Kavonde

Herne's Toughness save: Herne's toughness (1d20+14=31) (Gah.)

Er, yeah, sorry. Typo.

Volcano's turn: Miscopied the URL >< But it was like a 14. (fail) Herne's turn: Herne's attack (1d20+12=30) (hit) Volcano's Toughness roll: Volc's toughness (1d20+15=18) vs. DC 27 (Stunned + Bruised)

As the viking man raised his broadsword in challenge, Volcano charged in, trying to grab the man's arms and pin them behind his back before he could strike. The biker slipped free, however, and turned to confront the magma man. "Aha! One who would interfere in the glorious rise of Herne the Hunter! Taste steel, foolish, ebon-skinned mortal!" Herne brought his sword up overhead, and it briefly glimmered with reddish energy before chopping down into Volcano's right shoulder. The hero nearly collapsed in pain as the blade cut right through his obsidian skin, shearing through the stone and drawing magma blood. He fell to one knee, trying to recover, as Herne dismissively flicked the lava from his blade. He didn't seem to have noticed the rest of the heroes nearby.

Ahem. Kinda forgot... Volcano's initiative! (1d20+2=21) Which makes the initiative order thus: 21 - Volcano 19 - Biker Viking Dude 14 - Glowstar 12 - Biker mooks 6 - Azure Blast Guy 6 - Mobster mooks 5 - Southside C's mooks 5 - Jello-man 4 - King of Suits 3 - Third Guy You Haven't Met Yet

Crazy Viking Biker's Initiative (1d20+2=19) Guy Shooting Azure Blasts' Initiative (1d20+4=6) Third Guy You Haven't Met Yet's Initiative (1d20+0=3) Biker Mooks' Initiative (1d20+1=12) Southside C's mooks' initiative (1d20+2=5) Mobster Mooks' Initiatives (1d20+1=6)

"I don't think any of the gangs involved dress like playin' cards--" Volcano was cut off as a low, bone-shaking noise filled the air, growing stronger and louder in intensity. It seemed to be coming from inside the Bamboo Wok, and was loud enough to rattle the windows visibly. "S'that the Horn of Gondola or somethin'?" Mike asked, clamping obsidian hands over his ears. The horn suddenly cut off. There was a flash of azure light from inside the restaurant, and an explosion of debris as a bearded man in black biker threads with tribal designs and, oddly, a metal viking helmet with huge stag horns on it crashed through the window and part of the wall, landing in the street between the heroes and the restaurant. As he hit the ground, red sparks crackled around an invisible barrier around him, and he pushed himself to his feet immediately and drew a massive broadsword from his belt. "HOUNDS! LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR!" Fierce battle cries rose from a dozen throats inside, met by gunshots and screams.

Mike shrugged. "Well, far as I can tell, they got the whole staff inside there with 'em, an' I don't wanna get any civvies hurt in the crossfire. Or, ya know, burn down the building. 'Course, that was when I was standin' here by myself. Maybe you guys can get in there an' scare 'em outside without causin' a lotta collateral damage. Or get people clear before we take 'em. Or somethin'." He gave an embarrassed little grin. "Kinda new to this whole superhero thing, ya know? So far I've just been chargin' inta warehouses or back alleys an' beatin' up anyone I see. Civilians is new."

Fixed. And I changed the Fearsome Presence 2 to a +8 bonus to Survival.

Mike crooked an eyebrow at the daredevil dessert. "Uh, Chuck, I think he'da come on a bike if he was. An' he don't even look old enough to drive one yet." He looked back at the kid, taking in the shades, the jacket, and the clothes. "Yeah, ya might wanna postpone the interview, man. There's kind of a three-way meet-an'-greet goin' on in there, all bad guys. I'm guessin' the manager's a little preoccupied makin' sure the the calamari's done right. Gotta prep the fish or sleep with 'em, ya know?"

Volcano shrugged. "Blood turned inta magma. 'Spontaneous human semi-combustion' or somethin'. Name's Volcano. Or Mike, whatever. I'd shake your hand, but I don' think either of us wanna find out what'd happen to it. Kinda hot to the touch." He leaned back against the wall, tucking his hands into his hoodie, which on closer examination looked like it's made from some kind of dense, space age fabric. "Anyway, yeah, I live around here, an' my friend Jeff -- he's a cop -- told me somethin' might be goin' down. Figured I'd keep an eye on the proceedings. How 'bout you? How'd ya hear about this?"

Volcano tilted his head in fascination as the gelatinous gatecrasher reformed himself from the splatter he made jumping off the roof. He only half-listened to what the Jello-man said, but caught just enough to get the drift. When Jello finished speaking, Volcano pushed back his hood, revealing his obsidian face and glowing orange eyes and hair. "Uh, no. No gang." He gave the gooey guardian a once-over, at a loss for words. "Ya know," he finally managed, "here I was thinkin' I had it bad, but damn. You fall in a buncha radioactive pudding or somethin'?"

Volcano, propped against the alley's wall in his street clothes, watched the restaurant quietly. He'd never really been comfortable around here, in the "good" part of Southside with all the urban yuppies choking on airplane fumes, but apparently the Bamboo Wok was considered neutral territory. He wasn't planning on kicking down the door and starting a party, but he figured that when three groups of criminal pinheads got together, sparks were bound to fly. He hadn't heard of this biker gang, the Hounds, before this, but apparently their leader was the kind of idiot who'd start a fight in a crowded restaurant with a bunch of mobsters and gangbangers. And then it'd just a matter of keeping the jackasses focused on hurting eachother and not random bystanders. He was getting bored of just standing there, so he picked up a finger-sized chunk of old masonry lying nearby, popped it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. "Tastes like chicken," he rumbled.

Volcano, Glowstar, Jello-Man and the King of Suits team up to prevent, contain, and/or exacerbate a three-way gang war!

January 15th, 2011: 10:13 PM: Southside It was a cold winter night in Freedom City. There was a fresh snowfall in the morning, but it had already been turned into a sickly, brownish-gray mush piled up in the gutters. The tip that informed you of the brewing gang war pointed you at the Bamboo Wok, a Chinese-Japanese restaurant situated on a street corner a few blocks from Freedom International Airport. Outside it now were three black sedans with tinted windows, a small fleet of motorcycles, and, parked across the street, four street racers with ornate paint jobs and glittering rims. The restaurant had two waist-high, wall-length windows facing the perpendicular streets, but the blinds had been pulled down and closed shut. Steam poured from the vents over the kitchen area, and a door suddenly banged open to allow an Asian man to haul a heavy garbage bag into the alley behind the store and manhandle it into a dumpster. Across the street in a matching alley, a man in black jeans, boots, and hoodie leaned against a wall, watching the restaurant with great interest. His hood was up, concealing his features, but he seemed to be wearing very shiny black gloves.

Exxxxxcellent. Okay, youse three, I'll go make the thread in the Southside forum. EDIT: And here it be.

With a fresh coat of snow, Southside didn't look too bad. The alleys filled with empty bottles and broken glass were hidden, the smell of burnt rubber and old vomit were smothered, and the constant rhythm of distant subwoofers was muted. Sure, all it would take is a few cars rolling by to churn everything into a brownish muck, but for a few minutes, it was almost pretty. Mike Cindra paused at the street corner to take it in, wisps of steam rising from his body as the night's last few snowflakes drifted into his obsidian flesh. He sucked in a deep breath, enough to cool the constant heat in his mouth and throat, looked around in satisfaction, and then resumed his patrol. He remembered days like this as a kid, making snowballs, building forts, getting yelled at for building them in the middle of the damn intersection, and why couldn't you damn kids go to the park anyways? It'd been a quiet night, at least in the neighborhoods Mike had walked through. A few kids in color-coordinated parkas, probably Southside C's, had scattered when he walked past, and the Indian guy from the 24/7 had pointedly flipped his "Yes, We Are Open" sign around when he'd walked by. Yeah, that'll show me, Mike thought with a grin. His smile faded as he walked, and by the time he reached the end of the block, he was bored as hell and ready to turn in. He turned left, heading back to his apartment, but stopped when he heard a croaking moan from a darkened alley. Frowning, Mike stopped and looked in. After his eyes adjusted, he saw an old, bearded man in a flak jacket and worn jeans, huddled up under a newspaper and shaking in the cold. He man's eyes were focused on something distant, and a small, sad sound was escaping his lips. "Hey, you alright?" Mike asked. The old man didn't answer. Mike stepped in and hunched down next to the guy. "Hey, man, you alright?" The man suddenly lunged for Mike's arm, and he jumped back in surprise. The movement seemed to take the last of the man's energy, and he whimpered and resumed his quiet shivering. "Oh," Mike said, getting it. Keeping just out of reach, Mike hunkered down and extended his hands towards the man. His eyes narrowed in focus and his muscles tightened as he began to channel a tiny amount of heat out of them. He gradually built it up, slowly, making sure he didn't lose control and accidentally hurt the man. After several minutes, the old man's shivering began to subside, and light gradually returned to his eyes. Finally, with some effort, he pushed himself up until he was sitting against the wall, and looked at Mike with hooded eyes. "V-Volcano, right?" he said. "Yeah," Mike replied, still pouring out gentle heat. "Thanks." He looked like he wanted to say more, but just rubbed his arm instead. "Don' mention it," Mike replied. They sat there in silence for a few more minutes, until color had returned to the old man's face and he began pushing himself to his feet. Mike rose with him, letting out a sigh of relief as he let his concentration slip away. "Cold night, huh?" "Yeah. Listen..." "Like I said, don' mention it," Mike said, cutting him off gently. "I was tryin' to die." Mike's mouth clapped shut in surprise. "I've...I've done some bad stuff, ya know?" the man continued. "An' I just kinda hit the end of the road, an'...I just..." "Well, you ain't freezin' to death in an alley on my watch," Mike said firmly. "Yeah, guess not." "You got somewhere to go? Somewhere warm?" "Our Lady of Mercy's usually got a bed." Mike nodded. "Then come on, we're goin'." The old man fell in beside him, careful to avoid contact, and the two set off in silence. The shelter was about a mile away, and after awhile, the silence started becoming awkward. "Ya know," Mike said when it became too much, "I used ta do some bad stuff, too. Ran with a tough crowd, stole, vandalized, got inta fights." The old man snorted. "Yeah, there's worse," Mike conceded with a shrug. "But what I'm sayin' is, like, I don' judge people for things in their past, ya know? I mean, if ya learn from it, ya don't do it anymore, than that's that." "I think the law disagrees with ya there, kid." "Yeah, well, I mean, like...ya know, if ya killed someone, or ya hurt a girl, ya know, that's different." The old man was silent. It started becoming awkward again. "Ya know, like, this one time, I was about twelve, an' there was this guy, probably forty somethin', big dude, an' he had this sixteen-year-old girl cornered. Had a knife, had her by the wrist. An', ya know, me an' my friends got her out of that, but I mean, ya know..." He shook his head. "I don' even know what the hell point I'm makin' now." The old man didn't say anything, so Mike lapsed into an embarrassed silence. It was becoming just a bit too awkward again when the man spoke. "You was about twelve?" Mike glanced at him. "Yeah." "Came at him with a beer bottle?" "Well, I didn't swing or nothin', but..." A thought dawned. "Wait, you're not--" "No," the old man growled, waving a hand. "But I knew that fat piece of crap. We served together. Man was sick." "Whatever happened to him?" "He eventually tried ta grab some mobster's daughter. Didn't end well for him." Mike grunted. "They'd be a regular community service if it weren't for the dope an' the prostitution." "Yeah," the old man said with a faint grin. It faded quickly. "I was the one that killed him." Mike looked at him in surprise, and the old man shook his head. "Used ta be called 'Eraser' Ethan Evansfield. Times were tough after I got back, an' they put all my trainin' to use. Then I got too old, they gave me a nice retirement, tol' me ta keep my nose clean. Guess I did. Nothin's cleaner than when it's soaked in alcohol." He looked at Mike, trying to read his obsidian expression, but his face was neutral. Finally, he let out a low whistle. "Man, an' I was worried tonight was gonna be boring." Ethan grunted a short laugh, and they fell into a more comfortable silence. Finally, they reached Our Lady of Mercy, an old, walled mission turned into the city's largest homeless shelter. There were lights on in the lobby and a few of the rooms, and the warm smell of baking bread in the air, so thick that Mike could detect it even with his dulled senses. Ethan stared at the building in silence for a moment, then turned to his companion. "Thanks," he said. "No problem," Mike replied. Ethan nodded, and turned back towards the gate. He paused, though, and looked back. "Hey, listen. Seriously, thanks. You're a good kid." "Thanks, man." The old man looked at him over his shoulder, clearly trying to find words. At last, he settled on: "Try not to get yourself killed." "Workin' on it." Ethan nodded and stepped through the gate. Mike watched him until he entered the building. Wonder if I should tell Jeffy about him, he mused. Eh, I'll worry 'bout that later. Gonna get home an' get to bed. Think I've met enough interestin' people for one night. Then he turned and started heading back to his apartment as a car started rolled by, churning the fresh snow into brownish muck. Home sweet home.

I think we could use a couple more threads around here for all of us noobs, so I figured I'd get one going. This one will be set in Southside, so anyone who's got a reason for their character to be there is welcome. Basically, word will have gotten out about growing tensions between the Mob, the Southside C's, and a gang of violent bikers who just drifted into town again. There'll be fightin', investigatin', roleplayin', and combinations thereof. I'd like to get the thread started within the next couple of days, and I think 2-3 people (plus Volcano) should be good. So lemme know if you're interested.

I plan to, as Alex gets more practical experience. Right now he's just a computer geek with an awesome memory and he relies on his suit for combat skills. Followed all of that advice. I ditched Ricochet, Ambidexterity, and Precise Shot, and grabbed Critical Strike, Quick Draw 2, and added a second rank of Improved Critical. That's something I'll probably change as Gravestone levels, but for right now I like that he has to actively switch "forms," so he's got to rely on cover, stealth, and awareness. Ah, the wording of Super-Sense (Tracking) made me think it ran off Notice, but it doesn't actually say which skill it uses. Nothing in the errata or FAQ, either, but I know it's Survival in the regular 2d20 system, so...yeah. I dropped it for now and took two ranks of Fearsome Presence instead, because apparently all my characters have to have that. Also, since I put Quick Draw with the pistols where it made more sense, I replaced it here with Uncanny Dodge [Hearing]. Fixed!

Volcano

"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.†-- Dag Hammarskjold “What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise." -- Oscar Wilde Introduction Who are you? Sum yourself up in one sentence. Mike Cindra. Volcano. Some poor schmuck who got turned into a freak. Do you have any nicknames, street names, titles, or nom de plume? Yeah, "Mikey." An' I went by "DJ Cinder" when I was workin' clubs in college. What is your full birth name? Michael Francis Cindra. Where do you live? Southside, in Freedom City. How old are you? What year were you born (if applicable)? Twenty six, almost twenty seven. Born in '84. What is your gender? If not applicable, please explain. Male. How would you describe your heritage? My great grandpa migrated from Greece, an' my mom's Irish, but I'm a full-blooded Freedonian. How tall are you? Five-eleven. What is your body type? Made of frickin' magma. What? Oh. I dunno. I played second base for years, an' kept myself in shape even after I got hurt. So kinda halfway between bein' a big, bulky bruiser an' bein' able to move when I gotta. Do you have any particular weaknesses, such as allergies or physical disabilities? Used ta be lactose intolerant, back when I ate normal food. How do you carry yourself? Are you graceful, or heavy on your feet? Can you be stealthy, do you walk with confidence? Depends. When I'm in uniform, I want people ta see me comin', ya know? But when I'm jus' mindin' my own business, I don't wanna be bothered. Describe your skin, eye, and hair color. Well, my skin's shiny black obsidian and my eyes an' hair glow orange thanks ta all the magma inside me. How do you wear your hair, if applicable? Do you have facial hair? Eh, since I gotta cut it myself now, I'm just lettin' it grow long. Got a little soul patch, too. Looks cool. Do you consider yourself attractive? Do others? I'm a freak. An' even if I met a girl who dug freaks, she couldn't touch me. Do you have any scars, tattoos, piercings, or birthmarks? Not anymore. Do you resemble anyone famous? People used ta tell me I kinda looked like young Michael J. Fox. Harder ta see the resemblence now. Do you have a dominant hand? If ya mean I'm right-handed, yeah. What kind of clothing do you wear? Don't got much of a wardrobe now, since everything's gotta be fireproof. S'pretty much either my heroin' getup or my asbestos-weave hoodie, jeans, and boots. Do you wear makeup? Uh, no. What is your vocal range? Is your voice distinctive in some way? Guess I'm a tenor, but I never took music lessons or nothin', so I don't know, like, formally, ya know? An' I guess I got a pretty thick Southside accent. An' now that I'm made of magma, I got this cool Darth Vader reverb goin' when I talk. I play it up more by droppin' my voice a bit when I'm talkin' ta bad guys. Do you have any distinctive habits, nervous tics, or mannerisms? Where did they come from, and what causes them? Do other people notice and remark on these habits? Do they annoy you or other people? Whoah, that's a big question. What's with that? Nah, I dunno, maybe I got some weird tics or somethin', but it ain't somethin' I think about a lot, ya know? History Where do you come from? Southside, in Freedom City. Born an' raised. Have you made any major moves, or do you live in your hometown? Lived here all my life. 'Cept for those coupla months I spent livin' in an Albright lab. Do you feel loyal to your country of citizenship? Do you consider yourself patriotic? How do you feel about the government of your country? Yeah, I dunno, I'd punch Osaddam Bin Laden or whatever, but the guys runnin' this country don't know what the hell they're doin' and if it weren't for the capes, the whole thing'd come crumblin' down. Give people hope, ya know? Lot more than the politicians do, anyways. How do you feel about the place you come from? Southside's a dump, but it's home. An' at least it ain't the Fens. Where is your home town? What was/is it like? Southside? Look at a map of the city, buddy. Just south of the toilet of Freedom City, which I guess makes us, I dunno, the toilet paper holder or somethin'. It ain't too bad, I guess. Sure, the mob runs half of it and those uptight yuppies by the airport run the rest, but it could be worse, ya know? Growing up, were most of the people you knew similar to you, or were you somehow a minority? How did that affect you? Yeah, we were a pretty tight crowd of kids. Mostly white, I guess, but we weren't exclusive or nothin'. We'd hang out around the Freedom College campus and get into trouble, ya know, nothin' serious, jes' kid stuff. Taught me a lot about lookin' out for your friends and, ya know, kinda realizin' that people are jes' people, ya know? I dunno. Is there something you've always been really good at or really bad at? How has that affected your life? Yeah, I was damn good baseball player. Made it to college on a scholarship. Then I hurt my leg, lost the scholarship, had to start doin' part-time jobs to pay for it...yeah. Were there any traumatic experiences in your early years (death of a family member, abandonment, orphaned at an early age)? Nah, not really. Well. I guess one of my best friends, Zack Tan, got hit by a car, tryin' to ride a bike through busy traffic. Broke his back, paralyzed him from the waist down. Definitely made me stop thinkin' we was all invincible, ya know? Briefly describe a defining moment in your childhood and how it influenced your life. All right. There was this one time, I was about twelve, and me and a coupla buddies was walkin' along, and we pass this alley. We hear a scream, an' look, an' there's this real pretty girl, maybe sixteen, and this big, fat, ugly f***er kinda loomin' over her. Me and the guys, we shout, "Hey!" An' this big guy turns around, an' he's holdin' a knife, and we all get a little scared. He says, "Get the f*** outta here, ya li'l sh**s," an' we...well, we kinda start edgin' away. An' then this girl looks at me, right at me, an' she's terrified, an' she says, real quiet..."Please." An' I picked up a beer bottle someone'd tossed, an' like a frickin' pro I smashed it against the wall without breakin' the stem or cuttin' myself, and I tell the guy, "Get the f*** away from her." An' the guy looks at me, an' he looks at the girl, an' by now my buddies've got some weapons too, an' he shoves the girl away and walks. An' we watch him go, and then the girl gets up and runs up to me and gives me a big hug, sayin' "thank you, thank you," and I'm suddenly realizin' that I just stood up to a three hundred pound dude with a goddamn KNIFE and...yeah. I guess...I dunno, that didn't CHANGE who I was or anything. It just kinda showed it. An' I'm glad that happened, 'cause I think knowin' that deep down I'm a pretty good guy keeps me sane, ya know, with the changes and everything, an' keeps me wantin' to help people. What stupid things did you do when you were younger? Y'mean aside from facin' down rapists three times my size with a busted beer bottle? Eh, we'd do all kinds of juvenile deliquent crap, paintin' graffitee c***s on the walls of Freedom College, swipin' candy and chips from stores, sneakin' into the movies, you know. Kid stuff. Where did you go to school? How much school did you have, and did you enjoy it? St. Edward's, K through 8. Catholic school. Still recoverin' from it. Went to Southside High, played baseball, went on ta FCU, majored in Communications 'cause I couldn't really think of anything else I wanted ta do, graduated with my B.A. Do you have any mementos of your childhood? What are they, and why did you keep them? If you have none, why not? Got my old baseball bat and glove, and a ball autographed by all my old buddies at the end of eighth grade. Big ol' baseball card collection. Few posters. A lucky sweater I can't wear anymore 'cause I'll set it on fire. Hm. When did you decide to become a hero? Why? Did anyone influence you one way or another in the decision? Well, after the Albright Institute got tired of studyin' me and let me out -- the best explanation they could come up with was some kinda "gamma solar radiation anomaly," though one of 'em called it "spontaneous human semi-combustion" which I kinda liked -- I kinda hit a funk. Couldn't really go back to my old job, ya know? Not a lotta career options for a guy whose blood turns inta lava. Had my brother and some of my old friends tryin' to cheer me up, but what actually got me movin' was that girl I rescued back when I was a kid. Georgianne Wrigley. Well, that's her last name now, didn't ask what it was before. She's married, got a kid, but I guess she'd found out who I was after I'd rescued her, and then she saw an article about me in the paper and recognized my name. She ran inta me at the hardware store while I was buyin' lunch, an' thanked me for what I'd done way back when. An' I guess I realized that, ya know, sure, maybe I gotta eat rocks now, an' maybe I'll never be with a woman again, an' maybe I can't touch anything with a meltin' point lower than five hundred degrees, but, ya know, I can do somethin' positive instead of just mopin' around. Got ahold of someone who makes superhero costumes, spent a chunk of the cash Albright gave me, an' set out ta do some good. Is the reason you give people for becoming a hero different than your real reason? If so, why? Well, I don't give 'em the whole story, but the whole "what the hell else am I gonna do with my time" thing? Yeah. Do you have any deep, dark secrets in the past that may come back to haunt you? Not unless the Indian guy who used ta run the old 24/7 gains superpowers. Do you represent yourself as being different from who you really are? Why? I dunno. I probably put on a happier face in public. I mean, ya know, people don't need to know how much my life sucks. I stop the bank robbers, I turn the backed up sewer water inta steam, ya know, people say "Hey, thank ya, Volcano, youse doin' a real good job." Don't need ta burden them, ya know? If you do have these secrets, what do you fear would happen if the truth became known? How far would you go to protect those secrets? I got no secrets, not really. They published my story when the change happened, my name's out there. Nothin' I can do. Do you have any sort of criminal record? If so, is it public knowledge? Heh, yeah. Did a couple months in juvie for vandalism. Got caught paintin' a big c*** on the side of the 24/7. An' that was just the time I got CAUGHT. But no one's made a deal of it, ya know? Matter of public record if anyone looks for it. Family What are your biological parents' names? Victor an' Lisa Cindra. Were you raised by them? If not, please explain and describe who raised you. Well, raised by my mom. Victor left when I was eight. He waited til I was old enough to not get too messed up by it, which I guess was alright of him. What was their standing in the community? What did/do they do for a living? Mom was a waitress an' then a secretary at some tech firm based outta Hanover. Still there. Victor was a professor at Freedom College, taught biology. He moved out west afer he split. Where are your parents now? Mom's got an apartment on the north end of Hanover now, she's doin' pretty well. Victor's in Chicago or Indianapolis or somethin'. Did your family stay in one area or move around a lot? Stayed in the same crappy apartment 'til I was 18. How did you get along with their parents? How do you get along with them now (if applicable). Eh, I loved Victor an' was pretty heartbroken when he left, but I understood why. I love my mom, but she's kinda unpleasant to be around sometimes. Spent a lotta time away from home durin' my teenage years, 'cause sparks'd start flyin' whenever I had to deal with her. Same with my brother, s'why he joined the Air Force at 17. Haven't talked to Victor in...a damn long time. An' I get on alright with my mom now, though it's easier since we don't see eachother too much anymore. How do your parents view you now, or how would they? Mom's real proud I'm tryin' to help people, though I think she's also real sad about what happened. Dunno what Victor thinks of it, or even if he knows about it. Do you have any siblings? If so how many and what are their names? Describe your relationship with them. Yeah, my big brother, Robby. Five years older'n me. We always got on good, but he had his crowd, an' I had mine. Looked up to him a lot, though. Taught me how ta fight. Taught me how ta play baseball. Went to every damn game of mine, too, until he went inta the Air Force. He really thought it'd be my ticket outta here. What was your birth order in the family? Robby, then me five years later. Where are your siblings now (if applicable)? Do they have families of their own? What do they do? Robby lives in Riverside, got a wife named Alissa and two boys, Derrick and Mikey. He owns a motorcycle shop nearby, doin' pretty well for himself. Alissa's a secretary at the same company our mom works for, which is jes' GREAT for her, lemme tell ya. Derrick jes' started elementary school an' Mikey's figurin' out how ta crap in a toilet. Do you stay in touch with them or have you become estranged? I visit whenever I can, but...well, ya know, it's hard ta be part of a family when ya can't really give your nephews a hug, or buy 'em a toy, or even jes' pick up a phone an' call 'em... Do you love or hate one member of the family in particular? I'd take a bullet for my brother. Well, maybe that ain't sayin' much anymore. So I'd take a tactical nuke for him. Is any member of the family special to you in any way (perhaps, as a confidant, mentor, or arch-rival)? Yeah, like I said, Robby's my hero. An' I get a kick outta little Mikey, though I'm prob'ly playin' favorites since he's got my name an' all. Are there any black (or white) sheep in the family (including you)? If so, please explain. Nah, not really. Maybe Victor, if ya want to count him. Do you have a notorious or celebrated ancestor? If so, please explain, including how it has affected your life. Eh, maybe. My grandpa on my dad's side said we're descended from Ulysses or somethin'. Maybe I should ask Daedalus or somethin', if I start travellin' in those kinda circles. Do you have a partner and children currently? If so, please describe them. ...That's...that's kind of a sucker punch question, ya know. If you do not have a partner or children, do you want them someday? How firm are you in your opinion on this, and what might change your mind? ...I'm not answerin' these questions. What type of person would be your ideal mate? ...Oh, I dunno! Someone FIREPROOF?! Can we move on?! Relationships Do you have any close friends? If so, please describe them, and how you came to be close to them. Yeah, sure, there's Jeff MacAllister, my best friend growin' up. He was always bigger an' stronger than me...and probably smarter, too. Dunno why he kept me around, honestly. Heh. He's a cop now, still in Southside, doin' his best to stay honest in this crap town. Still a good friend. We work together a lot. An' then there's Zack Tan, another good friend of mine, the kid who got hit by a car an' ended up in a wheelchair. He works at the Albright Institute, was part of the team studyin' my "spontaneous human semi-combustion." Keeps in contact, too, still tryin' to find either a cure or at least some way for me to function, ya know? Good man. Few other kids from the neighborhood are still around, too. Good guys, doin' okay, s'far as I know. Do you have a best friend? If so, how did they become your best friend? How close are you to your best friend? My brother's my best friend now by a long stretch, but Jeffy'd come in second. We hit it off as kids, both had kinda the same sense of humor an' we were both willin' to go do stupid crap. We were like brothers, growin' up, but we kinda drifted after high school. We're startin' ta hang out more now, though, since he's a cop an' I'm a superhero. Good team. If you were to go missing, who would worry about you? My brother, my mom, my sister-in-law, Jeffy, and Zack, in about that order. Have you lost any loves? If so, how did it happen, and what did you do? Well...I dunno if you'd call it "love." But I was really into this girl, Diana, an' we'd just moved in together an' were great together, an' I was startin' to save money for a ring. Then...well, then the change happened. She couldn't deal. Do you have any bitter enemies? If so, please describe them and their history with you. Heh. Jes' the 24/7 guy. He still glares daggers at me every time he sees me. If you have enemies, how do you think they might attempt to work against you in the future? I dunno. Poison my Slushee? Oh, wait, I can't drink those anymore. Sucks for him. What is the worst thing someone has done to you? Kick my ass and throw me into an unfinished basement. I was fourteen. Pissed off this gang. They jumped me and Jeffy. Construction crew found us in the mornin'... Where do your loyalties lie? In what order? Huh. Good question. Well...I guess first would be to my brother an' his family. Then to Jeffy an' the decent people of Southside. Then Liberty City, then the U.S., then the world. Who or what do you trust the most? Why? I trust Robby and Jeff with my life. Who or what do you despise? Why? Not too fond of the mob in Southside, but only 'cause I've seen the damage they do when they dip into sellin' drugs. Irresponsible. But I guess I really hate crooked politicians an' businessmen. Livin' in their ivory towers, screwin' over millions of good people without even noticin'. Kinda pisses me off some. What qualities do you admire most in other people? Are these qualities you possess? Honesty. Don't just mean tellin' the truth, but bein' honest with yourself an' how you see the world. Then loyalty, an' then...I dunno. A sense of justice. There a word for that? I don't know if I "possess" 'em. I try ta be honest. I try ta be fair. I can definitely say I'm loyal, though. What qualities do you hate most in other people? Do you have any of those qualities? Lyin', screwin' people over, petty cruelty. I try not ta lie too much, and I ain't petty or cruel. I used ta screw people over as a kid, ya know, cheat 'em out of a couple bucks or a rare card or somethin', but I don't anymore. Do you have a secret identity? If so, who knows it? Do you hide it from people who are close to you? Why? Too late for that one. Do you work well on teams and in groups? Are you a leader or a follower? Haven't really worked on, like, a superhero team or anythin' yet. I played baseball for years, though, an' I think I'm pretty good at bein' a team player. I can lead when I need to, but I can follow orders, too. Are you on a super team? If so, how do you get along with your comrades? Do you trust them, or do you have secrets from them? Nah. Kinda new to this gig, ya know? Are you a member of any church, fraternal organization, club, committee, political party, or other group? How much time do you spend on that? Nah. I went ta Catholic school for nine years. That was all the religion I'll need for the rest of my life. Ain't much for politics, either; they're all a buncha crooks. Personality & Beliefs Who are your heroes? My brother, Robby...Jeffy, in his way... I dunno. George Carlin? He kinda came up out of a rough neighborhood like I did, an' look what he became. An' I guess Centurion, in a way. Didn't know much about the guy, ya know, he died when I was just a kid...but I remember the invasion, kinda. And I know that when it came down to it, he was willin' ta put everything on the line to protect people. That's what it's all about, right? More than the powers an' the costumes. It's about puttin' it all on the line to do tha right thing. Did you ever become disillusioned with former heroes or idols? If so, why and what were the circumstances? Yeah, I used to think Dr. Atom was a pretty cool guy. But he didn't wanna look into what caused my change, or how ta fix it. I mean, I know he's a busy guy, savin' the world an' all, but...I mean, he FIGHTS people who were freakishly deformed by some random cosmic bullsh**, 'cause they couldn't handle it an' went nuts. Ya'd THINK when someone who just got turned into a damn lava man calls ya up askin' for help, you'd take an hour outta yer life to check up on 'em an' make sure you ain't gonna hafta FIGHT 'em later, ya know? Selfish prick. Do you like being a hero? If so, what is the most rewarding part? If not, what makes you keep doing it? It's somethin' positive to do with my life, ya know? I mean, I'd rather be normal again...get back with Diana, maybe, though maybe not, seein' as she bailed on me...I dunno. Get my job back, get my LIFE back, get...well... Ya keep askin' me these depressin'-ass questions. I do it 'cause it's better than mopin' around, and I'm gonna keep doin' it until I get cured or... ...Well. Jes' "or." Is there anything that would make you give up hero work, or even switch sides? Bein' cured. In a heartbeat. As for joinin' Team Villain...well...I don't know. I...ya know, in the deepest, darkest corner of my soul, I can...I dunno...is this gonna go on, like, a permanent psyche profile or anythin'? Look. If I went nuts, I'd go villain. Wouldn't do it for money, wouldn't do it for hope of a cure. But if the loneliness, the lack of human contact, the... Well. It's not totally unreasonable, is all I'm sayin'. What are your short term goals (what would you like to be doing within a year)? Get cured. Or at least find a way to lower my temperature, ya know? So I can touch stuff. What are your long term goals (what would you like to be doing twenty years from now)? Get cured. Or maybe come to terms with this, discover the power within, have a big 80's power ballad trainin' montage and save the frickin' world, I dunno. What is your greatest fear? Why? What do you do when something triggers this fear? Bein' trapped like this forever. When I start ta feel down about it, I go do somethin' else. Y'know, go on patrol or somethin'. Is there anything you would give you life for? My brother an' his family. In a heartbeat. How do you feel about money and material wealth? Do you desire it or disdain it? Are you miserly with what you have, or do you like to share? Is it a mark of success, or a means to an end? Alright, lemme break this down for ya. Money is used ta buy things you need, an' then things you want. If you have enough money to buy everything ya need an' everything ya want, you have enough money an' don't need anymore. Now, if what you want is a nice house in the suburbs an' money for your kids ta go to college, then ya go out an' make enough money for that ta happen. If what you want is a fifty-foot gold-plated luxury yacht that turns inta a frickin' Transformer, then go out an' make that money, too. I want a little house in the country, a family, an' a big dog. I want enough money for that, an' not a cent more. How do you generally treat others? Like people. If your an asshole, I'll treatcha like one. If you're cool, I'll treatcha better. I don't judge before the fact, ya know? Are you a trusting person? Has your trust ever been abused? No, but I ain't paranoid, neither. I fell for a couple small cons as a kid, but I'm pretty skeptical about stuff now. Are you introverted (shy and withdrawn) or extroverted (outgoing)? Do you have a lot of self-confidence? Always was kinda quiet as a kid. I guess I have kinda withdrawn more since my change, though. How do you act around attractive, available members of your preferred sex? Used ta get a little shy. Now it's just like, ya know, whatever. Not like I can bang 'em. What are your most annoying habits? Used ta bite my nails. That ain't so much a problem anymore. Guess I say "ya know" a lot. People from Southside don't notice, but I get annoyed looks from the Albright guys sometimes. Do you feel contempt for any general category of people? Who are they, and why? Yeah. Corporate assholes. Not just the ones on top, neither. Sure, they're the ones riggin' the system and screwin' everyone in their favor, but the ones in the middle? The ones who want to BE the ones on top? They're just as bad, an' even more pathetic. Uh. Except for secretaries. Nothin' wrong with secretaries. What is your favorite food? Do you prefer any particular type of food? Do you take the time to enjoy your food, or do you eat as fast as you can? Used ta love fettuccini alfredo. Robby's always made fun of me for it; "you're Greek, you're Irish, you're French an' Russian an' a little bit Cherokee, an' your favorite food is ITALIAN?!" 'Course, nowadays, I eat rocks. Don't have much preference. They're frickin' rocks. What is your favorite drink (alcoholic or otherwise)? Used ta love Pepsi. Now I don't drink anything. Don't hafta. The rocks melt in my stomach, an' the magma gets digested inta my bloodstream. Or somethin' like that. What is your favorite treat (dessert)? Okay, stop. Seriously. Are there any specific foodstuffs that you find disgusting or refuse to eat? You know what? I used to hate green beans. An' now I'd do anythin' to taste 'em again. What is your favorite color? Are there any colors you dislike? Blue. Like, specifically, powder blue. An' I think hot pink's kinda gaudy. What sort of music do you like? Is there any that you hate? Always been a rock guy. Hate country. If you have a favorite scent, what is it? Burning pitch! Lucky me! Seriously, though. Nose doesn't work too well anymore, either. Do you have a favorite animal? Always liked chimpanzees. What is your most treasured possession? Why? Gonna sound silly, but... This little teddy bear my nephew Derreck gave me while I was livin' at the Albright Institute. It was his favorite thing in the world when he was in diapers, an' he gave it to me. Can't touch it, ya know, but...some day, I'm gonna. Gives me a little bit of hope, ya know? Do you enjoy "roughing it", or do you prefer your creature comforts? Only really been campin' once, an' I got too drunk ta remember it. But do I need fancy crap, like a giant TV or one of those Star Trek datapad things? Nah. Is there a job or a task you would absolutely refuse to do? Killin' people or sellin' dope ta kids. Do you consider yourself a spiritual person? If so, how do your beliefs affect your life? How important is it to you? Nah. Had enougha that crap in grade school. Don't get me wrong, more power to ya if you're inta that stuff, but I'm fine without it. Was your faith influenced or molded by anyone special? I dunno, not by anyone in particular. I think Victor wanted to raise me ta be an atheist, used ta point out irregularities an' stuff in the Bible when I was a kid. I dunno. Mostly I just kinda started questionin' stuff, an' decided I'd do my thing an' let God do His, ya know? If you belong to a religious organization, how often do you attend? Do you have a specific place of worship, or friends within the organization? How much do you agree with the beliefs of your organization? Nope. Could you kill? Have you killed? Could I? Easy. S'why I don't wanna touch anyone that ain't an alien or an armored psycho. Would I, if I had a choice? Hell no. Don't get me wrong, I ain't a total goody-goody pacifist, but...I dunno. I jus' don't wanna end someone permanently, ya know? What circumstances led to you forming that conviction, or taking that action? I dunno, man...this is some deep stuff. Jus' always knew it was wrong. Never thought about it philosophically, ya know? Are there circumstances under which you believe it is permissible to kill? What are they? Sure, ya know, in a war or whatever. Or if someone was threatenin' to kill your family an' all you had was a gun. I dunno. If you've got powers, though, like me, I dunno. I could see situations where you could be FORGIVEN for killin' someone, but, permissable? I dunno. How would you react to watching someone kill another person? Would your reaction be different if the killer was a friend or an enemy of yours? Hell, I dunno. It'd be pretty weird, ya know? I'd prob'ly be pissed at the guy pullin' the trigger. But, ya know, it'd depend on circumstances...ya know, maybe the killer, if it was another cape, maybe they got a good reason for it...I dunno. I jus' know, as far as I, myself, an' me only am concerned, killin' is wrong. I ain't gonna decide for the rest of the world. How would you react if something important was stolen from you? I'd be pissed an' try ta get it back. Kick the guy's ass if I had ta. How would you react to public humiliation? No clue, man. I'm already a freak. How much further down can ya go? How would you react if a good friend or relative were purposely or accidentally killed? Has it happened to you? Accidentally? I'd be sad. I'd try ta spend as much time as I could with their family, ya know, jus' to be there. Do what I could ta help. Purposely? That f***er'd better watch his ass, I'm comin' for him. What do you consider to be the worst crime someone could commit and why? Well, ya got the obvious ones: rape, murder, torture. I'd put swindlin' old people an' kids up there, too. Takin' advantage of people who don't know any better. Jus' ain't right, ya know? If your life were to end in 24 hours, what five things would you do in those remaining hours? Say goodbye ta Robby, Alissa an' the kids. Say goodbye ta Jeffy. See a good rock show. Cruise the ol' neighborhood one last time. Rocket straight up inta the atmosphere an' see how high I could go. Career & Training Do you have any special training in your hero skills? If so, where and how did you get it? Eh, I know how ta rumble. Growin' up in Southside'll do that to ya. Took boxing classes in college as rehab for my leg, too. An' I know how ta run a con or spot one, ya know? Who taught you the most about your heroing abilities? What was your relationship with that person? If you're talkin' about shootin' heast blasts outta my hands, I did mosta that myself. Zack helped some, though; he'd bring me out ta the country an' jus' have me go nuts, see what I could do. Seemed ta enjoy helpin' me figure stuff out or watchin' me show off. Good guy. Do you have any particularly unusual skills? How did you acquire them? Heh, yeah. I learned how ta work a turntable from this guy used ta come inta this club I worked at in college. Real weird guy. He wasn't gettin' paid or anythin', he'd just come in on a slow night, usually Tuesday, buy a drink, head inta the booth an' start jammin'. Kinda got ta know him after awhile, an' he showed me how to run everything. Ended up doin' gigs every now an' then myself. Do you do something besides hero work for a living? Have you ever done anything else, or do you plan to? Not anymore, no. Used ta tend bar, bounce, an' work the turntables as requested. An' before that, I was on my way to the major leagues. What is your preferred combat style? Ain't so much a "style." My brother read this in a book somewhere: "The object of a fight is to win." So whatever I gotta do ta win, as fast as possible, I do. Have you ever received any awards or honours? Yeah, baseball scholarship, but we've covered this. What skill areas would you like most to improve in? Is there anything you can't do that you wish desperately you could? Eh, be nice ta learn more about the world, maybe take some history or politics classes. An' I never really figured out computers; I could write a paper without crashin' anything, but always wanted ta learn to make video games an' stuff. How do you act around people who are more skilled than you in areas you'd like to improve? Are you jealous, or do you try and learn? Watch over their shoulders, ya know, try ta learn. Used ta always watch the second baseman really careful during games, always wanted ta be one. Lifestyle & Hobbies What is a normal day for you? How do you feel when something interrupts this routine? Nowadays? Get up, chow down on a couple rocks, put on my uniform an' go walkin' the streets. Stop in at a few places, see what's goin' on. Stop in an' talk ta Jeffy at the station. Seein' fewer an' fewer guys tryin' ta rob stores in my neighborhood nowadays. When somethin' big goes down, I love it; gives me somethin' ta do! Do you have any hobbies, or interests outside hero work? What are they, and where did you pick them up? All the stuff I USED ta do, I can't. I guess I like figurin' out new tricks for my powers. What do you do for fun? Fun ain't somethin' I have all that much of, nowadays. Fightin' supervillains? I guess? Do you have a costume? What does it look like? Yeah, pretty cool one, too, if ya ask me. Orange an' dark gray tights made of this material that don't melt, my big honkin' boots that keep me from settin' the floor on fire, some big armor-y tribal thing that Zack designed, says it makes me look more "tribal" or whatever, an' these bracers made wit' the same metal. Pretty stylin', if ya ask me. How do you normally dress when not in costume? I got a couple pairs a non-meltin' pants and a black hoodie. An' my boots, an' a pair of big honkin' gloves that might as well be mittens for all the flexibility they got. What do you wear to bed most nights? Nothin'. Jes' me an' my stone slab. Do you wear any special jewelry? What is it, and what does it look like? I melt gold an' silver. Do you have a special place where you keep your valuables? Yeah, got a big metal chest-thing in my apartment that I keep all my old stuff in. Derrick's teddy bear's on top of it. What's your preferred means of local travel? How about long distance? Gotta hoof it, or take a subway or bus an' be REAL careful not ta lose my balance. Miscellaneous Have you ever made a will, or tried to make arrangements for your death? What provisions did you make? Nah. Everythin' goes ta Robby an' his kids, basically. Unless Jeff or Zack or one of the other guys wants somethin'. If your features were to be destroyed beyond recognition, is there any other way of identifying your body? Yeah. It's the one made of obsidian an' filled with hot lava. What would you like to be remembered for after your death? Ya know, I jus' wanna be remembered as someone who made the world a little better. Whether I get cured or not, that's all I want. Do you believe you pose a threat to the public? Why or why not? Ha! Yeah, you'd better believe it. I mean, the obvious "my flesh is too hot to be touched" thing aside, if I went totally nuts? I could take out a hell of a lotta people without breakin' a sweat. Buildin's set on fire, people toasted where they stand... It ain't a pretty thought. I kinda hope the Albright guys put a little bomb in my brain or somethin', just in case. What do you perceive as your greatest strength? I wanna help people, pure an' simple. No ulterior motives. What do you perceive as your greatest weakness? That if I don't find a cure, or some way ta get this under control, it's jus' a matter of time 'til the loneliness breaks my brain. As a player, if you could, what advice would you give your character? Speak as if he/she were sitting right here in front of you. Use proper tone so they might heed your advice... Hey, man. It'll be all right. There are a hell of a lot of superpowered people in Freedom City alone; they can help you learn to control your power, and maybe even cure you some day. You aren't alone. Once you branch out, make connections, you'll meet people who can understand what you're dealing with, and even give you the human contact you're missing. You'll figure out what to do with your powers, and with your life. Just don't give up hope. And don't be afraid to go outside your comfort zone to find new friends.

Jeff MacAllister sat down across from me, straightening stack of paperwork against his desk as he did. He was still bigger than me, well over six feet tall, and built like a semi truck. He'd taken to wearing a crew cut since the last time I saw him, and was dressed comfortably in jeans, a dark blue dress shirt, and the leather jacket I'd helped him swipe when we were kids. He looked up at me across the top of his papers. "I'd offer ya a seat, Mikey, but..." I glanced at the chair. Simple stuff, like you'd see at a bank; plastic frame and cheap fabric padding. It'd go up like a torch. I grinned at him. "Don't worry 'bout it." He grunted and started laying his papers out. There were lots of pictures of me, most of them post-transformation, a few police reports and witness statements, and some kind of receipt book. Then he took a small notebook and a pen out of his jacket pocket, and laid them down, too. He took a second to look over it all, then turned back to me. "Gonna hafta ask you a few questions, Mikey." "Hit me." Jeff nodded and collected his thoughts. "Okay. First off, what the hell happened to ya, man?" I looked down at myself. I was shirtless, wearing just a pair of the black, heat-insulating boots they'd given me and some jeans of the same material. My skin picked up the flourescent lights dully, making the black obsidian a little less shiny. The bullet hole in my chest, from a high-powered rifle one of the mooks had brought along, had hardened over but remained a dull, swollen blotch. "Ya mean the gettin' shot at, or the turnin' inta a walkin' volcano man?" "Both, but gimme the second one first." I shrugged. "Good question. Guys at the Albright Institute couldn't figure it out, neither. Said it's some kinda genetic mutation, but there was nothin' hidin' in my DNA that shoulda triggered it. It just kinda happened, like someone threw a switch or somethin'." Jeff nodded. "Okay. So you're a mutant now. What powers ya got?" I gestured to the cooling bullet wound. "Well, I guess I patch myself up from gettin' hurt. An' I'm a lot tougher than I used to be. Skin's obsidian now, too, so it's pretty tough to break. I'm also damn strong, now, like Captain Thunder strong. I can kinda push heat outta my body through my hands, makin' big blasts or launchin' myself around. Zack thinks I could launch myself like a rocket if I had to, but it'd probably cause a hell of a lotta damage." "Zack Tan? How's he doin'?" "He's good. Workin' at Albright. Got me in an' kinda unofficially headed up the research on me. Think he scored some points with the higher-ups." "Good, good," Jeff said, turning back to his notes. "Reports said a lotta the gunmen had bad, fist-shaped burns." "Yeah." I looked at my hands and frowned. "I'm also hot to the touch. Like, oven hot. Zack don't know if I'll ever be able to control it." "So ya can't touch anyone without burnin' them?" I nodded. "An' I melt stuff or set it on fire." Jeff shook his head and gave me a sympathetic look. "That's rough, buddy." "Yeah." "What about vulnerabilities? Weaknesses?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "What, you gonna sell me out to the Mob, Jeffy?" I meant it as a joke, but it struck a nerve. He glared at me and leaned forward, his hands flat on his desk. "I ain't got nothin' to do with that scum." I raised my hands apologetically. He grunted and leaned back. "This is procedure. New metahuman shows up an' starts playin' vigilante, we gotta put their info in the database. I could get all this from Albright, but I'd rather hear it straight from you. I'd appreciate it, an' so would the boys." He glanced back towards the rest of the bustling room, where officers and detectives of the Freedom City Police Department's Southside precinct were talking into phones, going over evidence, or staring at me with open distrust. I grinned. "No problem, Jeffy. I'm with you." He grunted. "Good. So. Weaknesses?" I shrugged. "Ain't got none that I know of. Zack says I'll be hit by anything that affects mutants, though." Jeff scribbled that down in his notepad. "Okay. Now, explain ta me exactly what you were doin' in that warehouse, an' why Tony the Teamster an' his men were tryin' ta kill ya." I chuckled. "Funny story, that. So I'm walkin' back from the Home Supplier with my dinner..." He looked up at me. "What?" "I eat rocks," I said with a shrug. He kept looking at me, then scribbled it down. "So anyway, I'm walkin' by, an' I see these two guys in an alley, all hunched together, pretty obviously a deal goin' down. One of 'em looks up as I'm walkin' past, all suspicious like, an' he shouts 'Hey you, get outta here!' Well, you know me, I'm nosy, so I stop an' look at 'em an' say, 'You gonna make me?' " As I said this, I dropped my voice an octave, and the reverb from my new rock body made it a pretty good impression of Darth Vader if he were from Southside. Jeff's eyebrows rose and he looked impressed. "Well, for some reason, this scared the crap outta these guys. One of 'em throws down a bag of brown stuff, I'm guessin' dope, an' takes off runnin'. The dumb one who called me out pulls his gun and tells me not to come any closer. I'm havin' kind of a bad day, so I step towards him, an' he starts shootin'. Fires five times. Misses four. The fifth one hits my forehead an' scrapes off, knocks my hood down. He sees my face an' freaks, starts runnin' away fast as he can an' firin' blind." I rubbed where the guy had hit me, just above my right eyebrow. "Well, now I'm a little pissed, so I chase the guy. An' he leads me right to this warehouse, starts hammerin' on the door, screamin' an' beggin' them to open it. I walk up behind him an' kick him in the back, put him right through the door. Inside, there's a buncha mooks, all of 'em armed an' starin' at me. And, uh, things...escalated from there." He steepled his fingers and leaned forward. "Gimme specifics. How many? How'd you take them out?" I thought back and started counting them off on my fingers. "Nine guys. I took three of 'em out right away, I just blasted the room with enough heat to give 'em all the world's worst sunburn, took the fight right out of 'em. Another came at me from behind with a crowbar; it just bounced off, an' then I punched him inta some crates. Two more guys made a break for it; I kicked one halfway through the wall and threw my bag of rocks at the other guy and knocked 'im out. Last three were in the office up above, two with submachine guns an' one of 'em with a bigass rifle. Pegged me right here." I pointed to the splotch on my left pectoral. "They almost made it out, but I got close to the stairs an' took 'em out with another big blast." Jeff nodded as he finished writing his notes. "Okay. Then we showed up on the scene, found you keepin' an eye on the sleepin' beauties, an' we found enough drugs and illegal weapons to lock Tony the Teamster away for a real long time. Good work, Mikey." "I wasn't lookin' to be a hero," I told him seriously, rubbing the back of my head. "I just wandered into a bad situation an' had ta act." "Why?" "Why'd I act?" He shook his head. "Why don't ya wanna be a hero?" I didn't answer right away, so Jeff stood up and walked around his desk to me. "World needs more heroes. Southside needs more heroes." I couldn't meet his eyes. "I dunno, Jeffy. I mean, I'm hopin' this is a temporary thing, ya know? Like someone'll just flip the switch an' lemme get back to my life. I'm just some guy who got turned into a freak." Jeff's face was full of sympathy, and he moved to put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't," I reminded him, and his hand froze and then dropped to his side. He looked at me for a little longer, then let out a breath and sat on the edge of his desk. "So, how's your mom?" I had to think for a second. I hadn't talked to her in a few weeks, since they let me out of Albright. "Doin' alright, last I heard. Still workin' at Netstar." "Robby an' the kids?" That one I knew. "Doin' good. Robby got one of his bikes on that reality show 'bout the guys who build 'em, had a little interview an' everything. Got a lotta new customers. Alissa's still stuck workin' with Mom, but they get along, so...ya know, I'm glad someone likes the old lady. Derrick's lookin' forward ta First Grade, an' Mikey's just startin' ta walk." Jeff nodded and grinned. Robby was a few years older than us, but he and Jeff had gotten to know eachother over the years. Plus, our mom had been friends with Jeff's, so I probably wasn't telling him anything he hadn't already gotten from her. "How about you, Mike? What's goin' on? Besides the superpowers." "Just waitin' for a cure, Jeff." "So no hobbies? No girlfriend?" I sighed. I didn't want to talk about this stuff, but Jeff was good people. "Can't do too many hobbies, seein' as I melt everything. An' I was seein' a girl for about a year, Diana. Was savin' up for a ring. An' then..." I gestured down at myself. "She couldn't handle it. Can't say I blame her. Haven't seen her since." He frowned at that, his eyes shadowed. He looked like he was building to something. "How about a job? You workin' anywhere?" "Can't exactly tend bar or spin records anymore, Jeff." "Gotta be somethin' else you could do." I snorted. "You think of somethin', then. Best I've come up with is hirin' myself out as a burger grill, but then there'd be all that grease..." He laughed darkly. "Well, how're ya payin' for expenses, man?" "Albright. They set me up with a fireproof apartment an' a couple slabs of concrete for furniture. They pay for my bags of rock, too." Jeff grunted in acknowledgement, and we let the silence drag on for a bit before he spoke again. "Have you considered seein' a therapist?" I looked up in surprise. "Huh?" He met my gaze levelly. "You're goin' through some bad stuff, Mikey. The mutation, your girl leavin' ya, can't even waste time flippin' burgers or somethin'. I can hear it eatin' away at ya, man. It's in your voice." "That's the reverb, man." "I'm serious. You're my friend, and I want to help ya." He sighed. "And maybe more importantly, you're a walkin' volcano. If you go nuts waitin' for a cure, you could hurt a hell of a lot of people." He looked at me levelly. "I'm not gonna allow that." I met his gaze for a long moment, and then gave him a nod and a small, grateful smile. "I'm glad ta hear it." I looked around at the hustle and bustle of the station, trying to hide the little wisps of steam rising from my eyes, until I felt like I could face my old friend again. "I kinda have been, though. Seein' a doctor. Zack's got a minor in Psychology, I've been talkin' ta him about all this." Jeff studied me for a moment, looking doubtful. "Just be careful. Zack's one of us, but one of his higher-ups might decide it'd be safer to keep ya locked up in some bunker somewhere." "Yeah, well," I said, smiling a little sadly, "so could yours." He grunted again in acknowledgement, then stood up from his desk. "Well, I won't waste any more of your time, Mikey. You're free to go." I started to shake his hand, then caught myself. "Thanks, Jeffy." He nodded and started to move back around his desk. "Lemme know if ya need anything, or if ya come across anything I might be interested in." "Will do." He stopped beside his chair. "And Mikey?" "Yeah?" "Give some thought to the hero thing," he said seriously. "You could do some good, at least until you find a cure. And I could use a friend." I frowned, but nodded at him. "I'll think about it, Jeff." "All I ask." I left the station, ignored the suspicious looks, and headed into the night.

Table of Contents Reputation Charts The Interview The HellQ

Gotcha. Reduced Notice from 6 to 5. All done!