Amorkca

I heard them talking about this on NPR the other day on the way home from work. The conclusion they came to was, "Get the first vaccine that's available to you."

Lightning sped into his parents' home. “Where's Jen?” he asked pulling down his cowl.
 
“Up in her room sleeping,” Ben answered.
 
“What's wrong?” Mary asked. Warren was upstairs before she finished.
 
Jen's door was closed and he opened it silently. A radio was playing quietly. One of her school books was open on the bed beside her. The light from the hall roused her.
 
Squinting against the light she made out Warren's shadow. “Warren? What's wrong?”
 
“I was worried about you. I needed to see if you were okay.” Entering the room, Warren sat on the side of his sister's bed. “Something bad happened. Something ugly.”
 
Sitting up, Jen asked, “What? What happened?”
 
“Warren? What happened?” Mary asked from the door. Ben was standing behind her.
 
“I don't know. I don't know all of it. We found Amanda.”
 
“Amanda? Is she alright?”
 
“I don't know. I don't know what happened to her. Her whole body is welted. It looks like someone put a screen into a fire and then wrapped it around her.”
 
“That's horrible!”
 
Jen started to get up. “I need to go see her.”
 
“Jen, she's in a coma. I got her to the hospital.”
 
“Tomorrow, Jen. After school I'll run you up,” Mary said.

From old campaigns long ago:
 
First mission of the campaign, the heroes defeated generic terrorists, but one of them knocked a terrorist into a VIP hostage, doing body damage to both.  Afterward,  as the press arrives, the hero who hates the press flees, and the other secretive hero also flees, leaving behind the only player with a "cannot tell a lie" limitation to speak on camera.
 
"And how did the Senator get injured, <superhero>?"
 
"He was...uh...struck by a terrorist. "
 
In a later campaign, a darker and grittier "street-level" game, my character was a Bullseye analogue,  able to add damage and accuracy to any ranged weapon.  Long story short, we were betrayed by a teammate and captured by my arch nemesis. 
 
Because my character could throw almost anything as a weapon, he was bolted to the wall stark naked.  After much embarrassment and frustration, I made a spectacular roll and got free from my bonds, loosening a single bolt.  Hurling the bolt, I smashed the cell door lock.  Hurling the lock fragment, I KOed the approaching guard,  and retrieved his armor-piercing energy pistol -- a very nice weapon that would be outright deadly in my character's hands.
 
Without waiting to dress, I  ran down the hallway, blowing open the other cell doors to free my team.  The character who had betrayed us (and since apologized and offered to rejoin us) was the last to be freed.  She gasped in alarm as I raced to confront my arch foe:  "Wait!  You're still naked!"
 
And thus I had the God-given opportunity to deliver my best line of the campaign:
 
"I'm not naked.  I  have a gun."

Way back when, I wrote up a super-team called the Amnesty Alliance. Not officially associated with Amnesty International. They specialized in rescuing political prisoners, people kidnapped by bandits, terrorists and other assorted unpleasant people, and the like. Controversial because on the one hand, everyone knew the people they fought was genuinely bad and lawless. OTOH no governments wanted private citizens taking quite such a direct role in such delicate diplomatic issues. Especially when dictators with oil or strategic minerals got punched in the face in the course of a rescue. Not that they ever set out to overthrow governments, but... they were very careful vigilantes, but still vigilantes in that they went outside the law to get results.
 
Unfortunately, I never found the opportunity to use them in an adventure. Maybe someday.
 
Dean Shomshak

The 4E Champions adventure, Atlas Unleashed, introduced a very proactive "super agency," Prometheus, a fully private international humanitarian aid agency described as a kind of "armed Peace Corps." Agents of Prometheus would travel anywhere in the world suffering war or natural disaster to deliver food and water, medical supplies, emergency shelters, clothing, whatever was needed, whether or not they were invited or welcome. If the local dictators, warlords, or rebels tried to stop them, they were armed with advanced non-lethal weapons and would fight their way to the people in need.
 
Although most members of Prometheus were sincere, dedicated humanitarians, the group was secretly the mask and source of funding for a utopian terrorist organization, Atlas, dedicated to establishing a new world order of peace and equality -- under their leadership, of course. The leaders of Prometheus/Atlas had discovered a method of creating superhumans to augment their ranks.
 
For my part, I found the concept of Prometheus much more interesting than Atlas, so for my own game I excised the latter to make the organization unequivocally benevolent. "Atlas" became the code name for the "superhero" component of Prometheus, as I changed the backgrounds and motivations of the Atlas villains to make them more heroic.
 
The revised Prometheus made a couple of appearances in my games, but I never got around to utilizing any of the more involved plots I had in mind for them, particularly the international community's response to them.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go and you were close.”
 
Wrapping a bandage around her thigh, Warren said, “Don't worry about it. You should have asked for help.”
 
“I am,” Spellbinder said.
 
Kate pressed a band-aid over a cut on Spellbinder's upturned face. “Not being in the business and all, Addie, I think you're supposed to ask for help before the bleeding starts.”
 
“I'm not a Guardian.”
 
“Adalene Masters,” Warren snapped. She looked down at him. “Yes, you are. Whether or not you live in the tower or in your home, that doesn't matter to us. What matters is what you do.”
 
“I need to rest so I can heal.”
 
“And then we will discuss your situation.”
 
“You'll help?”
 
Warren smiled at her. “You're asking now?”
 
Spellbinder nodded and dropped her head. She tried to stand and winced with the pain. “I don't think...”
 
Slipping an arm around her, and then behind her knees, Warren lifted her. “Spare bedroom upstairs. It's yours until you feel better.” She nodded. Warren carried her up the stairs.

That, my friend, is one of the many reasons I like the bank robbery as a very first adventure:  it gets stuff like that out in the open right off the bat.  Move from there to a friendly competition between players and weed out any PVP action early on as well.
 
 
No one has said it yet-and yes; it is a little more involved than just a simple scenario, but it can be broken down quite easily--
 
Christopher (above) has recently published a wonderful reworking of the very first published Champions adventure: the Island of Dr Destroyer.  It is much more detaiked than the original, and no where near as "tactical board game" as the original.  I highly recommend it even if you just want to farm it for ideas.  It is without question the best version of the Champions classic adventure.

Sitting at the dining room table, Warren took a drink from his coffee cup before setting it down and picking up his pencil again. He applied it to the pad of graph paper. He had the layout of the chest he wanted to build for Leah. For how he wanted to do the lid Warren would have to get Jason on board to help.
 
The graph paper helped with the basic design and measurements. Warren jotted notes along the side of the joints and supports. His plan included either a removable tray or those found in jewelry boxes that lifted up and collapsed down. He shook his head. Sometimes he over-planned these things.
 
Picking up his coffee cup again, he heard Kate quietly singing to Aaron. He smiled. There was magic in moments like this for him.
 
“Two hinges should do it,” he said to himself. “Locking support on either side for the lid.” Warren sighed and set his pencil down. “Just need to decide on what type of wood, stain, and varnish.”
 
He moved to the coffee pot and refilled his cup. He paused for a moment. “There's a thought. Toy box for Aaron. Chest for Sis, Leah, Dani, Trese...” The list went on in his mind. “Especially if I can get Jason's help. Wood carving isn't one of his skills, but maybe he can pick it up fairly easy,” Warren said with a shrug. He set his cup down and picked the pencil back up when a soft knocking came from the kitchen door.
 
Warren went to the door and opened it. Spellbinder leaned against the side of the house. Blood ran from cuts on her face and arms. “Addie?” He pushed the screen door open and lifted her when she began to slide to the porch.

Lowering his phone with a sigh, Warren watched a horse romp across the field. “What did he say?” Warren sighed again.
 
“A lot of nothing. Kate's getting two dresses and I should just enjoy it. Something passed between Kate and Jason when Aaron was born.”
 
“Yeah,” Leah said. “Some of his power to heal her.”
 
“I think there was more to it, but neither one is talking. Kate promised Jason. And Jason...”
 
“Jason isn't going to move in on Kate. You know that.”
 
Warren turned to look at Leah. “I know, but it rankles that they're keeping secrets. And then there's George getting Kate down to her underwear.”
 
Leah laughed. “Warren, Kate knows George. She knows she's safe with him. She used to help him make some of his designs. You know the stereotype of guy clothing designers?”
 
Warren's brow furled. “You mean he's...”
 
“As a tiki-torch,” George said. “Leah what do you think of this green?”
 
“Sorry,” Warren said.
 
“Ooh! Is that for her dress?”
 
“One of the options,” George said, taking the sample in for Kate.

Climbing the ladder to the tree fort, Warren pushed the trapdoor open. “Curtains! Love what you've done with the place!”
 
Jen had her knees drawn up, leaning against the wall. Tears had left tracks through dust, dirt, and makeup. “It's not fair. Jason promised.”
 
“Jason kept his promise, Jen. You got your invitation.” He set a drink carrier with one cup and a bag on the floor and pulled himself up the rest of the way. “Dad is the one that said you aren't going.”
 
“It's not fair!”
 
“Hey, I realize you're upset, but it's just the two of us. You don't have to yell to be heard.”
 
“Sorry.” Jen wiped her face with one hand, further smearing the mess her face was becoming.
 
“I got you your favorite. Rosie burger, fries, and a chocolate banana shake.”
 
“Not hungry.”
 
Warren shrugged. “You will be. It's still hot. Want to tell me what Dad is angry about?”
 
“I blew off a couple of chores and went to a concert. It was a last minute thing.”
 
“You live on a farm. You can't go blowing off your chores.”
 
“I don't want this! You're happy to follow Dad in being a farmer. I want to go out and see the world.”
 
Warren sat beside Jen. “I've seen the world. I've seen the good it can offer, Jen. I've seen entirely too much of bad it can offer, too.” He draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her off the wall to lean against him. “I would much rather you not be in a hurry to go out and see the world. Home is a sanctuary.”
 
“What do you think I should do?”
 
“For starters, get cleaned up and go back to my place. Be the adult you want Dad to see. You may not be going to the ball this year, but George has a responsibility. He accepted Jason's job. That means you need to go over and let him measure you.” Jen nodded. “And in the future, if any more concerts come up, let me know and I can cover your chores so Dad doesn't need to know you didn't do them.”
 
“You can't keep doing for me,” Jen said sitting up. She wiped her face with her shirt.
 
“Can, too. It says so in the Big Brother's Instruction Manual.”

The Mathemagician?

From the loft in the barn, Warren watched the delivery truck turn down his drive. He set his carving tools aside, picked up a rag and wiped his hands off. He headed down the stairs, tucking the rag into his back pocket.
 
“Hey, Don! What ya got? Kate been online shopping again?”
 
The driver chuckled. “Not that I know of. Just a heavy mailer for you from Scott Enterprises.”
 
“Yeah. Been expecting that. Getting to be that time of the year.” Warren signed for the package. “Thanks,” he said taking it. “Have a good day.”
 
Warren read the envelope while the delivery truck turned around. On the way out it passed another truck pulling into the drive. He pulled the tab on the mailer and looked inside. “One, two, three.” He smiled. “I guess this is her year.”
 
The truck pulled to a stop and the driver climbed out. “Mr. Asher?”
 
“Yes. And you are?”

“George Sanza.”
 
Warren held out his hand. “Nice to meet you finally. What brings you here?”
 
“Mr. Scott's money and an order for six dresses,” George explained. “One for Leah, two for Kate, one for a Mary Asher.”

“That's my mom.”
 
“And two for a Miss Jenevieve Asher.”
 
“That's my sister. Why don't you go on in the house. Kate and Leah are in there. I'll see about getting the other two here for you.”
 
“That would be much appreciated,” George said with a smile.
 
George headed up the steps. Warren heard Kate and Leah welcome him in. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed a call. “Hey, Dad. You might want to come over. Bring mom and Jen.”

Kris watched Kari pull the doorman's luggage cart through the door. Boxes were piled up on the flatbed and several garment bags were hanging from the bar.
 
“How went the shopping trip?”
 
Kari closed the door, made her way to a chair, and plopped in it. “Three dresses. Different colors. Different styles. Four pair of shoes. Lots of sexy unmentionables that I'll need to find a significant other to make proper use of. Several packs of hosiery.”
 
“And the date part?”
 
Kari rocked her head back and closed her eyes. “He was a complete gentleman the entire time. Wolfgang's for lunch.”
 
“So you're all ready for tomorrow night?”
 
“I have to decide which dress to wear. He got me an appointment for my hair in the morning. So I'll be ready. I'm just not sure I'm ready.”
 
Kris smiled at her twin. “Relax and enjoy. It isn't like it's a full service date.”
 
*****
“So, how was your evening out?
 
Kari pulled off her sunglasses and set them on a table. Her wrap she draped over the back of the couch. “Honestly, it was fun. I met some interesting people. Apparently, there is talk in Hollywood about making a movie about the Liberty Brigade or some such. The actor that's been in talks to play Torpedo was there. And his date was the one that's been in talks to play the White Witch.” Kari was grinning.
 
“So it wasn't as bad as you were afraid it was going to be.”
 
“No.”
 
Gathering a few things, Kris stuffed them into a messenger bag. “Should I ask why you're getting home so late?”
 
Kari's grin grew wider. “I woke up naked in Jason's bed this morning. The day got a little more interesting after that.”
 
“Uh huh.”
 
“What?”
 
“You woke up in Jason's bed. Wearing your stockings...”
 
“Pantyhose,” Kari corrected.
 
“...panties, and one of Jason's shirts.” Kris gave Kari an amused smile. “You passed out on him afterwards. He took you to his apartment because it was closer than either here or the tower.”
 
“My version sounded better,” Kari said with a pout.
 
“Rehearse it for a bit and tell your friends you slept with a billionaire. I have to go.”
 
“I thought you had the day off?”
 
Kris slung the messenger bag around her shoulder. She caught the strap she flipped between her wings and reattached it to the bag. “Staff meeting. I should only be gone a couple of hours unless something comes up. You okay?”
 
“I guess,” Kari responded. “Jason asked me to model for him. Something about the painting he did of you.”
 
“And?”
 
“I'm still getting used to the idea that he's not going to hurt me again.”
 
“Hey, he didn't hurt you. Not directly. And he didn't mean to hurt me when it happened.”
 
Kari nodded. “I need to get out of this dress and cleaned up.”

The light beside the door was green. There was no training session active. Ash cycled the release and walked in. She was mildly surprised to find that the program was still running. Water splashed beside the pier. The moon would hide behind the shifting clouds. All the myriad little sounds that one could not normally hear when the piers are active and people are working were available.
 
Ringer sat with one leg dangling off the pier. Her back was up against a piling. Ash watched her for a moment before crossing the distance.
 
“How did it go?” she asked. Ringer simply shook her head. Ash knelt. “How many times did you try?”
 
“Fifteen? Twenty? Mentor has all the results.”
 
“Mentor?”
 
“Ringer ran the scenario twenty-one times. Her high score was fifty with a total run time of six minutes and three seconds.”
 
“How many fatalities?”
 
Ringer dropped her head. “Twenty-one fatalities,” Mentor answered.
 
“I never had a chance,” Ringer said. “Even with my abilities, I never had a chance. He just wouldn't stop coming.”
 
“Now you know why I wanted you to stay here.”
 
“How did you guys do?”
 
Ash smiled. “We won. He's in custody. Wildfire is taking him to super max until his hearing. We recommended that it be a virtual courtroom. Keep him segregated and everyone else safe.”
 
“Any casualties?”
 
“Come on,” Ash said standing. She turned towards the door.
 
* * * * *
“What is that? It looks like a bacta tank.”
 
“Mask off,” Lisa told Jenny. Jenny pulled it off. Lisa pulled a glasses case from her coat pocket and handed them over.
 
“Thanks.” Jenny put her glasses on. Lisa handed her a bucket. “What's this for?”
 
“Just hold on to it for now,” Lisa said.
 
“What is all this?” Jenny asked.
 
Kris watched the monitor. “It's a protein bath. It will give the patient's body something to feed off of while it does its thing. That's the answer to your first question. The answer to the second question is that it is the rest of your object lesson.” Kris touched a control panel and the tank lit up. Jason was suspended inside. One thigh had been torn open like a large wild animal had taken a bite out of it. His chest, arms, and face were crisscrossed with various wounds.
 
“Jason kept Bloodbath occupied until the rest of us could get there. Your brother took a couple of nasty hits,” Ash told her.
 
Jenny opened her mouth to say something, turned around, and made use of the bucket.

Pulling the red Miata to the curb, Dani stopped and got out. She adjusted the jacket of her red pantsuit. Sunglasses covered her eyes. “Morning, boys,” she said to the group sitting on the steps. “One of you wouldn't happen to be Roger Johnson by any chance.”
 
“Hey, babe. You can roger my Johnson.” They all laughed.
 
“Typical. Sorry, but you couldn't handle all this hotness.”
 
“I think I could handle you just fine, Sweets.”
 
“I'd give you about two seconds before you were begging to let go,” Dani said smiling sweetly. “You don't want to step up to find out. Trust me, boys.”
 
“You clowns knock it off,” Roger said coming out the door.
 
“You Roger?” Dani asked.
 
“Yes, ma'am.”
 
Dani nodded. “She said you were polite. My credentials.” She held out a blue card with a pearlescent white dove in flight. Roger took it. “She said you can keep it. Something to remember the encounter by. Maybe an icon for you if things seem dark.”
 
“So what now?” Roger asked.
 
“Shopping trip. A new suit or two. Some shirts. Things that might help you out,” she said.
 
“You have a lovely smile,” Roger said.
 
“Thanks. Yours isn't bad, either. Shall we go?”
 
“You seem awfully trusting of someone you just met in this neighborhood.”
 
“A gentleman like yourself would step in if I were in any danger,” she said with a small curtsy. Roger laughed.

Launching herself from the roof of Spellbinder's townhouse, Kris' wings caught air with a loud snap. The evening was clear and cool. Pleasure derived simply from flying brought a smile to her lips and pushed the dark thoughts of the conversation she had had with Adalene from her mind.
 
“Alright, Mentor. Let's see what this thing can do.”
 
“As you wish. Primarily they are similar to the glasses the others wear. Polarized to assist against bright lights. Various other settings that range between low-light, infrared, and ultraviolet bands. There is a camera and your communications device also embedded in the goggles.”
 
“Which is why they tend to cover my ears?”
 
“Yes, and that, at need, they are also quite capable of extreme noise canceling.”
 
“Nice. Just the thing to wear to rock concerts,” Kris joked. “So why the upgrade? I'm a medic. Not a fighter.”
 
“My understanding is that with Sharon resuming a more active lifestyle, both Jason and Jordan had ideas about upgrading her equipment. They both felt that you would also benefit from new equipment even with you only being, as you imply, on the sidelines.
 
“Your bracers have monitors that you can use in emergency situations while in the field. They contain sensors for you to get bio readings. For instance, placement of your hand upon a body will give you their temperature within seconds.”
 
“Nice.”
 
“Also, they generate a localized bio-field that will act like surgical gloves at need.”
 
Turning her head from side to side, Kris noticed how the polarizing worked. “So what happens when it is done being needed?”
 
“Then the field will dissipate and any material on it at the time will simply fall to the ground, leaving your hands or gloves unstained,” Mentor explained.
 
“Cool, but might be some concern for clean up crews,” Kris mused.
 
“Noted,” Mentor said. “I will look into a controlled release system. Perhaps a vocal key.”
 
“Sounds good,” she said, soaring over the city. Her path meandered. Guardian's Tower, not the tallest building in the city, but one she knew intimately, was always a navigational beacon to Kris. Keeping that to her right she flew north, following the Hudson River.
 
A beep sounded. “What was that?”
 
“A warning sensor. It seems that you are being followed,” Mentor told her. Glancing around, Kris saw a helicopter in the distance. Enhanced telescopic view activated and narrowed on the helicopter. Seeing that it was a news crew with its camera pointed at her, Kris waved.
 
“Nothing to worry about, it seems,” she said with a laugh. “Are you my co-pilot?”
 
“At need. As long as no one starts running anything that requires my immediate attention, I will be monitoring your feed,” Mentor replied.
 
“Sounds good,” she repeated herself. “I think I am just going to enjoy some private time and fiddle with the new toys. Keep an eye on me. Just in case.”
 
“Always, Doctor.”
 
Kris soared and dove, turning on a whim, simply enjoying not having any demands on her time. She noticed the sun sinking to the west. “Time to head back,” speaking more to herself than to Mentor. She flew lower, closer to the buildings.
 
Something caught her attention. As she concentrated on it, once again the enhanced telescopic view engaged. She saw a black man climbing a fire escape to the roof of the building he was on, dragging a rope behind. Following the rope, Kris saw that it was attached to a small crate. “Curious.”
 
Upon reaching the roof the man threaded the rope through an old pulley and began tugging on it. The crate slowly made its way to the roof. Once it was there, the man carried it to what might have once been someone's pigeon coop. He passed through the door of it.
 
Curiosity got the better of her and she descended, snapping her wings out to ease her landing.
 
“I'm not doing anything wrong. The building manager lets me use this space.”
 
“Hi. I'm...”
 
“I know who you are. You're the bird lady from the tower,” he said. “I'm clean. I'm good with my parole officer. You got nothing on me.”
 
“Well, thanks for clearing all that up for me. Considering I only came down because I was curious. My name's Kris.”
 
He pulled folding chair out of the old coop and set it up. “My name's Roger.”
 
“Hello, Roger. What are you doing up here?”
 
Roger shrugged. “I come up here to think. Watch the city light up. Sometimes to write. Mostly to think. I'd offer you a seat, but this is the only chair.”
 
“The crate's fine to sit on, thanks.” Moving to it, she lifted herself up and slide back on it to sit. “What do you think about?”
 
Settling into his chair, Roger fished in the crate. Kris noted it was a bag of ice packed with beer cans. “Makes it easier to get back down. The cans are usually empty and I can scatter what's left of the ice and water on the roof. Want one?”
 
“Sure,” Kris said with a smile.
 
Roger handed her one. “Never thought I'd be drinking with a Guardian. I come up here and think. Think about my mistakes. Think about my son. Lucas.”
 
“Nice name. Where's he at?”
 
“Not really sure. After I went to prison his momma refused to let me know. She wouldn't come visit. Wouldn't bring him to see me. I got an early release. Good behavior. Even got myself a degree.” He popped the top of a can. “She sprung the kid on me after I got arrested. Knew she was pregnant, but knowing he was there changed something.”
 
Kris cracked her own can open. “Something for the better?” She took a swig.
 
“I'd like to think so.”
 
“What were you in for?”
 
Roger cocked his head and looked at her. “You honestly don't know? I was running in a gang that you Guardians rousted. Guns and drugs.”
 
“Must have been early on,” Kris said.
 
“Five and a half years. Lucas is six now. So, I did my time. Played it straight. Got educated. Now I got a piece of paper that reads that I got a Masters in Electrical Engineering. Only no one wants to hire a con.”
 
“Can I ask you, honestly? How serious are you about going straight?”
 
“You haven't been listening? I told you what I've been doing. I just can't find a job.”
 
Kris smiled and set her beer to the side. “How much do you know about me?”
 
“You got wings and can fly. You live in a glamorous high-rise. You're a doctor. I can only assume you're rich on top of it,” Roger said.
 
“Well off. Working towards the rich part. Do you know how I got these wings? Some evil bastards decided to kidnap me and experiment. I wasn't the only one.”
 
“I figured you were born with them.”
 
“No. I really didn't have a say in the matter. Before I was taken I was studying to be a doctor. Once I was able to get my head right I went back to pursuing that until it became a reality. I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to help people. That's part of why I'm a Guardian.”
 
Roger looked down between his sneakers. “What's that got to do with me?”
 
“Maybe I can help. If you're serious.”
 
“I am.”
 
“Let me try?”
 
Roger was lost in thought for a few minutes. “Okay.” He nodded. “Okay, yeah. What do you need?”
 
Kris grinned. “First, got a copy of your resume?”

“Not handy, but I can get one quick.” Roger got up and headed towards the fire escape.
 
“You do that. I need to make a call.”
 
Turning to lower himself down the ladder, he said, “You're not pulling my leg? You're not gonna fly off while I'm gone?”
 
“Guardian's honor. I'll be here when you climb back up.” Nodding, Roger disappeared from sight. “Okay, oh genie of the information highway, how do I make a phone call on this thing?”
 
“The gauntlet interface,” Mentor said. “I have loaded it with your contacts from your phone. Or you can simply say 'call whomever' filling in the whomever with whomever you wish to call. Or at least state it in such a way so that I will know who it is you wish to speak with.”
 
“I see. Call Trese for me.”
 
“As you wish.”
 
Kris waited while the call went through. “Hey, Red.”
 
“Hey, Wings. What can I help you with?”
 
“Do you still have that outreach program for convicts?”
 
“Well, not exactly. It's under review. Entirely too many weren't really interested in the straight and narrow. They wanted an easy out. Why?”
 
“I've got a candidate. Can he be submitted?”
 
“Like I said, the whole program is under review. It's above my pay grade at the moment.”
 
“Gotcha.”
 
“Sorry. Want me to call him?”
 
“No. I'll take care of it. Thanks.”
 
“You're welcome. Sorry that I couldn't be of more help.” Trese disconnected.
 
“Does that mean it's a wash?”
 
“Hey. Didn't hear you come back up. No. Just means I need to talk to someone else. Is that your resume?”
 
“Yeah.” Kris sensed a bit of dejection in his voice.
 
“Don't give up just yet.” Kris turned her attention to the wide band on her wrist. “Phone.” The screen lit up with her list of contacts and scrolled through them, tapping one, and waiting.
 
“Hello?” Jason answered.
 
“Hey! I have a question for you.”
 
“How is the new gear working out for you?”
 
“It's fine. Still getting used to the new bells and whistles. I talked to Red about the outreach program a few minutes ago.”
 
“It's on hold.”
 
Nodding, Kris said, “So Red informed me. Can I submit a candidate?”
 
“Kris...”
 
“Just consider him. I'll take it as a personal favor.” Jason was silent. “I will get all dressed up and come over so you can make me dinner again.” She grinned at Roger.
 
“Boyfriend?”
 
Kris shook her head. “Good friend.”
 
“It means that much to you?” Jason asked.
 
“Guardian's honor was sworn.”
 
“Is that above or below boy scout's honor?” Jason asked dryly.
 
“Above.”
 
“Do you have his resume?”
 
Kris held her hand out. “Resume, please.” Roger handed it to her. “What do I do now?” Kris heard a click from her goggles. “Did you just take a picture of it?”
 
“Yes. Now let me see him.” Kris looked at Roger and heard the click again. “I remember him.”
 
“Then you're doing better than I did.”
 
“Make sure you get his information. You're his contact.” Jason disconnected.
 
“Well...” Kris said quietly. “I assume the information on here is current?”
 
“Yes, ma'am.”
 
“Kris, Roger. I've got other people that ma'am me all day.” He grinned. “I assume that I have access to the pictures?
 
“Huh?”
 
“Yes,” Mentor answered her.
 
“Talking to someone else. Do you have a suit? Just in case.”
 
“No. Not one that fits anyway,” Roger said. “Not sure I can afford one right now.”
 
“Don't worry about it. For the time being you're my personal project. If I can get in touch with you through the number you have on here,” she indicated the resume, “then we can arrange to get you a suit that fits.”

“I didn't believe her when Sharon said you'd be sitting in,” Dan Thomas said.
 
“At least disbelieving her is not the same thing as calling her a liar,” Jason said. “I placed a bet. I lost. I'm here paying off. One adviser at your service.”
 
“We limited the access this time around, son. Just in case,” Charles said.
 
Thomas seated himself. “Can we get started?” Everyone took a chair around the table. “This is Cheryl Danforth. She'll be in command of one squad.” She nodded. Her skin was the color of mocha. Blue eyes gave a hint of mixed parentage. “This is Max Spears. He'll be running one of the other squads.” Jason looked the man over and was left with the impression the man was a weasel. Jason couldn't shake it. Spears merely stared at Jason.
 
“A quick get you up to speed, so...Jason,” he corrected himself. “This is the coordinates of the site. Satellite imaging on the left.”
 
“Canada,” Jordan said. “Alberta. Rockies. Isolated. Cold.”
 
Smiling, Charles said, “I do hope you've got that ride of yours well insulated.”
 
“Brand new heaters,” Jordan said with a grin.
 
Jason's fingers started tapping on the keyboard. “What are you doing?” Thomas asked.
 
“He's about to show you why I wanted him involved from the outset, Daniel. You recognize the place, don't you, son?”
 
“It's nice that you decided to do this at the office,” Jason said. A list of files lit up on a wall panel. Scrolling through them, Jason selected one. “I spent a month up there after the Sci-Tech acquisition shutting them down.” He pointed out a folder, clicked on it and it opened to display the ground layout. “While there I was also working on something of a personal project. You see the buildings, my diagram and the sat-scan. Voice command. Tell me Director, which building are you interested in?”
 
Thomas was silent for a moment, starting at Jason. “All of them eventually. What did Sci-Tech do there?”
 
“List all projects at the time of closure.”
 
Jordan watched the list scroll. “Those are all biologicals. None of them should have been authorized due to human rights violations. Christ...”
 
“It is Wainwright you're talking about, Jordan. Knowledge and science before any other concern,” Charles said. “Anyone that moved in would have some of the equipment that was too large to move or that we had no other use for.”
 
“Wainwright wasted a lot of resources building labs to play in,” said Jordan.
 
“Which was one of the reasons I was able to take it over. I just wish we had managed to arrest the bastard. You might want to fill him in on the squatters, Daniel.”

“Oh, god,” Beth said while laughing. “I thought I was going to lose it. I expected him to piss himself right then and there!”
 
“What happened?” Dani asked.
 
Marlene was grinning. “I asked him what it was that he wanted. He said he just wanted what Trese owed him.”
 
“Keep in mind,” Beth added, “that throughout the whole meeting to that point, Jason hadn't said a word. He stared at Fowler the entire time. Then he's all 'Mr. Fowler, I would be more than happy to personally give you everything that Theresa owes you with interest.”

I don't much care for "magic causes super-powers," either, because it seems to privilege one mode of power over others. If it were up to me, but I was bound to preserve past published statements, I'd present something like this:
------------
The Mandaarian shook her head and smiled. "No, I express myself badly. Your languages do not have the words. So often you use 'magic' to mean anything you do not understand. But Witchfire, you understand the spells you cast, yes? Or think you do, just as Defender thinks he understands how and why his armor works. You are not wrong, but your understanding is insufficient." She paused. "I came to study your history, how you made the transition from complete ignorance to partial understanding. Defender, let me use an example from the history of your science. The first scientists to study heat thought it was a fluid, which they called 'caloric.' This fluid could flow, diffuse, condense. This theory was wrong. There is no caloric: heat is motion of molecules. But the large-scale result acts like a fluid. The caloric theory was enough to create practical technology. For a steam engine or internal combustion engine, the theory is right enough. But eventually it will give wrong answers.
 
"That is why your armor, and your spells, became less reliable in that other time. They both rely upon another factor that you do not know about. Your present science cannot encompass it, because it involves consciousness. But it is not magic, either. Neither of you" -- the Mandaarian nodded to the two heroes -- "could create an instrumentality to detect it.  So call it... splunge."
 
"Splunge?" Kinetik interjected from the side. "You know about Monty Python on Mandaar?"
 
"We recorded it on our second visit," the Mandaarian said. "Monty Python's Flying Circus is, you would put it, huge on Mandaar. A product of one of your most advanced plexic entities. I have developed a silly walk -- but you do not want the distraction." She shook her head.
 
"Yes, call the underlying factor 'splunge.' It is why your armor works, why you can cast spells by thought instead of long rituals, why accidents that should kill instead give powers, and much else besides. But before you ask: I cannot tell you how to detect it, let alone manipulate it. It requires concepts as fundamental as mathematics, which you do not yet possess. It would be like explaining calculus to those tribes who count one-two-three-many."
 
"But you understand it?" Defender asked, a slight edge in his voice.
 
"Mandaarians understand it," she said calmly. "I do not. I am a historian, not a... splunge-worker. But our instrumentality makes full use of splunge, yes. It is not subject to changes in the level of ambient splunge. This is why we take such care not to leave any of our instrumentality behind. Not because yu would learn things for which you are not ready. Only because you could hurt yourself, as a child who does not understand electricity should be prevented from sticking things in wall outlets."
 
There was a long silence. Witchcraft finally asked, "So why does splunge change? Why is the... splung level now high, and low at other times?"
 
The Mandaarian shrugged. "It is complicated and -- as I said -- I am not a specialist. In this case, humans caused it. The group of humans who called themselves 'RSvKg' performed actions in your year 1938 that caused intensification of splunge. They thought they were doing magic; they did not, in any way, understand what they truly did, or what effect it would have. This I may say with certainty. Time travel was authorized to investigate the event, and I was part of that inquiry."
 
The Mandaarian tapped her fingers together. "That is the limit of what I may tell you. I would not have told you this much, except you saved me life and I do not believe you will misuse this information by -- say -- letting your attempts to detect splunge go beyond the bounds of prudence. Thank you again. I hope I have shown reciprocity." She clicked her tongue, and vanished.
 
No one spoke for several seconds. Then Witchcraft said to the group at large, "Do you believe her?"
 
There was another pause before Sapphire spoke. "I... don't know science or magic or anything like that. But I know performance. And I think she was pretending to be more human that she is." Her voice firmed. "That was staged."
-----------------
 
Dean Shomshak

It's hard for me to believe I'm saying this but come this June, our campaign will be 40 years old, along with the 40th Anniversary of the game Champions. It's actually mind-boggling to me, that any campaign could be that long. The campaign is older than my friend's marriage as well as some people in the campaign. I'm planning on buying some plastic award medals that you can put your own emblem inside of and giving them out in June. By the way, this is the same continuous campaign - never stopped or retconned. It's gone through changes over the decades and has seen players & characters come and go, but the core players are still playing some of the same characters that the campaign started with.
 
So along with saying it's been 40 years, I also want to say that it is the Champions game that is so durable and flexible that made this happen. My hat off to you, Hero Games and more specifically, to Champions.

Hmm. That reminds me of an actual index entry in the old Borland Turbo C manual for "recursion":
 
Recursion: see recursion

Different singer pictures. NPCs for that Hudson City club that's just opened or that you're letting that informant at?

Checkmate knight vs Russian agent.

Checkmate knight vs Russian agent.

1970s version of Black Canary along with African-Americcan characters from Marvel and DC for Black History Month.

“I like this one,” Trese said admiring her reflection in the tri-fold mirror. She turned from side to side watching how the dress moved.
 
“You can keep it,” Marlene said generously. “I never liked how it looked on me. Not my preferred colors.”
 
Beth watched Trese. “That's because you're such a Spring-Summer girl. Pastels, greens, floral prints are more your thing.”
 
“Anything else you going to try on, Red?”
 
“Nope. This one is good,” Trese stated.
 
“How about you, Beth? Anything you want to try on?” Dani asked.
 
Beth gave Dani a bored look. “Hoping to see me naked?” Dani grinned.
 
“Careful, Beth. I may just institute an official skinny dipping night,” Marlene teased.
 
“You would.”
 
From the bedroom, Tara called out. “Trese?”
 
“In here, Tara. We're hiding in the dressing room.” Trese turned and looked at her reflections over her shoulder.
 
Tara came through the open door. “Whoa. That's a lot of dresses.”
 
“Something wrong?” Marlene asked.
 
“I don't know. Security called. A Burton Fowler showed up at the front desk about an hour ago wanting to see Trese. He had a lawyer with him. When they put his name in the system it flagged security and they called me.”
 
Trese looked at the floor. “Trese?”
 
Trese exhaled. “I'm fine.” She looked at Dani. “I'm fine. I should have realized he wouldn't stay under his rock forever.”