AlgaeNymph

Oh, sorry. What I meant was that radiation exists in both the real universe and the Champions Universe. It has essentially the same properties in both. But in the latter it can also function differently, and it can do more.
 
The Cosmic Gems channel great cosmic power, and if we accept my theory that said power is fundamental to scientific laws, then they should continue to do that independently of ambient magic. They grant powers to someone in contact with them... in the Champions Universe. Is that quality also independent of magic? Not necessarily. For all we know that might not even be their intended function, assuming they were deliberately created.
 
Let me give you another example: the supervillains Warcry and Howler (Champions Villains Vol. 1 and 3 respectively) gained superhuman vocal powers from technological communication devices from the alien Hzeel implanted into their throats. A superhero, Dr. Vox, also acquired sonic powers after exposure to a burst of energy from Howler's device. (Dr. Vox is written up in Champions Universe: News Of The World.) That's certainly not what those devices were made to do, although one can see the thematic connection. The potential scope of their capabilities was expanded, almost certainly due to the probability-altering effect of magic.

I'm no expert on the Champions Universe but I can give opinions.
 
Magic might be the source of why people get superpower rather than, for example, dying in radiation accidents. But once someone actually gets a superpower, they have the superpower regardless of the level of ambient magic. (assuming the superhero isn't a magician, of course)
 
So immortal superheroes are still powered even if they live into an age which has a lower level of ambient magic. If they time travel to an age with low magic, any powered person is still powered.
 
Existing technological inventions if rediscovered will still work. (So if you find power armor designed by the mutant Re-Forger, the armor he made still works, even though superpowered mutations no longer exist due to low levels of ambient magic.) If existing tech is taken into the past, it still works.
 
The vast majority of extra-dimensional demon/angel beings and powers given in those realms will still work regardless. A superstrong demon will still be superstrong. If he breathes fire, he still breathes fire. If he has a magic sword, the sword still works because it is powered by its internal magic rather than ambient magic. His magic spells likely don't work in times with low levels of ambient magic, which could easily mean he's stuck here for centuries until the ambient magic level increases once more.
 
Personally, I'd say that cosmic energy still works in the future. But the ways that humans previously attempted to access it and give it to lab subjects no longer work (the science was unknowingly accessing the cosmic power in ways which necessitate high levels of ambient magic in order to be successful). So if any of those people discovered a way to become immortal, they'd remain immortal and powered. 
 
 
Personally, I thought putting the end of the superhero age in 2020 was a mistake since the sourcebooks of players wanting to continue playing Champions would still be used by players in 2020. Making the date 2050 or 2060 would have been better and less frustrating for players.
 
I guess maybe the writers thought the company would still be thriving in 2020 and they could simply release a book containing an adventure which forestalled the end of the age of superheroes then another book containing the new timeline. But if that was the plan, the company's crystal ball was obviously broken.

Or that the company wouldn't still be thriving in 2020, or they might not be publishing Champions Universe supplements, or they might want to reboot the setting and start fresh. Or what you suggest. Remember that time line was first publicized in 2002, so I suppose eighteen years seemed far enough away that they felt no need to prognosticate that finely. Hey, we were all considerably younger then, so eighteen years seemed a lot longer to us too.
 
In the CU, rising magic "loosens" the laws of physics, which not only increases the probability of empowering origins, but in most cases allows the resulting powers, super-technology, etc. to function. These things are explicitly stated to not be magic in themselves; magic just creates more potential within physics that can be exploited. The way I look at it is, quantum theory allows for the possibility of events we'd normally consider impossible to occur, but on the macroversal level the probability of them happening is so minute as to be practically impossible. Magic greatly increases that probability.
 
But all the CU sources make it clear that all super-powers, super-technology and the like which was based on exploiting that potential, cease functioning when magic falls below a certain level. In the official Hero future post-2020, creatures whose life-functions depend on magic, like the Atlanteans, have to flee Earth's universe for other dimensions. However, even after that happens, the advanced tech of older races in the galaxy, like the Malvans and Mandaarians, does not appear to be significantly impaired. While I'm not aware of any official explanation for that disparity, I've been rationalizing it as those civilizations having had more time to study the universe and develop a more profound understanding of the principles of science. In many cases their tech can still create effects as fantastic as any "supertech." As one example relevant to this topic, the Malvan called Tateklys discovered the principles of how to traverse time and dimensions even when and where magic is at its lowest ebb, and does so aboard his personal star ship, the Aurelius. (Tateklys' relevant write-up appears in Scourges Of The Galaxy, a book of NPCs for Hero's future "Terran Empire" setting.) OTOH during the galaxy's magic nadir, the powers of the Star-Staffs wielded by the Star*Guard will be substantially diminished, implying they were at least partly dependent on magic's effect.
 
Pursuant to archer's theory above, I've been assuming that the "cosmic energy/power" wielded by beings like the Galaxars is the ultimate expression of the laws of science, the manifestation of the elusive Grand Unified Field Theory, the fundamental force underlying all others.

IIRC, we had a threead on this a year or two ago. Prenise was that the decline of magic wouldn't be instant, like flicking a switch, but a gradual dimming. Super-powers gradually weakened; new origins declined and eventually stopped. I don't remember the thread's title, but you might search for it.
 
For story reasons, I would presume that super-powers do not instantly stop working if a super time-travels to a low-magic epoch. Magic, after all, involves the mind, the soul and the self, not just ambient quasi-physical energies. Each super carries a bit of their own reality with them that keeps their powers running... for a while. But if Defender travels forward in time to a low-magic period, his armor eventually breaks down beyond repair even though the tech is more advanced and repairs should be easier -- because the principles on which his armor is based are subtly wrong, with magic disguising the flaws.
 
Other PCs in such a scenario would likewise see their powers become weaker or less reliable, until they reached the level that was generally considered possible at that time.
 
Like I've said before, logic is a slut that will do anything for anyone, at least where imaginary worlds are concerned. Decide what story you want, invent whatever metaphysics you need to justify it. IN this case, I think the most dramatic option is a gradual but perceptible decline as a way to put time pressure on the characters. Though other options are possible. Just try to keep it consistent if you do more than one time travel adventure.
 
Dean Shomshak

I'm out of Rep for today, Dean, so I'll have to owe you. But that is both logical and probably the most dramatically fruitful route to take in most cases.
 
But I do have to make an objection to your Defender example in which you characterize his armor's principles as being "wrong." IME in regards to these magic fluctuations, the implication that their super-genius PCs are actually deluded fools really rubs players the wrong way.
 
I prefer to frame it as their taking advantage of the potential inherent in broadened physical laws brought on by higher magic. When that magic drops and their inventions stop working, it's not that they were wrong, it's that the potential they were exploiting has ceased to exist.

And pursuant to that last point, while the following is not directly relevant to AlgaeNymph's initial request, it does build on the Valdorian Age and the unified time line. As I've mentioned here, I often apprise and advise the Champions Online community about Champions Universe "lore." I collaborated with one player to develop a new PC for her inspired by VA. Here is her biography for the character:
 
Viviane
The Last Witch-Queen of Abyzinia

Once, she ruled an empire.

Viviane the Abyzinian was born to the commonfolk of that empire, her magical abilities untapped until the day she discovered a lost relic of an ancient age - a mystical gauntlet clutching a magically-preserved skull; both had belonged to the Turakian wizard-king Ansgar the Twice-Lived. The latent magic she possessed was enough to rouse the King of Khrisulia's spirit, and the ancient wizard's relic combined with his tutelage made Viviane the greatest sorceress Abyzinia had seen in generations. She ascended the throne, but though she ruled wisely and was beloved by the commonfolk of the Empire, the nobles took offense at her 'staining' the throne with her common blood. Besieged on all sides, she was forced to turn to the demonic powers she had sought to avoid to protect her reign - and in the end the sacrifice doomed her. Betrayed and defeated, she was dragged away into Hell.

For millennia uncounted she was imprisoned in that dark realm, her power broken and her spirit with it; only Ansgar's company kept her from going completely mad and surrendering to the darkness and evil that surrounded her. Time disappeared. The world changed. Then, one day, Ansgar spoke to his companion with horror that not even Hell could bring. Something had stirred across the cosmos, a darkness thought long-sealed had awoken. Kal-Turak the Ravager of Men had been loosed once more, into an age unprepared to face his wickedness - but his awakening also served as a beacon for the other lich to follow. Though it took decades, he was able to guide Viviane back to the mortal realm...

..and beneath a bloody moon on Halloween of 2018, the Last Witch-Queen of Abyznia and her Turakian counselor collapsed through the realms into a world neither recognized....

There's a plant called the purple orchid which only grows in the Ylsythen Jungles on the northern continent of Pelosa. It's the base component of various recreational narcotics and hallucinogens, and its smoke was used by necromancers to induce a dream state during which their reserves of spell-powering vitality were renewed. Obviously the orchid is extinct in the modern world, but it could be a key ingredient in some type of healing or other potion, or used to induce visions revealing a vital piece of information.
 
 
It's fair to decide it's a mistake, but I prefer to view it as an exploitable opportunity.

First thought: eliminate VIPER's serpent-god patron, Nama, by attacking him in this low-magic time when he's most vulnerable. This era is when Nama and his brother and sister first found the caves whose strange vapors granted them immortality. They could be killed while they're still normal serpents, before achieving enormous size and sapience. Kind of like the concept of murdering Hitler as a child. Mind you, The Valdorian Age specifies that the serpents aren't from Il-Ryveras, the part of the globe which VA describes. They'd be from elsewhere in the world surveyed in The Atlantean Age, but that book doesn't mention them. I have my own theory, though, which I think fits the available histories quite well. (Steve Long admitted that he forgot to include the three serpents when he wrote AA.)
 
Another target could be the Towers of the First and Last Sunset, abandoned capital of the Drindrish and apparently a place of lingering supernatural horrors. They could contain some artifact of magic or book of lore that heroes from the future need to acquire; or perhaps there's a reason why those heroes want to learn the final fate of those descendants of the Elves.
 
I'll give it more thought and get back to you.
 
EDIT: Oh, I thought of another possibility: magical materials. As Il-Ryveras is part of the same global configuration containing the island of Atlantis and the Lemurian Archipelago, time-travelers could travel to those lands when they were on the surface, and before the Atlanteans and Lemurians inhabited them, to take all the orichalcum and/or ignaetium they want. Of course they might still have to deal with hostile natives and monsters, but that's better than confronting whole magic-packing armies.
 
 

(Note: If you see a lot of “brs” in angle brackets, it’s because the forum software eliminates my paragraph breaks. I’m trying to restore them by hand using HTML markers. If that doesn’t work I’ll try something else.)
 
That’s a good question, LL, because it touches on how I created the metaphysical underpinnings for the Mystic World. I did not start with a set of metaphysical premises and work out the necessary consequences. When you make up a fictional universe, no consequences are “necessary.” Instead I start with the kind of story I want and backfill the metaphysics to provide pseudo-justification.
 
In this case, the reason is to preserve the threat of dimensional conquerors when humanity’s Imaginal Realms include hundreds of entities built on thousands of points each, who by a strict accounting of game mechanics could squash Skarn or Tyrannon like bugs. Like the Ban, the gods’ inability to affect Outer Planes entities through their magic is a bit of hand-waving to explain why they don’t dominate the CU setting. It’s to keep the focus on humanity and its heroes.
 
So the question is, what story do you want? Then adjust the reasoning to fit.
 
For instance, suppose you want the Land of Legends to be hosed if Tyrannon invades. In that case, Tyrannon and his soldiers are immune to all the magic of the mythic entities, from the high sorcery of Isis to the little glamors of dewdrop fairies. The creatures of myth can only fight the invasion physically. Okay, so “physically” includes dragon-fire and the strength of Heracles, so maybe they aren’t completely hosed, but the Land of Legends probably still needs help from the heroes of Earth. Cue the PCs!
 
But that kind of sucks if the PCs include a faerie knight, a warrior angel or some other mythic entity. Only an idiot GM would declare that most of a PC’s powers, which they paid good character points for, don’t work against a major foe because of mere internal consistency and logic! But lucky for you, Logic is a slut who’ll do anything for anyone.
 
In that case, maybe the inability is specifically limited to gods. The strongest spells of Vainamoinen, Isis and Hermes splash off the Signifers swarming into the Land of Legends, but tengu illusions, satyr panics and troll-hag curses work just fine and Tyrannon has a real fight on his hands. Why should this be so? Umm... It’s the downside of receiving power from worship. This binds the gods to humanity, and the realms of human imagination, to a greater degree than the lesser entities. Ironically, the lesser entities receive greater metaphysical freedom precisely because humans don’t care about them as much.
 
Don’t like that? Okay, go back to the first option, but observe the ways that gods work around the Ban. Gods and other spiritual entities can use similar means to work around their inability to act beyond the Inner Planes. Like, the West African god Ogun can’t fight Tyrannon, but his empowered namesake the hero Ogun can. A projected avatar such as Dion Bach can affect Tyrannon because he’s a quasi-mortal creation of Dionysus, not Dionysus himself. The demigod Chrysaor can fight Tyrannon because he’s a new entity who never received worship or became the subject of myths. Really, any circumstance that can turn a creature from myth to PC can be twisted into a justification for why the character can affect Outer Planes creatures. Even having a Secret Identity as a mortal, or acknowledged membership in a hero team in the mortal world (or a villain team!), might “humanize” a mythic entity enough.
 
Play around with options, see what fits your campaign. Any “official” answer would certainly be wrong for someone’s campaign, so there isn’t one.
 
Dean Shomshak

It's true there have been several developments in Champions Online in recent years, which should count as "official" additions to the CU. If you're interested, legendary Champions author and veteran CO player Scott Bennie created a free PDF "lore primer" to provide new MMO players with some essential setting information. Said document adds CO events through 2017 to the official timeline, as well as provides useful perspectives on the differences between the two versions of the CU: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzHmfdC4jXPpVmxGd1ZxcHVfbFk/view
 
There is also some info in Darren Watts's Golden Age Champions for between WW II and the present day. That mostly involves legacy characters, i.e. descendants of or successors to that first generation of heroes. For example, it mentions that a fourth person has taken up the identity of Meteor Man in the present. But a few of the GA characters written up are still active today.

It's actually interesting to see how the definition of Club Caprice has changed between Fifth and Sixth Edition. Take the following passage from the 5E book Millennium City, p. 43: "One restaurant/club thriving on its superhuman cachet is Club Caprice, an upscale cocktail club in Rivertown owned by Lewis (Masquerade I) Frey, a thief and master of disguise who battled Black Mask in Chicago in the 1950s and ’60s. The Mask defeated Frey in 1971 and sent him to jail. He got out in 1985, and after apprenticing in a couple of Chicago restaurants opened Caprice in 1995. With clever marketing and deft menu planning, he maneuvered the Caprice into one of the genuine hot spots of Millennium City. Part of the Caprice’s popularity derives from the frisson of danger patrons get from dining in the establishment of a known supervillain. Rumors say shady deals and criminal activity go on in the private rooms upstairs at Club Caprice, and Nighthawk reportedly watches the place closely."
 
And then, from the GM's Vault of the same book, p. 97: "The rumors are just that — Frey is truly retired. He just goes out of his way to foster the notion that untoward things go on at his club, especially to the press, to keep his patrons pleasantly on edge. The idea has taken such deep root, however, that some criminals have begun hanging out at the Caprice. Frey may soon find himself playing with fire."
 
Now compare the description of CC from p. 38 of the 6E version of Champions Universe: "The two primary socializing spots for superheroes take very different approaches to resolving that problem. The first is Club Caprice, located in one of the buildings in the City Center complex of Millennium City. Parts of Caprice are open to the public in general (and are very popular, especially with “hero groupies” hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite “cape”). But other parts are off-limits to anyone who doesn’t have superpowers. Built by Trans-City Construction to be extra-durable, equipped with security devices designed by Dr. Silverback, and staffed by extremely competent personnel (several of whom have low-level superpowers themselves), Club Caprice is the perfect place for a hero to unwind. It’s jumping nearly every night of the week, though things don’t really “get started” until after most heroes have finished patrolling their cities and decided to stop by for a drink. A few socially acceptable villains, such as Lady Blue, have even been allowed in from time to time."
 
I'm practically certain the change was made after the sale of the Champions IP to Cryptic Studios, to conform to their vision of what they wanted to use Caprice for in Champions Online. However, I gave some thought as to how one could reconcile the transition within continuity. What I would propose is that criminal elements did start to make Club Caprice more of a regular hangout, in turn leading heroes to frequent it more often to investigate their activities. Lewis Frey may even have passed information on to the heroes about particularly dangerous criminal activities, earning him some respect and goodwill. As a consequence, superheroes began frequenting the club more often just to relax and enjoy themselves. That inspired Frey to make Caprice an establishment catering especially to superheroes, redesigned to accommodate their special security concerns and the need to protect civilian patrons.
 
Mind you, in play in Champions Online the club doesn't cater just to superheroes and normal restaurant-goers. The PCs who frequent it include many vigilantes, supervillains, and outright monsters, as the fiction by Scott Bennie that AlgaeNymph linked to highlights. I'm afraid it's just a reality that players of a MMORPG are going to play what they want, regardless of whether or not it makes sense within the game's setting. Besides a frequent maturity level less than adult, the online game's clientele also includes a high percentage of gamers with little to no experience with the comic-book genre and its themes and tropes. They often come to CO from other computer RPGs, particularly in the fantasy genre, where such characters are common. (I've noticed quite a few elves and wizards in CO as well.)
 

Inspired by the recent conversations about in-universe fictional replacements, I got curious about how the in-universe "real" members of the Champions changed over time in the 5e/6e Champions Universe and started digging.  Im admittedly mixing two different editions here, but they are fairly compatible lore wise, with just a bit of weirdness around Nightwind.
 
Champions Complete (among other sources) indicates that Defender founded the Champions in 2001 and the team quickly became:
Defender
Sapphire
Nighthawk
IronClad
Witchcraft
AKA: The Classic Lineup
 
Millennium City mentions that they frequently team up with Doctor Silverback, Kinetik and Nightwind who consider them allies but are not members.
 
In 2006 Nighthawk faked his own death to work undercover without letting his team know his plans and came to blows with Defender when the truth came out.  He quit the team before they could vote on his expulsion.  He was replaced by Kinetik who the Champions had worked with numerous times before. "Champions Universe: News of the World" says the Champions also added Nightwind and he helps the Champions fight Mechanon on October 15th 2006 (Book of the Machine) , but Champions Complete (the most recent book by publishing date) has a mini-recap of the events of 2006 and writeups of the characters that doesn't mention him.  So maybe?
 
So in 2006 the Champions membership was:
Defender
Sapphire
IronClad
Witchcraft
Kinetik
Nightwind?
 
The Champions 2007 chapter from "Champions Universe: News of the World" lists the team membership as
Defender
Sapphire
IronClad
Witchcraft
Kinetik
Nightwind
This is pretty much the same as 2006 but I list it as it definitely included Nightwind where as there are some questions about his 2006 status.
 
Champions Universe 6E indicates that the Champions have a set of reserve members they can call when needed.  If we assume the publishing date is the date in-universe:
Champions 2010
Defender
Ironclad
Kinetik
Sapphire
Witchcraft
 
Champions 2010 Reserves:
Dr. Silverback
Nightwind
Ultratech
Blockhead
Crusader
The first two are described in "Millennium City".  Does anyone know if the last 3 are written up anywhere?
 
It is also stated that Nighthawk still sometimes helps the team, which implies that his former teammates have at least partially forgiven him.
 
The Champions Complete book lists the membership as of 2012 as the same as 2010 but makes no mention of their reserves.  As this is a quick overview of the team the reserves may or may not exist.
Defender
Sapphire
IronClad
Witchcraft
Kinetik
 
Galactic Champions recounts Mechanon's final battle with the Champions in the then futuristic 2014 and has a very different membership:
Defender
Kinetik
Ironclad
Tekno
Deuce
Witchcraft
I'm assuming that Deuce (with her shadow form) was the same Deuce mentioned in "Conquers, Killer, and Crooks" as part of PSI's Support team who was the same Deuce who got a writeup in 4E's "Mind Games".  I kind of like that she eventually got away from PSI and joined the side of the angels.
 
I'm not sure who Tekno is?  I briefly thought Teknique from Millennium City changed her name as that is where many of the new Champions come from, but Tekno is a He and we don't get any indication that Leah Reece has any ambitions for gender transition.  Did I miss a writeup somewhere?
 
At this point our info runs out.  The 5e/6e universe used to end shortly after 2020 when a battle with Tyranon uses up the magic that made powers possible.  We know that Kinetik and Witchcraft die in the Antartic battle with Tyranon and that all supertech and metahuman powers fade completely by 2022 but we don't know who was on the Champions roster at the end or what their final fates were.  Other than that Defenders family continued to produce the heroes their ages needed for at least 1000 more years.
 
This was what my memory and a bit of reading dug up.  Do we know of any other roster changes for THE HERO system superteam in the 5e/6e timeline?
 

Author’s Note: Warning, political content (duh). Storylines are a reaction to the election of Trump and political trends in America that the author is not a fan of. Craig is a very political character, and I don’t shy away from current events. Judge this as you will, or skip the story if the subject matter repels you.
 
The VIPER commander was halfway into The Speech. You know the one. After a decade, they sound like a broken record; after two decades, they’re as mind numbingly repetitive as the dance music at Caprice. After three decades, they’re as bad as a political echo chamber simulated by the whine of a dentist drill, and I want to bang my head against a wall. The man, having no sense of mercy, continued to drone. This was supposed to be a torture session; but he was too busy ranting to bring on more than standard issue pain. Vicious, but not imaginative.
 
“VIPER has spent too long in the shadows, Mr. Carson. It has been twenty-five years since the Supreme Serpent emerged, and what have we achieved?”
 
About as much as any other fascist.” I reply, spitting a lump of blood as the sonics attached to my ribcage were causing a bit of hemorrhaging, as well as dislodging my right eye from the socket. I can see it dangling out of the corner of my left eye – man, that’s gross. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten into politics. And just like most politicians, you’ve achieved zip, Nada. Zero.” The commander scowled. “Zero, my hero, how wonderful you are…” I add, singing a song from the misspent Saturday mornings of my childhood.
 
“This changes now!” the commander ranted. “Too long has the snake bidden its time! With those fools controlling Congress and the nation in chaos, now is the time to strike!”
 
“Hey!” I exclaim. “We agree on something, at least the fool part. I’d high five you, but I seem to be tied up.”
 
I don’t know what it is about torture sessions that brings out the wiseacre in me. How can you tell when I’m in a bad situation? By the number of jokes I tell! But in truth, the pain isn’t all that bad. I’ve been nuked. I’ve been trapped in the worst part of hell and made to suffer agony on a metaphysical level: torment and despair that you 4chan rejects can only dream about. Hey buddy, you think these gizmos are having much effect? This is amateur hour!

“You will not be tied up long. Only until you sing for me.”
 
“I already did.” I protest. “You did recognize “Schoolhouse Rock”, didn’t you?” He glared at me, highly unamused. Asshole. Not only does he rip my body apart, he doesn’t laugh at my jokes! “You did see Schoolhouse Rock, didn’t you? You know: “Three is a Magic Number”? Or “Lolly, lolly, lolly, get your adverbs here?” Or did mommy and daddy tell you that you couldn’t watch Vanguard and Friends? Y’know, that would explain a lot...”
 
"You seem to be forgetting, Mr. Carson, that I am the torturer and you are the torturee!” the VIPER commander hissed.
 
“Look, I’ve got a graduate degree in pain management.” I say. “I can even make it halfway through one of Biselle’s press conferences without punching the television into next week. So why don’t we end this, and you can give your “Make VIPER great again” speech to your men, who might be wowed by this bullshit like a cloistered political clique on the Internet.”

"If you will not talk, I guess I’ll have to kill you…” the Nest leader said, and then the base was rocked by an explosion. The lights blinked on and off, twice. The klaxon blared.
 
“WARNING. MICRO-REACTOR CONTAINMENT BREACH. ALL PERSONNEL TO SAFE ZONE 2. BASE SECURITY HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. WARNING. MICRO-REACTOR CONTAINMENT…” 
 
 The power flux gives me just enough of a reprieve from the restraints that, with effort, I snap the bonds. Man, that hurts worse than the torture. I had dampened my nervous system to resist the pain – the power restraints didn’t prevent the use of my powers internally – and I immediately attack. I’m in no shape to fight, even if my nervous system was functioning properly, but fortunately, I have a friend. Out of the corner of my working eye, I see a very familiar white and blue figure, a lightweight battlesuit with a tights motif, and a winged helmet. 

“Defender!  Shiii---”

The Nest Leader didn’t even have time to complete his obscenity. He and his two show VIPERs fell to the Champion’s concussion beams like a ton of bricks.
 
“Easy Craig, I got you,” Defender said. “Made a mess getting in, though.”

“Micro-reactor,” I note. “Bit more sophisticated than their standard generator.”

“I’ve seen these bases pop up elsewhere.” Defender said. “VIPER’s upgrading. Craig. Again. You’d better hold still. We need to get you into surgery. You’re a real mess....”

I push my dangling eye back into its socket, and do the same for my dislocated kneecaps and my dislocated shoulder. Damn, that hurts. “There.” I say.
 
“Surgery’s done.” Defender’s jaw dropped, just a little, and I smile. “Now help me get “Chuckles” and his two henchboys out of here before the reactor melts.” I add, hoisting the nest leader over my shoulder.
 
“Dammit Craig, I’m still calling for a medic,” Defender said, and he hoisted the two brickbusters over his own shoulders, like man-sized epaulets, and together we were away.

I’m not sure where VIPER’s taken me, but the nav implant comes back online as soon as I leave the base’s dampening field. They’ve taken me to someplace in rural Wisconsin, Teapublican country, I suppose. That figures. I like a lot of conservatives, despite our obvious differences, but the governor of that state does not impress me. He’d make a great VIPER. I bet the guy wakes up in the morning, starts the day by pissing on a copy of the Sermon on the Mount, right before his morning ritual of kicking cripples.
 
As you may have guessed, recent events have NOT honed my diplomatic skills.
 
In the distance, I can see a small jet land in a fallow strawberry field, depositing its fuselage on the meadow. It shifted and rearranged itself, eventually sliding to form a building.

“You watched a lot of cartoons as a kid, didn’t you?” I grin at Defender. “Didn’t get the transformer sound effect down, though.”

“Field hospital module.” Defender explained with a smile. “And another will be landing with a containment module for our guests.”
 
“Mobile bases?” I wonder.
 
“Yep!”” Defender’s face bore a proud pappy expression.

"Do they turn into a car?”
 
“No, but they do connect. Energy efficient, too! So, in you go!”

 I would have argued that I felt fine, except that would have been a lie of such dimensions that even a politician would balk. So I enter the module and let him consign me to my fate. It smells like a hospital, like enforced sterility. The walls aren’t the usual painful hospital white, though – they’re silvery steely, and the interior contains plenty of modular, transforming furniture made from chrome and stark plastics. The hero straps me to a very strange, almost alien looking bed, and spidery limbs begin dancing on my skin, drilling holes for IVs to pierce my nigh invulnerable skin. Quality drugs.
 
"What alien race did you get this from?”
 
"Enemy race of Ironclad,” Defender replied. “He doesn’t talk about them much. Hold still, Craig.”
 
"I’m a walking storm,” I answer. “I don’t do “still” very well. It’s like holding your breath.”
 
The spider arms tear my clothing, except for my crotch (Defender is probably the most Comics Code-friendly hero ever), and spray the air with a nano-antiseptic, clouds of which settle on my skin and sting. My body’s riddled with abrasions of varying kinds and degrees – VIPER had made a real mess. Defender looked over my injuries. “They almost got you this time, Craig,” the hero noted.
 
"It’s what they do,” I shrug.
 
"The snakes are rallying again,” Defender added.
 
"A lot of bad guys are rallying,” I retort. “The snakes always test a new Congress. They‘ve done the same thing for decades.” I could tell from the look on Defender’s face that he would have preferred that I didn’t bring up politics. Not because he is apolitical (Mr. “I won’t register my powers”, nosir!) but, well, polite people don’t do that, and I’m Canadian. We’re supposed to be the poster boys for polite, right?
 
“What happened?”
 
“Standard ambush. Got a distress call. Damsel in distress turned out to be a bomb that blew up in my face and then they got the jump on me. I don’t think they got any information. Didn’t feel any telepaths running around in my head. Lucky me.”
 
"They weren’t being gentle with you.” Defender noted.
 
"If they were gentle, they wouldn’t be VIPER. Oh, be warned. When the nestie wakes up, he’s going to give you the standard issue revenge speech. The man’s a walking cliche factory.” I say. “Metal moron!” I add, putting my mockery talents into overdrive. “Your paltry armor is no match for VIPER! Prepare to feel the fangs of the sssssssnake!”
 
Defender laughed. That was a rare moment. I’ve known him for close to a decade, and the guy Out-Seriouses Captain Serious. That may have been only the third time I’ve ever heard him laugh. “Sure Craig, sure,” he said.
 
“I don’t need to know how bad they hurt me,” I said. “I’ll be right as rain in a couple of hours.”
 
“One day someone’s going to hurt you in a way you can’t heal from,” Defender said.
 
“Too late,” I reply. “It’s already happened.” I don’t elaborate on the remark. 
 
The truth is, I’ve been in decline for quite some time. First there was the imprisonment in Hell, in the Unconsummated Suicide. The nightmares I’ve had since my first trip to Hell, when I was 15, they’re about five times worse now. Then there was the Hobbled Man’s spell, which fractured me, forced me to reconstitute myself again and again. I Go To Pieces, like the old 80s song. They put me back together, and I pretended everything was fine, pretended I was normal. And then....
 
A year ago, there was an incident in the southwest desert, a villain launched a nuke at Moscow. Oh, I rode it and disarmed it, I was the hero of the day, like Dr. Strangelove (and just like my old teammate Avenger, who did the exact same thing on the Colonel’s nuke that one time in southeast Asia — crazy bastard), I rode the damn missile. But in the process of disarming it, I lost it. I almost flipped the wrong switch. Millions of people almost died because I had one bad moment.
 
And I had a nervous breakdown. I kept it hidden, bottled it inside. I withdrew from everyone. But there was no fooling UNTIL’s annual psych review. My performance had degraded, badly.
 
Here’s the funny thing. Am I as powerful as ever? Yep. Maybe even more so. I can lift more, fly faster, endure more of a beating. But it’s a facade. Inside, I’m falling apart. In the eternal struggle between Craig and the Living Thunder he controls, Craig is slipping.

“Nonsense,” Defender said, blissfully unaware of all of this, and he paused to scan the perimeter. “No sign of hostiles.”

"So,” I ask with a sigh. “Nice little tinker toy project you got here, D. How many more of these little secret side jobs do you have that we don’t know about?”
 
"I could ask the same about you.” Defender said. “I read the report on the Trikon. Secret asteroid base, Craig?”
 
"It was an expandable module, based on Bigelow habitats.” I answer. Inflatable rooms for space stations, first made for GATEWAY. “I simply thought our mining project could use a few storage modules within range of our drilling sites. And it was hardly a secret. NASA knew about it, and so did Victory.”
 
"How goes your efforts to expand our species?”
 
"Lousy,” I sigh. “Everything takes about five times longer than our best estimate. You?”
 
The same.” Defender said, shaking his head. “I keep thinking if I can get all the superhumans on the same page, overwhelm the villains just long enough that we can turn away from security and work toward improving the human condition…” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll live to see the world we could build.”
 
I almost laugh, but one look at the plaintive expression on the man’s face, even concealed by a half-faceplate, disabuses me of the thought.  The man’s so earnest that saying a harsh word to him would be like kicking a puppy.

“Why does doing the right thing have to be so damn hard!” Defender declared. There was a frustration in his voice that bordered on petulance.

“I know.” I commiserate. “And the harder you try to help, the harder you try to coordinate the herd of cats, the harder they push back.” I say. “And the more vicious and childish the sneers get.” 

“Now Craig, let’s not go there. Our peers are mostly good people, and I’m grateful we have so many new bodies joining the fight.”

“That’s spin, and you know it.” I spit back.

"Sometimes the spin is true.” Defender shrugged.
 
He tries so hard, and  people just put him down. I remember the old Serve and Protect comm. They made a lot of remarks about him, and they were so damn petty. Vicious crap unfit for the gossip rags, as if they had achieved one-tenth of what this man had accomplished. But you can always tell the smallness of a man by their eagerness to put down others. I wonder who he is, behind that mask?
 
Or maybe Defender is the face.
 
“I really wish they’d show more resp--” I stammer.
 
Craig, drop it. Please.”
 
The man had to have picked up some of the chatter. He had to know what they said about him, behind his back. But Defender said nothing; he just inspected the readings on the monitors, like a garage monkey checking a brake job. He must be so bored.  Suddenly, he jerked his head, and held it as he listened to a transmission that registered as a buzz on my comm implant.
 
"I gotta go.” Defender said. “Witchcraft needs me. That is, she has a mission. We have to penetra—“ he stopped, realizing his words had become a bit of a running gag in the superhuman world, like William Shatner’s mispronunciation of “sabotage” in the acting world. “I got to go.”

“Take care. Say hi to Bethany,” I reply.
 
"That’s right, you know her secret,” Defender noted. “By the way, I heard Celestar finally rescued his team from the Frost Tomb. Give them the Champions’ warmest regards.”
 
“I haven’t met them yet,” I answer. After forty years, Canada’s most powerful heroes had returned from their icy prison. I was not invited to the party: Celestar and I have never been close. “But when I see Lon, I’ll tell him.” 
 
“Thanks.”
 
"That’s one bright spot, I suppose. One spot in a growing darkness.”
 
"The torture got to you, didn’t it Craig?” 
 
I shake my head. “No, this has been weighing on me for awhile,” I admit. “The world’s changing, Defender. Old heroes are retiring. They abandon the field as if they never existed, never returning phone calls. The ones that stay just get more cynical, less respectful of the mission. New heroes come along, but they don’t last long. And there are fewer and fewer replacements.”
 
 “I wish some of the new kids weren’t quite so violent.” Defender said.
 
“Every generation of heroes has that,” I note. “I can’t really say mine was any better. Not when I was mentored by Shamus and Avenger. So Kid Gunplay and Lady Tormentula are off the hook. At least until my mood sours.”
 
Defender nodded, conceding the point. “But they all have potential, Craig.” he said. “That’s where we come in, right?”
 
"I suppose so.” I groan as I feel something suddenly jerk inside me. A bone untwisting, tendons reattaching, or something equally gross and medical. Defender inspected the monitor. “Will I live?” I chuckle.
 
“No snake’s going to be able to kill you,” Defender replied, smiling. “The hospital module should inform you when oiu can be safely discharged,” he blurted, changing the subject with all the subtle deftness of a California driver making a U-Turn at sixty miles an hour. “A jet will pick it up. Can you stay with it to Millennium?”
 
“Sure,” I say. “After all, I do owe you. You rescued me from a horrible fate. Those VIPER monologues are torture!”

Defender nodded, his face stoic as a Roman orator carved in granite. I wish he’d laughed at the joke. Then blue flame issued from his boots, and in a flash and a streak he was gone back to the city.
 
**************
 
I arrive back in Millennium in the early evening. Daylight savings time; the sky was brighter than my brain, which was in a bit of a fog after the torture and the drugs and the flight home. Kivioq was anticipating my return, and I could see the lights on.
 
The glass doors on the patio open as I enter the apartment. I’m about to become naked with a thought and head for the shower when three men in PRIMUS uniforms dash around the corner and surround me, weapons drawn.    
 
 Bloody hell?
 
"Hold on, Rambo. Let’s see some ID.” I say.
 
“McKelvie, PRIMUS,” a Silver Avenger barked, flashing a badge. “We understand you’re storing contraband in this apartment!”
 
They shouldn’t even know where this base is located. I hide my home.
 
I stammer something barely coherent. A second agent approaches, holding up some alien artwork that I had been collecting. They’re awfully bold. “We found this, sir…”
 
"Looks like you have some explaining to do, Carson.”
 
"It’s a gift,” I explain.  “From the Mandaarians. They had an explorer up in the Arctic, and his party ran afoul of the Gadroon...”
 
“Suuuuuuure,” the agent said, his voice twisting in contempt. Asshole.
 
The government’s been out to get me since the last election. Or, to put it more accurately, someone in the new government, someone in high places, VIPER maybe, nested in the new administration, is out to get me. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried to slip someone into the changing of the guard. Or the sixth. I’ve been hassled on at least three occasions by someone in the government over the last two months, and I don’t think it’s just because I’ve harbored unkind thoughts about the new administration, as much as I want to be a partisan jerk. Something is rotten in the state of America. 
 
“Lawyer,” I say, as an agent came out bearing more artifacts: one of them is an Orichalcum conch, a blood gift from Queen Mara. “Now. And get your hands off my collection.”
 
“Bite me,” one of the agents retorted, and they snickered like a pack of delinquent high schoolers as they roughly handle an object that predates human civilization by ten thousand years.
 
"Maybe if you hadn’t arrested us eight years ago, we might show a little more sympathy,” one of them sneered, bringing up an incident where PRIMUS was researching WMDs on Canadian soil in violation of treaty and VIPER seized control of the weapons. When it was over, the rescued agents were arrested, thrown in jail, and deported. Kaufmann’s had me on his shit list ever since. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, Carson?” 
 
I really, really need to sleep, and I know they aren’t going to let me hit the hay anytime soon. This is going to be one very long, long night. These aren’t any PRIMUS agents I know. Cross-referencing their badge IDs, they’re mostly from the Richmond Virginia field office. Why drag them to all the way too Millennium when they already have an office in the city?
 
These boys are pretty far afield. Hmmm...
 
Enough of this crap. I run down my enemies list, trying to determine who’s in a position to do this to me. As it turns out, the name I’m looking for is at the top of the list.
 
******************
 
“Sutherland!”
 
I enter the northern Virginia DARPA office like a storm. An agent points a pistol into the face of a god. Poor jerk. I bite down on the barrel, chomp off two inches, and spit it out.
 
“That’s what you call gun control,” I quip, and I nudge the agent aside. With a rip and a crunch, I casually perform a doorectomy on the entrance, and enter. Thunder and lightning surround my form, the thunder louder than the alarms. I’m pissed. I want him to know I’m pissed.
 
 “Invictus!” I rage again.
 
"Why Craig,” David Sutherland was sitting at a desk, dressed in a business suit. “You really need to go through my secretary. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
 
He’ll live.”
 
“For such an allegedly polite people, you Canadians sure need a lesson in manners.” Invictus grinned, and he rose from his chair. “Well, how shall we do this?”
 
“I didn’t come here to fight,” I snap. Never did I mean a sentence less in my life.
 
“Aw, now that’s disappointing. You came here to trash my office?” Invictus smirked. “Just like you trashed my life? Altering the timeline so my triumphs… my victories… meant nothing.”
 
“Reality altering is your specialty, Sutherland.” I snap. “And I like this reality better than the one where you turned me into a villain.”

I really need to recap things for the audience at home. Invictus and I have a long history. Here’s the summary of a decade of trading punches:  David Sutherland Jr., aka Invictus, was a superhero. He foiled the plans of VIPER and a lot of other prominent threats, was charismatic as hell, and used the PR to become one of the great patriotic heroes of his day. With superhuman strength and toughness rivaled only by a handful of beings on the planet, and solar energy powers to match, the Virginia super-man, the Unconquered Sun, rose to the highest of heights in the superhuman world.
 
Then he became a US Senator, the junior senator from Virginia. Blue dog democrat. But as the years wore on, ugly rumors surfaced. Popular superheroes who got too close to Sutherland were implicated in scandals; some went to prison, others merely lost their reputation and retired. Rumors surfaced about Sutherland, rumors of a sexual nature, really ugly, ugly ones. People who investigated him had accidents, fatal accidents. 
 
Sutherland claimed VIPER was trying to frame him, and most of us believed him. Until the Champions uncovered evidence that there was no frame. Sutherland was called to the Champions HQ to explain himself, but he brought his men, the CenturyCorps. The 100. He captured the heroes and had all but drained them of their powers when I stumbled on the scene, beat up the fake hero, and freed the Champions. And thus a grudge was born.
 
Three years later, Invictus used extra-dimensional beings called the Song and attempted to alter the timeline by changing America’s iconography— change symbols, change the world —so that America became a bastion of fascism. It’s disquieting to know that reality’s so fragile. I (and some allies) stopped him, but Sutherland had altered the timeline enough that the charges against him had been dropped before the Champions had invited him to the HQ, so that disastrous meeting had never taken place and Sutherland was still a public hero. Only the Champions and I still remembered the original timeline.
 
Thus began a long campaign where David Sutherland tried to destroy my life, releasing hints of scandal into the press, framing me for the inadvertent creation of killer storms, and when that didn’t work, he again altered the timeline to turn me into a villain. But that, too, backfired on Sutherland; and when the timelines finally settled, he no longer had his followers and lofty reputation, or his money. I thought it would take him years to rebuild.
 
But here he was, less than a year later. The President’s Special Adviser on Superhuman Affairs. A cabinet position in all-but-name. A perfect non-partisan pick, at least on the surface.
 
“So what can I do for you, Thundrax?” Invictus asked. “And if the answer is deport you back to your icebound shithouse of a country, well, this is your lucky day.”
 
I seethe, but do my best not to show it, not to him. “I’m here in the States legally,” I snap. “And you know it.”
 
“Yes, at least until we repeal that pesky little UNTIL treaty.” Invictus grinned. “Then I will personally enjoy booting you in the ass as we send you across the line. But seriously, Carson, why are you still here? You only came to the States to deal with Zerstoiten, and well, he’s dealt with. So why don’t you just go?”
 
“I still have some unfinished business,” I snarl. “And a team.”
 
“Until Sparrowhawk loses interest, and the Protectors drift apart for good.” Invictus said. “God knows how it ever lasted four years. Speaking of drifting apart, such a shame about Tesseract. Very careless of you, Craig, letting a teammate die. Failing someone who was depending on you. Yet again.”
 
 I should have known the bastard would bring her up. Tess had been broken into fragments of reality along her timestream, a temporal jigsaw puzzle. Or at least that’s how I understood it. Her death had been sudden, and hit everybody hard. “Tess isn’t dead.” I declare to the smug bastard. “ We’ll get her back.” 
 
"Suuuure.” Invictus smiled.

I didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Sutherland was way too comfortable. “But I’ll share your best wishes with the team – and her father.” Her dad, a US Senator, was not especially welcoming to his daughter’s enemies. Though I didn’t know if he’d be much more welcoming to me. He had to be grieving.
 
 “Be my guest,” Invictus grinned. “You have noticed how many of your old friends and teammates you’ve lost lately, haven’t you? The world’s changing, Carson, and not in your favor. You keep sticking around, and for what? To watch teammates die and disappear? To watch friends drift away? How often do you need to be abandoned before you take the hint?”
 
"Very funny,” I spit. “Laugh it up.”
 
 “How can I not? Your world is just smoke and ashes, Craig, but mine—? Mine just gets more and more solid. More power, more authority. The future is heading in my direction now. The day of the costumed degenerate is almost done. Now, thanks to political adeptness that you never had – member of Parliament, ha! – I get to blow out the candle.”

I  laugh. “You’re really trying to provoke me, aren’t you? But behind the wall of smugness, I can read you like a Harold Robbins novel – complete trash. And you know what the trash wants, more than anything? To take that hand of yours, smush it up into a fist, and beat me to as bloody a pulp as you can. Well this is your lucky day…” 
 
And I throw a folder onto his desk.
 
“A release form.” I say. “You and me, no holds barred, to the finish. Off planet, if need be, to avoid legal responsibility.” He smiled. “No agents, no backup,
nothing. Just two, big, angry men who know how to fight, how to hurt people, and one of us walks away.”
 
Let’s end this. Finally.
 
Invictus opened the folder. He took the fountain pen off his desk, smiled as he lowered it to touch the page – and forged a giant X over the contract and then tore it into two pieces.
 
“My game, my rules,” Invictus said, and he threw the contract back at me.
 
I shake my head and laugh. I had a feeling that would be the answer, in fact, I was expecting it. “No, I’m not going to call you a coward, Sutherland. Or make threats. You know what I can do to you – what people of conscience and justice can do to you, to your plans. The day will come, when you will regret your choice today. When you had a chance to beat me, and passed it up.” I smile. “The universe is a helluva lot bigger than you, David. The day you discover that will be the worst day of your life. And it’s coming.”
 
“Spare me the melodrama, Carson. I’ll be too busy running the country to have time for it.”
 
 “It’s not even close to over. Harass me? Harass my friends? We haven’t even gotten warmed up.”
 
“Just run off, Craig. Go tell someone that you’re sorry, or something. Something Canadian. And shut the door on the way out,” Invictus said, smirking back at the shorn doorway. “Run off, so you can get back to being a third rate imitation of Vanguard, a great American superhero. Take a hike, go back to being the Zellers of superheroes, a cheap cut-rate Canadian imitarion!” And he laughs, and it’s pure mockery.
 
  I back away, scowling. He’s way too pleased with himself.
  
I had hoped Sutherland would be more forthcoming, spill his guts a bit more.  As it was, it was an exercise in futility. Perhaps even one in the loss column. But it rarely hurt to rattle some cages, and if anything, that cage needed all the rattling it could get.
 
The smuggest cage in America. Fuck him.
 
************************
 
“This is just going to make it ten times harder to do my job.” I sigh, throwing aside the newspaper in disgust. I didn’t think I could stand to see the sight of the agitator’s face again. “There’s already people in Congress talking about deporting me. If I hadn’t help save them from Borealis last year, they’d probably have the votes to do it.”
 
“Bleh bleh bleh.” Oldguard said, yawning. He was a Golden Age superhero, but he still packed two fists of dynamite. And a mouth full of perfect teeth. We meet once a month for coffee and bullshit, when our schedules allow. The old hero continued his spiel.
 
“I remember when people swore that Nixon was going to forcibly conscript every superhero and ship ‘em to ‘Nam, and it never happened. Craig! You gotta stop this pointless worrying and just do your duty as long as you can. Let the politicians be politicians, and just answer the call. You’ll get through this.”
 
There’s a buzz in my ear, and I instinctively crane my neck in response. My communicator’s going off. “Campus Martius Park.” I reported. “IHA rally. They need someone to monitor it, with tensions running high as they’ve been the last month.”
 
“Let’s go,”
 
 I’m faster than the old-time hero, so I grab the man’s arm and head skyward. He whoops as he’s dragged along; I’m glad he enjoys this. The Park is not far from the Barlowe; it was a cultural center of old Detroit, often used as a venue for protests. The firebrand’s choice. There, I indeed see a clump of IHA protesters – and something else.
 
 Black and red banners with a distorted cross.  Swastikas. Neo-Nazis had crashed the rally, brandishing their ghoul symbol in their hideous colors. The young fascists had taken up a position on the right of the IHA, and taunted members of the crowd who decidedly didn’t share their views. Even some of the IHA were making a stand against them. I guess they saw the Rocketeer. They were bigots, but they were American bigots. Sensing that it’s about to become a lot more violent below, I land directly between the two camps. It’s time for Captain John Alexander Carson’s grandson to make his own stand against the children of the Reich.
 
"Stop!” I shout with a voice like thunder, barely audible above the shouts. 
 
The men merely laugh at me. I guess everyone’s used to my thunder routine by now. “Go back to Canada, you…” one man shouted, ending it with a word that rhymed with “agate”.
 
 “We’re taking back this country!” another said. “Border’s that way! Go home!”
 
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that we don;'t need you anymore? You’re irrelevant!"
 
Irrelevant. Big word. The jerk must be a college boy. That disappoints me; that anyone so bright would ally with the darkness. He thinks we stopped being relevant in World War 2. But as long as someone flies that flag, or rules in accordance with to its principles, we’re relevant.
 
"Hey —!” adding a word that rhymed with “basshole”. “We won the election!” a third man snarled. “I don’t have to bow before you anymore!”
 
"Most of the people in this country know how to welcome a neighbor. Same as most folk in mine.” I  counter.
 
 “Hit him!” a protester shouted at me. He was doing his best J. Wellington Wimpy impression: Let’s you and him fight. Hamburger optional.
 
“No,” I say, throwing up my hands. “You’re not at war with this man, as much as you or I might find his beliefs difficult to stomach. The values we cherishdo not conveniently cease to apply the minute we come face to face with an enemy, and if we stand for anything, we must stand for those: reason over ignorance, peace over brutality, justice over whim, and…”
 
“Yihaa!” Oldguard shouted, and he leapt into the pile of Nazis and began thrashing them with his fists. “I’m punching Nazis again! I’m putting the hit on Hitler Junior!”    
 
I shake my head. Sometimes I hate this business.
 
After the dust settles, I receive a call to meet with Justiciar in Toronto. Star*Force business, and I’m still on the reserve list. After wishing the old-timer well, I head across the border, as usual. But I didn’t reckon on the return journey.
 
**************
 
"Stay put, Carson.” the customs agent said. “Or we’ll have to restrain you the hard way.”
 
 It’s been four hours.
 
Four flipping hours.
 
It was supposed to be a routine procedure, implemented by Obama and Harper in 2009, to facilitate a hand-picked list of Canadian supers crossing the line to fight the Qularr and later, a similarly select few American supers crossing the line to fight Kigatilik. I was on the list. Bit of a dirty business, allowing sanctioned heroes to cross into Canada with their own private weapons arsenal, when the law looked askance at people bringing a BB gun across the line. But it worked; fly over the border, transmit a code, and you were allowed in. No lines, no customs. But today was different. Today customs ordered me to stop at the Windsor line and come in. Today, customs agents and the INS held me for four hours as they questioned me, badgering me about my homes, my finances, and the smallest, most detailed areas of my life. All the while, making veiled insults about my masculinity – why do you wear tights, you attracted to boys? –and mocking my politics. Rednecks. I bore it stoically, what else could I do? But I wanted to punch someone, badly.
 
Where are the damn supervillains when you really need them? Paging Bulldozer...
 
Learning of my comm implant, they want access to all my channels, and logs of all of my broadcasts. My army of lawyers (as well as the Canadian media) finally break the floodgate, and I’m free to go onto Millennium City after four hours. Four humiliating, wasted hours.
 
How many people could I have saved in those four hours? How many died?
 
 I smash a few of the cheaper objects in my home until I feel better. The place needed redecorating anyway. After a few minutes of smashing, my secretary arrives.
 
“Rimi, I want our best INS attorneys on permanent stand-by.” I snap. “And I want the border monitored for attempts to pull this crap on other supers. This needs to stop now.”
 
“Craig, it won’t stop.” Rimi said. “You can’t punch out Capitol Hill...”
 
"And I want those agents who harassed me IDed. I can play dirty too. If they pull this crap on me again, I will leak their identities. If they want to abuse their power, they can be held to account. These little Napoleons have one chance to be responsible with their authority, then it’s war.”
 
"Craig, this is NOT a good idea…” Rimi interjected.
 
“Since when did you ever lie down and take bullshit from bigoted little martinets?” I snap. “Democracy is only as strong as the watch we set on it!” 
 
Yes folks, I’ve entered the Zone. Again. The preachy, political, moralizing, self-righteous zone that my critics hate so much, the place where my friends say I should never go. I'm Bono in tights. And right now, I couldn’t care less. I want to grab the world by the collar and shake it until it starts making sense again. Avoidance of conflict is cowardice. I’ll go back to Hell again before I let them turn my world into Hell. Rimi is practically screaming at me.
 
“Listen to me, Craig! This is precisely what they’re expecting you to do, because it’s what THEY would do! You’re the hero! You’re the shining beacon on the hill. You’re the one who has the light of goodness and niceness coming out of his ass!”
 
“I’ve bled for these people! I’ve broken my body for these people! I’ve suffered third degree burns all over my damn body for these people! Radiation! Plague! The torment of the damned! I’ve had demons play with my soul! I’ve lost my brother for them! Hell, I’ve taken a fricking nuke for these people! Twice!”
 
“Yes, you have,” Rimi said. “But you made those sacrifices for a reason!”
  
“I’m not letting this planet go down a shithole and let millions die just so a handful of lazy billionaire sociopaths can get richer! I’ll turn villain before I let that happen!!”
 
Outside, there’s a flash of lightning. Storm’s brewing, a big one. And I’m to blame.
 
“Calm down, Craig!” Rimi begged. “Please!” This can’t be her. Kondo Rimi never begged for anything in her life... but no, she’s frightened. Terrified. Of me. And deep down, I don’t blame her one bit. There’s a piece of me that’s frightened of myself. 
 
“I-- I--” I gotta calm down. Breathe Craig, breathe.  I bet Vanguard never got this mad. I’ll bet he never considered the unthinkable.
 
In a time when the corrupt hold power, is heroism villainy and villainy heroism? My loyalty has never been to the law, except when the law protects the people. I am, at my core, a lower middle class kid barely scraping by on the streets of Vancouver’s east end. No matter how high and mighty I get, how many homes and glass towers I own, that earnest, struggling kid from the poor side of town is always inside me.
 
“Don’t play their game!” Rimi shouted, and we spend some time calming down, even as the rain furiously pelts against the window. I take a long look outside, at my handiwork. The sky is black, and the rain is a river of hot angry tears. The sky is weeping in rage.
 
“Alright.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Alright. But we are going to hire more lawyers and make them available for any super who needs them.” I mutter. “Free of charge.”
 
“Talk to Sparrowhawk. I’d like to see the look on her face if they tried to stop her ship from crossing the line.”
 
 I laugh.
 
“Just calm down, Craig. Calm. Down. Things will get sane again. The world survived Hitler and the Countess. We can survive the idiots who are doing this to you now.”
 
Thanks, Rimi,” I say.I can hear a hint of an exasperated sigh from the woman, though she’s hiding it. Superheroes, dealing with them is like raising kids without the fun part. I bristle, but do my best to calm down. The storm continues to rage.   Deep breaths  Craig. Deep breaths.
 
“I can’t be the only victims of this crap.”
 
"Then maybe you need to join forces.” Rimi said.
 
“Sparrowhawk has a strict no politics rule on the Protectors. She needs one, with people on the team as politically oriented as me and Tess.  “I’m going to ave to decide whether this fight is worth leaving the Protectors.”
 
Rimi stared at the storm. “This isn’t our country. This isn’t our fight. The country has its advocates. Protectors like you, well they’re rarer.”
 
“It’s still our planet...”
 
 “Craig, you know you shouldn’t say that. That just uncorks the bottle for every would-be genie to ignore borders and play God.” Even Craig deferred to procedure, sometimes to his teammates' annoyance.
 
“But to be silent in these times...”
Insert other media
"Taking punches is your job,” she said coldly, and she’s right. “This is just another punch, Craig!”
 
I want to sit down and sob. Damn you for being right, my friend.
 
"So, what next?” Rimi asks.
 
“I don’t know.” I say. “No that’s a lie. I know exactly what I have to do. I’m going to stay stolid, stoic, the perfect Canadian. The perfect hero, down to my glinting teeth.”
 
 The perfect lie. Man, I am so glad my  brother isn’t around to see me now.
 
Things are falling apart faster than I suspected, at least from my perspective. And if UNTIL bridles me and keeps me from pursuing the public good, then I can leave UNTIL and they won’t be able to put me in a cage. I’ll be free to help the world in whatever way I choose, however it needs. No one would mention the few incidents where I hadn’t lived up to the standards of a paragon. The ones that kept me up at night. No one would mention the words “burn out”. No probation, no psych exams. I won’’t receive a lecture every time I team with the Protectors. But if I leave – I won’t have diplomatic sanction to move freely across the line. Mind you, if the government is clamping down on my movements any way...
 
 I pour myself a glass of whiskey, and sit down to watch the storm. Ironically I’m feeling a stronger connection with the weather these days. My storm control powers, which had always vestigial, are growing at last. Maybe one day, I can play the skies and the storm like an instrument. Lightning is my keyboard, thunder my drums. What a band I’ll be. Like Asia, I live in the Heat of the Moment (that’s an old, mediocre song, kids). In the meantime, I’m dealing with another storm, the storm of politics. I need more booze. Because I’m losing this battle.
 
Politics, my real arch-enemy, is going to send me to the gutter yet.
    

Yet another short story. This one is a piece of satire directed at a nightclub in Champions Online. Hope you enjoy it.
 
 
-----
"Uncle Craig!" Sean whined, "I only want you to buy me *one* beer!"
 
"I said no, Sean," Thundrax answered, glaring at the young man. "No, no, no! Frankly I'm regretting even bringing you to this place."
 
Sean Doerksen, a slim but athletic looking thirteen year-old, sighed, his gaze alternating between the huge superhero and the numerous tempting bottles of beer on the Club Caprice bar. "Uncle Craig" had been a lot easier to manipulate when he was a kid. Such was the curse of adolescence. A second glance at his would-be guardian confirmed that he was not going to be getting any beer with him around. He sighed, propping his elbows on the bar, watching as the bartender served a pair of patrons, a pair of ladies with reptilian skin and large horns, who smelled uncomfortably of brimstone and were nuzzling each other amorously. "Uncle Craig, I thought this was a superhero bar. Why's everyone in here a fricking demon?"
 
"Some days I ask myself the same question," Thundrax said, downing a quick glass of Killian's and nodding appreciatively to Joe the bartender. The barkeep smiled and threw Craig's tip in the jar. Thundrax always tipped heavily, at least when he was wearing his civvies, and could actually get bills from his wallet.
 
"And they look like they're all lesbians," Sean Doerksen added. "But it's kinda creepy, not a turn on. Not like porn."
 
"Newsflash for you, Sean," Thundrax told the teenager. "Pornography is not a realistic depiction of actual sex, in the same way that most movie fights bear no resemblance to two guys actually trying to beat the crap out of each other."
 
"This sucks," Sean stated, sighing, looking around for other points of interest. There was a large dance floor with lots of colored lights: at least that looked marginally entertaining. Unfortunately, the women in the club didn't seem like the sort who'd be interested in a thirteen year old boy, even one who looked older than his years.
 
"Don't wander out of sight..." Craig snapped at the young man, only to be knocked hard by an eight foot tall jet-black demon who was downing a shot of vodka. "w!" he snapped. "Watch it."
 
The demon grunted, took another shot, and again inadvertently battered against Thundrax. Craig growled, but did his best to keep his cool.
 
"Hey Craig!" a man shouted, entering the bar. He was taller than Craig and dressed in black, the official color of Club Caprice. Craig didn't recognize him -- he was sure he must have seen him before, but either in costume, or in some other garb. He nodded back. The man strode up to the Canadian hero. "Whassup?"
 
Craig smiled back. "Not much. How's it going with you?"
 
"Going great!" the man said. "How's your wife?"
 
"I'm not married," Craig explained. "Sarah and I are taking it slow."
 
"How long have you been engaged?"
 
"Eighteen months."
 
"Dude!" the strange but familiar man said, slapping Craig on the back. "I've been married six times in the last year!"
 
"I'm Canadian," Craig quipped. "We live our lives at a different pace than others-- oh bloody hell!"
 
Craig looked across the pulsing cacophany of the dance floor and spotted Sean, pressed against a table, surrounded by a circle of three men and two women. They stared at him with red eyes, their open mouths baring wolf-like fangs, Vampires. Without saying good-bye to his impromptu friend -- he'd try to track him down and apologize later -- the huge Canuck forced his way to the edge of the circle. "Sean!" he called out to the young man. Sean Doerksen had a vacant expression on his face, he was now oblivious to the danger.
 
The five vampires turned to face Craig, their hungry stares were burning malevolence gazes. "What do you want, Steroid-Man?" the lead vampire mocked. He was (or appeared to be) a handsome young man, with a decidedly un-vampire-like dark complexion, dressed head to toe in black. The rest of the group was similarly dressed, except for the two women, neither of whom were wearing much in the way of clothing. The others laughed.
 
"The kid's with me," Thundrax said. "Leave him alone."
 
"It appears he's made his own choice." the vampire stated, stepping forward to close quarters with Craig, a sneer on his face. His compatriots agreed, shifting the circle to include Craig. "He has found... Destiny!"
 
"His dad left him in my care," Craig snapped, his fists balling. "He doesn't have a choice, and neither do you."
 
"Uncle Craig!" Sean whined, though there was very little inflection in his voice. "I want to be free, so I can become his thrall! Duke Bloodslake here is going to make me immortal!"
 
"Riiight," Thundrax sighed, staring at the vampire. "Let him go now, and no one gets hurt."
 
"Is that really what you want, mortal?" the lead vampire said. "You would pit your paltry muscles against my six thousand years of evil?"
 
"Six thousand years?" Craig wondered aloud, eying him with deep skepticism. Most elder vampires didn't look like a more tanned version of Robert Pattison without the sparkles.
 
"I am a child of Caine himself!" the lead vampire proclaimed, throwing up his hands melodramatically. "Doomed to walk the earth feeding on the herd of lesser creatures. I have faced many so-called heroes over the years and they all have fallen before me. " He glanced over at a tall female vampire. "Tell him, Lilith!"
 
Lilith, the nearly naked vampire who had forehead horns (she was half-succubus/half-vampire) blinked. "Sorry 'slake," she told the lead vampire. "I was in telepathic congress with other members of Group 666. We got another vamp hater here?"
 
"We should strike down all mortals!" one of the other vampires said.
 
"He looks tasty," another one said, licking her lips.
 
"Yes, another persecuting mortal dork." yet another added. "We didn't do anything, yet you hate and fear us!"
 
"Didn't do anything?" Craig said. "You've cornered my friend's kid, hypnotized him and are planning to turn him into the walking dead. And the lady over there wants to eat me, and the other guy over there wants to kill all mortals!"
 
"Can you blame us?" Mister "Strike All Mortals Dead" shouted.
 
"Uh, yes?" Thundrax answered. "If you want to slaughter my entire species, then yes, I do have a legitimate gripe."
 
"Go, now!" Bloodslake commanded Craig. "And I'll leave you with your pitiful life." Then he laughed out loud for apparently no reason. Craig had noticed a lot of people in Caprice doing that lately.
 
Thundrax sighed and eyed the entire group. More like jackals than vampires, he thought. Defiant, stupid jackals. Pack behavior always disgusted him. "Do you posers really want a confrontation?" he growled.
 
"Posers?" Bloodslake's voice raised an octave in its objection.
 
"Yeah, posers." Thundrax snarled back. "I've faced real vamps, many times. Twelve years ago in Wallachia, I held Mircea Dracul in my arms when Archdruid plunged a stake of white hawthorn through his heart. I created the storm that led Stephen Bathory and the Army of the Impaled into Dr. Black's trap so Black and White could send them all back to Hell."
 
"Mircea Dracul? Isn't that Vlad?" one of the vampires wondered.
 
"Mircea is Vladic's son, older brother of Vlad Tepes," Craig informed. "Read a book."
 
"Don't listen to this idiot," the other female vampire (who was also named Lilith) replied. "He's making this stufft up. I've never even heard of this guy or any of the crap he's talking about before today."
 
"The Dracula family are amateurs compared with my dark power!" Bloodslake proclaimed, again laughing out loud.
 
Craig rolled his eyes. He didn't like tooting his own horn, but he also expected recognition and a little respect. Perhaps that made him a hypocrite, but Craig put such self-reflection aside. "Check the records and you'll find I'm very real," he snapped, his hands migrating to his hips. "Do you honestly think that I'm even slightly intimidated by Club Caprice's latest pack of World of Darkness cosplayers?"
 
"Who cares?" Duke Bloodslake's dismissal was dripping with mockery. "Dude, take your steroids and your human prejudices and get the hell out. We're going to have fun with our prey, and there's nothing you can do about it."
 
Sean Doerksen blinked. "Wait a minute?" the young man said. "I'm prey?"
 
"You hate and fear every vampire!" Lilith said, and then she suddenly turned to Bloodslake and sighed. "This is boring, 'slake. Can I go run off and have sex?"
 
Bloodslake nodded. "Yeah babe," he said, However, before she could leave, Craig stepped closer to the lead vampire. "You folks are wrong," he told the gathering. "There is at least one vampire I like."
 
"Oh yeah? Who's that?" Bloodslake asked.
 
"I'll show you," Craig said, and he grabbed the vampire by the back of his head and began to slam his head repeatedly into the table. "One! Two! Three! Ack, ack, ack!" he said, smashing the vampire's head with every count, pausing only for the fake laugh and head nod. "Four! Five! Six! Ack, ack, ack!" he repeated, shooting lightning from his other hand to add the appropriate flourish. "Seven! Seven noggin knockers, ack, ack, ack!"
 
A voice inside Craig noted that this sort of violent self-indulgence was a little out of character. He didn't care. After all these months of watching and dealing with vampire cliques, It felt extremely cathartic.
 
Duke Bloodslake slid to the floor, unconscious. "Dude, that's so uncool," one of the Liliths said. "Let's go, people." The vampires turned and walked away, leaving Sean and the unconscious Duke Bloodslake on the floor.
 
Sean looked up at Craig with a worried expression on his face. "You aren't going to tell dad about that, are you?" he asked, a subdued, plaintive tone in his voice.
 
Craig shook his head. "That I nearly let you become a vampire buffet? Are you nuts? Of course I won't."
 
Sean Doerksen's grin reflected the weight of the world suddenly lifting from his teenage shoulders. "Awesome," he said, and then he cowered as he saw a circle of bouncers surround them. "Oh, oh..."
 
The lead bouncer, a man witha comparable height and build as Thundrax, closed to an uncomfortable distance. "Mr. Carson," he said, looking Craig directly in the eye. "Mr. Frey would like to have a word with you..."
 
Craig didn't blanch at the attempt to intimidate him, but he sighed. "Okay, Steve." he told the man. Steve Gurney. Craig knew him from Carl's gym: he regularly trained with a few of the superhumanly strong bouncers from the Club, and Steve was certainly the strongest, almost in Craig's weight class. If worst came to worst, Craig could beat him in a fight, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.
 
"He'd like to see you alone," the bouncer said, looking at Sean.
 
Craig shook his head. "The kid's with me. He'll only get into more trouble if we separate."
 
"Fine." The bouncer replied with a nod, and they escorted Craig and Sean to an elevator. Craig quickened his pace, motivated by the one succubus who loudly proclaimed: "These sparkles aren't Twilight, they're Qlipothic." But Sean was still people-gazing. He tugged on Craig's sleeve and tried to stop him, pointing at a pair of cat-people.
 
"Look! Over there by the fountain! Furry people in heat!"
 
"Yeah," Craig sighed, not hiding his disapproval. "Some days it gets very National Geographic around here. Keep moving, Sean."
 
A large, concealed elevator opened in the far wall of they ballroom, and the three men entered. It was a short, smooth ride to Caprice's seldom seen penthouse suite. Passing through an office foyer, Craig and Sean came into a wide, spartan room with a beautiful view of Millennium's Renaissance Center. An aged but still handsome man stood alone at a wooden desk, watching the feed of a dozen cameras on a series of monitors. This was Lewis Frey. Once he was Masquerade, master of disguise and arguably the most feared thief in the world, a man who crossed paths with nearly every major superhero in the 1950s and 60s, until Black Mask put him behind bars in 1971. Since his release in 1985, Frey had opened a series of colorful restaurants and clubs, culminating in the establishment of Club Caprice in 1995. "Mr. Carson, are you bringing violence to my club?"
 
Craig extended a hand to Frey, and they shook. "What I did was nothing compared to what the other former -members of the Guard would have done if those vamps had hurt this boy."
 
"True," Lewis Frey said. "Even I wouldn't want to be on Ravenspeaker's bad side."
 
Sean rubbed his hands together. "Yeah, I have the coolest bodyguards." he boasted.
 
"I'm surprised you even brought a kid into my club." Lewis Frey said.
 
"Sean was visiting Millennium, and his dad left him in my custody," Thundrax said. "And he shares his dad's gift for persuasiveness."
 
"His dad?"
 
"Forceknight." Craig answered.
 
"Ah," Frey answered. "It's been years since I last saw Wally Thompson. A man of extraordinary vigor. He chased me for hours after I lifted that Distinguished Flying Cross from the Canadian War Museum."
 
Craig chuckled. "That sounds like Wally. You don't disrespect the Canadian Armed Forces on his watch."
 
"So I discovered, painfully." Lewis Frey said. "He cornered me and gave me a lecture at 110 decibels. By the end of it, I wish he'd just handed me the beating I was expecting and been done with it."
 
"Trust me it's still painful," Sean said. "But Wally's not my dad, he's my granddad. My dad's actually Forceknight Number Three. He married granddad Wally's daughter -- that's mom -- and then they had me and my sister..." he paused and turned to Craig. "Am I exposing my secret identity?"
 
"Sean," Craig Carson said. "You're not a superhero. You don't have an identity, secret or public."
 
"Oh," Sean said.
 
"I swear, all of your family trees are getting as convoluted as Black Mask's." Lewis Frey stated, pouring himself a glass of Cabernet. "But you really should lay off my patrons, Carson. They mean no harm..."
 
"Hey!" a demon shouted over one of the monitors. "Let's show these humans who really runs Caprice!"
 
"..for the most part."
 
"Tell me Frey, was this what you expected when you set up this club?" Craig asked, pointing at the monitor.
 
"Hell no, but I roll with the flow," the manager replied. "They pay good money. And even the worst of them aren't a serious threat to me."
 
"The inmates are running the asylum." Thundrax said. "And most days, doing a crappy job of it."
 
"Maybe so, Carson," the ex-villain said. "Yet you keep coming back."
 
"I make my living as a professional punching bag, Mr. Frey," Craig replied. "Masochism is at the top of the list of job requirements."
 
Frey laughed, and then glanced over at Steve, the lead bouncer, as he filled the doorway to the office. "We have a problem?"
 
"Not we -- only you!" Steve said. Suddenly his form began to shake in a spastic rhythm, and he screamed. Flesh was torn aside as his body swelled, falling in sickening, bloody clumps, accompanied by the sound of cracking bones as his shkelton shifted and grew to support the new mass.
 
"Ew!" Sean said, realizing that horror movies were a lot less fun when you were seeing them performed live. In a matter of seconds Steve's handsome form was gone, and in its place stood a horned presence, covered with black mucous and blood. "Again, is everything in this club a fricking monster?" the young Canadian moaned.
 
Lewis Frey rolled his eyes. "Oh hell." Thundrax said and he interposed himself between the demon, Sean, and Frey.
 
"Now I know when we hired him that Steve wasn't hosting a demon," Frey told the creature. "That means you just killed my employee. That was a big mistake."
 
"The Mephisto Ruby," Demon-Steve growled. "You stole it in 1966 and it was never recovered after you were sent to prison. I want it, Lewis Frey, now."
 
"I stole dozens of very large gemstones during my career," Frey replied. "I stole for the kicks. I didn't hoard them. I have no idea where it is."
 
"You lie!" the demon said.
 
Lewis Frey chuckled, a slightly raspy sound. He threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, you got me. Of course I'm lying," he answered, smiling slightly. "A prize like that, stolen from the inner sanctum of the Scarlet Moon? You don't forget or let it go. But you aren't having it, Hellbreath."
 
"Why do you want the ruby?" Sean asked.
 
"Power," Craig speculated. "Souls. Imprisoned master. Take your pick."
 
"The dimensional leylines have been twisted by the constant demonic activity within this place," Steve explained. "All I need to do is possess the ruby and speak the incantation and this Club -- along with the surrounding environs -- will be plunged into the Netherworld."
 
"Netherworld?" Sean looked at Craig. "Does he mean Hell?"
 
"Yes Sean, he means Hell," Craig answered, not really willing to debate the nuances of cosmology at such a precipitous moment. "You know I can't let that happen."
 
Steve laughed. "You cannot stop me. And I shall be richly rewarded for delivering you, Thundrax. Zorasto has a bounty on the second born Carson."
 
"I'm sure he does," Craig replied. "How much?"
 
"One million souls," the demon answered.
 
Craig whistled. "The bastard always did overestimate my value. But that's all the more reason to not let you touch that ruby."
 
"You cannot protect the child," Steve said. "I will consume his essence and give his body as a plaything to Necrull. Would you like that, Canadian?'
 
Craig snarled. Before he could make his move, Sean pulled down his shirt cuff and aimed a sonic blaster that was strapped under his clothing -- Lyle Doerksen's ingenuity was more than represented in his son. The demon reeled, and Craig leapt upon it, smashing it several times. But the demon was only slightly fazed, and he destroyed Sean's sonic blaster with a crushing hand gesture, while sending Craig hurtling with a second, holding him there with a wave of force that pressed Thundrax's face painfully against a wall.
 
"Alright," Lewis Frey shouted, and he pulled out a case from a drawer. "Take the damn ruby!" He hurled a large red stone on a gold chain at the demon. "Catch!"
 
Steve reached out with one hand to catch the gem... only to become surrounded in a field of blinding white light as he grasped it. Steve screamed and found his infernal essence being sucked into the gem in a maelstrom of red and white light. Several seconds later, he was a skeleton on the floor, the ruby briefly displaying the image of a demon banging on its prison before it faded.
 
"Ooops, you wanted the Ruby of Mephisto," Lewis Frey said. "Sorry, that was the demon-devouring Ruby of Zabkiel. My bad." He snickered and looked over at Craig and Sean, who were both struggling to catch their breath for different reasons. "Thanks for the distraction, you two. The idiot might have actually thought to look at what I was throwing him if you hadn't done that."
 
"Poor Steve," Thundrax said looking at the body.
 
"He has clone material on file." Lewis Frey stated. "And I know a few mages who can recall his soul if we act quickly. We can bring him back."
 
"Even so, Frey," Thundrax shook his head. "This place is getting out of hand. Maybe you should consider shutting it down."
 
"There's a number of problems with that, Thundrax..." Lewis Frey told the big Canuck. "First of all, not all of the folks here are bad."
 
"Agreed," Craig said, a little reluctantly.
 
"Second, even most of the bad ones are pretty harmless when they're contained here. If they didn't have this place, they'd go elsewhere, and cause a lot more trouble. Better to have this place open and keep em all here, where they can be watched."
 
"I suppose," Craig says. "And the same applies to you as well. God help us all if you get bored, especially with all of the information you've gathered on this city's supers community."
 
"Why Thundrax," Lewis Frey stated. "Are you suggesting that I'd stoop to blackmail?"
 
"No comment." Thundrax replied.
 
"Uh, I just helped defeat a demon." Sean stated, eying the amulet. "Do I get a medal or something?"
 
"It's all in a day's work, Sean," Thundrax replied.
 
"Damn." Sean said, and he turned his face toward the monitor cameras. "Is that an Orc?" he asked.
 
Craig nodded. "That's Duratok Gorehowl of the Kro'Taruk. Want to meet him?"
 
"Sure!" Sean exclaimed. "Uh, if I ask him for help playing my Horde character in World of Warcraft, will he kill me?"
 
"Probably not," Thundrax said. "May we be excused, Lewis?"
 
"Only if you admit the Club's not all bad, Mr. Carson." Frey replied.
 
Craig looked at the monitor. "Yeah, I've made more than a few friends here, and met some interesting folks. Some days you meet really good people here. Days like today, though, it's a real struggle."
 
"Why's that naked guy with pink bunny ears jumping up and down on the bar?" Sean wondered.
 
"Okay, you two," Frey said, "Enjoy your evening. Your drinks are on the house."
 
"Awesome!" Sean shouted.
 
"You can stick to colas," Craig stated.
 
"Colas!" Sean protested. "Not even Mountain Dew?"
 
"Colas. Decaffeinated." Craig said as he glared back at him. "No... more... caffeine..." he said in strained, Shatnerian tones.
 
"But uncle Craig!" Sean protested, heading back into the club. It would be far from the last argument they'd have that evening...

No excuses? For looting, maybe not. For the others, though? Don't forget you're living in a country whose founding was inspired by sedition, which was born out of armed uprising against its lawful government. The line between lawless and justified, hero and traitor, depends on who's doing the drawing.

But V'han is the hero come to liberate Earth, the PCs are just unwitting pawns of evil, oppressive governments that want to stay in power at any cost. 

Re: What if Steve Long is an agent of Empress Istvatha V’han?
 
Looking at the state of the world, perhaps V'han should have a shot at running it.
 
"A billion happy universes can't be wrong!"

Mentalists worry a lot of Hero gamers, but a few simple, enforceable elements in the rules help keep them in line if you keep them in mind.
 
One is Ego Rolls to break free of mental control. Characters get one before the effect even starts, and unless the mentalist continues to deliberately exert his Power the roll's target number improves with every effort, so they will eventually break free.
 
Then there's the level of effect required to actually have the police "blow the heroes to bits." For the average police officer that's going to be at least EGO +20 unless the heroes have a really bad public image. Against established heroes it will more likely be EGO +30. Level of Effect needed versus how much the mentalist is actually able to bring to bear affects the abovementioned breakout rolls.
 
Related to that is identification of the mentalist. Once a character breaks free he'll know he was under mental control and what the source of the attack was. And unless the Power is Invisible, anyone who can sense the use of mental powers will realize when they're being used around them. With the prevalence of security surveillance today, it won't take long to identify the person behind these incidents, and thus for law enforcement to make his location and capture a priority. If he targets police in stations and the like, at the very least they'll be on high alert for him once he's been identified. If they have them they may even station mentalists working for or with the police at precinct houses in the area he operates in. That can of course include PC mentalists.
 
 
An unwritten rule of my games is that, whenever a villain (or hero) has an ability that's particularly effective, his opposition will take note of that and take countermeasures against it. Even if equipment against Mental Powers isn't standard issue, if high-tech agencies like UNTIL or PRIMUS have access to it they'll start issuing it to agents within this villain's comfort zone.
 
 
 

Well, there is this.
 
These are girls. Who transform into bricks. Male bricks. Still wearing female clothing (there idol singer outfits).
 
 

The CU went more for fictionalized countries than fictionalized cities, which I list below.
The countries I'm including in this list are known to the general public of the world at large, although most people don't know any more about them than they do about any other foreign country. They are all populated mostly by normal people with the same priorities as anyone else, and are an integrated part of geopolitical affairs. Champions Earth has quite a few places which are full of nonhuman or superhuman people, and/or are hidden from public awareness; but they could fill another list by themselves.
The information below is culled primarily from Champions Universe (both the current and previous editions, since there are a few differences in what they cover), with supplementary data drawn from Champions Universe: News Of The World, Champions Worldwide, UNTIL: Defenders Of Freedom, Millennium City, Book Of The Destroyer, and DEMON: Servants Of Darkness. The entries start with what's commonly known about these countries, including what government intelligence agencies in the free world believe or suspect about them; followed by the truth of those beliefs and any deeper secrets known only to a few.
In addition, several of these fictional countries were introduced in the Fourth Edition Dark Champions book, Justice, Not Law. While there are differences between that book and the DOJ-era Champions sources, it could certainly be used to flesh them out for visiting PCs.
So, let's go places:
_____________________________________________

Awad, A small nation on the Saudi peninsula, between Yemen and Oman on the Indian Ocean, is becoming an increasing world security problem. The sheiks of Awad, most of whom are closely related to its ironfisted ruler Thamar el-Hiri, are incredibly wealthy thanks to their country’s vast oil deposits, and care little for how their actions affect others if they can increase their own power and bank accounts. Harsh Muslim fundamentalists, they intensely dislike Western culture in general and the United States in particular, and have for years funded numerous terrorist organizations. Awad supported Iraq during the Gulf War and Iraq War.
Awad is in effect a dictatorship, with Sultan Thamar el-Hiri controlling all aspects of public (and, as much as possible, private) life. The shari’ah (Islamic law) is strictly enforced, and stringent efforts are made to stamp out all Western influences. Maiming and the death penalty are common punishments, even for infractions that would be considered relatively minor in the West. Visitors are usually watched, even followed, wherever they go. Despite these policies, most Awadis are relatively happy, since the government uses petroleum profits to guarantee every citizen a minimum level of income.
In recent decades Awad has invested extensively in technology, ranging from computers to bio-engineering. As a result, today it’s considered one of the centers of world technological development, though many high-tech firms deal with it reluctantly (if at all) due to its repressive political climate. Some Western officials fear that the Awadis use their high-tech expertise to equip terrorists with weapons and devices that would otherwise be well beyond the reach of most such groups. They also suspect strong ties between Awad and ARGENT and VIPER.
Western suspicions about Awad’s connection to supercriminal groups are well-founded. For years Awad’s worked closely with both ARGENT and VIPER, providing a haven from extradition for some of their personnel in exchange for cash and technology, allowing them to build special labs and facilities there, and so forth. Recently relationships with VIPER have been strained since the Awadis suspect (correctly) that VIPER took advantage of the chaos during the Iraq War to steal some Awadi technological secrets. As a result, the alliance with ARGENT has become even stronger.
Rumors about a past joint Iraqi-Awadi program to create superhumans are true. Using a secret lab built in Awad (to avoid U.N. observers in Iraq), Saddam Hussein and Sultan Thamar el-Hiri had hoped to custom-build enough superhuman soldiers to avenge Iraq’s defeat in the Gulf War, take over the Middle East, and establish a chokehold on much of the world’s oil supplies. Unfortunately for them (but fortunately for the world), the program’s only true success was Saddam Hussein's former superhumanly strong personal bodyguard, whom he referred to as Turs al-Sh’ab ("Shield Of The People"). Many failures were dropped in the deep desert to die. The program has been suspended due to the overthrow of Hussein’s regime and the presence of American  military personnel in the region, but it’s possible  Awad may try to resurrect it with help from ARGENT. Dr. Bohuslav Strasky, who headed UNTIL's own largely-failed attempt to manufacture superhumans, the "Future Soldier Program," has secretly been offered millions by Awad to bring his expertise to that nation. The sultan has a  few other hired superhumans on his payroll (named and briefly described in Champions Universe).
The favorite brother of the Sultan of Awad is an informant in the pay of Dr. Destroyer, although probably not knowingly -- Destroyer's agents lead most of his informants to believe they're providing assistance to organized crime, rival nations, or the like.

Chiquador is a small nation on the Atlantic coast of South America, wedged between French Guiana and Brazil. It was a member of the United Nations from 1960 until 1979, when the democratically-elected government of Presidente Pablo Somohardo was overthrown in a miltary coup by General Lorenco João Garrastazu e Silva. Garrastazu made himself President For Life, installed a "cabinet" of his cronies from the army, and declared that Chiquador was resigning from the UN. In power since that time, he has conducted a military buildup that worries the other nations in the region. Garrastazu maintains a relatively massive army, particularly on his borders, and periodically threatens shipping lanes in the area, or threatens to declare war on his neighbors. As yet he has made no moves to use his army and air force, but he must have something in mind for them, given the money and attention he spends on them. A lot of observers, including many in the United States, keep a nervous eye on events in Macapa (the nation's capital).
By Chiquadoran law, all native superhumans must register with and work for the government, on pain of imprisonment or execution. The only publicly-revealed superhuman actually working for the Chiquadoran government is El Grifo Rojo (“the Red Griffin”), a flying brick whom some observers say is as powerful as Charm Girl of Japan.
Garrastazu is now in his mid-seventies and generally believed to be ill and mentally unstable. The CIA thinks most governmental decisions are made by his Minister of Affairs, Alejandro Subano, who may have contacts within either VIPER or ARGENT. Needless to say, UNTIL, PRIMUS, and other agencies concerned about international peace carefully monitor the "Chiquador situation."
President For Life Garrastazu e Silva poses an even greater threat to the rest of South America than anyone realizes. He’s been building up his military with the aim of eventually launching wars of conquest against his neighbors, but since he knows his army is too small to compete with the likes of Brazil's on traditional terms, he's recruited teams of unscrupulous scientists to develop a crash program to create superhuman soldiers obedient to his will. His researchers  haven’t had much success yet, but their latest “test case” — a crazed, superhumanly strong man whom they released in the favelas (slums) of Rio de Janeiro to  go on a rampage — showed signs of promise. If they can figure out how to make the superhuman soldiers more controllable, Garrastazu can  destabilize, and perhaps conquer, much of South America. And it’s doubtful his ambition would stop there.
Unfortunately, Garrastazu e Silva is becoming increasingly senile, and his plans for conquest have become more outlandish. Alejandro Subano is an agent of ARGENT. President Garrastazu brought him in originally to help develop the superhuman-soldier program, but now he's wormed his way into the cabinet and Garrastazu's confidence. Through Subano, ARGENT is now running a series of experimental programs in the jungles and secluded coastlines of Chiquador, and every day brings its plans closer to fruition.

Costa Azúl:  An archipelago consisting of three principal islands and several smaller ones located south of Jamaica and Haiti, Costa Azúl has a well-deserved reputation as a haven for drug smuggling, money laundering, and other criminal activities. Its former long-time leader, the notorious Colonel Enrique Pineda, tried to maintain a facade of normalcy to attract tourists, but was well-known as one of the most corrupt officials in the Western Hemisphere.
In 2003 credible evidence obtained by the CIA and presented to the President and Congress indicated that Pineda and his government were responsible for sheltering and training a group of supervillains calling itself Los Aplastantores ("The Crushers"). These villains committed a terrorism-for-pay attack in Washington, D.C. in July 2003 that would have destroyed the Lincoln Memorial if not for the timely intervention of the Sentinels. (To date the Crushers have refused to say who paid them to make the attack.) On top of Pineda's well-documented role in international drug smuggling and money laundering, this was more than the Unted States was willing to tolerate.
In November 2004, the United States invaded Costa Azúl and overthrew Col. Pineda, taking him to the mainland for trial and imprisonment. The US army occupied the country until 2006, withdrawing following "democratic" elections. Since then a series of councils and leaders has tried to steer the country down a better path, but it remains better known as a hotbed of criminal activity than a tourist destination.
(There are several other intriguing developments in the Caribbean that would make it a surprisingly adventure-filled region to game in, but those are not officially linked to Costa Azúl.)

Guamanga:  A tiny nation between Honduras and Lago de Isabél, Guamanga is afflicted with poverty and despair. A mere five percent of the population owns approximately ninety percent of the land, consigning the peasantry to a life of subsistence tenant farming. Many have turned to the drug trade, or the theft and sale of Mayan relics from archaeological sites, to survive.
In 1994, ARGENT attempted to engineer a coup in Guamanga to oust the die-hard Communist president, Martín Orama-Tijernas, and replace him with a figurehead it could control. Fortunately, the Justice Squadron got wind of the plot and stopped it, doing significant harm to ARGENT’s interests in the region. Long-forgotten superweapons and other relics of the conflict occasionally appear, causing more trouble in this already troubled nation.
In 2005 Menton used his powers to manipulate the Guamangans into electing him their president — the first step in a planned campaign of world conquest. Thanks to some help from what the authorities later discovered was ARGENT technology, he was both able to affect thousands of people at once with his power and do it without leaving psychic traces. The United States and the United Nations mobilized their forces, but did nothing more at first. Although everyone knew what Menton had done, there was no proof -- and without proof, the UN in particular, was not willing to overthrow a seemingly legally elected official. That would have set a dangerous precedent the UN desperately wanted to avoid... so it found another option.
Working through back channels, UNTIL secretly hired two teams of mercenary villains and sent them after Menton. Their attack was not going well... but then Rakshasa, Dr. Destroyer's shape-shifting minion, disguised as one of Menton’s mind-controlled followers, shot Menton point-blank in the back of the head, rendering him unconscious. Menton was confined under "hot sleep" in Stronghold until he awakened in 2009 and freed himself, precipitating the second major breakout from the super-prison.

Larisagrad:  Located deep in the Ural Mountains, Larisagrad was once a secret Soviet city, but is today an effectively independent city-state. During the Cold War era Larisagrad was where numerous top-secret Soviet research projects were conducted. Merely attempting to enter the city without proper authorization was a capital offense.The foremost of these research projects was Directorate Black-12, the Soviet superhuman soldier program. This project was about as successful as most of the similar American programs — which is to say that it produced a handful of superhumans in exchange for killing, crippling, or driving insane hundreds of “volunteer” test subjects.
Since the collapse of the Soviet regime, all government work in Larisagrad has ended. To support themselves, the scientists there work as contractors and consultants for whomever will hire them... including more than a few supervillains, according to UNTIL reports. Larisagrad officials vehemently deny these charges. In 2005 UNTIL received even more disturbing intelligence. According to its clandestine sources, the criminal corporation ARGENT has effectively taken control of the city. Further reports since then tend to confirm this information, though the Tribunal doesn’t yet have rock-solid proof.
When the Soviet Union crumbled and funding for Larisagrad’s expensive research dried up, the scientists there were faced with a choice. They could become legitimate researchers, competing in the world of commercial scientific research... or they could offer their services to the highest bidder, regardless of purpose or morality. Unwilling to give up their high-class (by Russian standards, anyway) lifestyle, they opted for the latter path. A few scientists who couldn’t stomach the decision fled the city, often ending up with European or American research firms.
It didn’t take long for Larisagrad to develop a reputation for the quality of its work, not to mention the blind eye it turned to what was done with its technology. The scientists there often put their unique acumen and equipment to work creating technology for supervillains, providing medical care for injured superhumans who don't want their condition revealed to the outside world, and so forth. VIPER soon became a frequent customer, as did the Warlord, the Ultimates, the Crimelords, Utility, and various powered armor-wearing supervillains who needed occasional maintenance, upgrades, resupply, or spare parts for their equipment. Thanks to the influx of cash from these clients, most Larisagradians enjoy a standard of life far higher than that of other Russians.
As Larisagrad’s reputation waxed, ARGENT looked on with concern. It didn’t need any more competitors than it already had. But rather than destroy Larisagrad, the organization’s board of directors decided it was a valuable resource they needed to acquire. To that end, ARGENT infiltrated operatives into Larisagrad, established commercial ties with the city, kept its most important citizens under surveillance, and started a corporate espionage campaign against it. Through a combination of business manipulation, cutthroat competition, Maskbot replacement of key personnel, and blackmail, ARGENT took effective control of Larisagrad in late 2003. The current “mayor” of the city, a physicist named Stepan Dolovsky, is an ARGENT puppet; the group keeps him supplied with the drugs, women, and scientific resources he wants, and he does what it tells him to. The power behind the throne is Group Leader Gregory Attenborough, who reports directly to ARGENT’s leaders and conveys their orders to Dolovsky.
A “client” who wants to contract Larisagrad’s services contacts Dolovsky or any other member of the city’s governing council, the Komityet Upravlyeniya Issledovaniyami (“Research Steering Committee,” or KUI). The Committee looks into the request, determines what it can do for the client, and quotes a price. There’s no dickering — a client either accepts the price or walks away (though on occasion the Committee has agreed to be paid in trade or services rather than cash). After a client deposits the nonrefundable full amount into a secret account, the Committee puts Larisagrad’s scientists and factories to work on his behalf. The finished goods are delivered at a time and place specified in the original contract.
Larisagrad would make a rich prize for many villains and Russian organized crime groups, not to mention the Russian government, so it has plenty of defenses to keep unwanted “visitors” away. Besides the assistance of grateful superhumans they have helped, the most prominent of these defenses is a corps of powered armor-wearing soldiers called the “Larisagrad Division” (or simply, “the Division”). The leader of the Division is Shturm, or “Onslaught,” a superhuman created by Directorate Black-12. Gifted with energy projection and teleportation powers in addition to the powerful suit of battle armor he wears, Shturm has earned the gratitude of the Larisagradians — as well as millions of dollars — keeping their pleasant little home in the Urals safe and secure.

Lugendu is a small country on the West Coast of Africa, wedged in between Nigeria and Cameroon. Lugendu has suffered several violent revolutions in the decades since it achieved independence from France. In 1995, another bloody coup brought Joseph Otanga, then a general of the army, to power.  After appointing himself President-For-Life he’s ruled ever since, in part thanks to the support of several major international oil companies (Lugendu’s blessed with large offshore petroleum deposits). In the inland jungles several tribes remain opposed to his rule.
Lugendu has become an oppressive place, which Otanga controls with an iron fist. Natives who dare to speak of such things claim Otanga possesses dark powers of sorcery that he uses on anyone he suspects of plotting against him. The fact that many people who speak out against or oppose him simply “disappear” without leaving a single clue as to what happened to them only fuels these whispers. Some Lugendans even believe he has superhuman powers. Outsiders scoff at these stories as mere superstition, noting how easy it would be for a man in power to make his enemies “disappear” through mundane means like bullets and shallow jungle graves. But most of Otanga’s subjects are deathly afraid of him and wouldn’t think of turning against him.
From his luxurious palace in the capital of Nahambane, Joseph Otanga has worked for years to extend his power. According to Interpol and UNTIL, he’s established networks of criminal gangs and spies throughout western Africa. He uses them to funnel drugs, conflict diamonds, slaves, and anything else of value through Lugendu. Between this and his methodical looting of the Lugendan treasury, Otanga is thought to be a billionaire already, and his fortune is still growing.
Joseph Otanga, President of Lugendu, is not the simple despot he seems. His terrified subjects are correct when they say he possesses mystical powers. When he performs blood sacrifices at a strange altar deep in the jungle, an altar known only to him, he gains the power to assume animal forms (even forms mixing the attributes of several beasts), or to transform anyone he wishes into an animal. It is by these methods -- sacrifice or transformation -- that he disposes of anyone he even suspects of harboring harmful intent toward him. Even more dangerously, Otanga has brainwashed several UNTIL agents who tried to infiltrate his inner circle to be his slavish followers, and turned them into low-powered mystic supervillains.
Otanga has transferred much of his own ill-gotten wealth out of the country. He's invested a generous chunk of it with companies in Millennium City, since he believes in the long-term value of tech stocks. Otanga has become a significant stockholder in several of the city's small, cutting-edge companies, usually through various proxies and without the companies' knowledge. What he plans to do if he gains majority ownership in these companies remains unknown.
While Otanga dominates Lugendu, the criminal occult organization DEMON also has a presence there. They maintain a Demonhame in Lugendu, under the cover of the Good Samaritan Mission, which is one of DEMON's hubs for slave-trading, by which the organization acquires many of the human sacrifices it needs for its rituals.

Lurranga:  This African nation occupies a long narrow stretch of territory sandwiched between the Central African Republic and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Very little has been revealed about Lurranga in any official 5E/6E Champions source, or is likely to be in the foreseeable future. While few hooks are given on which Champs players can hang their creative hats, this does give them freedom to invent details about the country to work into character back stories and adventure plots.
What has been revealed is that Lurranga is known to be heavily involved in the drug trade and other forms of transnational crime, and sometimes thus attracts the attention of foreign supers. The Vice President of Lurranga is secretly an informant in the pay of Dr. Destroyer, although probably not knowingly -- Destroyer's agents lead most of his informants to believe they're providing assistance to organized crime, rival nations, or the like.
However, Lurranga is discussed in much more detail in the Fourth Edition Champions Universe setting book, and in the aforementioned Justice, Not Law, which details could be used to embellish the present version.

Taqiristan, a tiny country wedged in between Iran, Afghanistan, and Turkmenistan, is another “trouble spot” in Western Asia that particularly worries UNTIL and other law enforcement agencies. Once part of the USSR, it declared its independence in 1992. Since the mid-Eighties it’s been led by Bodrush Meklani, formerly a high-ranking Soviet official in control of the area but since 1992 “President for Life.” He rules his small state like a cross between a medieval baron and a gang boss: he controls everything and takes a cut of every business transaction, large or small, that occurs in Taqiristan.
Since Meklani has no scruples about where his money comes from, Taqiristan has become a major transhipment point for heroin and other drugs, a popular place to launder money, and a haven for criminals with nowhere else to go. As long as a “business partner’s” money is good and he doesn’t threaten Meklani’s rule, the President for Life doesn’t care who he lets into his country. As far as Western observers can tell, Meklani has no designs on other countries in the region; he’s content with his own piece of the pie, as long as no one threatens him. He doesn’t seem to have any superhuman soldiers or agents, though he could certainly afford to hire some if necessary.
UNTIL recently uncovered links between President Meklani and several supervillain teams, including the Ultimates and the Brain Trust. Apparently Meklani is willing to strictly enforce his country's non-extradition policy on their behalf... for a substantial fee. While it's not always easy for a fleeing supervillain to reach Taqiri soil, if he can and he's paid up he has a guaranteed safe haven. Unable to do anything about this except exert diplomatic pressure, UNTIL's left to hope that somehow this odious policy will backfire on Meklani, perhaps even bringing down his regime in the process.
DEMON maintains a Demonhame called "the Reconciliation" in Taqiristan, another of its slave-trading hubs, by which the organization acquires many of the human sacrifices it needs for its rituals.

Dean Shomshak wrote The Mystic World, source book for the supernatural/multiversal part of the official Champions Universe. Almost all the characters from that book, and from the villain compendium Arcane Adversaries, were written by him and/or came out of his RPG campaigns. Dean also wrote The Ultimate Mystic, a thorough guide for adapting real-world mythology, folklore, and occultism to gaming in general, and Hero in particular.
 
Those books are all for Fifth Edition Hero System, although most of those characters were translated to the Sixth Edition Champions Villains trilogy. However, much of what they cover was drawn from Dean's Fourth Edition books, The Ultimate Super Mage, The Super Mage Bestiary, and Creatures of the Night: Horror Enemies. Basically, when it comes to magic in Hero, Dean Shomshak is the guru.

Hey, someone used Dr. Teneber in their campaign! Happy author woohoo!
 
The Doctor of the Dead isn't just a villain I created for Arcane Adversaries. He's my PC from a "dark supernatural" campaign inspired by the "Midnight Sons" line of titles Marvel did for a while. Doc turned out to be far and away the "darkest" PC. Okay, he ended up crashing the campaign, but I had a lot of fun with him.
 
Dean Shomshak

If you haven't seen this thread from the Champions sub-forum, you might find a few ideas of interest: Champions Universe: Unique Character Origins

[Swirl of smoke and flame and stench of brimstone]  WHO DARES?!  👿 💀
 
"Ahem!" I haven't been able to locate any specific information about Ravenswood students other than in the books AlgaeNymph mentioned in her OP. I'm not sure if those classes were left deliberately blank as archer suggests -- references to Ravenswood students from years earlier than the Class of '06 are scattershot -- but the likelihood anything "official" will be done with them in the foreseeable future is negligible. I'm confident they're open for you to fill as you wish, A.N.

Where’s Lord Liaden when you need him! @Lord Liadenyouve been humbly summoned.