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Millenium City Moments
cybersoldier1981
Posts: 2,501 Arc User
Per request- this is a character's perspective of 'those moments' in Champions Online that make you face-palm at the keyboard.
Log, 19 June 2013. Renaissance Center, Millennium City, Michigan.
Maybe it was the stiff drink that got to me. Maybe it was the sleepless nights, the worry that someone was working against me, one step ahead. I watch the sun set, wondering when they would eventually disassemble the Qu'larr ship in the lake. That's when I see him.
Moving faster than anything human. Charging, head first. For a brief moment, I wonder if he's headed somewhere else. No, he's headed for me- a collision course where an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. I plant one foot behind me, ready to evade. My hand is on my sidearm, flicking the safety selector to fire. One round in the chamber, fifteen in the magazine.
I catch a glimpse of him. His eyes are a ablaze, a glowing red like the blazes of hell's brimstone. His hood covers his skulll, held in place with a pair of fearsome horns I might be digging out of my rib cage. His nostrils flare- and I question whether he's taking in the scent of me like some predator, or just simply breathing. He's built in a way like nothing I've seen- long arms, thick like a pine. Feet the size of a shoebox. First big enough to squeeze my head like a lemon while he drinks every sour drop of bad memories I have. He has wings, like some storybook devil- and he's not using them to fly... which tells me he's in this for the sport, the primal challenge of running down and mauling your prey. He's armed- sword, a relic from an age in fuedal Japan, and a PDW on his hip, most likely H&K MP7... he knows our ways of battle, how we kill, and he embraces it. He wants this intimate dance of blood and he's chosen me. Part of me is flattered, other parts afraid.
He stops a mere inch from my face. Those nostrils, still flaring. I can smell him- and he smells like the cold sweat from a fevered summer nightmare. He says nothing, does nothing. Seconds seem like an eternity. He stares into my eyes, and he's looking for something. He wants something I have He wants to confirm I am afraid, and I am. I am very afraid. He opens his mouth- and words, words like nothing I've every heard in a voice no man should every have, he says something- and it freezes me to the marrow.
'hey bro cool costume how u get shoudlers'
And then he backflips.
Log, 19 June 2013. Renaissance Center, Millennium City, Michigan.
Maybe it was the stiff drink that got to me. Maybe it was the sleepless nights, the worry that someone was working against me, one step ahead. I watch the sun set, wondering when they would eventually disassemble the Qu'larr ship in the lake. That's when I see him.
Moving faster than anything human. Charging, head first. For a brief moment, I wonder if he's headed somewhere else. No, he's headed for me- a collision course where an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. I plant one foot behind me, ready to evade. My hand is on my sidearm, flicking the safety selector to fire. One round in the chamber, fifteen in the magazine.
I catch a glimpse of him. His eyes are a ablaze, a glowing red like the blazes of hell's brimstone. His hood covers his skulll, held in place with a pair of fearsome horns I might be digging out of my rib cage. His nostrils flare- and I question whether he's taking in the scent of me like some predator, or just simply breathing. He's built in a way like nothing I've seen- long arms, thick like a pine. Feet the size of a shoebox. First big enough to squeeze my head like a lemon while he drinks every sour drop of bad memories I have. He has wings, like some storybook devil- and he's not using them to fly... which tells me he's in this for the sport, the primal challenge of running down and mauling your prey. He's armed- sword, a relic from an age in fuedal Japan, and a PDW on his hip, most likely H&K MP7... he knows our ways of battle, how we kill, and he embraces it. He wants this intimate dance of blood and he's chosen me. Part of me is flattered, other parts afraid.
He stops a mere inch from my face. Those nostrils, still flaring. I can smell him- and he smells like the cold sweat from a fevered summer nightmare. He says nothing, does nothing. Seconds seem like an eternity. He stares into my eyes, and he's looking for something. He wants something I have He wants to confirm I am afraid, and I am. I am very afraid. He opens his mouth- and words, words like nothing I've every heard in a voice no man should every have, he says something- and it freezes me to the marrow.
'hey bro cool costume how u get shoudlers'
And then he backflips.
Post edited by cybersoldier1981 on
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I've been down and out since she left. Still a committed man, but the urges I have brought me into this place. Maybe I was lookin' for somethin' I didn't feel right about. Maybe I was just lookin'.
That's when I saw her. Suckin' on a lollypop, swingin' her hips. If I could'a seen more skin, I'd have had to lay dollar bills down. It's when she stands up straight I get a look.
Those puppies of hers, size of my head and then some... might even have orbit. Shoulders strained to keep 'em up with that string bikini she'd managed to throw over those massive cans. Girl was ideal for sea ops... barrel chested, probably had the lung capacity of a cargo truck. Hips as big around as my ankle. Each leg was as tall as me and glistened in a sun that wasn't there. Hair was platinum blonde, glowin' and lightin' up my world.
She looks at me. I see her. That's when I go to speak, but she cuts me off.
Her voice sounds like it came from a neckbeard Alabama trucker. I smell onions, fish grease, and shame. She bellows out, spattering my face with foul-smelling spit and bits of meatloaf. Her words will haunt me for the rest of my days.
"f**k off i dont liek men im a lez"
And then she backflipped away.
It's afternoon. Usually quiet. On my way to do the usual, selling off the scavenged remnants of my last encounter. Casually interact with allies. Listen to the radio. This is what I call normal, as sad and strange as that may be.
That's when it falls. Orbital? Atmospheric? No idea. The steel cylinder embeds itself with a shockwave that rings my ears and staggers me. Through the smoke, dust, and debris I crawl for my Smokey & The Bandit travelmug. It isn't here.
That's when I see it. Seven feet tall. Wearing a red gi. Yellow hair that defies gravity. I've seen this before. Television. Bad television about Dragon Balls and aliens. Alien. That's what it is. Most likely took the form of something popular, thinking this form would allow it to blend in. Win over the children. Conquer a generation.
It's staring at me. I raise my hands, offering it a gesture of peace. It tilts its head, massive inhuman eyes, most likely not fully formed to mimic the native norm- they stare me down. Its smiling. A forced, stiff, unmoving smile. It speaks a single word in a voice like a child, prepubescent.
"Duel?"
It's testing me. It wants a challenge. But I'm not like this. I won't start a war with an alien species over my ego, no... I walk away. Slowly, backing away.
Then the orbital projectile strikes again, and it repeats the word.
"Duel?"
No way outta this one. I draw my weapons.
I can't tell you what happens next. Fire. Guns. Blades. Shadow creatures. Unseen force knocking me off my feet. I come to, too much pain. I lay there, wishing the God above would intervene.
That's when it speaks, an alien language no human ear has heard.
"Noob estupido que voce nao pode duelo huehuehuehue"
And then he backflipped away.
The voices. I keep hearing them. I struggle to make sense of all this. I can't ask myself if I'm going insane- I know I am, I just want to know why this symptom won't go away.
The voices- all different, screaming at the same time. Someone needs help. Someone is lost, confused. Others say damning words. Others spout words about religion, philosophy, politics. It's too much madness.
I'm curled into a ball on the sidewalk. Shaking. I've thrown up bile in my mask. A friendly civilian runs to me. Help at last.
"Gee, Cybersoldier- you sure did awesome shutting down Dr. Detroyer's blah blah blah..."
Go to hell, Linda. Just jog your fat **** straight to hell.
She rambles on, stopping her morning run to do nothing more than tell me how great it is I did something. Can she not see I'm anguished? My mind is a screaming chorus of all manner of voices, fighting to be heard. And that's when I hear one. One voice, a friendly voice. A voice of strength. He can help me. He cries out, and I hear him.
"CAAAALLLLIIIIGAAAAAA!!!!!"
It's the greatest thing I have heard- somehow part lumberjack bear-punching mountain man, part testosterone justice god- part heavenly angel.
He bellows his word, his name- and I cry out to him for salvation.
'Caliga- Caliga, can you hear me! Please, Caliga!'
He does not answer. More voices. More screaming. Fighting. Insults. Jokes. Sexual innuendo. Why does he not answer? Where is he? Can he not hear? I cry out again- ten minutes felt like ten centuries.
I go to cry his name, plea for him once more.
My mouth cannot form the words. There is nothing to escape my lips. My heads-up display flashes across my vision the words:
You have been flagged as a spammer. A customer service representative has been notified. You may chat again in 24 hours, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds.
And then I backflipped.
It had been a long time since I was in the field. Too long.
I'd just had my superhero license reinstated by UNITY, and was growing used to the idea of slashing with claw and fang instead of ethereal blades. I was rusty, but that could be fixed with practice.
Practice would have to wait, however; Mindslayer was robbing a bank. Without thinking I ran over, glad I was close enough to the scene to not need transport.
One of our teammates was still en route when I arrived, so I had time to shift to my battle form and look over my teammates. They seemed frightened at first (gotta work on that), but were reassured when I greeted them.
Then my eyes were blinded. Some....thing...had arrived. I couldn't make out its costume, so intense were the glows emanating from its hands and feet. And they kept shifting colors, from purple to green and back again. Apparently, this was our final teammate.
We proceeded to tear Psi a new one, but I had to admit I wasn't up to par. I could barely see Mindslayer's minions as the riot of glows kept blasting flame every which way, causing my eyes to tear. I didn't even know they could.
As we stood over Mindslayer's unconscious body, the glowing monstrosity jogged over to where I stood. He stared at me, breathing heavily, and I wondered what I could have possibly done to earn this attention. Then he spoke, in a voice that could tear sheet metal:
"Sik Costume Bro!"
Then he backflipped away.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
[thread=139701]My old, old guide for Ego Blades. Updated for On: Alert.[/thread]
[thread=154211]The Costume Contest Schedule. Stay up-to-date without having to log in![/thread]
Date: undocumented. Club Caprice lounge, balcony.
It was a fairly uneventful evening, as I had grown accustomed to. I was looking out over the lounge with minimal interest, a drink in my hand. If it could qualify as a drink. Tasted like flat soda. Markus and Cypher were discussing something next to me, I think. I can't remember. It was boring.
A few people were wandering to and fro beyond the fountain in front of me, conversing in hushed voices, drinking, chuckling. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked to the doorway across the room and almost dropped my drink. In through the stone archway squeezed what was quite possibly the biggest, beefiest, ugliest infernal I'd ever seen. He must've been about eight feet tall, clad in ornate red and black robes. His skin was a dusky grey, and he had arms bigger around than my entire body that ended in talons. Ridged horns perfect for goring sprouted from his crown, and as he stalked across the room, he looked up at me. My blood froze. He had no eyes. Where there should have been eyes, there were only dark pits set into his skull above jagged fangs.
By this time, Mark and Cyph had taken notice and had halted their conversation to see what I had been staring at. Cypher said nothing, crossing his arms and looking supremely unconcerned, and Markus may have let out a chuckle as that massive, shadowy beast stalked up the stairs and came to stand in front of me, staring down at me with empty eyes. Next to me, Cypher placed a hand into his coat, no doubt preparing to draw his sidearm. I steeled myself and glared up at the infernal.
"What?" I demanded. He hissed down at me in response, his voice low and serpentine.
"I know a certain Doom Lord that wants your head on a platter," he threatened.
I may have been intimidated if I had a clue what that was. I played it off, crossing my arms over my chest and sneering up at him with a laugh.
"Tell him to come and get it. I'll wait right here, Black Beauty."
Markus, who was standing to my left now, made no effort to hold back a laugh, a strange chorus of many combined voices echoing from his hood. "Indeed," he chimed in. "Unless you'd rather bring it to him personally, in which case, good luck." Markus drew two sickle swords from some unseen point behind his cloak. On my right, Cypher had drawn his pistols, glaring silently up at the monster. Feeling encouraged, I smiled up at the thing as well.
"So, we gonna take this outside or what?"
The giant cast his empty gaze over Markus, then Cypher, then me, flicked a forked tongue over his grotesque fangs. In that voice as cold as stone, his hissed;
"Ask me again when you're not twenty levels above me."
Almost against my will, I tilted my head in confusion. "Uhm. What?"
"What?" Markus echoed next to me.
Cypher let out an exasperated sigh behind his mask.
With that, the creature turned on his heel and stalked away.
Formerly known as kittyclawz.
In-game handle: @Miss.Kittyclawz
21 June 2013, Lynx's Fold, Canada.
I'd been assigned today to help deal with the Bigfoot problem up in Lynx's fold. Against my natural aversion to the cold I followed my orders, being the good little soldier I was. That didn't exactly help my mood. All I could do was take care of my assignments in this cold, frigid Canadian north.
After taking down a few... Bigfeet?... I sat under a nearby a tree to take a breather, recovering from fighting in the snow. I felt cold... stupid weather... I slowly drifted off into a decent rest.
A sudden shake woke me, accompanied by the crackle of fire. The branches of the tree I was under started to creak and shift at the sudden gust. My gaze shot upwards, and the sigh in front of me was startling; some odd combo of beast, machine, and some infernal monstrosity breathing heavily, prowling closer and closer to me. It had to be at least seven feet tall, the black fur and burning red eyes adding to my shock. It opened its maw to show its sharp teeth and rumbled out in a gravely tone...
"hey bb wanna see my cawk"
I don't know why I said it, or what the hell came over me, but my military protocol broke at that moment and in a glorious rush of confidence and boldness I let out a simple sentence in the most serious tone I could muster to this horrendous beast.
"Sure, wanna see mine?~"
His... its?... face contorted into what could only be described as a look of pure disgust. He wheeled around and took to the sky, flying off with wings made of flame.
I could only stare off after him as he disappeared into the sky. I shook my head.
"What the ****."
- David Brin, "Those Eyes"
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Timestamp: 9 Jun 2013 18:27:14 EDT
Location: Outside UNTIL Headquarters, Millennium City, MI
After years of trans-universe mission debriefings, you'd think I'd be accustomed to explaining the weird ones. You'd be wrong. Qliphoth is screwed up in ways I couldn't imagine, even when I was in universes as strange as the [REDACTED].
Caliga was, as always, filibustering about his prowess during our battle with the Kings of Edom. I could tell it was a bit of a cover. Subtle, barely detectable tremors in his voice, heart rate still slightly elevated, occasionally glancing down at the thick plate glass bridge we stood on. Nothing I had detected in the heat of combat, of course. Caliga is a consummate professional when it comes to punching things that need punched. Give anybody time to sit down, however, and reflect on the horrors--
Spatial awareness sensors detected inbound movement. Someone other than the pedestrian and vehicle traffic. Humanoid silhouette, 2.47 m tall, thick like a draysha junkie. My dorsal kinetic barriers reflexively primed for activation. Caliga looked over my shoulder and tilted his head. Lack of recognition or disbelief? If only he'd take off that damned helmet. He hadn't assumed a defensive posture, so it must not have been that much of a threat.
I turned around to see a false-color image of The Incredible Hulk, ripped from the comic books and made flesh. Vivid purple skin, muscles on top of muscles, shredded pants a shade of green that might not even be acceptable on a golf course.
He stared straight down at me, male gaze piercing the decorative red kinetic barrier over my chest. At that moment, I wished I had coded a font renderer for my barrier matrix, so I could spell out "MY EYES ARE UP HERE, JAGOFF" in glowing red 48 pt. Helvetica type. Before I could say it, though, he spoke with a thick-tongued, basso profundo rumble...
"MORE LIEK SILICONE AMIRITE?"
Then, with agility belying his bulk, he backflipped away.
They're not there in the beginning, but when your story ends / Gonna last with you longer than your friends
It was a quiet evening, so I decided to go and visit the local drinking establishment. Entering I saw the usual crowd, angels - jumpers, demons- incompetent, humans- lost, cat girls, dog boys and the odd interdimensional tourist. Nothing new, the music still nearly as bad as the patrons.
I went to get a drink and before i even get to the bar "hey , you alone? wanna go back to my hideout?"
I turned and looked at this ... individual. Human, black leather, pistols, rifle, knives, inefficiently running aura spell.
"come on, I wanna ERP."
oh, he wants to vomit, now i understand. Knuckledusters on, a swift punch to the stomach " reported loser"
His look of surprise quickly changed to one of anger and a rather pathetic attempt at intelligence. "You B..ch, I'm gonna &*&^%.. your a.."
I smiled at his attempt to threaten me, its bloodshot eyes slitted, its shoulders hunched into what it seemed to think was an attack pose.
I smiled at him and said "screenshotted and reported, little boy"
and backflipped away
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It was your average day in the beautiful Millennium City. The weather was nice, and I was relaxing for a moment near the tailors, taking in the fresh afternoon air. From the corner of my eye I could see them working around the clock to try and please the huge crowd of customers they had gathered. Whole sheets of fabric were used up to accomodate for the immense physique of the average patron, holes being cut everywhere to fit around all of their spikes and horns, custom bras being crafted which could fit basketballs.
When suddenly, a guy walked up to me. He looked like he came right out of a bad rap music video. He was wearing torn jeans which hung so low they showed off his underwear, a black tank top with a blazing red pattern, a backwards baseball cap, and a huge pair of ridiculous looking glasses which seemed to serve no practical purpose whatsoever.
He just stood there, staring right at me, his lips not showing the slightest hint of movement when I suddenly heard a voice inside my head, saying:
"hey"
It took me by surprise. Was he a telepath or something? Could he hear what I was thinking? I focused my attention on his mind, even though I had no superhuman mental abilities to speak of, and I pronounced a careful "Hello" inside my own head.
He smiled. It seemed he could actually hear that! I felt really uncomfortable at that moment, knowing he was probably reading my every thought. Then I heared him again, inside my mind:
"wher u frm?"
I nearly panicked. He was trying to figure out my address. My whole career as a superhero was at risk. I quickly responded to him, blurting out the first obscure place which came to my mind, hoping it wasn't anywhere near this guy's own home:
"The Netherlands."
Then I thought of something else. It was a really bold move, but I was growing desperate. If this worked, he would hopefully leave. And so I added:
"Also I'm a guy."
Despite my tight costume showing off all of my feminine curves, my low cut top baring part of my voluptuous chest and my girly facial features I tried to put up a convincing face as best as I could. To anyone standing in our vicinity it must've been a really odd sight.
But the guy's smile dropped immediately. It actually worked!
Without speaking another word, he backflipped away.
And then I backflipped away.
"Two dollars and sixty-two cents?" Thundrax exclaimed as he counted the menial reward. "After all that?"
"I promised you "glory unending". I didn't promise that you'd receive anything remotely like fair compensation." Tateklys declared with a laugh. "The great thing about glory unending is that it's dirt cheap!"
Then the Malvan backflipped away.
(Okay, not technically in Millennium City. Sue me.
I was speechless.
:biggrin:
CellarRat33 :: formerly Bsquared
***
"The great thing about glory unending is that it's dirt cheap!" - Tateklys
From the Adventures of Thundrax (canadascott)
***
Location: Renaissance Center. Millennium City, Michigan.
[Lupine Fist] The Ren Center was busy as usual. My fellow heroes were busy flying around, shooting the breeze, and sparring with each other. Me? Nah, I'm not into that stuff. I'd prefer a nice sit if I could find something that could support my weight, but I usually just stand or walk around, eavesdropping on whatever citizen-talk falls on my ears. Actually, that's what I was doing at that very moment when... it happened.
A blue light shot right past me; the gust nearly blew my bandana off. I turned around to try and catch a glimpse of the person who made it, but there was no need to try; he was right behind me... in my personal space, no less.
I'll be honest, beasts aren't exactly an uncommon sight, but it still excites me to see my brethren. And he was a wolf, no less, about a foot shy of my seven, and less than half my weight. His neon blue armor contrasted his pitch black fur and he stood in a tensed position, like he would fly off at any second. But he wouldn't. I knew that stance.
This guy wanted one of two things, and I didn't see any falling rockets. My heart raced; a conversation was imminent. I fought the urge to let my tongue out to release this nervous heat building up inside of me. Thing is, I'm not really good with talking, to people, to animals, to robots; nothing. What was he going to say? How could I reply? O-Or was he going to ask a question? "What's up?" "The sky!" ...No, even I wouldn't say that. I just knew that shouldn't speak first; that's how I always screw up.
He opened his muzzle. "Oh, here it goes..." I thought. He spoke with a cool, nonchalant voice, like conversing was second nature to him.
"awesome toon, bro. hot."
Then he sped off. Why couldn't it be a rocket?
Powerhouse Theater (So, not THAT long ago)
I adjusted my cravat for the hundredth time. Before me, arrayed on the lighted squares, was a menagerie of nature spirits, were-beasts, and manimals. Despite what one might think, the auditorium smelled quite pleasant; I suppose one with enhanced senses is more conscious of their bathing habits.
It also helped I'd invited them here. 'Showtime', I thought to myself. I launched into the typical costume contest host spiel with practiced ease; I'd done this many times. The contestants knew what to do, and spoke among themselves about nothing in particular as I looked them over, ignoring the numerous conversations unless I was addressed directly.
It was going quite smoothly until I reached the back row. My eyes were nearly blinded by quite a sight: a huge, anthropomorphic slab of metal stood on a square. Everything about him was huge, from his colossal feet to the gargantuan chest harness. The most noticeable thing, however, was the glow. The effect was like staring at a dozen Christmas trees. I ignored him as best I could as I continued judging.
I forgot about him until I had announced the winners. As I handed the lucky few their prize money and wished them well, the...(robot? Yes, robot works here)...walked up to me. It's optical sensors burned into me, and I knew what he wanted before he spoke:
"Why didn't I win?!"
I took a deep, calming breath. "You didn't fit the theme, sir. That's why." 'And your costume was an utter eyesore', I left unsaid. The robot glared at me. "No, you just suck!"
Then, with astounding agility, it backflipped away.
'I hate this job some days', I thought to myself.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
[thread=139701]My old, old guide for Ego Blades. Updated for On: Alert.[/thread]
[thread=154211]The Costume Contest Schedule. Stay up-to-date without having to log in![/thread]
Flare's guide to hosting and judging costume contests!
(link under construction)
Nepht gets drunk falls asleep at keyboard after going NO YEW! to Smackwell.
Nepht and Dr Deflecto on primus
They all thought I was out of the game....But I'm holding all the lockboxes now..
I'll......FOAM FINGER YOUR BACK!
Date: June 23, 2013
Location: Somewhere on Monster Island...
It had been a long week, scavenging resources for upcoming projects. Looking for the motherload which would finally allow me to take a break from beating up the nearest group of enemies proved to be a challenge. I had decided to take Tim with me to Monster Island to see what we could find there.
Tim was my Munitions Bot partner, he has stayed with me through thick and thin and I knew I could rely on his Less-than-30-damage-per-second attacks to pester the enemies while I finished them off. It wasn't his effectiveness in battle that made me happy, but his sheer desire to help me even if he wasn't the most destructive thing around. We would always hold one-sided conversations and fight the strongest of foes. He never disagreed with me, never gave up, and most important of all, he didn't ask to be paid like other heroes probably would.
After many minutes of searching around in Monster Island, we took a rest. I chatted around with some contacts and good friends while Tim watched for any disturbances. Two minutes into the conversation across channels, I turned around to find a Lemurian charging up a spell. I thought he was trying to hit me, but it didn't. I looked to my mechanical partner and saw that the spell had destroyed him with a single blast.
"TIM NOOOO!"
The Lemurian then attempted to cast another spell which I had no doubt was directed toward me this time. Immediately I felt a surge of rage as I drew my pistols and promptly shot him in the head. The feeling of vengeance didn't appear and I took it upon myself to murder every last stinking Lemurian I saw on my way back to the Superjet.
"Tim was only two hours old! How DARE YOU END HIS LIFE WITHOUT A THOUGHT!"
After I had finished with the Lemurians, I heard another voice on the comms. Not sure what they were saying, I responded with a "Yeah, I'm fine.", and then I was hit with a question.
"whotf is tim?"
I found the person who said this to me and he could not backlip away fast enough.
And I will always be @DZPlayer122.
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I don't like you.
First of all, I've never even heard of you until the other day. I hear on the police band you're out robbing stuff, and someone tells me you were one a Champion and you may have gone rogue. Look, just bein' honest with you- you probably had a sweet deal with the Champions. All Defender does is stand around all day calling people over and interrupting them to send them on missions. Witchcraft doesn't even really come out of her apartment, she just does some hologram thing. Sapphire shows up once a year; except that one time where Foxbat Voodoo-roofie'd her into getting married, which wasn't really that repulsive considering he went through all that trouble for her, she could have at least made out with him or sent him a picture of some side boob. And I think Ironclad was on the moon actively beating the crap out of unwilling superheroes with that weird alien guy. Kinetic just stands around cops talking all day. Why'd you give this up?
Anyway, all of a sudden up and out of the blue- Defender wants me to 'investigate' these crimes people think you're committing. Which, I won't lie- I have no idea what I'm doing. And, I mean- how do people accuse you specifically of a crime? You wear a mask, I mean... I've seen like ten people wearing your outfit this week. Anyway, my usual taskings are just 'go where people dress like this and shoot them' and due process is more like a guideline. But I'm not sure why you get an exception to this, or why you stealing junk from a warehouse is a bigger deal than those fire demons walking around downtown- but okay, I'll play along. At least I'm not being asked to race through circles like some kind of mindless putz starved for action.
So, I want you to know that it really wasn't that hard to find evidence of your innocence. I just kind of ran around looking for guys who looked like criminals and shot them, and they had evidence in their pockets. I mean- blatant, glaring evidence. There was no CSI, the whole thing was just prepackaged justice.
Also, there were these three guys running around with hoods and masks robbing places, and the cops swore up and down it was you. I mean, really the only thing they had in common was hoods, masks, and dark colors. On any given day, that's half the people I see coming up to me and staring me down and doing backflips. Anyway, I want you to know that I shot them and they had better evidence on them.
Is this how you guys make your living? Because this whole justice thing seems pretty easy. It's boiling down to 'shoot people who look bad and find proof they were bad in their pocket'.
Well, I have to go to Franklin Stone's penthouse, and let me tell you- who dresses their security guards up like bank robbers? I mean REALLY. Well, they weren't very dangerous, so I shot all of them while 4 costumed mooks made noise and turned in circles.
You know when those last 5 guys said 'hands up'? I wasn't taking that seriously. I mean, these guys literally just watched me perforate 90% of the security staff in this building in about half a minute. I honestly thought they were joking and I was going along with it.
And this is where you show up. I mean, dude- you didn't save me. You just kind of dropped out of nowhere and knocked the guys out. As far as I could tell, one of them was going to offer me a cup of coffee while we laughed off the 'hands up' joke. He may have been reconsidering his life or something, but so you could have bragging rights- you just jumped on them and knocked them out. I mean, that's low- and I shoot people for money and because I want their pants.
So, yeah- okay, fine. You 'saved me'. But there's more man, we're not done.
I found out you were being framed, and you thanked me. Yeah dude. You wouldn't have known that unless you were following me, so where the hell were you when I was fighting your weirdo cosplayers?
When we confront the guy- and look, I'm not like, a lawyer or anything... but I'm pretty sure we didn't have a warrant. Do we even do that? I don't think we can, I think that's like the police or something. Maybe I missed something, or didn't check my inbox or whatever, but I was genuinely under the impression that my job was to just go shoot the guy. I've literally been doing that for the last two years. But, that was a pretty bold claim and it might come back on you in court if you ever go. I'm just sayin'.
Well, when the guy calls down his flying murderbird deathplane- this is where I got pissed off.
Your plan was as follows:
1- Put me, an untrained person in the cockpit of your experimental jet to go fight a gigantic war-bird VTOL gunship capable of laying waste to most countries smaller than the Northwestern United States.
2- You stay there and go through his laptop.
I don't even have words for this. Yeah, I survived. Yeah, I'm fine. No, your plane sucked and I ended up shooting at Stone's jet with a pistol until it crashed.
When it's all said and done, you up and vanish. Okay, fine- it makes you seem edgy and cool, whatever.
But I want you to know 3 things.
1- You sound stupid when you talk, almost like you're constipated and have a cold.
2- You don't have the 'Top Gun' soundtrack in your jet.
3- You're not getting this jet back.
Sincerely,
Cybersoldier???
We need to talk.
I get that you're a martial arts master of some renown. I understand your fighting style is a mish-mash of many other styles that, despite what most martial artists tell me, works.
Which is why I don't get why you need help against Green Dragon.
I show up alongside 4 other heroes that got your distress call and save your students. Understandable so far, they were still learning. We move through your dojo, dispatching Green Dragon's mooks along the way, and I find you apparently need help against this guy.
Now, if this were some villain I hadn't seen before, I'd have given you the benefit of the doubt. But Green Dragon?
He was in the Westside prison when I first met him. You know, the one that can't seem to hold anybody? He was boasting at me about giving me a "real fight" as I fruitlessly pursued my nemesis out of there. So, to shut him up, I let him out and stomped on him (to be fair, martial artists don't fare well against shapeshifters with swords-for-hands).
And you needed help against this guy?
Fine, whatever, maybe he had some new trick I hadn't known about. So, we fight him. 6 against one. I don't know about you, but that hardly seems sporting to me.
And then you had the gall to proclaim your martial arts were superior when the most I saw you do were a few token punches and kicks? No. Just no.
Before I backflip to my usual routine, I'm just going to say this: get your head checked out. I think the New Shadows' brainwashing had a more profound effect on you than we both thought.
-P0t3mk1n
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I cant even breath right now because of the laughter, you summed up......well.......everything...he isnt getting that jet back huh!
I've recently come to acquire some Malvan remnant, a hovering chariot of sorts. At first I try the usual, asking around of some lab wants to bother reverse-engineering it, learning its secrets, maybe putting the technology to use.
Unfortunately, no one seems to be interested in science. I've done my research, and apparently there's a demand for this sort of thing. And people pay big bucks for it.
All I know is I don't want it. Something about even having this thing makes me sick on my stomach. It's like I'm supporting something just wrong by having a vehicle like this, something I got gambling. I shouldn't have this. I want to be rid of it, I just... want to profit.
So many things I can divert the profits into. A new home for my son and I. A gift for the lady. R&D materials. New cybernetic augmentations. Corn dogs.
So I advertise. I set a reasonable price, based off the market's going prices. Add the caveat 'or best offer'.
That's when I get the call.
"Hay dude what about [Useless Aftershock Action Figure #48573]?"
"Uh... sorry. Not... really into toys. And that's... a pretty common toy."
"WTF ever dude f**k you"
So I wait. A few minutes later, someone from a different number calls.
"Hay dude can I just borrow to c how many mods it holds?"
It's the same guy as before.
"Uh... I can tell you. I can show you."
"No I mean liek trade it 2 me but i wont equip"
"Sorry, no thanks."
"Come on man plz?"
"Look, sorry- but I want money for this. I don't want to put it in another person's hands without being paid for it. No trades. Sorry."
I can hear him breathing hard. He's upset.
"come on man i won't rip u off i know how it feel"
"Uh, okay- this conversation is over. Sorry."
What came next I cannot share. I think I got called every slur at once. I also think my family, sexuality, masculinity, home town, genitalia size, creative skills, military service, culinary talents, bowel movements, former lovers, and mode of transportation were all insulted.
I hang up. I'm a little scared, and I think this is how cute chicks with crazy drunk boyfriends feel. I hide.
Phone rings. I don't answer.
Then there he is, in his hooded dark-aura's glory standing over me. I clench my cheeks. He's going to have to fight me if he intends to make a woman of me.
"hay dude i was kiddin u got any other vehicles you can give me insted?"
I have never backflipped away so hard.
Or perhaps it just the name of a new hero.
Thanks for thinking of me to go run some errands for you all over the world... reminds me of my days working for that secret, private intelligence organization that stopped things before they actually took place, like nukes going off and extinction-level super-viruses. But now, instead of just stopping things with guns, I now can throw around fire, and for a while was the Edgar Suit to an elemental force.... I got better.
Now, I get that you need help, but did you ever, for ONCE, check the dossiers of those you assign missions to? I mean, come on... it stinks that you have this little problem in the underwater realm of Lemuria, I get that, fish-people all ticked off and stuff. But could you answer me one thing, please?
Why in the sphincter of Hell would you send a FIRE MUTANT underwater? Seriously! It's basic chemistry... water stops fire, like rock crushes scissors and lizard poisons Spock!
And on top of that... your main contacts for missions are people named White and Black? Really? I thought that this was Millennium City, not the set of Reservoir Dogs! I was seriously expecting Steve Buscemi to show up and backflip away.
Next time that you want me to do something for you, read my dossier first, kthxbai!
Love and fireballs,
Pheonyx
I walked out into the morning sun, pulling my hat brim lower to shade my eyes. The sounds of the jungle echoing around me as I walked along the path.
The baboons with their threat calls of "duel me" and "hey ya noob"
The parrots squawking out "wtt, wts,wttt"
The occasional call of the bacon scented scallawag. An endangered species due to the delicate bacon flavoured flesh making it a delicacy "mods, cheep, mods"
The desperate wail of the lesser vizzone " ewww worms"
I stepped behind a nearby tree as the pungent aroma of teleiosaur pheremones warned me of a hunter approaching with his pack. They ran past with only one spotting me, I pointed my 44 calibre bug spray at it , it's braincells got its attention and it raced after its pack.
I could see down in the clearing people talking, or in the case of one couple, him talking and her trying not to laugh.
They were so busy they never noticed the bloat form fly up to them, its body like a cross between a human and the goodyear blimb,glowing even in the bright morning sun with the radioactive aura of a mad scientists failed experiment.
It drifted to the couple, they attempted to talk to it and reason but it kept bumpnig into them, like a static laden balloon. Eventually it had its effect and the couple vanished, dissolved by its hideous visage and glaring aura.
Some people never learn, theres been a notice up at the Hunters club warning people not to interact with the bloatforms for months now.
I broke out of my reverie as I heard it. The call of the last , lonely member of it's species, wailing for a mate . The long drawn out howl "CAAALLLLLLIIIIGGGGAAA"
Hmm maybe I'll try for that bounty one day.
But first, I've got a job to do. The slavers have been busy in the local village with their calls of "Join my SG, 5G each. You can leave straight after."
Sure, you can. After they've experimented on you and tried to change you into their twisted image of what you should be. This isn't the first job I've had to rescue someone from a SG.
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I'm sending you this message regarding the investigation surrounding the mayor's missing daughter because from my perspective it could have gone a whole lot smoother.
For starters, you sent me all across town, on foot, to interrogate a couple of people while you were busy chatting to the police. Now you explain to me how is this the most efficient way to handle a suspected kidnapping, considering you possess SUPERSPEED. Wouldn't you be able to track down and talk to the witnesses in like, under a minute? Because in case you didn't know, I can't fly or run 100 mph, nor do I have a vehicle of any kind.
Secondly, you tasked me with taking down and arresting Medusa, one of PSI's most powerful agents. On my own. Without backup. Right inside of PSI headquarters. At what part in your train of thought was this a good idea? I did manage to break in and arrest her, no thanks to you, though my intense headaches haven't subsided after 2 weeks. So thanks for that.
And thirdly, you wanted me to find Brianna's diary which was SOMEWHERE in the park. Again, this could've been done way faster if you would've just done it yourself. Instead, I spent a good hour looking for the damn diary while trying to avoid getting mauled by a rampaging man-bear.
So next time you need my help, do it yourself is what I'm saying.
Sincerely,
(a very pissed off) Blackbird
I am hereby as of today quitting this "job" you've stuck me in for the past month. I feel like I'm the only one doing anything worthwhile here... and I'm not even making any money off of this. Don't give me that "A good deed is its own reward" bull. I know all of you guys are using me for cheap labour (More like free labour). All you're doing is sipping coffee at your desk while you watch me go at these vicious gangs. That's not funny. That's ****ing child abuse. I'm 17! I shouldn't be out there risking my neck for next to nothing in return!
I've taken down big bads like that Poe guy and that big fire bug guy... On more than one occasion! I've put guys in jail only for them to walk out again like it ain't no thing. I've saved people only for my bad luck gimmick to nail them in the end. I've beaten up the ****ing Village People (The Cobra Lords), for crying out loud! This isn't funny! I want compensation! I want time off! I want my cut of the pay! Give me a cut of the action or you'll be out one more cat person... And you'll know I'm gone with that gaping hole in your defenses. Laziness ain't gonna save you.
Sincerely, Miss Behavin.
P.S. You can't see it on that security camera I busted just now, but I'm backflipping away.
I'm an android. That's not blood, that's ethylene glycol coolant. I'm shooting you because you're annoying the #&%@ out of me, and I don't feel like waiting to see if coolant will poison you to death.
Sincerely,
Sister Silicon Prime
They're not there in the beginning, but when your story ends / Gonna last with you longer than your friends
After spending nearly two years in your fair city, I feel I must address you with this letter.
You sir, are a fraud and a charlatan, and have no place in American politics. Your re-election campaign is just a Juche! short of being reminiscent of North Korea's government- and I am surprised you have not appointed titles to yourself like 'Dear Leader' or 'His Eternal Honor'.
You are the mayor of a city that has more superheroes than most places have actual people. I can't throw a stick in a random direction without hitting five, and one on a ricochet. Yet for some reason, you've got an infestation of a Prohibition Era gangsters, random Kung Fu villains, lunatic Juggalo's, Weird Card-themed goons with alien weapons, an International terrorist cell, demons from hell and a cult that apparently worships them, a motorcycle club that uses performance-enhancing drugs and never rides their motorcycles, reptilians from under the ocean all up in a Japanese park, and a corrupt paramilitary wing of a corporation infesting your streets. Not to mention, your city lockup is so weak and unfit to incarcerate any criminal, we'd might as well put them in an inflatable bouncy house on the honor system.
You have no one running against you in this election, which is also surprising. This is very reminiscent of a third world dictatorship where all political opponents are 'criminals' and you win by a landslide. How this is even possible, I don't know- at least Sadaam Hussein managed to keep the anarchy to a minimum.
You are a madman, and I flat-out refuse to come to your 'rescue' any more. I am beginning to think anyone trying to kill you or kidnap you is doing us a favor and trying to liberate us.
On that note, do you even have any -real- authority beyond making it illegal to sell booze after 2 AM or signing off on noise ordinances? What sort of whacko local laws have you emplaced?
On that note- Go to Hell, Biselle.
-Cybersoldier.
P.S.- that one time I saved you, it wasn't a rescue- I was just trying to take that guy's gun because I liked it. You got lucky.
What?!? He couldn't do any worse.
I responded to an interesting call of a strange Eldritch horror fellow, a worm named... Al Clipoff? Whatever his name was. He had managed to secure a bus and went to recruit citizens to his cause. First off... how did an Eldritch horror get a bus? Why does he even need it? Why are they sending random heroes to go fight this thing? Shouldn't it require proper magicians? Whatever. I hop into my jet and fly to the recruitment scene, landing among a strange menagerie. There was a man who looked suspiciously like Nighthawk if he were bat-themed, a scantily clad demoness with a strange runic soup aura about her, a strange draconic creature colored black and neon pink with odd wings made of light, and finally a faceless man in a suit, who was awfully tall.
We see Al Clipon trying to rally the citizens to his cause with threats of death, destruction, and promises of ultimate power. Same 'ol same 'ol. His many prisoner cultists stand in the way... prisoner cultists? I knew we were free to worship however we wanted, but ... didn't the guards in their prison catch onto weird culty happenings? Whatever, I can deal. I get to work, tossing out my mini-homing-boomerangs as fast as I can to eliminate the crowd, and even trading a few punches and kicks with a few of them when range permitted. By the time I got to Al Quipathon I was tired as hell! He extended his wormy arms to strike me with some sort of noxious blast, but I rolled out of the way just in the nick of time to avoid getting splattered by it.
And then, suddenly, I see the strange black and neon pink dragon... throwing my homing boomerangs... at impossible speeds, shuffling about from holding his arm in front of him to tossing the boomerangs. I'm revolted and disgusted and amazed all at the same time as he begins to make mincemeat of this worm. I can see parts of the worm regenerating before being destroyed again! I make a weak effort to strike with a quick riot gun strafe from my jet, targeting the worm with the laser pointer in my flashlight, and I can see the bullets rip into Al Cliffnotes...
He collapses and breathes his last after a minute of the assault, and I hold my hand up and transmit a signal with a handy little device to return my boomerangs to me. I look at the dragon, and it will stay with me to this day... he looked back at me, and whispered...
"lol, u need to lrn how 2 use throwing baldes"
And then he backflips away...
Right now, I sit at my workbench, disturbed, not only from my tale but also of a strange malfunction with my weapons... my homing boomerangs do not seem to be responding the way they should, not leaving my hands when I toss them until I hold them back for much longer than I previously had to. It's as if something or someone slowed their processors down, permanently, and there's no way I can fix them...
Well, back to the drawing board.
Written by SR, AKA Saber Strider
After observing by nearly two years your less than astonishing efforts at keeping your city safe, I came to the conclusion that my villainous carrer, actually, career of any villain, is unlikely to be terminated by any of you.
Nonetheless, being a polite and civil person, I'd like to point at few of your mistakes so you can cease to be an embarassment.
Firstly, I'm in awe at the design of your MARS powered armors. However, allow me to express my dissapointment with fact that those are stationed protecting Champions Jet. While the rest of your city is literally overrun by crime.
One could suspect that those two things are in reality made from cardboard and needs to be protected, rather than being able to protect anyone.
Secondly. I'd like to point at large parts of your city controlled by VIPER. I realise that fleshlings are faulty by their very nature, but could you at least pretend of doing your job? How one can miss regular military forces walking through the streets in full panoply and supported by armored vehicles, I can't fathom. I'd like to ask - how those things even got to your city undetected?
I suppose it's only possible because I have yet to see your officers doing any kind of patrolling. Yes. The more I think about it, the more likely it seems. It's the only plausible explanation how the whole military base hidden in your city in a massive silo could last undetected.
Truly, considering your performance I can only be sure that my criminal carer will flourish.
Yours sincerely:
Lord Haywire
I'd just like to thank you for the opportunity to expand my horizons, heroics wise by doing missions for UNITY. It has been an experience. I have seen how much trouble that you have to deal with and I am happy to help.
However, if I am to do any more of your SPECIAL missions, I would ask that you not pair me with that PERVERT Defender. When he wasn't tryin g tohold me up to make personal phone calls, he was sticking so close to me, that I was glad of the armour I was wearing. As it was I had to let a small electrical burst every so often, to get him to stop hugging my butt.
I have heard the rumors about Defender and his 'penetration' fixation. I thought they were merely jealous rivals spreading rumors. Having had the misfortune to work with him, I would have to say that they are true.
Please get him some counselling and make sure he understands that this is not suitable behaviour for one of our most high profile Superheroes. I'd hate to think how many supers he has put onto a life of crime, simply to avoid working with him.
For my part, please find attached a restraining order against him. he is stay a minimum of 100 metres from me at all times.
Yours sincerely,
Julie Warden (electric talent)
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Look, I'll level with you. I know Canada gets freaking cold, I've been there. And when I showed up during the blizzard to help out, I could tell you were stretched to your limit and needed help. I honestly didn't mind wading through packs of ice demons to rescue civilians; it was a nice break from all the gang violence in Westside.
But then, after Rakshasha was defeated, you kept asking for my help. And I, being a good little hero, kept providing it. And one thing led to another, till I was infiltrating a Viper base all by my lonesome to bring down Mechaniste, whom I understand is one of Viper's top men.
You people do have your own heroes, right? Or are the colorful folks I see standing about Steelhead just window dressing? And don't you use your soldiers for anything other than patrolling your base?
Now, as I backflip off to the Queen City, part of me is wondering if you'll be all right by yourselves. Just in case, I've left my contact information with you. Can't let your boys get into a fight while I'm gone, their uniforms might get wrinkled, after all.
Yours sincerely,
Jhiaxus, a very confused Qliphothic entity
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I apologize for my earlier commetns about Defender in the special missions for UNITY. Having just done some with 'Witchcraft', 'Ironclad' and Foxbat, the only conclusion I can come to , is that the Champions are off planet/dimension and you don't want anyone to know.
It was painfully obvious that these were not the real Champions;
1. Defender's behaviour.
2. Ironclad, a veteran of several planets, got LOST in the first room and despite me showing him where it was, he was unable to use the door correctly.
3.Witchcraft, one of the strongest mages on the planet, who has a FLIGHT spell. We are moving through a room with lava pits and a clear pathway down the center, instead of flying over or using the path, she decides to walk through the lava, with expected resulots. I managed tp grab her and pull her out before she died and emergency services got her stabilised.
Foxbat on the other hand, a certified insane supervillain , was able to attack , defend and navigate without any problems. I have no problems working with him in the future. However, please do not pair me with any of the body doubles, They are worse than useless. Providing them wtih basic instructions on how to behave ad maybe a few simple gadgets to mimic powers better, would have been.
I will, of course, keep the body doubles confidential. I would not wish to embarress UNITY mre than these people are already doing.
Yours sincerely,
Julie Warden (electric talent)
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I would like to thank you for keeping Smudge busy running erands while we strip checked her workroom for contraband and definately banned.
However, could you please remember at all times and it is written on her PRIMUS ID;
1. she is hyperintelligent, this does not mean she has any common sense,
2. she is a 3 year old and has the exact amount of emotional staility you would expect at that age,
3. she is a mutated puma cub and does not think like a human.
Telling her to "go chase the escaped prisoners at the building site" without specifying, NOT to use her gun. Yes I know it looks like a large water pistol, she used one as a base. It is loaded usually with ammunition which is designed to remove hills.
it would have been better to say "round them up and stick them back in the prison."
Rather than "get rid of a certain amount of gang members" try " find out where the cloning machine is and destroy it, preferably within minimal collateral damage."
To make it easy for you to understand how she thinks, here are her rules for good inventions;
1. can I chase it?
2. can I make it go faster?
3. Can I make a bigger explosion?
4. Can I make it WORSE?
Here are our house rules for her inventions;
1. What does it do, Smudge?
2. What else can It do, Smudge?
3. What will it do when combined with other things?
4. Where are the full schematics and formulas for this item and all of it's possible attachments?
5. has the schematics been checked for potentially adverse effects, side effects, after effects, long term effects, conbination effects with other conditions?
6. has it been passed as safe to test?
7. Who by and when, where is the written copy?
Does this give you an idea.
ALWAYS check what ammunition she has loaded and is carrying on her. The skunk rounds are NOT to be used in any encloed area that people may want to use within the next week.
You allowed her to use them in a research lab. This not only stopped the researchers from going in but contaminated a lot of their experiments.
We have actually moved her main workroom to the MOON, on the grounds that there is less to blow up there. Remember this.
Her idea of OK damage was a courier shuttle spacecraft designed to take out a destroyer. She's working on one to take out a Capital ship. Remember this.
Please think carefully before telling her to do anything. Unless you are very specific , she WILL find a way around it and then quote back to you EXACTLY what you said.
Now If you'll excuse me, I have to go help. Since I have rediculous Luck(6d6 in PnP game) and personal forcefeild, I get to carry outside any problem items.
Felicity Garfox
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Canada
Attn: Celestar
Regards the help you wanted earlier.
WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU THINKING?
You sent me to help some YETIS. Who don't speak english. Well, I don't speak yeti.
Speak to cheif. uh huh .
Which large furry fanged one, WHO DOESN'T SPEAK ENGLISH, would that be?
Inject the diseased ones?
WHICH ones are are they? How do you tell?
I don't have any medical knowledge of YETIS.
Go look for a crashed copter? Which is surrounded by YETIS? are these normal, diseased, annoyed? Are they even the same herd?
You may have some mystical knowledge of their language.
Most other people won't, try to remember this you <expletive deleted><expletive deleted>
IUKJLlk;l'm' *******........ an error has occurred,this terminal is no longer available for use, please try another
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