Agent Orange

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

They call it the beautiful game for a reason.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

Morden, Byrd, and Dutch are going to lecture me.

@Gowi

I'm going to lecture what now?

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

NEAR PERRY, FLORIDA
MARCH 21ST 21:44 PM

It had been seven hours on the Greyhound bus and Greg Saunders, sitting in the back, had finished his sandwiches, his Cokes and his magazines. He’d also smoked most of his cigarettes during the two hour layover in Tampa. He was bored, in short, but he didn’t want to fall asleep. He hated sleeping in buses, or any other kind of transportation really. Greg preferred to be alert.

He rubbed his face, sighing.

“Come on, mamacita, I know a good place in Tallahassee. Real nice beds. We can get to know each other a little.”
“No, thank you.”

A man and a woman, a few rows to the front of the bus.

“Ah, come on. What’d you gonna do, huh? Wait around for the bus?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s no fun. C’mon,” he said as he pawed at her from across the aisle.
“Stop it.”

Greg’s ears perked up and he sat forward to observe the scene.

“C’mon! You’re pretty, you know that?”
She was. Greg guessed she was early thirties, Hispanic. She wasn’t a knockout, but she was pretty.
“They got a great thing for kids, too,” the man looked to the woman’s son. Eight years old, sleeping with his head in his mother’s lap. “He has some fun, we have some fun, huh?”
Her face wrinkled in disgust. But the man didn’t give up. He ran his hand through his slicked up, greasy hair and gave her a smile that was supposed to be charming. It didn’t work.
“Hey, I said, c’mon.” He grabbed her arm.
“Stop it.” Her son was beginning to wake up.
“We’ll just have a little fun, that’s all.” He pulled on her arm, trying to force her into a kiss. She resisted. “Just a little party, just the two of us. Or he can watch, if you want.”
He kept tugging her arm. “Is that what you want, huh? Dirty little girl.”
“Stop it.”

With his other hand, he reached in his pocket and took out a knife, holding it close to his face. It glinted in the dark. “Listen, bitch.”
She tried to pull her arm away. The other passengers were asleep – or pretended to be.
“Do you want me to cut you? Or are we gonna have a little party?”

“You can party with me.” Greg Saunders took the punk’s head and smashed it into the seat in front of him. The knife fell to the floor. The other passengers, ‘suddenly’ awake, gasped. The driver wondered whether he should stop the bus.
“Listen, kid,” Greg said. The man’s arms flailed about in defense, but Greg grabbed one and snapped it to the man’s back.
“Imma cut you, you fucking grandpa bitch.”
“Anyone want to grab the knife?” Greg looked to the passengers. One followed instructions.
“Good. Now, listen, kid. I can either put you face first through the window, or the driver is going to stop the bus and you can leave nicely.” He twisted the man’s face to look at the woman. “After apologising of course.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
Greg slammed the punk’s head into the seat again. “I’m sorry?”
“I said fuck you, you wrinkled ass cunt.”
“Now, that’s not a very nice word.” The head went against the seat again. “Want to try again? I can go all night.”
The man struggled against the hold, but it was useless.
“Alright.”
“What’s that?”
“Alright. Sorry.”
“Good, driver?”

The driver took the bus out to the outer lane and then stopped.

“You ready?” Greg relaxed his hold. The punk nodded. “Let’s go.”
He dragged the man through the aisle, letting him go just before they reached the door. Free, the man’s first act was to turn and try to sock Greg. But the old cowboy knew that was coming. He caught the punch, threw it to the side and then kicked the thug straight in the stomach. He fell ass backwards onto the highway.

“Nice try, kid.”

The door closed, the passengers erupted in cheers. The bus drove away.

Greg Saunders smiled, nodded, accepted a few of the handshakes and walked back to his seat at the rear.

Tipping the hat over his face, he closed his eyes.

Now he could sleep.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

Cool cool cool, I was just wondering. @Gowi @Lord Wraith

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

SARASOTA, FLORIDA
MARCH 21ST 13:06 PM

“I’d like a ticket to Grand Junction, Colorado, please.”
“Sure, thing, sir,” the Greyhound ticket vendor replied as he sat up a little to look at Greg Saunders more closely. “You’re not bringing any luggage, sir? It’s a long ride.”
“Won’t need it.”
“Alright. Well, bus leaves in about an hour, sir.”
Greg Saunders nodded, taking the ticket. As he turned to walk away, the ticket vendor spoke up again.
“I’m sorry, sir, but do you mind if I ask why you want to go to Colorado?”
Greg arched an eyebrow.
“Well, I mean,” the vendor hesitated at first, but then pushed through. “Sir, I imagine you’re as old as my grandpa and he’d hate to sit in a bus for three days, almost four. Honestly, I don’t think he could take it.”
“I’ll be fine, son. Thanks for the concern. I’ll just be visiting some old friends. They’ll take care of me.”
“Well, alright, sir, I hope you have a good trip.”
Greg tipped his hat. “Thanks.”

‘Old friends’, well, that was one way of putting it, Greg thought. He pulled out the letter from his shirt pocket and read it over again. Jimmy Leong, that son of a bitch, sending a letter all the way from China. Greg chuckled at that. He didn’t so much laugh at the contents though. Turned out Jimmy had a granddaughter still living in the States – the only part of the family left that hadn’t emigrated back to China with the rest of Leong’s – and now she looked to be in trouble. She hadn’t contacted any of her family in days. No calls, no e-mails, not a single Facebook update. A call to the police had just gotten Jimmy laughs. Sworn in officers of the law imitating Mickey Rooney, calling him a ‘fucking chink’ before hanging up. It was a disgrace.

Greg Saunders sighed, folded the letter again and walked into the small store in the bus stop’s hall. He picked up a few Cokes, some sandwiches and a few magazines. At the register, the elder cowboy got a strange look from the woman behind the counter, but she was too busy with her smartphone to engage in conversation. Just another weird old guy, she posted to her Twitterfeed while ringing him up. Look who lost his way to the rodeo.

Just as he was about to pay, Greg said: “Can you give me a pack of Chesterfields with that?”
“We don’t carry those, sir.”
Greg looked surprised. “You don’t have Chesterfields?”
“Never even seen ‘m. I’ve got Newports, if you want.”
Greg nodded. “And a lighter too.” He picked out a silver Zippo. “Thanks.”

As he left the store, Greg Saunders took out a cigarette and lit it. The first drag sent him into a cough. The second felt like coming home.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t smoke in here.” It was the salesgirl.
“Why not?”
“It’s the law, sir.”
“Since when?”
She rolled her eyes. “Only like the last ten years or so.”
“I haven’t smoked in thirty.”
“Then why start up again?”

He shrugged.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

<Snipped quote by Agent Orange>

I suppose I’m not sure exactly what you mean. Do you mean giving or receiving? The way I’ve always done it back when I was a player was to learn off Byrd Man, Eddie Brock, Bounce, Morden Man (Union Jack), and Master Bruce’s posts by reading them and trying to get a similar voice as they had. I asked a few of them through private messages about specific advice and tips which worked out swimmingly for me. Though I obviously still have problems myself (my White Tiger post has some run-on’s and fluidity of written language issues for example). I love doing these games because I keep constantly learning whilst having fun.

@Gowi

Both, I guess. Like you said, there's some stuff here and there in your posts and others - run-on's, repeating certain words, purple prose - that people tend not to see until they're pointed out. There's a lot of stuff in my writing I didn't catch until an editor called me on it (and who keeps calling me on it) and there's probably stuff I'm still not seeing. Like the fact I wrote stuff three times (four times including the last).

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

So I'm enjoying the IC right now and I'm wondering what the etiquette is here on giving writing tips?

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

Grazie mille, Gowi.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

SARASOTA, FLORIDA
MARCH 21ST, 11:32 AM

It wasn’t right.

It was supposed to be cold in March. It wasn’t cold in Florida.

Greg Saunders sat out on his porch with a pitcher of lemonade, his newspaper and a grimace. While he had to admit the sun’s rays felt nice, warming his leathery old face as they did, they were not particularly welcome. He preferred New York. It was cold, sure, but didn’t that make you look forward to the spring even more?

He was sure it did.

“Hey, Mr. Saunders,” a couple of the neighbourhood kids said as they walked past, carrying makeshift bats and a ball. He waved back to them before turning back to his newspaper. It was the usual story. Superheroes, supervillains, now this HYDRA business again. The Red Skull; it sounded ridiculous.

Did anyone still bother to stop the everyday criminal?

Greg looked at his watch and sighed when he noticed it had only been two minutes since he had last looked. He fidgeted some in his chair. A group of middle age women walked by. Or rather, speed walked by. Greg raised an eyebrow and shook his head. What happened to walking to get from A to B?

This used to be the point where his wife told him to stop moaning. To enjoy life. Wasn’t the sun just perfect?

It’s supposed to be cold, he’d say. She’d laugh.

“Hey, Mr. Saunders, I got a special one for you today.” It was the mailman, coming up the lawn. “It’s all the way from China, can you believe that?”
“Thanks, Toby,” Greg replied, accepting the envelope. He looked on the back. It was a familiar scrawl, even if he hadn’t seen it in twenty years. It read ‘Jim Leong’.
He moved to open the letter, when he noticed Toby was still standing there, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“A man’s mail is a private affair, Toby.”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Saunders,” the mailman replied, a little surprised. “Sorry about that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again, Toby. And don’t worry, I’ll probably tell you all about it then.”
The mailman smiled and waved as he left. Greg nodded, waited till Toby had really moved on and then opened the letter.

When he’d finished it, Greg carefully folded it twice and placed it in his shirt’s front pocket. He got up, took the lemonade pitcher back to the kitchen and threw the paper in the trash. Out of a kitchen drawer, he took a revolver and tucked it in the back of his jeans, under his shirt. He picked up his gloves, his hat and a red bandana, which Greg tied around his neck. He stepped outside and closed the door of his house behind him. When he’d put the key under his doormat, he turned to face the sun.



Then he started walking.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

| Identity |
Greg Saunders, the Vigilante.

| Attributes |
None. Greg Saunders is an old man with a decent right hook and some marksman skills, but that's it.

| Origin |
Greg Saunders was born in New York City on a cool November day in 1941 to Mort and Thelma Saunders. Tragedy struck quickly, as just a few short months later, Mort was one of the first American soldiers to be killed in action in the Pacific theatre of war. Thelma was left to raise the baby alone, but fortunately, Mort's father Pat came to her aid. He moved in with the family of two, providing money and care.

Pat Saunders had been a frontiersman, a minor legend as a gunslinger and deputy sheriff that later turned to acting in Westerns during the early years of cinema. A rather uneventful career, it must be said, but one that would shape most of Greg's youthful imagination: Pat loved showing his old films to his grandson (he also taught him a few things about guns). Especially inspiring to Greg was a short cowboy flick entitled Vengeance of the Vigilante.

In the film, the titular hero covered his face with a red bandana and meted out justice to those who killed his family. Was it any surprise when a twenty-five year old Greg Saunders donned the same disguise when hoodlums severely beat his grandfather? The thugs had been dealing drugs and accosting women and Pat had felt it necessary to say something. For beating his grandfather and mentor into a coma, Greg - calling himself the Vigilante - dismantled the entire gang and handed them over to the police.

In the years afterwards, Greg - now running his own small maintenance shop - would don the disguise time and time again. An urban cowboy working outside the confines of the law. He even picked up a sidekick for a while, Jimmy Leong aka The Chinatown Kid. Together, they became fearsome foes against injustice in the working class neighbourhoods of New York. Their fame was local, the only tangible evidence of their existence a short profile piece in The New York Times. That, and the lives changed of those they'd helped.

Shortly after his sixtieth birthday, Greg Sanders left New York - and the Vigilante - behind. By then, he had done well for himself. He was a respected man in the community, had run a good business, married a loving wife (Marie) and raised a good son (Pat, Jr.). He retired along with his wife to Florida (her idea). She passed away a few months ago, the victim of an inoperable brain tumour.

Greg Saunders is well into his 72nd year on the planet.

He is tired.

And he just got a letter from The Chinatown Kid.

| Goals |
Let's just say I've got a story I want to tell.

| References |
None, besides, y'know, Byrd.

I can offer this, tho:

It wasn't right.

SARASOTA, FLORIDA
MARCH 21ST, 11:32 AM

It wasn’t right.

It was supposed to be cold in March. It wasn’t cold in Florida.

Greg Saunders sat out on his porch with a pitcher of lemonade, his newspaper and a grimace. While he had to admit the sun’s rays felt nice, warming his leathery old face as they did, they were not particularly welcome. He preferred New York. It was cold, sure, but didn’t that make you look forward to the spring even more?

He was sure it did.

“Hey, Mr. Saunders,” a couple of the neighbourhood kids said as they walked past, carrying makeshift bats and a ball. He waved back to them before turning back to his newspaper. It was the usual story. It was all superheroes and supervillains.

Did anyone still bother to stop the everyday criminal?

Greg looked at his watch and sighed when he noticed it had only been two minutes since he had last looked. He fidgeted some in his chair. A group of middle age women walked by. Or rather, speed walked by. Greg raised an eyebrow and shook his head. What happened to walking to get from A to B?

This used to be the point where his wife told him to stop moaning. To enjoy life. Wasn’t the sun just perfect?

It’s supposed to be cold, he’d say. She’d laugh.

“Hey, Mr. Saunders, I got a special one for you today.” It was the mailman, coming up the lawn. “It’s all the way from China, can you believe that?”
“Thanks, Toby,” Greg replied, accepting the envelope. He looked on the back. It was a familiar scrawl, even if he hadn’t seen it in twenty years. It read ‘Jim Leong’.
He moved to open the letter, when he noticed Toby was still standing there, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“A man’s mail is a private affair, Toby.”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Saunders,” the mailman replied, a little surprised. “Sorry about that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again, Toby. And don’t worry, I’ll probably tell you all about it then.”
The mailman smiled and waved as he left. Greg nodded, waited till Toby had really moved on and then opened the letter.

When he’d finished it, Greg carefully folded it twice and placed it in his shirt’s front pocket. He got up, took the lemonade pitcher back to the kitchen and threw the paper in the trash. Out of a kitchen drawer, he took a revolver and tucked it in the back of his jeans, under his shirt. He picked up his gloves, his hat and a red bandana, which Greg tied around his neck. He stepped outside and closed the door of his house behind him. When he’d put the key under his doormat, he turned to face the sun.



Then he started walking.