Just had an amusing thought, and had to share.
We have a Mars Project.
We have a Venus Project.
You know that there's going to be a group of people out there somewhere running the Pluto Project.
Not terraforming. That would be silly. No, this is a bunch of old-school astronomy fanatics, who are trying to win one of the more virulent astronomy debates of the century in the most decisive way possible. Whether or not Pluto qualifies as a planet right now, it sure will when they're done with it.
Basically, the answer is simple. by hook or by crook, they're dragging random celestial bodies out of their corners of the sky, slapping appropriately-sized drives on them, and riding them in at nonfatal speeds. Comets are favorite, but asteroids will do. They'd *like* to grab a moon or two, but acknowledge that the things are too valuable where they are. They managed to drag a consensus definition of how much mass a planet requires, and they're intending to go for that plus about 10% - Just To Be Sure. They'll even normalize the orbit a bit, if they have to.
Mind you, this isn't particularly lucrative, and it is a lot of work. The job is a labor of love - between folks who have money but no time and are willing to donate to the cause, and folks who have time and are willing and able to work for a pittance. the work goes slow - but Pluto is patient.

Remember the Kelo decision on eminent domain in New London? Check out the sequel.
My anger level is rising again.
-----
Big Brother is watching you.  And damn, you are so bloody BORING.

Zwilniks Off the Starboard Bow!
Timewise....this probably took place a month or two before the Convention.
--------------------------------------------------
I was peering through a microscope at a sample of extremophilic bacteria that I hoped to use in my latest chimera for Mars, when Clotho's bright voice came through the lab speakers. "Hey, Kev? We've got company outside. Guy in an RV, says he needs to talk to the Jason." That got an arched eyebrow. While I did biomod work for those that wanted it, normally I picked up commissions at Convention, or through email. Having someone actually willing to travel out to my neck of the Asteroid Belt to look me up was unusual. "OK. Have Fate tell them I'll be right there." I turned off the scope and headed out through my living room, then down the small metal corridor that lead to the right-hand door of my cockpit. Flopping down in the copilot seat, I offered a greeting to Fate. "Record this, please." Fate's 'Greek chorus' voice filled the cockpit, a blend of the Sisters' voices. "Yes, Kevin." I flipped the mike on. "This is the Fateful Lightning. You've got the Jason here. What can I do for you?"
"We heard you did mod work....that you could make any kind of plants people wanted. That right?" The voice was a bit nasal, no horribly-noticeable accents or anything. "If so, me and some friends want something made."
I hmmmed softly, then shrugged and answered, "I'll need more information in order to tell whether or not it's possible. What exactly are you wanting?"
There was a moment before I got a reply, then, "My...company's found some promising new chemicals in some of the life on Venus. But the production's far too low, and we want something that'll grow in less harsh conditions. Think you could do it?"
This got a frown. The guy was being remarkably close-mouthed and that was setting off all sorts of alarm bells in my head. Most of my clients were only too happy to talk to me about what they wanted...in detail. I typed into the keyboard mounted onto the dash in front of me: 'Fate, cross-reference anything we've got on Venus and the lifeforms there. Any possible hints as to what this joker wants?' As I did so, I answered said joker, "Of course I can DO it....but I'll need to know more about the substances you want expressed. Do they need any special requirements, and what exactly do they do? If I don't have that info, I could well lose them when I make the mod." I waited for a reply to that....as well as to the question I'd given Fate.
The potential client hemmed and hawed on the other end of the link. Frankly, I doubted he'd be a client of mine; I really didn't like the feel of this. But I was willing to withhold judgement until he told me more. "Well? I'll need to know in order to do the job." Words scrolled by on the screen in front of me: 'No hints at present, Kevin. But given the man's reactions and a study of his voice inflections and choices, the greatest probability is that it's illegal or close to it, and probably big trouble.' Well, crap....not what I wanted to hear from Fate. She filled the role of Oracle all too well, at times - to the point that even I wasn't sure if she could see the future or not.
The voice on the radio spat out a curse. "You wanna know? Fine. We found some prime pharmaceuticals that'll set us up big. And if you tell anybody, it'll be the LAST thing you ever do." Well....if I DID take the job, the price just doubled.
"And....?" I kept my own voice quiet, waiting to see where this would go. "A drug, then. Something actually useful, or just recreational?"
That got a evil-sounding snigger from the radio. Apparently, not giving a reaction of immediate revulsion made the guy think I was in. Stupid bastard. "Recreational. And if a buyer tries it once, he's hooked good and proper. We'll make a killing. We can get you all the specs you need."
THAT did it. I really had no problems with drugs as such. I'm pretty much a libertarian. A person can do what he wants to with his body; as long as he doesn't hurt others, that's fine. But this sounded far too much like a permanent fate. And one which could be forced on someone at that. In fact....I growled softly, "Thionite. You want me to create a version of fucking BROADLEAF for you! Not only no, but HELL no!" That woke up the guy in the RV, and he started to offer some pretty nasty-sounding threats. Not just against me, but my friends and clients as well. He shouldn't have done that. I switched the mike off. "Fate, switch control to Atropos. Atropos...." Her voice came over the speakers, quite tart, with her Sisters' voices a faint chorus in the background. "Don't teach Grandma how to suck eggs, sonny. Scout-class drone 'Spare' has been redesignated Sword-class, and is ready to launch on your word." I nodded grimly. "Right. The word is 'Republic.' Does Spare have any favorite music?" The rough old woman's voice filled the cockpit again. "Yes - Beach Boys." That got an arched eyebrow. "All right. Pipe him 'Little Old Lady from Pasadena.' Seems appropriate." That got a snort from Atropos, and I flipped the mike back on. The would-be zwilnik was still making threats about what would happen unless I started working for them. "All right, that's enough. Tell me...did you lot give ANY thought to my ship's name before you decided to try and bring me into this scheme of yours?" That got some more cursing on the other end, and I cut him off. "Apparently not, or you'd not have tried to get me to make something that would enslave people. Get this, zwilnik. My ship's name comes from a rather famous song from the 1860s. Maybe you've heard of it. It's called 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'" As I finished speaking, a hatch opened in the side of the workshop trailer, and what appeared to be a small go-cart popped out. As it hit open space, every light on the cart flashed on - normal lights, brights, halogen spotlights...even the two ranks of grow lights that I'd installed to help get some mining plants established a while back. It was extremely visible for a split-second, and I heard the man on the other end of the radio link mutter the start of an exclamation as he caught sight of it. Then it flashed into a streak of light that pierced the front of the RV, which promptly exploded in molten metal and glass. Even reinforced by handwavium, things tend to break when hit by a hundred fifty pounds of material moving something on the order of a hundred miles a second. The rest of the RV began to come apart, a trail of debris and air shooting out the rear as the remains of the drone continued on their way. I swallowed hard, turning a little green. "Terrible swift Sword, indeed...."
I sighed. "Atropos? You and the others, send out all the cam-drones we have on hand, and check the wreckage? If there's anything left over there that'll identify these bastards, I want it. You might send out Spool, Spotter, and Succor as well. We can take the largest pieces of that back with us, maybe visit SSX Base and see if anything can be found out from the debris." I got an affirmative from Atropos, and my hand scrubbed down my face. "I'm going to go throw up, I think, then hide in the Garden for a bit. If anything comes up, let me know, and be prepared to take defensive measures as necessary." I considered the image of Spare flashing into a beam of light. "Fate....in the ship's log, mark that Scout-class 'Spare' was designated Sword-class today, renamed 'Saber.' Destroyed in defense of the ship." I sighed, and started for the walkway to my living quarters. "Keep your eyes peeled, ladies. This has a bad feel, and I'm not sure it's over yet." Fate had to chime in. "It will be over when it's over." I sighed again, and headed back. Throwing up, rinsing out my mouth, and a large glass of Johnnie Walker Black in the Garden sounded good right now. I also pondered what I should do about my newfound popularity. Would it help matters if I started some rumors that I had weapons-grade handwavium like the Professor was supposed to, or would that just make me more of a target? Of course, we ALL had weapons-grade handwavium; most people just didn't seem to realize it...at least, not unless they were VERY desperate. I'd have to run the idea past Fate, see what she thought. With that, I entered my living quarters and headed for the kitchen. Right. Alcohol.

Quote:

---

Come up screaming
Come up screaming
I've never seen you look like this without a reason
Another promise fallen through, another season passes by you
I never took the smile away from anybody's face
And that's a desperate way to look for someone who is still a child
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered
I'm not expecting to grow flowers in a desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you
Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded
Pull up your head off the floor
Come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might've wanted
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered
I'm not expecting to grow flowers in a desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
In a big country dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive
- Big Country
"In a Big Country"
The Crossing (1983)

---

Apparantly the RIAA is suing a Russian filesharing company - for 1.65 trillion dollars.
www.redherring.com/Articl...+for+%241B
tech.cybernetnews.com/200...-trillion/
I don't think they are likely to get that much money. 1.65 trillion dollars is larger than Russia's GDP. It's well over half the US federal budget. (Actually that's a scary comparison in itself.) I don't know how the RIAA figured they lost that much money. The only explanation I can think of is that they've heard that parody is considered "fair use" - so decided to do something beyond parody.

I was reading the TV Tropes wiki the other day, and got inspired. This is pretty much all there's going to be of this one. Enjoy.
----------
I can feel it coming in the air as I walk - a wash of power building behind me - my theme music finally cueing up. The wave crests, and crashes into me. It's the opening strains of O Fortuna. Not just generic Latin music. Not even just something *inspired* by O Fortuna. The real thing. I *am* the local definition of badass. The doors to the Council Hall explode inward at my approach, and I stride through.
The council goes dead silent at my entrance. I address them
"Greetings, Councillors. Fear me. The largest and most powerful army in the history of this place has assembled beneath my banner, and stands outside your gates, and they don't even matter. If I wanted to, I could crush you all myself. I will be leaving in an hour. Understand that every single one of you still alive at the end of that hour wil be alive because I *let* you live. I'm not talking about your lands, your people, your soldiers, your assistants, or your families. I'm talking about *you*. You have no allies left to sacrifice. You have no power left to defend yourself with. You have no place left to run. I *own* you - and you will *obey*. Do I make myself clear?"
...and then a kid with an oversized sword and spiky hair leaps down from the upper balconies and lands in a dramatic crouch.
"You say you can crush us all, Darklord? Fine. I'll call you on that. Leave the council out of it. Face me, instead."
My background music swells to meet him, and I realize what's happening. I drop my head into my hands and groan. I should have seen it coming. I *really* should have seen it coming.
The kid gets annoyed at my reaction. "What? Don't you take me seriously enough to defend youself? Should I run you through right now?"
The kid is close to losing it. I look up at him, dead calm. "Kid, stop. You fighting me, right now, like this, would be bad for both of us, no matter who wins. Seriously bad. Can you hold off on the rage long enough to hear why?"
The kid is a little shaken by my utter failure to follow the script. He nods. That's good. Worst case scenario, even if he *does* decide to attack me, the further we are from the script, the more chance I have to live.
"Okay. say we get into a fight. I'm a nearly omnipotent lord of darkness. You're a heroic kid who's done enough fighting to pretty much know which end of his weapon has the hurty bits on it. At this point, it's about even odds on which one of us will win. With me so far?"
The kid nods, looking cocky.
"Now, if you win, chances are you kill me. After all, by now I'm steeped enough in dark magic that you're going to have to defeat me more than once. Each time you win, I'll be transformed into an ever more powerful and grotesque form, with my final form remaining totally combat-capable right up until I explode. Not much room for a nonlethal disable. Anyway, I die. I lose control of the horde outside the gates, and they start rampaging. New leaders of the Dark rise up from the chaos in short order. Worst case scenario, they overwhelm this last Bastion, killing every living thing within the walls, and the light goes out of the world. That's bad. We can agree that that's bad, right?"
The kid nods, looking a bit concerned.
"Okay. Best case scenario, you, with or without allies, head out the gates to take on pretty much the entire world. It has to be you, because by this point the Powers of the Light are so badly behind that the only way to make up for it is to ride the drama - and by killing me you pretty much ensure that you're the one with the drama behind him. Your life becomes a hell of misery and constant battle. Eventually, after a sereis of ever more gruesome and depressing adventures, in which your allies, if you have any, sacrifice themselves one by one so that you can continue on, you manage to destroy pretty much every focus of Dark power in the world, and return here - only to find that everyone's starved to death, because there's no way they can grow enough food in this place to feed everyone, and there's no way that anyone can kill off the hordes outside fast enough to make farming outside the walls feasible. If you are ridiculously lucky, there might still a handful of humanity left somewhere, with whom you can rebuild the race. Otherwise, you die unloved, friendless, and alone. We can agree that that's *also* bad, right?
The kid nods, looking a bit disturbed.
"Right. Now, on the other side, if I beat you and let you live, you're going to keep coming back after me, growing stronger every time until you finally, inevitably, manage to defeat me, and kill me. I personally don't like those odds. I promise you, if we fight, and I win, you will die. The problem, though, is that that makes you an *origin* *story* - and I don't know for *who*. Fortunately for me, these things take time, but that just means that I've got a few extra years before my, remember this word, *inevitable* demise. Even more fortunately for me, however, I have a way to stall it a bit. I can *KILL EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER LOVED YOU*. And then I can kill everyone who has ever loved *them*, and everyone who has ever loved *them*, and knock off anyone who manages to retroactively develop feelings for any of my victims in the meantime, until finally, some day, I slip up, and fail to kill someone, and they bring about the previously mentioned inevitable demise. That's *BAD*, right? We can agree that that's *BAD*, can't we?"
The kid nods, looking traumatized.
"Or, we can go with Option B. I have a plan on how everything can work out reasonably well for everyone. I explain my plan. If you agree, and you let me threaten the council until they agree, then we smile, and shake hands, and walk out, if not friends, at least acquaintances on good terms. Nobody has to turn into a horrible monster and explode. Nobody has to doom their friends and extended family to being hunted down and slaughtered. Nobody has to die. Personally, I'm pretty fond of option B in this case. How about you?"

G'day folks!
This is the story fragment that prompted the commission picture I got done up recently. Read and enjoy - and comment, of course.
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&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well, I'm hardly an expert," Psyche turned the small circuit card over in her fingers for a moment, examining it. "I've seen some Rikti technology, yes, but if you want to know if this really is some of their tech, you'd be better off asking Positron for his opinion. He's the technology wizard." She handed it back to the red and silver armoured hero, cocking an eyebrow curiously.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp " I had thought of that," MechaDeuce nodded hesitantly, and Psyche caught a fragment of a related thought.
[Should I mention it to her or not? I don't want to alarm her. ]
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Mention what to me?" Psyche cocked her head at him, hiding a smile at the way he started. "Come on," she prodded, "I'm psychic, remember? You had to have some other reason for bringing this to me specifically."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Smart as well as beautiful," MechaDeuce's tone of voice was hard to pin down because of the electronic modulation from his suit, but Psyche was willing to bet he was grinning. "All right, I brought it to you because everything they've stolen in the last week has been some kind of technology that is very specifically targeted at affecting psychic powers, and a lot of that has been reclaimed Rikti tech. When I found this, I found some records they'd tried to destroy and the records were all about you."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Why don't you just come out and say that you think they're going to try and kill me?" Psyche's voice was dry, and she gave him a small smile. "Thanks for the concern, but I think I can handle a few Freaks."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Oh?" MechaDeuce's helmet tilted in a manner suggesting a sidelong glance at her. "I take it you can hear their thoughts before they get close enough to do anything?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Something like that," Psyche nodded. "They aren't exactly subtle it might have something to do with being covered in old car parts, but I could be wrong."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I see," MechaDeuce was silent for a moment. "What if they've found a way to get around that?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Not likely," Psyche snorted delicately. "That would take somebody with intelligence and discipline the intelligence to see why they'd need to do, and the discipline to actually follow-through on some kind of a plan. Those are both attributes I've never heard any of the Freaks be accused of."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "What about Clamor?" MechaDeuce asked mildly. "She certainly had both." Psyche shot him a narrow glance.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "All right, but Clamor was an exception," she allowed. "Most of the Freakshow are nothing more than angry punks running around with power tools."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "True," his helmet nodded in agreement. "But there might be somebody new on the scene, somebody able to move beyond that limitation."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I guess anything's possible," she shrugged. "Don't you think you're overreacting a little? I mean, I appreciate the concern, but..."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I take it that you can read my mind right now?" The question caught Psyche flatfooted, and she blinked at the sudden shift the conversation had taken.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "What does that have to do anything?" She frowned at him. "I can sense everyone's thoughts to some degree, but I don't run around reading people's minds, thank you very much. That's an invasion of privacy, not to mention unethical." She didn't bother to mention that she didn't really like actively reading minds she got enough 'noise' from everyone around her that she certainly didn't need to probe directly to know what they were thinking.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I know that," MechaDeuce nodded again. "With your permission, I'd like to try something." When she nodded curiously, MechaDeuce opened a panel in the chestplate of his armour and inserted the circuit card as Psyche watched. He closed the compartment, and the blue glow from the lens in the center of his chest armour brightened. At the same time, the background hum from his armour suit began to rise in pitch.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "All right can you sense anything now?" the resonant electronic voice asked. Psyche opened her mouth to reply... ..and then he disappeared.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It was like suddenly going deaf, or having your eardrums pop from a sudden change in air pressure. The shift was so abrupt that it bordered on being physically painful. Psyche could still see the armoured figure in front of her he hadn't moved since slotting in the circuit card but every trace of his mind was gone as if removed by a giant chalkboard eraser. In fact...
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Shut it off," Psyche's hands flew to the sides of her head, her eyes widening as she suddenly realized she couldn't "hear" anybody's thoughts anymore. Deafening silence seemed to be crushing down on her suddenly, and panic fluttered like a caged bird in her chest. "Stop it!! Shut it OFF!!!!"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Sorry." The blue glow faded a bit, and MechaDeuce pulled out the circuit card.
[I was right, damn it...] The thought echoed ominously.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Yes, you were right," Psyche's mouth was dry as she tried to get her pulse back under control. In the back of her mind, the familiar babble of a myriad of different minds had re-established itself. She took a deep breath and tried to force herself to relax. "So you're telling me the Freakshow has a psychic cloaking device?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Something like that," he nodded, then handed her the circuit card. "You'd better get Positron to look that over and see if he can find a way to either jam or circumvent it." The red-and-silver battle suit stepped back from her and bowed formally. "Thank you very much for taking the time to talk to me; I really appreciate it."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Wait a second, what...where the hell are you going?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Hunting," MechaDeuce's voice was flat. Dust swirled around him on the pavement as he began to lift into the air, the glow from his helmet visor and chest lens brightening to a steady blue-white burn. "I now know who, how, and why, but I don't know where or when. Yet." The hum from the red-and-silver armour rose to a high-pitched howl, and he shot off into the distance, banking sharply and angling out over the harbour.

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "...And then he just blasts off across the harbour!" Psyche fumed, pacing back and forth. "Who the hell does he think he is?!" Her eyes flashed as she turned, her bright red hair framing her irate expression. On the other side of the room, Positron glanced up from his workbench, but withheld any comments he might have had. In front of him, wires snaked from improvised connections on the mysterious circuit card to a nearby computer bank.
Readouts flickered and scrolled on a nearby screen, and the armoured scientist examined the data carefully, occasionally glancing at another screen and tapping a key. Positron became aware that it had become quiet suddenly, and glanced up - Psyche was standing watching him with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, and tapping her foot, evidently expecting a reply of some kind.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Uh," Positron scrambled to come up with something that wouldn't sound lame. "Was that a rhetorical question, or did you really want me to comment on somebody I haven't met?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Forget it," Psyche sighed and resumed pacing. "Any luck with that thing?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Some," Positron replied absently, his gaze again fixed on the monitor readouts. He snagged a spooling printout from a third console and read through the results. "It's a knock-off of Rikti technology, all right, but it was manufactured locally. The analysis shows typical elements and composition consistent with North American fabrication facilities."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I thought it was illegal to duplicate Rikti tech?" Psyche's eyebrow quirked upwards.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Plasma weapon technology only," Positron replied, hitting a couple more keys and watching the screen. "If you get the proper licenses and permits, research on the more mundane stuff is allowed."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "What's mundane about psi-blocking?" Psyche glanced darkly at the wired-up circuit board. "Anybody working on that kind of stuff is either hiding something, or wants to control psychics."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "It's possible," Positron admitted, cocking his helmet at her. "Or they could be looking for a defence against Rikti psychic powers."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "You're an optimist, Posi," Psyche shook her head, giving him a small smile. "So what's our next step?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Finding the rest of the device would be a good start," Positron turned away from the workbench. "This board is only part of a larger device, after all. Based on what you've said, it generates a field that blocks psychic-type abilities, but we'd need to conduct some more tests before I can say what the range is or if it's only supposed to block mind-reading."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I'll pass on the tests, thanks," Psyche eyed the circuit card inimically, her lips pressed in a thin line. "Feeling that thing in operation once was enough."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well then, it looks like you'll need to call up your friend in the armour suit," Positron glanced at her. "From what you've said, it sounds like he's actively pursuing it."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A rippling blast of energy slammed into the motley group, exploding in a coronal discharge of blue force that scattered them like bowling pins. Curses and surprised shouts filled the air as two more bursts of blue energy struck one of the Freaks - the one with the large transformer coils jutting from his shoulders. The Freak stiffened and toppled over in a limp heap as a glowing red-and-white suit of armour landed neatly in the middle of the Freaks as they scrambled to their feet.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A crimson aura burst from MechaDeuce's right gauntlet as he slammed it into the chest of the nearest Freak, sending him arcing through the air to crash into a pile of crates. Wood chunks flew everywhere as they splintered noisily, but MechaDeuce had already turned away to deliver a point-blank volley of pulsing energy bolts to the next Freak in line - the one trying to line up a shotgun on him. The gun bellowed, spraying buckshot in a hailstorm of whining ricochets as it glanced harmlessly off his armour. The first bolt shattered the shotgun; the remainder of the volley stretched the Freak out unconscious on the pavement.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp From off to MechaDeuce's right, a submachine gun chattered noisily, but the hail of lead missed him. MechaDeuce barely even glanced in the direction of the gunner as he flattened him with another crackling energy bolt. His helmet turned, the glowing blue visor lens seeming to focus on another man groggily climbing back to his feet. Like most of the Freakshow, the man was covered in tattoos and pieces of implanted metal; unlike the others he had replaced both of his arms with massive robotic arms, ending in razor-edged claws.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp MechaDeuce's gauntlet flared again, and the metal-armed Freak skidded along the cracked asphalt in a tumbling roll. As the dazed Freak sat up drunkenly, the towering armour suit reached down and grabbed the front of his ratty leather jacket, hauling him upright to stand eyeball-to-visor.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I want some information, Slicer," MechaDeuce's electronically modulated voice was hard-edged, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Where's the weapon, and when are you punks going to try using it?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I don't know what you're talking about, cape," Slicer sneered, spitting blood onto the chestplate of his questioner.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Do I look like I'm wearing a cape?" MechaDeuce's gauntleted fist clenched tighter. "Let me refresh your memory: large long-range focused plasma weapon with psi-shielding, smuggled in pieces into the city. Dossier on Sister Psyche. Ringing any bells in that vacuum you call a brain?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I don't know nothin'," Slicer's gaze was bright with hatred. "An' even if I did, I ain't telling some nosy do-gooder in a tin suit. Why don't you mind your own business before you get hurt?"
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "By you?" MechaDeuce snorted derisively. "That'll be the...."
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Something crashed into the side of his helmet with bruising force, sending waves of blackness shot through with red sparks across his vision. The world spun crazily as warning lights flashed in his helmet viewscreen. As he fought to reorient himself, MechaDeuce felt himself slam into something hard and unyielding with a loud, gritty crunch concrete, he reasoned foggily.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Shaking his head to clear the last of the flashing lights from his vision, he rolled to his feet in a combat crouch. A scant twenty feet away, a very large and bulky Freak covered in heavy metal armour, rusty spikes, and with two massive mallets for arms was stomping towards him.
&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Not by me," Slicer's voice oozed malicious satisfaction. "By him."

--------------------------------------
Bert Van Vliet
skyknight@sentex.net
[www.bgcrisis.com

Greetings to all and sundry! ^_^
(Okay, for everyone who's been nagging me to log into the DW Forums, you can STOP now!! Sheesh!! =P )
Anyhow, I'm here at last. Let the PUNishment commence.
(Come back! I was *kidding!!!* =P )
I'll likely be doing most of my posting in the near future in the CoH-related forums. My fanfic stuff is in flux at the moment for a variety of reasons; I'm currently working on a short story based on my main blaster on the Virtue Server, MechaDeuce. (Just think of him as SkyKnight's older brother. )
If anyone's curious what the idea is, check out my main webpage at www.bgcrisis.com for a clue.
If anyone's really curious, I can post an excerpt in the forums.
Sayonara!
Bert Van Vliet
skyknight@sentex.net
(aka SkyKnight, MechaDeuce, Flaymecat, Captain Vaeria, Bladestryke, Winterwynd, Stormwynd, Saberkitten, Northwarden....)

I don't plan on contributing any actual story material, but I thought the writers here might find ideas or inspiration from some web sites I've collected for my own use.
CD has already mentioned one site in the General discussion, but here are 3 more that I have used for my own fanfic ideas at least once and sometimes several times.
There are more sites and I'm not presenting them in any paticular order, but for now here are 3 sites I have used for ideas.
Atomic Rockets
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www.projectrho.com/rocket/index.html
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Mikes electrical stuff
If this site's pictures doesn't give you ideas for describing the latest Fen invention then you need to turn in your Handwavium.
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www.electricstuff.co.uk/
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Orb study
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www.orbstudy.com/BIZyCart...T=OrbStudy
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howard melton
God bless