Dr Archeville

"If they are to gain new superpowers, I would rather it be because of some treatment I intentionally gave to them," Archeville said with a jovial laugh. "As for security, as long as I am at the wedding, the Freedom League is one communicator signal away. And I believe Dynamo has made inroads with some of the students at Claremont, so he may be able to call on them." "And we all know at least a handful of other heroes who might attend," he continued, "so I believe it will be well-covered. And- Oh!," he cried, slapping his leg. "A dress! And tuxedo! Do you have them?"

Grim gets a few good snoot fulls, and is fairly certain she's got the man Colt had cuffed. He smelled of cigarettes and cheap coffee, gun oil and gunmetal, salt and silver and water... and cold iron. He was a monster hunter, a well-equipped one at that. A vehicle of some sort had stopped here recently -- one loaded with more monster hunter gear -- another (who smelled of) got out, then both got in and sped off, south. Jack reached out with his senses, and picked up something of interest: a faint trace of magic at the lamp post the perp had been cuffed to, as from an inactive magic item that had been near it for a few moments. The trace was already faded by the time he focused in on it, but he did 'see' it enough to determine it was not at all like the magics he'd sensed at the other sites.

Archeville watched with rapt attention as she filled the jar, and smiled as he took it from her and labeled it. "No, no, dis should be more dan enough." He washed his hands again, then retrieved a few assorted tools from the drawers and countertop: stethoscope, eye/ear examination light, reflex hammer, and so on. "Alright, just relax und breathe normally, please."

Archeville nodded and noted her chart as he labeled the vials of blood he'd drawn for analysis. "I could probably stabilize de rigidity of your bones, if you vould like, replace de calcium latticevork mit something a bit more rigid. You vould of course lose your exteme flexibility... though..." he paused a moment, "I may be able to tweak that, too. Ink sample, please," he said while passing her a specimen jar.

"Nein!" "Phalanx, Arrowhawk, Jack, mit me! Sarah, guard Erik!" Archeville yelled as he flew off towards the building. "You help me secure de building und you two see to evacuations!" Between Phalanx's superhuman strength and the hard light constructs from Archeville's Electromagnetic Screwdriver, they were able to hold the building up enough for Arrowhak and Jack of all Blades to get everyone out.

"Indeed so -- if you keep charming future projects out of me, you are liable to run off and start your own company, and reap all the rewards yourself!" he laughed. The holograms disappeared, replaced by one of her own personnel file. "Alright, let us see how I can work around my own hiring practices and security protocols..." After about fifteen minutes of work, Archeville had Miss Americana fully entered into the system. In addition to her finger and retinal prints, she was marked as low-level Metahuman, able to emit a unique radio energy, like an RFID tag, which could be used as an additional form of identification. He also marked that it sometimes tripped up the routine metal detectors at the door, and so for the sec guards to ignore any abnormalities which showed in her on those scans. "I believe that does it!"

"Oh, I have been doing that for a few months now," he said giddily, "though they are all reproductions, from mass market books, thousands of websites, and the like. Of course," he waved dismissively at the holograms, "these are the simplified images, 'sanitized for public consumption' -- or made up from a conman's imagination -- but they can be used to at least assemble a basic overview of the system. The real spellbooks -- the ones used by bona fide mages -- well," he walked back around to his desk, "they have proven considerably harder to get access to. I have been able to procure a few, from auctions and private libraries of allies and contacts, but thus far I have found nothing of use. Of course, once I make the project public, I will assign a whole sector's worth of ArcheTech's symbolic logicians to decoding them, along with sectors for studying 'supernatural' beings like angels, demons, faeries, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and others."

October 29, 3:00 AM: Lantern Hill Cemetery A dark figure stood silently at the gates of Lantern Hill Cemetery, mustering the courage to pass through the wrought iron arch. He wasn't hesitant because of the shambling dead and spectral beings that had so recently infested Freedom City this last month, he paused because of his intentions. Reports of deceased loved ones appearing before their friends and family had caught his attention and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to speak with his mother and father. Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, he exhaled and put one foot forward and crossed the threshold. A chill wind swept across the hillside, scattering dead leaves and bringing with it an earthen scent. The young man scanned the area with his mask's active infrared lenses for any movement. He was unsure whether any restless dead roamed the hill, and he wasn't going to take any chances. He saw no movement save for the windblown grass. He had only been here twice before. James Gerber was a SWAT officer and ceremonially interred in the aftermath of the Terminus Invasion, although Kristian had no recollection of it. There was no body in the grave, however. James died in his guise as Razorwing and the body was never found. He was nearly six years old the second and last time he came to this place. His mother, Cynthia Schwartz-Gerber, had struggled with a rare and aggressive cancer for Kristian's entire life, and he was brought to her burial as a ward of the state. This he did remember, though he pushed the awful memory away from his mind as quickly as it came to him. He had trouble finding the way to his mother's headstone, having been so young at the time. It seemed like a lifetime ago, in another world when he was a different person. His reverie was broken by a small ball of light hovering waist level some hundred feet away at the crest of a hill, eerily back lighting a row of headstones. Kristian couldn't make out the source of the light, but it seemed to beckon him. Careful not to tread upon any graves as he made his way off the paved walkway, he proceeded unhurried up the hill towards the glow. As he approached the light, Kamisorihane shrieked it's displeasure when a purple flame flared from the light, casting dancing shadows all around the young hero. "You bring a fell presence to these hallowed grounds, Kristian Gerber!" a powerful voice echoed within his head. Squinting against the harsh glow, Kris could make out a ghostly silhouette. "You are not welcome here!" He had heard the legend of Lantern Jack, though he thought them to be nothing more than wives tales. Apparently, he was wrong. He wanted to explain his presence, but he couldn't seem to find the words. "I... I'm not here to cause any trouble," was all he could say. The violet light dimmed, no longer assaulting Kris' eyes and calming Kamisorihane. Kris could make out the details of the wraith before him now. He wore colonial-era garb and a tricorner hat sitting atop his translucent head. "We shall see," the eidolon replied as the light from the mystic lantern changed to a cerulean hue. Lantern Jack studied the black-clad hero for a moment and nodded slightly. The flame changed color again, this time to an emerald light. "Explain yourself, Kristian Gerber." Kris didn't understand how the wraith knew his real name, but it seemed that now wasn't the time to ponder it. "I'm here to speak with my parents," was his only reply. It was the truth, and it was all the ghostly guardian of Lantern Hill needed. He brought the lantern to the headstone they stood beside, illuminating the text: Cynthia Schwartz-Gerber. 1960-2009. "Thank you." Lantern Jack nodded solemnly and faded from sight, leaving Kris alone at the grave of his mother. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, unsure of what he could do to summon his mother's spirit. Standing there silently wasn't doing anything, apparently, so he knelt at the grave and removed the mask of his armored jumpsuit. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and warmth come to his eyes, threatening to spill tears down his pale face. He took a few moments to calm himself before he spoke in a low, soft voice. It had been so long since he spoke as Kristian Gerber instead of Razorwing that his own voice sounded alien to his ears. "Mom. I... I don't even know what to say. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I just wanted to see you again." He removed the glove from his left hand and touched the cold stone of the grave marker. He uttered another foreign phrase, something he hadn't said since he was just a child. "And I wanted to see dad. I never met him, you know? I thought..."" his words hung in the air for a moment before he continued. "I just wanted to talk to you both. I want to let you know that I'm OK. I wanted to let you know everything that's happened in my life. I wanted..." A sob wracked his body and tears streamed down his checks, falling from his chin into the soil of his mother's place of rest. "I want you to know that I wish you were here. Both of you. I want you to know who I am, and I want to hear you say that you're proud of me." Minutes passed and still his parent's didn't appear in front of him. Maybe he was saying the wrong things. "Or admonish me. Tell me to stop being Razorwing and live a normal life. Anything. I just want to hear your voice so bad, mom. I want to tell you I love you and I miss you. So much." Another bout of sobs came over him, and this time they didn't stop. "Please. Please," he pleaded to his mother, "Please, just show up." He laid his forehead against the cold stone and continued his mantra, barely a whisper. It was nearly dawn before his grief turned to anger. They weren't coming, but why? What had he done that they would deny their crying child sloace as he begged for their love. He arched his back and roared into the night air, his pained cry carried all over Freedom City on an icy breeze...

"Indeed!," he exclaimed, hopping up from his seat, "though we should go down to the laboratory for the tests. Walk this way!" He fully expected her to do the 'walk this way' bit from Young Frankenstein. He lead her from the dining room to the parlor, and tapped a section of one of the mantlepieces, causing a panel in a wall to slide back and reveal a small elevator. "And, yes, Ashkenazi Jews are more susceptible to Tay-Sachs. In fact, screening for Tay-Sachs carriers was one of the first great successes of the emerging field of genetic counseling and diagnosis! Many Cajuns of southern Louisiana carry the same mutation that is most common in Ashkenazi Jews, and French Canadians of southeastern Quebec have a carrier frequency similar to Ashkenazi Jews, but they carry a different mutation." The elevator took them down one floor, and opened to a map room, about a third the size of the parlor above. "It comes in three forms, Tay-Sachs does, though only the first two are lethal. Babies with Infantile Tay-Sachs disease appear to develop normally for the first six months after birth. Then, as nerve cells become distended with gangliosides, a relentless deterioration of mental and physical abilities occurs. The child becomes blind, deaf, and unable to swallow; muscles begin to atrophy and paralysis sets in; death usually occurs before the age of four. Juvenile Tay-Sachs disease usually presents itself in children between two and 10 years of age. They develop cognitive, motor, and speech difficulties, swallowing difficulties, unsteadiness of gait, and spasticity; patients with Juvenile TSD usually die between five and fifteen years. Adult or Late Onset Tay-Sachs disease -- what my father has -- occurs in patients in their 20s and early 30s. It is characterized by unsteadiness of gait and progressive neurological deterioration. Symptoms also include speech and swallowing difficulties, unsteadiness of gait, spasticity, cognitive decline, and psychiatric illness, particularly schizophrenic-like psychosis." "Ah, watch your step here," he said as he lead her from the map room south to a furniture storage room... and suddenly shot straight up! The room was upside-down, and when they entered, they 'fell' to the ceiling! "Still trying to work that bug out. Ah, now, if that was all my father had, it would be bad enough, but he also got hit with something like Lesch–Nyhan syndrome. Lesch-Nyhan is present at birth, and the first signs are poor muscle control and moderate mental retardation, seen within the first year of life. By the second year, the most striking feature of Lesch-Nyan --self-mutilating behaviors, characterized by lip and finger biting -- manifests, as well as facial grimacing, involuntary writhing, and repetitive movements of the arms and legs similar to those seen in Huntington's disease. The proclivity for self-mutilation is especially bad in male victims of the disease, as the syndrome also causes anemia in some men. Some victims also evidence Tourette's-like verbal tics. A few researchers have described the syndrome as an inversion of certain natural instincts: self-preservation becomes self-mutilation, and positive feelings towards another are expressed as uncontrolled cursing at them; it is possible that my father's homicidal rage towards me was the first manifestation of the disease, and the rest came after he was committed to the asylum." He lead her east to another room, the central HVAC control, where gravity was normal, "But my father did not show any of these symptoms until then, and at that time he was in his late twenties, well beyond the point where any symptoms would normally manifest. And, most victims of Lesch-Nyhan do not live to see thirty, unless they receive constant medical care, primarily to prevent them from fatally mutilating themselves; my father still lives, and turned sixty yesterday." From there east to the laundry room, with industrial capacity washer and dryer which loomed silently. Some loom-like devices sat in one corner. "On a less gruesome note, there is an equally fascinating study of the Ashkenazi Jew genome: their -- or perhaps I should say our -- intellect. The intelligence of the Ashkenazi Jews has been the subject of study and speculation within the fields of psychometry and evolutionary biology, as some psychometric studies have reported generally higher IQ's -- primarily in verbal and mathematical performance -- among Ashkenazi Jews than among the general population." From there, a turn south to a well-equipped, though fairly mundane, workshop, with a full set of woodworking and auto mechanic tools. It was something others would drool over, but still not what she expected from the Super-Scientist. He walked up to one workbench and moved a few select items around, causing another concealed door to open, revealing another small elevator. "One highly publicized proposal, published in 2005, puts the psychometric findings into an evolutionary perspective, suggesting that the Ashkenazi collective history of segregation and persecution in medieval Europe could have prompted higher intelligence to emerge as a result of natural selection. This proposal has, predictably, been criticized on various grounds, as the studies touch upon several sensitive subjects such as the link between race and intelligence -- both concepts about the definition and nature of which there is little agreement among specialists -- as well as issues of racialism and anti-semitism." "How does that work, anyway? The 'quarter Jewish' thing, that is? I do not know how Jewish my paternal grandmother was, if she was full, half, quarter, or what, but that would determine how Jewish I am, yes? I heard once it is not all genetics, though, that it takes religion and culture into account, too... which would make me not Jewish at all." The elevator took them down, another level, and when it opened, Grim finally saw what she knew had to be here: Archeville's main laboratories and workshops. Ahead, physics and mechanical workstations (including a blacksmith's forge), and beyond it, chemical/biochemical/bio-electronic laboratories. To the left, an automated surgery and operating theater; to the right, computer, electronics, and robotics workstations. In the middle, where all four met, a massive pillar rose up, filled with monitors, each showing a different scene, news from around the world. Smells coming from a small hallway off the electronics and robotics section caught Lynn's attention, water and chlorine -- a pool! He looked at her, and was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "So... where do you want to start?"

Archeville stared numbly at Miss Americana, his jaw ever-so-slightly agape. But then he was a-whirl again, slapping both hands on the table as he stood up, actually going up a bit higher than he's intended due to excitement thanks to his Gravimetric Belt. "Of course!" He flew over his desk to land next to her, "but some training would be necessary for certain 'spells,' to... format the hard drive, as it were, and defragment the clutter. And that could be why they go on about how 'the uninitiated are not ready' and 'forbidden tomes' with 'things man was not meant to know' -- an unprepared, inexperienced mind cannot adequately process the ideograms! Ha!" He clapped his hands and spun around in the air, "this could be a huge find, both for understanding 'magic' and a number of psychological and neurological fields!"

"My theory," he began, a wistful tone creeping into his voice, "is that they all share a common mutation -- an unusually common one, at that, one passed from generation to generation with remarkable stability and does not show on standard metahuman genetics scans -- which at its base level allows them to generate and manipulate the four quantum forces. As with other types of energy manipulators, proper practice and training allows them to use this power for a wide range of effects. In their case, though, the training comes not just from friendly allies and experienced mentors but also from 'spellbooks,' which are at their core a series of mental exercises that put a person in the 'right frame of mind' to use their power for a given effect." Another few quick taps on the laser-keyboard, and the holo-images showed pages from alchemical and astrological texts, hexagrams from the I Ching, summoning circles from the Key of Solomon, sigils from Sefer Raziel HaMalakh, and others. "Of course, these are all couched in densely symbolic images and archaic jargon, and being passed on through the years and being translated and re-translated and having assorted notes and marginalia added just further muddy it. But the fact that they do work, that these 'mages' can use them to do all manner of things, indicates that there is something to them. As for the chanting and gesturing," he said making the 'devil horns' gesture, "those are likely psychosomatic limitations placed by their elders, who worked under them because that's how their elders did it, and so on, stretching back to the first 'spellcasters' who associated certain words and gestures with their 'spells' because they just happened to be position that way and uttered that string of words when the effect they were trying for went off, or used them as some sort of meditation aid."

Dead Head, not noticing Ouroboros' predicament, had walked up to Avenger. "Get a good sniff, boy," he said to the space next to him, "we'll need ya to track Taylor." All heard a sniffing sound, as if a large invisible hound were sniffing the shard in Avenger's hand. "If Ouroboros cain't get us there," the revenant said while unslinging the shiny new shovel from his back, "I may be able t'take us. When Ghede left me I lost most'a my mojo, but Taylor's been helpin' me re-learn a few things."

Do you need to buy Extra to affect the extra damage from Sneak Attack? Or are those extras applied to that damage as a fiat? With Damage 4 and Sneak Attack (+2 Damage), would A Mutt need Alt Save [Fort] for 4 ranks, or 6?

An alternative version, who is alive, but still immune to most mortal concerns, and can take on solid form. Abilities: [6 + 4 + 10 + -4 + 4 + 0 = 20pp] Str 16 (+3) Dex 14 (+2) Con 20 (+5) Int 6 (-2) Wis 14 (+2) Cha 10 (+0) Combat: [8 on Attack, 8 on Defense = 16pp] Attack +4 (ranged), +6 (melee) Grapple +9 Damage +4 (bite); +2 more w/ Sneak Attack Defense +6 (+4 Base, +2 Dodge Focus), +2 flat-footed Knockback -3 Initiative +2 Saves: [0 + 3 + 3 = 6pp] Toughness +6 Fort +5 (+5 Con, +0) Ref +5 (+2 Dex, +3) Will +5 (+2 Wis, +3) Skills: [48 ranks = 12pp] Intimidate 14 (+14) Notice 13 (+15) Stealth 13 (+15) Survival 8 (+10) Feats: [18 feats] Attack Focus (Melee) 2 Dodge Focus 2 Fearsome Presence 10 Improved Trip Skill Mastery (Intimidate, Notice, Stealth, Survival) Sneak Attack Startle Powers: [22 + 3 + 11 + 26 + 10 + 1 + 9 = 82pp] Concealment 10 (all senses; PFs: Close Range, Selective) [22PP] Note: Duration is reversed (a +0 Extra). It is an active sustained effect for him to be un-concealed, and if unable to sustain the power, he goes completely concealed. Flight 1 ("air walking"; PF: Subtle) [3PP] Immunity 11 (life support, need for sleep, starvation/thirst) [11PP] Insubstantial 4 (ghost form; affected by blessed, magical or silver attacks; Extra: Duration [Continuous]; PFs: Selective, Subtle) [26PP] Note: Duration is reversed (a +0 Extra). It is an active sustained effect for him to be corporeal, and if unable to sustain the power, he goes completely incorporeal. Mighty Jaws of Doom 4.5 (9 points; PF: Alternate Power) [10PP] BE: Strike 1 (standard jaws of doom; Extra: Affects Corporeal 4; PFs: Affects Insubstantial 2, Incurable, Mighty) [9/9PP] AP: Strike 1 (spirit-shredding jaws of doom; Extras: Affects Corporeal 4, Alternate Save [Fort] 4; Flaw: Action [Full round] 4; PFs: Affects Insubstantial 2, Incurable, Mighty) [9/9PP] Protection 1 [1PP] Super-Senses 5 (darkvision, scent, tracking [olfactory; Extra: Extended; PFs: Dimensional 3], ultra-hearing) [9PP] Drawbacks: [-4PP] Disability (no hands; very common, moderate; -4PP) DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed/Claws Melee DC 18 Toughness Damage (Staged) Jaws, Standard Melee DC 19 Toughness Damage (Staged) +2 more to DC w/ Sneak Attack Jaws, Soul-Shred Melee DC 19 Fortitude Damage (Staged) Totals: Abilities 20 + Combat 16 + Saves 6 + Skills 12 (48 ranks) + Feats 18 + Powers 82 - Drawbacks 4 = 150/150pp

Cyclone, Slick, and Blackstar all lay unconscious. Binder was barely better. Radium, still bound, saw what Fulcrum did to his teammate, and saw her run off. But he also saw the Castle's defenses were no longer targeting him -- he was bound, and thus not a threat as far as the Castle's sensors were concerned. But he didn't need to move to be a threat, and the capturefoam binding him didn't block the deadly radiation he was now emitting. When that amazonian Iranian returned, she would be in for a surprise! Thunderbolt was furious at this indignity, but showed amazing restraint... for a moment. He tried accessing the power core's computer control system, to start an overload from there, but the security was too good. Bah! He did not need to do that, he could simply transmit himself into the power core! And that's exactly what he did, using the grating in the floor to conduct himself out of the noncondcutive foam and into the Castle's systems.

Binder knew there was someone there -- probably the Doktor himself, with that damnable cloaking field of his! The one thing he had not taken into account was the he would be here! He fired a blob of resin wildly at the area from which he'd been struck, then kicked on his jetpack and flew out. Fulcrum heard Binder fly by, and guessed he made it to the courtyard, then heard a stutter in the jets as the cloaked Archeville laid a precise blow to the gap at the neck joint in Binder's armor. "" The Castle's defenses turned from the bound Radium to the one threat still active: Thunderbolt. The interior nozzles fires, and the electrokinetic was engulfed in capturefoam!

20 -- Blackstar -- Bruised, Unconscious 18 -- Fulcrum -- Unharmed -- 3 HP 16 -- Slick -- Unconscious 14A -- Binder -- bruised, stunned, fatigued 14B -- Dok -- Unharmed -- 0 HP 11 -- Cyclone -- Bruised, Staggered, Unconscious 4 -- Thunderbolt -- Bruised x2, -1 Con 4 -- Radium -- Unharmed, bound/helpless (Snare 12) Slick Unconscious! Binder Knows there is something here, most likely Doktor Archeville with his cloaking field. Unfortunately for him, he had not planned on Dok being at the Castle. GM Fiat to shake off stun so he can act. Dok gets the HP. Standard Action: attack with Burst Area Snare. 50/50 chance to even try hitting Dok due to Concealment; 1-10 = complete miss (1d20=7) Misses completely! Free Action: Radio Thunderbolt. Move Action: Fly out the room, attempt to leave Castle. He gets to the courtyard. 20 -- Blackstar -- Bruised, Unconscious 18 -- Fulcrum -- Unharmed -- 3 HP 16 -- Slick -- Unconscious 14A -- Binder -- bruised, stunned, fatigued 14B -- Dok -- Unharmed -- 1 HP 11 -- Cyclone -- Bruised, Staggered, Unconscious 4 -- Thunderbolt -- Bruised x2, -1 Con 4 -- Radium -- Unharmed, bound/helpless (Snare 12) Dok Move Action: Fly after Binder Standard Action: Punching! Attack vs. Binder (Defense 12 flat-footed); power attack for +/-5, sneak attack applies due to concealment; DC 25 Toughness save if he hits (1d20+15=33) (exactly the same as last round -- eerie!) Toughness save (DC 25); includes -1 penalty from bruise (1d20+9=13) Fails by 12, he's staggered & stunned! Concentration check to maintain Flight (DC 13) (1d20+1=18) Binder's Flight doesn't cut out, so he doesn't immediately fall. Free Action: De-cloak, put primary force field back up. Castle Defenses Senses Radium is still bound, switches targets to Thunderbolt. Attack vs. Thunderbolt (Defense 14); DC 23 Reflex save vs. Snare 13 if it hits (1d20+14=19) Reflex save (DC 23) (1d20+7=12) Fails by 11, he is bound and helpless! 20 -- Blackstar -- Bruised, Unconscious 18 -- Fulcrum -- Unharmed -- 3 HP 16 -- Slick -- Unconscious 14A -- Binder -- bruised, fatigued, staggered, stunned 14B -- Dok -- Unharmed -- 1 HP 11 -- Cyclone -- Bruised, Staggered, Unconscious 4 -- Thunderbolt -- Bruised x2, bound/helpless (Snare 13) 4 -- Radium -- Unharmed, bound/helpless (Snare 12) Cyclone Unconscious! Thunderbolt Is bound/helpless in a Toughness 13 Snare. Standard Action: Use Datalink to access Castle's power grid and cause an overload. DC is 40... which he cannot get. So he's gotta do it the hard way. Move Action: Transmit out of Snare, into power core. Radium Is bound/helpless in a Toughness 12 Snare. And he saw Fulcrum shoryuken Blackstar. But then she ran off. Standard Action: Extra Effort to stunt off Radiation Control 10 Drain Constitution 9 (deadly radiation; Extra: Area [50-ft. radius Burst]; PFs: Subtle, Slow Fade 1 [1pp per Minute]) And he waits... Will be fatigued at beginning of next round Begin round 9 20 -- Blackstar -- Bruised, Unconscious 18 -- Fulcrum -- Unharmed -- 3 HP 16 -- Slick -- Unconscious 14A -- Binder -- bruised, fatigued, staggered, stunned 14B -- Dok -- Unharmed -- 1 HP 11 -- Cyclone -- Bruised, Staggered, Unconscious 4 -- Thunderbolt -- Bruised x2 4 -- Radium -- Unharmed, bound/helpless (Snare 12); will be fatigued at beginning of next round Blackstar Unconscious!

Sounds good! And now it is Dok's time for aaaangst!

Archeville placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "I am sorry for your loss, Lynn. But you have kept him in your heart, and in that way he lives on, though your heroic deeds. It.. that is partly the same reason I do what I do." The Doktor sat back, and took a deep breath, "you know, of course, my infamous grandfather, Doktor Verrill Herman Archeville. Loyal soldier for the German Empire in World War I, dedicated 'mad scientist' for the Nazis in World War II. When Verrill learned that his mistress was a Jew, he shot her, but she managed to get away... and, unknown to him, with a son in her womb. That son, Varick, was born and raised in West Germany by his mother, and became a computer engineer of some skill. He eventually met a psychology student, Cynthia Bauer, and the two were wed. Unfortunately, there were complications during my birth, and she passed away." He paused a moment, "my father raised me by himself, and his task was made a bit easier by my extreme intellect -- I was speaking coherent sentences before my first birthday, and when I entered kindergarten I was reading at a second grade level. But this also worried him, for he knew that extreme intellect carried an increased risk for mental problems, as shown by his father, and rumored to exist in many of our ancestors. Verrill's father was a glassblower and silversmith obsessed with duality, and others showed evidence of extreme bipolar, multiple personality disorder, and the gamut of psychopathological and sociopathological disorders. Concern over my own mental health, combined with increased stresses at work, took a toll on his own sanity. A great toll," his voice trailed off. He paused again, in a very and detached flat tone. "On June second, 1977 -- my thirteenth birthday -- at 3:54pm, my father tried to kill me. I had just come home from school, bringing in applications to several colleges; he ran at me with a cleaver, screaming about 'protecting the world' and the 'danger' I posed. I evaded him, got out of the house, and ran to the Bundespolizei, the local police. They captured my father, who never stopped ranting about me, and had him committed to an asylum." "He is still there today, and has gotten worse. A 'heretofore unseen combination of late-onset Tay-Sachs disease and something akin to Lesch-Nyhan syndrome,' they say. As for me, well, adoptions are tricky at best, and near impossible if the child is in his teens, so for several years, I was effectively a ward of the state... an especially difficult life, given my grandfather's status and the stigma still associated with the Lebensborn." He swallowed hard, then continued, his tone returning to a normal level. "So I dedicated myself to aiding others. To make sure no child was left parentless, that no one with mental illness need suffer in silence."

Added vignettes for Arrowhawk, Equinox, and Geckoman!

10pm, Friday 15th October Geckoman sauntered casually out of the alleyway, leaving a couple of hapless muggers tied up with a tracer beacon for Freedom's Finest to come collect them. "All in all, a good night's work," he said to the air, as he reached into his pocket for a Twinkie. Taking a deep bite out of it, he suddenly found himself pinned to the wall by a dark-haired woman with pale skin and red eyes. Oh, and the fangs. "How about I take a bite out of you?" Her breath smelt like the grave, and of blood and gore. But Geckoman remained unabashed. "My centre's only slightly creamy, I should warn you," he said, looking disappointedly at his dropped snack. "A little stale, I think." The woman effortlessly hefted him over her head and threw him out into the street. He rolled up into a crouch, backflipping over the vampire as she surged at him for another strike. "Dear Lord, woman, can't you find a 7-11?" Parrying a lightning fast blow, he followed up with a swift gut punch. Vampire Lady didn't even flinch, shrugging off the blow as if it was nothing. "I hunger. Can't you smell the death in the air? It makes me HUNGRY." Her jaws lunged at Geckoman's throat, only deflected by a quick spinning kick. It threw the woman off-balance and onto her back. "Well, I was hungry!" shouted Geckoman, sounding like he was genuinely angry. "My twinkie!" He rushed in again, the two combatants moving ridiculously fast, striking and parrying so fast the air hissed around them. And, in a flash, Geckoman was behind her, leaping through the window of a jeweler's. He ducked and dived through the glass display cases of the dark shop, inspecting the rings and watches and bracelets as he did. "Oooh, how many carats? C'mon, lady, let me buy you a little something." With a feral snarl, she grabbed him by the neck just as he'd palmed an object from one of the smashed cases. Right, I hope I can identify precious metals on sight. He held his hand out, palm up, a beautiful silver ring held in it. "Crazy vampire lady, will you marry me?" Her grip loosened in shock, and she just stared at the green-clad teenager. "It's your soulless red eyes, they just make me wanna spend the rest of my unlife with you." To her credit, Vampire Lady rallied admirably, raising her other hand to punch Geckoman in the face. But he was faster, slipping the ring on. "Yes, Geckoman, I will marry me!" And, with a quick one-two, the silver ring gouged a huge dent across the vampire's face. He followed up swiftly, smashing her head through one of the few undamaged glass displays, before grabbing a chair and snapping its leg off. "STELLLLLAAAAAAAAAAA!" he cried, thrusting the stake into the vampire's heart, leaving her hanging lifeless and unmoving with her head unceremoniously trapped inside a jeweler's cabinet. At which point he leaned up against the cabinet, knowing the silent alarm would soon have the police and the owner running. At which point he'd need to explain away the damage to the shop, and to a very expensive silver engagement ring. "Ho-hum," murmured the Geckoman as he took up his guard duty, pulling out another Twinkie and biting into it. Then he paused and sniffed the air. For a second, if only for that amount of time, he thought he'd smelt death. And he got a bad feeling about the future.

Nice 8-) Also, Dok's made an IC suggestion for getting this started.

"You both raise excellent points," Archeville interjected. "Weapons -- and to an extent armor -- are only as good as the person who wields them, and altering the socioeconomic environment such that crime never occurs in the first place is preferable to stopping crimes after they have occurred. Better to never get sick in the first place than to fight off an infection with antibiotics, the overuse of which can result in new drug-resistant strains of bacteria. However, the scope of Miss Albright's is considerably broader than the time allowed for today's meeting would permit. We would be talking wide-ranging social engineering, and that requires significant time and resources." "Put simply," he began, tapping on his keypad and creating a holographic image of the Earth above the table, "the people assembled in this room have the capacity to make true change to the world, as surely as heroes like the Freedom League does." "We can provide medical care in underserved areas, improve agricultural production throughout the world, finding alternative and cleaner energy sources, developing medical prosthetics, and much, much more." "My own company, ArcheTech," another few taps and the company logo appeared off to the side of the globe, "does much work along such lines, as do other think-tanks such as ASTRO Labs. Some of you here are affiliated with one of these institutions, but for those of you who are not, I suggest joining one -- if not forming your own."

The newest Marvel 'toon, The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, rocks on toast. Watch it!

Kid Cthulhu helps clean up the BP oil spill (warning: South Park)