, usually you look for the secondary signs. If a guy in the pit’s got red laces, red braces, and an Iron Cross tattoo across his back, it’s pretty safe he ain’t part of the Rainbow Coalition.” Joe lay out his jeans across the base of the bed, then stepped back. “Whaddya think?” Andy took a look over the assembled combo. “Red jacket, the T-shirt, black braces, black jeans, black boots... lots of black...” “Well, I figure I’m gonna be doing a lot of night patrol,” Joe said. “Plus, blue jeans just make it seem like I ain’t trying. And the red jacket’s got my SHARP patch on it, so it’ll show which side I’m really on.” “And why the T-shirt?” “It goes with the name. I wanna go for the whole ‘show of force’ thing.” “Well, as long as it’s not ‘Blitzkrieg.’” Andy paused. “Uh, Joe... remember what you were saying about colors?” “Yeah?” “Red jacket, black pants, generally white T-shirt...” “Yeah, what about -- ****.” “That’s what I was thinking, too.” “Maybe not a good idea...” “Going around like a walking Nazi flag? Yeah, no. Maybe you could switch over to the blue jeans, or maybe the green jacket--” “Then again...” Andy looked at Joe. “Oh, God, you really can’t be thinking it.” “Look, you know as well as I do that this town’s got problems that go way beyond the boneheads. White Knight, his Crusader fanboys – not to mention whatever relic of the Third Reich comes charging out of the past.” Joe picked up the jacket. “These colors represent more than some bigoted madman’s dead empire. And I want them to know that.” “...well, on the plus side, it’s going to be a skinhead dressed up like a Nazi flag punching the stuffing out of actual Nazi skinheads. It’s not like that’s the weirdest thing anyone’s seen in Freedom.” “Yeah. And hopefully, it’ll get people wondering.” Joe smiled. “And hey, if that doesn’t work, there’s always the green jacket.”

Freedom City, South Freedom, Bayview, Claremont Academy, Jon Carter Dormitory, Corbin Hughes' Room October 31st, 2010, 11:45pm October had been a busy month for Cobalt Templar. All those undead on the street meant that he got a pretty good “workout” in his first month as a real superhero. Now, he hadn't gone out alone, but he's definitely had his chance to shine while working with several other students who weren't on any particular team. His ring seemed almost eerily effective against the likes of zombies and vampires, and he'd had to steel his will against the occasional sounds of discomfort they made when he struck against them. So, with all that in mind, it was easy to understand why he would be sleeping, even on this night of truly epic confrontations. Even as the Freedom League battled the forces of the Greek God of Death, Hades, Corbin tossed and turned in his bed, utterly exhausted from all the hero work he'd done. But even as he moved about, his sleep was perhaps the deepest he'd ever experienced. For this was no ordinary sleep, no ordinary dream... Corbin “awoke” in what seemed to be a desolate valley. Overhead, the sun shone through thin clouds, casting an odd reddish light all around him. He stood from where he lay on the ground, dusting himself off...Which was when he noticed the ring missing. “Crap! Where did it go?” He dropped to the ground, running his fingers over the dirt as he cast his eyes around, trying to find that tiny, mighty artifact. It was only when one hand hit, of all things, a boot, that he stopped and looked up. He blinked, as he saw a man clothed in what looked like 1st Century AD Middle Eastern robes. His stern demeanor somehow made Corbin feel even worse about losing the ring...until the man opened his clenched left hand, and the teenager beheld the object of his small quest. “You need to be more careful with this. There's so much power wrapped up in this ring. So many things you yet need to do, so much you yet need to learn. But so little time. Stand, Corbin.” He did so, studying the man in front of him. There was something about him that was just off. Something about this whole place, really. The strange man handed Corbin the ring, which the boy slid onto its normal resting place, feeling a sense of wholeness overtake him. “Your suspicions are correct; this is not the “real” world. I suppose “physical world” would be better; philosophers often argue that reality is perception.” “You're not here to give me a philosophy lesson, are you?” “No. I come to you now because the barrier between living and dead is so thin. It will strengthen soon, and I will be unable to speak for a long time, and there are things you must know. You see, I was the first wielder of this ring. First, you must strive to control your fear. As you grow closer to the ring, this weakness will fade, but until it does, you must not let fear rule you. Or you will face dire consequences. Second, this ring will change you. I think you've begun to feel it already. I cannot tell you everything, except to say you will be no mere mortal man. So do not panic overmuch. Third, you are not alone. This is not the only ring. Well. It is and isn't. I cannot explain more at this time. Fourth...Do not doubt yourself so much. You are the right person to have this ring. You will do great things, Corbin Hughes. You will do the legacy of this ring proud. Never let that thought leave your mind, even as some of the other details from this conversation fade for a time.” “Wait, what do you mean?” “Some of this knowledge will be buried, only to surface when you need to understand it most. This conversation is a building block. You still have a long road ahead of you. Keep your eye on the horizon, boy.” The man started to fade a bit, becoming somewhat transparent. “You are a true champion. Now go! Do us proud! Let my soul truly rest in peace, knowing that this ring has a worthy bearer!” “I...I will, sir. I promise.” “I believe you.” With a start, Corbin awoke in his normal bed, the memories of the dream almost immediately fading into obscurity. All he was sure of...was a renewed sense of confidence.

The daemon’s blast flew over Push’s head as he rolled, spitting numerous curses he’d learned from Mike while reaching up and firing a blast from his hand. Another dead-end lead, here on the outskirts of Freedom City. Some evil scum, most likely Scratch, had called up this reject from Dante’s Inferno, and it’d been causing some chaos on the down-low. Lucky for the city’s heroes, and unluckily for him, he’d been the one to run into it, after hearing a Daniel Webster had been connected to this old house. Good news is the thing didn’t seem all that strong, beyond being fairly damn resilient. Bad news was that it had got the drop on him, and he’d lost his hammer and hat. His damned hat! Push kept leaping and firing, the blasts seemingly doing nothing to the monster. It fired back with blasts of pure hellfire, scorching the ends of his coat and scarf. Snarling, he tried to push by yet again, aiming for the hammer that lay on the other side of the room where the beast had thrown it. A wall of flame discouraged that action, and only through some fancy footwork did he barely managed to evade the follow-up shot. Push stood, panting, face ashen. The weight of the two-year-long chase pressed in on him as he and the demon faced off, eyes locked. This wasn’t the first time he’d descended into some dark cellar or hideaway, only to find some infernal “gift” Scratch had left behind. And Push knew that Scratch was always right nearby, probably watching and smirking. The things were never that powerful, usually on the same level as Push himself…but it was a cunning trap, and delaying tactic. Quinn could be a sarcastic jerk sometimes, but he wasn’t cold enough to leave some eldritch beastie around to terrorize just so he could chase down it’s summoner. Neither of them moved…Push let his hands drop...oddly enough, into a gunfighter’s stance. He felt a strange tingling in his mind, and words began flowing out of his mouth. It was slightly muffled by the scarf, but it was painfully obvious…Push was singing. The words just emptied from him, echoing his mind as it ran over the endless pursuit he was in. [groove]23329522[/groove] "Yeah… It’s all the same…only the places change… Every day…it seems I’m wastin’ away… Another place…the bodies are still cold… I fly all night…one day I’ll go home… I’m a hero…through the skies I’ll fly… I’m wanted…dead or alive. Wanted…dead or alive. Can’t get no sleep…dreams keep me ‘wake for days… The clues I meet...lie cold inside their graves… Sometimes I wonder why… Scratch picked me for this fate... I know I gotta find him…before it gets too late. Yeah, I’m a hero…through the skies I’ll fly… I’m wanted…dead or alive. Wanted…dead or alive. I’m a wanted man…caught in a perfect frame! I’ll track down Scratch…and then I’ll clear my name! I’ll go everywhere…and I’ll still stand tall! Throw demons in my way, Scratch…and I’ll rock them all! I’m a hero…through the skies I’ll fly! He’s wanted…dead or alive! Wanted…dead or alive!" Push shook his head as the demon dispersed on the last verse, and he looked about. The hammer was in his hand, and he was standing over where the thing had been when he started the tune. He felt some injuries, a burn here and there that weren’t there when he had started…and why the hell had he been singing anyway? He slung the hammer on his back, idly kicking the ashes of the demon, then shrugged. Nobody’d heard it anyway. And besides, it had been a pretty catchy tune. Walking over to his downed hat, the kinetic controller checked a piece of paper he’d found in the warlock’s stash. Some shipping company based out of New York. His fist clenched, and the paper crumpled in it. Gabriel Quinn, aka Push, whipped an arm down, sweeping up the hat and jamming it on his head with fresh resolve, as he started for the stairs. Scratch…maybe not dead or alive…but the two of them were wanted men now. And one way or another…he’d find him.

October 17th, Paris. "Monsieur, come quick!" Rene followed the man, who was middle aged, and somewhat dirty, dressed in a white vest with high slung trousers. His name was Marcel, a sewer worker for the streets of Paris. They where in the sewers now, and he had been careful to dress for the occassion, in water proof plastic leggings and boots. He bent down to see what Marcel was pointing at, and his heart sank. A human skull, polished and shiny, with a single necromantic rune painted on its forehead, in blood. He had seen such things before, when the walls between life and death grew thing, and even broke down, as they had from time to time in the past. And the walls had grown very thin recently. Word amongst the mages and mystics of the world was of a power struggle, even a war amongst the forces of the dead. And it was things such as this that ended up as the fallout. A revenant. When someone died with a task undone, or vengeance to do, and the walls were thin, then death would not hold them. Driven by pure will power, they could become a revenant, hell bent on completing what they had not completed in life. Paris had had three such murders, all women of the night, all found with skulls like this. And now, a fourth. Rene had moved to Freedom City from Paris a few months ago, but when the police detective had called him on this matter, he felt obliged to help, at least for a few days. Asking around, it was not long before Marcel, a man who was an amateur occultist himself, had contacted Rene when he had found the skull in the sewer. Rene was now deeply concerned. The revenants he knew of would complete their task, and then their undead exsistence would come to an end. It seemed that this creature would not stop. Marcel pressed on, holding up powerful lamp, with Rene close behind. Marcel's appearance was deceptive. He was not a powerful mystic, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve, and had a nose for tracking the creature, with the right enchantments and ingredients for preparation. The man had a powerful aroma of garlic and cumin right now. They pressed on down the sewer. As they got deeper, Rene was actually grateful for the odour of Marcel, it detracted from the stench of fetid water and detritus that flowed past them. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly bumped into Marcel as the frenchman held up his hand and whispered "he is here". Rene looked around him, in the gloom. His eyes were failing at his age, but he could see very well with his mind's eye. His surroundigs appeared to him with all the vagueness and clarity of an impressionistic painting, burned straight into his brain. The creature was about twenty yards from them, crouching and hissing slightly. It was dressed in rags and now decaying slightly. In life it might have been a handsome and powerfully built young man, but one could not be sure. It seemed so to Rene. Rene stepped forward and confronted the creature "What keeps you bound to this world? What task left undone? Tell us, so the tale may end!" The creature hissed and turned its head, spitting at the floor in contempt. "All the whores of babylon deface the... purity... of the world. They must ALL be destroyed. EVERY... LAST... ONE...." Rene had no idea how far the creatures definition of 'whores of babylon' extended, but it was clearly too far. It would not stop until more blood had been spilled. He must have been derranged even in life - his madness probably the fuel for the requiste will to becoming a revenant. "Then I must stop you" he said, simply, unleashing a bolt of white fire at the thing. Whilst the creature did indeed smoke and burn with the mystic fire, it did not die, if indeed it ever could, but carried on charging towards Rene, bowling him over with its force and speed. Its iron hard hands with iron strength enclosed around his neck, rending and choking him. Were it not for his protective talisman, he would be mortally wounded. "Now.. Marcel...Now..." he croaked. His aged limbs could do little against the inhuman strength of the beast. Marcel opened up the lamp and uttered one simple word. "Reste" Marcel and Rene had spent the previous day carefully constructing the rituals and preparing the enchantments for this moment. Their preparation had not been for nothing. A beam of soft white light oozed forward, and seeped onto the Revenant, bathing it gently. The creature did not scream, or suffer. A look of calm and peace entered it briefly, before it faded away and disintegrated into dust. Rene stood up, rubbing his neck and bruised ribs. With a look of sadness on his face, he gently scuffed the dust of the Revenant with his boot. "Reste" he whispered.

Teenage Death Songs June 24, 2009 Nick Cimitiere shook his head as he walked down the streets of the West End. Some kind of magical working had thrown Freedom into musical chaos, with everyone singing their heart out. This would’ve been an interesting sight on most days, but Eldrich had warned him that it could easily take a turn south. “I suspect that our sorceress – and yes, I have a pretty good idea who it is – is using a ritual as the base for the working. Specifically, the rites of the Maenads as they called Dionysus to worship.” “Then there’s wine, sex, and partying, complete with an orchestra.” “Yes. There usually is, right before someone gets torn to shreds as a bloody offering to the god.” “Well, when you put it like that...” So now Nick was on the street, using one of Eldrich’s handheld scrying tools to trace any possible source of magical overload that could be the follow through of the ritual. So far, it hadn’t caught anything big – there’d been a rap battle in Lincoln that had failed to progress beyond the freestyling phase, but that was it. He was beginning to wonder if Adrian had him in the right place when the crystal shook so hard it almost broke his fingers. Regaining his balance, he quickly followed the mystical shard into a diner at the corner of Jameson and Laurent, where he found something he felt he wouldn’t forget for a long time. The two practitioners, a boy and a girl, stood in a ritual circle scribed in blood and what appeared to be spilled liquor and milkshakes. Only they weren’t dressed in robes, or any of the stock ritual paraphernalia. The boy was dressed like he’d stepped out of a James Dean fantasy, while the girl was dressed like a dream of a ‘50s cheerleader. They were both young, beautiful, and, as Nick noted, possessed of the certain madness that befalls a type of magician. He could see a waitress bound behind them, and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed she was still struggling. In fact, the blood of the circle seemed to have come from the cut palms of the two practitioners. “Are they coming?” the girl asked. “They’ll be here soon, baby,” the boy said, stroking her cheek with the unbloodied hand. “Once they show up, we’ve just got to put the song on, kill these squares, and rise.” “Oh, baby,” the girl said, resting her head on the boy’s chest. “Here’s to immortality.” “Ahem.” The two turned to find Nick standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “As touching and demented a tableau as this may be, I’ve just got one question – what the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Go away, bokor,” the boy said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a switchblade. “You don’t want any of this.” “Oh, I think I do.” Nick browsed over to the jukebox, noticing that it looked like it had undergone some recent revisions. “‘Teen Angel’... ‘Leader of the Pack’... ‘Vincent Black Lightning 1952’...” Comprehension dawned. “Oh, I see... you’re riding the lightning. Music’s being given form and power, and you want in on the action. And here I thought teenage death songs were played out.” “Only until the emo kids rediscover them,” the girl said. “We’ll be young, beautiful, and lovers forever, riding on the words of song.” “Divinity through music,” Nick said. “Can’t say I ever thought of that one.” He pointed to the waitress bound behind the counter. “Though I’m guessing this ritual has some cost...” “The young lovers always have to do something that gets ‘em killed,” the boy said. “Disaster, hopeless devotion... or crime. Ritual has to be primed – for that, it needs death.” “And once it’s readied,” the girl said, “the cops’ll be here, ready to complete it.” “By gunning you down.” Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, as necromantic workings go, it gets points for creativity... and loses them for atrocity, needless complexity, and plain old stupidity. I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the ritual circle and let the hostages go.” A palpable chill fell over the ruined diner. “Now.” As impressive as the chill of death might’ve been to a standard crook, the two necromancers responded with laughter. “You really think you can threaten us?” the girl said. Around her, the shadows seemed to lengthen and hint as things lurking within, as the boy’s switchblade reflected with a strange light. “This is our place of power, and we have the song behind us. Who do you think you are to spoil this?” Nick had to admit they had a point. Judging by the power flowing through the diner, they’d managed to wed together their own personal working with Medea’s musical one. The knitting was impressive, with the two works almost seeming to be one. And as the music rose – maybe in his head, maybe all around him – there was his answer... [groove]23324688[/groove] “I’ll tell you who I am..." The door slammed shut behind him as the force kicked in all around... “I’m your worn-down gravestone carving I’m the vision of the last ray of light I’m the healer of the starving I’m the thing you sought in your last desperate fight You and me...” Nick felt the power flowing through him, and found it both wonderful and terrifying. He only barely registered the spells of the two necromancers lashing out at him; all he could feel was something old pushing at him, and all he could hear were the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m your first dream of after I’m your first long-gone love on the other side I’m the sick, morbid laughter But I ain’t cruel, I’ve just seen the brunt of life And all that follows...” Some part of Nick realized that the two necromancers were pretty much throwing everything they had at him... and some other part realized that he was deflecting it easily. The power was shifting under him. “So take me in your hand Into the shadowed land I’ll lead you down the dark roads But you’ve gotta understand You won’t take me for granted.” By this point, Nick could feel the ground shifting beneath his feet. He could hear the heartbeat of the city, and the cry of every ghost in it. And most importantly of all, he could see “Danny and Sandy” staring at him in mortal terror. The working was his. “I’m the rime on the gravestone I’m that thought of what lies past those pearly gates I’m as cold of all things ending But I’m as warm as a night in your lover’s arms I am death.” He didn’t have to be Sondheim to realize this was starting to take a seriously wrong turn. Whatever strange joining had gone into the ritual was overpowering him utterly. Visions of zombie armies danced in his head, and they danced to “Thriller.” He had to take this apart in terms it understood, but without ripping it roughly. “So take me in your hand Into the shadowed land I’ll lead you down the dark roads But you’ve gotta understand You won’t take me for granted.” As a loud instrumental kicked in around him and he danced like Baron Samedi in a mosh pit, Nick found the answer. Slowly, he exerted his will across the working, cutting here, tearing there. He could feel it start to yield, but knew it needed one last push before it could be undone... “So take me in your hand Into the shadowed land I’ll lead you down the dark roads But you’ve gotta understand You won’t take me for granted. I’m with you at the start And I’ll be there at the end With mercy in my heart Just don’t take me for granted.” Nick felt the swell of some power behind him. He knew he’d forgotten about those necromancers. Keeping his mind on the working, he crafted some of the spillover energy into a pure wave of frost. He heard the winds blowing behind him, and whatever power there was had cut off. “No one knows...” The music spilled over, clashing against the walls of the diner and causing the glass to vibrate. Police sirens wailed in the distance, but Nick didn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear them. All that mattered was the last chord... “You won’t take me, for... granted.” The windows shattered around him as a rime an eighth of an inch thick settled on the counters. And with that, it was done. Nick scanned the wreckage of the shop. The hostages were all unharmed, though they were staring at him like he was mad. Hell, maybe he was, after all that. “Danny and Sandy” were bound up in ice, just as he’d willed it. As dumb and delusional as they were, he wasn’t exactly keen to induce hypothermia, so he drew up some entropy to melt the ice. As the two lovers fell to the floor, Nick could feel them working something new. Mind you, that took most of their attention, so they didn’t even notice the sap until it struck them in the back of their heads. With two necromancers out for the count, a nearly destroyed diner, and Freedom’s finest on the way, Nick quickly ducked out and took off down the alley. Gotta say, I wasn’t half bad, he thought to himself. Maybe I should think of starting a band...

Title: The Everlasting Light Yet in thy dark street shineth the everlasting light, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight... 2006, Seattle, Washington “All right girls, smile for the camera!” Erin obediently stretched her lips into a big fake smile as the green-clad photographer snapped the picture, leaning against the chair where Megan was grinning like a fool as she sat on Santa's lap. Erin knew for a fact that Megan knew the truth about Santa Claus, but even at seven, she was a canny operator, and knew that Santa toys would keep appearing under the tree if she still “believed.” That belief, plus their mother's insistence on continuing the row of framed photos on their mantlepiece, had Erin, much too old and sophisticated at fourteen, dragged into the mall on Christmas Eve morning for the all-important visit to the jolly old elf. At least her mom had let her wear a little bit of makeup along with her new Christmas dress, so not everything totally sucked. The mall was crowded with last-minute shoppers, but it wasn't exactly the same as it had been in previous years. The news about the flu in Asia had people scared to go out to crowded spaces like malls, and many people were wearing surgical masks and even latex gloves, as though that would protect them from a menace halfway around the world. Mom was determined that she wasn't going to let the flu scare ruin Christmas, so though she'd done a lot of her shopping online, they'd still gone out to places like normal. Kathi's mom wasn't as courageous, and Kathi couldn't even go places like Winter Formal, which really sucked. It was bad for Kathi, sure, but it was also bad for Erin, who was going with Ben Bowen and couldn't consult with her very best friend about what to wear and how to act and whether or not there should be kissing and how much! In the end, Formal had been a bit of a bust anyway, since Ben had spent way more of the evening talking about football with his friends than dancing with her, but at least she'd been able to go. At least by the spring, this stupid flu thing would be over, and everything would be back to normal. By the time they got home from the mall, it was time to start cooking, and all the rest of the holiday preparations. Erin sat in her room while the house filled with good smells and wrapped the presents she'd collected and forgotten (as usual) to prepare for presentation. She was a good big sister and saved last year's leftover gift bags for Megan, who was even worse about it than Erin herself was. Sure enough, Megan came in when Erin was halfway finished, and the two girls sat together on the floor in their Christmas dresses and finished assembling their presents. Erin liked being around Megan this holiday, she was like the only person who wasn't afraid bad things were going to happen, mostly because she wasn't really old enough to worry like that. It was reassuring. Everything was going to be fine. 2007, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma The Jeep was dying. The fact that it had lived this long was somewhat astonishing, with all the off-road work it had been asked to do, the contaminated gasoline that fueled it, the fact that it had been old and poorly maintained to start with, and hadn't had an oil change or maintenance in many months. Erin certainly wasn't surprised to feel it start to go. Everything died here. Everything except her, and she hadn't ruled out the idea that she was already dead, and this was her private lonely hell. She limped the Jeep into Oklahoma City, where she expected there would be zombies, and pointed it to the nearest hospital. As usual, there was a covey of zombies there, milling around and eating corpses and each other, and who were very interested in the possibility of fresh meat. These days Erin didn't use a weapon anymore, she dove in with her bare hands, as though trying to even the odds for the zombies who attacked her back with equal ferocity but much less skill. In the middle of the scrum, it would've been hard for an outside observer, if there'd been anyone to see, to tell who the zombies were. Erin's clothes were tatters now, too small where they were still intact, with only her warm boots and ski mask setting her apart. She didn't suffer from the cold as much as she used to, but the mask kept the wind and the bloody bits off. At the end of the short battle, she tugged the mask off and shook it out, then put it back on automatically. Unpacking the most important of her possessions from the Jeep, she tucked them into a knapsack and left the dead vehicle next to the pile of bodies, then set out at a ground-eating jog. Oklahoma City was dressed up for Easter, not unlike many of the cities she'd passed. Despite the lockdowns in cities like Seattle, other cities, more religious cities, had tried to keep their holidays to the bitter end. Religious iconography was in heavy display, for all it was faded and falling down, some even dusted with snow. Erin ignored it, because she had to. One foot in front of the other, and somewhere ahead of her there were more zombies that needed killing. That was as far ahead as she could think. Her reverie was abruptly broken by a flash of neon light in the gathering dusk. Neon light? There were no lights anywhere anymore! Fascinated, drawn like a moth, Erin increased her speed and ran through the streets towards the source of the light. Could there be people here, living people who had electricity? Her steps slowed as she reached the source of the light, till finally she stopped, cocking her head like a dog trying to watch television. In the middle of an empty lot stood a tall red LED sign with a single lit halogen bulb beneath it, illuminating a printed sign. This Clean Green Sign Is Powered Entirely by Renewable Solar and Wind Energy, and is Brought to You by AccuraText Inc.! See Us For All Your Signage Needs! Above it, the LED sign had about a quarter of its bulbs burnt out, and showed all the signs of neglect, but it still displayed the date and time, information Erin hadn't had since... for a long time. December 24, it read. Christmas Eve. A strange sound escaped from Erin's throat, a keening sob that barely sounded human. She tore off the ski mask and threw it aside, staring up at the fragmented red letters. For a moment her mind was full of memories, memories that she couldn't bear, could only try and outrun. So run she did, as fast and far as she could, leaving Oklahoma City far behind her, mere moments before other footsteps sounded there. 2008, Freedom City, New Jersey, The Goodman Building The Goodman Building was quiet tonight, as quiet as it ever got. Most of the personnel were home with their families for the holiday, leaving only a skeleton crew behind, and Erin. She wasn't in quarantine anymore, not technically. She'd been moved out of the infirmary just after Thanksgiving, when the doctors had assured themselves that she not only didn't carry the hero flu, she carried no diseases whatsoever. But she'd had nowhere to go, so they just moved her up one flight into a little two-room apartment meant for transients. It was nice enough, and she was grateful for it. The League even furnished it, after a fashion, with a bed with sheets and blankets, an arm chair, an old sofa, and a pretty nice television. A staff member brought her clean coveralls and towel and underthings every day, and they fed her a decent diet of mostly takeout food from the nearby restaurants or the cafeteria downstairs. Erin had to appreciate the effort they were going to on her behalf, even if the end result was a little, well, depressing. It was sort of like being in jail, she guessed, though she'd never been in jail and could only speculate. She wasn't expressly forbidden to leave, she'd just been strongly encouraged, for everyone's safety, to limit her contact with the outside world until her therapy had progressed a little further. Erin had no illusions about how dangerous she was, how much she could hurt someone without meaning to, so she obeyed the encouragement strictly. Since her arrival two months ago, she'd observed Prime only through the windows, where she had an excellent view of Freedom City dressing itself up in its Christmas finery. It was very beautiful, she had to admit. Doctor Franklin had offered to let her decorate her place, and had even dug up colored lights and some ornaments and window clings, but she'd declined. The less she thought about Christmas, she'd figured, the better. Tonight she'd gotten Chinese food from the place next door, a plate of cut-out and decorated Christmas cookies, and a box of cocoa with peppermint bits, so she was set for food, though she wasn't really hungry. Just bored, and unusually restless. It was too quiet. She turned on the television, scrolling past a hundred channels of Christmas programming that she didn't want to watch. Why did they assume that people who weren't celebrating on Christmas Eve wanted to watch Christmas shows? She finally settled on one that was only tangentially holiday-related, a Travel Channel program on ceremonial masks in the celebration of the winter solstice. Apparently dressing up like a cow on the shortest day of the year helped to make the crops grow, or something like that. She guessed it was no weirder than some contemporary Christmas traditions would look in a few hundred years. The show was boring, though, so she left it running for noise and wandered into her bedroom. She opened her dresser to reveal its only contents, the handful of mementos she'd brought with her from home that had gone through quarantine and been returned to her. She could've set them out, put a little color in the room, but she hadn't. They were safer in the drawer anyway. Impulsively, Erin picked up her battered, dirty old teddy bear, the one thing of hers she'd brought along. She held it to her chest and squeezed it, closing her eyes like a little girl. Even after decontamination, though, its fur was full of the stench of her old world, the smell of dead things and loneliness, and even the scent of it made her world cant a little sideways. She put the bear down hastily. Her mental equilibrium was fragile enough as it was. Her throat clogged with tears as she remembered other toys, other Christmases in a very different place. Were they together now, in some world beyond all the Earths? Did they think about her, did they miss her as keenly as she missed them? Did they blame her for all she hadn't done? Erin closed the drawer and began pacing, her steps increasing in speed till she was all but running between one wall and another, trying to escape something that was always in her head, waiting for nothing but darkness and quiet to jump out. She didn't notice it when she began to tap the walls, then slap them on the end of every round, until she heard the sharp rapping on her door. She jumped, badly, at the noise, then rubbed her face and went to assure the night watchman that everything was totally fine and he should have a Merry Christmas. 2009, Freedom City, New Jersey, Claremont Academy After increasing to an almost unbearable fever pitch yesterday and this morning, the bustle of life and activity in the Claremont dorms had slowed to almost nothing. Pretty much everyone was gone, celebrating Christmas or just enjoying winter break, and the few who were left, like Erin, weren't in the mood for a lot of company. It wasn't like she couldn't have gone places if she'd wanted to. Mark and Alex had both invited her to spend Christmas with their families, right here in Freedom City, but she'd declined, citing other plans. Mark had bought it, Alex hadn't, but was kind enough not to press. After the events of earlier that fall, they were all being a little bit kinder to each other, maybe a little bit more thoughtful. Nothing like almost dying and saving the world to make you value your friends a little more. Truthfully, the last thing Erin wanted to do was ruin somebody else's Christmas if she lost it again and spiraled out into depression like last year. Thanksgiving had gone okay at Mark's house, but Christmas was different, and she didn't think she could watch all that happy family togetherness and retain her emotional balance. At least here, safe in her dorm room, if she cracked there'd be no one to see it, and she'd be totally back in control by the 26th. She'd made her friends here carry enough of her emotional baggage already, and she couldn't bear their pity. Spending the night alone was a small price to pay for the semblance of normalcy. Well, maybe not entirely alone, she amended, as her new roommate hopped up onto her bed with her and snuck under her hand, purring. She wasn't sure whether Oliver was just the clingiest stray cat ever, or whether he was somehow picking up on how sad she had been lately and was trying to be there and comfort her. Either way, it was effective and appreciated. Setting aside the world history textbook she'd been ignoring anyway, she scooped up the cat and nuzzled his orange fur with her cheek. Some of the knots in her stomach loosened a little. Emboldened, Erin reached out and took the jewelry box down off her dresser, holding it in her hands as the cat purred loudly in her lap. It wasn't much to look at, hadn't been more than rigid cardboard covered with Disney Princesses in its prime, and now it was battered and grimy on top of that. Still, the music box inside worked, and when she opened it, the princess ballerina spun around in her ballgown to the strains of the love song from Sleeping Beauty. It had taken a long time, but she could open the music box and wind it and listen to it, and that was progress. She let the princess twirl and took out the contents of the box, a pair of stainless steel Tinkerbell earrings she'd found at the mall one day when she'd been doing her therapy. They weren't expensive, but she had almost no money, so they'd been a significant outlay. She'd thought to send them to the Megan who lived here, but in the end, she just sort of hadn't. The Megan here was older, ten years old now, and probably didn't even like that stuff anyway. And Erin would have to pay for shipping, and she didn't have anything for the rest of the family... and they weren't a gift for that Megan, she admitted to herself. But the Post Office didn't deliver as far as would be necessary to get them to their intended recipient. Dropping the earrings back into the box, she shut it and carefully wound it, then put it away and curled up with the cat once more. 2010, Freedom City, New Jersey, Claremont Academy Just like last year, the dorms were quiet on Christmas, but it wasn't an oppressive kind of silence. More like the silent night they talked about in the song. It had been a long and busy semester, and Erin was glad for a chance to stretch out on her bed and relax, with her little netbook playing soft swing music on the desk nearby. Trevor had invited her for Christmas this year, with the caveat that he and his grandfather really didn't do much to celebrate the holiday anyway, but she'd let him off the hook. She didn't want to put them to any trouble, and anyway, she still couldn't shake the niggling embarrassment from his grandfather seeing her crack and nearly collapse during the Halloween invasion back in October. Erin wasn't really worried about doing anything to embarrass herself this Christmas, but she'd really prefer to put off her next meeting with the venerable original Midnight until she was sure to be sufficiently heroic. At least her job this year had let her buy real gifts for her friends, which made Christmas seem a lot more normal. She couldn't get anything even close to the same league as Trevor's birthday gift to her, but she'd bought him some black fingerless gloves for when he was riding, and some multidensity gel grips that looked cool but she wasn't sure of, so had included a gift receipt for. Alex had gotten sparkly barrettes, Mike a silly book about how to handle getting married, and Mark a photo album that she'd started with a few press clippings about Young Freedom. James she'd agonized over, then had finally given him a penknife multitool that seemed pretty cool. JJ had gotten a new toy for chewing on, despite the fact that he'd gotten a small store's worth of loot from his folks, and Oliver got a carpeted cubbyhole that he was currently disdaining because it was for him. It was really nice to be able to give gifts to people, instead of just receiving them because everyone knew she had nothing. Even with the normalcy though, even with the pride she had in her own stability, Erin was restless this year. It was Christmas, a time to celebrate... something, a time to celebrate. She no longer had faith in anything beyond the need for people to take care of each other, but that didn't really change the nature of the season. Peace on earth, good will towards men, a sentiment that was the same whether she was sitting in a church or sitting in her room. She should be doing something to celebrate that didn't involve bashing skulls. Given who she was and what she did, that sort of limited her options. But there was always something. Dropping the turkey she'd saved from dinner into Oliver's bowl, she headed out, not bothering with costume or disguise tonight. Down in the Fens, the lights weren't as bright as in Bayview, and more houses were shuttered against the cold night air. But there were also an absence of the muggers and dealers who usually scurried like roaches around the dark corners. Maybe they had families to be with tonight, too. Erin leapt silently across the rooftops until she came to one well-lighted, well-attended building. The Rhodes Foundation center was open tonight, and business looked brisk. The line of people waiting for a hot Christmas dinner stretched out the door. Erin dropped to the ground on the far edge of the parking lot and walked to the building, skirting the line to go up to the volunteer at the door. "I'd like to..." She stopped and cleared her throat. "I'd like to help. Can I do something?" "Sure," said the volunteer with a smile. "Go on inside, there's always something to do."

December 12, 2010 The Iceberg, Beneath Freedom City Federal Building, Early Morning: "Lieutenant Factor reporting, sir!" Victory, already in his harness and dressed in his AEGIS standard uniform, saluted his superior. It was time for the morning Briefing before he goes out on patrol. He waited, his salute frozen on his body, until the officer gives him the word. Even then, Lieutenant Factor kept straight up, holding his hands behind his back in standard fashion. He stood very still, something made far easier by the fact that he can simply lock his joints into place, other than his right arm and neck. As he received his briefing, Lieutenant Factor kept full attention, answering briefly, only when he was asked questions directly. The briefing was rather short this morning, and when it was over, Lieutenant Factor saluted again, and turned on his foot and exited the room. As soon as he was out of the door, he removed his hat, and began to unbutton the top of his uniform, heading towards his special changing room.... Downtown Freedom City, 11:00 am "Thank you, mister!" The little girl was glad to be back with her family once again, and gave her silver savior a big hug around the neck. victory, a smile on his face, gave her a pat on her back as she hugged him. When she pulls away, he holds up his hand, and, from a small compartment in his wrist, a lolipop springs up, and his fingers catch it. "Not a problem! You were very brave." Handing her the lolipop, the girl happily takes it, as Victory stands up straight, the soot from the fire falling off his body. As the girl ran over to see her family, her grand father approached him. "Thank you so much for saving my granddaughter, Victory! We didn't think she was going to get out in time..." With his big, heroic smile on his face, Victory carefully pats the old man on the shoulder with his right hand. "All part of my job, sir." With a nod, he turns and gets ready to take off, when he's stopped by a news camera. "Victory! Victory! Can we get a word?" He stops right before take-off, his engines cooling back down. Turning, he puts on his "hero-pose", with his fists against his hips, keeping his elbows wide. "Of course! Only for a moment, though. I must be getting back to my patrol." "Of course. What do you think about the city's latest...." Riverside, 10:00 PM "Split up and stay low! he can't get a-AUGH!" The burglar's escape was cut off by a blinding light blasting in front of his face. In the darkness, their pursuer's lights seemed ominous, almost unnatural. The light gleaming from Victory's visor practically bore a hole through the criminal, who was all but paralyzed in fear. "Drop your weapons and surrender yourselves. Now." The man who got caught right in front didn't seem to be able to figure out what to do. And for that matter, neither did his cohorts behind him. Thinking that they may have a chance to escape, they immediately take off in different directions,heading down the various adjacent alleys. As soon as they do, the one unlucky enough to be right in front of the flying officer unloaded his pistol, screaming. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, and he's barely able to get more than two off before the pistol, and indeed his entire hand, is caught in a crushing metal grip. He didn't have to feel it for very long, though, before a sudden strike against his skull turns his entire world dark. His partners wouldn't fare much better, as they'd find themselves swiftly hunted and brought down. The Iceberg, 12:30 AM, December 13 The whirring and pistoning of the machine finally ends, as Victory's apparatus finishes disconnecting from the rest of his body. Sore, but released from the machine after a 30-minute process, Lance grabbed a hold of the strap dangling above his head. "Alright, sir, you're clear." "Thanks." Hoisting his body up, Lance shifted himself over, landing in the pants suspended up for him to lower in to, and on to his motorized wheelchair right after. Settled in, Lance let out a sigh, and turned the stick mounted into his arm rest to face his mechanic. "Take good care of 'er, Johnson." "Yes, Lieutenant." Lance gives the man a salute, and started his way out the door and back to his bunk. He stopped for a moment, and turned his head to look back at the mechanic. "By the way, will you be at the Holiday party?" "Afraid not, sir. I've already got plans with my family that day." "Ah. Oh well, then. Make sure to enjoy yourself." "Of course, sir. See you tomorrow." One final salute between the two, and Lance makes his way back to his room. He was able to keep a private one, unlike most of the others who have to stay on-base. Moving his chair up to the bunk, he hefts his body up with one hand, swinging on to the bed. Bringing the covers up, Lance sighs, and shakes his head. "Just another day...." he flicked off the lights, and closed his eyes for a well-earned rest.

Based on the Vignette 'Happy Birthday'. Powerhouse's Assumed Birthday is December 25th (For more information, regard the note at the end of; This post Which explains why Powerhouse's Birthday is assigned at December 25th. While I could use his actual birthday, Powerhouse wouldn't realize to celebrate it, and it's just another day for him) ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ His bag held in his hand, Tim Tricoas - also known as Powerhouse with a wig - rushed down the sidewalk towards his work, having to side-step people walking around together and the requisite pane of glass people were moving as he did so. The reason he was running was because, for some reason, the buses weren’t working today, and only his self-control prevented Tim from using his speed or jumping power to reach the building faster, he was only almost late, after all. Almost crashing into the door, Tim attempted to open it, only to find it locked, and hit the speaker, only to get no response. ‘Sherry must be away from her desk.’ Tim fumbled in his coat for his keys, reaching through his pockets at the snow built up on the shoulders of his jacket; he realized he didn’t have them. Head-butting the door just enough to avoid breaking it, Tim sighed. “Tim? What are you doing?†a voice asked from behind him, causing time to turn around, shaking out snow from his head. Behind him was a guy wearing a thick coat, and Tim’s supervisor. Tim waved. “Hello Sir. I’m trying to get into work and I forgot my keys, can you let me in?†The man offered a strange stare at him, making Tim feel slightly uncomfortable. After staring at him for almost a full minute, the man finally spoke up again. “Tim. It’s Christmas. Go home.†He finally said, before turning around and walking back to people who must have been his family, and walking off, leaving Tim standing in front of the locked doors staring after him. “But...what’s Christmas?†He asked to the man’s retreating back in a whisper, heading back to his family, and though the man did not turn, and, after a few minutes, left with his family, smiling and laughing about the day they were having. Having no work to go to, and no one to visit- even a visit from Metatron or Cherubim would be great, even if that would end with him beaten, bloody, and dragged back to Yellow Forest- Tim, still not understanding why all these people were hanging out together, decided the best thing he could do was to turn back to his normal identity and stop crime, so the dark haired Tim, wearing his full overcoat, decided to go off to fight crime, having nothing else to do today meaning that it was either that, or sleep, and he wasn’t tired. So, Tim ducked off into an ally, hid behind a dumpster, and quickly took off his costume, becoming Powerhouse once more, and then leapt up to a nearby building to look over the city, watching for crime so that he might stop it. Standing on a building, Powerhouse was like a dark avenger of the night, if the Dark avenger wore no shirt, had no cape, wore brightly colored spandex pants, and had no crime to fight. Indeed, for all of Powerhouse’s attempts to be a Hero today, the only people out seemed to be a handful of drunks, and even he realized there probably wasn’t a reason to go after them, maybe they’d just shuffle home and not hurt anyone, so he was left sitting on a building, waiting for something, anything, to go wrong. Then again, when something DID go wrong, he always seemed to get there too late, either some other Hero was already wrapping things up- and Powerhouse stayed away from them, as he would have hated to seem like he was trying to steal their spot-light- or they were false alarms, and nothing bad was going on. So after about four hours of trying to be a hero, and failing, Powerhouse gathered up his things, and went back to his apartment, somewhat dejected, but realizing there was no reason to be a Superhero today, for some reason, probably related to this ‘Christmas’ thing. Dropping his bag next to the door of his apartment, Powerhouse removed the wig that hid him from the world and dropped onto his desk. It was a sparse apartment, a desk, a bed, and one of those T.V. things, and a single clock on his desk. He sat at the desk quietly for a time, not working on anything, instead looking outside through his window. He spared a look at the clock, however, after a bit. “Huh…11:59.†He muttered, picking up the item while the red lights stared back at him. It changed. “I think that means I’m a year older now.†Powerhouse muttered, something like his age was meaningless to him. It did not mean he was older, or wiser, simply that he put a different number in his ‘age’ category. Putting the clock down on the desk and standing up. “Happy birthday…†He added, to himself, as he fell into his bed. His first birthday free from Yellow Forest, and, for some reason, it felt worse than it had there. That should have been impossible, but as the Hero curled into a ball on his cramped bed, he did not dream of happiness. He dreamt of clocks, for a time, then awakened once more, at 2AM, unable to effectively sleep anymore. Left with that, and no ability to sleep, he sat on his bed in his cramped apartment, and thought about what it meant to be a Year older. Not a lot was his eventual response, being a year older meant almost nothing to him. He had spent about half a year free now, and all he could count for his age was ‘time in the Forest’ versus ‘Time free’, and all he hoped was that, somehow, he’d manage to end up with more ‘Time Free’ then ‘Time in the Forest’ whenever he died. Powerhouse thought about these for several hours, attempting to judge what his life was worth, and came up with almost nothing. “I…don’t really have a life do I?†He thought, looking out of his single window. “I guess I stop bad guys, but I don’t have anything else, do I?†He stared at the falling Snow. “But that’s okay, isn’t it? There always has to be a person who doesn’t have time for masks, doesn’t have time to live a normal life. I suppose I can just be that person.†He said, grinning at his own hands, though he felt hollow inside. He went out and patrolled again, from 10AM till 5PM, but there wasn’t a single crime in sight and at 5, he just went back to his apartment again.

On Earth-Prme, Doktor Viktor Archeville’s experiences at the house of Avenger & Phantom lead to his Evil side both fully waking and becoming physically manifest in a Jekyll/Hyde-like transformation. But on another world, things happened a bit differently. On one, the events at the Faretti household only lead to his Evil side taking dominance mentally, with no physical changes. The physical metamorphosis would come three months later, when Blake Salazar, known better as the squamous superhero Kid Cthulhu, ventures to Doktor Archeville's home in Hanover in search of help. On this world, his relationship with Jessica "Ironclad" Parker had been slow going, as she could not get over his appearance. He is met at the gate by a red lion-man robot (NERGAL) and a silver-furred gorilla-bot in a tuxedo (Butleraffe). (Song is to the tune of "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from The Little Mermaid) Butleraffe and NERGAL: This way. {Kid Cthulhu enters and walks down the path. The Lawn Gnomes flanking the sides slowly turn to watch him with their laser-red eyes as he approaches the door, which swings open.} Archeville: {spoken} Come in. Come in, mein boy. Ve mustn't lurk in doorvays. {Archeville steps into the light. His Electromagnetic Screwdrvier pokes out of his top labcoat pocket; it has a new, oddly glowing crystal on one of the emitters.} Archeville: It's rude. Von might question your upbringing... {Archeville snickers} Archeville: Now, den. You're here because you haff a ding for dis Jessica. Dis, er, Iron Woman. Not dat I blame you - she is quite a catch, isn't she? {Archeville snickers as he strolls down the corridors of his home. Butleraffe and NERGAL nudge Kid Cthulhu on to follow.} Archeville: Vell, lover-boy, de solution to your problem is simple. De only way to get vhat you vant... is to rid yourself of dose unnatural 'magical' mutations. [groove]23327279[/groove] Kid Cthulhu: Can you do that? {Archeville grins, and flings open the set of double doors they’ve stopped at, revealing his ginormous laboratory.} Archeville: Mein dear, good boy. Dat's vhat I do - it's vhat I live for. To help superstitious metas - like yourself. Poor fools mit no von else to turn to... Archeville: {Full Song} I admit mein family's past is rather nasty Sey veren't kidding vhen sey called me, vell, "quite mad" {Archeville begins to 'walk on air' above the laboratory} Archeville: But you'll find dat nowadays I've atoned mein namesake's vays Vorked hard to bring some good from all de bad True? Ja {Archeville leans close to KC} Archeville: Und I fortunately know Metagenetics In this Scientific field I am unmatched {Archeville floats over to a massive glass-topped table} Archeville: Und I always, as I should Do use it for the good Of the miserable, lonely und detached {Archeville waves a hand over the table, and holographic images of two people appear. One is a tall, scrawny teenager, the other a very macho, muscular he-man.} {Archeville leans back, to his two robots} Archeville: (Pathetic) {Archeville resumes circling the holo-table} Archeville: Poor superstitious fools In pain In need Dis von longing to be stronger Dat von vants to be a girl Und do I help sem? {Archeville snaps his fingers. The tall, scrawny teen becomes a muscular he-man, the macho he-man becomes a petite and demure yet sexy woman} Archeville: Ja, indeed Dose poor superstitious fools So sad So true Sey come flocking to mein vorkshop Crying, "Genes, Archeville, please!" Und I help sem? Ja, I do Now it's happened vonce or twice Someone couldn't pay de price Und I'm afraid I had to do vhat might seem cruel {Archeville waves his hand again, and the two holographic people are – quite painfully – changed. The scrawny teen-turned-strongman painfully expands into a monstrous hulk, the strongman-turned-little woman is painfully converted into cyborg. The images then disappear.} Archeville: Ja, I've had de odd protest But in the end I know vhat's best {Archeville strikes a heroic, almost Centurion-like pose.) Archeville: For dose poor superstitious fools Archeville: {spoken} Now, here's de deal. I will make you a serum dat vill suppress your mutations for three days. Got dat? Three days. Now listen, dis is important. Before the sun sets on the third day, you've got to get dear ol' Parker to fall in love with you. That is, she's got to kiss you. Not just any kiss - the kiss of true love. (Dat's de only vay you can get de hormones needed to finalize de transformation.) {The holo-table projects a new image, of Blake Salazar running through a field.} Archeville: If she does kiss you before de sun sets on de third day, you'll remain powerless, permanently, but - if she doesn't, you turn back into a squidface, und {The holographic image of KC reverts back to his Cthulhoid form, and if anything looks even more monstrous.} Archeville: you belong to me. Jerry the Shoggoth: No Kid Cthulhu! {It is silenced by Butleraffe and NERGAL.} Archeville: Have ve got a deal? Kid Cthulhu: If I lose my Cthulhu powers, I'll never be a superhero again. Archeville: Dat's right! {Archeville shows (feigned) shock at the prospect} Archeville: But - you'll haff your girl. {Archeville snickers} Archeville: Life's full of tough choices, innit? {Archeville snickers, and lays across the holo-table} Archeville: Oh - und dere is von more ding. {Archeville floats lazily back up into the air} Archeville: Ve haffn't discussed de subject of payment. You can't get something for nutzing, you know. Kid Cthulhu: But I don't have any – {Archeville darts back into cover KC’s mouth with his hand} Archeville: I'm not asking much. Just a token, really, a trifle. You'll never even miss it. What I vant from you is... your book. Kid Cthulhu: My Necronomicon? Archeville: You've got it, squidface. No more potions, rituals, zip. Kid Cthulhu: But without my book, how can I – Archeville: {Full Song} You'll haff new looks! A handsome face! Und don't underestimate de importance of body language! Ha! {Archeville does a pelvic thrust} Archeville: De girls out there don't like slimy tentacles Sey think a guy mit suckers is a horror {Archeville darts off to assorted sections of his laboratory, pulling forth catalysts and reagents and tossing them towards a large workbench} Archeville: Ja, 'round here it's much endorsed To have all magic be divorced And after all, lad, vhat's "abracadabra" for? Come on, sey're not all dat impressed mit "hocus pocus" De thought of it makes techies vant to hurl But de ladies are magnetic Vhen your body's made athletic It's he mit GQ looks who gets de girl {Archeville darts down to the workbench and begins combining the chemicals, along with jolts of electricity from machinery overhead. There are lots of tiny explosions} Archeville: Come on, you poor superstitious fool Go ahead! Take a look! {An image of Jessica's face projects up from the holo-table, smiling down on Kid Cthulhu.} Archeville: I'm a very busy Doktor Und I haffn't got all day It von't cost much Just your book! {The last line is sung by the holo-Robin, in Archeville's voice, then the image dissipates} Archeville: You poor superstitious fool It's sad But true If you vant to play de game, my boy You've got to look real cool {Archeville produces an especially large syringe from his labcoat pocket; it floats in the air next to Kid Cthulhu} Archeville: Just a prick und den a spark Your face und body I'll retool! {Aside to his robots} Archeville: B'affe, NERGAL, now I've got him, 'bots De Doktor's gonna rule {Points to Kid Cthulhu} Archeville: Dis poor superstitious fool! {Kid Cthulhu sticks himself, drawing blood. The syringe flies to Archeville’s hand; he grins evilly as he adds this last component to the serum.} Archeville: Come, Watson, Crick, Wilkins, Come meta-bio-chemistry Catalysts, Nucleases, Et Null Transcriptases - Ihr zauber to me Now . . . chant! Kid Cthulhu: {chants in a strange, inhuman tongue, making sounds no human mouth or throat could} Archeville: Keep chanting! {The syringe draws up the serum, flies to Kid Cthulhu, and injects him. Archeville laughs as the young hero’s Cthulhu form melts off him (leaving the powerless human Blake Salazar), and the melted Cthulhu-bits slither towards Archeville and join to him, turning him into a black-scaled, crimson-haired Deep One. An explosion knocks Blake and Jerry the Shoggoth out of Archeville’s laboratory.}

3rd December, City Hall, Central Freedom City. Public Service Announcement: Radiation is safe! Supercape landed as elegantly as he can in the recording studio, and promptly changed his magnificent blue and white cape into a pristine lab coat. It had become a sort of second costume for him now, with all the work he was doing at the lab, and he was almost as well known for it as he was his traditional cape outfit. His mask remained, as did his blue and white shirt and trousers. His cape had gone, and a pure brilliant white classic lab coat had took its place. It was unnaturally white, as if a hundred washing up powder advertisers had all gone to work on it. He was greeted, rather stiffly, by a middle aged studio executive, a Rodney Riverwood, who gave Supercape a curt handshake and stuffed a script in his hand. "Right then" he started, in a no nonsense manner. "Thanks you all your work with the Lab, you have been volunteer... err... elected that is, by the departments of security, health, and energy, to give a public service announcement to the people of America. " "Don't know why we need a brit like yourself, but from what I understand, you are all radioactive or something, and the public would take it from you best. Can't say you would have been my first choice, but what do I know, I have only been doing this thirty years. " He coughed, not meeting Supercape's eyes. "Anyway, take a look at the script, we roll in 5. I'm sure a bright chap like you can memorise it all, or something. " And with that, Mr. Riverwood strode off. Supercape was rather shocked. He didn't quite know what to make of Mr. Riverwood, other than the obvious conclusion that the man didn't want to be here, and was in a foul mood. He gazed at the script he was given, scanning it quickly. It looked straightforward enough, in that the message was clear. The facts, well, they looked like they had been contorted, bent and distorted enough to only just hold on to the definition of fact - and only if one was feeling generous and wasn't looking too hard. "Just relax, and read of the Autocue" called out RIiverwood, from a megaphone. "And 3...2...1...Action!" Supercape looked around and coughed. Of course, he was fairly used to public speaking. Didn't like it much, but he could delivery an acceptable oratory. In a curious way, talking into a camera was somewhat easier, as he wasn't aware of the multitude of eyes on him, as he would be in a lecture hall. INTRO: RADIATION: WHY IT IS SAFE AND GOOD FOR AMERICA. "Hello. You may know me as the hero Supercape, from Freedom City. You may also know that I am one of the heroes who run the Lab, one of the finest scientific institutes in the world, and home to some of the finest heroes, who work tirelessly ensuring that our fine countries science continues to advance, in a safe, secure, and...err.... family-friendly..... way" "*Ahem*" "You have probably heard, and may be concerned about the nuclear reactors that supply this country with energy. Like the electricity that lights and warms your homes, or even powers the televisual sets you are watching this on friendly laugh.... oh...I mean hahahaha. " "*Ahem*" "I am hear to reassure that radiation is a perfectly...safe...and...harmless...method of producing energy. All the nuclear reactors are fully protected from any assault, with failsafes for every eventuality and round the clock security cut to stock footage...oh..." "But if the worst should happen, and there is a problem, what should you know? Well, radiation comes in all forms. Light, for instance is a radiation, in this case, from a particle called protons. In nuclear reactors, other types of radiation may be emitted. This type of radiation is something you can't see, so remember: even if you can't see it, if you alerted to a radiation hazard, you must emphasis take all precautions. " "If you can, evacuate from the area as soon as possible. Heavy metal lining, such as lead, can help shield you from hazardous radiation. Seek medical attention once it is safe to do so. Decontamination procedures can help. Once in a safe area, remove all clothing and items that may have been exposed to radiation, and if possible, scrub and bathe yourself thoroughly. " "Remember pause radiation is safe, but invisible and dangerous. Hold on, that's straight out of George Orwell's 1984..." "CUT!"

Dead Head Carson Finbar and the Deathly Fellow (2) The Closing of the Year (8) DOA? A-Okay! (2) A Moving Day Christmas (3) 2+8+2+3 = 15 posts 15 + 5 from Dok + 5 GM/NPC Work = 25 posts = 3pp Doktor Archeville Ballistics Is A Science, Right? (1) Bats of Unusual Size (1) Bill of Health (11) Champagne Shenanigans (1) Fractures (5) The Heroes Are NEAR (1) It's Not Lupus (3) Medical Matters (1) Science of Stabpunching 201 (1) Somewhere That's Green (3) Stopping By For A Nice Little Chat (4) A Very Interceptors Christmas (3) Welcome to The Lab! (1) 1+1+11+1+5+1+3+1+1+3+4+3+1 = 36 posts [ = 3pp] (I hit Platinum!) add 5 posts to Dead Head and 31 to Protectron Protectron News Thread (1) Downloading Uptown (8) Just Another Sunday (5) Rise of the Machine (10) There's A Little Grue In All Of Us (4) 1+8+5+10+4 = 28 posts 28 posts + 31 from Dok = 59 posts = 4pp + 1 Ref Point = 5pp GM and NPC At the Opera Tonight (2) Die Me, Dichotomy (5) Fractures (3) 2+5+3 = 10/2 = 5 posts added, to Dead Head

In order to make sure the Refs accurately count all your IC posts and award you the due amount of power points, please post with a list of all the threads in which your character posted IC this month (including the News forum). Please also mark things from the Non-Canonical forum as being non-canonical, as those count 1/2 (2 posts made for your char in a non-canon thread count as 1 post for the char). And if you are GMing something, list those threads, too. GM-only posts -- as well as NPC Villain posts -- also count 1/2, and can be assigned to whichever of your characters needs a 'push' to get up in post numbers. (note: this may change! Stay tuned for further details!) When you make your list, please post a link to the IC threads -- preferably to the top of the page where your first post for that month appears -- so we (and the auto-count program) can jump right to it. Speaking of the AutoCounter: when you start a thread, make sure [iC] is in the title/subject line of the IC thread, and [OOC] is in the title of the OOC thread. If you make a post in an IC thread as a GM or an NPC, add [GM] in the subject line of the thread. If you make a post and [iC] is not in the subject line, the AutoCounter will not count it! And if you do not put [GM] in the places you post as an NPC or Ref, it won't count those properly! Also, when you start a new thread, please mark it on the Timeline (if you have a handle here, you have an account for the Wiki, and anyone with an account can edit it). You do not have to be specific on the date, but I would like to keep track of when things are happening relative to each other. The Timeline also serves as an index for everything we've done in the nearly three years this site's been active, and it's useful to know if X happens before or after Y. If you've done any extracurriculars -- artwork, HellQ, 20 Questions, NPC, Vignette, Wiki work, etc. -- please be sure to list them along with your active threads. Help us help you (and help us keep some measure of temporal continuity ) :mrgreen:

Enhanced Attack 1 [2PP], yes 1 skill rank for each language. Learning one new language costs 1 skill rank (and skill ranks are 4 per pp). Immunity should be written as "own powers."

You should note your languages the way they are noted as on other char sheets. And since you get one language for free, that frees up 1pp. You only needs ranks in the Drive skill if you do things like race cars for a living, or are the wheelman for a gang. For day-to-day driving, you don't need it. Please alphabetize your powers. Also, you have Enhanced Attack 2 listed in powers, but the Combat block (as well as the pps you paid) implies you really have Enhanced Attack 1. Please put your Weather Control and Lightning Punch under some sort of "Blessings of Chac Array" listing. Like so [b]Blessing of Chac 10[/b] (20 points; [i]PF[/i]: Alternate Power) [21PP] [u]BE[/u]: [b]Weather Control 5[/b] (100 ft. radius; Cold 1 [intense cold], Hamper Movement 2 [1/4 normal], Visibility 1 [-4 Notice & Search]) [u]AP[/u]: [b]Strike 10[/b] (Lightning Fist; [i]Extra[/i]: Penetrating) (If you wanted him to be able to call down lightning on his foes, that'd be Blast with Indirect 2) Is the Immunity (Powers of Chac) just supposed to apply to his own abilities, or to the abilities of anyone enhanced/gifted by Chac? Or to the direct powers of Chac himself?

:approved: game on!

You should note it the same way other sheets are noting it Which is to say, yes, list total Defense, and flat-footed Defense.

The first, kinda. When you're flat-footed, you lose your Dodge bonus to defense, which includes bonus from the Dodge Roll feat, and half your 'base' Defense. Defense +1 (Defense 11) = 2 points = flat-footed Defense 10 Defense +2 (Defense 12) = 4 points = flat-footed Defense 11 Defense +3 (Defense 13) = 6 points = flat-footed Defense 11 Defense +4 (Defense 14) = 8 points = flat-footed Defense 12 Defense +5 (Defense 15) = 10 points = flat-footed Defense 12 Defense +6 (Defense 16) = 12 points = flat-footed Defense 13 Defense +7 (Defense 17) = 14 points = flat-footed Defense 13 Defense +8 (Defense 18) = 16 points = flat-footed Defense 14 Defense +9 (Defense 19) = 18 points = flat-footed Defense 14 Defense +10 (Defense 20) = 20 points = flat-footed Defense 15 Defense +11 (Defense 21) = 22 points = flat-footed Defense 15 Defense +12 (Defense 22) = 24 points = flat-footed Defense 16

Dok shows as the Krampus? (Evil!Dok shows as the Krampus?)

The armored figure grasped her forearm in return, "I am called Chevalier, and I like your eager spireet! But-" She had already dashed off. Valkyrie may not have feared the dark, but the lack of fear did nothing to change the fact she could not see in it. Enhanced senses were one thins that was not part of her blessings from the Aesir. She soon heard the sounds of heavy boots on the sand-covered rock floor of the cave, and turned to see Chevalier behind her, his armro limned by the light of the full moon, and the blue sections of his armor glowing softly in the darkness. "I do believe dze opportuneety for surprise has long past, madame, but as long as we show dzem we weell not be cowed, we weell ween dze battle, and dze war!" By the light of the full moon streaming through the cave, Valkyrie could see the cave tunnel went straight on, well into the darkness that the light could not reach. She could hear numerous voices -- hissing, spitting, guttural, animalistic noises, echoing and reverberating throughout what surely must be a maze of tunnels ahead. The sea spray from the Great Bay still filled her nose, but who knew what would assail her senses once they got deeper in?