Dr Archeville

8pm, Sunday, 31st October, 2010 Hallowe'en. Samhain. All Hallow's Eve. A night of ghosts, ghouls and spectres. And also the night that Equinox stood in the middle of her street, facing down the swarm of zombies coming towards her. Some blurred to and fro in zig-zagging paths, weaving between their slower comrades. Some punched down on car bonnets, sending them flipping up and over their heads. And some, the ones nearest the powerful witch... some were burned to ashes. Blazing with white light, she refused to give an inch. As soon as a zombie got near enough to claw at her, she casually parried the gesture with a force field of solid white light, and spun her wand around to hurl it flying away with a burst of wind stronger than a hurricane. All the while, between cutting through swathes of zombies and fending off their attacks, she burnt parts of a pentagram into the ground around her. The acrid smell of molten concrete surrounded her as it slowly took shape. Then, in one fluid gesture, Equinox finished the circle, causing it to form into a glowing nimbus of white light. Ravening undead claws and fangs broke and were turned away from it, as she began invoking to her Lord and Lady, wand raised high. "Spirit and soul, flesh and bone, Against this horde, I stand alone, Beloved Goddess, aid my toil, Blessed God, empower my hand, Return these creatures to the soil, And bring peace to this land!" In that moment, waves of blindingly white force exploded forth from the circle, ripping and tearing at the mystic energy empowering these beasts. Lifeless corpses crumbled and fell to the floor, some returning to grave dust in the process. Equinox began laughing as the power flowed through her, cutting them down en masse. Then she felt the powerful will hit her like a freight train. While the nearest zombies had all fallen, some of those further away hadn't fallen, and were coming at her with renewed vigour. Hades. A voiceless cry of defiance raised itself from her lungs as the dark god's will drove her to her knees. They were coming at her, her spell was failing, and there was nothing she could do but fall to her knees, the mental assault blurring her vision with white spots and spirals. The barriers were down, and Hades' power was no longer so restricted. Hand tearing at her pentacle, Siobhan managed to tug it off, snapping the chain. It works both ways. She stood up, raising her pentacle high. Spirit, fire, water, earth, air; one point for the five fundamental powers of the universe. "I fear not thy power, thou should'st fear mine, I fear not thy spells, or your undead kine, My spell will work, Now, go away, zombies, GO!" With one phenomenal effort of will, Equinox's blinding light went out, the charms in her pentagram dissipating, her own wards gone with them, every ounce of magic power and will she possessed, hurled at the stonewall the deity had placed upon her spell. And shattered a hole clean through it, scouring every zombie she could sense for a good distance around her. Siobhan fell down once more in her pentagram, breathing hard. I won. But she forced herself to get up again, casting her great white wings around her once more. And, flying off towards the city center, she knew she had to finish this, and help find the culprits.

Sunday, October 10th, South Freedom: Southside The dark figure crept through the deep black shadows, unseen, silent and predatory. These drug wars are getting too much, it thought. And this maintenance duct is too cramped. It slid into position against a wall next to a large duct. Peering through its domino mask, red eyes glared through at the scene inside the room. Three men, in battered, grimy clothes, were injecting some strange white compound into their arms. There it is. That new drug they're peddling. The shadow crouched down, bracing his powerful muscles for a leap. Arrowhawk crashed through the vent, kicking the heavy metal halfway across the room with his aerial kick. His wing-like cloak billowed around him like black feathers of an avenging angel. "Don't move," he snarled, his longbow appearing in his hands along with a pointed arrow. "And put down the drugs." Startled, one of the men, a redhead with harsh, weatherworn featrures, looked around with a start, hazy eyes focusing on the dark figure aiming an arrow at him. But, oddly, his head had shot round so fast that it blurred. And, rather than a look of fear, or even a look of drugged confusion, a look of malice crossed his face. And in a shot, the second man had appeared behind Arrowhawk, pinning his arms behind him with impossible strength and sending his bow clattering to the floor. At the same time, the redheaded druggie had picked up a heavy-looking wooden table and hurled it clean at the archer. Oh, f- The impact was so powerful it hurled bth Arrowhawk and the man pinning him backwards, and through the wall in a shower of bricks and mortar. Reeling from the impact, Arrowhawk rolled free of the junkie's grip and through the cloud of cement dust. Extending an arm for his bow, the third junkie, who'd thus far elected not to make his presence felt, decided to dump an armchair on the old superhero's back. He roared in pain, standing up abruptly both to throw off the chair and to duck the redhead's rapidly approaching kick. While not as fast, he was more experienced, and was able to grab the man's leg in both hands and hurl him around into the new doorway that'd been created. Pausing to get his bearings once more, the two other junkies crashed into him, and kept going. Walls collapsed, doors splintered and glass shattered as, eventually, they stopped short outside the building and the trail of destruction they'd made. But Arrowhawk didn't, the momentum and their superhuman strength leaving his flying through the night. A pale figure shook him awake, trapped in the rubble of the wall he'd hit. Groaning, Arrowhawk tried to get up. He felt his chest, knowing some ribs were broken. His breath was coming in short, painful gasps. He forced his head to look up from the hand of the pale figure, to its ghostly, translucent features. She was a middle-aged housewife, pretty, but not beautiful. Her hair was cropped in a bob, with bangs framing either side of her face. "Arrowhawk." The voice wasn't nearly so pale and ghostly as her appearance. In fact, it echoed darkly, lending the spirit of an average housewife a simply terrifying aura. All he could do was nod meekly. "Jane Delaney," he managed, voice low and hoarse. "I suppose, world being how it is, this had to happen one day." Jane smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "The wall between worlds is thinning, and I managed to come back. To make you pay." Raising both arms above her head, all the rubble suddenly lifted off Arrowhawk, and he gratefully climbed to his feet. He pulled out his staff, extended it with the click of a button and then leaning on the thin pole of metal. "Listen, I'm sorry for wh-" He was cut off by the rubble abruptly ceasing to levitate, and being brought down in a furious hammer blow upon him. He sank to his knees, blood gushing from a wound on his forehead, leg pinned by a huge chunk of concrete. "SORRY? YOU THINK SORRY CUTS IT?" Jane thrust a hand forwards, tearing an unresisting Arrowhawk out of the rubble and into a lamp post, before spinning him around in mid-air, and hurling him head-first onto the street. He lay there, prone at her feet for a good while, unmoving, eyes flickering. "No. It doesn't. Are you going to kill me, Jane?" He just kept lying there, not even trying to fight back, or run, or anything. I deserve this. But, to his surprise, he faltered. "I... don't know." Dead, pale blue eyes looked down on the prostrate vigilante imperiously. "Just tell me one thing, before I make my decision. Why?" Helplessly, Arrowhawk looked up, raising his hand to pull off his mask and push down his hood. "I got dumb. I got stupid. I got cocky," said John Fraser quietly. "I thought I was doing the right thing, stopping Malice. The real reason, in hindsight? He'd wronged me. I had no good reason to bring him down like that. His incarceration was a side effect, not what was really intended." Plaintively, he looked Jane in the eye. "And I've spent every night since then trying desperately to make up for it." Jane was silent for a long time, John waiting patiently for an answer. "It's not enugh. It won't let me be with my husband again. It won't give my kids their mom back. And it won't give those people back the homes they worked so hard to make, not properly." Despite not needing to breath, she breathed in deeply. "But I can't kill you. It's wrong. I'm not a killer, I wasn't in life. I'm not going to start in death. So here's what you're going to do." Jane looked Arrowhawk dead in the eye. "You keep on fighting for us. For the people that need protected. But, if you make another error like that which results in one death... I will find my way back. And this discussion will go differently." It was less a threat, than a mother telling off a child's monumental lapse in judgement. "So get up. Now. And you will stop those junkies from using, and distributing, and ruining my city. You're not from here, but I lived in Freedom City all my life. I helped rebuild from the Terminus Invasion." Arrowhawk had stood up, replacing his mask and hood. "I understand," he said quietly. "Thank you." But she'd already turned and walked away, fading into ephemera as he did so. And he walked away too. To stop three superpowered drug addicts and get his damn longbow back.

Archeville grinned at her talk of youthful stupidity, "I have heard worse. I will have to tell you someday about some of the 'wacky hijinx' I got in to when I was in college." He noted her change when she spoke of Nightrival and Nanowire, "It is good you found allies and friends. I am passingly familiar with both of them, though I have not heard anything from either in some time. Nightrival was some sort of martial artist, I believe, and Nanowire a rather advanced Japanese cyborg, yes? How did you two start dating? Er, if you do not mind me asking, that is."

"I have been in talks with a few, both from her and from my homeland, and some of them seem receptive to the idea. In a few weeks I plan to make a public announcement", he said, spreading his hands wide before him, "asking for any 'magical' or 'supernatural' being who would consent to having their abilities studied to come to an ArcheTech facility; I will stress both discretion and a sizable cash incentive for doing so. As for actual tests, I have only run a few on one being, a vampire. Or, rather, on the skin samples he had given me to work on during a particularly bizarre case; when we began working together on it I did not know at first he was -- or claimed to be -- a vampire. They proved quite difficult to test, though, due to some light-refracting property his tissues possessed. You see, this particular vampire does not show up on technological visual sensors, cannot be photographed or videotaped," he slapped one hand on the desktop, "he does not even reflect in a mirror! And his cells proved equally undetectable to PET, x-ray CT -- even SPECT! Fortunately, a combination of some very advanced ultrasonic scanners and MRI allowed me to glean some information... and raised about a dozen more questions!" "Of course, I do not wish to merely increase understanding of the 'magical' and 'supernatural': I wish to alleviate its more detrimental elements. To this same vampire I also gave a blood substitute I had developed, which he claims was enough to satisfy his physical requirements, but he still had an urge to hunt; it would seem that the need for blood is both physiological and psychological. He has disseminated the substitute to other vampires, in an effort to get them to stop hunting. If the hungers of a vampire, or the changes of a werewolf, can be controlled, well, I believe the benefit to all involved is clear." "What I would really like to study, though," he leaned forward slightly, "are some mages. Spellcasters, witches, that sort. I have a few hypotheses about their abilities, too."

Kooky is fine! Unfortunately, that's not enough to get him up & out of the hangar/back tot he courtyard, and the short fall back down won't do any more damage to him (since he's already KO'd). And now for another mega-post :xd:

Indeed so, and I'm PMing you what she finds.

As Archeville sat at his desk, Gina noted he had a very Cheshire cat grin on. "Those are precisely the sorts of questions ArcheTech strives to answer, questions I myself have tried to answer for years! And while I do think it is quite flattering of you to say we do the most research, I would point out that one of our friendly rivals, the Albright Institute, has done a great deal as well. Though I am hoping to start a new line of research that would leave them in the dust..." His fingers flew over the glass-topped desk, which has a laser keyboard projected on it from tiny devices in the corners of the desk. Holograms appeared in the middle of the room again, showing news footage and performances by a variety of metahumans. "Everyone is familiar with superheroes and supervillains, right? And many scientists know some basics about their abilities; it is how institutions like Blackstone can function, because you cannot nullify something if you do not know how it works. At least, not without causing system-wide damage to the individual... but!" His fingers flew again, and the image shifted, now showing what appeared to be scenes from classic Universal Monster movies, in glorious 3-D holography. "But there is still much that has not even been approached by researchers. If the Freedom League was sent back in time a few thousand years, they would be seen as gods -- what about the reverse? It is my belief that all those so-called vampires and werewolves and mages and so on are, in fact, metahumans -- or possibly aliens -- same as the League or the Atom Family, and that they can be brought into the light of reason the same way so many other things have!"

Dead Head's vignette (at the final battle) is up!

November 1st (Monday). 12:04 am. The dead were rising in Freedom City, and coming in from all over, but in a cavern deep beneath the city, things were far worse. Hades, Greek God of the Underworld, had almost completed his mad gambit to separate his godly essence from his divine form in Tartarus and insert it into the immortal form of Daedalus, one of his most hated foes. A gathering of Freedom's defenders –- Avenger, Breakdown, Dead Head, Equinox, Freedom Angel, Fulcrum, Jack of all Blades (and Jill O'Cure), Nick Cimitiere, Ouroboros, Phantom, and Robin Cross, and a handful of others –- had gathered to stop the foul machinations, and had succeeded… with some unexpected assistance. Baron Samedi, loa of the dead, emerged from the shadows (despite having already been taken out once by Baron Cimitiere some days prior), with his own krewe of zombis, tonton macoutes (the boogeymen of Haitian voodoo), and other vile and corrupt spirits, to stop the Greek upstart. Once the mages (and Samedi) ruined the ritual, the scene devolved into a three way battle when Hades' own forces (an assortment of cultists, undead, and a few monsters such as erinyes, harpies, lamia, and a great fire-breathing hydra) swooped in to avenge their thwarted master. The Heroes had just managed to get the brainwashed Daedalus free and to a safe corner when things took yet another turn. "Meddlesome mortals!" Hades bellowed from across the portal to Tartarus, "And you! I thought one of your brothers had taken you back to the depths?" "Oughta be careful 'bout what rumors you listen to," the loa hissed. "Besides, it'd take more'n one'a me brothers t'take ol' Samedi down!" "How 'bout your Papa?" a voice rang out. Incredibly, Samedi's face fell a bit at the sound of it. The source of the voice was Dead Head, who stood in roughly the center of the chamber and was glaring at Samedi. Suddenly the super-zombie went slack as a translucent figure stepped out of him. It looked much like Baron Samedi, but more beneficent – a white tuxedo and tall top hat instead of black, and an apple in his hand instead of a skull. Many of the mystics knew who this was – Papa Ghede, the good counterpart to Baron Samedi – but he hadn’t been seen in a decade! "No!" Samedi raged, "I saw you shredded by that Horror Malador tried to summon!" "I was, an' if not for Burt here," Ghede gestured to Dead Head's inert form crumpled on the ground, "I'd still be lickin' me wounds. Didn't go quite as I'd hoped," he said while sneering at the glowing green worm he picked from his apple, which he dropped to the cavern floor and stomped on, "but it worked out in the end. I mean, I’m here now, right?" Those with the proper mystical senses and knowledge realized that the worm Ghede had just squashed was the remnant of some pseudonatural creature. Perhaps something left from his battle with the Horror Samedi mentioned? "Now, you two," Ghede glared at both Samedi and Hades, "have a lot to be answerin' for. Samedi, you been goin' too far lately, an' Cimitiere was right to carry you back to Guinee. You breakin' free an' comin' back just compounds the problem." Ghede took a large bite from his apple; as he did, the earth below the feet of Samedi and all his minions split open, revealing some very out-of-place water beneath them. Spectral chains shot up from the water and latched onto Samedi and his minions, and dragged them all into the water as the earth closed back over them. "And as for you," Ghede continued as he spun around to face Hades, "not only are you violatin' the spirit of you imprisonment, you play a dangerous game by mixin' magics like this. I think both Zeus an' Damballah are gonna be wantin' words wit' you." Two forms appeared behind Hades in Tartarus, and placed hands on his shoulders to drag him away. One of the hands was not a hand, but rather a serpent’s tail. As the image faded, Hades’ forces either withdrew or faded away. "Well, I think that’s that," Ghede said as wiped his hands on his coat, "so I’ll jes' be go- oh." The loa looked down at Dead Head's still very inert form, then up to a spot a few feet above it. [bg=#000000]What... what happened? I- oh... aw, crud! I'm dead... Dead-dead, ain't I?[/bg] "Yeah, y'are," Ghede replied to the air, his tone a mix of compassion and finality. "But y'had a good run while I was holed up in ya. But now, it be time t'be movin' on, jes' like ye helped all them others move on. Don' worry none, I got a nice, comfy spot for ye in Guinee." [bg=#000000]No! I don' want t'go! I got so much more I can do![/bg] The heroes realized what was going on -- Ghede had been using Dead Head as a place to hide and heal, and now that he was whole again, he no longer needed to stay in him, which meant he would de-animate -- and most did not care for it. Breakdown and Jack of all Blades were the loudest dissenters, the former speaking of second chances, the latter praising Dead Head's dedication to protecting the innocent from monsters (and threatening a stabpunch in the face and storming Guinee if Ghede didn't leave him). Avenger, though, snuck out, not wanting to be around for discussion over who should be alive, dead, or undead. Once all had said their piece, Ghede looked over everyone, then back to the space over Dead Head's inert form. "Looks like ya got youself a good number's friends here. I can see why you'd want t'stay." [bg=#000000]Not just for them! For all the innocents who cannot stand against the monsters! For the children who should be allowed to enjoy their childhood! For the dead still bound to the lands of the living, or who've been forgotten![/bg] Ghede smiled and approached Dead Head's corpse, "Yeah, I knew you'd say that. But know this, little one: if I let you stay, you won't be the same as you were. You won't have my power inside you t'draw on... but I think I might be able t'give you a few other boons in return." Ghede knelt beside the body, and placed two fingers over his chest. The body spasmed as if struck by a powerful electrical jolt, then bolted upright. His body was partially restored; he no longer looked as rotted, though was still clearly dead (more mummy-like than zombie-like), and his eyes glowed blue instead of green. The left half of his face suddenly lifted up slightly, as if being licked by an invisible dog; those who could see such things saw that a ghostly mastiff-like hound was doing exactly that! "Whoa, what's goin' on?!" "It be part'a me gift to you" Ghede explained as he began fading from view, "one'a Legba's hounds. This one be a fine scout, an' got one hell of a howl!" "Yeah, but- whoa!" he began, then stopped as he saw his new appearance. This lasted only a moment, as his usual easy nature resurfaced. "Dang... all sorts'a craziness goin' on tonight."

"You do not know the half of it!," he said with a grin and a wave of the stacks of paper in his hand. "There are some problems even my intellect cannot form easy solutions to. Well, not without having ArcheTech monopolize dozens of different industries!" He flashed another smile at her, and a quick wink, "Of course, doing that would carry all sorts of problems, too!" "As for the psych evaluation," he continued as he lead her down twisting hallways, "it is a key part of what I call the 'No Metahuman Left Behind' policy. In addition to evaluating and offering counseling to our staff, it is corporate mandate to offer information and needed medical assistance to new metahumans manifesting their powers, within reasonable limits pertaining to the safety of their personnel. Many -- though not all, of course -- metahumans become criminals through ignorance, circumstances, or special needs, and if new metahumans can be guided to the right side of the fence from the beginning, well, the benefits are clear." It was clear this was a topic he was very enthused about, and with good reason -- Archeville had a very personal interest in psychology and mental illness. Soon they were at the double doors of Archeville's private office, which opened silently as they approached.

He was not flat-footed, but that does hit him. Fortunately for him, his density's still up. Toughness save, DC 34! (1d20+10=11) :shock: So, yeah, he's KO'd.... Knockback is your damage (14; power attack does not figure in) - his KB modifiers (-10 [he's dense!]) = 4 = 10 feet. Want to knock him into anything in particular? Options are a wall, a fancy and funky jet, up (shoryuken!), or down.

"We're gettin' Jack-Jack back," a familiar voice said. Dead Head had run as fast as his untiring body could, and got to the library just in time to hear Avenger's orders. Jack looks like he's about to kill someone, an' I cain't say I blame 'im. An' I don't even wanna think what's going on with his future-self. "Whatcha need from me, man? I may not have all the mojo I used to, but 'tween me an' Mutt here," he patted something solid but unseen next to him, "ain't nuthin' stayin' hid fer long." A low guttural growl issued for the from next to Dead Head.

... does Wander know Dead Head hangs out around there? Does Dead Head know Wander's the babysitter?

Actually, we're out of init phases now, since the last Squrm's been KO'd. Unless no one does anything to it in the next ten rounds, at which point it may regain consciousness.

Of course Dead Head's up for it, but be aware he's undergoing some severe changes as a result of the October hijinx. (He'll be knocked down to PL 10.)

"Ah, that is quite prudent of you. Many scientists do not think to keep backups of their most important date -- themselves! As for security... ah!" Archeville clapped his hands sharply, "you can generate radio signals, yes? Like an RFID tag? Much of our security works with those, so you can use that to access any secure sections you would need!" The elevator doors slid open, and they were greeted by a far more office-like scene. Sounds of keyboards clacking and water cooler talk, and interns were seen running up and down the halls. He lead her to the personnel office, where a bubbly young Thai woman. "Hello, Jenny! This is Miss Americana, she is going to be working with us. She will need to be entered into the system, of course, but there are a few... atypical aspects to her" he said with a wink, "so after you get her basic info in, I will handle the rest myself. While you do that," he turned to Miss Americana, "I can see to all the things over here that require my signature which I have been putting off for far too long." After a quick laugh, he as out the door. Getting put into the system was easy enough, and Jenny made it as un-tedious as possible, mainly by peppering her spiels with Doctor Who quotes. Something Archeville had not mentioned was the psychiatric evaluation and care part of the health care coverage: the super-intelligent tended to have super-mental problems, and ArcheTech wanted to make sure its employees did not become raving supervillains. When Miss Americana was done and exited the Personnel office, Archeville was walking towards it, hands full with folders and stacks of paper. "There, that was not too hard, was it?"

... we'll see about that! *hops into his time machine*

Unlike Grim and Colt, Archeville's face actually fell at their suggestion. "Unfortunately," he began dejectedly, "the castle is not really set up to house guests, at least not honeymooners. It is mostly research laboratories and workshops, and dormitories for the staff and students. It does have a large reception and dining hall, which is why I thought it a fine place to hold the wedding, but I do not think you would want to spend your honeymoon next to arc reactors and mutagenic compounds." "On the other hand," he continued, his face lighting up again, "I am quite wealthy, and there are a number of castles in Germany available to rent!" He slapped one knee, "By Ludwig, you shall have your fairytale honeymoon!"

The Squrm fell, bobbing along across the waves. Unlike the others, it had not impacted a straight, flat surface, so it was not bubbling and hissing. Archeville continued to hang limply in the air. His eyes were glazed, and his lips moved as if speaking, but no sound came out. Erin knew that when she'd KO'd the one at the asylum, everyone went back to normal; what was different this time?

Archeville knelt down beside Lynn, and held her. "I am sorry... I am so sorry... but, hey, look, you.. you chose to let him live, right? You held back, you did not carve bloody vengeance out of him, did not give in to your hate... and that is good! That is very good! That shows you had the heart of a hero, deep down -- a burning desire to right wrongs, yet tempered with compassion and justice -- even back then!" He gave her a moment to collect herself; despite her own glamour-produced hankies, he offered her one of the cloth napkins from the table. Once her sobs had quieted, he continued, "and that is when you began patrolling the Fens, yes? Bringing justice to the few innocents there, the ones the police and most of society overlook."

Count Dok in! Surely seeing him won't cause any traumatic flashbacks for the host!

"Well, I try not too meddle too much," Archeville said, chuckling, "but sometimes I will hit upon an idea applicable to something someone else is working on, and share it. They usually accept my help, though some are reluctant and prefer doing things wholly on their own." "Speaking of getting you registered," he continued as he lead her into another elevator, "I can brief you on some of the benefits. We offer a very nice medical plan, with eye and dental; we also offer a top notch worker's compensation for any injuries incurred while working here. Also," he pushed a button to take them back tot he 12th floor, "I can have our Metahuman Studies Compensation paperwork included. Basically, we offer any Metahumans who allow us to study them a percentage of the profits made from any materials or devices we patent based on a study of their abilities." "Oh!" He slapped his forehead, "there is one possible problem with getting you registered. Part of the process involves taking a DNA sample, as some of the security is based on genetic scans, and to help us in restoring you should you suffer any mutagenic accidents. But in your case..." He stroked his chin while looking the gynoid up and down, "well... that is not really applicable."

Slick's vignette has been added.

Date: October 24th, 2010 (Sunday) Father Figure Felix Fassbinder was relaxing at his mansion just outside Freedom City. He had a small, trusted revenue of staff such as housekeepers, gardeners, and the like, but no live in staff. In general, whilst he often hosted some well renowned and occasionally wild parties, he preferred privacy. Well, that wasn't strictly true. He just preferred sloping off and being somebody else. But there were times it was good just to be Felix Fassbinder and root himself in his identity as reclusive owner of Fassbiner Pharmaceuticals. And today was one of those times. The air had a slight nip, but he had dressed warmly, and the sun was still bright. With a mug of coffee, he had taken a stroll around the gardens with a couple of good books and his diary. At times like this, he couldn't help but think of Doctor Morello Fassbinder, his adoptive father, the Jewish scientist who had fought in world war II and rescued him from the horrors of nazi experimentation. Of course, at that point he hadn't really been a "him". He still flitted between genders at the blink of an eye, and never really grasped how other people seemed to stick to one identity. Father. I miss you. Simple thoughts, but simple were all that were needed. He sighed and looked up to the skies. As the sun set, long shadows played down from the trees and over the grass. Combined with the autumnal colours, the setting had a sad, beautiful and slightly eerie look. I miss you too. The message was not exactly heard, not exactly seen, or even felt. It was just there, at the edge of his perception, along with the certain knowledge that Fassbinder senior was the messanger. Somehow, Felix did not panic, although neither did he feel calm. It was as if he was walking with the spirit of the father, outside the concerns of the world. All he felt was a connection. I feel empty. Lost. Without a meaning. It was true, he realised, as he said the words. As he could be anybody, he ended up being nobody. You are always my son. My daughter. I love you. It was true. Somehow, in this calm state between worlds, all deception had evaporated and only honesty was left. It was a blessing beyond price. And I keep that acknowledged Felix I keep it well It was the thing that bound him, and the singular most important spiritual architecture he had. And it had gone. And it had, for however brief a moment, returned. We are defined and forged by our connection, our love. As I saved you, bathed in blood as the time was, it forged something. You must forge something too. It was true. Whilst he had drifted, when fighting for a cause as Slick, he felt alive. But perhaps it was all a bit distant, a bit angry, a bit... unconnected? Thankyou was his only reply. Something of the distant past resurfaced. The horrors of the laboratory and the experiments. It was, he realised, more than just physical. Psychic and spiritual arms to the research had existed, and he had been party to it. Subjected to it. Connected to it. Reach out and feel the souls around you... Somehow, in this cold but calm world he had entered, he knew he was leaving, or the spirit of his father was leaving. It didn't really matter. He felt the pangs of loss again, but also something inside him had grown. Something warm, and tender, and empathic. Something of his father. Something of love and goodness born despite all the horrors of his own birth. Something to cherish. Something to live for. And something to fight for, if need be. As the sun set, and the world became real and dark, he still felt the embers of the experience inside.

Remind me, how did Breakdown deafen him? Just an Auditory Dazzle? If so, that would (eventually) heal on its own. If something more, well, Maestro is already a member of a supervillain team (the Crime League) which features both a super-scientist (Doctor Simian) and a sorceress (Medea). There's also the possibility he wouldn't rush to get his hearing fixed -- look at all Beethoven did while deaf!