Avenger Assembled

The patriotic lasers struck Harrier in the mid-section, their blast superheating his armor right through to the flesh it protruded from underneath. The faceless drone staggered under the blast, shielding its invisible face with an armored limb. And then it did something neither of them had ever heard an Omegadrone doing: it spoke. Omegadrones made noise sometimes; hideous growls, shrieks of unimaginable emotion as they died, but never this. "The building!" it plead, its robotic voice just audible over the sound of the fire overhead. "Stop!"

Harrier: 24 Miss A: 15 Jack: 12 Jill: 5

24

He is bruised!

The bar itself was not on fire; the first was actually in the apartment overhead that luckily appeared to be vacant. Something had smashed its way through the ceiling and set the place upstairs alight as if by a gigantic explosion. But heat was growing from the burning timbers overhead, the air thick enough to make Jill and Jack cough before Jill's bubble asserted itself, and it wouldn't be long at all before things overhead started to cave in, dumping flaming timbers down on the trapped people below. Unless someone did something about the fire! Just as the heroes took in the four people still trapped inside the bar, all of them still unconscious, an Omegadrone walked in through the open back alley door. Clearly recognizable as one of Omega's faceless minions amidst the flames, glistening black power pike at its side, the blank-faced creature in armor stood there with flames licking at it, the armor visibly heating up from the ambient heat in the room. Harrier wasn't sure what to do. I don't know them. They won't trust me. None of the three heroes could see his face, so instead he turned his body and headed for the nearest victim. From outside, Miss Americana, Jack, and Jill put words to the yelling fire victims for the first time. "It's an Omegadrone! There's an Omegadrone in there!"

Screams ripped from innocent and guilty throats alike the monster that had haunted so many of their nightmares since 1993 stood before them. There was more gunfire now from terrified, fleeing patrons, the bullets and hurled dishware all easily bouncing off the armor that encapsulated and enfolded Harrier. Oh no. He thought. He disposed of the gangsters expertly, smashing his armored fist into Tommy's face, then beating his way through the others like they weren't there. He didn't even need to draw his pike, instead simply smashing them aside with spiked, armored fists that broke their human bones like cardboard. Lady Liberty will be angry. I need to leave. Ignoring the gunfire, he turned and walked towards the rear door of the bar, planning to simply batter his way through if no alley exit presented itself, and to fly away once that deed was done. But then, just as he reached the door, the white face of the man who'd been behind the bar burst out, carrying a green and brown rocket tube. "Take this, you Terminus-OH CRAP!" He hadn't been expecting Harrier to be standing right there, and panicking, he fired! Harrier acted on instinct, bringing up his pike and deflecting the blast, sending the projectile to the ceiling where it erupted in a tremendous, blinding explosion. Seconds later, Harrier pulled himself to his feet. The building was on fire, smoke obscuring his sensors, and he was surrounded by the bodies of those who'd fled the blast too slowly, their slowly-moving chests the only signs of life in their battered bodies. Oh. This was a mistake. He looked around for a moment, feeling the bar floor creak under his hundreds of pounds of weight, and finally made a decision: he took the bartender's unconscious body in his arms, and began making the first trip out the rear door. There'd been one there the whole time!

Murdock caught the fist as it came up again, Tommy V's punch landing hard enough to produce a clang against the metal under his skin. "Is your power so great," he hissed at the suddenly wide-eyed gangster, "that you must prove it on the bodies of the weak?" The bar went dead silent, the proles meaning nothing to Murdock as he stared implacably at the abuser of the innocent. Catalina took the opportunity to split, slipping out under the table and heading straight for the door. After a long moment of shocked silence as the gangster unsuccessfully tried to pull his wrist free, Tommy V exclaimed, "Jesus! Claude, waste this son of a bitch!" The gangster just behind Tommy immediately went into action, silently drawing a pistol and firing a shot into Murdock's midsection. The bullet clanged off the metal inside the man, and all the gangsters suddenly cursed. "Christ, he's a meta!" Taken aback by the sudden ferocity from the powerless humans, Murdock just stood there, still holding onto Tommy's wrists, as a volley of gunfire hit him, heavier and more powerful than he'd expected. One shot hit him in the eye, richocheting right off the armored plating beneath. And that was startlement enough to trigger his instincts. The armor erupted from Murdock's back with a CLANGCLANGCLANG and RIP of forgiving flesh giving way before Terminus steel, bursting around and enfolding his body, his face vanishing beneath an erupting mass of faceless, spiked black metal that burst from his very skin, a few drops of blood falling as his body vanished beneath an eruption of armor and gear usually kept folded away in the fourth-dimensional space inside his bones. Within the space of just a few seconds, a bristling, ferocious Omegadrone took shape in the middle of the bar. And then the screaming started.

"So, what do you think, man?" Farouk al-Fayid was an immigrant from Pakistan, a cordial, friendly man with an East Indian accent and full beard. He'd thought the strange, silent new man on the busboy crew at Champions was Indian too, but Murdock had turned out to be...well, he wasn't really sure. But he was a loner and from far away, and that was something the refugee from civil war and death could certainly understand. "I am unsure of its purpose," said Murdock after a long, slow silence, speaking in his usual deliberately chosen monotone. "The flavoring is unpleasant, and chemical poisoning will happen very quickly if drunk." He was about to try the smile he'd been practicing in the mirror over his bathroom sink when he heard a cry from across the bar. Looking up, he saw six human males sitting with one female, the bruise on her cheek telling him she was the source of the first cry. A moment later, the male that was her companion struck her across the face again. "You think Jack of all Blades is so cute, huh, sugar-lips? Maybe you see how much your hero likes you when your face looks like something my cat dragged in!" His circle seemed to find that hilarious. "Aw, c'mon, Tommy," the female was pleading, fear in her too-wide eyes, "I was just making a joke, it's-" Murdock's jaw tightened, his hand on the bar turning white as the taunting and blows continued across the room. "Who is that?" he asked Farouk. "Ah, man, I don't think you should mess with those guys," said Farouk, looking around uncomfortably. "It's a guido bar, man, and they let in a lot of wise guys. Best if you don't...ah, Murdock, damn it!" But he was too slow, as Murdock had already gotten to his feet. The gangsters sat like kings among men, and were so busy enjoying watching one of their number torment a weaker person that they never looked up until Murdock was among them.

Round 1 [surprise round]: Standard Action: Harrier initiates a grapple attempt against Tommy, who he can't miss as a flat-footed minion. 10 vs 25 Having failed by 15, Tommy is Bound and Helpless under our grapple rules Move Action: Harrier attempts to Startle Tommy as a Move Action, taking a -5 penalty on the roll. Tommy fails badly, and is Startled Round 2 [initiative] Harrier: 19 Gangsters: 11 Tommy: 3 Not sure of what to do, Harrier holds his action till the gangsters go. He'll go after them from now on. One of the gangsters pulls out a pistol and blasts Harrier in the chest. He hits, as Harrier is flat-footed in the grapple. TOU DC of 18 Harrier passes easily Realizing that they're dealing with a superhuman opponent, the other five gangsters all pull out their weapons and open fire: Two hit Harrier passes both Harrier: Realizing that he's under lethal attack, Harrier automatically pops his armor as a free action. Standard Action: Harrier attacks Tommy with a +5 Power Attack. He's a minon and can't make the DC 30 Tou save, and so is automatically unconscious Harrier surges to attack all the gangsters, knocking them all unconscious by taking 10 and Power Attacking. Round 3: There's an Omegadrone in the bar fighting with the patrons. The crowd starts screaming and running and more gangsters open fire on the monster as they run for the door, but none of them can get past his Impervious. Harrier realizes he's in a very bad situation and starts walking out the rear door. Bad move, as the bartender kicks open the rear door to reveal that that's where he's been keeping the heavy weapons over the years! He catches Harrier flat-footed and shoots him with a rocket launcher. But Harrier dodges! With his Impervious, Harrier passes the halved damage without needing to roll. But the rest of the bar doesn't; the half-dozen people who didn't get out this round are all knocked unconscious by the explosion. And that's when we'll start, with Harrier in a burning mob bar full of unconscious people.

Those of you got above 20 Notice

"I will," Mark promised. He studied Erin closely, thinking about her for a moment. As with all of his female friends, he'd occasionally wondered what it would be like to be with her. He was fiercely glad at this moment, though, that there was nothing between them but friendship. "Thank you for coming out and helping me tonight. Thank you for being my friend," he told her. "I'll see you tomorrow, Erin." And with that, he began the slow walk back to his house.

Mark studied Erin as she told him something that cleared up many of the mysteries that still surrounded his reserved friend. Well, some of them, anyway. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, the two of them alone in the dark of his lawn. "Thank you for trusting me with that," Mark added softly. "Not everyone trusts me with...with important things like that." He swallowed hard. "I can't ever compare what happened between us," he said with a single headshake. "But the Terminus took both our fathers away. My dad left the day I died, and he never came back." He scrubbed his eyes. "I should go."

Mark hesitated to ask the question, genuinely frightened of making one of his best friends and closest emotional allies angry. He felt truly, monumentally alone just then, the betrayal of everything he'd thought he believed about his family and his relationship with his father still ringing harshly in his ears. When he'd worked up the courage, he finally closed his eyes and asked, "How did your dad die?"

"I wanna go back home," said Mark quietly. He followed Erin without saying much outside, the strangeness of riding on her back muted after so many practice sessions together. He didn't say much on the short trip home, but when they did reach his dark and silent house, he asked her, almost fearfully, "Erin, can I ask you something? Something really personal?"

Through A Glass The sky was gray with the dust and smoke that came with a collapsed building, billows of it that turned everything it touched a waxy, corpselike white itself. The invasion was over, but at the moment it almost seemed like the least of their troubles. This time, unlike in the invasion of hell, the damage remained behind after the invasion was over. And there were a lot of people who needed help. Right now, many of them were waiting outside of a hastily erected barricade, watching her silently and begging them with their eyes to make things better. Erin did the best she could to walk lightly in the rubble that had once been a five story apartment building. Psyche, working remotely from halfway across the city, had assured her there were people alive in here, people who needed help. There were dogs and equipment, not to mention other heroes on the way, but it might be too late on a day like this with so many disasters. One superhero at the right time could make all the difference when lives were on the line. She reminded herself of that even as her stomach churned and twisted, the acrid smell in the air triggering sense memories she couldn't afford to go back to right now. The job was the thing now, and saving lives, and not letting all her power be for nothing this time. “Hello?†she called, straining her ears for any noises. Her ears were her best sense, but she was no Psyche and no search dog. It was almost worse to walk through this carnage and know that there were living people somewhere nearby, that she could help them but only if she didn't screw up. She was listening so hard that at first she thought the noise she actually heard was a figment of her imagination, it was so faint. But it was real, a scratching from halfway across the collapse site, as of someone trying to move the debris. She resisted the urge to leap, unsure of what a landing would do, and instead raced as quickly and lightly as she could to the source of the sound. “Can you hear me?†she called. There was a murmur from the families watching beyond the barricades at her sudden movement, but they quieted quickly, knowing that their silence was her success. “Here!†came a voice from down in the piles of rubble. “We're down here, help us!†Young, Erin thought, sounded like a kid. God... “It's all right!†she called. “I'm Wander, I'm from Young Freedom! I'm going to help you! Just hold on and be brave, okay?†Working quickly and carefully, she sorted out the massive pieces of fallen building, pushing them aside carefully so as to try and disrupt the pile as little as possible. She'd had extensive training in disaster relief as well as combat; she knew what a shifting field of debris could do to a trapped victim. It was an endless five minutes before she opened enough of a clearing to see through to the victims. Two boys, she realized, one maybe twelve or thirteen, the other younger. It looked like they'd gotten lucky, wedging themselves into a closet that had collapsed into a protective triangle over their heads. “We're okay,†the older boy said, his arms wrapped around what had to be his younger sibling. “Kind of... my leg hurts,†he admitted. “My mom... my mom was over in the kitchen, just next to us,†he told Erin urgently. “We heard her yell out when everything was falling. Is she okay? Did she get out?†From where she was, Erin could only see a little bit of the rest of what had once been a decent apartment. She shifted just a little bit to get a better idea of what was around, catching a glimpse of a metal sink and pipes that said kitchen. “Just a second...†Sliding her way across patches of crumbled drywall, she made her way over there and shone her flashlight into a gap between joists. Her light picked up the blood first, and then the casualty. Adult female DOA, Erin told herself, making herself be clinical about it. She had work to do. Returning to the boys, she blanked her face to impassive concentration. “I'm going to get you out of there,†she promised again. “You're going to have to be very brave.†It was only much later, long after the boys were reunited with their father and that building and many others like it were cleared that she allowed herself to acknowledge how long they were going to have to be brave for.

Martial Artist " Abilities: 52 pp STR 26 (+8) DEX 24 (+7) CON 26 (+8) INT 10 (+0) WIS 14 (+2) CHA 12 (+1) Combat: 28 pp ATK: +6 (+12 Unarmed) DEF: +12 (+4 flat-footed) Init: +7 Grapple: +14 Saves: 6 pp TOU +8 (+8 Con) FORT +8 (+8 Con) REF +8 (+7 Ref, +1) WILL +7 (+2 Wis, +5) Skills: 11 pp=44 r Acrobatics 8 (+15) Bluff 9 (+10) Diplomacy 9 (+10) Languages 1 (English) (Base: Chinese) Notice 6 (+8) Search 5 (+5) Sense Motive 6 (+8) Feats: 16 pp Acrobatic Bluff, All-Out Attack, Attack Specialization: Unarmed 3, Benefit (Fame), Dodge Focus 4, Evasion, Luck Move-By Action, Power Attack, Takedown Attack, Uncanny Dodge (auditory) Powers: 37 pp Immunity 1 (aging) [1 pp] Regeneration 34 (Recovery Bonus +1 [+9 total], Bruised [3] (no action), Injured [6] [no action], Staggered [6] [no action], Disabled [8] [no action], Resurrection [10] [no action]) (PFs: Persistent, Regrowth) [36 pp] --- Design Notes: OK, this guy's powers got reworked, so let me explain: this is a very 'cinematic' take on the Martial Artist archetype, a nigh-invincible action hero who shrugs off any damage he takes (save ability drains) with no action. Kill him, and he's up and again the next round! Note that he's _not_ immune to being unconscious, though, so the way you lay him out is give him a savage beating till he's knocked out, then you tie him up or something. He's not the world's greatest martial artist, but with his ability to take ridiculous punishment, lay his opponents out flat-footed, and then punch them really, really hard, who cares? Put him up against my Ninja build to drive said Ninja insaaane! (As mentioned, though, he has no real defense against Drains beyond an OK Fort save, and his exotic saves are a bit low (though not as low as some of my builds!) in general. He's tough, but a smart fighter can lay him out.) The default assumption here is that this IS a certain Hong Kong action star-turned-superhero, using the abilities that made him such a talented showman to fight crime. Maybe he decided he wanted to be a hero for real after pretending to be one most of his life, or maybe what was supposed to be a publicity stunt for his latest movie got out of hand in the most delightful way. Another idea is that maybe something darker happened: maybe as he got older his body started giving out on him, and he turned to drugs and secret treatments to be able to do all his old stunts. Riven by guilt, he decided to make up for one mistake by doing more good deeds! You can make his high ability scores Enhanced if you want: I went with the assumption that he really is incredibly strong, fast, and tough. Tweak him however you want to give the concept a little more bite. Maybe he's an aging American action star like Bruce Willis, maybe he specializes in something other than unarmed combat. You could make a tweak on the Living Weapon archetype by totally dropping the Hollywood angle, but I rather like making this sort of character a spinoff of the Martial Artist type. And hey, who doesn't like this guy? He's got a lot of Regen, don't forget his Regeneration only works one condition at a time. He might be moving again one action after being dead, but it's a couple of rounds before he'll be back to his usual self.

"It's nice to meet you too," said the white-haired old lady. "We'll talk more later," she assured Erin. "When I've had my rest and my pills. Good night," she added, before letting her eyes drift shut. Within seconds she was asleep again, and Mark reached down to gently dab a little bit of drool from her face before he and Erin walked out. Only once he was in the corridor did his steps get shaky, Mark heading wordlessly towards the elevator, his tear-streaked face visible now in the light.

Mark wept softly, covering his face in his hands, managing to stay upright through sheer force of will. "It's not fair," he murmured to himself, his voice thick with pain, "It's...it's not supposed to be like this, uhhh..." The words broke up into soft, undramatic sobs when he couldn't talk anymore. When it was done, he pulled himself away from Erin and took some soft, pained breaths. And then came the singing, in a thready old woman's voice, from the bed. "You make me happyyy, when skies are grey..." Stephy Lucas blinked at both of them. "Markie? Honey, you're crying." She reached up a frail old hand to touch her grandson's face, Mark reaching down to take hers. "I'm all right," she said reedily. "It was just the angina." "I know, Gramma, I know," whispered Mark, "but I love you, so I was worried. That's what family does." "Oh, my poor grandbaby..." Stephy patted him lightly on the back of the head. "It's after midnight, Markie. Why don't you go home and sleep, and I'll call you and your mamma in the morning? Who's your friend?" she asked curiously. "This is my friend Erin," said Mark, hugging the frail old woman gently, then looking at Erin. "She's a superhero too, and she came to help. You get some more sleep, Gramma." He smiled at her as he pulled away.

"That's not quite it, is it, Dad?" asked Mark, looking at his father with new eyes. "You don't want to come back because you left in the first place. All my life, you told me to face my problems like a man, but you ran away, without any word, and now you can't come back without everyone knowing what you did, and that you couldn't deal with it, because everything you taught me was..." "No. Not all of it." The grief was written large on RIck's old man's face. "Just the parts about me. Just the parts where I thought I was good enough to be your father." He looked up suddenly, the darkening shadows in the room seeming to thicken. "Oh. They're coming for me soon. Listen to me, both of you," he said desperately, rising to his feet as he stretched across the bed. "There's something coming, something I'm forbidden to stop. But you can, both of you, and your friends. It's the Terminus, they're planning to-" A gravely whisper spoke from the darkness, one Mark and Erin both recognized as the genie who'd adventured alongside Jimmy Lucas for so many years. The real genetic father of Rick Lucas. "It's time to go, son." Rick's face almost crumpled as he said aloud, "You're. Not. My. Faaaaather..." He started to disappear at the last words, and, too late, Mark reached desperately across the bed for his father's hand, just brushing it as his father vanished into a cloud of darkness over the echo of his last despairing word. Mark stared at the place where his father had been and covered his face. He breathed a single, pained syllable. "Ohh..."

Rick hemmed and hawed at that for a moment, before the hard, painful look from his son got him talking. "I'm no longer from this place, from this world. Maybe I never was, really, but it didn't matter until I changed things. The world is very...protective of itself, when it comes to magic. Coming here alone, for family, is all I can do, and even that's so...so difficult. The world resists attempts to change it, especially from someone who's already done it once." "Well...give it all up," said Mark suddenly, giving his father almost a pleading look. "I know you were just trying to save me, Dad. I don't blame you for what happened; I never could. Those things that happened were just mistakes, or accidents. That's not the real you." "Isn't it, son?" Rick's eyes hardened, or rather, seemed to turn inward. "Maybe I didn't mean to do all those things, but I still wanted them. Wanted to shut that pompous bastard Ray Gardener up forever, wanted to kill those monsters who abandoned your friend..." "What, Trevor's parents?" "Parents who abandon their children don't deserve to live," said Rick fiercely. He calmed himself, looking away, then said, "And...and maybe I didn't mean it, not for it to happen the way it did, but how could I look them in the eye afterwards? Forty years in the business, twenty-five years with the Centurion, and one terrible day wipes it all away."

When Mark opened the door, Rick Lucas was sitting at his sleeping mother's bedside. He looked up at the teens as they entered, and Mark let out a soft, painful gasp. Rick Lucas had remade himself while he was gone, the old man in his mid-sixties now a youthful-looking, vigorous young man in his twenties. He looked like Mark might look in another few years, or like Rick himself had looked many years earlier. Back when the League was formed. Back before he knew Mom, Mark thought painfully. He and his father locked eyes as age blended back onto Rick's face, until by the time Mark spoke a clear doppleganger of his father was still standing there. "What are you doing here?" he whispered, his hands clenched painfully into fists at his side. "Exactly what it looks like," said Rick, leaning back to study his son, still in the 50s leather jacket and jeans he'd started out wearing. "Your grandmother is sick, so I'm paying her visit." "You didn't visit her before," Mark shot back accusingly, "Or me. Or Mom!" Stephy Lucas stirred at that, but didn't wake up. "Mark, you know I can't do that," said Rick, trying to sound in control of the situation and failing. "Even being here now, is so hard, I...I'd have come if you or your mother were in danger, just like this."

Edge stared at Grim as if she was speaking Martian when she talked about actions having consequences. When she was done, he added, "No, see, it's OK. That's why I didn't make them fake pounds or anything, because that would be counterfeiting. But everyone can use precious metal! It's a universal currency." With that, he snapped his fingers and was briefly colored with a swirl of black bubbles. When he was done, Mark was dressed in a good copy of Sidney Paget's Sherlock Holmes, who was the only Victorian character Mark could identify by sight. Adjusting his Inverness cape and deerstalker, Mark slipped his pipe into his breast pocket. "What's next, guvna?"

Mark scrubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, listening to the gentle singing of that so familiar, now lost voice. "He used to sing that to me when I was going to bed," he murmured quietly, childhood memories thick in his throat. "Every night when I was little, or couldn't sleep. I guess he learned it from Grandma Stephy." As if making a decision, he got to his feet and headed for the corridor. "I'm going to go talk to him," he finally said.

"The more the better," agreed Mark. He did his usual ritual of dumping in sugar and creamer, and together they both sipped the coffee silently until suddenly a voice came over Mark's beacon. It was a man, singing "You Are My Sunshine," in a low, gentle voice. Mark's hand turned white on the cup, and he nearly dropped the coffee before setting it aside. "That's not my grandma," he whispered to Erin, his face white and voice strained. "That's my dad..."

"Yeah, I mean, we've got to pay the bills. We got a lawyer, uh, Lady Liberty, actually," he added in a murmur, "so we can access my dad's savings, but we don't know how long it's going to be there. He made a lot of money, but we can't just blow through it. She was just about to run through her script backlog, and she couldn't just let it go, even if her editor was very sympathetic." He chuckled faintly. "Comic book editors aren't very heroic. I guess it's the nature of the job."