csyphrett

I am taking San Fransokyo and Metroville
CES 

I am taking San Fransokyo and Metroville
CES 

Death Tripe is the liquid killer of the group. Spread out over an area, as soon as someone steps on him, he surrounds the victim and begins to suffocate the target.
CES
 

The archer known as the Calamus pins normals down so the other three feathers can do their parts of the job without interference.
CES

I went and found the page Freakboy's Christmas Knights were on in the hero thread. I think there was another batch but I am not sure
. The team is down at the bottom of the page
CES

I went and found the page Freakboy's Christmas Knights were on in the hero thread. I think there was another batch but I am not sure
. The team is down at the bottom of the page
CES

I picked Charlotte since it is an hour away from my house using 77 some days. I have used various Carolinian heroes over the years for personal things but I am going with Red Bird who basically is an armored Hawkman that uses claws built into his gloves. I would have used the Blue Crescent from South Carolina but he can't fly.  Same with the Checker from the Hero Thread. 
Red Bird has been based in Raleigh but has been seen all over the state, and a move to a base in Charlotte-Mecklinburg  won't inconvenience him.
CES 

i would love to help you but I don't have any sheets. We have done holiday heroes for the Create a Hero thread. You might be able to search that. I know I had the Saint for all saints day
CES 

Where are the Koi?
CES

It's hard to see all of it, but there's Hellboy, Gordon Freeman, John Nada, Jack Burton and Kurt Russel's character from the Thing and Ash Williams versus the aliens, Snake Plissken  versus Jason, Pennywise, Slimer, Chucky, the Leprechaun, gremlims, April O'Neil.
 
It's like a snapshot of the eighties pop culture scene
CES 

This is the wrap up of the first story. I am working on the second story and have ten K
 
Two weeks later, I lay on the visitor’s couch with my paws in the air, thinking that
I should get water from the kitchen sink, but not wanting to get up. I had went
through my appointments and felt like just lying in place since getting home from the
office.
 
Omes had gone off on some errand related to the airship he was trying to find. He
would be back soon. That was when we would decide on dinner at home, or the club.
I was in the mood for fish, so I favored the club. They had cooks that knew how to
grill some salmon.
 
“Omes is back,” said Addison. “Are you two eating in, or going out?”
 
“I have no idea,” I said. I righted myself and drew up into a ball.
 
The thunk of Addison applying the brake to his spin, and the following thump of him
vanishing from reality was interrupted by Omes walking into the parlor. He hung up
his bowler and coat before sitting down at his desk. He opened his main screen and
wrote down some notes from a slip of paper.
 
“I think I have a name finally,” he said. “I have to make sure this is the right man.
You want to come along?”
 
“I think it would be better if I did,” I said.
 
“The slingshot from Excelsior’s base is owned by the McMahon Corporation,” Omes
said. He turned to the screen with the slingshot pictured on it. He opened another
window and put up three pictures for me to examine. “Lucy and Linus McMahon, and
their father Luther.”
 
Luther McMahon matched the man we had talked to by screen when we had
investigated an imposter impersonating people to send them to jail while he walked
away with the stolen goods.
 
I felt an urge to rip his arms off now that I knew who he was.
 
“How did you find this out?,” I asked. Omes might have attracted attention with his
search. The McMahons might actively try to get rid of him now that he knew who
they were.
 
“I used the slingshot to find them,” said Omes. “I spent the time after the Hughes case
following the ship around the Industrial Quarter to make sure there was a solid link
to the building we found. Then I narrowed it down even more by searching building
records. If I were to show Luther McMahon’s picture to Costello, I am sure he would
want to serve warrants right away.”
 
“And why don’t we do that?,” I asked. I would be glad to let Metropole hang this fish
as long as I got some alone time with him.
 
Some anger needed to be expressed about his callous indifference to life.
 
“Because all we have as proof is the picture on the screen in that warehouse that
could be faked by anyone who knew who he was,” said Omes. “We need something
ironclad before we try for him.”
 
“We need the world’s biggest smoking gun,” I said. I couldn’t fault the logic. If
McMahon had some connection to Metropole, the chances of evidence being lost
increased.
 
“So we have to build our case slowly,” said Omes. “Once we have something that
can’t be swept under the rug, then we can release it to the world. Let the government
and the press take up where we stopped.”
 
I rubbed my ear. Leaving things to the bluecoats is what Omes said now. In the
future, he would be doing something to make the man come forward and incriminate
himself.
 
Omes didn’t share the spotlight when he didn’t have to.
 
The main screen that Omes used buzzed. He blacked out his two ongoing searches
and the pictures of the McMahons on the three alternate screens before he answered
the call.
 
“Omes?,” said Colin Hughes. “What have you done to me?”
 
“Nothing,” said Omes. “Why is your face purple? Is something wrong with your
screen?”
 
“No, there’s nothing wrong with my screen,” said Hughes. “I thought you had solved
my problem.”
 
Omes leaned back in his chair. His expression didn’t betray the amusement his brain
gave off.
 
“Have you had any more visits from your dead friend?,” asked Omes.
 
“What does that got to do with this?,” asked Hughes.
 
“You asked us to stop the haunting and we did,” said Omes. “It took a herculean
effort on my part to track down the flowers you were exposed to, but I did it. This
seems to be something new.”
 
“I want you to do something about this,” said Hughes.
 
I noted that his new complexion had handprints and round impressions. I rubbed my
ear. It looked like Mrs. Hughes was right unless she put those blank spots in herself.
 
“You need to do some exercises,” I said. “The more you sweat, the faster it will come
out. You might need to wear old clothes while you’re exercising. The sweat will stain
your clothes.”
 
“Do you know what this is?,” asked Hughes.
 
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t elaborate.
 
“What is it?,” demanded Hughes. 
 
“It’s verdian powder,” I said. I rubbed my ear. “It’s harmless.”
 
“How do you know that?,” asked Hughes.
 
“I’m a doctor,” I said. “I’ve seen this a hundred times. Just go outside and do some
manual labor. The color will come right out of you.”
 
“Colin?,” said Mrs. Hughes from off screen. “Are you home? Advocate Mathers and
I have found a nice place in the country for vacations. He is helping me with the
paperwork.”
 
“Advocate Mathers?,” said Hughes and Omes at the same time.
 
“I think you need to talk to your wife,” Omes said. “Tell her the condition is not life
threatening and you can sweat it out.”
 
“Colin?,” Mrs. Hughes said. She was just off screen from the sound of her voice. “Are
those handprints?”
 
“Call us when you have things worked out,” said Omes. He cut the connection with
a shake of his head.
 
“We violated the conflict of interest laws on this,” he said.
 
“We solved his problem first before we took money from her,” I said. “I don’t see the
conflict.”
 
“I don’t think we are supposed to take work from our client’s enemy when we knew
the client was going to be the target,” Omes said.
 
“It was better than having her push him into a nervous wreck and doing something
stupid to get out of it,” I said. “I have seen too many of that.”
 
“I suppose you’re right,” said Omes. “I need to do some research on the McMahons
before we try to confront them over Excelsior and their other crimes.”
 
“Let’s eat at the club, and then we can watch the boats in Canaan,” I said.
 
Omes stood. He looked at the darkened screens. He smiled. He reached for his bowler
and coat.
 
“Can I ask a question?,” said Addison.
 
“What would you like to know, Addison,” said Omes. He pulled on his coat and hat.
 
“What exactly just happened?,” the voice of our landlord said.
 
“Do you want to tell him, or should I?,” asked Omes.
 
“I’ll do it since it was my idea,” I said.
 
I rubbed my ear as I sat on the visitor’s couch. I put the events together in my own
mind before I said anything.
 
“Mr. Hughes came to us because he had spent several days, maybe a few weeks,
being visited by the ghost of his dead friend,” I said. “But it wasn’t a real ghost. It
was a psychic projection attacking his mind. The biggest thing that Mr. Hughes felt
guilty over was the loss of his friend. His wife had assumed that the plants would act
on his philandering, but she didn’t know how the plants worked, and the fact the guilt
was focused on the biggest mistake he had made.
 
“Philandering is not usually considered a mistake until the husband is caught so there
is no guilt about that.
 
“So all she was doing was pushing her husband to a breakdown which might have led
to an explosive confrontation with any number of people including herself,” I said.
 
“I understand all that, but the call just now,” said Addison.
 
“I’m getting to that,” I said. “A little patience please.”
 
“I’m sorry,” said Addison. “Go on with your tale.”
 
“Thank you,” I said. I rubbed my ear. “After Omes and I had examined the scene
where the attacks had happened, we agreed that it wasn’t a real ghost. We performed
a cursory search around the client’s house and found the weapon outside the house.
We decided to catch Mrs. Hughes in the act. She broke down and told us she was
trying to get her husband to admit his philandering so they could break their contracts
and she would have something after the divorce.”
 
“All right,” said Addison. “That seems simple enough. Now how did all that pertain
to the call where he was purple?”
 
“I advised Mrs. Hughes that her scheme was exceedingly stupid. After some
discussion with Omes, I suggested an alternate scheme where she could show her
husband was philandering with no lasting harm. There is a plant substance you can
add to food that will turn people’s skins purple. It will also hold the imprint of
anything touching it in the first twenty four hours,” I said.
 
“So the handprints weren’t Mrs. Hughes?,” Addison said. “Oh.”
 
“Exactly,” I said. “All she had to do was pick a day that she could leave for a bit,
leave the stuff in his coffee, and take off for the next two days. Everything else took
care of itself.”
 
“The advocate was a nice touch,” Omes said.
 
“She must have come up with that on her own,” I said.
 
“So you stopped the attacks on your client by helping the attacker prove that he was
seeing other women,” said Addison. He sounded amazed.
 
“And we potentially saved them both from death, Donegal Island, and plenty of other
things that I can’t think of right now,” I said.
 
“And we were paid twice over all this too,” said Omes. “That’s enough to pay our
rent.”
 
“All right,” said Addison. “I suppose that makes things all right.”
 
“If Hughes hadn’t started seeing other women behind his wife’s back, and his wife
hadn’t decided to make him sorry about that, we would never had been called in,”
said Omes. “And they wouldn’t have a reason for fixing things.”
 
“I don’t think they’ll be fixing things now,” I said. “An advocate on the scene might
keep them from going at things tooth and claw.”
 
“We can’t help that,” Omes said. “We have our own fish to fry.”
 
“Do you two think Mrs. Hughes would have kept going with something else if you
hadn’t shown her how to do something nonviolent?,” asked Addison.
 
“Yes,” I said. “The next thing would have been something immediate like a frying
pan to the head.”
 
“I have to agree,” Omes said. “She had already spent months growing those flowers.
If we had told Mr. Hughes and triggered the divorce on his terms, she might have
resorted to something faster and easier like a bullet.”
  

They've also been banning idiots that can't read. It follows on my own feelings so I am good with it.
 
When the election was going on, one of my coworkers (most of the older ones are conspiracy nuts and flat earthers) said Trump is better than Killeray. I was like are you serious? Because if you are, you are a ton of words meaning stupid, some slurs and other things. He was like what? And I said we would ban deliveries from Trump because he'll always call back trying to get free food and won't tip the drivers. Eventually we's have to Roscoe his dumb @$$.
CES   

Because the Christian people who support Trump only care that he is as much of a bigot as they are. The Christian  people who don't support Trump recognize he is the embodiment of the seven deadly sins and want nothing to do with him.
CES 

Because the Christian people who support Trump only care that he is as much of a bigot as they are. The Christian  people who don't support Trump recognize he is the embodiment of the seven deadly sins and want nothing to do with him.
CES 

1
Logan Major studied the regional papers at his dining room table. He owned an
interest in most of them. He leaned back in his chair.
 
The front pages covered a series of thefts in Wisconsin. No one had seen anything,
no one knew anything.
 
What could he do about it?
 
“I’m going now, Dad,” said Brady Major. “Will you need me after school?”
 
“I don’t know, Brady,” said Logan. He looked out the window of the dining room. “These thefts are something new. Someone with a power is out there. We’re going to  have to look into things but not until we know more.”
 
“All right, Dad,” said Brady. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
 
“Thanks,” said Logan. “Have a good day, son.”
 
Brady smiled as he walked to the front door. He vanished out the door to catch his
bus to school.
 
Logan stood. There had to be more information than what he saw in the articles. He
needed to talk to his investigators and find out if they knew anything more than what
was printed.
 
There had to be something there he could use.
 
He stacked the papers together and placed them on the table. He pulled his phone. He
checked the time on the face. His editors wouldn’t be in the office for another two
hours.
 
Logan put the phone away. He headed for his room. He needed to get his suit and
head into the office. He should get in at the same time as some of the staff.
 
Once he had a better picture of things, he could decide what to do about the thefts.
 
Logan dressed and went to the garage. He climbed into his old Datsun and pulled
down his driveway. He paused at the motorized gate so it could open for him to drive
out.
 
He turned and headed into the city. The paper sat in the middle of Walton Pond,
opposite the city hall and police center. That saved time for when the crime reporters
needed to follow up a story.
 
He pulled into a slot in the public parking lot that serviced several of the businesses
around the paper. He got out of the car and headed into the office.
 
He waved at some of the writers and editors as he went to his work space in the
middle of the staff area. He put his suit jacket over his chair as he sat down. He
checked the paperwork in his in box before he called over to the editor.
 
“Hey, Ken,” said Logan. “Who’s covering the Mercury Diamond theft?”
 
“Phillips,” said Ken Hanson, the city editor. “He’s covering all those strange
robberies.”
 
“I would like to talk to him,” said Logan. “I want to know more about these thefts.”
 
“I’ll tell him to come up and talk to you,” said Hanson. “What’s your interest?”
 
“I want to pressure the police into stopping these thefts,” said Logan. “Maybe we can
get mileage out of the scenes of the crimes.”
 
“They won’t like that,” said Hanson.
 
“We’re not here to make the police happy,” said Logan.
 
“I’ll tell Phillips to talk to you,” said Hanson.
 
“I’m going over financials at my desk,” said Logan. “I’ll be here for a while.”
 
“All right,” said Hanson. “Do you need anything else?”
 
“Not right now,” said Logan. “I may need more later.”
 
“See you later, Logan,” said Hanson.
 
Logan hung up. He leaned back in his chair. He checked his calender. He had
meetings with the board, financial advisors, and had to look into buying into another
radio station in Minnesota.
 
He could put some of that off if Phillips could give him some lead to the thief.
There had to be something everyone was missing that he could use.
 
He went through his paperwork, sat through his first meeting, and then went over how
much money he had flowing through his holdings with his advisors. Phillips arrived
while he was ushering his hedge fund manager out of the conference room.
 
“You wanted to see me?,” said Phillips.
 
“Come in,” said Logan. He gestured at the conference room. “You are just in the
knick of time.”
 
“I got held up,” said Phillips. He wore a jacket and tie with jeans. He settled at the
table and pulled out a small tablet from its carrying case. He set the tablet on the table
so he could reference it. “I was in court when Ken called.”
 
“I want to know how much you know about these unsolved thefts that are going on,”
said Logan. He sat down at his place at the table. He had paperwork to fill out. He put
that aside in a small stack.
 
“The police have some forensics details they aren’t sharing,” said Phillips. “The gist
is our guy can take locks and protective measures apart and then escape.”
 
“How is he getting in?,” asked Logan.
 
“I think the police think he can fly, or he has some kind of swing line he uses,” said
Phillips. “Some of those thefts took place in high rises with cut out windows.”
 
“Do you have pictures?,” asked Logan.
 
“Some,” said Phillips. He opened a file on his tablet. He showed Logan the illegal
entries he had taken pictures of with his phone. “I couldn’t get pictures of some of
them. The police had cordoned off the scenes and the victims fixed the damage as fast
as they could.”
 
“I want you to go around and take pictures of the scenes,” said Logan. “Leave them
on my desk.”
 
“What’s going on?,” asked Phillips.
 
“I’m interested in how these thefts are being done,” said Logan. “I can’t ask the
police to give me a tour of everything. You, on the other hand, can go in and look
around and ask more questions. Eventually the government will take an interest.
There will be problems, and conflicts of interest. If we can identify this thief, and how
he’s operating, maybe we can stop things from escalating.”
 
“The government will want to take over the investigation,” said Phillips.
 
“And they will tell us less than the police,” said Logan. “I don’t want to verify a press
release from some suit.”
 
“Do you want the pictures I already have?,” asked Phillips.
 
“Yes,” said Logan. “Print them out and put them on my desk. I’ll tell Ken that I want
you to examine the scenes of the crime before I have to get to this other meeting.”
 
“All right,” said Phillips. “I have some other stories that I am working on.”
 
“Are they life and death?,” asked Logan.
 
“I don’t know,” said Phillips. “I’m trying to verify that someone in city hall is
embezzling money for one. Then there is the Garret murder. I’m still trying to find
someone who will talk to me about it.”
 
“The kid on Thirteenth Street,” said Logan. “He took a stray bullet. No one wants to
come forward to say which gang fired the shot.”
 
“Exactly,” said Phillips.
 
“They’ll stonewall you too,” said Logan. “Go ahead and get those pictures for me.
It’ll give your embezzler time to steal more money, and Buddy Garret isn’t going
anywhere at the moment. If someone comes forward, go back to it and cover it.”
 
“You don’t think I can find anyone who will?,” asked Phillips.
 
“You aren’t threatening enough,” said Logan. “People fear the shooter more than they
fear you. If you haven’t dug up anything by now, you never will.”
 
“All right,” said Phillips. His expression said he didn’t agree, but he wasn’t going to
argue with his boss.
 
“Did you dig up anything about the shooting?,” asked Logan.
 
“Not much,” said Phillips. “The police think the Ardvarks and the Razorbacks started
squabbling for turf. Guns were pulled and fired, and one bullet hit Buddy Garret in
his chest. He died at the scene.”
 
“Do you know who the shot callers are in either gang?,” asked Logan.
 
“My source said they think a Deshawn Barden runs the Razorbacks,” said Phillips.
“The other name they gave me was a Buck Clinton for the Ardvarks.”
 
“Did they give you street addresses?,” asked Logan.
 
“Sure,” said Phillips. He wrote down the addresses and handed over the sheet from
his notebook.
 
“I’m going to give this to someone and hopefully he will be able to do something
about one of these gangs,” said Logan. “Don’t tell anyone I did this. I don’t want the
police thinking we’re interfering in their investigation.”
 
“I understand,” said Phillips. “Do you think he can get someone to talk?”
 
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “If he can’t, at least we tried to crack this.”
 
“All right,” said Phillips. “Is there anything else?”
 
“I might need to talk to you when you have the pictures to get your opinion on
things,” said Logan. “Let me know if you dig up enough to identify the embezzler.”
 
“I thought you just published the paper,” said Phillips.
 
“My grandfather and father helped build the city,” said Logan. “I try to help protect
it now that they are both gone.”
 
“I can see that,” said Phillips. “You thought about going into politics?”
 
“Politicians have to answer to someone else, generally a lot of someones depending
on where they got their money,” said Logan. “I only have to answer to myself and
whomever owns part of the papers. And since I publish the paper, I don’t really have
to answer to anyone else unless someone buys enough of the others’ holdings to
have me removed.”
 
“How likely is that to happen?,” said Phillips.
 
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “But I have some things that I am trying to get done and
this thief is stirring up trouble. So he has to go. Then I can try to get the money I need
for my projects.”
 
“What projects?,” asked Phillips.
 
“I’ll let you know when I have them in the bag,” said Logan. “Go get the pictures. I
have to make my meeting.”
 
“All right,” said Phillips. He packed up his tablet. “Why the concentration on the
entry points?”
 
“No one knows who this thief is,” said Logan. “We all suspect he is powered up. If
we can match the power to a known villain, we can identify the thief and help the
police with their manhunt.”
 
“And if we can’t,” said Phillips.
 
“Then he’s someone who’s never been caught, or totally new,” said Logan. “Let’s see
what we can find out before worry about that.”
 

I'm optioning Kolchak the Night Stalker, and Marty Coslaw
CES

5
Tribe felt the pain rolling through his body. He tried to hold himself still while he
looked at it with his mind. Clonus had done a number on him. That was what he got
for not paying attention to his surroundings.
 
He supposed he should be happy to be alive. He cracked a small smile. He could be
hurt, but he couldn’t be killed.
 
He reached out and touched the city. Resources flowed into his body. The cracked
bones and bruises flowed out. He dispersed them over a wide area so no one would
notice what he had done to heal himself.
 
It was time to get out of the box he was in and look for his enemy.
 
Tribe climbed on top of the cargo. He felt the steel ceiling with his hand. Then he
punched a hole through it, mending the bones of his hand the same way he had healed
all of his earlier battle wounds. He pushed the steel back out of his way so he could
climb on the back of the moving truck.
 
He looked back. The headquarters was rapidly receding from view. Did he jump
down and go back, or stay with the truck and hope it led him somewhere?
 
Maybe he should stop the truck so he could figure out what to do.
 
Tribe walked down the trailer. He paused at the end, watching the truck for a second
as he thought about what he wanted to do. One of Clonus’s clones drove. He could
tell that from the arm sticking out the window.
 
If he attacked, the clone could spawn an army to overwhelm him. On the other hand,
it would have to stop the truck to be really effective. He could possibly attack and
take it out before it could do anything to stop him.
 
He wondered how well it would do in the dream time.
 
Tribe waited for the traffic on the highway to thin. He had no interest in disrupting
other people’s plans. He only wanted to stop Clonus to keep his garden straightened
out. Causing a pile up would not serve that in any way.
 
The truck entered a lull with no other car around. The thin man dropped down on the
cab and grabbed the arm. He commanded the clone to go to sleep. The hive mentality
tried to fight his command, but he had the will of the city behind him. The clone
driver slumped over the wheel.
 
Tribe climbed down and opened the door. He pushed the clone out of the way. He got
behind the wheel and slowed the truck down into the shoulder of the road. He set the
blinkers as it rolled to a stop.
 
Tribe grabbed the clone’s face. He exerted his will to peer around inside the brain. He
found the link to the rest of them. He almost smiled. Following the link in the real
world should let him get close enough to capture Clonus without a real fight.
 
He didn’t like the shadow at the back of the clone’s memories. Assault had been a
constant foe of the Arc. He had supposedly died in an explosion.
 
Tribe considered what he should do. He could turn things over to the authorities, but
he didn’t see how they could do a better job than he was doing. He doubted they
would believe him. And the dream time and his place in it was his to defend.
 
He had to find Clonus, put him down, and then use that to find Assault somehow. It
seemed easy when he said it in his head.
 
Finding Clonus should be easy since he had a piece of the man in the cab with him.
Dealing with him would be much harder.
 
Tribe decided that he could use the truck to get where he had to go until he was done.
Then he could call the police to come get it wherever he abandoned it. That made his
plan easier to carry out.
 
The next thing to do was turn around and head back to the depot and pick up Clonus’s
trail. Then he could drive to where the mastermind had set up his new base and have
a quiet talk with the man.
 
Barring that, he would have a loud talk with the man while committing violence
against his expanding horde.
 
Whatever Assault wanted had to be opposed. He had made a name for himself as
someone as dangerous as Dr. Hoz. He had to be stopped before he got what he
wanted.
 
Clonus should know better than to work with Assault. His reputation for ending
partnerships was notorious. The horde would have a fight for his life against the
villain.
 
Tribe doubted he could do anything to the villain, but he couldn’t stop at that point.
Someone had to stop Clonus and Assault. He had to be the man. He hoped he had a
bigger spot for the turtles when he got home.
 
He pulled out on the road. He drove down to the next exit, crossed the bridge, then
turned down the ramp to go back to where the truck had come from before Clonus
had stolen it.
 
He saw the fence where he had been ambushed. The rental trucks had rolled out. He
paused for a moment. Which way should he go from there? He decided to head out
on the surface streets. He had a vague idea that Clonus had decided to settle
somewhere on the other side of the city.
 
He made sure that his captive still slept. He didn’t want to deal with a one man army
pushing him out of the truck at high speed.
 
Tribe followed the mental link pointing out of the clone to the rest of his bodies. He
drove slower than usual because of the split in his attention. It took a certain amount
of concentration to sift a hostile mind. Doing that and driving could lead to a bad
accident if he wasn’t careful.
 
He rolled to a stop when he saw the property sign on the road. He looked around. He
didn’t see the one man army. The link pointed off the road.
 
He climbed down from the cab. He doubted Clonus had time to make his security
proof against common burglars. He had a window to get things done.
 
He looked at the lights from the city. He didn’t feel as strong as he should. He
decided that he had moved to the edge of his range. He only possessed the strength
he could draw from the Dreamtime.
 
That had to be enough to take care of the next part of this. Clonus could not be
allowed to run free. And as long as one clone was out there, he could switch bodies
and flee while the rest of him fought a delaying action against anyone trying to arrest
him.
 
Tribe felt that if he could take down the main mass and keep them under, then he
could track any free clones moving around away from the scene.
 
He crept from the parked truck. He hoped that it was out of sight of the house. He
needed all the surprise he could muster if he wanted to win the fight.
 
Clonus had shown he was hard to beat if he knew you were coming. Tribe wondered
how much of a lightning bolt Arc had to generate to capture him the first time they
fought.
 
Tribe crept closer to the house. He was a shadow among other shadows. He found a
guard looking out into the night. He put the clone to sleep with a grab and a mental
command. He propped the body next to a single tree in the yard.
 
If he was found by the other clones, they would think he was goldbricking.
 
Tribe moved closer to the house. He didn’t see any artificial security. He moved to
the back door. He could enter there and try to take Clonus by surprise.
 
If he succeeded, he could think about how to deal with Assault. He wasn’t looking
forward to that.
 
He checked the door to see if it was locked. The doorknob turned in his hand. He
could go in and settle things, but he had to be quick. Clonus could easily stop him
with his multiplying power. He had to prevent the cloning process no matter what.
Tribe eased the door open. Two clones played cards at the kitchen table. Another
cooked at the stove. He hit the two at the table in passing on his way to the stove.
He slammed that clone into the cabinets above the stove before dropping him.
He turned and put the other two asleep.
 
Tribe went to the kitchen door. He expected a small army coming through the door.
He needed to make sure to do as much damage as he could before they carried him
away.
 
Nothing happened. He expected something. Maybe Clonus’s attention was on
something else.
 
Tribe went to the door to the rest of the house. He peered around the frame. Clones
walked everywhere. They carried furniture and decorative fixtures to places on the
empty floor and walls. He realized Clonus was still moving in.
 
Could he fight all of the clones he saw? What happened if he wasn’t fast enough? He
didn’t want to take another beating. Then a plan came to mind and taking a beating
seemed to be the only option. He closed his eyes and thought. He didn’t see any other
plan that would work in the time he had. Assault might call at any minute.
 
He hated the thought he was going to allow Clonus to beat on him unless he was
lucky and knocked all of them out before they could start splitting apart.
 
Tribe sprinted forward. He flew into the closest clones. They dropped the couch
they were carrying and slammed into others like pinballs. He kept moving forward,
aiming for the next closest clones. His strength allowed him to send men flying
without having to use any special technique. He took down one more before being
engulfed by a wave of Clonus.
 
He concentrated on ignoring the pain of his beating. He had to hold on. He felt bones
being broken as the beating of a drum. He waited, holding on to the pain. He kept his
focus.
 
“You’re relentless, Tribe.” said Clonus. He came to the front of the crowd. “You just
take a beating and come back for more. I respect that, but I can’t have you following
me around. I have important villain stuff to do.”
 
Tribe channeled his beating into the speaking Clonus, reasoning that the controlling
brain was in there. The man screamed at the sudden pain wracking him. His clones
looked at him with surprise and bewilderment. The thin man shut down the link and
all the clones dropped to the floor in splashes of material.

5
Tribe felt the pain rolling through his body. He tried to hold himself still while he
looked at it with his mind. Clonus had done a number on him. That was what he got
for not paying attention to his surroundings.
 
He supposed he should be happy to be alive. He cracked a small smile. He could be
hurt, but he couldn’t be killed.
 
He reached out and touched the city. Resources flowed into his body. The cracked
bones and bruises flowed out. He dispersed them over a wide area so no one would
notice what he had done to heal himself.
 
It was time to get out of the box he was in and look for his enemy.
 
Tribe climbed on top of the cargo. He felt the steel ceiling with his hand. Then he
punched a hole through it, mending the bones of his hand the same way he had healed
all of his earlier battle wounds. He pushed the steel back out of his way so he could
climb on the back of the moving truck.
 
He looked back. The headquarters was rapidly receding from view. Did he jump
down and go back, or stay with the truck and hope it led him somewhere?
 
Maybe he should stop the truck so he could figure out what to do.
 
Tribe walked down the trailer. He paused at the end, watching the truck for a second
as he thought about what he wanted to do. One of Clonus’s clones drove. He could
tell that from the arm sticking out the window.
 
If he attacked, the clone could spawn an army to overwhelm him. On the other hand,
it would have to stop the truck to be really effective. He could possibly attack and
take it out before it could do anything to stop him.
 
He wondered how well it would do in the dream time.
 
Tribe waited for the traffic on the highway to thin. He had no interest in disrupting
other people’s plans. He only wanted to stop Clonus to keep his garden straightened
out. Causing a pile up would not serve that in any way.
 
The truck entered a lull with no other car around. The thin man dropped down on the
cab and grabbed the arm. He commanded the clone to go to sleep. The hive mentality
tried to fight his command, but he had the will of the city behind him. The clone
driver slumped over the wheel.
 
Tribe climbed down and opened the door. He pushed the clone out of the way. He got
behind the wheel and slowed the truck down into the shoulder of the road. He set the
blinkers as it rolled to a stop.
 
Tribe grabbed the clone’s face. He exerted his will to peer around inside the brain. He
found the link to the rest of them. He almost smiled. Following the link in the real
world should let him get close enough to capture Clonus without a real fight.
 
He didn’t like the shadow at the back of the clone’s memories. Assault had been a
constant foe of the Arc. He had supposedly died in an explosion.
 
Tribe considered what he should do. He could turn things over to the authorities, but
he didn’t see how they could do a better job than he was doing. He doubted they
would believe him. And the dream time and his place in it was his to defend.
 
He had to find Clonus, put him down, and then use that to find Assault somehow. It
seemed easy when he said it in his head.
 
Finding Clonus should be easy since he had a piece of the man in the cab with him.
Dealing with him would be much harder.
 
Tribe decided that he could use the truck to get where he had to go until he was done.
Then he could call the police to come get it wherever he abandoned it. That made his
plan easier to carry out.
 
The next thing to do was turn around and head back to the depot and pick up Clonus’s
trail. Then he could drive to where the mastermind had set up his new base and have
a quiet talk with the man.
 
Barring that, he would have a loud talk with the man while committing violence
against his expanding horde.
 
Whatever Assault wanted had to be opposed. He had made a name for himself as
someone as dangerous as Dr. Hoz. He had to be stopped before he got what he
wanted.
 
Clonus should know better than to work with Assault. His reputation for ending
partnerships was notorious. The horde would have a fight for his life against the
villain.
 
Tribe doubted he could do anything to the villain, but he couldn’t stop at that point.
Someone had to stop Clonus and Assault. He had to be the man. He hoped he had a
bigger spot for the turtles when he got home.
 
He pulled out on the road. He drove down to the next exit, crossed the bridge, then
turned down the ramp to go back to where the truck had come from before Clonus
had stolen it.
 
He saw the fence where he had been ambushed. The rental trucks had rolled out. He
paused for a moment. Which way should he go from there? He decided to head out
on the surface streets. He had a vague idea that Clonus had decided to settle
somewhere on the other side of the city.
 
He made sure that his captive still slept. He didn’t want to deal with a one man army
pushing him out of the truck at high speed.
 
Tribe followed the mental link pointing out of the clone to the rest of his bodies. He
drove slower than usual because of the split in his attention. It took a certain amount
of concentration to sift a hostile mind. Doing that and driving could lead to a bad
accident if he wasn’t careful.
 
He rolled to a stop when he saw the property sign on the road. He looked around. He
didn’t see the one man army. The link pointed off the road.
 
He climbed down from the cab. He doubted Clonus had time to make his security
proof against common burglars. He had a window to get things done.
 
He looked at the lights from the city. He didn’t feel as strong as he should. He
decided that he had moved to the edge of his range. He only possessed the strength
he could draw from the Dreamtime.
 
That had to be enough to take care of the next part of this. Clonus could not be
allowed to run free. And as long as one clone was out there, he could switch bodies
and flee while the rest of him fought a delaying action against anyone trying to arrest
him.
 
Tribe felt that if he could take down the main mass and keep them under, then he
could track any free clones moving around away from the scene.
 
He crept from the parked truck. He hoped that it was out of sight of the house. He
needed all the surprise he could muster if he wanted to win the fight.
 
Clonus had shown he was hard to beat if he knew you were coming. Tribe wondered
how much of a lightning bolt Arc had to generate to capture him the first time they
fought.
 
Tribe crept closer to the house. He was a shadow among other shadows. He found a
guard looking out into the night. He put the clone to sleep with a grab and a mental
command. He propped the body next to a single tree in the yard.
 
If he was found by the other clones, they would think he was goldbricking.
 
Tribe moved closer to the house. He didn’t see any artificial security. He moved to
the back door. He could enter there and try to take Clonus by surprise.
 
If he succeeded, he could think about how to deal with Assault. He wasn’t looking
forward to that.
 
He checked the door to see if it was locked. The doorknob turned in his hand. He
could go in and settle things, but he had to be quick. Clonus could easily stop him
with his multiplying power. He had to prevent the cloning process no matter what.
Tribe eased the door open. Two clones played cards at the kitchen table. Another
cooked at the stove. He hit the two at the table in passing on his way to the stove.
He slammed that clone into the cabinets above the stove before dropping him.
He turned and put the other two asleep.
 
Tribe went to the kitchen door. He expected a small army coming through the door.
He needed to make sure to do as much damage as he could before they carried him
away.
 
Nothing happened. He expected something. Maybe Clonus’s attention was on
something else.
 
Tribe went to the door to the rest of the house. He peered around the frame. Clones
walked everywhere. They carried furniture and decorative fixtures to places on the
empty floor and walls. He realized Clonus was still moving in.
 
Could he fight all of the clones he saw? What happened if he wasn’t fast enough? He
didn’t want to take another beating. Then a plan came to mind and taking a beating
seemed to be the only option. He closed his eyes and thought. He didn’t see any other
plan that would work in the time he had. Assault might call at any minute.
 
He hated the thought he was going to allow Clonus to beat on him unless he was
lucky and knocked all of them out before they could start splitting apart.
 
Tribe sprinted forward. He flew into the closest clones. They dropped the couch
they were carrying and slammed into others like pinballs. He kept moving forward,
aiming for the next closest clones. His strength allowed him to send men flying
without having to use any special technique. He took down one more before being
engulfed by a wave of Clonus.
 
He concentrated on ignoring the pain of his beating. He had to hold on. He felt bones
being broken as the beating of a drum. He waited, holding on to the pain. He kept his
focus.
 
“You’re relentless, Tribe.” said Clonus. He came to the front of the crowd. “You just
take a beating and come back for more. I respect that, but I can’t have you following
me around. I have important villain stuff to do.”
 
Tribe channeled his beating into the speaking Clonus, reasoning that the controlling
brain was in there. The man screamed at the sudden pain wracking him. His clones
looked at him with surprise and bewilderment. The thin man shut down the link and
all the clones dropped to the floor in splashes of material.

I agree with Tranq. Lion-O himself is a pretty straight forward build with high charteristics, some technical skills, some martial arts. Disadvantages/complications depend on the background.
 
He also has an Oaf that gives him super leap, clinging, a killing attack and a boost to his hand attack.
 
The sword of omens can be a multipower or an oaf which gives the character energy blast, hka, clairvoyance with appropriate limits, and summon. it may have advantages that help it against certain things like affects desolid, Armor piercing, so forth.
CES  

Sorry, Kav committed perjury. He won't be called on it because Chuck Grassley would gnaw off his own arm than admit that he should vote no and get another guy. This guy comes across as an idiot.
CES

Sorry, Kav committed perjury. He won't be called on it because Chuck Grassley would gnaw off his own arm than admit that he should vote no and get another guy. This guy comes across as an idiot.
CES

the most common thing is hero takes body damage.
Every time he is wounded, bam, ego roll to see if he goes berserk and starts wailing on his enemy.
"It's a cut. I can handle it."
"I got hit by a car. I'm a little miffed. I can handle it."
"Set me on fire? Leeeeeerrrrroooooyyyyyy Jenkins!"
CES 

might want to go with enraged/berserk with a high ego roll so he's not turning his enemies into flattened gummy bears every time he goes into combat.  
CES

I would like to pick Wendy Darling as my fourth kid
CES

Benign Adult:  Friendly school janitor, Frederick Charles Krueger