Hound55 — Roleplayer Guild

T H E   A B O D E   O F   T E D   K O R D
Present Day, Around an Hour Ago   |   Boston, Massachusetts

Ted laid out his latest completed work across his workbench, as unimpressive as it appeared.  It looked like a plain spandex suit with navy blue beetle shaped piping across the neckline, but this undersold the effort involved.  Beneath the spandex, three layers of metallic mesh sandwiched a thin layer of Nomex – a fire retardant material often used in firefighter and auto racing suits – to the surface, and a layer of PVC to insulate his skin from the wiring and circuitry he had running through his outfit.  Particularly his sleeves, which had more convoluted wiring than you’d find behind his father’s TV.

His cowl had a clasp that could only be removed when contact to the circuitry that went through the ring finger on either hand was made with the clasp.  But it was the goggles on his cowl were a real work of genius.  Putting the side of his index finger from either glove he could toggle through numerous different view settings, including magnification, access to the ultraviolet and infra-red spectrum’s of light, night vision and a wide range of others…

…which were frankly far too confusing and disorienting for him to likely use in the field.  But it was still cool that he had access to it.  It was frankly, rather typical for him to reach beyond his grasp.  Or grasp beyond his reach.  However that saying goes.

His B.B. Gun was a point of pride as well.  He’d come up with an entirely non-lethal weapon to use in the field, and the best thing was it could never be used against him, because it required contact with the circuitry within the inner trigger finger of either glove.

But by far his greatest pride and joy was the Bug.

It was also the thing most likely to give him away, as well.  It’s hard to use an amazing all-terrain vehicle, as distinctive as the Bug was out in the field when you had patented an extremely similar vehicle for use in extra-planetary exploration.  Even if you did keep the finished product under wraps from the general public.  The patent office still had the paperwork for 8647-342 in the archives if anyone really knew what they were looking for.

Which is why Ted decided that it would be for the best if he restricted his use of the Bug to emergency situations and for low-profile transportation only. 

Which sounds strange when talking about a revolutionary new aircraft/submersible vehicle of its size, if it weren’t for the whisper quiet anti-gravity engines, the stealth panelling underneath and the fact that the whole thing was powered by his new solar panels.

In fact the new solar panels came from his requirements to make the Bug work in the first place.  Chalk up another great innovation to the space program. 

If he opened the wings up to allow the Bug to fully charge even the auxiliary panels under the Bug-wing areas, presumably above cloud cover, the Bug could provide itself with enough power to remain in the air in perpetuity, even in winter.  Of course, having a strange unmanned vehicle constantly circling over Boston was not a sensible thing to do.  With or without stealth panelling.  You leave anything up there long enough and inevitably something would go wrong with it and prove the dictum that “what goes up, must come down again”... and prove it in a messy way with complaining locals and burning wreckage that’s melting their kids’ playhouse in the backyard.  Assuming some military craft didn’t discover it, worry that it was a threat of some kind, and blow it out of the sky.

Knowing his luck, the government would probably try and claim it was his fault when they did just that and left shrapnel and debris raining down on the general population thousands of feet below.

So yeah, emergency situations and low profile transportation only.  At least for the time being.

Suddenly, the radio chirped.  A police code which Ted had memorized from a list he’d found online was uttered, and given a high priority rating.

A gang of men had been seen hanging off of the Palmer Meditech Center.  Twenty six floors up.  The men were armed, and a cordon was being established as police had little idea how to deal with such a unique robbery.

Ted looked at his equipment sprawled across his workbench and the Bug behind him.

“Practical testing phase?”  He thought to himself.

The radio chirped again, revealing that the robbers were wearing full body suits that may be intended to shield from radiation.  Suspects may be stealing medical grade radioactive materials.

Dozens of worst case scenarios flashed across Ted’s mind as to what their intentions could be.

Ted grabbed his suit and B.B gun.  Practical testing phase.

A   H I G H - R I S E   O F F I C E
Earlier   |   Location Undisclosed, New York City

Fleeter leaned in the doorway swirling his glass of rye, ice clinking gently against the sides as he addressed his prospective client.  With his slicked back hair and his 60s styled Brooks Brothers suit he paused for effect as he often was wont to do.

“You called, I’m here.  What are we moving this time?”

The presumption amused the man in green as he sat in his high-back chair, facing away from the door.  Contemplating the city laid out before him, beyond the one-way multiplex glass.

“You can can the slick act, you’re done and you know it.”

“What are you talking about?”  Fleeter replied, straightening up, but he knew what was coming.

“What am I talking about?  You created a Big Belly Burger advertisement where a kid was mourning his dead father, upset that he didn’t have anything in common with him, until his mother pointed out that both his father and he liked Big Belly Burger.  It was so transparently a cash in on bereavement, that it failed.  A failed American fast food ad campaign.  I wouldn’t have believed it was possible, if I hadn’t seen it myself.  You’re done, ‘Frank’.”  He chuckled, dropping Fleeter’s birth name, and with it the confident smile seemingly omniprescent on the ad-man's smug face.  The man in green did his homework.

“‘Farley Fleeter’.  How transparent can you be?  You landed on ‘Farley’ so it would sound like two surnames, eh?  Make it look like some big partnership when you took out ad space for your small start-up advertising agency, didn’t you?  Always so much focus on appearances and style over substance.  Looks to me like the only chance you have is if some huge client for some reason went out and took a flier on your agency…”

“...but that would only happen if you were cashing in a chip on some really big favour.”  The man in green spun in his chair, a wide grin spread across his face.  Farley Fleeter had his nuts in a vice and he knew it.

He swirled his glass once more and downed the contents entirely.

“So what do you need..?”

F A R L E Y   F L E E T E R   A D V E R T I S I N G   A G E N C Y
Present Day, Fifteen Minutes Ago   |   Madison Avenue, New York

M A D M E N - 

A term coined in the late nineteen fifties to describe 
the advertising executives on Madison Avenue.

They coined it.

Well…  Ok, not really…  We can’t back that up.

I mean James Kelly used the term in his book The Insider… 
and it was used once in an article back then.

...but that was also written by James Kelly.

So you know it wasn’t really a thing that people said 
or anything.

But I mean, at least it had a movie made about it...

Michael Mann and Pacino teaming up again post-Heat…  
Russell Crowe…

Oh, wait, no.  Disregard that.  That was based on 
The Man Who Knew Too Much.  By Marie Brenner.

Huh…

You know what…  If you can move past the whole 
Mad Men name explanation thing, that’d really be 
great, I mean we have some good stuff coming up 
and we worked really hard on it...

Like, we sunk $3 million in the pilot episode…  
So we’re kind of “All-in” on this...

There’s some great scenes coming up with Farley Fleeter 
kicking back in a pretty comfy chair, in a cool suit, 
smoking and drinking rye whiskey on the rocks.  Like a boss. 

Crazy hot women swanning around everywhere.  
I think you’ll like it.  I mean Christina Hendricks, C’mon now…  
Am I right..?

So you know, if you can just move past the name thing, 
I promise you there’s some good stuff coming…

Thanks.  Really appreciate it…

Fleeter pushed past the receptionist's cube full of intent and smoking like a chimney.  She tried to stall him with a conversation, but he was in the office before she could complete a word.

The office looked sparse with much of his subordinate’s stuff packed in boxes on top of the expensive mahogany desk where the cognac finish wasn’t left exclusively to the bottle in his drawer.

“I have a solution.  Round up everyone who’s left into the conference room in 10 minutes.  And I mean everyone.  Regardless of role.”

He grabbed a bottle of bourbon from one of his underling’s boxes, and quickly filled a glass.

“We’re about to save this company.”

P A L M E R   M E D I T E C H   C E N T E R
Present Day, Now   |   Boston, Massachusetts

Ted Kord took great care manoeuvring the Bug on its inaugural flight.  He refrained opening up the engines, he held himself back from any aerobatics.  The barrel roll, kulbit and Pugachev’s Cobra would have to wait for another day.  Today was about discreetly and quickly getting from A to B, and when he finally got to the scene, he maintained a high altitude over police and media helicopters as he assessed the scene.

The top windows of the building were opaque and he couldn’t make out figures, but he could see a single swinging beam of light from where a lantern or torch was being shone.  He assumed there were at least 6 crooks in there - possibly as many as double that – armed with, whoknowswhat.  Not the best intel.  With a finger to his visor he cycled through view settings until he could make out the heat signatures within.

Ten.  Weaponry didn’t really show, but judging from their postures and stances they were holding some form of small arms.  A bit bigger than regular handgun, but smaller than assault rifles.  Uzis perhaps?  Maybe.  Sawed-off shotguns was also a possibility.  And in this world of Spider-Men and Wonder Women who knows, maybe those firearms were something even more modified and creative.

A single torch?  Marking an exit?  All of the lights were still off in the top floors of the building, the power cut from below by the authorities.

Ted checked the controls on his wrist were working, moving the bug slightly closer to the building before stopping, satisfied the remote controls worked.  He ran to the back of the bug, opened the hatch and tapped his hip to check the BB gun was still there.  He grabbed his sky wire and looked down the hatch at the lights of the city and rooftops far below.

“Well, if I screw this next bit up, at least I won’t have to worry about what I’m going to do for long…”
The Blue Beetle descended upon the Palmer MediTech Center from the night’s sky as if clinging to a thread of gossamer, B.B. gun at the ready.

F A R L E Y   F L E E T E R   A D V E R T I S I N G   A G E N C Y
Present Day, Now   |   Madison Avenue, New York

“So what’s all this about, Mr Fleeter?”  A buxom secretary asked.

Fleeter walked over to the open bar, poured himself a drink and turned to the full assembly.  6.  6 people left from his entire agency.  He’d ask himself if things had really gone that bad, but facts in evidence made the question redundant.

“I have a plan to get this agency back on its feet.  It will require bending some rules…”

He hesitated.  No, now was not the time to bend the truth with these people.

“—no.  Breaking some rules.  Some laws.  But what I can offer you all is a piece of what remains.  Everyone present and participating will become senior partners of Farley Fleeter.  For most of you, that would be a significant promotion.  Many of you, an opportunity you’ll likely never see again given your current career paths.”

He had a copy boy, 2 receptionists, a new junior executive who was always the last to hear news (hence why he hadn’t jumped ship yet), a man in his forties who had worked in the mail room for fifteen years, and 2 phone bank workers.

“There is never reward without risk though.  And as I said, choosing to stay involved from beyond this point will make you a criminal.  Or at least, directly involved with a crime.  Anyone who wants to leave, can do so now without any repercussions.  If you feel you can’t be involved, this is the moment to leave.”

He looked around the conference room.  The six were steadfast.  Waiting to see where this opportunity would lead.  He was right, many of these people would never get another opportunity like this.  And even the junior executive would have to fix his career trajectory from the ashes after having worked for an agency which self-destructed so spectacularly.  These people had little and would do what they could to buy into a piece of the pie.

“Good.”  Fleeter added, swirling his rye.

“So what’s the plan?”  The secretary asked.

“I received word from a big potential client, what he needs is for something to be removed from the market.  Competition to be cleared at an expo, at least until he can make up the ground.”

“We’re stealing a product?  What is it?”

“It’s some kind of ersatz faux Iron Man suit called the B.E.E.T.L.E produced by Kord Omniversal.  We have to take it before it gets revealed at the upcoming New York Expo.  There’s no way we can take it before it hits New York, so we have to wait until it gets to the Expo itself, but before the big demonstration.”

“An Iron Man suit?”

“Not exactly.  But something like that.”

“So this client—”

“Is big enough that they’re going to be paying the bills around here for a while?  Yes.”

There was a pause amongst all in attendance as they thought about the money such a client could bring in.

“So how do we get in?”

Fleeter raised his eyebrows with some hint of surprise at the question, before the junior executive chimed in.

“We’re advertising agents.  We generally get passes because it’s all part of the courting process.  They want our interest as much as we want theirs.  Can we get 7 passes though, Fleeter?”

Frank nodded and took another gulp from his glass, before putting it down and lighting up a cigarette.

“OK.  So access is taken care of,” said the copyboy, “but how exactly are we going to take this suit without getting recognized?”

“Glad you asked.”  Fleeter bent down below the level of the table and picked up a large cardboard box which had been waiting for this very question.

“Farley Fleeter has long been known as a company with a certain sense of style.  A certain je ne sais quoi that is as recognizable in its class and distinction as its advertising campaigns are in their own signature style.  And that is why—”  He ran a pen knife down the length of the top of the box and took something out, throwing it to the junior executive.

“—I felt we should take that into consideration when we perform this next task.”

The junior executive unfurled the object and found himself looking down at a hideous tie-died blue shirt.

“What is this?  Are we going as fans of the Grateful Dead?  I think we’ll stand out a bit at a science Expo wearing these…  I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this.”

“Exactly.  None of us would.  Me more than most.”

He pulled a hideous orange clown wig and plastic mask out of the box and tossed those to the junior executive next.

“To complete the ensemble…”

Fleeter threw more outfits, wigs and masks around the room to the future senior partners of Farley Fleeter.  The redheaded secretary held up her blue mask and wig, offering them to the junior exec.

“Here, these ones match your clothes.  I’ve got the orange ones.”

Fleeter chimed in.  “No, leave it.  If everyone mixes and matches it might be tougher to identify us.  If we’re all in blue, all in green, all in single colours it might be easier for them to form a description.  Anything to make it a little more difficult.”

The 7 huddled together, formulating their plan, as the whiskey flowed and the smoke circled.  Ideas bounced around between them until the perfect scheme came together.

”—and in the lighter side of the news today, a daring robbery by ten men wearing funny costumes and armed with modified heat beam weapons were taken down by a new self-proclaimed hero today, downtown at the Palmer MediTech Center.  The ten men, labelled ‘The Squid Gang’ due to their use of magnetic/pressurized suction caps and their unique body suits and night vision masks, were foiled by this bright figure who calls himself The Blue Beetle – possibly as an homage to the old 60s television hero of the same name, portrayed by Dan Garrett.

Chief Warner expressed gratitude to the colourful figure, and his assistance in seeing the Squid Gang brought to justice but would like to remind citizens not to involve themselves in police matters.

‘Obviously the Boston Police Department is thankful that this situation could be resolved without injury or loss of life, but when regular citizens untrained in such conflict situations involve themselves the likelihood that someone gets hurt or killed increases dramatically…’

But for now, who is this Blue Beetle?  A violent spectre throwing his fists at crime, like the tales of the Bat in Gotham, or a friendly, neighbourhood guardian of justice?  Only time can tell.  Until then, this has been Cassie Arnold from Boston reporting.”
Hound55 Member

Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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