Geez3r

"I am far more proficient in this style of magic, if that is indeed what it is, than you are Equinox human, but that does not mean that it is impossible for you to do." comforted Tempest. "In truth, I don't know these details so much as I feel them, it is intuitive for me to use these means. If you decide to implement part of what I have demonstrated into your own magic, it will likely take a conscious effort on your part. The point is that even if you use just a piece of what I have showed you, it will make your magic stronger and easier. You may never come to rely on my method entirely, but you can use it to supplement and bolster your own magic." I believe you humans have a saying that "practice makes perfect" yes? With each time you attempt a task you acquire more skill in its application. If asked how one becomes strong, the answer is that you perform tasks that require strength. What was once hard becomes easy, allowing you reach greater heights, and perform feats that were once outside your reach. Every journey begins with but a single step."

Huh, Doc's accent is gone. Meh. Probably just SCIENCE!'d himself up a speak all American like dooflickus. thought Eli as he dismissed anything off about the good Doctor. In a room with a giantess, a fae, an intersteller cowboy, a super-fast battery, an elemental jedi, and the girl who plays the meaniest game of patticake ever, an accent isn't exactly something to get all riled up about. Eli was also distracted by being snubbed by Jill. "Oh sure pretend I'm not even in the room why don't ya?" said Eli full out mock outrage. "Sure ask Mo to do the force field ball/ super speed trick. It's not like its like its my thing or nothing. But I can tell when I'm not wanted. It's fine. It's okay. I'm sure you two will be very happy in your giant hamster speed ball of doom." Eli probably would have kept going on his rant too, but he caught Jack's eye over Jill's shoulder and just cracked up. After regaining his composure he took his place on the couch with his Econ book to read in between syllables.

"It's mostly urban environments." interjected Eli, having been silent for too long (read: not nearly long enough). "But because a nice chunk of us are really fast, we do a bunch of sims in other environments too. This area here is actually a patch of the Amazon, though modified a bit to suit our purposes. When I run about, I try and look for cool places for battle and stuff. Though in this case, I had a score to settle with this place. My first time here, I slid on that rock over there because I wasn't paying attention and I wound up smacking my head real good on that branch other there." Eli pointed out a small scar at his hairline for proof. "Not one of my finer moments."

It is. See the House Rules thread, which is an announcement in every board. Improved Critical is limited to 2 ranks for a single attack. It's also an odd pick for someone you claim isn't a fighter. In addition, you've spent 8 points in saves, not 10.

We'll keep the light on.

Are these events mostly centered in Freedom City or are there world wide effects as well? I'm specifically asking about Russia.

Now don’t get me wrong, America is fantastic. We’ve got rights beyond anyone else in the world, and our standard of living is much higher. And I’ve even met plenty of fantastic people, who I count as really great friends. Heck, I even got to be a super hero, I helped raise money for orphans, and I had countless opportunities I never would have had otherwise. But I’m about 40 years old now, and I’m not getting any younger. I’ve had a grand total of 3 dates in the past 10 years. And I’m not exactly beating them off with a stick either. Despite all of the hardships I had when I was growing up, I was happy with Vera. She could always make me laugh, she comforted me when I was sad and I really did love her. No matter what America had, the one thing it never had was Vera. Now maybe I’m not thinking clearly. Maybe I’m just thinking the grass is greener, or just wanting what I can’t have. But no matter the reason, when I think of what my life is missing, it’s always Vera. Seeing her again, smelling her hair, hearing her voice, it just makes me realize it all that much more. “No, I don’t think it was.†A moment of honest I’ll come to regret.

So about 20 minutes later, I hobble out of the jail there. Ordinarily, “checking out†of a prison would take much longer than that, but Yuri’s been doing some of the paperwork in the hopes that I would get out, and once Vera got involved, things went much faster. I could have left after 15 minutes, but I don’t think I could have kept my feet under feet at the time. Apparently, Vera’s been keeping up with her military training, she’s a lot stronger than she looks. So anyways, now I’m the car with my pissed off ex-girlfriend, who basically just bailed me out of jail, and it’s really awkward. And I mean reeeeeally awkward. Now I’m not too good at this sort of thing myself, so I default into dumb guy mode where I just look straight ahead and hope the fire storm doesn’t come. This is called dumb guy mode because all you’re doing at this point is giving her time to stew, so she can take the time to really plan out her insults. Regardless of the fact that she’s probably been thinking about what to say to me in the back of her head for 20 years now, it’s nothing compared to what she can come up with when she puts her whole mind to it. So I’m just sitting there waiting for it, and then she pulls up to a red light. And she just slowly turns her head towards me, and I give in, I have to look back. And then, she just lets me have it. “So Sam was it worth it?†And sitting there in that car, it hits me; I don’t think it really was.

Abilities cost 30pp. Combat: Initiative is +1 Knockback is actually -1, not +1 (don't worry, that's a good thing)

Powers cost 67pp. Quickness costs 1pp per rank, and Quickness 2 allows you to perform actions at 5x normal speed.

Dynamo I'd like to spend his 2 points to buy 8 ranks of Knowledge: Physical Sciences. I've had him know quite a bit about electricity in some of my posts, so I'm buying these ranks to show that he has done some research on the subject, and is at least knowledgeable enough to get the basics. Atlas A moderately large edit for Atlas here. I'll spend 4 points to completely buy off all his Drawbacks. As of the conclusion of the Grue Invasion, he is no longer part of the Grue Unity. I'll then start working on getting him to caps by buying 2 ranks of Attack Focus Melee (bringing the total to 5). I'll also buy 2 ranks of Protection. So that takes care of all of my available power points. But I'm not done, I'd like to take 10 of his points in Strength and move that to Enhanced Strength, and likewise with 14 points of Constitution. I also modified his complications, cleaned up some formatting, and added a bit of stuff to various fluffy bits, as well as updated the DC block. For ease of editing: [img=http://www.freedomplaybypost.com/wiki/images/5/50/Atlas_2.jpg] [u]Players Name[/u]: Geez3r [u]Power Level[/u]: 13 (196/196PP) [u]Trade-Offs[/u]: -5 Attack / +5 Damage, -5 Defense / +5 Toughness [u]Unspent PP[/u]: 0 [u]Diamond Status[/u]: 46/90 [u]Characters Name[/u]: Atlas [u]Alternate Identity[/u]: Samael Nitorvich [u]Height[/u]: 3ft. - 6ft. - 10ft [u]Weight[/u]: 50 - 200 - 2,500 lbs [u]Hair[/u]: Brown [u]Eyes[/u]: Brown [u]Age:[/u] 37 [u]Description[/u]: Samael is a person of average height, and is quite stocky. He is just built solid. He's got that real "working man" look. There's nothing fancy about him, just jeans and a T-Shirt. He keeps his hair cut just a bit longer than a buzz cut. He has a rather prominent jaw line as well. His arms and hands have a few scars from a life of working with his hands. Although not often noticed, his hands are quite a bit bigger than they normally would be for a person of his size. As Atlas, Samael becomes one of the most muscle bound men on the planet. He stands at a towering 10ft tall and tips the scale at over 2,500 pounds. His skin changes color to a deep crimson. He has also been known to change this appearance with cosmetic details, such as making his skin look like stone or metal. He rarely stands at his full height in this form, as he often stoops or kneels to make himself seem less imposing around civilians. [u]History[/u]: Samael is of Russian decent. His parents were part of the cultural enrichment program, meaning they were sent away and never seen again. With that sort of up brining, he learned quickly to keep his head down, work hard, don't say anything and most importantly of all, volunteer for nothing. Although he disliked the regime, he was wise enough to keep his opinions to himself. When the government crumbled, Samael got out of Russia. He spent a few years bouncing around Europe doing odd jobs here and there and eventually scrounged up enough cash to journey to America. While it wasn't everything he had hoped for, it was still a step up from where he had been. Unfortunately, all he had to his name was a single suitcase full worth of clothes and a few bills. So he settled in the Fens district in Freedom City, it being about the only place he could afford. He landed a job working at a local deli. It was boring work, but it paid the bills and kept him fed. But there was one thing that bothered him. From his upbringing, the idea that everyone works together to advance the whole was ingrained in his head. He couldn't tolerate people who would steal or try to cheat the system. These criminals and thugs thought they had it tough; they didn't know the meaning of the word. No matter how bad it was, Samael had never considered turning against the law. If you worked real hard, things would get better. America was the land of opportunity, he just had to help these thugs get back on the straight and narrow. He dedicated himself to protecting his own little section of the street, and for a while, it worked. But then the local gangs decided to teach this guy a lesson. Samael could take on 2 or 3 guys, if he caught them by surprise, but when they caught [i]him[/i] by surprise, well... it wasn't pretty. As the life left his body... [i]something[/i] reached out to him. He rose from the ground, to face his assailants, now something entirely different. With his new found gifts, Samael is expanding his territory, protecting more and more of the city. [u]Personality & Motivation[/u]: Although he looks a bit scary, Samael is a really good guy. He's dutiful, loyal and very determined. He favors the tough love approach. He loathes criminals and those that would cheat the system. He believes that they all have good in them and can succeed if only they had the chance. Samael intends to give them that chance. He's got a bit of a dry sense of humor, and is usually a man of few words. The tough guy exterior quickly melts when he's around animals, especially his cat Sprinkles. Since the Invasion, Atlas has stayed out of the lime light, trying to get a handle on things from his own perspective first. [u]Powers & Tactics[/u]: Samael pretty much has the ability to Hulk-out, and vastly increase in strength and durability for a limited time. He'll avoid entering his new form until ths last possible minute because of its limited duration. Once in his new form, he uses his superior strength and size to exploit every advantage he can. Despite his outward appearance, Samael is very rational and clearheaded in his new form, and can shrug off effects that would ordinarily break his morale. He tends to single out the biggest and toughest opponent preferring to leave the speedy ones to his allies who are more apt to handle them. [u]Complications[/u]: [i]Prejudice:[/i] Russian Immigrant, Lower class, [i]Responsibility:[/i] Upholding the law, protecting his stretch of the city, Sprinkles (his cat) [i]The Grue Invasion[/i] - It's been revealed that Atlas was a Grue/human hybrid created by the Grue as a bioweapon for the destruction of Earth. He got better. Public relations did not. [b][u]Abilities:[/u][/b] 14+0+14+0+0+4=32PP Str: 24/34/42 (+7/+12/+16) Dex: 10 (+0) Con: 24/38/42 (+14/+16) Int: 10 (+0) Wis: 10 (+0) Cha: 14 (+2) [b][u]Combat:[/u][/b] 8+4=12PP Attack: +4 Base (+3 Large AltForm, +5 Small AltForm), +9 melee (+8 w/Growth, +10 w/Shrinking) Grapple: +16, +21 w/ Enhanced Strength, +29 w/Growth, +17 w/Shrinking (+11 to any with Full Super-Strength) Defense: +6 (+2 Base, +4 Dodge Focus), +5 w/Growth, +7 w/Shrinking, +1 Flat-Footed Knockback: -3 (no powers), -13 w/ Powers, -18 w/Growth, - 9 w/Shrinking Initiative: +0 [u][b]Saves[/b][/u]: 0+5+8=13PP Toughness: +18/+16/+14/+7 (+16/+14/+7 Con, +2 other) (Impervious 10/0) Fortitude: +16/+14 (+16/+14 Con, +0) Reflex: +5 (+0 Dex, +5) Will: +8 (+0 Wis, +8) [u][b]Skills:[/b][/u] 72r = 18PP Diplomacy 8 (+10) Disguise 0 (+2, +32 Morph) Gather Info 8 (+10) Handle Animal 8 (+10) Intimidate 15 (+17, +15 w/Shrinking, +19 w/Growth) Knowledge: Streetwise 8 (+8) Language 1 (English, Russian [Native]) Notice 9 (+9) Sense Motive 8 (+8) Survival 7 (+7) [u][b]Feats:[/b][/u] 21PP Accurate Attack All-Out Attack Attack Focus Melee 5 Dodge Focus 4 Improved Grab Interpose Last Stand Luck 3 Power Attack Startle Takedown Attack 1 Ultimate Toughness [b][u]Powers:[/u][/b] 13+10+14+2+12+1+31+17=100PP [b]Comprehend 2[/b] (Languages; Speak/Understand Any) [4pp] [u]LINKED[/u] [b]Communication 4[/b] (Mental, 1 mile, [i]Extras:[/i] Two-Way) [8pp] * [u]AP[/u]: [b]Mind Reading 16[/b] [i]Flaws[/i]: Range 2 [Touch], Requires Grab [4pp] [u]LINKED[/u] [b]Drain Wisdom 16[/b] [i]Extras:[/i] Alternate Save (Will) [i]Flaws[/i]: Requires Grab [8pp] [b]Enhanced Strength 10[/b] [10pp] [b]Enhanced Constitution 14[/b] [14pp] [b]Immunity 2[/b] (critical hits) [2PP] [b]Protection 2[/b] [i]Extras:[/i] Impervious Toughness 10 [12pp] [b]Regeneration 1[/b] (True Resurrection 1 [1/week]) [1PP] [b] Protean Might Array 12 ([/b]24PP, [i]Feats:[/i] Alternate Power [Dynamic] 3, Dynamic 4[b])[/b] [31 pp] * [u]BED[/u]: [b]Super-Strength 11[/b] ([i]PF[/i]: Freeze Breath [Cone Snare], Shockwave) {24} Effective Lifting Strength 102 (Light: 5,700 tons, Medium: 11,300 tons, Heavy: 17,000 tons, Maximum: 34,000 tons, Push/Drag: 85,000 tons - Heavy Load example: cruiser, loaded freighter) * [u]DAP[/u]: [b]Healing 11[/b] ([i]Feats:[/i] Persistent, Regrowth, [i]Extras:[/i] Total, [i]Flaws:[/i] Personal) {24} * [u]DAP[/u]: [b]Leaping 24[/b] ([/b]x100,000,000, 20 rounds[b])[/b] {24} * [u]DAP[/u]: [b]Morph 6[/b] (+30 Disguise, any form, [i]Extras:[/i] Duration [Continuous]) {24} [b]Growth 4[/b] (Large; +8 Str, +4 Con; [i]Extras[/i]: Duration/Continuous) (PF: 1 Alternate Power) [17] * [u]AP[/u]: [b]Shrinking 4[/b] (Small, +1 Attack, +1 Defense, -4 Grapple, +4 Knockback, -2 Intimidate, +4 Stealth, 3/4 Strength [Carry Capacity], [i]Feats:[/i] Normal Movement, Normal Toughness, [i]Extras:[/i] Duration [Continuous], Normal Strength) [14PP] [u][b]Drawbacks:[/b][/u] 0pp DC Block: [code]Unarmed (unpowered) ------------- 22/Toughness ------------------------- Bludgeoning Unarmed (Small/Medium size)------------ 27/Toughness--------------------------- Bludgeoning Unarmed (Large Size) --------------------- 31/Toughness -------------------------- Bludgeoning Shockwave (120ft cone) ------------------ 23/Reflex, 28 Toughness ------------- Bludgeoning Freeze Breath (120ft cone) --------------- 23/Reflex, 28/Reflex ----------------- Snare Costs: Abilities (32) + Combat (12) + Saves (13) + Skills (18) + Feats (21) + Powers (100) - Drawbacks (00) = 196/196 Power Points Sandvich'd

"Nah you guys misunderstood. You know those Tesla Coil things? They just kinda spew electricity everywhere. Well that's like my default state when I'm running really, really fast; like when I get there before I leave fast. I can stop doing that, but it takes a conscious effort, which slows me down a bit, and its actually how I run most of the time to sort of make it a habit. But if I'm in full on sprint for whatever reason, and someone just pops out of nowhere and goes all "ooga booga" then I could totally accidentally light them up like a Christmas tree." explained Eli.

At the Fassbinder pharmaceutical research facitility, the army was preparing to dissiminate some blood testing kits. The latest weapon to stop the Grue invasion, they quickly analysed DNA and could (usually) weed out the Grue Drones, potentially even the more skilled alien metamorphs. Efforts to fight back had been hampered by the infilitration by the Grue, disrupting command structures, co-ordination and organisation. When the armed forces and paramilitary agencies didn't know if they where talking to a trusted ally, or alien spy, things were slow at best, and dangerous at worst. The kits were not 100% reliable, nor were they fast. But they were better than nothing. Three soldiers were lifting the crates onto a forklift truck. They were being supervised by a stiff looking seargant. The soliders bantered whilst they shifted the crates "Man, I hope we can fight these martians off. ", "I hope the Inceptors can pull us out of the fire this time!", "I come across one of 'dem Grue, I'm gonna Kick 'der ass!" The seargant smiled "Soldiers! I am afraid we have no chance against the alien invaders. " His smiled broadened as he brought his pistol to bear on them. "No chance at all. They are superior to to you pathetic earthlings in every way. This planet..." his smiled changed along with his face into that of a Grue... "IS OURS!" BAM BAM BAM! rang the shots, with horrible and deadly accuracy. And the war claimed three more brave lives. Into the facility strode three identical soldiers. The Grue seargent, a Metamorph from the looks of things, started ordering the soldiers, who were presumably drones, to destroy the crates. They set to the task, starting to set incendiary devices throughout the storeroom. The Seargent took one of the kits and sampled his own blood. The readings and data started to appear on the small LED screen. He took out his walkie talkie, and removed the front cover. It was Grue technology, and it appeared to interface with the testing kit. Valuable data streamed to and from the devices. It appeared the Grue wanted to know exactly what they were up against; and destroy it anyway, of course. One of the Soldiers appeared by the Seargant's side. "The devices are all set, commander. " He intoned. "Is the blood testing kit functional? do we proceed with detonation?" The Seargant cocked an eyebrow at the drone, unusually inquisitive, he throught, but probably just doing its job. "Yes we have the data. Proceed with detonation. I shall complete analaysis. " The drone walked away as the Seargant proceeded to use the Grue device to work through the realms of data his own blood and the kit had provided. With this, they could develop a biological counter measure. Of course, the data would be dangerous if it ever got into the hands of the humans. Two muffled cries wafted from behind a crate. Drawing his pistol, the Grue metamorph walked around to see two of the soldiers unconscious, and a Grue drone, in full alien form, standing over them. "One of the soldiers was human! attacked us!" the third Grue intoned. "Fool!" shouted the Metamorph, bending over to examine the soldiers. What had happened, how had a human infilitrated the Grue? Impossible! His thoughts came to a sudden end as a fist crashed into the back of his skull. Above him, the Grue form changed, with oily black secretions trickling down its body, into that of Felix F Fassbinder, the owner of Fassbinder pharmaceuticals. Who also happened to be the shapechanging superhero, Slick. He took the Grue device and the linked blood testing kit from the slack hands of the seargent. "Neat trick, shapeshifting. You know, I think I'll try it myself!" He couldn't resist a broad smile. "You get all sorts of useful information doing it, you know. Really disrupts the enemies plans. " He turned over the device, ripe with data, in his hands. Impossibly, his smile got even broader.

headache nightmares standard fare V1f = [CR * M2 * (V2 – V1) + (M1 * V1) + (M2 * V2)] / (M1 + M2); V2f = [CR * M1 * (V1 – V2) + (M1 * V1) + (M2 * V2)] / (M1 + M2); V1f = 0; V2 = 0; approximate CR as head hurts always hurts focus side effects – lasting not side effects – impact? focus – through the pain used to that by now open eyes Head still spinning a bit, Mara blinked her eyes open and glanced around herself. She sat bound with a chain to a large pillar support, one of a handful of other civilians. They seemed to be randomly selected – targets of opportunity – wearing everything from fine business suits to hobo’s rags; for her part, Mara wore old, clearly second-hand clothing and looked like she hadn’t showered in a week. Dark, strung-out eyes and the tired slump in her shoulders made her look like she hadn’t slept in twice that, because...well, she hadn’t. Being knocked unconscious notwithstanding. unknown location steel (iron carbon chromium minimum 11% to prevent oxidation possible vanadium prevent fatigue in construction) aluminum (2.7 grams per cubic centimeter) overhead lighting (unknown wavelength lack tools for analysis) warehouse? – temporary storage storing civilians unknown motivations - sinister? captors – ah Lifting her head up she laid eyes on her captors – humanoid, red-skinned, and unmistakably Grue. Most of the team was spread out along the warehouse floor, standing guard; the remaining few stood on opposite sides of a large terminal covered in screens and flashing lights, which in turn was hooked up to a space-age tower of metal spikes and glass bulbs that screamed ‘dangerous’. "Mmbagh," she managed, and frowned as one of the terminal-attentive Grue glanced her way. Blinking a few times to clear the last of the fog in her head (what fog can be cleared estimated time remaining for 80% clean biological system three weeks gradual decline will make do head hurts hurts focus focus) she tried again. "Bag. Mine. Where is it?" The Grue left his device and made his way over, looking down at Mara like you’d look down at an insect...an ugly one. "The solid thing speaks! Your things are of little concern, human, for soon we will be finished here and your memory will be forgotten, wiped away under the feet of the Grue Unity!" She just shook her head, looking around the room as if she either hadn’t understood or didn’t quite care. "Bag’s important. Things, designs, prototype – need the prototype. Have to keep it safe from – can’t be used by – for – no. What? Wiped by what?" "No technology you could have would stand against us, human child," he sneered. "But you make me curious. What is so important to you, I wonder? What is of value to your pathetic solid brain? I think...." He glanced over at his companions, still toying with the console. "I think...I shall satisfy my curiosity." He reached down to touch her head, narrowing his eyes half in a sneer and half in concentration. For a few heartbeats there was silence broken only by the shifting and murmur of other captives before he jerked his hand away, actually taking a step back like the chained, malnourished scrap of a girl on the floor in front of him had bitten. "What...?" Mara was certainly awake and focused now – at least, as focused as she could be lately. Having someone try to push into her mind was never pleasant, and the Grue had just found out what a messed-up place her brain was: he’d gone in for information and come away with a brain full of static, feedback, and chattering mile-a-minute thoughts. Despite the pain in her head, the nausea in her stomach, her present situation, despite everything she smiled a little, she looked up at him and spoke with wry satisfaction. "Trouble?" "...no, nothing. Of no consequence. Soon you will be only a memory, reshaped to serve our needs in taking over this pathetic world you call-" She’d stopped paying attention, looking instead at the...thing set up ten feet away. "Don’t even bother, solid creature. It is technology beyond your understanding. A wondrous device that will re-write everything you know, leaving only the Unity. You should be honored to be among the first to be tested by the latest in-" "Suppression." "-what?" "Suppression. Can’t overwrite. Not configured for that much precision. Interesting application of magnetics. Not elegant, but effective. Synaptic decelerator, redundant modulators, establishment of self-contained bio-electric ‘thought wall’ – theoretical but feasible. Poor aesthetic design. Poor tactical design – parts obvious. Better contained in non-ferrous material – plastic? – for security and control. Suspect stolen. Alien technology?" The Grue was incensed, leaning down to look her in the eyes. "Clever...for a human. Why do you assume we stole it?" She laughed – not a terribly happy laugh, but tired, almost broken-sounding. "Mounted upside down. Clearly structurally designed to hang from ceilings." This earned her the Grue equivalent of an angry growl and the universal equivalent of a slap across the face. Now she really did laugh – quietly, still tired, still broken, but unmistakably laughter as her head bobbed up and down under her hair. A more attentive (and less furious) Grue might have noticed that somewhere in that bowed human head, behind the disheveled hair, tiny lights flickered behind her eyes. The invaders by the terminal made distressed sounds as the machine hummed and beeped of its own accord, symbols and numbers flashing across the screen as the tower powered up. Mara lifted her head and looked the Grue in the eyes, still laughing that infuriating broken laugh. "Did you know that if you combine enough modulation devices with a synaptic decelerator field, you can completely suppress higher mental functions in localized areas at a range limited only by power source and an extremely complex targeting function?" The Grue didn’t have much to say to that...he didn’t have much to say at all, really. Every Grue in the warehouse had collapsed, wordlessly, their eyes glazing over as they slumped to the floor. She brought her legs up, resting her chin on her knees as the warehouse descended into silence and the sound of the humming tower. The smile was gone, nothing getting in the way of a tear as she looked down at the living but motionless alien. "I made one when I was eleven," she said, quietly. "It was lethal, though." Outside, no more than a few blocks away, the still-chained captives could hear superheroes driving the would-be conquerors back.

Rusty Bones Day of Invasion, 9 PM “And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts, and I looked and behold, a pale horse, and the name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.†In the midst of the chaos, Nick Cimitiere couldn’t remember if that was the gospel according to King James or Johnny Cash. But as he sped through the streets of Freedom in his car, he realized just how true it was. Death sat on him, he was on the Pale Horse, and Hell was certainly following him. He’d been meeting up with his parents when the monsters began appearing in the streets. He’d managed to get them out of the city with some creative driving (with a minimum of damage to their car). Pretty soon, they were back in the suburbs, and a new problem presented itself – getting back into the city without making his folks panic. He told them he was going to go check on his coworkers, see if any of them needed a place to ride out the invasion. He really had gone to check on them, only to find most of them had gotten out of the city already. After that, it was time to go to work. Nick had been picking at the Grue at all sides. He knew he wasn’t one of the powerhouses – one good swat and he’d probably be a red pancake. But he offered support where he could, pinning down the foot soldiers of the Grue and sending their veterans fleeing. Apparently a hive mind was a benefit to the other guy when a shriek of primal fear was broadcast over it. He made his way through Downtown and was going back for a second sweep of West Freedom as night fell. Once he crossed the bridge, however, he felt something wash over him – the stench of decay and the taste of carrion, and the echo of a death rattle amplified to the volume of a fighter jet’s engine. It came from Lantern Hill. He’d spend down to the neighborhood, and saw the face of death slithering through the streets. It was half in this world and the next, made of ectoplasm and something that he could only assume was Grue corpses. Nick counted what must have been ten distinct Grue forms that seemed to melt and blur together into one many-handed war engine. And unlike the other Grue he’d run into, there was no imperialistic jargon when it opened its mouth, no calls to surrender. There was just the shrieking of the damned. Nick soon realized where it was heading – the Lantern Hill Cemetery. He’d seen what the Grue bioweapons did to people – mental domination, assimilation, the suppression of all thought until the brain just shut down. If that was what your standard Grue did to the body, he could only imagine what this thing would do to the soul. He leapt out of the Pale Horse, gathered his will, and let the voice of dead ages speak through him. He wasn’t expecting it to install mortal fear in the thing, like it did in most crooks. But it certainly caught the thing’s attention. It rounded on him, and even from this distance, he could sense the hunger in its heart. “You wanna feast on the font of death, creep?†he called out. “I’m a nine-course meal! Come and get me!†He dashed back into the Pale Horse and peeled off, As he’d hoped, the Hecatonchire – it helped to think of it in those terms, even if it didn’t have a hundred hands – came barreling after him. That took care of one problem, getting it away from the cemetery. Now cane the problem of figuring out what to do with it. Most of his offensive options were short range. If he tried getting close enough to claw it up, it would probably eat him first. He could try ramming it with the Pale Horse, but that generally only worked once, and if it didn’t work, he’d be in trouble. He could call the chill mists of Nilfhelm, and while that would help, it would only slow the thing down a little. He was kicking himself now – he should have let it go to the cemetery. Dead Head would likely be there, as would Freedom Angel. They could have teamed up, taken the thing out together. And in the meantime, who knows how many ghosts it might have eaten, Nick thought to himself. As much as he was kicking himself, he knew he’d made the right choice. Most ghosts were limited in their escape options; they were pretty much limited to areas and objects of close association with their mortal life. If they didn’t have a bond to move with – Ah. Now Nick knew why the Hecatonchire was part flesh. Whoever made it had woven the bond right into the flesh. The bodies of the dead Grue were the anchor keeping them weighed on this mortal plane. If he could find a way to break the connection... He revved the engine and proceeded to Greenbank. The ride got rough – he had to swerve around abandoned vehicles, taking the sidewalk when it was abandoned, while the Hecatonchire just swept cars aside behind him. Soon enough, however, he was at the open gates to the Farrelli Bros. Junkyard. Greenbank had been the center of the train hub when the rails had ruled the nation, and when the railroad began to dry up, it became a cemetery for all sorts of engines. The Farelli family had held the junkyard for generations, making money off of scrap from terminally-busted boxcars, rusted out trucks and whatever other machinery had gone its last mile. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind Nick borrowing some of it. He parked the Pale Horse behind a pile of cars and leapt out. He scanned the graveyard – most of the cars here were empty, desiccated, and rusted to the point of obsolescence. But a few looked like they still had some bang left for their buck. He could hear the front gates rending – the Hecatonchire would be here soon. And he’d be ready. It came looming out of the darkness like a very pissed-off fog bank. It looked at Nick, standing right in the middle of the clearing, and he could have sworn he heard something like laughter emerging from it. It reached out to grab an engine block to throw at the lone necromancer – -- and that was when a pickup truck came barreling out of the darkness and rammed right into its side. The truck crumpled up like used tissue, and the Hecatonchire was sent reeling into a bank of crushed cars. The force from the blow was enough to topple the stack, bringing it crashing down on the monstrosity. Nick allowed himself half a breath as the sound of rending metal filled the air. Now that he’d softened it up, it was time for the final blow. As the Hecatonchire emerged from the pile of ruined cars, it charged towards Nick. He didn’t blink, even as the thing began to manifest ectoplasmic talons that looked like they could split titanium. The second before it came down on him, it let out a triumphant shriek – that soon turned to panic as it was lifted up off the ground. The Farellis didn’t use an electromagnetic crane to dispose of their cars; they were one of the few places left in Jersey to use the old-fashioned claw machine. The Hecatonchire buckled against its restraints, trying to alternatively slither free and break the claw. Nick knew he couldn’t give it a chance. He called to the machine, the sound of infernal engines riddling his voice. “Drop it off.†The crane swung around to the large crusher at the back of the junkyard and unceremoniously dropped the Hecatonchire in it. Nick withdrew his will from the crane and focused on the crusher. With just a word, the crusher sprung to life and began pressing in. The Hecatonchire cried out from within, in defeat, anguish, and in pain. Judging by the sounds of bucking metal, it sounded like it was fighting back, but it definitely wasn’t winning. There was a muted squishing noise in the distance, and the air was split with a cry that could have split glass. Then, all was quiet again. Nick sighed with relief. He’d broken the bond. The Grue ghosts had gone… well, wherever dead Grue went. He got back in the Pale Horse and drove out of the junkyard. He had a feeling the night had horrors still ahead.

A Reverie on Identity, as Interrupted by Tentacle Monsters 11 AM, Day of the Invasion The Boardwalk was starting to pick up a crowd. It was a fairly cool May, but people still wanted to come down to see the festivities, even if they weren’t willing to plunge into the Atlantic Ocean just yet. Joe walked the streets in his usual gear; he was probably drawing some attention, but he didn’t seem to care. He was mostly lost in thought. When he was younger, he’d come to the Boardwalk regularly – with family, with friends, with girlfriends. He had good memories of the place, and maybe it’d give him a chance to get his head together. It had been three weeks since the incident at the foundry. It had been a week since he lifted his couch up over his head with one hand. And last night, his dad had told him all about his grandpa. That was a hell of a thing to find out – that you were the grandson of a superhero. And the powers were obviously coming in… toughness, if the spill-over was any indicator, super-strength… If the medical records on Legionnaire indicated anything, his grandpa had been able to “cross whole battlefields with one bound†and “run to catch up with a transport going at top speed†by the time he’d died, so he’d probably come into that in time. He pretty much knew what he was going to do now. It wasn’t like you had something like this land on you, then went back to sitting on the sidelines. The question was, could he do it? Pushing the boneheads out of shows was one thing – being a hero meant taking on crooks, mobsters, gangsters, madmen, gods, demons, aliens, monsters, and whatever crackpot had more power than he deserved and a control fetish. Could he do that? More importantly, could he do that and live? His grandfather had been tough, but he wasn’t invincible – Superior proved that. Did he really even know what he was doing? Joe was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of honking. One horn joined another, and another; the familiar rapport of Jersey driving told him something was wrong. He broke away from the Boardwalk and made his way to the main street, where he quickly saw what was wrong. Twenty people were standing in the middle of the road, in four-by-five formation. The crowd was a mix of ages, ethnicities, and genders. They were also standing stock still before a crowd of honking cars. Two traffic cops had already made their way into the middle of the road to try and get the crowd to disperse, but they weren’t having much luck. “Come on, miss, you’re holding up traffic,†the traffic cop said to one of the still women. She didn’t seem to register, so he pulled out the cuffs and grabbed her by the arm. “Miss, you leave me no choice--†The woman reached out, lifted the traffic cop off his feet – one-handed – and threw him through a storefront window well across the street from her. That shut the horns up. Around Joe, people were already starting to run – they didn’t really make ‘em stupid in Freedom. “This is the Three-Lobed Eye of the Grue Empire.†The voice came from one and all of them – they spoke in perfect unison, and their words rung out above the rising chaos. “Your world has been analyzed, and found suitable. Colonization shall begin shortly, but there is no need for distress. Go peacefully, and all will be well.†That was when someone threw a brick at one of the people. It struck them right in the forehead, leaving a solid dent that seemed to knit back together like Silly Putty. Joe grimaced; they also made ‘em brave in Freedom. Sometimes too much for their own good. “The Meta-Mind has accepted this as a sign of defiance,†the chorus said. “Engaging in suppression mode.†Before Joe’s eyes, the people seemed to lengthen, stretching like taffy and growing out of their clothes. They streamed together in the middle like steel being poured from many vats, and then they swelled. The blob grew to the size of a small brownstone, then erupted into a mass of tendrils. A mouth like a cave emerged from the “front†of the mass and let out a terrible roar. That was when the panic really set in. The people around him began running through the streets, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the giant Grue bioweapon. Joe took one look at the rampaging beast, and did the stupidest thing he could think of. He ran forward. It was only when he got up close that he realized just what he was dealing with. The thing towered over him, and was flailing its tentacles wildly, turning over cars and tearing down buildings. Fortunately, it seemed mostly focused on civic destruction. That’d give him an avenue to get in. Before he could move, however, one of the tentacles came thrashing down at him. He managed to slip to the side as the thing slammed down and cracked the asphalt. Joe took advantage of the moment and grabbed the tentacle. It felt like microwaved Play-Doh, and slithered like a snake. The beast roared, and turned to face him. Yeah, that’s not good. The tentacle rose into the air, and took Joe along with it. Despite his strength, it appeared he didn’t exactly have the anchoring necessary to wrestle this thing to the ground. He’d just have to try something else. Once he figured out what the beast was doing… The beast, meanwhile, decided it had better things to do than fight the puny human. It threw him at the row of buildings right across the way. Joe came to rest after tasting brick, lying on an alcove. He looked to the bioweapon… and then to the ocean. It wasn’t that far at all. He couldn’t pick the thing up by a tentacle, but that didn’t get rid of other options. He rolled down the street and started running as fast as he could. The tentacles came down around him, but he managed to dodge them – it was like this thing was still getting its land legs. When he got close enough to the flashy mess, he slipped his hands right under it. It took some effort, but the giant bioweapon slowly lifted up from the street. Joe could feel it convulsing in his hands, like it was trying to find some way to deal with the human underneath it. He took advantage of the few seconds he had before this thing turned into the blob, and lobbed it. It didn’t fly far; instead, it seemed to topple over onto the sidewalk. But that was enough; the thing began shifting, like it was trying to regain its balance. While it struggled, Joe rushed forward again and punched it right in the underside. The thing quavered like Jello, and actually seemed to split a little. It began knitting itself back together, but Joe took the opportunity and tossed it on its side again. He repeated the process, making his way to the ocean. He didn’t know if this would work, but if it did… He felt the water creep over his boots and soak the cuffs of his jeans, even as he pushed the thing further. It struggled all the way, trying to grab him and throw him back onto the land, but he didn’t give it a chance. Once Joe felt the sands shifting under his feet, he leapt back to shore. The beast tried to come after him… and struggled to move, dropping further into the sands. Joe had spent his childhood on these beaches. He and all the other kids who played in the surf knew the sand got soft about twenty-five feet in, and after that was a bit of a drop-off. Easy enough for a kid to swim out and up from… but given the size and composition of the thing, it had to be a lot heavier than your typical kid. And sure enough, it was trying to gain purchase in the water and the shifting sands, and failing. He heard a rush of air, like a kite unfurling. Overhead, he could see The Scarab and Fulcrum, looking down at the thing struggling in the surf. With them would come the press… and he realized he had no mask. He quickly ran back to the street and disappeared into a back alley. He’d make his way back home, but mainly to get changed. Then he needed to get a mask. Joe had made up his mind. He knew what he was going to do next.

The Blue Gale High above Freedom, the sight of the descending Grue invaders fills the sky. From their primary ship, hundreds, even thousands upon thousands of landing craft are descending to the city streets, the passengers inside ready, willing, and able to kill any and all humans they see. The waves upon waves of crafts break through the clouds, as the city’s heroes are already busy fighting the advance forces on the ground. As one squadron drops down through the atmosphere, their formation is rocked by a sudden jolt. One of the ships had exploded! Quickly, the crews inside each of the squadron’s ships begin to try and analyze what could have happened. There was no sign of a shot fired, and any bogey surely would have been seen coming. Just as the commander is about to chalk it up to an odd equipment failure, another explosion shakes the formation! And another! One by one, each landing ship begins to explode! And one of the crew members finally seems to pick up on something. “Something just flashed through landing boat #337! It was too fast to make out the shape, but there was definitely something there!†Beginning to panic at the rapid loss of ships, the crew commander begins to bark out orders to the pilots. “Evasive action! Now! Whatever that thing is, don’t let it touch us!†Or at least, that was what he was trying to say. In the middle of his order, a huge crash is heard, and a streak of blue-and-silver light speeds its way through the bridge of the landing ship, so quickly that the captain barely had time to see it before he found himself rushed out of the ship, and looked down, the distant city below him. When he tries to look up, he finds himself face to face with a human face covered in a silverfish metal helmet, the blue visor over his eyes reflecting the Grue’s stunned reflection. “Can I see your passport?†The disoriented invader simply lets out a little “buh..?†sound in answer. The mouth of the human, the only part visible beneath the helmet, smirks. “Didn’t think so.†And with a blow so quick to be almost considered instant, the Grue captain is rocketed back into his seat, just as the ship goes up in a great explosion. Taking a moment to hover and admire his handiwork, with the crafts in this particular landing squadron dealt with, the metal soldier puts his hand to his ear, picking up a message “Good work, agent. Now move on to bogey squadron 6†With a grin, he responds. “Roger.†And he bolts, out of sight once more, leaving behind only a streak of light as a glowing V: The Sign of Victory.

Title: Opening Shots Archeville and the others finally had a chance to catch their breath following the harrowing ordeals of the Grue infiltrators at the AEGIS headquarters. The situation was dire indeed, but these were the things that tested true heroes. "Herr Danger, I believe you vould do de most good here. Doctor de Havilland und I are best used elsevhere. Doktor de Havilland," he continued as he adjusted the controls on his teleportation device, "I know vhat you haff done, und vhat you are uniquely qualified to do, so you are coming mit me!" Before any objections could be voiced, the two disappeared in a flash. The Doktor's mini-wormhole spat them out at the front door to his home in Hanover. Moments later, Archeville teleported again, first to drop Gossamer and her new package -- samples of Atlas' DNA, collected when he'd come to the Doktor's home eight months ago -- off at her lab at ASTRO, then himself to his office in the ArcheTech facility in Hanover. He knew de Haviland had worked with Grue biomaterials, and she could use that experience and the samples he'd given her to whip up something that could 'reboot' Atlas' genetic code to an earlier state, and allow him to break free of the Meta-Grue's mental control. The ArcheTech building had not been too badly damaged (thanks largely to the force screens he'd had installed a week prior), and the people within weren't panicking per se, but there was clearly a lot of confusion going on. "Achtung! Attention, please!," Archeville's rich tenor commanded across the intercoms. In some rooms, his full image appeared, via concealed holographic emitters. "Freedom City is under attack by de Grue! De large creatures outside are Grue bioveapons! Do not panic! Ve are better dan dis -- ve are scientists! Und plans are already in place for such events." Which was, in fact, true. Archeville had personally overseen the hiring of everyone at the Hanover ArcheTech branch, making sure to hire those who could handle themselves in crisis situations (whether they themselves realized it or not). This was the facility under the most attacks, so it needed the best staff. Plans had been written up in cases of assorted emergencies, both mundane (fires, floods) and extraordinary (dimensional breaches, extraterrestrial invasions, mutagenic plagues, and so on). "Your department heads vill split you into teams, to either monitor de situation und communicate mit local authorities, maintain trauma stations for de vounded, or vork on defenses against de threat. Do not engage -- dose who go out should do so only to retrieve de vounded!" "ArcheStern," he said, and instantly an image of the bustling C&C of his space station appeared on a wall to his left. "Somevon, report!" A young redhaired man, seeming barely out of high school, was the first to approach. "Sir, sensors picked up several contacts approximately ten hours ago," he replied in a noticeable brogue. "Ja, Grue vessels. Dere is an invasion on, Herr Patrick." "That's th' thing, sir -- there aren't tha' many craft up 'ere." A second image appeared on the wallscreen, showing several alien craft. "Enough to put up a good show, but... well, not enough for a full invasion, I would think." "Dat... is slightly more troubling dan I had anticipated. I am coming up." Moments later, he was 22,000 miles up, in the ArcheTech orbital facility, ArcheStern. The quietly humming, cool metal corridors were filled with activity, as people raced to either secure their projects, or gawk at the viewscreens showing the fleet. "Status? Positions? Talk to me, people!" Archeville commanded as soon as he appeared in C&C. "They're holdin' position, sir, but long-range sensors show a powerful charge building up." "Jump drives as sey prepare to leave, seeing how de superhumans of Earth haff vonce again routed sem?" Archeville shook his head, "No, no, dere is still much fighting going on, too soon to tell von vay or de ozher... ah-ha!," he exclaimed, then the sound continued rising as he realized the full implications of his thoughts. "Dey are charging a massive veapon... und mit does readings... it could crack de planet!" Gasps and murmurs rippled across the room. "Can we do anything?" "What can we do?" "We've got defensive lasers!" "Don't be daft, man, those thins only have a range of thirty six kilometers! We're over the Amazon Rainforest, 3800 kilometers away!" "We've got positional adjustment jets!" "Aye, that push us about forty kilometers an hour!" "Quiet!" the super-scientist's voice rang out. "Herr Patrick, Frau Mondy, please see vhat you can do to jam deir communications; ArcheStern's own communications system should be up to de task. Herr Kelchin, Herr Tcho, get us moving; I do not vant us to be simply sitting here. Und raise shields, too. Now, Doc-" "Sir, ve... do not have shields," replied Kelchin, the Russian intern who'd shown surprising skill with the facility's positioning systems. "There vere incompatibilities vith the systems and our power sources." Archeville cursed, and gave a resigned nod. "Doctor Simon, find out more about dose ships." "And what of you, Herr Doktor?," Doctor Simon, one of the satellite facility's chief science officers, asked. "Me? Oh, I am just going to compare deir veaponry..." Archeville replied, his voice fading as his cloaking system engaged, "mit some of mein own." Archeville's cloaked form slipped between the ships in the Grue armada, which were all aiming potent energy weapons at Freedom City below. Fortunately for humanity, Archeville had his own potent energy weapon, though one that carried a great risk to use. Up here, away from bystanders or cherished buildings, he could unleash the raw power of the gravity-manipulating devices he wore as a belt. Gravitic shockwaves tore through several of the vessels, rending hull plating, distorting cannon barrels, reaching out nearly three miles from Archeville's position... which was now clear, as pulling this stunt shut down his cloaking field, as well as his primary force field. (He'd switched his life support functions to a set of entirely separate, triply redundant systems months ago, so he wasn't in danger of immediately freezing or suffocating in the void of space.) The ships, while definitely damaged, were still quite capable of attack, and of making Archeville quite dead. "Right... time to see who is de better flier: me, or sem."

Supercape - Gruevasion Supercape had barely arrived in America when the Grue invaded. He had certainly not started being a superhero. True, he had started working on his idea of an unstable quantum lattice of molecules that he could use as a costume - and it was painstaking but hopefully worthwhile work - but actual superheroics was something that was a vague notion at best. When streams of white hot plasma started pelting down from the sky, the alien invaders walked the streets, and the superheroes of Freedom City started fightong back, Professor Quentin Quill had just started work at Freedom University. It was, predictably, pandemonium. Admist all the chaos, some of the scientists had been "asked" to try and analyse the data streaming in from the military and various satellites about the Grue arsenal in space. Quentin had volunteered, of course. As he strode into a ramshakle laboratory, with emergency power only, he found he was paired with professor Liebniz. Quentin felt it was his moral duty to protect the world and the human race. Hence, he had volunteered without hesitation. Liebniz felt it was his moral duty to collate data that he could later publish and thus gain academic prestige. Hence, he had volunteered without hesitation. The two men eyed each other up suspciously as they set about looking at the computers, fax's, and printouts that surrounded them. In the distance, an occassional explosion or sound of artillery fire could be heard. Quentin thought it sounded like the blitz. The two armed soldiers who entered the room didn't help his concentration. One seemed to be a seargant. "Orders of the U.S. Army. Key operations to be guarded at all times" he grunted. The grunt by his side, well...grunted. For all their animosity, Quentin and Liebniz bonded over one thing, they did get excited about science. Poring over the data stream from a military satellite, they started noticing a strange pattern - a Grue Mothership? A Grue Weapon in orbit? they started talking excitedly, almost oblivious to the danger it could represent. "Gracious, look at the gravity fluctuations around this area!" exclaimed Quentin. "Yes, yes, I see them!" answered Liebniz "If we could do a quantum map of the nth space distortions... why, we may be able to track it!" Liebniz was cut short as the but of a rifle from the Grunt crashed down on his head, bringing a moment of agony then unconsciousness. The seargent turned to face Supercape, his features changing to that of a Grue. "You will not defeat our mighty armies, pitiful human!" he shouted. Supercape took a quick look around. Nobody watching, which was good. He decided to feign ignorance and beg for mercy. He wasn't a natural liar, but the words just popped into his head "I'm just a poor boy, give me some sympathy, easy come, easy go, will you let me go?" Any human would have laughed in his face, but the two Grue were unlikely to have an indepth knowledge of fourty year old english rock anthems. At his command, the room filled with a flash of blinding light that completely blinded the two Grue standing before him. As they stood helpless, firing randomly, it was a simple matter for a few pulses of radation to knock the alien invaders out. The few bullets that had strayed his way were frazzled by the forcefield he had erected. Quentin turned back to check Liebniz was unhurt. He was dead cold, but otherwise fine. Sadly, the computer was junked by a stray bullet, and a small fire was eating up the precious data. It looked like the two scientist's wouldn't be helping any more that day. Quentin gazed back at the two unconscious Grue, still glowing a pretty shade of purple, and then at his hand. It seemed he had just taken his first tentative step to being a superhero of Freedom City.

Everything Must Go - set in Midtown's mall Geckoman moved at full speed through the city, pausing occasionally to shoot down some flying alien gribblies. So, Chris, you go off to save the city... and forget about the girl. Good going. "Geckoman to Young Freedom, I am assisting at Millenium Mall. At present, don't need help. Although, if anyone wants to give a cheery pep talk, or make me a sandwich, it'd be much appreciated." He clicked some buttons on a panel somewhere, and hit the autopilot switch. "If you see the Pitcho heading to the Midwest, then... well, that's actually planned, believe it or not." And, with that, he leapt out of the moving airship. "GERONIMO!!!" he yelled as he plummeted towards the large building underneath him... Spellbound stood in front of the advancing aliens, wand held in front of her, crackling with lightning. She'd been trying to hold this mall, with only occasional support, for most of a day, and she was visibly flagging from the effort. "Dammit, Chris," she murmured, glancing back at the unarmed civilians behind her. "This is your job..." With that, she lunged forwards at the charging Grue, blasting one down with lighting and whirling to knock one flat on its back with the force field surrounding her. She jumped up in the air to avoid an attack and was suddenly showered with glass from above as the roof shattered. And a blood-smeared, slightly grimy Geckoman dropped towards the ground, parachute falling away as he did so. "Hey, guys," he grinned, landing on one foot and pivoting on it. "Just dropping in to say hi." And, on that, he roundhoused a Grue away from his bemused looking girlfriend. "Ever considered getting a beeper?" "I figure I can't get rid of you," smirked Liz, shaking her head. "So, shut up, and stop the bad guys so we can go home." Geckoman snapped off a quick salute as he backhanded a Geckorang through the crowd of Grue, backflipping out of his salute into a two-footed jump kick. Having left Spellbound to look after the civilians, Geckoman ran through the mall, spinning off walls, kicking Grue to the ground and occasionally swinging back up to the top level on his grapple line to deposit some poor straggler with the rest of the survivors. But it was then that he saw it. This alien seemed so much bigger than the others, and its eyes glowed with some weird white light. I think I've heard of these things. Can't they read- "Minds?" boomed the creature. Well, that's a yes. And, in a flash, it had elongated its legs to be in front of Geckoman, a fist shaped like a hammer throwing him into a lingerie store. Standing triumphant, the alien's mocking laughter stopped suddenly as a green blur shot out from a pile of scattered clothing and slammed into its stomach. Then, despite it being stunned, the teen hero's second punch missed, giving the monster time to stretch its arm into a baseball bat and send Geckoman flying, the bra which had covered up his goggles falling off in mid-air. Spellbound looked on in horror as Geckoman skidded across the floor, shedding women's underwear from his body as he crashed into a table. "This is not the time to indulge your crossdressing!" she snapped as the huge Grue crashed onto the upper level, tiles splintering underneath him. The people hiding at the back of the level screamed in panic, and started fleeing for the stairs. But once more huge, elongated alien arms came crashing down towards the crowd, only halted by a magnetically levitated cash register. "Get up, Chris! Now!" Then she paused, realising her mistake. "Geckoman!" Getting up in a haze of pain and visions of frilly lace, Geckoman leapt into the air, hurling random objects from his utility belt at the alien. The monster crashed back from three Geckorang impacts, coughed through a huge cloud of multiple smoke bombs and then pausing in bemusement at a pair of furry handcuffs. "C'mon, big guy, read what I'm going to do!" He rolled across the round and came up in a handstand, kicking furiously with his legs into the alien's chest. "Because, I assure you, I don't know what's in my big ol' mind half the time!" He pushed off from the alien with both feet, rolling away and upright as Spellbound fired a bolt of electricity straight at him, which he ducked so fast it soared over his head and into the shapeshifter's chest, throwing it off of the floor they were on. "Wand!" shouted Chris, holding out his arm. Liz managed to throw the wand, despite the fatigue clearly making it hard for her to throw it that hard. "I'll return!" And, once more, Geckoman leapt off of what he was standing on, sliding down the side of a pillar and landing on the alien's chest. "Welcome to Earth... we hope you enjoyed your time here," he growled, emptying the wand's battery into the shapeshifter's chest, leaping clear of the smell of charcoal and returning to defend the civilians upstairs. 10 hours later It was dark over Freedom City. The Pitchoo hovered over the bay, engines humming faintly as it kept itself afloat in the sky. On top of the ship sat a guy and a girl with their arms around each other. "So, what do we do about this?" said Chris softly. Liz looked up at him. "We deal with it. Just like we dealt with the massive alien invasion. Just like how you dealt with Rick. We've come too far to just end it because you enjoy running around in tights too much." Chris suppressed a laugh, and nodded. "Good point. And the tights do make me look pretty."

September 24, 2010 For a few weeks now, flyers had been scattered around Freedom City as if they were leaves falling in autumn. The flyers were an advertisement: And the date of the concert had finally come. For tonight, Eddie had done his best to come up with a set list appropriate for the event. And with his encyclopedic knowledge of songs, he had of course succeeded. Come night time, the Freedom Dome was packed. The doors had opened at 7:00, and by 7:30 the venue was packed. Finally, just before 8:00, the house lights dimmed, and the speakers hummed. [groove]22629855[/groove] The band poured out onto the stage as the music began to play. Alexis was playing drums, and practically destroying them in the process. Warren was carving away at his strings as Lead Guitar. The band's newest member, Elise, otherwise known as Bass Girl was laying down a solid bass groove while her red curly hair danced around her head. Eddie himself was up front and center stage with a microphone in his hand and a guitar strapped to his back. He had yet to start playing it, but would soon be dropping chords as Rhythm Guitar to support Warren. When the first song was over, Eddie stepped forward to address the screaming crowd, "HELLO FREEDOM!" They cheered him on, "Doesn't it feel great to be alive?" Eddie had to stop after every sentence to let the din of the crowd calm before continuing, it seemed. The rest of the band began playing the intro to the next song. "We're here tonight to make sure this city never forgets what it has been through. We're here to thank all of heroes, great and small, who helped out the day those damn aliens thought they could take over. We're here to raise money for those that lost their homes, or loved ones that day. But most of all, we're here to rock!" Eddie called out as he began to sing, "Rising up, back on the street..." [groove]22630043[/groove] As the crowed calmed down, Eddie addressed them once more. "During all the fighting, I managed to find my way to Blackstone prison. I'll tell you one thing. The Grue, really had their act together. Releasing all of those prisoners was quite the trump card. Especially when Nexus appeared. He copied the powers of both Dark Star and myself. But none of that matters. He picked a fight with the wrong heroes, and we stopped that jailbreak before it even got started!" [groove]22630149[/groove] The band didn't even stop. They kept rolling, right into the next one: [groove]22630138[/groove] The concert continued well into the night. Eddie retold his own story, as well as the stories of others. Many of whom were normal citizens, rising to the challenge and performing acts of great bravery. Over all, the band raised a great amount of money to help pay for the victims of the Grue Invasion.

September 24th, 2017 Outside a small house on the edge of West Freedom "I've got'cha naw, ya dern Injin!" Cried the little girl. Her fingers twitched near her side. They were currently hovered near her thigh. Strapped to the side of her leg was a pocket, within which rested a small Compressed Air powered pellet pistol. "You've merely cornered a rat, White Devil!" The boy shouted back. He stood about twenty paces away the girl. Currently his hands rested on his neck behind his head. He lightly fingered the piece of wood tucked in the collar of his shirt, hidden by the feathery head dress he wore. Both children were only about five or six, but there was a fierce determination and stubbornness in their eyes not often seen with children at play. Most people didn't develop that kind of awareness until late in their lives, but these children had learned it early. They'd had to. The girl wore a blue skirt and black tights with a matching blue blouse, and a pair of knee height leather boots. The boy wore denim shorts, and no shirt save for a feathery collar and head dress of his own construction. He also preferred to play barefoot. The two were at a standoff. For a few long moments, neither moved. Then suddenly, a newcomer broke the silence. "Naw what'a y'all reckon we gots here?" fake-growled a man in his late twenties. He stood on the third and fourth concrete steps of the front porch with his left and right feet respectively. He wore sneakers on his feet, jeans, a collared shirt, and appropriately enough, a ten gallon hat. A shiny gold star hung from his shirt pocket. Engraved on the star were two words: "Sheriff Colt" "Looks like we gon'n got're selves'a cowgirl fightin'a Injin!" "That's right, sheriff." The girl replied. "That red-skin savage'n his band of savages attacked the wagons outside of town!" "Ruth Reynolds!" Colt yelled, his face suddenly stern. "I'll be thankin' ya not ta be usin' comments about the color'a people's skin. I reckon it just ain't nice." "Yes, sheriff," The girl hung her head in shame, "I mean, yes, Daddy." "An' what'd I tell ya 'bout attackin' wagon trains, boy?" Colt gave the Indian boy and appraising eye. "Um...Don't, Pa?" The boy's feathery headdress, collar, and slingshot disappeared in a puff of logic when he was startled by his father's stern words. "That's right, Zachary. An' see that'cha respect that." "Daddy?" "Yes, honey?" "Will you tell us a story?" Colt's face softened. He always had been a sucker for kids, especially his own. Being there for his children meant having the chance to be the father he'd never had. "Sure thing, pumpkin." Colt smiled. "Yaaaaaaay!" The two children cheered in unison, "Wohooo!" "Why don't y'all come'n side?" Colt waved the two children through their front door. "Hey, Dad! Tell us the one about the Grue!" --- "An' there'a was," Colt leaned forward on the couch, facing the two children on the floor. Ruth was sitting with her legs to the side in a lady-like pose. Her twin brother sat next to her Indian style, ironically, in his jean shorts and a t-shirt (which he was only wearing because of his mother's insistence that he would catch his death of cold). "On top'a th'hospital, lookin' down on'a army'a strange alien creatures. Ugly'as all get out, they were." Colt spread his arms dramatically, generating a series of oohs and aahs from his children. "With 'bout fifteen'a the city's best heroes, we hit'em hard. There weren't nothin' but me'n ma guns tween them'n the hospital. People were startin'ta worry, somethin' powerful, but we set'em right." Colt drew a line across the carpet with a booted foot. "I gave'em'a line'a bullets. An' th'Jack'a all Blades told'em not'a cross't." Colt sat back and folded his arms. "'Fore we knew't, we were routin'em. Even yer dear 'ol Ma was out there. She was tearin' in'ta them aliens somethin' fierce with them claws'n fangs'a hers!" Colt pantomimed a pair of fangs with his fingers. "Like this, Pa?" Zachary asked, growing a pair of wicked looking vampire fangs, and two inch long dagger like claws from his finger tips. He lunged at his sister, "Hissssss!" "EEeeeEep!" Ruth cried out. "Zachary Reynolds!" Something about saying his children's full name was empowering to Colt. He did it every chance he had to scold them. "Quit scarin' yer sister!" "Yes, Pa." Zachary's fangs retracted with a "flickt!" "Good impression'a yer Ma, though." Colt smiled, light heartedly. "I heard that!" Grim's voice echoed from the adjacent room. "S'only cuz'a love ya!" Colt called back over his shoulder. "Now where was'I? Ah yea, th'hospital. The skies'n streets 'round th'place were teemin' wit' aliens fer hours. Some'a them even made't in'ta the buildin'! We were quick'ta respond, though. Me'n th'other Interceptors took care'a them aliens 'fore they could do any harm." Colt smiled, smugly, remembering their triumphant victory the better part of a decade ago. "I reckon it was one'a them shinin' days'a history fer them other heroes'n me." "Your the best, Pa!" "I wanna be just like ya when I grow up, Daddy!" Colt smiled down at the twins. More than all the battles he'd fought, they were by far his greatest contribution to this world. "One more, Daddy!" "Yea, Pa, tell us the story 'bout the invasion from Hell!" Colt paused, recalling the horrifying battles against the legions of hell, and the near death of his best friend. "Oh, I don't think so, kids. That one'll have'ta wait 'till yer older. Besides, I reckon it's past yer bedtime already. An' I'll bet yer Mother's mad enough't me as is fer that comment'a made." "Awww, Daddy!" "But, Pa!" "No buts, kids. Now git!" Colt pointed towards the stairs, and watch as his two children quickly scampered up to the second floor landing. Colt leaned back on the couch and placed his hands behind his head. It had been a long struggle, but everything had worked out well in the end, for him and for the city.

Now running into your ex-girlfriend while in jail is a situation pretty much everyone everywhere can agree is a terrible state of affairs. But add into that vortex of awkwardness the way I broke up with Ivanna. You see, Ivanna was a military brat. Her dad was a mid-range officer in the military and they moved around a lot due to his career. But Ivanna really loved her father, and truth be told he was a great man. But because he was in the military, leaving the country was pretty much out of the country, and I really wanted to move to America. So I had to make a choice: the girl I loved, or a chance to make a better life for myself in America. I chose the latter… and I told her this in a note I had left her. Yeah… dick move I know. Which makes this hug I’m getting quite confusing. “Ivanna, is that really you?†I say thoroughly confused as I return her hug. “Yeah, it really is.†"Listen about back-" I try to start to explain “Hey Sam…†she cuts me off *CRUNCH* *THUD* That was the sound of Ivanna using 20 years’ worth of anger to knee me in the crotch, followed by the sound of me being dropped like a bag of bricks. Now my recollection of the new couple of minutes is real hazy, but I was apparently being released into Ivanna’s custody. The only thing I remember with any clarity was when Ivanna stooped down and very nearly picked me up by my ear and spoke these words directly into it “When you can stand up again, come outside and we’re going to have a talk.†For just a moment there, I consider crawling back into the cell.

It’s on the 3rd day that I catch a lucky break. See Yuri’s been trying to contact one of the higher ups in the government, the equivalent of a DA and a judge rolled into one. Naturally, they’re swamped with work so they don’t get back right away. As Yuri’s explaining all this to me, I hear a door open and a voice calls out “Sam-sam, I thought I told you to keep your head down.†Framed in the doorway stands the Advisor to the Minister of Justice. She’s a relatively broad shouldered woman, with ample curves. Her blond hair is tied back in a tight braided bun. Her bright blue eyes are framed with frameless glasses, which shows of even more of her immaculate features. The way she stands lets you know right away she’s used to being in a position of authority and having people doing what she asks without question. Her name is Ivanna Demidov, and even though it’s been over 20 years since I last saw her, I still recognize her as the first girl I ever kissed. The fact that she was also the only one to ever call me Sam-Sam was a pretty big tip off as well.

So Yuri moves up a few notches in my book, but he’s still got a job to do and it doesn’t look like he’s gonna let me off the hook all too soon. Now, at this point, nobody knows I got powers, and I want to keep it that way. It’d cause quite an international incident if an American super hero breaks out of a Russian jail after getting into a bar room brawl. But at the same time, I don’t exactly want to rot in a Russian jail for a couple of months. So I’m not too sure how I should go about ding this. And I know there isn’t going to be any cavalry coming for me either. While a lot of the supers distanced themselves from me recently (not that I blame them of course), I still got a few close friends. I just let them know before I left that they wouldn’t be able to contact me for a while. But in a brilliant move of mine, I didn’t let anyone know where I was going. Now quite a few of them could find out if they really wanted to, but they’re also the type to give me space if I asked for it. Meanwhile, I sit a holding cell for a few days. I don’t have enough to make bail and Yuri is doing me a favor and trying to see if he can wiggle me out of any charges. A point of note is that they don’t have to charge you right away in Russia, but once they do, the legal process steps into high gear, and I’ll be shipped off to a prison in short order. Right now I’m pinning my hopes on Yuri because if I go to trial, I’m going to jail.