Haven Walkur

Re: [Online Game]New 'Marvel: Next Generation' game

 

Maybe the teams have merged over the years. The Defantastic Thundavengers?

 

Back off, Fox-Man! You make this kitty scared.

Re: If You Had To Play a DC Character…

 

My choice would be Element Lad of the Legion of Superheroes...incredible transmutational powers, but personally a little shy, a little insecure, and the last survivor of a murdered people. Doesn't hurt that he's drop-dead gorgeous. Definite good guy, tender and usually gentle -- though we have seen him in what almost looks like a fury once or twice. Yes, I have a crush on him...second only to my crush on Brainiac 5 (but I don't really want to try playing a 12th-level computer intelligence; doesn't sound like fun).

 

Batman might be fun to play, but not much fun for others to play with. I admire him, but in a game, he'd be upstaging everybody on almost every level. So my second choice is Nightwing, former protégè of Batman, former leader of the Teen Titans. He's an incredible athlete and acrobat, a skilled investigator, the true paragon of an unpowered hero. And his attitude is "Batman Lite"; all the flavor but a fraction of the angst of Batman! Dick had a lover, he had friends, he has a life...and once again, he's a gorgeous man.

 

And no, good-looking and male is not a criteria; it just so happens that the two DC characters I'd most like to play are both good-looking guys.

 

Yes, Wonder Woman done "right" appeals to me as a character, but she been done badly, disrespectfully, ridiculously so many times in comics I'd actually read that I have trouble taking her seriously.

 

Ditto for Hawk Woman; I can't get past the "winged thug" version of her that appears as Hawkgirl in the animated JL and JLU.

 

Supergirl has promise, but I'd be concerned about any GM being able to come up with a legitimate challenge for her.

 

As a player, even the best character is no fun for me if the GM can't make effective use of them in his/her game.

Re: Superhero Images

 

Sketchpad, that's a spectacular pic! I love the reflections and highlights on the material of his costume, and the way his cape falls. Rep when I can (24 hours from now...joy).

Re: 50 Word Superhero Stories!

 

Weldun:

 

According to my copy of WP10, a hyphenated word is one word.

 

By the way, what does your appellation, "moonie" mean? I've been wondering for some time.

Re: 50 Word Superhero Stories!

 

A little copyright infringement in this next one...but only 50 words worth.

 

Green Means Stop

 

“Beware of the alien menace, is that it, Bruce?” Clark asked. “Just how long have you been carrying Kryptonite around?”

 

“As long as I’ve known you,” Bruce said, unsmiling. Why would he smile? It wasn’t as if this was a joke. “No, longer. As long as I’ve known about you.”

Re: 50 Word Superhero Stories!

 

Black on Black

 

The first kill is the hardest...but I was past the first. I’d stepped over that line when Ridell decided that “life is cheap†was good economics.

 

What was his life worth?

 

Ridell’s eyes widened. And black lightning jetted from me like blood from an artery and struck him dead-center.

Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character

 

Thanks, Treb, that's an excellent story, rich with the kind of details of Russian life and language that make both your narrative and your heroine convincing. Elena comes across as a vital and interesting young Russian metanormal, a real person and not a cliché, even though female Russian Olympians are a common concept.

 

Nobody in the story is a cliché. You've managed to personalize them all with their thoughts and internal monologues, and some of the little external details, like Natasha being only a little older than Elena, and being married to Gregoriy. Those little touches turn "plot devices" into living, breathing characters.

 

Elena is immensely sympathetic and likeable. She's sorrowful about her losses but she's not a tragic figure; she's too active and energetic for that. I particularly liked the way in which she was handicapped by her age and inexperience; though she's a wonderful fighter, she was having problems because she was thinking like a competitive gymnast or an excited teenager, rather than an outlaw metanormal.

 

It's an exciting story, with suspense, tension and a very engaging young heroine. Well-written, with only one or two wee typos; it's both a pleasure and a relief to read the work of someone who can not only write well, but correctly!

 

Rep for you, to say the least. Oh, and by the way, Elena's hero-name "Zl'f" -- is that a Russian word? What does it mean?

Re: New Game "The Unremarkables" - Advice Sought

 

Hello, Cap. As I said on your vf11 site, I have a character concept for the Unremarkables game, but I need some clarification on how many points are available.

 

...Powerful Heroes with 40 point Disadcategory limit....

 

I've never played Dark Champions before...so what does the above quote mean in terms of points and restrictions?

Re: Wildfire, a.k.a. My First/Favorite Champions Character

 

Treb, I'd be eager to see that story! Tell your friends....

 

You know, I'm starting to realize that I should have called this thread "Wildfire, a.k.a. YOUR First/Favorite Champions Character." I wonder if I can change it...?

Re: Namedropping

 

Name: D.B.Cooper (possibly an alias)

 

Justification: Infamous thief who, among his other (non-violent) crimes, hijacked a plane and held it for ransom, back in the 1970s (I think). He parachuted out with a case full of ransom money, never to be seen or heard from again.

 

Motivation: Wealth...which he took from institutions, not individuals. Carried firearms to compell compliance, but was not known to be violent.

 

A self-interested hero, or perhaps a not-terribly-villainous villain? D.B. Cooper might possess Invisibility or Shape Change powers that he used to escape pursuers, or he could have had Life Support and Suspended Animation...he just concealed himself and slept until his crime had receded into the past and the Statute of Limitations had run.

 

Conversely, Cooper might just be an immensely skilled Normal, with lots of Disguise, Acting, Conversation, Bureaucracy and masses of Contacts and Favors. High PRE on this man and skills to take advantage of it.

I was recently reminded of my first and still favorite Champions character, and thought I'd post her origin story to the HEROBoard. Please feel free to post stories of your own first or favorite Champions characters to this thread.

 

However, this isn't intended to be a thread for character descriptions or write-ups...this is a "character story" thread.

 

And here's mine.

________________________________

 

The Burning

 

The hours around three in the morning are endless; quiet, calm and sad. The human race has passed silently away, leaving the television stations showing only static and the streets damp and empty and abandoned. All the traffic signals have gone to flashing red. There is no past, and there will never be a future; at three o’clock in the morning, there is only the ominous, eternal now.

 

Sheridan McKinley sat at her drawing table and drank ice tea with all its ice cubes long since melted. She wondered if more suicides occurred during the introspective, transparent hours of the early morning...it wouldn’t have surprised her. Normally she enjoyed working in the still hours, but tonight...tonight the loneliness was bad. It was an ache, a gentle anguish that made her regret she’d given up sucking her thumb when she was four; she wanted that comfort again. Or maybe the comfort of a teddy bear, or a pet cat, or

 

or a lover, Judy?

 

something.

 

The ice tea tasted sour. Sheridan sighed and put the glass down on its coaster; second nature now to protect her sketches from condensation rings. She hadn’t always been that careful. At the U.S. Attorney’s office, her nickname had been, “Spot,” for the way her briefs and memos usually ended up looking.

 

I suppose if I went back now, they’d call me “Sunspot”.

 

A moth thudded against the window. Sheridan had a sudden mental image of it settling on her hand and bursting into flame, plump body crisping as the smoking wings dropped away like dusty petals. Not quite, she thought. At least, not yet. She picked up her pencil and the pale, almost colourless flames that trailed like banners from her fingers rippled around and over it, and left it untouched.

 

too bad the flames didn’t leave your life untouched

 

The current sketch was for her “Fantastic Heroes” playing cards; oversized to show detail, mass-produced and affordable. They’d be very popular on the convention circuit...she hoped. This character would be the Jack of Spades, a lean, Hispanic man with gorgeous, androgynous features. His long black hair merged smoothly with his black leather bodysuit; silver buckles and silver chains matched the silver streaks in his hair. He had a mocking smile that revealed catlike fangs, and his gloved fingertips were clawed. His eyes were featureless silver. The face bothered her; despite the stylized, extended lines she liked to use

 

comes of looking at the world through flaming glasses, doesn’t it, Judy?

 

it looked disturbingly familiar. And she didn’t usually draw from life.

 

Sheridan played with her pencil. The flames dancing over her body and glittering in her hair burned a pensive yellow, the fire in her eyes a darker yellow-orange. She barely noticed it, any more

 

...Caesar....

 

than she noticed the tortoise-shell cat colour of her hair, or the fairness of her skin that reddened but never tanned. Sheridan couldn’t remember when she’d stopped noticing, she couldn’t remember what colour her eyes had been before they caught fire and burned. Yeah, there were lots of things she couldn't

 

Caesar Anthony it is it’s Caesar Anthony Mendoca don’t you remember?

 

remember. But the picture...yes, yes she could remember, she did remember Caesar Anthony Mendoca; it was February 1991 and she’d handled his arraignment on behalf of the U.S. Attorney’s office, and the coffee was –-

 

***

 

“And the coffee was godawful.”

 

Judith McMillan, Assistant U.S. Attorney for the District of New York, closed her briefcase with a solid snap and smiled up at her partner, federal prosecutor Russell Pierce.

 

“Well, what possessed you to sit with the D.E.A. guys anyway?” she asked. “You could have come and watched my star turn in front of Perkins.”

 

“Oh Christ, Judy, you know I can’t watch someone I know up there. I’d go out of my mind.” The tall, attractive black attorney grinned and shrugged. Then his face hardened, and he added, “Especially not with that sh*t Mendoca smirking and winking at you every time Joel opened his mouth.”

 

“I know, Russ. That didn't end up being a problem, though; I asked the court to require ‘some minimum standard of decorum from the defendant,’ and Perkins jumped all over him. It was wonderful. That’s the kind of scene I live for.” Judith pushed back her chair and stretched. Her severely tailored dark blue skirt was crumpled and the lace collar on her cream blouse looked wilted. Her suit jacket lay like a dead bird, a forlorn heap on her desk. “It was almost worth taking five hours to do what we should have been able to finish in one.”

 

Russ moved around behind her and rested his hands on her slim shoulders. “Congrats anyway, I knew you’d shine. Victory backrub?”

 

“You might not want to do that, I’m kind of hot and sticky. They had the heat in the courtroom turned way the h*ll up and I was cooking.”

 

“Not a problem,” Russ said. “Besides, you know how I love to get my hands on your hot body, bay-bee.”

 

“Right.” Judith rolled her eyes and settled back under his strong fingers.

 

“You’re not all that tense,” Russ said a moment later.

 

“Maybe not, but stop and I’ll kill you.”

 

Behind her back, Russ was grinning as his hands moved steadily across her neck and shoulders, hands that looked very large and very dark against her pale blouse.

 

“Purr. Oh, very purr,” was Judith’s only comment. She bowed her head so Russ could reach her neck better; her short tawny hair, already escaping from the hairclips she’d worn during the arraignment, flopped in her eyes. “Are you working on the Abromowitz thing this afternoon?” she asked.

 

“Nope, Harvey pled out. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go and have a drink somewhere; we can toast the downfall of the Medellin Cartel’s fair-haired boy.”

 

Judith didn’t answer. After a moment, Russ moved around to lean against her desk. He tipped her head back gently and studied her face. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Russ said.

 

“Yeah, he did.” Judith grimaced. “I’ve had death threats before, but that son of a b*tch, he seemed so damned assured. Politely regretful, as if he’d had to refuse me a loan or something. He said, ‘I am so sorry you feel that you must go forward with the arraignment, madam attorney, it is not a happy decision.’ Then he took my hand and kissed it, and when the agents started towards us to break it up, he just said, ‘You will burn for this.’ Nothing else. The FeeBees didn’t even hear him.”

 

“Jesus, Judy, you didn’t tell me that! Have you asked for police protection?”

 

“Take it easy, big guy. Steinhauser doesn’t think the situation warrants it, and neither do I. No matter how much crap Mendoca talks, he’s going down hard this time. He’s not gonna have the time to deal with me...and anyway, I’ve got UnderRuss the Wonder Prosecutor to look after me, right?” Judith squeezed the tall man's thigh affectionately.

 

“Yeah, but how much is that gonna be worth against a bullet?” Russ muttered. Then, louder, “And since Mr. U.S. Attorney David Steinhauser isn’t the one getting death threats, I kinda wonder how much difference it makes what he thinks. You’re out on the front line this time, not Dave, Judy, so it’s your call. If what happened at the arraignment bothers you – ”

 

“Of course it bothers me!” Judith snapped. “But Mendoca is slime, Russ, he’s filth; we’ve got a file on him that’s literally three inches thick. He hurts everyone he touches and I want to take him down. I want that more than I want to be safe.” Judith leaned forward, her voice soft and terribly earnest. “I just have to look in that b*st*rd’s eyes and it’s like a fire, Russ, like a flame; he thinks he’s untouchable, he thinks no-one can make him account for what he’s done, but he’s wrong. He is so wrong. I can. And maybe after today, he’s beginning to realize that.” Judith shook her head, a little embarrassed at her outburst.

 

“I understand, Judy. I really do. But you won’t lose the case by getting a little protection, just in case.”

 

“I might. Steinhauser’s against it because he thinks it’s unnecessary and because it projects the wrong image, it makes it look as if I take Mendoca seriously enough to be scared.”

 

“Judy, you are scared.” Russ watched her seriously, concerned, gentle, just as he always was. There was a long pause, with Judith staring down at her clasped hands, not meeting Russ’ eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, waiting.

 

“Yes, I am scared. I really am,” Judith said finally. She looked up at him tiredly and sighed. “Perhaps I’ll go down and talk to Gene at D.E.A. tomorrow, see about borrowing a couple of his agents ’til the trial’s over.”

 

“Good thought. I’ll go with you.” Russ didn’t try to hide his relief. “Shall we go get that drink now? You never know, tomorrow – ”

 

“It might be illegal, yeah, I know,” Judith finished. “A drink sounds great, Russ, but I have to come back here afterwards; I’ve got two cases coming to trial next week and the arraignment’s put me way behind.”

 

Russ could tell she was trying to keep it light, making an effort to keep her tone natural, relaxed. H*ll, he planned to do the same; it was a game they’d played before.

 

Judith grabbed her jacket and slung it over one shoulder as she rose. “Monte Cristo’s OK?”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Long as we stay away from their fried jalapenos. Those suckers d*mn near turned me white last time.” Russ shuddered.

 

As they picked their way through the large, cluttered office, Judith asked plaintively, “Why is it that no matter how big my office is I never have any space?”

 

Russ opened the door for her, grinning. “Maybe because you’re the world’s most untidy attorney?”

 

“I’m not that bad! I just like things handy, that’s all.”

 

“Of course. Whatever you say...Spot.”

 

“You jerk!” Judith swung her suit jacket at Russ. He dodged and ran and she chased him, past the startled receptionist and the equally startled security guard at the elevators. She cornered him by the door to the stairwell.

 

“Peace, peace, I surrender,” Russ said, raising his hands. “Just keep your cool, Spot.”

 

Judith made a face at him. “May your first-born marry a Kennedy.” Turning back to the receptionist, an overweight black woman with an indulgent smile, she said “Geri, I’m going out, I’ll be back by six if anyone wants me.”

 

“Uh-huh, Judy. Just be sure to behave yourself now.” Geri’s good-natured laughter followed them as they headed down the stairs toward the parking garage.

 

“You know we couldn’t function without admin assistants like her, don’t you?” Russ asked.

 

“I know, I know, she’s worth her weight – her whole weight – in gold,” Judith said. “But why does she always end up seeing me when I’m being unprofessional?”

 

“Maybe because it happens so often?” Russ said -- and dodged another jacket swing, laughing. Judith slid an arm around his waist, squeezed him for a moment. “What?” he asked.

 

“Just...thanks, Russ. Thanks for being my friend. I don’t think I’d have made it without you.”

 

Russ stopped on the first-floor landing, startled, and turned Judith to face him. “Likewise, Judy. And you mean a lot to me, too. I came away from U. Michigan with exactly two worthwhile things, and one was my law degree. You were the other. Are you -- hey, Judy, don’t cry. Come on, don’t do that, you’ll get me going.” Russ pulled her into a powerful hug; her head barely reached his shoulder. He brushed his lips over her hair and felt her arms go ’round him, holding him tight. They didn’t speak.

 

Abruptly, Judith pulled back and looked up at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Russ, but I love you. Ever since college.” She smiled at him and then glanced away. “God knows why.”

 

“We’ve been friends a long time, Judy. I understand...and I love you too.” He held out his hand and Judith took it. “Are we taking my car?” Thinking, Keep it light, man, keep it light....

 

“Actually, for once I feel like fighting the New York traffic,” Judith said. “Let’s take mine. I’ll drive.”

 

They walked out of the stairwell into the cold, oily damp of the underground garage. Vandals had splattered the walls with shouting, illiterate graffiti and broken most of the lights. The concrete was dark with years of oil and exhaust. Judith’s red Chevy Cavalier was parked halfway up the ramp. Beside it, on the wall, someone had painted a huge red and yellow sunburst with stylized fiery beams shooting out in all directions, and below it, a motto in Spanish.

 

“Can you read that?” she asked Russ.

 

“Not really, but I’ve seen it before. I think it’s religious, Catholic or something. ‘Everything is from the Sun’, something like that.”

 

“I like it,” Judith said as she let herself into the car. She reached across to open Russ’ door for him, and then fastened her seat belt. The sunburst loomed large and sullen through the tinted windshield, full of primitive energy and violence. Judith heard the click of the buckle as Russ fastened his seat belt, and even as she turned the key in the ignition, she heard him gasp, heard his warning shout --

 

“Get the hell out of the car, Judy! Go! It says, ‘Everything – ”

 

***

 

-- ends in fire.’ Everything ends in fire. A warning, a boast, and we both missed it, Russ, Sheridan thought. You were both more and less successful than you thought, Mendoca. You murdered our lives, you burned up everything we had...except each other. You caused our pasts to be consumed in fire and you gave us a future full of fiery secrets and power and loneliness.

 

That thermite blast you set up, it set our powers free -- both of us latent metanormals, both of us mutants. Could you have guessed?

 

could anyone? what if someone did? what if we were set up?

 

Sheridan shrugged. Caesar Anthony Mendoca had still not gone to trial, Joel Hartford was still his attorney and was conjuring up delay after delay...it wouldn’t help. Joel was smoke-screening.

 

She should be there to face them, clever Joel and his snake of a client. The rage and frustration of being denied that chance was constantly with her, another fire inside her. She was still with Russ, but the Justice Department had forbidden either or both of them to reclaim their past lives, or investigate the abrupt ending thereof. Wildfire and Warp had no pasts.

 

maybe there’s something they don’t want you to know

 

But someone would get Caesar Anthony Mendoca, sooner or later. It should have been her, but he would fall to someone, somewhere. Sheridan picked up her sketch and studied it. It was good. The figure’s arrogant confidence, his pride was almost palpable. It was a close, if exaggerated, likeness of Mendoca.

 

“You’ll go down,” Sheridan said softly. “Sooner or later, you will go down, Mendoca. You’ll fall. Don’t ever forget what you told me – ” Her hand tightened convulsively, crumpling the paper, and suddenly a blossom of flame bloomed around her fingers, real fire, hungry fire, and the sketch blazed up and was gone almost instantly, leaving only an afterimage and a few drifting ashes.

 

“Everything ends in fire,” she said.

Re: The Inconceivables!

 

I'm enjoying this thread -- and the whole "Inconceivables" concept -- immensely. My Well o' Rep (pat. pend.) is dry for the moment, but give me 24 hours, and..."There will be Rep tonight!"

Re: Superhero Images

 

High-quality superhero artwork is nice too, aylwin13.

 

I'm very impressed with the Sceptre pic, both his dynamic stance -- he looks ready to leap off the screen -- and his costume. That's an effective use of purple and gray; despite the muted (low-saturation) colors, the costume manages not to look exciting, not subdued.

 

(And I particularly like the "trim" on Sceptre's boots and gloves...very hi-tech/30th Century. ;-) Reminds me of Cosmic Boy of the Legion of Superheroes.)

 

prodigyduck, the costumes on Hourglass and Hurricane are wonderful. The purple and white colors are very dramatic, especially with the symmetrical geometric patterns. I especially like the diagonal purple stripes on Hurricane's legs, and the broad purple band that extends down his arms and over his hands. Hourglass' costume does verge on the "busy", because her patterns are more complex; Hurricane's costume design is simpler. But I like 'em both.

 

Many thanks to both of you for sharing these pictures. Have some Rep...and I have to agree; purple can be hot!

Re: New Game "The Unremarkables" - Advice Sought

 

I'd be eager to play in a game like this, even if it had to be played on-line. Are you looking for volunteers? Please keep us posted, Captain Giant-Flightless-Bird-from-Down-Under!

Re: Character Curveballs

 

Koala Jack -- highly intelligent, talking koala. Mentalist member of hero group A.N.Z.A.C. He had (amongst other things) a massive Drain vs INT and EGO coupled with an *ss-kicking Mind Control. Yes, people really got all "goo-goo" over Jack's amazing koala-cuteness and soft-as-silk fur (and those Drain powers). And when Jack started making suggestions, no-one could refuse him.

Quote (with an Aussie accent, naturally): Go on, you know you wanna.

 

Safety Leech and the Killer Rabbit -- pair of high-school heroes; Safety Leech was a bright, nerdy boy, a kinetic absorber (he "leeched" away speed, thus making things "safer"), and Killer Rabbit was a popular, pretty mall-princess with Superleap, Martial Arts and a one Pip Killing Attack (Penetrating)...her fingernails.

 

None of the popular crowd at the high-school could understand what Desirée (Killer Rabbit's Secret ID) saw in Bernie (Safety Leech), but the two were devoted friends and partners. Bernie was -- naturally -- desperately in love with Desirée, but didn't think he could tell her. And Desirée -- somewhat atypically -- was desperately in love with Bernie, but didn't think she was "good enough" for him.

Re: Namedropping

 

In the Wild Cards novels, it's Gary Gilmore who is the rogue Ace convicted of and executed for turning people into pillars of salt, not John Wayne Gacy. In the Wild Cards reality, Gilmore is even mentioned as the subject of Norman Mailer's book The Executioner's Song...just as Gilmore was in the "real world".

Re: Advice for a team of unfortunate supers

 

Yes, this atypical team of heroes could be very successful. Their powers are far from useless; it's just that the uses aren't exactly obvious. But given a little thought....

 

Oh, and as far as Professor Paisley's power goes? Useless? Oh no, no no no no! Does no-one else remember what Color Kid (of the Legion of Substitute Heroes) did to an alien pilot in an invading fleet?

 

Color Kid can change the colors of things. That's all. Anyway, he swapped the colors of ground and sky for the alien pilot. Disoriented, the pilot thought his sensors were malfunctioning and ignored them -- and ended up flying into the ground.

 

The Professor can change the color cues that humans with normal color-vision rely on...and we don't stop to think about it, either. How do we know a ripe apple from an unripe one? Rotten food from wholesome? One button or switch from another? How do you interpret the information on a television screen, computer screen, hologram, virtual keyboard?

 

Color. It's our default.

 

Professor Paisley could play the sky-and-ground-change-places game too. He could do the equivalent of a "white-out" by turning everything in an area the same color. He could make himself invisible by making the air a color, instead of colorless. Turn his enemy's eyes all one color, and voilà, temporarily blind enemy. Who needs a Dark Force manipulator? You've got the much-lower-overhead Professor Paisley!

 

And do I really have to spell out (no pun intended) what the Professor and Engrish Man could do to magic-using characters?

Re: Yet ANOTHER WWYCD: Against your team

 

Good God, my PC vs her team? Gamma Girl is a member of the Legion of Superheroes...!

 

I'm going to have to think about this one for a bit longer. Good scenario, Powerhouse. Provocative.

 

Repped.

Re: Storn's Art & Characters thread.

 

Storn, that's what you call "doodling"?

 

It's very good...and I don't even know who the character is.

Re: WWYCD: Lost in a world without Supers; 9/11/2001

 

This isn't meant to be thread necromancy. This thread's author asked me to consider the situation and I actually came up with a response...but as I've been very distracted recently, it's taken me a while to get my response posted. But here it is, finally.

 

 

 

Busy Day

 

 

Seriously not cool, thought the athletic black-haired girl in the colorful caped leotard as she looked around in dismay at the busy streets of downtown Manhattan. Horns blared, car stereos pounded out bass lines and people shoved and jostled past, sending pigeons fluttering lazily up from the sidewalks into the late-afternoon sky. This is the last time I let those spooky super-geniuses do a number on my temporal coordinates, Gamma Girl -- a.k.a. Haven Walkur in her civilian ID -- thought. Where am I? No, scratch that, check out the Manhattan skyline, chicks and dudes. Okay, when am I?

 

A skinny black dude was heading down the sidewalk towards her, ball cap turned backwards and bluejeans riding low on his hips. He looked about her age, eighteen or so, and Gamma Girl reached out and snagged his jacket.

 

"Hey, excuse me,†she said, “do you know what the date is?"

 

He stopped and stared at her. "You crazy? Why you all dressed up that way for? Broadway ain't no swimming pool."

 

Gamma Girl gave him a smile and a shrug. "What can I say? These are my working clothes."

 

The black dude snorted. "Yeah, they something. You a dancer?"

 

"No, man, I'm not. I just want to know what the date is." Everyone in New York's a comedian, Gamma Girl thought, stifling the urge to roll her eyes. But this is starting to kinda weird me out, being downtown in uniform in broad daylight. I need to get some info and get moving.

 

"Don't trip," the dude said, grinning at her. "Monday, it be Monday ten."

 

"What month?" Gamma Girl asked, feeling like a total spaz. Man, what a question to have to ask! Thank-you Rond Vidar and Brainiac 5, you spooky SOBs. She bit down on her lip; it wasn’t like she could hurt herself through her force field, but the faint pressure helped her concentrate. C'mon, Haven, focus! she thought.

 

Now the dude laughed. "What month? You be trippin'! It September."

 

And now the really tough question, Gamma Girl thought with a sinking feeling. Dude, you are gonna love this one. "And what year?"

 

The black dude stared at her, laughter vanishing. His expression wavered somewhere between suspicion and anger. "You playin’ me? This some kind of a joke?"

 

Gamma Girl looked him in the eye, projecting a confidence she didn’t feel. "No, it's not a joke. What year is it?"

 

For a moment, the dude hesitated. Gamma Girl stared him down, letting her body language underscore her words with a sense of seriousness and urgency -- and just a little ‘don't screw with me.’ It was a basic bluff, one of the first lessons she’d learned on the street and she was good at it.

 

Finally -- "You crazy, don't know what year it is," the dude said. "You crazy! 2001, okay, it 2001. You a crazy woman...you wanna get you crazy a** outta my face now, I ain’t kiddin’."

 

"Thanks so much, citizen," Gamma Girl said -- and then clenched her right hand around her Legion flight ring and got airborne.

 

September in New York City, and yes, Gamma Girl could smell autumn in the breeze playing ring-a-rosy around the skyscrapers. Man, I haven’t been back home since...since 1979, the Gambione stakeout with Lady Gray, that time Vandal Savage tagged me. It seemed like such a long time ago...Hell, it’s been a long time, I’ve been to the 30th Century and back since then.

 

So this is 2001, Gamma Girl thought. Far out! The streets were much busier than she remembered, even for downtown. More cars, more people, and a lot of them seemed to be holding some kind of weird handset to their ears...huh, I guess they finally got that whole ‘cellular radio-telephone’ deal going. And the phones are so small now! ’Course, mine’s smaller. Gamma Girl pressed the embossed ‘L’-and-starburst design on her heavy gold ring and listened to the electronic echoes of a empty channel for a while. No-one there. For now, I’m the only Legionnaire around.

 

The day was almost over, the sun slipping down towards the Bay and the New Jersey skyline in the west. The last of the sunlight striped the towering buildings of Manhattan, the light glowing orange as old honey on the gray stone and flashing like lasers off metal and glass. And there’s a lot more glass now than there was in my time, Gamma Girl noted. Some of these skyscrapers look like they’re completely glassed in. I guess the World Trade Center really did start something with all those big windows...wonder if I can see the towers from here? They’ve only been up two years, my time, and I still think they’re way cool. A mid-air shrug and a grin. So sue me. No reason not to go take a look.

 

Gamma Girl did a lazy aerial roll and headed south following Broadway, the burgundy capes on her shoulders fluttering like flags. She’d always liked the feel of the air slip-streaming past her force field; it felt...cleansing, somehow, kind of the way she imagined water would feel. As she flew past one brightly-lit office window, she waved cheerfully to the mob of suit-and-tie workers crowded up against the glass. Most of them were yakking into those little portable phones, too. She grinned and shook her head; man, you’d think they’d never seen a four-color costume before.

 

Maybe they haven’t. That thought brought her up short, and Gamma Girl blinked. She’d just been assuming that the capes-and-cowls business would still be going strong after all this time, but maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe the costumed heroes had been phased out, outlawed, disbanded...or maybe it was just a slow day in downtown Manhattan. She mulled that over, flying south pretty much on auto-pilot; after all, even in 2001 New York was still her hometown. Far below her, Broadway was busy and broad, just like the name said, and she wasn’t about to lose sight of one of the major one-way streets through downtown -- not from any height less than stratospheric, anyway, she thought.

 

A burst of yellow, red and orange like a quiet fireworks display caught her eye; the trees in City Hall Park had their autumn color on. Directly across Broadway from the park was the Woolworth Building with its funky cathedral top...and beyond that were the twin towers of the World Trade Center, glowing in the last light of the sun, their bases hidden by the tangle of lesser high-rises. Beyond lay the gray water of the Hudson River and the Bay. Gamma Girl looked up at one of her favorite NYC landmarks, smiling -- and suddenly turned gray as the Hudson.

 

Tomorrow, she thought, stunned and sick. It’s all gonna be destroyed tomorrow.

 

As a time-lost member of the Legion of Superheroes hailing from the 20th Century, Gamma Girl had needed to adjust to a lot of crazy 30th Century things...and more than a few crazy Legion things. And one thing that still freaked her out a little was when the Legion’s ace telepath, Saturn Girl, brought her up to speed on something with a mental download, a condensed psychic briefing that put the info directly into Gamma Girl’s brain without Saturn Girl ever saying a word. This knowledge was like that, only worse; it came out of nowhere with a certainty that put it beyond question, beyond doubt. Tomorrow.

 

Gamma Girl’s bright hazel eyes were very wide. Oh God, they’re going to fly planes, hijack planes and fly them into the towers, fly them into the Pentagon and all those people...all those people are going to die. The hijackers, those murdering scumbag terrorist hijackers...they kill all those people.

 

“All those people,†Gamma Girl whispered. “All those people.â€

 

Reflexively, she jabbed at the comm switch on her Legion flight ring. Still nothing. The muted static of the empty channel seemed to mock her. It’s just me, Gamma Girl thought, feeling her pulse thunder and her face beginning to flush. God, it’s just me. I have to find the other capes, I have to let them know -- but who’s here now? Which version of 2001 is this, which future am I in the past of?

 

I need a phonebook, I need to track down this 2001's cape-and-cowl brigade. The Justice Squadron, in my time they were based in New York City, maybe they’re still here; the Fabulous Five were out in L.A., I can try them too. Okay, phone, phonebook, today’s paper, itineraries for those flights -- let’s move, Haven!

 

 

***

 

 

9/11/2001

8:30am

 

I hate you, God, Gamma Girl thought with terrible conviction. The skies were blue over Manhattan this morning, with a fresh breeze coming off the Bay to make pedestrians glad of their jackets. Seen from above, the streets were a moving mosaic, the bright colors of coats, scarves, caps swirling like confetti caught on the breeze. It was going to be a beautiful day. I hate You because none of the heroes of this world have superpowers, there’s only me and I’m not fast enough. The tears gleaming in Gamma Girl’s eyes had nothing to do with the wind.

 

She hadn’t slept yet but she wasn’t tired; feeling a thousand years old, maybe, but not tired. It had been a hell of a night...a hell of a nightmare, and it still wasn’t over. So now she was on the roof of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, leaning up against the radio mast and waiting to catch a plane; a couple of planes, actually. It was the best solution she’d been able to come up with, but people were still going to die. As a costumed hero and a sentient being, Gamma Girl was having more than a little trouble with that.

 

Before she’d crossed paths with Vandal Savage in 1979, Gamma Girl had been the protégée and junior partner (not “sidekickâ€; like her mentor, she detested the term) of the vigilante hero Lady Gray. And as the Lady was also Miriam Blakely, Haven Walkur’s adoptive mother, Gamma Girl had long ago got into the habit asking herself, “what would Lady Gray do?†when she found herself into a bad situation. This time, though, the Lady didn’t have any good answers.

 

‘In this business, there are alternatives and there are hard choices,’ Lady Gray had told Haven back when she was starting out as Gamma Girl. ‘Sometimes they’re the same. Don’t let it immobilize you.’

 

Don’t let it immobilize you...man, I didn’t really dig what Lady Gray was saying back then, but I do now, that’s for d*mn sure, Gamma Girl thought, turning her face into the wind. She was saying that sometimes the best you can manage won’t be enough, but you still have to do it ’cause the alternatives are worse. Gamma Girl hadn’t let it immobilize her. She’d tried the alternatives and made her decision, the best decision she could -- and I hate it. I made a lousy screwed-up decision, but it’s just slightly less screwed-up than every other decision I could make. This time every single alternative means people die.

 

“This time the alternatives all suck!†she yelled into the wind.

 

Gamma Girl had tried to handle the whole F.U.B.A.R.’d situation by the numbers, all regimented and rational. Yesterday evening, when she’d first understood exactly what was going to happen on September 11, she’d scrambled for a phone. And of course, the nearest place that had working payphones and intact phonebooks was a near-by visitor center -- the one in the World Trade Center.

 

Mondo mistake, she thought, digging her fingers into her shoulder-length black hair as if she were trying to pull the memory out of her head. Just being inside the twin towers was a seriously bad trip, like Bellevue-and-rubber-rooms bad. She raked her fingers through her hair without meeting any resistance, fingers sliding frictionlessly through without a single catch or tangle. The force field that had covered Gamma Girl head-to-toe all her life covered each separate strand of her hair, too. Yeah, I’m trying not to freak out totally here, so it’s just as well I can’t tear my hair out.

 

At the World Trade Center, Gamma Girl had ridden up in one of the elevators with a bunch of other people -- and discovered a moment after the elevator doors had closed that being inside the WTC complex was a VERY BAD IDEA.

 

However she knew what was going to happen on the fiery 11th, the knowing was a lot more powerful inside the building. Shattering. Somehow being inside the Twin Towers was causing a kind of T.V. documentary of the coming disaster to run continuously in her head, like déjà vu but in reverse. Gamma Girl had spent the ride up trying desperately to shut out the visions of smoke and flame and walls falling, bodies falling, and she’d just managed to keep from losing it in a major way...though the look on her face had seriously spooked a party of Dutch tourists visiting the Big Apple.

 

And once she’d finally got to the visitor center and the phones, there was no listing in the Greater New York City phonebook for the Justice Squadron. In fact, the Yellow Pages had no listings at all for any of the cape-and-cowl brigade, even the ones like the Sentinels that she was pretty sure advertised...or at least they did in my time. And Directory Assistance -- no help there. Another dead end, and at first she hadn’t been able to figure out why.

 

She’d punched O and told the friendly dude who came on the line what kind of listings she was looking for. She hadn’t really expected it to be any big deal, but then the dude came back with a line about him secretly being a superhero called Captain Q-Tip, and offered to give her Superman’s home number. If she were just hanging out without anything in particular on her mind, she’d have enjoyed his line of BS; the dude would’ve been a laff riot -- but she wasn’t joking! Gamma Girl had hung up and called back, but this time she’d got some chick who hung up on her as soon as she said that she needed the number for any New York-based costumed or metanormal heroes or teams.

 

She hadn’t bothered calling back.

 

By then, though, she’d been starting to have some really unpleasant suspicions. Evidence doesn’t care if you believe it or not, evidence just is, Gamma Girl had reminded herself. And even if I don’t like where it’s going, it’s all going the same d*mn way. And at last, looking through a newspaper someone had left in the snack bar, she’d had it confirmed; there were no costumes mentioned, no costume-and-cowl activity reported anywhere in the U.S., anywhere in the world. What she’d been most afraid of was true; there were no costumes active in this version of 2001. None mentioned, none listed. None there.

 

No-one but her.

 

And when she’d finally figured that out, all Gamma Girl had wanted to do was scream. It was worse than unfair, it was impossible. I can not be the only one, she’d thought, appalled. I can’t be the only costume in the whole d*mn country! In the world! There are gonna be planes leaving from Boston and Washington and Newark, and even if I could get there, I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t even catch up with them!

 

But the fire, the smoke, the memories of things that hadn’t happened yet had been all around her -- and by this time tomorrow, those memories would be real. All those people. So Gamma Girl had taken all the 20th Century cash she had on her -- a five-spot she found crumpled and forgotten at the bottom of a pocket -- and changed it for quarters, dimes and nickels for the pay-phone.

 

Gamma Girl had spent the whole five dollars -- less a Canadian 20-cent piece -- on phone calls to officials and agencies. Now, standing on the North Tower in the wind, she kept going back over and over and over those phone conversations, replaying them endlessly in her mind just in case some of them came out differently this time around....

 

**“If you think we’re going to pull those flights just on your say-so,

you’re crazy. You have any idea how many calls like yours Logan

International gets every day?â€*

 

*“Is this some kind of a joke? Who is this? How did you get this

number?â€*

 

*“Do you know the penalties for placing hoax calls to the Federal

Aviation Administration? We are a federal agency....â€*

 

* “Special Agent Hendricks here. How did you come by this

information?â€*

 

*“In order to take any action on your report of alleged terrorist

activity, we’ll need a name and contact number for you as the reporting

party....â€*

 

*“You have reached the Security Office for Washington Dulles

International Airport. Our regular hours of operation are 8:00am to

5:00pm Monday through Friday....â€*

 

*“Threats against specified U.S. airports and air carriers are taken very

seriously by this agency. By making such threats you risk arrest and

federal prosecution....â€**

 

Abruptly Gamma Girl straightened up, startling a seagull on the parapet in front of her. “Useless, useless, useless,†she said out loud. “They wouldn’t believe me or they thought I was the one making the threats. Maybe I should’ve let them go on thinking it, maybe that would’ve got their attention and got them here!â€

 

The seagull cocked its head and regarded Gamma Girl with one black glass bead of an eye. Reassured that she wasn’t going to make any more sudden moves, the bird fluffed its gray-and-white feathers against the breeze and continued on its way along the top of the parapet. Gamma Girl stared after the seagull, not really seeing it. No, she thought, claiming to be a terrorist wouldn’t have done any good. It would have got a response -- oh man, would it! -- but it would only have ended up confusing the situation even worse...unless the feds acted on my report immediately and exactly.

 

“Yeah, like they’d do that.â€

 

Gamma Girl was convinced that even with the best intentions in the world, the feds would keep trapping themselves in a maze of procedural red tape. By the time they’d hashed out the chain of command and the jurisdictional issues and got agents on the scene, the planes would be flying. The horse would be gone but the feds would carefully close the stable door behind it, and lock it. They’d try to follow the playbook even though it was too late for that. It was too late to get a concerted federal response going from the moment I got here, and I didn’t have any way of convincing the feds to move. Still don’t.

 

Show ’em my powers? Sure, that’d convince them. And while they’re all busily trying to debunk or debrief me, the planes are still flying. Gamma Girl gave her head a quick dismissive shake, like a restive horse tossing its mane. “I’ve been through this,†she said. “I’ve been through it and through it ’til I’m sick of it and I’m still only coming up with one best solution.†Her eyes still on the seagull, Gamma Girl slowly clenched her hands into fists. Best solution....

 

Oh yeah, and about that best solution? Gamma Girl smiled a tight, hurting little smile. That’s the one where everyone on the four hijacked planes dies, 266 of them including the terrorist scumbags. And better add in anyone unlucky enough to be caught on West Street, Barclay, Church or Liberty when the wreckage from the planes falls...the fuel, fire and twisted metal of United Airlines Flight 175 and American Airlines Flight 11 after they flatten themselves against my shields. Maybe we’ll even get a few bodies falling free...after all, 84 of the 266 people who die are on these two planes.

 

She took a shuddering breath. But 3000 people won’t die in the fall of the Towers. I can’t save the 300 but I have a shot at saving the 3000. Does that balance out? I have no idea, but I have to do it. I have to do what I can to help...even if it feels like I turned into the Angel of Death all of a sudden.

 

“And if I don’t choose they all die,†Gamma Girl said softly.

 

Making hard choices. Lady Gray had tried to tell her that’s what the cape-and-cowl brigade was all about. The costumes were the ones who made the hard choices in situations where winning just meant losing a little less. Angel of Death? Hell, you put on that responsibility when you put on the uniform....

 

“And if you can’t handle the one you’ve got no business wearing the other,†Gamma Girl finished quietly, her voice unsteady. She was crying now, tears sliding smoothly down her force field like rain on a windowpane.

 

Shields were Gamma Girl’s specialty, her power and expertise. But there were times -- times like now, for instance -- when she wondered bitterly why she couldn’t generate a force field that would block the pain of feelings. But no, emotions were an attack that always went right through her shields -- and they never missed. Her innate and ever-present personal force field would stop a bullet. Her force walls could stop a runaway car. Her largest and most powerful fields, her Shield-trio, would stop almost anything: the Alpha Shield resisted energy attacks and had allowed her to survive a brief interval on the surface of Melquior, a small sun; the Beta Shield resisted physical attacks and might just work to deflect the two doomed Boeings away from the Twin Towers; the Gamma Shield resisted both energy and physical attacks, but at lower levels than the other two.

 

But none of her shields, none of her powers had ever been able to stop the heartache.

 

Time to book, Haven, Gamma Girl told herself. Need to anchor the base of the Beta Shield well below the roof of the North Tower and angle the whole thing to deflect the plane down towards the street. And if I come away from that little stunt alive I’ve got about 8 minutes to get ready to do the same thing on the South Tower. This is going to be a world-record missile deflection -- she managed a faint, watery grin through her tears -- and with two of the biggest missiles I could ever have imagined.

 

It was 8:39 am. Something spooked the seagull and it went winging away into the blue sky, its mournful cries falling through the air like slow raindrops. The sound of the gull’s voice made Gamma Girl’s throat ache, her heart ache as if she were a windchime and the seagull’s cry had set her ringing.

 

“Bye-bye birdie,†she whispered, and walked over to the parapet on the far side of the roof. It was a long way down.

 

Gamma Girl glanced up, her tears catching the sunlight and sparkling in tiny prisms. The seagull was gone. If You don’t like the way I’m handling this, God, then You can just live with it. I’m going to have to. But that’s the price you pay for wearing the cape; you get to choose. I get to choose. You don’t ever get to plead helplessness.

 

She kissed the smooth disc of her Legion flight ring and stepped up onto the parapet. It was 8:41 am. “If I had to do it again, I’d do the same,†she said, looking off into the sky to the north. “Please understand. I’m not asking you to forgive.†Then she focused her will on the flight ring and was gone, plunging down like a diver past the uppermost floors of the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

 

Gamma Girl had planes to catch. It was going to be a busy day.

Re: The things I've learned playing a Martial Artist

 

Many martial arts are Asian in origin. When naming your martial arts manoeuvres, look up a few words or phrases of the appropriate Asian language. Reeling off a manoeuvre-name in, say, Chinese, gives the character a touch of the exotic and does wonders for the player's suspension of disbelief.

Re: The things I've learned playing a Martial Artist

 

No matter how much you love your biggest, baddest Martial Arts attack, stop and consider the effect it'll have on your DCV before you use it!

Re: I can't wrap my head around a....

 

Mages and Gadgeteers -- basically they're archetypes that really need a Variable Power Pool to make them work. I do not understand the arcane rules governing the VPP, and oh, how I hate the VPP! Even if it's limited in scope and justified by the character build, having a VPP always feels like the rawest form of Munchkinery.

 

So I dislike and avoid Mages and Gadgeteers as PCs in Champions...which is a shame, because I'd rather like to play a Mage if it weren't for that VPP. Gadgeteers, though...I'd only play a Gadgeteer if somebody were paying me. The character concept itself is totally unappealing.

Re: Not quite a WWYCD: YWUA your PC...

 

If I'd switched with either of my current Champions characters, no way in h*ll would I want to come back!

 

I have about 12 years on Cinnabar and 21 years on Gamma Girl, and the problems of their personal lives aren't anything I couldn't deal with from my perspective as a 39-year-old. The psychological traumas these women have faced/are facing would lose most of their impact once they were no longer something that happened to me, but to someone else (whose body I happen to be inhabiting).

 

My conscience would urge me to let the New Avengers - in Cinnabar's case - or the Legion of Superheroes - in Gamma Girl's - know what had happened, but selfishness would make me hesitate. I played these two heroines; h*ll, I created them and I know them intimately. I should be able to impersonate them pretty convincingly, even with people who know them well.

 

I think it would boil down to the question of whether or not I could master either heroine's powers.

 

Both Cinnabar and Gamma Girl have only innate powers, and I don't think either has the Limitation Requires a Skill Roll on anything. So if I can use the powers of either heroine effectively - or quickly learn to use them effectively - well, suddenly I'm younger, I have superpowers, I have friends and team-mates and a purpose in life, and the ability to make a difference!

 

The substitution would be my secret. I'd never tell...and besides, there's a chance that either of my characters would be happier in my original body and life than they were in their own. (Admittedly, though, that's a very weak justification. I'd more likely be able to convince myself that as the creator and designer of the character, I'll be better able to use her effectively as a hero than she could herself.)

 

If I can't master the superpowers inherent to my "borrowed" body, then I'd actively seek a reversal. I'd reveal the substitution to "my" team-mates and assist them in getting their team-mate back...though I'd hate to have to do it. But there's no possible excuse for hanging onto a body whose powers I can't use, in a world that needs them.

Re: [interest in an online game?] Avengers: Generation 3

 

Michael, I'm sorry you're having problems with Iron Girl's write-up; I really don't want to lose you or her from the game.

 

I think there's a Feat or Perk (or something similar) in Champions called "Lightning Reflexes". Robyn was right; DEX, only for acting first, is exactly what it is. It means that on every phase in which you act, you go FIRST - regardless of DEX. Ask Dr. Anomaly for the details; he might even have some other suggestions for how to bring Iron Girl "up to speed".

 

I'd try PMing him as well as posting to this thread; he can be a bit...inattentive.

 

Haven Walkur/Cinnabar