“You’re not going crazy. You’re going sane in a crazy world!” –highly underrated superhero

But it’s wholly accurate. Set aside your concepts of Law, Order, and Not-Badness. You’re in The City now. A wondrous place of remarkable culture and beauty, it also seethes with the wriggling decay of Villainy! Yes, friends, that’s Villainy, with a capital V! That uncourteous V stares at the good people of The City like a cancerous, multi-eyed monster of subtle and unsubtle naughtiness, making the average Joe the Plumber range from merely uncomfortable to OUTRIGHT TERRIFIED!

But all hope is not lost. Seemingly for every group of these perpetrators of unruly brouhaha, there is at least one stalwart Champion of Shiny and Upright Things ready to lead the charge against Un-Good. You, dear Heroes, must lead this charge with head held high. You must be the shield to defend the good people of The City. You must be the hammer to crush malevolence and apathy wherever it rears its septic tendrils. Even the smallest slip can lead to a downward slide to Evil. Even the tiniest indifference can make society fall prey to the ever sneering Villain In Black, twirling his handlebar moustache whilst tying helpless citizens to the railroad track of indecency and terror!

You must do whatever you can to promote civil order, no matter how small. Case in point, your first mission:

Help an old lady cross the street.

Just remember, even the smallest of tasks can open up a wide, new world of adventure. Good luck.

***

It’s a great summer day here in the city of The City. Partly cloudy, 82 degrees, and everyone’s smiling. Well, almost everyone. At the corner of Second and Elm, deep in downtown The City, an elderly lady stands at the crosswalk, peering with myopic eyes across the way, debating upon the wisdom and safety of crossing.

There is nothing really spectacular about this lady, at a glance. She wears a long dress with a floral print, and has a fuzzy-looking blue shawl around her shoulders, despite the seasonably comfortable temperature. Sensible shoes cover her feet, and she carries both a purse and a bag of groceries. To put this simply, she looks quite like Betty White, sans all the biker tattoos (her roles in movies have her covered in pancake makeup to preserve her wholesomeish image, fyi).

Something does seem a little off, though. I mean, aside from this obviously innocent bluehaired lady being given the brushoff by every passerby on this street. The astute observer may notice three or four people dressed in suit and tie, at random places around this intersection taking particular interest in this scene. They stand quietly, staring, seemingly waiting on something to happen.

Scanning the skies above, a red caped hero wrestles a rather large bear midflight, calling “TO ACTION!” as the pair streaks across the street’s collective vision, trailing smoke. This event is commonplace enough that it warrants only a quick glance and a continuance of the day.

Old lady in need. Creepy generic guys doing nothing. And… Hero Time!

Liz watches the hero fly past, wrestling a bear. The real heroes. The ones with the recognition and fame. The role models. The people who every criminal in the city curses the name of, let alone knows. The heroes Liz was striving to be.

It was times like this that she didn't envy them. Times like this that she was glad she was an almost-nobody. She didn't fancy wrestling a bear. She's rather talk a scared kid out of mugging someone, or get a cat down from a tree, or...

She looked ahead of her, and smiled.

Or helping an old lady cross the road.

You may not be saving the city, but every act of kindness you do makes you a hero to one person. And really, that's what being a hero is all about. Of course, getting your bills paid is also nice...

Excalibat sent Liz a message. The bat didn't speak, as such, and it wasn't exactly telepathy as the bat didn't have a brain. Still, it communicated with her. The bat said "Have you noticed the Agent Smith lookalikes?"

Liz as a matter of fact hadn't, and found it a tiny bit odd, but didn't pay any more mind to it. "It's probably just a bunch of business people or something," she sent back to Excalibat, but even as she did, she had her doubts about it. It sounded slightly more suspicious when she thought it.

Everybody had been ignoring the old lady in need because of the spectacle ahead. Nice job breaking it, hero. She turned her bitterness at the crowd into smugness that she was being a better hero than Mr. Whatshisface in this regard, at least.

Beamer approached the old lady, smiling.

"Would you like any help?"

The elder lady turns and squints at Beamer, smiles, motions for you to come closer. With a gentle Irish accent, she croons cheerfully,

"You're one of those Imperial Fish & Chippers, aren't you? Oh, don't look so surprised. I suppose you'll do, as long as your eyesight's better than mine, missy. At least you're not one of those bothersome Supers..."

As you join your walking partner, the Smiths each take a step forward simultaneously, notice you've made them, and each look in a different direction. One even whistles with forced nonchalance.

Game on.

Liz laughs nervously. It's clear from her accent that she's from the Midlands of England, so she's most likely as fond of London as the old lady is.

"Actually I am on my gap year from U.W.E. How could you tell? It was the cricket bat, wasn't it?"

'I have a name, you know,' Excalibat messaged her. Liz ignored it.

"And I'm with you on the supers. All they care about is making the papers with 'heroics'. They don't care about the little people anymore. These days, they wouldn't even get a cat out a tree if there wasn't a camera nearby."

'Starting to get really bad feelings about the Men in Black' Excalibat messaged Liz. She glanced at them all. The bat was right. Their behaviour was unusual. She had best be on her guard.

"Well," began the hopefully itinerant street-crosser, "I'm headed to the bank, and then back home. If you can help me there, I can catch a cab back. It's only three blocks down."

She smiles, and takes a tentative step forward. "I'm Maddie. You're a sweet one, for a Brit. Help me out and I'll make sure you get something for your trouble."

Maddie seems oblivious to the suited men, but you are not. For every step into the intersection, they move a tiny bit closer. The nonchalant whistler is in easiest view, trying hard not to look like he's paying attention to the two of you and your pedestrianry. Something seems the slightest bit off about him, though: the tune he's whistling seems to be the same five notes, over and over, without so much as the slightest variation nor pause for breath. Additionally, his gait looks a bit jerky.

At the middle of the intersection, pretense is dropped. Whistler sprints forward and throws a very basic straight punch at your face. Excalibat offers an instantaneous warning, allowing you to block the incoming, though this does little to make you feel better about the other two trying to flank.

You're outnumbered, in the middle of a city street, with a charge to protect. A girl could use friends about now.

"I swear. One more blind date and I will..."

Ben's mouth flatlined as he read the text, glancing up periodically as he crossed the street. Amanda was truly a socialite. Part of him regretted ever handing over his phone number, he have asked for twenty bucks instead of a dinner date- she might have left him alone then.

He kept one eye on the people around them, trusting them to know when to cross. This wasn't some backwater, there was order here. People crossed the street like sheep- a deaf guy did fine as long as he paid close attention to the crowd. Ben sighed as the group started to move, pocketing his phone and scanning the group boredom as he crossed. Random man in tights wrestling a bear and emitting more smoke than four semi's? Check. Random old lady seeking to cross street? Check. Random good Samaritan helping her? Check.

Welp, he wasn't needed here. All was well with the world, and this particular street crossing... until a random business man attempted to nail the Samaritan in the face. Racist, definitely. She might have deserved it too- though he got a different feeling when a clone of said businessman shoved past him, and another came at her from the other side. "Hey there buddy, hold on!"

Ben grabbed for the guy that passed him's sleeve, and got elbowed in the face for his troubles. Didn't hurt, or even tickle. Still. Rude.
"Dang. Nosebreaker much?" He lunged and tried to drag the jerk back by the collar of his jacket.

"Of course!" Chimed Liz, "I'm happy to help!"

Liz heard the whistling. It was so unnatural, she couldn't help bit pick up on it. It cut through the ambient sounds of the street and stood alone, out of place. Excalibat was getting increasingly testy, as the urge to lift the bat and block was getting stronger.

One of the suits was coming towards her. The instinct kicked in before he even began to telegraph his attack, which was fortunate as he was fast! She raised the bat to her face just as he punched, and his fist connected with Excalibat, which felt like the equivalent of getting fired fist first into a concrete block. Before the suit could register how many bones in his hand were broken, Liz twirled round, both hands on Excalibat, bringing it up over her head and then diagonally down onto the suit's head, making an incredibly satisfying hollow smacking sound.

She thrust one leg forward, held the bat horizontally, and stayed on guard. She could sense the other suits approaching. She wasn't sure if she could fight them all, but she could sure as hell try.

"Stay close," she warned the old lady.

Maddie seems oblivious to the dangerous situation unfolding in front of her, and in fact looks a bit impatient with the whole affair. She looks into her purse and mumbles something about closing times for the local bank. Everyone else is clearing the street, lights or no. A terrific traffic jam is in place, and while no one is abandoning vehicles just yet, several door locks are clicking. No police in sight, no sirens. Just you and the Smiths.

@Silver Carrot
A clang sounds as Excalibat descends upon the forenoggin of the Smith in front of you, causing his head to droop at an unnatural angle. From inside, you hear the anticlimactic whine of a broken toy and sparks. While still standing, Smith #1 isn't happy. "target zzzt resistant to effortzzt <crackle> internal damage request PLAN B attempting delay zrrt"

Head still at a jaunty angle, it (as we can do away with "he" now) emits a tazer-like discharge from its hands. Well, hand. Only one is undamaged. It takes a defensive posture and backs up, blocking your direct path across the rest of the street.

@The Wanderer
Indestructi-Man has a handful of shirt collar, easy. So easy in fact that its feet try to keep going while its torso remains stationary. Off balance and seemingly very confused, it tries to gather its legs underneath itself. Rotating its head around (way too far) to meet your gaze, you can see it mouthing, "Hey buddy, how about that insert recent sporting endeavor? I like the insert local team."

The third obvious Smith moves to join the damaged one. It has not sparked up its hands as of yet. "...delaydelaydelay..."

"Actually, they were pretty good. Sportsmanship was horrible though... did you see the-" Past it, Ben saw unfriendly tazer hands starting to spark up. No bueno. "Look!" Ben pointed dramatically at the sky. "A super hero!" Without a moments hesitation the less-than-super architect dived past the cookiecutter business man, rolling dramatically past and standing between the oncoming guy and the pair facing Mr. Defibrillator. "Halt! None shall pa-"

A car, dodging about the small fight to get a move on, collided with Ben's backside, causing him to stumble forward quite ungracefully and uncontrollably towards Tazer-Bot 3000. This was going to hurt.

@The Wanderer
The "businessman", with whom you had a dearly intimate but sadly brief discussion concerning The Big Game, spins its head the rest of the way around and gathers its feet back underneath itself. Very noisily, it pursues (and very near catches) you, only to be stymied by the very motor vehicle that lovingly caressed your backside with thousands of chrome-plated p.s.i. just a second earlier.

The Smith with the sparky hand and unnaturally angled head processes the new information out loud, in a staticy, mechanical voice, "Target zzpt acquired additional defensive measurezz zzt. Engage until Big G - ZZzZZZzZzzzzZZtp." Its external monologue was cut short abruptly by the automobile-propelled mass of flesh that was Indestructi-Man. Its one working tazer hand brushes you during the exchange. Its cattle-prod handshake, while not a clean hit, was enough to seriously wake you up and somewhat alter your hairstyle. Despite this, the impact was enough to produce a faint whirring sound from somewhere within its works. It lay still.

Not wishing to answer any questions about a hit & run, the car that nailed you tries to speed off, only to get caught in the tangle of the traffic jam that has surrounded your location.

Meanwhile, the remaining two Smithbots catch up, get their zappy hands on, and switch to Angry Mode.

Cecil was watching the fight with keen interest. He and his buddy were stuck in traffic, but it didn't bother them. This particular buddy helped him set up his Floppy Fists website, and knew this was a chance for Cecil to get his name out.

Cecil looked over to his friend and nodded, trying to look cool. Hoping his friend didn't hear his voice quivering he muttered, "It's time." Quickly, he opened the center console between them and pulled out his 'uniform'. As his friend awkwardly pretended to be very occupied with the fight taking place, Cecil changed to Floppy Fists! Then, with a little concentration, he grew out his fingers. His friend swore under his breath, still amazed at Cecil's abilities. It wasn't until about two minutes that Floppy Fists realized that he made a grave mistake, his fingers were filling the car, and it was getting a little too tight. He joined his friend in the cursing as he panicked, flinging his fingers and arms everywhere. "I don't want to die!!" he wailed. As it seemed as though all was lost, the friend found the door handle, and yanked it open.

Finally, Floppy Fists was able to get himself and his mass of fingers free, noting to himself never to grow his fingers out in tight spaces ever again. Taking a breath that thankfully didn't reek of octopus, Floppy Fist ran towards the fight, sticking his fingers onto cars, to sort of slingshot himself towards the fray. As soon as he made it too the fight, he would attempt to fling his phalanges at the nearest smithbot, attempting to attach and rip the robot's head off.

"NOOO-" The dull thump of hitting the bot was quickly overridden by a blast of electricity that made his eyes shoot open and simultaneously jerk up and away from the downed bot. Ben coughed and felt like he had just exhaled a bit of ozone, and felt his hair. He slowly sat up and touched his hair in... shock. Yeah, he still had it. Ben kicked his unfriendly companions body and winced as his foot made contact with something that normally would break a toe.

"Alright, how about we all go our separate ways and call it good? Yeah. Let's do that." Ben raised his hands in a shrug and slowly backed away before noticing something strange behind the corporate-bots-that-are-different-from-regular-corporate-bots-because-they-are-actually-bots. It was horrific, like a rubbery mass with a person attached. His eyes opened wide and he just stared for a moment. "What are you supposed to be?"

"...angryangryangry..." droned from both remaining Smithbots, replacing the previous chant/command prompt "...delaydelaydelay...". Seems that, as one of their own was fully disabled, operational priority defaulted to removing the immediate threat. Unfortunately, this threat was Indestructi-Man. Both advance to attack, sparky hands at the ready.

In that moment, several things happened:

Smith #1 lines up a punch, an anime-ish ionic charging sound emanating from his chassis, and fires off the beginning of what promises to be a barrage of attacks. This promise remained unrealized as he is immediately wrapped in sticky appendages from behind and immobilized. Pressure begins to stretch its neck out, but not quite enough for a full head removal.

Smith #2 takes a note of this, pausing his attack to see if any more flying tentacle men are coming up on his six.

A nearby manhole cover opens from underneath, hickory-pork scented smoke pouring out from the widening crack. Rising from this portal, the hazy silhouette of a Romanesque warrior ascends to street level, points at finger at the remaining 'Bot, and proclaims heroically, "Sizzle, bitches!".

Smith's synthetic hair catches on fire rather abruptly. The electricity in its hands dies out; its interests apparently now involve running in small circles, vocalizing as a small child might with a spider on its face.

The porcine scented warrior's outline takes a hands-on-hips authoritarian pose, and he continues, "YES! Feel the AWESO... (ack)" A coughing fit ensues, at first embarrassing but then honestly troubling. The smoke fades to a steamy whisp ensuing from his person as he collapses on the ground, apparently trying to give himself the Heimlich (for reasons unknown) but failing miserably. As a true hero might, he keeps trying to finish his Heroic Entrance Speech: "..aewsomeness(snort, hack) of (gag, nosefart) Ack, of BACON!" before exploding into another coughing fit and motioning for the two of you to continue without him.

Upon inspecting the latest arrival to the fight, it is obvious that no Mighty Warrior is he; this battler for Truth and Justice looks more this this guy instead:



Status:

Floppy Fist has Smithobt #1 immobilized but still functional.

Indestructi-Man is standing, presently over the broken Smithbot.

Bacon! has taken himself out of the fight, and is a mess.

Smithbot #2 is very distracted right now, its head aflame.

Maddie is untouched, but slightly annoyed at the delay. She's mumbling something about everyone getting their heads out of their asses and helping her to the bank before it closes. her tone is very sweet, but it could be an act at being polite.

Declare action, gents.

"I'm Floppy Fists," he exclaimed enthusiastically as his fingers wrapped around the well dressed robots noggin. Then he gave a tug, but the head just wouldn't come off. He came to a start, realized that the bot in his hand was about to fire a blaster. That was bad. Floppy Fist used all of his strength to fling his other hands fingers onto the smith bots leg, hoping to pull them out from under maniacal machine.

Suddenly, the delicious sent of bacon filled the air, "Bacon!," Floppy Fists let out involuntarily. He watched as a man, who seemed to be the source of the smell, popped out of a man hole and started the other robot's head aflame. Suddenly, the hero was overcome with a coughing fit. "Oh no," Floppy Fist cried, high on adrenaline. Cecil wasn't planning on looking heroic, he just figured that this 'meat man' could be a helpful ally, as long as he wasn't dead. So, whether or not he was able to grab the bots leg, he was going to try and get to the bacon smelling man, dragging the robot if he had to.