AndyC

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

Actually, I might go for someone I've somehow never played, never even applied for. After all, if MB has his heart set on playing Clark...

Hider

...then turnabout is fair play.

....or I could always bring back my Raven/Starfire buddy-cop team, I dunno.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

@AndyC competing with @Master Bruce. Who'll come out on top

@Sep

Hey, if I'm coming back into the cape-RP sphere, I'm gonna come back swingin.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

Like you didn’t see this coming

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

S U P E R M A N

---

^{“I know the costume isn’t much. My mom’s making a new one for me."}

^{_{Clark Joseph Kent ♦ Journalist ♦ Metropolis}}

O R I G I N S:

---

Clark Kent was always different. For as long as he could remember, he could do things that no one else could do, see the world in ways that no one else could see. While his mother and father always did their best to make sure he was accepted and loved, he never exactly had what could be called a ‘normal’ childhood in Smallville. Whether it was the time he flipped a tractor over as a toddler to find a lost toy, the time in fourth grade when he thought his classmates had all turned into skeletons because he could see through their skin, or the time on his fifteenth birthday when his feet lost touch with the ground and he fell up into the empty sky, Clark was always reminded that even though he was surrounded by people who cared for him, he wasn’t one of them.

Things came to a head when he was eighteen, and one of the largest tornados in Kansas’s recorded history blew through the state, threatening to obliterate Smallville and everyone in it. In what some journalists called a ‘meteorological miracle,’ the tornado stopped dead in its tracks, and then dispersed like it had been blown apart from the inside. While the story everyone gets told is that the weather just changed inexplicably, the town has kept the truth a secret for years: that night, Clark Kent fought the forces of nature itself, and by the accounts of everyone who saw it, he won.

After a long conversation with his parents, Clark left Smallville soon after, partly to protect the people there from out-of-towners asking too many questions, and partly to look for more answers about who and what he really was. For seven years, he’s traveled the world, helping people where he’s needed, and looking for anything to lead him to the truth. Along the way, his drive for truth and passion for justice has developed into a knack for journalism, eventually growing into a budding career as a freelance reporter. Unfortunately, he also developed a tail, as for the last three years, his activities as a “paranormal rescuer” (he’s still working on the name for it) have caught the attention of a rival reporter named Lois Lane. Just recently, Clark has returned to the US, to the bustling mega-city of Metropolis, for an interview at the Daily Planet. The only problem being that once again, Lois Lane is hot on his trail, and there’s only one spot open on the Planet’s staff.

I plan on playing Clark himself (as well as most of the principle cast) fairly close to what you’d expect, but with the expectation that all the pieces aren’t quite in place yet. This will eventually become the Superman we’re all familiar with, but not on day one. He doesn’t know about Krypton yet, he and Lois are rivals, he’s going to screw up and make bad calls and learn and grow into the \S/ before he’s really ready for it. Along the way, I’m hoping to lean into the manic energy of Metropolis, the fun will-they-won’t-they between Clark and his various paramours, and have some high-octane action with some fun disaster scenarios and some (hopefully) fresh takes on his rogues gallery.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Give an example of how you would write your chosen character. Try to focus on simple actions and a sampling of dialogue.

Sample, May be in continuity, we'll see

Before I even reach the lower east side of New Troy, I can hear the crunch of crumbling asphalt with every step he makes, followed by the sizzling of melted pavement.

I hear the crash of glass breaking, the groans and shrieks of metal twisting in his grip.

I hear the screams of people desperately trying to get away, some of them cut short with a sudden gasp, followed by nothing.

And I hear his voice, a pained, hoarse rasp.

"Sssssuuuu-perrrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."

I don't know who or what he is, but he's calling me out, and people are getting hurt. I can't let that happen.

The buildings around me become a blur as I shoot through the air, stopping and starting as I home in on the source of the chaos. Handling sharp turns at speed still isn't easy for me, so more often than not I just cannonball myself down the long straightaways of the city's major streets until I reach a corner, come to a stop, then launch again at a new angle. I'd prefer to just go over rooftop level and fly more directly at the problem, but the last time I tried that, I nearly plowed through a Lexcorp air-train full of passengers, so I find it's better to stay at an altitude where I'm less of a collision risk.

"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."

It takes almost a full forty-five seconds to navigate my way to the source of the commotion. He's made it all the way to Metro Square, and left a horrible mess in his wake. I can see cars that have been melted into slag, buildings warped and buckling as their facades have bubbled and burned away...shadows on the walls that used to be people...

...and I see the monster responsible for it all, shambling out into the center of the concrete-and-steel canyon of Metro Square.

He's wearing the tattered remains of what looks like some kind of hazmat suit, crumpled in a way that suggests it's been fused to his flesh. Most of the suit has been charred and blackened, but I can see patches of its original white, and the remnants of a S.T.A.R. Labs logo on the shoulder piece. Where pieces of the suit have been ripped away, there's a glow of sickly green.

"You called for me, so hear I am," I call out to the monster, trying to get its attention. "I don't know why you've decided to hurt these people, but--"

With one hand, the thing reaches up to its helmet, and rips it clean off. For a moment, the whole world turns green, and my skin starts to feel like it's on fire. My stomach lurches and turns, and it's hard to stay on my feet.

"...good God," I manage, as the green light subsides and I get a look at what was under the helmet. In the center of a pulsing green flame, there's a blackened skull, staring at me with empty eye sockets.

"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." it calls out again, its other arm shakily reaching out towards me. "Ss--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

A blast of that sickly green light erupts from its hands, and before I can react, it engulfs me, sending me tumbling backwards at least a full city block. I tumble end over end, only coming to a halt when I smack, back-first and upside-down, into the side of a garbage truck. After leaving a dent roughly the shape of my head and shoulders, I fall to the pavement, disoriented and sick to my stomach.

"What...what the..." I groan as I struggle to get up, my vision blurry and my muscles screaming.

"Superman!" I hear a muffled voice call my name. Four people in hazmat suits-- no, just two, I'm still seeing double-- approach me. "We know who that is! His name is Dr. Albert Michaels, he's a senior engineer at S.T.A.R. Labs, and he's somehow mutated himself into some kind of living radioactive plasma!"

"I'm thinking of going with 'The Atomic Skull' for a name!" the other suited figure adds. "Sounds pretty epic, right?"

"You can't get too close to him!" the first one says, ignoring the second, "They told us ten meters is instant death for anyone who isn't, well, you."

"Well, I can't just let him irradiate half the city, so I'm going to--" I stop, as I turn towards the two hazmat suits and realize I know those voices. "Wait a minute...Miss Lane? Jimmy?! What the hell are you doing here?!"

Great. Now not only is there a killer radioactive monster on the loose, but Lois Lane has scooped me on the story, so I can kiss that freelance paycheck goodbye. I'll see if I can't pick up a few more night janitor shifts at Lexcorp Tower to make up for it.

"Watching you stop this guy and save the city, what else would I be doing here?!" Lois answers as she helps pull me to my feet.

Meanwhile, I can already see Jimmy loading up another reel into his camera-- an old-fashioned film one so the radiation won't burn out his digital cameras. "Superman vs. the Atomic Skull, now that's a main event! It's a shame that Clark is going to miss this one."

"Oh yeah, my heart just bleeds for him," Lois says, her smirk practically visible from inside the polarized visor of her helmet. "Now go get him, Big Blue!"

For a moment, the painful burning of the Atomic Skull's radiation stings just a little less than Lois having a barb at my expense, but when she pats me on the shoulder, I can't help but notice her hand stays on my arm just a little longer than usual.

"Right," I say, a rush of confidence coursing through me as a grin reaches my face, "You two stay clear and get to safety. I'll try to make this quick."

As the Atomic Skull shambles in our direction, I line myself up in a three-point stance, chunks of debris lifting around me as I shift my gravitational field around me, pinching the gravity behind me and making it lighter in front. I can't quite explain how I know how to do it, but it's almost like squeezing a ketchup packet from one end until the other bursts open.

"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Skull rasps, its arms up and wide, that awful green radiation flaring out from him.

Just as the proverbial gravity 'packet' bursts in front of me, I shove off with my legs and shoot forward, faster than a speeding bullet. Lois said his radiation is instant death for most people. Fortunately, I'm not most people. I just need to tough it out long enough to get him out of a populated area, and then....well, I'll just have to wing it from there.

I crash into him at full speed, reflexively wrapping my gravity field around him to avoid accidentally tearing him in half on impact, and immediately the burning and nausea makes my world spin.

"All right, Dr. Michaels," I say through gritted teeth as I carry him up and out of the city, looking for somewhere safe to land before the radiation sickness makes me pass out. "I'm putting a stop to--"

"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Atomic Skull says my name again.

Then he finally says something else. Something that, even with the horrible radioactive burning, makes me go cold.

"Hhhhhheeeeellllllp......mmmeeeeeeeeeee......."

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

MB, you know who I am, dammit.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

Ooooh. I'll have to think about who I'm interested in (who isn't already taken), but count me in.

KonQuest: a Mortal Kombat-inspired Martial Arts Fantasy RP

In the middle years of their twenty-first century, the people of the Earth Realm have grown accustomed to their own private struggles, their own existential dreads, their own demons and hells that they fight on a daily basis. For most, those struggles are of a mundane variety, their demons and hells figurative. Only a precious few, however, know just how close the Earth Realm is to experiencing demons and hells of a very literal kind...

The Earth Realm is but one of many, and in its opposite Realm, the savage and brutal Outworld, the cunning and despotic emperor Shao Khan plots to grind all Realms beneath his heel. His sinister forces have conquered several Realms to absorb into his own, and now he has his sights set on the Earth Realm, and its billions of souls to consume. Whether it be through his hordes of vicious monsters or his manipulation of dark magics, Shao Khan has laid his plans to subvert and destroy the world of mortal men.

The only thing that has kept his dark armies at bay thus far has been the imposition of the Elder Gods. In order to conquer another Realm, the Gods have decreed the champions of both Realms must compete in the ultimate test of life and death: the Mortal Kombat tournament. Only when one Realm's champions have won ten consecutive tournaments can they lay claim to Konquest.

As of now, Outworld has won the last nine.

In a year's time, the tenth and final tournament between Outworld and the Earth Realm will begin. Raiden, God of Thunder and protector of Earth, is gathering the Earth Realm's greatest warriors in a desperate last defense, calling upon ancient allies, and making deals he would have never considered. Meanwhile, Shao Khan's emissary, the devious sorcerer Shang Tsung, gathers his own forces and schemes to undermine Raiden's champions, hoping to weaken or kill them before they even have a chance to make it to the tournament.

The fate of the Earth Realm hangs by a thread, and those who answer the call of Raiden or Shang Tsung will be tested. And both Raiden and Shang Tsung themselves will be tested as well.

What cost are you willing to pay for victory?

What are the things an evil soul would die for? And what are the things a good soul would kill for?

The tournament draws near. Konquest is nearly at hand.

Prepare for Kombat.

---

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

KonQuest is an RP set in an alternate version of the Mortal Kombat universe. While the driving figures behind each side (Raiden, Shang Tsung, Shao Khan, and a few outsiders like Quan Chi) are the same as they are in the games/movies/TV show/etc, the actual Kombatants will be OCs created by the players and pitted against each other. In this world, there is no 'Chosen One,' no unbeatable champion, no incorruptible hero to single-handedly save the day. The Earth Realm stands or falls based on your decisions, with Raiden attempting to bring the best out of each of his warriors, and Shang Tsung whispering in their ear to bring out the worst.

Players will be allowed to create characters (sorry, Kharacters) fighting for the Earth Realm or Outworld, or potentially outsider factions such as the Netherrealm (at GM's discretion). Heroes, villains, mercenaries, monsters, assassins, soldiers and sorcerers are all welcome. If you prove that you can reliably post with one Kharacter, you may be allowed a second one.

Kharacter Sheet

Kharacter Name:

Race/Species: (Human, Outworlder, Edenian, Tarkata, Shokan, Saurian, etc)

Realm: (Earth Realm, Outworld, other)

Alignment: (Good, Evil, Neutral)

Faction: (Special Forces, Lin Kuei, White Lotus, Shirai Ryu, Black Dragon, Brotherhood of Shadow, or Independent)

Physical Description:

Fighting Style(s): (Your Kharacter has mastered two hand-to-hand Fighting Styles and can use one signature melee weapon)

Elemental Power: (Your Kharacter can manifest energy from their soul to create supernatural effects (or mimic it with advanced technology), typically aligned with a specific element like fire or ice. The YouTuber Cynical Warlock has a great video on how MK created a pretty great elemental magic system completely by accident, but we're going to use it on purpose)

Origins: (Who is your Kharacter, where did they come from, and what do they have at stake?)

Values: (Your Kharacter, even if they are selfish or aloof, has certain ideals or goals that they would be willing to die for)

Desires: (Your Kharacter has certain motivators that they would be ready to kill for, even if they don't know it themselves)

NPCs: (Your Kharacter has at least one person who means a great deal to them, and who may be in danger if an opponent comes after them)

---

TEST YOUR MIGHT

All Kharacters are free to seek each other out and engage in PvP (this is an RP based off of a fighting game, after all). As well, the GM may send agents of rival factions after a Kharacter to test their abilities. In these moments, players are encouraged to communicate with each other on how the Kombat should go, brainstorm fun and creative ways to use their abilities on each other, create lasting consequences for the winner and loser of each fight, and of course, talk copious amounts of trash.

Given the most famous part of Mortal Kombat, there is one other thing that sets this game apart from similar RPs...

---

FINISH HIM!!!

At the end of Kombat, it is entirely possible for your Kharacter or for one of their NPCs to die. Players are forbidden from killing another player's Kharacter or their NPCs without explicit consent from the other player, but if it feels like a fitting story beat, players are encouraged to come up with an appropriate death scene, with the loser reaching some kind of final pathos before the victor performs a Fatality. A good Kharacter might try to dispatch an enemy quickly and painlessly, while an evil or sadistic one might take their time drawing the carnage out as much as possible. In any case, a Fatality should be just as much an expression of your Kharacter as any other part of them.

And if your Kharacter does die, that isn't necessarily the end. If your Kharacter has an NPC, or if you're allowed a second Kharacter, they may take their place and attempt to get revenge, or continue their legacy. And with the Netherrealm involved, there's always the possibility that your Kharacter could be restored to life....though whenever the death-god Shinnok and his minion Quan Chi are involved, there's always a price for that kind of 'miracle.'

---

FLAWLESS VICTORY

This RP will come to its end one year after the IC thread goes live, after which Raiden and Shang Tsung's preparations are complete, and the Tournament itself begins. Kharacters can change factions and even change alignments during the year-long buildup, but once the Tournament begins, everyone is locked in and all bets are off until only the forces of Earth Realm or Outworld are left standing.

Seeking a Western

I'd be down for a Deadwood-style RP, something centered around a small town where the PCs need to interact to achieve their personal goals. Mark me as interested.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

People's Memorial Park (Formerly Xiu Springs Park)
Balya Gora
0900 Hours
29 March, 3030

"People of Espia," Grand General Nikolai Malenkov bellowed, his voice amplified through speakers throughout the park, "you have come here today to witness the People's Justice in action! Today, we bring judgment to enemies of the revolution, to enemies of the people! Today, we deal with those who spread chaos and terror, who spread lies and misinformation! Today, the will of Espia will be done!"

A throng of angry voices roared, thousands of the Espian capital's citizens shouting and pumping their fists in the air. Many had been all too willing to believe Malenkov's bluster, having suffered long under the previous government and wanted a change. Many shouted just to shout, to have some outlet for their rage and their frustration, and didn't care who was suffering now as long as it wasn't them. Many more, however, cheered because they knew the consequences of not cheering. Better to be a spectator of what was about to happen, than to be an unwilling participant.

"Comrades!" Malenkov called to the black-clad officers of Minister Ilyanovich's secret police, standing just to the side of the stage. "Bring forth the enemies of the people!"

As the angry, hungry masses shouted and jeered, a paunchy man with a receding hairline was dragged onto the stage. The prisoner did his best to put on a brave face, all defiance and indignation, until a guard struck him roughly in the gut with the butt of his rifle. He let out a somewhat nasal wail as he collapsed to his knees, drawing another roar from the crowd.

"Jeremy Soo-Won," the Grand General addressed his victim without looking at him, "You have been accused of spreading anti-revolutionary lies and propaganda. How do you plead?"

"This is lunacy!" Soo-Won protested. "I-I'm a news reporter! All I did was report ComStar's message about the--"

A second guard kicked the reporter in the teeth, and Soo-Won cried out, clutching his hands over his mouth. After a few seconds, blood visibly trickled from his fingers.

"You admit to perpetuating a dangerous and anti-revolutionary conspiracy theory," Malenkov pressed, "started by members of the Blakist cult, suggesting that the massacre at the Keahi Township was not perpetrated by the vicious and evil sell-swords the Green Knights, but by our own gallant allies the Crimson Fists in disguise! This notion is not only ridiculous on its face, but makes radical insinuations about the People's allies, and by extension the People themselves! By admitting to this deception, you are an enemy of the People!"

Jeremy Soo-Won was pulled from the center of the stage, taken a few paces back and to the side, where another pair of black-clad secret police officers were waiting for them. Soo-Won's face went white when he noticed there was a large tarp covering the floor where he had been set down, and the tarp already had a collection of dark brown-red stains.

Another victim was brought forward, a young olive-skinned woman with a buzzed haircut, and a wad of gauze taped over one eye.

"Regina Molokovich," Malenkov rattled off her name, "You are accused of using a stolen IndustrialMech, converted into a weapon of terror, and firing upon soldiers of the Espian Guard. How do you plead?"

Molokovich scowled defiantly and spat at Malenkov. While the wad of saliva fell short of the target, the message was clear. The two soldiers that had brought her to the stage quickly descended upon her with a flurry of boots and rifle butts, making sure not to hit her head and end the entertainment too early. Once she had been brought low, they dragged her to the back of the stage next to Soo-Won.

This brought a decidedly mixed reaction from the crowd. Many shouted all the louder, their rage brought to a fever pitch. Others turned their heads and looked away.

"Kai Li Hu," Malenkov addressed the next prisoner as if nothing had happened, "you are accused of aiding and abetting the radical terrorist organization known as the Heavenly Sword, a cult of zealots who would see our world and our People brought back under the oppressive yoke of House Liao. How do you plead?"

"Glory to the Celestial Throne!" Li Hu shouted with fanatical vigor. "Premier Federov is a false ruler, and you are a blustering puppet! Only the guiding hand of Heaven can--"

Like the others, Kai Li Hu was silenced by the heavy-handed guards. This time, the crowd was united in its cheering. While many have secretly harbored sympathies for the Free People's Army, no sane person on the planet had any love for the Heavenly Sword.

One by one, more prisoners were dragged before the mob, and their alleged crimes against the people read aloud. FPA soldiers and sympathizers, teachers and academics who promoted 'anti-revolutionary thinking,' workers caught slacking on their shifts, neighbors who had been reported for not reciting the Pledge of the People's Loyalty during morning reveille or evening curfew. Even a few actual criminals sprinkled in here and there, just to keep the crowd's righteous fury stoked.

This was not merely a public execution. In fact, many of the people brought to this stage would live...but only after they had been thoroughly broken. This was a "struggle session," a political ritual first popularized on ancient Terra in the twentieth century. Rather than merely being shot or hanged, these prisoners were to be humiliated, beaten, subjected to all manner of horrors until they confessed to their crimes, until they swore true loyalty to Federov's rightful rule, or until they died.

The secret police would begin their punishments, but soon after, members of the crowd would be allowed to join in, then people close to the prisoners. It wasn't uncommon for students to turn against their teachers, husbands to betray their wives, children to turn against their parents, and vice versa.

Under Federov's watch, with Malenkov's iron fist bearing down on the people and Ilyanovich's secret police in the shadows, Balaya Gora had become a veritable hell, where fear and paranoia reigned supreme. And too many people had come to believe that the only way to survive in hell was to behave as devils.

Malenkov stepped from the podium, moving to the far right of the stage and stepping onto the tread of the massive tank they had brought out for this ceremony. A hulking beast with a rounded, dome-like turret sporting a pair of wide-bore cannons, the Demolisher was one of many new toys the Espian Guard's benefactor had so generously given them. This was a tank that could kill assault Mechs, and Malenkov had promised to ride it into battle against the Green Knights, and any other 'enemies of the People' he could imagine.

The Grand General waved to the roaring crowd, ready to let the struggle session begin in earnest. He knew most of them hated him, would cry for joy and relief if he died. But as long as he fed them "enemies of the people," they would fear him more than they hated him, and in time, would convince themselves that they loved him.

"People of Espia," he shouted as they rose to a crescendo, "Let the People's Justice be done!"

---

Temporary Headquarters of the Free People's Army
Abandoned Metro Station, underneath the corner of 41st and Mayfly
South Nui Awa
0930 Hours
29 March, 3030

"You're sure this is real?" Councilor Maria Kang asked, watching again the footage of a Hunchback in Green Knights' livery being gunned down by a lance of mechs flying the same colors.

"As sure as we can be," Captain Ryan Taggert answered. "This was delivered to us by our contact within the ComStar compound. We can't find any trace of digital tampering, and our contact promises it's the raw BattleROM footage."

"Of course, we all know how much a promise from ComStar is worth," Commander Suraj Patel remarked. A former Free Worlder, his people had had a long and turbulent history with the Blakists. "We must remember that information control is their lifeblood; believe nothing they tell you, and only half of what they show you."

"If that's the case," Kang mused, "then the original footage of the Keahi Township massacre should be called into question even more. Taggert, tell our contact that the meeting is back on."

"Consider it done," Taggert said. When the news of the massacre first broke, various cells of the FPA were thrown into chaos. Before, many had been pushing to find and recruit the surviving members of Gawain's Green Knights, but were now calling for their blood. ComStar's supposed revelation of a frame-job had calmed some of that, but many still weren't sure what to believe.

"This is not something we should take lightly, Madam Councilor," Patel said.

"Agreed," Kang nodded, "that's why we're not making any promises or signing any deals. Just meeting with the Knights, making sure they're above board."

"I seem to remember Gawain's Green Knights on Governor Xiu's payroll," Patel mused. "Using mercenaries who were in the pocket of our previous oppressors will not go over well."

"The Knights were on Xiu's payroll, but they weren't part of Xiu's regime," Taggert countered. "All reports we have of their actions before the coup were clean. The only civilian casualties on their record were caused by Espian Guard troops working with the Knights, not by the Knights themselves."

"You think we can trust them?"

Taggert considered his answer carefully. "I think we can deal with them. More importantly, I think we can't afford not to deal with them, and they can't afford not to deal with us. We have supply lines they need, logistical support. We have infantry, artillery, and armor we can offer. They have heavy Battlemechs-- and let's not forget, if Stiletto is correct about the after-action reports at the Nui Awa Dam, they have a nuke."

That last part hung heavy over the three de facto leaders of the FPA. A weapon of mass destruction, even a low-yield one, could swing the tide of the war if put in the right place at the right time. It could also leave a stain on their souls forever if things went wrong.

"We need to end this war," Kang stated, "and the Green Knights are our best shot at doing it. I want to meet them face-to-face within 24 hours."

---

Maintenance Sub-Level
Fort Tie Shan
1200 Hours
29 March, 3030

"Hello?" Diego von Kemp called out, his voice echoing down the long, dark corridors. "Is anyone here?"

Diego had gotten into it with one of the older kids, the ones who had come in after them and didn't have parents. They'd grouped together into little gangs, and while Miss Sally and the other grown-ups tried to keep them in line, when the adults weren't looking, the big kids would find any excuse to torment the younger kids like him. This time, during the mid-day recreation break in the yard, he'd stood up for himself and given one of the boys a bloody nose. They hadn't liked that, so they chased him around the yard, threatening to beat his face in.

"Hello-o-o-o?" he tried again, this time more for the fun of making his voice echo than for any actual hope of being heard.

The guards didn't pay much attention to the kids in the fort; they were more interested in keeping the grown-ups from "getting any funny ideas." It was easier than he'd thought to slip out of the yard when the guards weren't looking, but his pursuers got past them just as easily. He knew better than to run down the main halls; another guard would catch him, send him back to the yard, maybe give him a backhand for annoying them. He'd tried to hide in a janitor's closet, but found out it was actually a hatch for a maintenance tunnel, one that led down and down further into the prison.

When Diego heard the older boys also climbing into the tunnels, he kept running, going down until he no longer heard their voices. He had no idea where he was, other than it was somewhere way down, and somewhere too dark.

"Whoa," Diego said to no one as he rounded a corner, the small, narrow maintenance tunnel suddenly becoming a catwalk. The catwalk was old, rickety, and creaked when Diego stepped on it. His foot caught a loose screw and rolled it off, and it was a couple of seconds before Diego heard it hit the ground. Wherever he was now, he was on the top part of some big room, and it was a long drop if the catwalk broke.

Every rational part of his brain, every sensible bone in his body, told him to head back, to find his way back upstairs before the guards noticed he was missing.

The part of him that had crawled around in forgotten mine shafts on Strang's World, the part of him that wanted to know every dark nook and cranny to hide from bullies or sneak up on his sisters, had to know where this led.

Slowly, carefully, Diego inched himself along in the dark, praying to find a light switch somewhere at the other end of the catwalk. He didn't know how long it took, stopping himself short every time the old metal structure creaked, moaned, or shuddered. Eventually, however, he reached the end of catwalk, finding a dusty metal wall, and he clumsily groped for a light with every slow, deliberate step he took.

Finally, after what felt like hours of fumbling in the blackness, he found a heavy switch, and flipped it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with an angry buzz, a handful of service lights flickered on. They were dull and dim, and most could only manage a few seconds of illumination before flickering back out, but what Diego could see made his jaw drop.

This was a loading bay. A big one, like the one on the Clover. People could move all sorts of stuff in a room this big, maybe even Mechs.

At the far end of the bay, Diego saw a pair of huge sliding doors, cracked partway open. And again, he had to know what was on the other side.

Diego slowly crept along the scaffolding, holding onto the railing whenever it looked strong enough to support him, flattening against the wall where it looked dangerous. He reached a ladder well and began climbing down, cursing when he realized the ladder didn't reach all the way down. There was a good five foot drop onto a hard floor, and Diego thought about his choices.

He could climb back up and find another way to the floor. He could head back up and hope he didn't get in too much trouble. Or he could let go at the bottom of the ladder, and risk really hurting himself.

At the bottom of his climb, Diego took a deep breath...and let go of the ladder.

He managed to land on his feet, but his legs gave out underneath him and he quickly crumpled to his back. Diego groaned painfully for a moment, quickly checked to make sure his arms and legs weren't broken, then with the confident sense of invincibility only afforded to children who don't know how fragile they are, he picked himself up and approached the enormous doors.

Why is there a loading bay so far underground? he wondered to himself. What kind of stuff were they moving down here?

When another service light flickered by him, casting a long shadow against a distant wall, Diego got a better sense for how big this place was, and how much trouble he could be in. Maybe the guards or the big kids wouldn't find him, and something else down here would...

He was ten years old, too old to believe in monsters and bogeymen. But he'd heard Pops tell stories of huge animals on some of the alien planets he'd visited. Big crab-like things that lived down in the bottom of the ocean. Winged lizards so big, you could ride them. Worms that dug through the ground and left tunnels you could drive a train through.

His imagination running wild, Diego began to tremble, but he kept moving forward, one careful step after another, until finally he reached the doors.

They were gigantic, easily big enough to fit a Mech through. And while they were mostly closed, 'mostly' at that size meant still more than enough room for him to peer through.

Diego poked his head through the enormous bay doors, and saw a sign. Dimly lit by the service lights, he could barely read it, but the sign was in plain English.

WARNING!

ACCESS TUNNEL 033

UNDER MAINTENANCE

DO NOT ENTER

At the bottom of the sign, Diego saw something that made him gasp: an eight-pointed star, the point on the right side elongated to make the star look almost like an overturned kite. In his old copy of Doctor Banzai's Primer for Elementary History, that logo was the sign of the Star League.

A few more ancient Star League service lights flickered in the distance, showing him a tunnel that stretched on and on into the distance.

"Oh wow," was all he could manage. He'd heard Miss Sally and Miss Cynthia arguing about what they were going to do, what if the guards decided to start hurting them, how they might get out.

This might be the answer they were looking for. He had to get back up to the top levels, to tell Miss Sally what he'd found...

...that is, as long as he could find a way back up off of this floor...

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

I N T E R L U D E

NPDRE Forward Operating Base
North Nui Awa
1800 Hours
28 March, 3030

"What a goddamn mess," Jester 2 muttered to herself as she read the tactical debriefing on her noteputer, detailing the ambush at the Hiyan-Chia Mountain Pass. This operation was supposed to be easy; knock over a company of mercs who weren't expecting anything more than a few angry civvies, then keep the local yokels in line until the cavalry arrived. They had an army at their back, and the "resistance" groups they faced were a joke. Two thirds of Gawain's Green Knights had been wiped out in the initial coup, and they were supposed to be down to a single lance. The Knights were supposed to be on the way out.

So how the hell had they gotten the better of them twice now?

"Excuse me, sir?" the timid voice of one of the local AsTechs came from outside of her tent, with a light tapping on the front flap the closest equivalent to knocking.

"What is it?" Jester 2 growled.

"I, ah, was asked by Captain Albano to ask how long you and your Warhammer were planning to, erm, 'grace us with your presence' before you rejoined your Lance, and--"

The AsTech- a twentysomething blonde girl who always looked like she was trying to defuse a bomb when speaking to her- ducked with surprisingly fast reflexes as Jester 2's noteputer flew past where her head was a split-second before.

"I don't have a Lance anymore, you idiot," Jester 2 spat as she fumbled around inside her tent, looking for the full-face mask she wore to cover her identity from the people of Espia. When she finally managed to pull it over her face, she opened the tent flap and stared the AsTech down. "Haven't you read the reports?"

The ambush in the mountain pass had been a disaster. Stroheim-- or rather, "Yellow Jester"-- had gotten too lost in his gimmick, especially after they'd stomped that village. He was always a creep and an animal, but something had finally driven him fully looney. He led her Lance mates right into a trap, and rather than withdraw until backup could arrive, he'd charged in and gotten them all killed.

She didn't particularly like any of the other members of Jester Lance-- frankly, they'd all been assholes. Not that she was any better; she'd taken part in the carnage just as willingly as the rest of them. But that didn't make them any easier to get along with. She wouldn't be crying for 'Honk Honk' or 'Mister Dimples' or whatever other stupid names 'Jester' had given them. No, what got to her was the fact that if it weren't for her foot actuator acting up...she would've died right along with them.

"N-no, sir! I-I was told anything about your unit is n-need to know!"

"Well," she snarled, "What you need to know is that I'm waiting for Crimson King and Fire Witch to come here, so I can rendezvous with the other Crimson Fists."

The AsTech gulped. "Th-they're coming here?"

"They'll be here within 24 hours," she said, "And they're not going to like it if my Warhammer still has a busted foot actuator."

The blonde girl turned pale, and underneath her mask, Jester 2 grinned. Things might be getting out of hand, but it did make her feel a little better about herself to be able to make these indigs squirm.

"And whose responsibility is it to make sure that the Crimson King and the Fire Witch aren't upset about that foot actuator?" she said, twisting the proverbial knife a bit.

"...th-the maintenance te--"

"Yours," she snarled. "Which means if the repairs aren't done, then all of the repercussions of that are yours as well. Got that?"

"Y-yes, sir," the AsTech stammered.

"Now say it again. Whose job is it?" Jester 2 said, her hand wandering to the laser pistol by her nightstand.

"M-mine! Mine!" the AsTech all but screamed.

"Good, now go," she dismissed the shivering blonde. "And tell Captain Albano-- and use these exact words-- that if he has any more stupid fucking questions for his betters, he can take them up with the King."

The trembling AsTech ran from her tent, and Jester 2 laughed to herself. This 'masked villain' routine was ridiculous, but she did get a kick out of scaring people like this. She could see how Captain Humphr--that is, "Crimson King"-- and the others, could buy into this act.

"Mine...mine..." the girl kept muttering as she ran from the masked mercenary's tent. Tears flecked the corners of her eyes, and a few of the other techs sneered cruelly as she ran past.

Whoever this Mechwarrior was, she was just as much of a psychopath as the stories all said...

"...mine....mine...."

....which meant that she was going to sleep easy when the time came to kill her.

"....mine....mine...."

Since coming to North Nui Awa, the woman in the dirty faded jumpsuit had been any number of things. She'd been a hungry refugee, trying to escape the horrors of the conflict. She'd been a ditzy party girl, looking for some thrills with a hot young man in uniform. She'd been a desperate out-of-work wrench monkey who would do any job for a paycheck. And when backs were turned and guards were down, she'd been making quite a mess.

"....mine....mine...."

Killing NPDRE soldiers and officers had become almost second nature to her now, getting her the supplies she'd needed to escape Baliya Gora, the food and money to survive in a strange city, and eventually the credentials to get onto the NPDRE forward operating base without drawing attention to herself.

She was getting closer and closer to her ultimate target, but it wasn't going to be easy.

"....mine....mine...."

She was thankful that the Crimson Fist Mechwarrior always wore a full-face mask. And that she was close enough to her size that she could pass for her once she put on the flight suit. But it wasn't going to be a simple matter of jumping into the cockpit and strolling away.

There was a long list of checks and procedures that had to be followed. Security measures she'd need to overcome. The Neurohelmet itself was almost certainly neuro-locked to 'Jester 2,' so anyone else putting it on would likely have their brain fried. These were problems, but none were insurmountable. Just like she'd done back on Von Strang's world, if she couldn't figure out a problem herself, she had all sorts of ways to pressure the people who did know to do it for her.

"....mine....mine...."

Lena Von Kemp, 'Wrathchild' of Gawain's Green Knights, slowed her run to the collection of gantries and cranes that made the makeshift Mech bay. Pretending to be rattled and out of breath, she told the other Mech techs to double their efforts, overriding any and all security protocols if need be. When the chief tech asked who she thought she was, using the name of the Fire Witch scared him into compliance.

That itself was a bitter pill for her, since she'd learned the Fire Witch was in the Longbow that had killed her own Wolverine during the coup. But Lena would make sure that both she and this so-called 'Crimson King' would get what's coming to them.

She looked up at the 70-ton Warhammer, and while frightened and breathless on the outside, on the inside Wrathchild was hungry.

Mine.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

HOOOOONNNNKKKK!!!!!

As if in reply to Daschke's demands, the loud blaring horn of a big-rig truck cut through the air, causing no small number of the crewmen to flinch.

"What's that?" Sunny asked from inside a hollowed-out clothes dryer, one of the dozens of hiding places she'd found in the scrapyard where she could watch the Mechwarriors without getting in the way. Pops, who had been keeping her far enough away that she didn't get caught in the brawl but close enough that he could still watch and take bets, grunted.

"Ol' Maxie wasn't kidding," Pops said as the rumbling of huge diesel engines grew into a dull roar, "His boys work quick."

After another blast of the horn, the gates to Uncle Mack's Scrapyard swung open, allowing in a small convoy. The scrappers themselves, still covered in dust and grime from digging through the debris of the Green Knights' battle, mostly rode in on smaller vehicles, dirtbikes and ATVs and buggies, hooting and yelling with triumphant excitement about the haul they'd brought in.

Following behind on a trio of flatbed trucks, was the haul itself.

As the fray in the makeshift Mech bays parted, Colonel Wayne emerged from the Mobile HQ, just as "Honest" Ollie Maxwell poked his head out from the cabin of the lead truck. "Good t'see ya agin, Mister Colonel Sir! We done brought in one helluva catch fer ya!"

"I'll be damned," the Colonel muttered as he approached the lead truck, and Ollie Maxwell clambered out onto the roof of the cabin, then began climbing on top of his prized salvage.

Strapped to the bed of the lead truck, battered and crushed but still in one piece (for the most part), was the Crimson Fists' Catapult. Somehow, though for the life of him Gaius couldn't have guessed how, Maxwell's pickers had managed to dig a 65-ton Battlemech out of the rubble and drag it out from the bottom of the mountain pass.

"Weren't easy, I can tell ya that fer sure," Ollie answered the Colonel's unspoken question, beaming proudly from atop the ruined Mech. "An' I do b'lieve my boys'll be entitled to some proper compensation fer our efforts. But hot damn if this ain't the best scrap we ever got! Reactor's intact, gyro's stable, mosta the in-ternal structure's holdin' up. All she really needs is a few patches here'n'ere, a fresh licka paint, an' spray out the cockpit with a hose, an' she'll be ready fer some action!"

"A total salvage," Pops said, letting out an impressed whistle. "I'll be dipped in shit."

"That's gross," Sunny remarked.

"Maxvell not onlee vonn viz great syalvage," piped in the big burly Marozov from the second truck. "Vee heff pulled as much vyaluwabul eqvipment and veapons from enemy byattulmyechs as vas vorth taking. Enough to fix Mechs, to repair dyamage, to customize Mechs how you vish! All at very reasonable prices, of course!"

Maxwell and Marozov's crews began unloading ton after ton of equipment picked over from the ruined Crimson Fists.

Several tons worth of Battlemech-quality armor, bundles of myomer fiber and actuators, pieces of Mech "bones," enough raw material that an experienced crew of Mech techs with the right equipment could patch up structural holes and even rebuild lost limbs. Pops saw plenty of spare engine and gyro parts in the mix as well, and his mind began turning thinking of ways to tune up the Green Knights' machines.

The haul of weaponry wasn't half bad, either. Partial salvage on a PPC and an LRM launcher, full salvage on pair of medium lasers, a flamer, two SRM launchers, even the massive autocannon from the Hunchback, with spare parts from the Mechbuster's cannon as well.

"Not bad, Mister Maxwell, not bad at all," Colonel Wayne said, clearly getting plenty of ideas of his own. "I want a full inventory of the salvage, and then we'll discuss the best way to split everything up. Chief!"

Deck Chief Sol Aadil, a wrench in one hand and someone's lapel still in the other, looked up. "Sir?"

"Coordinate with Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Marozov on where to store the salvage while we negotiate. Green Knights?"

Looking over the scene of the brawl, the Colonel scowled. "Since we don't have a functional brig to administer Level 1 disciplinary action at the moment, we'll have to make do with something more short-term, but which will still get the point across. Ten lashes for everyone involved, before the day is out. Dismissed."

As the crewmen involved in the fight sullenly began to line up, Sonny tugged on Pops' overalls.

"Why's the Colonel being so mean to them?" she asked. "I thought he was happy about getting all this stuff!"

"I'm sure he is," Pops nodded, "But he's got to keep the peace, even if that means being hard on the people under his command sometimes. Besides, sticking our Mechwarriors in some rusty shack for a week would kill our morale way more than a few welts and bruised egos. This way, they can take their licks for acting out of turn, then still get to celebrate their win after they're done."

"Awright, boys, git the hose an' let's open 'er up!" Maxwell shouted as he started to pry at the cockpit of the Catapult.

"Now c'mon, squirt, let's go find somethin' else to do for a bit," Pops said, pulling Sunny out from inside the hollowed-out dryer. "You don't need to be seeing what's in there."

Rise of Rasalhague

"You stupid little--get offa me!" Remy snarled inside his cockpit as a det-pack went off underneath his Mech's right arm. The infantry trooper hadn't positioned it well enough to damage the actuator, so it did little more than blast off a few pocks of armor, but the fact that these ground-pounders were even on him in the first place chapped his ass something fierce. And it wasn't exactly a party on his stomach, either.

Twisting the Firestarter left and right, rapidly throwing the Mech's throttle from full-speed to full-reverse, swatting across the 35-tonner's chassis with his arms, Remy tried to shake the jump-troopers off. While they were like fish in a barrel during their initial descent, rooting the rest of them out had been a lot more difficult, as they'd gotten into cover and a few had managed to outflank him. If he'd been a more dedicated Light 'Mech jock, he probably would've been able to avoid the trouble, and could've used the Firestarter's speed and agility to put himself into a better position. But Murder One had always been a heavier girl in all of her past lives. He was used to wading into the thick of it and letting his guns and armor do the work.

Still, no time like the present to learn some new tricks.

Bracing himself from within his cockpit, Remy deliberately threw the Firestarter backwards, his stomach lurching up into his throat as the 'Mech toppled over onto its back. On impact, he was thrown hard against his command couch, and alarms began blaring, but as soon as he confirmed none of his bones were broken, he grinned. Any poor bastard clinging onto the Murder One's back would've been squashed flat.

Torquing hard on the control sticks and straining the Mech's gyro, he was able to get his Firestarter to roll over onto its front, crushing more troopers under its weight. 35 tons wasn't much mass to throw against another Battlemech, but against an 80kg human being, it might as well have been the weight of the planet.

Using the Mech's arms to push itself up and get its legs underneath it, Remy got Murder One back to a standing position and began looking for any survivors. Sure enough, a single infantryman was trying to crawl away from him, dragging himself by one good arm while his mangled legs hung limply.

"Lucky little bastard, surviving that," Overkill said over his external speakers, before pointing the arm-mounted Flamers at him. "Well....maybe not that lucky..."

With a loud FWOOSH and another sharp spike of heat inside the cockpit, it was done. "All clear, boss," he chimed in to the rest of the lance.

Remy looked at the aftermath of the battle, and couldn't help but wonder what the hell these pirates thought was so damned valuable to be worth getting wiped out like that. Most of the pirates he'd ever encountered weren't exactly the type to stick around for a fair fight, much less one against an overwhelming force. Not just that, but they had a lot more hardware than expected- artillery, jump troopers, even a damn Hunchback. He was pretty fairly convinced these guys had more going on than your average pirate band.

On the other hand, they'd also tried to use infantry to engage a Firestarter, and Remy couldn't have imagined a stupider move, so maybe he was giving them too much credit.