Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Anime Chapter 1 Subject: AAE9a: Negotiations in Realtime 1 On Mon, 5 Apr 2004 22:50:53 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00011915 24hrs ago: The other cosm teams had left, deploying to their various areas of operation, as had the various other groups attempting to keep a lid on the various smaller crises breaking out all over. Which left Rio, Orchid, and Roger Smith, who had delayed his departure for certain reasons. He gave Rio a lingering goodbye kiss, and bowed like the refined gentleman he was over Orchid's hand. "Ladies, it grieves me to part company with you, but duty calls, and I have... transportation to catch." He gave both of them his best Remington Steele smile. "And don't be alarmed at any momentary tectonic disturbances -- that'll just be me doing a minor bit of landscaping." With this cryptic comment and a cheery wave, he strode out of the command center, headed for a remote part of the Island where he knew there were no subterranean facilities or services. Standing in the broad clearing, he shot back his left cuff and barked authoritatively into his watch, in full Bond style (if Bond had been a Sentai character): "Big O! It's SHOWTIME!" There was a massive rumble for several seconds, before the center of the clearing fell out from under him. "Well, darn," he could have been heard to mutter, "haven't quite got that fixed yet," as he fell into the sudden sinkhole. The rumbling stopped, leaving behind nothing but a broad, shallow subsidence crater and a number of swaying trees... Now: Roger Smith pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. "Let me see if I have this straight. You two gentlemen--" He avoided weighting the term, with difficulty. "You two gentlemen have a long-standing agreement to join your families, and your respective martial-arts schools, by having your children marry each other. An agreement that predates the birth of any of your children." Across the nightclub table from him, the bald fat man and the mustachioed thin man nodded vigorously, in tandem. "But in the intervening two decades, you," he gestured at the fat one, "Mr. Saotome, *also* made binding agreements to marry your son to *another* family's daughter. And on top of that, your son recently unintentionally *married* a *third* girl, under some obscure local law not internationally recognized. And now *you* want *me* to negotiate a settlement that fulfills your original agreement and gets all the other involved parties to just... go away." His clients nodded again. "Ranma MUST marry my little Akane!" bust out the thinner man. "The original Tendo/Saotome pact predates all others!" "That is as may be," Smith replied wearily, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu -- probably because he'd rehashed this point several times already. "But by acting in violation of that agreement when he made his *other* agreement with the Kuonji family, Mr. Saotome at minimum owes the Kuonjis restitution for the dowry he accepted, plus damages--" "Here now!" Saotome began to bluster. "AND," Smith plowed forward inexorably, "he could quite easily be charged with out-and-out theft. Fraud, at minimum." He felt a rather unprofessional satisfaction at seeing them dumbstruck, mouths gaping and closing like fish out of water. He suppressed the unworthy impulse, and continued on. "Furthermore, the situation with Ms.--" He checked his notes. "Ms. Shan Pu, presents both a legal problem *and* a practical one, since the parties involved appear willing to use force to carry through their claim. They give the appearance of being unwilling to accept any alternative settlement, to boot." Tendo's eyes began to well up in an alarming fashion as the live singer on the stage behind him switched places with a new one. "B-b-b-b-but, the schools MUST be joined! It is a matter of family honor!" He broke down, sobbing and shedding tears at a rate which should have quickly dehydrated any normal person. His heavyset companion began patting him on the shoulder, glaring at Smith. But the Negotiator was no longer paying attention. His eyes were fixed, instead, on the new singer. A petite, pale girl with a rosy blush high on each cheekbone, she wore a fancy broad-skirted red dress and her auburn hair in a practical pageboy cut, held back by a band above her forehead. She looked to be getting over a bad case of stage fright as her song progressed. "Uh oh." The Negotiator's eyes darted about, looking for-- yes, a very elderly man with a walking stick, in a white suit, watching the girl with paternal pride. Breaker had wrought far too well, it seemed. And if the pattern held-- "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I suspect my services are about to be urgently required elsewhere. I'll research your case further and be in touch." With absently impeccable manners, he stood, dropped his re-folded napkin onto the table, along with enough money to cover the check, and headed for the stage at an unhurried but ground-eating stride. Behind him, the clients exchanged a look. "Do you think there's going to be trouble, Tendo?" "Perhaps, Saotome. It would be wise of use to leave." "I agree. And look! He left us a retainer! It would be churlish of us not to take it." "Indeed. Shall we...?" "Yes, with all due haste, as the Master would say." Smith was almost to his target when the old man suddenly felt the muzzle of a gun touching his back, shielded from view by the long trenchcoat said firearm's owner was wearing. He stiffened, knowing exactly who was responsible. His eyes sought out the darkened wings of the stage, and found the blond, pompadoured man who was smirking at him with the expression of a cat who had his canary in hand -- or in this case, nightingale -- from the protection of the shadows. A flare of protective and self-righteous anger overrode the bulk of his good sense, and Timothy Waynewright gnarled finger tightened on the grip of his cane. He began to raise it, heedless of the consequences, but stopped as the blond man's expression turned to shock. There was a voice from behind him, from behind Beck's gunsel, and he suddenly felt a stab of hope. Up on the stage, his Dorothy kept singing, her eyes now shut, swaying gently before the microphone and still unaware of the danger she was in... Smith jabbed the trenchcoated goon's back with the broad end of his capped pen, and grinned as he felt the other man stiffen. "Now, now, friend," he murmured in his most reasonable tone. "Let's not do anything hasty, shall we? Negotiation should always be carried out in leisure, with a clear head, and on a level playing field. Concepts your boss appears to not entirely understand." His voice hardened. "Now, safe your gun and hand it back to me, *slowly.*" Still hidden in the wings to Dorothy's left, Beck's pompadour was bouncing from his frustration at this sudden monkey wrench in his supposedly perfect plan. And Beck, being one who took surprises badly, was probably going to-- The three goons accompanying Beck offstage surged forward at his order, obviously aiming to re-take their hostage and/or capture their main target. Waynewright burst out "Dorothy!" as the goon behind him, halfway through surrendering his pistol, tried to spin and engage Smith, and the pallid girl's eyes snapped open in obvious surprise even as Smith dropped the gunsel with a precise nerve-cluster strike. The three backup goons had spread into a sort of broad skirmish line, but they had to go around Dorothy to get at Waynewright. The excited blush vanished from her cheeks as her expression went flat, and the goon closest to her suddenly went flying as she blurred into motion at inhuman speed. A gunshot froze her into immobility, eyes fixed on the smoking gun in Beck's hand as he moved out onto the stage. Offstage, the club erupted into hysterical chaos as the patronage and staff abandoned their upper-crust gentility and stampeded for the nearest exits in a most proletarian fashion. Beck waited for the screaming to die down, his gun fixed on Waynewright the entire time. His two remaining goons were too far apart for even her speed to successfully deal with them both, their own guns also targeting Waynewright. Behind her, Smith cursed under his breath and stepped out from behind the old man, putting on his best negotiation face. But it was Beck who spoke first. "Well, well, well," he crooned smugly. "I think I've heard of you, Mr. 'Negotiator.'" He smirked in a supremely self-satisfied way that made Smith's knuckles ache. "So, are you planning to fast-talk your way out of this, now that you've involved yourself in something that was none of your affair?" "A good negotiator," Smith replied evenly, "takes action when he perceives that unfair bargaining is taking place. It's a matter of professional ethics." "Professional ethics!" Beck shrieked happily, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Oh, that's soooo rich! Well, let me make this quick for you: we're taking the girl, and the old man, and if you're very, very nice to me, I won't kill you where you stand. There, we've negotiated! Wasn't that fun?" "It was extremely unprofessional." Smith was moving subtly to put himself between Waynewright and the guns, under cover of the conversation. "Anyone can see that this is a bad deal, carried forward under threat and coercion. If Professor Waynewright declined to negotiate with you, then the *polite* thing to do would have been to take your business elsewhere." "Oooh, but you see, I *can't,*" Beck drawled with real venom. "The good Perfesser has, you could say, a monopoly on the market. Doesn't leave me many options. Besides," he added, eyes slitting, "he *owes* me. We had a deal, he and I, and he *welched* on it. So now I'm going to collect, plus interest and damages." His eyes traveled up and down Dorothy's body in an unwholesome fashion. "And I think I'm going to *enjoy* that interest, after my fist order of business is complete..." That was when everything fell apart. Waynewright tried to throw himself around Smith's shielding bulk, shouting in incoherent rage. The doors burst inward as several police officers surged in, guns drawn. Beck and his goons froze momentarily, trying to decide who to shoot at first. And Dorothy *moved.* Smith kicked Waynewright's cane out from under him and bore the elderly man to the floor beneath him as the slugs began flying. Two, from whom he never figured out, struck his torso and bounced off the trauma plating in his suit jacket. Wood slivers salted his hair and slipped down his neck as the piano disintegrated under heavy fire. He spread himself into the most effective shield possible over the old man and kept his head down for a very loud eternity that lasted perhaps thirty seconds. "Grandfather?" He looked up. Dorothy was standing over him, staring down at Waynewright beneath him. Her face was still milk-pale, but her expression was all too human. He rolled hastily off the old man and gave him a quick going-over to check for injuries. Waynewright tried to brush him aside and sit up, wheezing out imprecations and irritable-old-man-isms. Smith, satisfied that his charge had suffered no injuries, let himself be swatted away and helped the old man up, trying to be non-obvious about it. "Well, well, Roger Smith. Why am I not surprised?" Smith turned and found himself face-to-scowl with a scarred, tired-looking cop. "Inspector Dastun, imagine meeting you here!" Dastun looked even more dyspeptic, if that were possible. "This is a crime scene. I'm *supposed* to be here. What I want to know is, why are *you?*" Smith made a minor production of straightening his suit and tie. "Well, if you *must* know, Inspector, this tawdry little conflict was none of *my* doing -- I'm a negotiator, not a brawler. I simply acted as a gentleman when I saw innocent people being bullied by armed thugs." "Uh *huh.*" Dastun's tone contained enough irony to build a skyscraper, but he seemed inclined to let that stand, judging from the way his eyes picked over the scene. "I'll need you to file a statement, of course." "Of course. Don't I always cooperate?" "On your own terms, maybe. Some negotiator. And by the way -- your suit needs mending." Smith looked embarrassed. "Well, my options were rather limited." Dastun speared him with stern gaze. "Just be careful. Even you're vulnerable to a head shot, these days." Smith was still trying to figure out how Dastun knew *that* little detail when there was a sharp cry from behind him. He and Dastun turned to see Waynewright, suddenly paler than his granddaughter, slumping limply in her arms and clutching at his chest.... The ambulance pulled away from the Nightingale Club with its lights off, in no hurry now. It left behind one sobered negotiator with a rock of guilt in his stomach, holding an umbrella to shield a pale, shocky android girl from the chill drizzle that seemed determined to soak into everything. "Ms. Waynewright, I'm so very sorry." Inside the safety of his own mind, he cursed himself for his failure, for being such a powerless avatar in this cosm. Any number of other templates would have given him the power to save an old man from a simple heart attack, but no, he'd had to choose the powerless robot pilot-- He cut that useless line of thought off with a snarl at his own self-indulgence. *He* wasn't the wounded party, here. He took a breath, and tried again. "Ms. Waynewright?" The girl beside him made no reply. Didn't blink, didn't pretend to breath. She might as well have been shut off. "Ms. Waynewright, I'm sorry, but Beck got away. And I don't doubt he's still interested in you. Do you have anywhere to go? Anyone to call?" He felt a sick certainty that he already knew the answer. For more than a minute, his only answer was the sound of the rain, before she finally stirred. "no" "Major Dastun has agreed to leave you in my custody," he said, feeling enormously inadequate. "If you're amenable, that is. Until Beck is caught, you shouldn't be without protection." No reply. Fighting a feeling of helplessness, he touched his watch. Up the street, the Gryphon started, turned on its lights, and cruised down to park in front of them. He touched her shoulder gently, trying to seat her in the long, dark sedan, and she responded like a machine: cold, jerky, lifeless. He was about to close the door when she suddenly looked up and met his eyes. Her own her huge, he noted, and dark, with a hint of rings within rings hiding in their depths. "You... are a negotiator?" "A- among other things, yes," he replied, startled. "I wish for you to negotiate with Beck for me." Her voice was flat, but there was something... "Negotiate with *Beck?* For what?" "I believe," she replied, "the appropriate phrase is 'an eye for an eye'." The rock in his stomach turned to ice. "I can see Beck brought to justice," he said slowly. "But I am not an assassin." She studied his face for a long moment more, searching for something, but he didn't know what. Finally, she nodded once, folding her hands in her lap and staring forward through the windscreen. "That will suffice... Roger Smith." He closed the her door and splashed around to the driver's side, wondering again just how in the *hell* he managed to fall into these situations... =========================== Subject: AAE9a: Silver Reflections On Sun, 11 Apr 2004 01:34:01 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011983 >On Mon, 5 Apr 2004 22:50:53 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00011915 > > Roger Smith pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings >of a migraine. "Let me see if I have this straight. You two >gentlemen--" He avoided weighting the term, with difficulty. "You two >gentlemen have a long-standing agreement to join your families, and >your respective martial-arts schools, by having your children marry >each other. An agreement that predates the birth of any of your >children." OOC: ROFL!!! So, was that a cameo or are they coming back to haunt poor Rog? > The ambulance pulled away from the Nightingale Club with its >lights off, in no hurry now. It left behind one sobered negotiator >with a rock of guilt in his stomach, holding an umbrella to shield a >pale, shocky android girl from the chill drizzle that seemed >determined to soak into everything. > "Ms. Waynewright, I'm so very sorry." Inside the safety of his own >mind, he cursed himself for his failure, for being such a powerless >avatar in this cosm. Any number of other templates would have given >him the power to save an old man from a simple heart attack, but no, >he'd had to choose the powerless robot pilot-- > He cut that useless line of thought off with a snarl at his own >self-indulgence. *He* wasn't the wounded party, here. He took a >breath, and tried again. From a towering building, a gleaming chrome figure watched sadly. [Oh, Roger,] Sil thought with quiet sympathy. [You take after your mother so much, but in some things, you really are your father's son.] > He was about to close the door when she suddenly looked up and met >his eyes. Her own her huge, he noted, and dark, with a hint of rings >within rings hiding in their depths. "You... are a negotiator?" > "A- among other things, yes," he replied, startled. > "I wish for you to negotiate with Beck for me." Her voice was >flat, but there was something... > "Negotiate with *Beck?* For what?" > "I believe," she replied, "the appropriate phrase is 'an eye for >an eye'." > The rock in his stomach turned to ice. "I can see Beck brought to >justice," he said slowly. "But I am not an assassin." > She studied his face for a long moment more, searching for >something, but he didn't know what. Finally, she nodded once, folding >her hands in her lap and staring forward through the windscreen. >"That will suffice... Roger Smith." > He closed the her door and splashed around to the driver's side, >wondering again just how in the *hell* he managed to fall into these >situations... [Weirdness, meet magnet. Magnet, weirdness.] Sil descended through the roof, literally -- having a body with the Vision's powers had its advantages. Soon, she found an empty room, and activated her Image Inducer. She now looked like a platinum blonde with light skin, instead of platinum everything. Walking around looking like a human in a metal bikini, however, was not an option. [Good thing I came prepared,] she thought with a grin. A minute later, women were glaring and men were gaping as she walked past. Now clad in a form-fitting silvery evening gown, light gleaming along it in small multicolored displays, she strode confidently through Tokyo. She enjoyed the attention, but she had a job to do. It wasn't long before the attention forced her to pay attention. Almost before even _she_ could react, a gang of half a dozen adolescent boy-men had her surrounded, making rude gestures and catcalls. "Woo-HOO!" "Hey, cowgirl, want some fun?" "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!" Sil stopped, sighing. "Boys, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I really am in something of a hurry. Now move before you hurt yourselves." They laughed. Of course they laughed. The tallest one walked right up to her, his nose barely an inch from hers. The leader, almost certainly. "Oh, we know what we're doing, lady." He grabbed Sil's arm and yanked. Nothing happened. "Ow! What the--" the leader blurted. The catcalls and laughter stopped immediately. "I suppose this will go faster if I put my foot down now," the spirit sighed. She stamped her foot. The small shockwave knocked half of them off their feet and forced the leader to let go to avoid falling himself. "You #@$%&!" The leader swore, swinging. When he connected, he screamed. The crunch of multiple breaking bones had been clearly audible. "And you're the _brains_ of this outfit?" Sil asked dubiously. A shorter one grabbed a pipe and prepared to swing at her head. [At least that one has _some_ clue. Not much of one, but...] a flicker of thought later, and her density changed dramatically. The pipe whistled through her head harmlessly, though the shoulder it impacted on was not so lucky. "AAGH!" "Sorry, man! Sorry! I...she..." the kid gangster looked from his unlucky teammate to the mystery woman, stared wide-eyed at her, and dropped the pipe. "Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods." Sil winked. "You said it, kid." "Angry GHOOOOST!" he screamed, running. She let the others run too, shifting her density again and grabbing the leader by the collar. Phasing her hand through his, Sil shifted a few bones back into place. He finally stopped screaming, switching to the occasional whimper. "Now. Do I have your attention?" The punk nodded, still whimpering. "Oh, good. As it happens, I'm new in town, and I need to find the Ministry of Science. Chief Anderson? Doctor O'Shay? Names ringing any bells?" "Yeah, yeah, you go down--" the kid began. "Oh, I'm sure you can take me yourself," Sil replied brightly. "Shall we walk?" The punk stared at her sullenly. "I gotta bike." "Okay," she replied. "Can you drive like that?" she asked, gesturing at his hand as she followed him. "Lady, I could drive with my feet if I had to. Gotta learn to drive one-handed if you fight clowns," he quipped. Sil groaned inwardly. He wasn't being...insistent, any more, but it was a lot easier when they just broke their hands on her. Then she saw the bike. A magnificent piece of hardware, she would have just whistled appreciatively under normal circumstances. It was long, red, well-balanced and powerful; obviously a top of the line machine. She glanced around him at the back of his jacket. The symbol of a pill, half red and half blue, was right where she feared it would be. "You got a name, kid?" "I ain't no kid," he blurted, then, misinterpreting her question _again,_ he smiled broadly. "My name's Kaneda. What's yours, toots?" "...Sylvia," she replied absently. "That kid with the pipe, his name isn't Tetsuo, is it?" Kaneda backed away suddenly. "What the hell? You with those freaks from the government?" "Absolutely not," she replied firmly, hiking her dress up to her thighs and getting on the bike. "Tetsuo almost ran into a kid recently, didn't he?" "So? It was the kid's fault," Kaneda snapped back. Sil looked at him with an implacable glare. "Drive. If you care remotely about your friend, you'll get me to the Ministry of Science as quickly as possible." At his sudden concern and confusion, she leaned a touch closer. "Drive. NOW." Kaneda drove. =========================== Subject: AAE9a: The Doom From Spectra On Tue, 16 Nov 2004 19:38:41 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012266 "Hey mister, you okay?" The voice of a nice boy. It sounds like his son might in a few years. Everything is blurred. [That's not fair. My eyes aren't even open yet.] "Mister?" The boy shakes him gently. His hands are small but strong. [Interesting.] Roland groans, slowly opening his eyes. "Hey, I know you! You're Defender! Cool!" [I am?] With a quick mental scan, he realizes that his armor has reverted to his old, pre-Darkseid style. [Huh. I am.] "That's me, kid," he replies, his vision slowly focusing on the youth before him. Except this youth has skin too smooth for a human, and "hair" that amounts to a black skull cap with two spikes. His eyes are enormous and earnest, and covering his hands and feet, poking out of a T-shirt and shorts, are what appear to be boots and gloves. Except they _are_ his hands and feet. "Astro Boy?" Defender asks groggily. "You've heard of me?" Astro asks, his voice a mix of shyness and pride. "Heh. Kid, you're a _lot_ more famous than I am. Ah, multiversally speaking, that is," the Champion replies, remembering his prominence on his homeworld. Slowly and a bit shakily, he stands. "Did you see how I got here?" "There was a flash of light here while I was fighting Atlas, and I flew over to check it out. That's all I know, sorry," Astro explains. "No, that's fine, Astro," Defender replies, quick to reassure the earnest child...robot. [This 'kid' has seen a hundred times more action than I have. Got to remember that.] "I just wanted to make sure I didn't knock over any buildings getting here." Roland looks up sharply at a sudden sound like thunder. "Ah. Atlas. Had you..." "He went down, but there's a _lot_ of bad guys still out there!" Astro points upward. "You ready to jet?" Defender smiles. [Damn. Talk about a top-flight sidekick.] "Something we have in common, Astro...I was _born_ ready." Astro smiles back with an enormous grin. "Then leeeet's ROCKET!" A short hop, and the boy-bot's legs turn to rockets, and he shoots into the sky. With a whoop of joy, Defender follows. The smile vanishes in a fraction of a second. To the north, a BIG green man with antennae laughs while firing anime mega-blasts out of one finger. To the south, a woman with LONG red hair and a dark blue-violet gown wields a dark magic with manic glee. To the west, an insane youth Roland immediately recognizes as Tetsuo from 'Akira' lays waste to the outskirts of Tokyo while a kid who has to be Kaneda blasts at him with a particle cannon, ably aided by..."SIL?!?" /Hey, Roland,/ she sends with a wink. /We're okay, keep looking./ /Ah...whatever you say,/ Defender replies, and looking to the east, finds a villainous replica of Voltron (aka Go-Lion) wading towards shore. And almost immediately below them, Astro's robotic nemesis, the mighty Atlas, shrugs off a collapsed building with ease. "ASTROOO!" Atlas roars into the sky in full villainous fury. "Great." Roland looks around. "Can you keep him busy, Astro?" "You bet!" The brave little robot races down to face his rival, right arm transforming into his trademark cannon. "Atlas! We don't have to do this!" "Yes we do!" The robot-supremacist fires a bolt of power of his own. "Thanks," Defender quips, twisting it in mid-air and drawing it to his side. As Astro takes advantage of the opening, Roland looks at the remaining villains. [I've always wondered how my psi powers stack up against Tetsuo's, but Sil and Kaneda -- what a mind-bending team-up -- have him occupied for now. That leaves Dark Voltron, the wicked witch of the south, and J'Onn J'Onzz's evil twin.] Quickly, the Eternal scans the three foes, blanching slightly at the results. [By the Source! Every one of them is a planet beater by hirself.] The readout on his visor, however, clearly shows Dark Voltron as the most formidable foe; the combination of Doomian/Galran techno-sorcery and Spectran super-science have finally created a machine the equal of the true Voltron. The Dark Voltron appears to be the newcomer, as the other four battles seem to have herded a preponderance of innocents right at it. And Prince Lotor himself is at the helm. [Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed,] Defender thinks resignedly, racing toward the giant robot. [Where's the _real_ Voltron, anyway?] "Well well well, what have we here?" Lotor says, arrogant voice booming through the robot's speakers. "Another gnat who wishes to be swatted?" Defender's eyes narrow, and the Atlas-burst zips into his hand, coalescing into a marble-sized ball of raw power. "You know, Lotor, I thought you were a cool villain when I was a kid. Now, though, it's obvious you're just a vile, spoiled brat. HADOUKEN!" he cries, throwing the blast with all his power, straight into Dark Voltron's eyes. "Aah!" the prince blurts, the mech reeling and covering its eyes in a very human gesture. "You'll pay for that, mote! FORM BLAZING SWORD!" [Holy Source, talk about overkill,] Defender gulps, eyes widening, as one of the most powerful weapons in any universe takes shape in between the giant mecha's fists... -- Defender "Compensating for something, Your Highness?" =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9a: The Doom From Spectra On Wed, 17 Nov 2004 17:12:18 -0800 Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012271 >On Tue, 16 Nov 2004 19:38:41 -0800 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012266 > > "Aah!" the prince blurts, the mech reeling and covering its eyes >in a very human gesture. "You'll pay for that, mote! FORM BLAZING >SWORD!" > [Holy Source, talk about overkill,] Defender gulps, eyes widening, >as one of the most powerful weapons in any universe takes shape in >between the giant mecha's fists... ^Defender, do not forget that YOU can call upon the power of The Stardragon itself.^ Oracle's "voice" whispers quietly into Roland's mind. =========================== Subject: AAE9A: Aggressive Renegotiations On Sun, 21 Nov 2004 22:19:05 -0500 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012278 The door and windows of the okonomiyaki resteraunt were open. This turned out to be a good thing, as the overpressure of the sudden explosion of white powder would otherwise likely have shattered them. The resteraunt's most recent ex-patrons, taking shelter behind a conveniently oversized car parked across the street, ducked unecessarily as the white cloud rolled languidly out into the street like fog. Inside the resteraunt, the sounds of shouting, smashing, and shattering continued apace. A few passerby, recognizing the signs like any experienced Nerima native, scurried over to join the small group huddled beside the automobile. An ability to avoid, or appreciate from a reasonably safe distance, the regular local custom of super-powered martial-arts duels in the streets (and schools, and resteraunts, and vacant lots, and public baths, and in fact just about any-darn-where) was a talent bred into the bones of Nerimans. Immigrants to the ward either acculterated quickly, or moved someplace less nerve-wracking -- say, Sarejevo, or Beirut. "So, who is it this time?" asked one of the newcomers. "The Chinese watiress? Yak-Boy? The Pervert, again?" "Nope, newbies. Two gaijin, a tall man and a very pale girl, both wearing black. This is their car." "Huh! What's it about?" "Saotome." "Oog! Poor gaijin. Five hundred yen on Kuonji-san." "Hah. No bet." The combat sounds changed, in a matter that indicated to the experienced onlookers that the battle had moved from a maneuver combat phase into a wrestling one. This continued for perhaps another minute, then ended with startling suddeness. There was silence for another handful of minutes, then the two gaijin emerged from the resteraunt door, liberally coated in flour dust, segments of noodle, and various okonomiyaki toppings. The man rather gingerly took down the "Ucchan's" banner over the door, gently set it inside the resteraunt, and softly closed the door behind him. The crowd, recognizing the signs, began to break up as the outsiders made their way back to their car. "Well," Smith said, brushing vainly at his formerly-immaculate black suit, "that went better than I expected." Dorothy gave him a flat look which nonetheless conveyed volumes. He shurgged a bit defensively. "Better than I *expected*, I said. But definitely not as well as I'd hoped." He sighed, wiping at something gooey on his tie. He found his hands brushed aside by another pair, small and pale but stronger than his own, as Dorothy took over the task of attempting to make her employer presentable once again. Smith rolled his eyes slightly and began picking bacon bits our of her hair. Their oddly domestic moment was broken by a strident beeping from inside the car. Smith cocked an eyebrow at Dorothy, opened the driver's door, and slid gingerly inside, thankful yet again for the Griffin's leather interior. His pants still squished uncomfortably, though. The oval screen on the dashboard lit up, and Smith's butler/mechanic/man-of-all-trades peered out at them through his single eye. "Master Roger," he began in his classical British accent. "I'm very sorry to disturb your negotiations with Miss Kuonji, but I'm afraid there has been a development. The harbor sector of the city is under attack by a number of hostile forces, including giant robots and apparent metahumans of various kinds. Several of the local heroes have already sortied in defense, but from the reports I am monitoring, they are being hard pressed." "I see," Smith replied. "Very well, Norman. Is Big O ready?" "Completely, sir. May I ask your intentions? They will impact my plans for dinner, I'm afraid." Smith smirked lopsidedly. "Better make something that keeps a while -- I'll probably be late." "Very good, Master Roger. I will attend to matters here." The screen went black, and Smith punched the starter. He was about to put the Griffin into gear when the passenger door opened, and the car sagged slightly toward the side. He looked over as Dorothy closed the door behind her. "Dorothy, *what* are you doing?" She studied him the way an entomologist might a particularly abstruse specimen of insect. "Allowing my employer to be killed while engaging in foolish heroics would not look good on my resume." The Negotiator started to swell. "R. Dorothy Wayn--" he began, before his teeth clacked together under the impetus of a single pale finger on the point of his jaw. He glared at her for a moment before mumbling through his teeth. "I suspect your insubordinate behvaior would be a bigger problem." She set her hand back in her lap and turned her gaze out the windshield, prim and proper as any maid ever was. "Perhaps. Are you going to do something, or are you going to waste time arguing?" "Gah." Smith gunned the accelerator and threw the transmission into L with unecessary force. The big car shot away from the curb with an acceleration which belied its great size and mass. "We'ver never going to make it to that side of town on the streets," Smith stated, upshifting. "We'll have to risk going ballistic." The Griffin cornered like a German sporstcar under his hands, using its ultra-grip tires, active suspension, and four-wheel steering. Smith opened a concealed dash panel and flipped an unlabelled switch. The Griffin's exterior rippled and shifted from its normal semigloss black to a bright screaming red. Another switch, and suddenly the Griffin *hopped* off the ground as its massive turbine engine leaped by several thousand rpm and vented thrust exhaust through louvres on the bottom of the frame. At a height of twenty meters, the rear louvres rotated partially shut, letting the front end rise to a high angle-- Just in time for the concealed rocket boosters in the rear bumper to ingnite. "Now we just have to hope that Big O's outfield program works without a pilot on board. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever got around to testing that particular function." "...you're a louse, Roger Smith." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9a: The Doom From Spectra On Thu, 25 Nov 2004 00:26:05 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012283 >On Wed, 17 Nov 2004 17:12:18 -0800 >Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012271 > >>On Tue, 16 Nov 2004 19:38:41 -0800 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012266 >> >> "Aah!" the prince blurts, the mech reeling and covering its eyes >>in a very human gesture. "You'll pay for that, mote! FORM BLAZING >>SWORD!" >> [Holy Source, talk about overkill,] Defender gulps, eyes >>widening, as one of the most powerful weapons in any universe takes >>shape in between the giant mecha's fists... > >^Defender, do not forget that YOU can call upon the power of The >Stardragon itself.^ Oracle's "voice" whispers quietly into Roland's >mind. ^I'll take my chances,^ Defender replies dryly, fear of Dark Voltron suddenly evaporating...in the face of a greater fear. Oracle, being virtually all-knowing, is no doubt aware of how deeply the power and responsibility of having the authority and trust to be able to order the Stardragon to do nearly anything weigh on the Champion. He hadn't really considered the option -- but rarely does, and almost always when facing a power so great and terrible it really *does* call for the Stardragon's power. For all intents and purposes, he can choose to be omnipotent at almost any time. Given the source and nature of that power, he prefers to use it _very_ sparingly. At the moment, he doesn't seem to need it anyway, however. As powerful as the Blazing Sword may be, Lotor is still like a knight trying to hit a hornet with a claymore. A fast, _smart_ hornet. The Sword slashes through the air...again...and again...and again. Between Defender's speed and almost gentle kinetic nudges, he never comes close. "I see your keen grasp of tactics is as firm as ever," Defender quips lightly, zipping around Dark Voltron's head. Lotor's eyes narrow, options running through his head. A dark smile spreads across his alien face... -- (/) Roland X "I _gotta_ learn to keep my mouth shut." =========================== Subject: AAE9a: Stop-Lion On Wed, 01 Dec 2004 21:40:30 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012303 >On Thu, 25 Nov 2004 00:26:05 -0800 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012283 > > "I see your keen grasp of tactics is as firm as ever," Defender >quips lightly, zipping around Dark Voltron's head. > Lotor's eyes narrow, options running through his head. A dark >smile spreads across his alien face... The Champions' leader dodges missiles, flying fists (literally) and eye beams, as Lotor's tactics change. [Me and my big mouth.] "I know how to deal with bugs, human," Lotor laughs. "You SQUASH them! AH-ha-ha-ha!" [This isn't an anime-verse, it's the 'americanized anime' universe,'] Defender thinks, wincing. [At least that means they're not as lethal. Well, except for Tetsuo..."WHOA!"] he blurts. Lotor has taken the Blazing Sword and is spinning it like a helicopter blade, using the wrist joint as a pivot. A fast one. "Dodge this," Lotor snaps, hurtling forward. [Oh, yeah, Lotor's one of the smart ones,] goes through Defender's head quickly, before most of him goes flying into the city (and his right foot and ring and little finger from his right hand go into the bay). Lotor laughs triumphantly as Defender slowly pushes a collapsed building off him, its former inhabitants floating gently to the ground and his limbs regenerating more slowly than he'd like. [Ow. Ow. Ow. That thing cut through my forcefield like it was tissue. I don't think he even _noticed_ the armor.] Defender staggers to his foot, wavering in place as the Dark Voltron begins wading towards shore once again. #Astro? How are you managing?# The Champions senses confusion from this hastily constructed cyberkinetic link. [Um...okay, why?] Circuits flare as the tiny titan's arm cannon explodes with power once more. #Just checking. I'm going to want some backup, but don't turn your back on anyone to give it to me, okay?# the young Eternal replies. Citizens of Tokyo, experienced at this sort of thing (thanks to the axiom wash), flee with a minimum of screaming and panicking. #"What have you done with the _real_ Voltron, Lotor?"# "Those annoyances?" Lotor replies dismissively. "With the help of that delightfully diabolic Lord Zoltar, I easily captured them and made them my prisoners. The four _male_ members are being kept quite UNcomfortable, I assure you. Princess Allura..." Lotor's tone softens. "...Allura remains...stubborn. She is as helpless as the others, but is better cared for, I _also_ assure you." Defender's eyes widen, then narrow, behind his old visor. Though his foot and hand have only partially regenerated, he plants himself as firmly in place as he can, and grasps empty space until that space is filled by the Great Unmaker, which he has summoned from katanaspace. "Say 'cheese,' you sick son of a--" he says, the last word drowned out by the explosion of power as his mightiest weapon, backed by all his psychokinetic might, lances out. "GREAT DOOM!" Lotor blurts, his cool confidence finally shaken. He throws up the spinning blade like a shield, and power flares and explodes around him like the finale at an epic fireworks display. The lightshow goes on for a full thirty seconds as the Eternal throws everything he has at the Dark Voltron replica. As the power fades, Defender staggers back, his foot finally restored but still throbbing, the Great Unmaker steaming and overloaded. He sends it back to N-space, and waves at the smoke and fog. It dissipates at his command. In the distance, Dark Voltron wavers and hisses, black wisps seeping out of cracks a bit like bleeding. Yet the creature stands. The Sword no longer spins, arm hanging at its side. Yet the enemy remains. Dents, sparks and wires are visible from head to ankles, where the lapping sea covers the mighty robot's feet. Yet Dark Voltron steps forward. "oboy," Defender gasps, desperately gathering his strength. "So. There is more to you than it might seem," Lotor hisses. "As you can see, however, even your greatest power is as _nothing_ before mighty Voltron!" "That _thing_ is not Voltron," Defender snaps furiously, "and you haven't seen _anything_ yet!" "A brave yet brazen bluff," Lotor laughs. "Still, in the unlikely event you speak the truth...behold the fate of Voltron!" The shield in the center of the mighty robot [see http://www.voltronforce.com/images/voltron.gif for a picture] is divided into four sections, one for each of the colors of lions that form the mighty mecha (black not being a color). Lotor's become transparent. Behind each section is a hero -- each one wearing a suit and helm with trim roughly matching the color that had hidden him a moment before. Behind the red is a handsome young man, the blue reveals a lanky, taller figure, the yellow shows a great, friendly bear of a man, and the green a boy barely in his teens (if at all) wearing glasses. All hang limply from cables that wrap around their arms and bodies and extend to all four corners of their 'cages.' [Villain life insurance,] Defender sighs mentally, his mind briefly flickering to Morgan's dry sense of humor. "I knew you were treacherous, Lotor. I didn't know you were a coward." "COWARD!?" the dark prince roars. "YOU--" Lotor begins, then stops, the robot's eyes narrowing. Scanners activate, and the intelligence file on Defender appears in front of the villain. "I will not give up my prizes, nor will I face your considerable psionic abilities without Voltron. However, if it is a duel of honor you want, I will be more than happy to give it to you." Roland considered. "Rules?" He could _feel_ Lotor's predatory smile. "Whatever melee weapon you choose against my power sword. No mecha, no mental powers. The victor continues, the vanquished...well, if you win, I will take my Dark Voltron and return to Planet Doom. If I win...you will be in no condition to do anything until your next incarnation." "If I win, you leave your prisoners with me," Defender adds. Lotor laughs. "A valiant effort, hero. Yet you are in a poor bargaining position indeed. Will you really place the lives of four strangers ahead of an entire city--" "FIVE," Defender snarls. "Never!" Lotor roars back. "Allura is MINE, do you hear!" "I'd ask why that can't be _her_ decision, but I know you better than that," the Champion spits back. "You think a guy with your looks could hold on to a woman without the use of chains. Must be your upbringing." "_I_ will deal with my father," Lotor replies darkly. "That is my offer, 'Champion.' Accept, and I will gladly prove my courage in mortal combat with you. Refuse..." The Dark Voltron smiles to match Lotor's anticipatory gleam. He holds up the deadly Blazing Sword, which glints in the light. "Make your choice." Defender considers his options. He doesn't like any of them. /Roger? If any time were 'showtime,' this would be it./ (OOC: Hey Rog, if you want a big mecha fight, you've got it. I even softened him up for you...a little...well, yeah, there's the little problem of the four hostages, but if you don't want to deal with that Roland and his teleportation can take care of them. Otherwise, I'll think of something. ;^) -- Earth's Defender ...vs. Voltron, Defender of the Universe...kinda one-sided, ain't it... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9a: Stop-Lion On Thu, 02 Dec 2004 11:22:49 -0500 SkyeFire Said As CAoL Message # 00012304 In a message dated 12/2/2004 12:44:54 AM Eastern Standard Time, Roland X writes: > "_I_ will deal with my father," Lotor replies darkly. "That is my >offer, 'Champion.' Accept, and I will gladly prove my courage in >mortal combat with you. Refuse..." The Dark Voltron smiles to match >Lotor's anticipatory gleam. He holds up the deadly Blazing Sword, >which glints in the light. "Make your choice." > Defender considers his options. He doesn't like any of them. >/Roger? If any time were 'showtime,' this would be it./ OOC: I've been *waiting* for an opening... (:) Defender's answer comes in the form of a battlecry that echoes from every point of the compass. /"BIG O! IT'S SHOWTIME!"/ Dark Voltron staggers as the seafloor beneath its feet suddenly drops, then then finds itself going headfirst into the drink *something* rises from the crater... something huge, and black, and made of iron, copper-helmed with glowing eyes. Disdaining the dark pretender, the MedaDeus turns its glowering face upwards, and raises one huge metalshod fist-- --to field a falling fire-engine-red sedan and its two occupants. Dark Voltron flounders back to its feet, Lotor spluttering as if *he* were the one who'd been underwater. "What--! You--! Who DARES!?!" Above and behind the huge gold medallion that forms the centerpiece of Big O's "breastplate," Roger Smith, the Negotiator, snorts with disdain and declines to comment as the control ring locks into place around him. Across the circular main screen scrolls the ancient wrede of the executioner's sword: CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD, YE NOT GUILTY. Smith leans on the controls, bringing the huge MegaDeus into a deceptively lumbering gait. "Dorothy," he snaps, zooming in on the still-transparent shield in DV's chest. "Can you get them out of there?" His maid considers the image gravely. "I will have a problem reaching them." Smith smiles thinly. "*That,* love, is *not* a problem." DV's free lion-hand gapes in Big O's direction and spits a long tongue of flame. Smith casually interposes one massively oversized forearm, and lets the plasma jet waste itself against the massive iron plate riveted there. Smith keeps closing as DV attempts to backpedal, right arm twitching spasmodically. Lotor is obviously still recovering from his initial surprise, but he's trying to get the Blazing Sword back into play. Smith flicks a glance at his radar display, flips open a control panel, and smashes a large button surrounded by arrowheads with one fist. Outside, the eight points of Big O's armored "skirt" erupt away from the MegaDeus's body on jets of rocket flame, trailing heavy iron chains. The front spike drives straight into DV's "stomach" like an arrow as the others wreath about DV's form like a nest of snakes, entangling arms and legs. Lotor flings DV about desperately as Big O seizes the central chain in one fist, to no avail. On Big O's index finger, a hatch opens and R. Dorothy Wayneright emerges onto the chain, sprinting down its length as if she did this sort of thing everyday. The chain leaps and twists as exchanges between the two giant machines' secondary weapons surrounds her, but her headlong pace never falters. Unfortunately, it's not enough to keep her pale face and red hair from being noticed by Lotor. "FOOLS! Do you think LOTOR will fall prety to such childish TRICKS?" He drives Dark Voltron into a a forward leap, trying to slacken the chains. Big O fades back lightly, spinning the retract winches to help take up the slack. Dorothy is thrown off the chain as it "cracks the whip" beneath her feet, but somehow manages to land on the edge of one link and keep sprinting for her goal as if nothing had happened. *Then* the Blazing Sword comes around, driven almost entirely from Dark Voltron's shoulder, and nearly takes Big O's head off. Suddenly it is the MegaDeus who is trapped by the chains, inside DV's melee range. Smith shouts a warning to Dorothy and tries to fall Big O off to the right, slacking the chains with winch control, but his left hand can't leave Dorothy's chain and his right is in no position to block the rising scything strike. The chains are no ordinary iron, for all their appearance, but this is the *Blazing Sword.* The blade sweeps upwards through more than half of them, and they give way, albeit unwillingly, in the face of such overwhelming force. "DOROTHY!!!!" Off-balance and staggering, Smith roars helplessly as he watches her fall, just meters short of her goal, one hand still stretched forlornly towards the end of the chain which has suddenly fallen away from beneath her feet.... Laughing maniacally, Lotor twists DV's torso and brings the Blazing Sword around in the horizontal backswing on a course to bisect Big O's torso, trailing severed chains from his near-paralyzed right elbow. Already spinning from the release of the chains on its left side, Smith drives Big O around, continuing the spin and showing his back to Lotor in order to take the Sword on his left rather than his back. One massive forearm interposes its rivetted armor plate, and the Sword bites deep. Aligned-crystal, singularity-rolled iron flashes to vapor and fountains along the line of impact like a ruptured steam line. More iron melts and runs like water as the Sword slows but doesn't stop, carving through the armor layers and into the massive gun clusters concealed in the forearm. The ammunition in the feed tracks detonates with a fury that mangles the wind tunnels and secondary actuators of Big O's left forearm and blows the Sword out of the gaping wound it created. But the wounded MegaDeus is still spinning, and now it's Dark Voltron who is off balance and out of position. For all the damage done, the left arm and hand are still fully operational, and DV's right wrist finds itself entrapped in a nigh-unbreakable grip of iron. Big O's left arm sweeps up and over, carrying the Sword overhead as the MegaDeus continues to rotate, cocking its massive right fist as the huge piston in that elbow slams back into battery. "Say GOODBYE, Lotor!" Roger Smith rages as he drives his right joystick forward. Outside, Big O's right fist rolls straight towards Dark Voltron's face with all the unstoppable finality of cosmic retribution. Lotor makes a desperate attempt to parry with Dark Voltron's intact left arm, but in terms of raw brawling power Big O has the more famous mecha overmatched. Lotor does manage to slightly deflect Big O's fist slightly upward, which probably saves his life (or at least delays the inevitable). Instead of being planted squarely in DV's face, Big O's fist is wedged between DV's forehead and the overhanging lion-mouth mask when Roger Smith releases the red button atop his joystick and lets the magnetic ram fire. The enormous piston that makes up the back of Big O's right elbow drives forward with every erg of power available from the mighty furnaces that provide the MegaDeus with its motive power. Thousands of cubic meters of air suddenly find themselves crushed down into wind tunnels through the length of the forearm. Driven almost instantaneously to high hypersonic speeds, these streams of air shoot down the evactuated tunnels wiithout resistance, only to suddenly pile up against massive blow-out doors like a set of pneumatic trains wrecks. The doors hold just long enough for the air to achieve near-solid densities, and then snap clear on brute magnetic actuators. The end result is a toroidal shockwave that slams out of the vents behind Big O's fist and smashes Dark Voltron's head into paste. Almost. Without a clean angle of impact, the force of the blow is sharply reduced. Lotor is left bleeding from his ears, but alive, and the upper "jaw" of Dark Voltron's lion-head "helmet" is ripped clean off, leaving the great machine looking oddly... bald. It reels like its pilot, sword arm still trapped in Big O's left fist, as the MegaDeus rears back to begin another blow that will finish what the first one started-- And freezes as Roger Smith sees a flash of white and red on the length of chain dangling from the iron spearhead still lodged in Dark Voltron's lower torso. "Dorothy!" he whispers in shock. It is in truth the android maid, climbing hand-over-hand towards the hostages still imprisoned inside Dark Voltron's chest. And an icy fist that he hadn't realized was there suddenly unclenches from around Roger's heart. He reaches for a control panel and flips a pair of toggle swtiches. The plating around Big O's right arm splits and rises away from the "bone," exposing the right arm's gun cluster, pointed directly at Dark Voltron's head. "LOTOR," Smith booms over the MegaDeus's external speakers. "YOU CAN SURRENDER NOW, OR DIE RIGHT HERE. CHOOSE, BUT MAKE IT QUICK -- I HAVE A SOUFFLE WAITING FOR ME AT HOME." "C'mon, Dorothy," he mutters, watching her scramble up DV's chest. "Work *fast.*" OOC: To Be Continued (my fingers are tired!) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9a: Stop-Lion On Sat, 04 Dec 2004 20:46:58 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012306 >On Thu, 02 Dec 2004 11:22:49 -0500 >SkyeFire Said As CAoL Message # 00012304 > >In a message dated 12/2/2004 12:44:54 AM Eastern Standard Time, >Roland X writes: > >> Defender considers his options. He doesn't like any of them. >>/Roger? If any time were 'showtime,' this would be it./ > > OOC: I've been *waiting* for an opening... (:) > > Defender's answer comes in the form of a battlecry that echoes >from every point of the compass. /"BIG O! IT'S SHOWTIME!"/ "that's my boy," Defender whispers, grinning. > OOC: I've _got_ to see this show. > Dark Voltron flounders back to its feet, Lotor spluttering as if >*he* were the one who'd been underwater. "What--! You--! Who >DARES!?!" > Above and behind the huge gold medallion that forms the >centerpiece of Big O's "breastplate," Roger Smith, the Negotiator, >snorts with disdain and declines to comment as the control ring locks >into place around him. Across the circular main screen scrolls the >ancient wrede of the executioner's sword: "That is one sweet mech," the Champion says with a chuckle, then flies in, darting between missiles, force bursts, and serious slugthrowing. > Suddenly it is the MegaDeus who is trapped by the chains, inside >DV's melee range. Smith shouts a warning to Dorothy and tries to fall >Big O off to the right, slacking the chains with winch control, but >his left hand can't leave Dorothy's chain and his right is in no >position to block the rising scything strike. > The chains are no ordinary iron, for all their appearance, but >this is the *Blazing Sword.* The blade sweeps upwards through more >than half of them, and they give way, albeit unwillingly, in the face >of such overwhelming force. > "DOROTHY!!!!" Off-balance and staggering, Smith roars helplessly >as he watches her fall, just meters short of her goal, one hand still >stretched forlornly towards the end of the chain which has suddenly >fallen away from beneath her feet.... [Aw, nuts,] Defender sighs, mere meters from the dark shield, and dives for the android. Soon, he is just above her, arm outstretched. "Need a hand?" Even falling to her *ahem* doom, Ms. Wainwright examines her surroundings calmly. "'Need' is arguable. It would, nevertheless, be appreciated." The Eternal chuckles. "I wonder what he sees in you," he quips, voice thick with irony, as he grasps her hand and they pivot, Defender now flying at Dark Voltron's feet while Dorothy arcs up and towards the mighty impostor. > Laughing maniacally, Lotor twists DV's torso and brings the >Blazing Sword around in the horizontal backswing on a course to >bisect Big O's torso, trailing severed chains from his near-paralyzed >right elbow. Already spinning from the release of the chains on its >left side, Smith drives Big O around, continuing the spin and showing >his back to Lotor in order to take the Sword on his left rather than >his back. One massive forearm interposes its rivetted armor plate, >and the Sword bites deep. Defender gasps, then grimaces and dives, planting himself on the head of the Blue Lion, currently serving as DV's foot. > But the wounded MegaDeus is still spinning, and now it's Dark >Voltron who is off balance and out of position. For all the damage >done, the left arm and hand are still fully operational, and DV's >right wrist finds itself entrapped in a nigh-unbreakable grip of >iron. Big O's left arm sweeps up and over, carrying the Sword >overhead as the MegaDeus continues to rotate, cocking its massive >right fist as the huge piston in that elbow slams back into battery. "Hold still," Roland says grimly, both kinetically and magnetically pinning the foot as much in place as he can manage, limiting the titan's mobility even further. > "Say GOODBYE, Lotor!" Roger Smith rages as he drives his right >joystick forward. Outside, Big O's right fist rolls straight towards >Dark Voltron's face with all the unstoppable finality of cosmic >retribution. Roland winces. "Ooh. That's got to hurt." > Without a clean angle of impact, the force of the blow is sharply >reduced. Lotor is left bleeding from his ears, but alive, and the >upper "jaw" of Dark Voltron's lion-head "helmet" is ripped clean off, >leaving the great machine looking oddly... bald. It reels like its >pilot, sword arm still trapped in Big O's left fist, as the MegaDeus >rears back to begin another blow that will finish what the first one >started-- > And freezes as Roger Smith sees a flash of white and red on the >length of chain dangling from the iron spearhead still lodged in Dark >Voltron's lower torso. "Dorothy!" he whispers in shock. > It is in truth the android maid, climbing hand-over-hand towards >the hostages still imprisoned inside Dark Voltron's chest. And an icy >fist that he hadn't realized was there suddenly unclenches from >around Roger's heart. > He reaches for a control panel and flips a pair of toggle >swtiches. The plating around Big O's right arm splits and rises away >from the "bone," exposing the right arm's gun cluster, pointed >directly at Dark Voltron's head. > The Prince of Doom reels, wiping violet blood from his ears and brow. His face locked in a hateful snarl, he snaps, "Computer! Report!" "Death Spirals off-line. Hell Blossoms off-line. Shield of Darkness off-line. Sonic Torment off-line," Allura's voice reports calmly. "ENOUGH! Tell me what is _on_ line, blasted machine!" "Blazing Sword on-line. Wrist-pivot on-line. Magnetic Repulsor on-line. Optic Incinerators on-line. Sensors on-line." "Enough!" Lotor glares at the functioning systems. Even if the Magnetic Repulsor would work on the chains, wrapped as they are around the robot, the system was not _truly_ functional. All that would result is a deadly electrical burst... "Scan!" Lotor barks, cunning kicking in. "Scanning. Primary target damaged. Projectile system intact. Secondary target--" "Secondary?" Lotor muses, his mind still reeling and eyes a bit unfocused. "Enhance." Dorothy, still dangling from the chain. appears on a secondary screen. Specifications pop up around it. "Well, well..." >"LOTOR," Smith booms over the MegaDeus's external speakers. "YOU CAN >SURRENDER NOW, OR DIE RIGHT HERE. CHOOSE, BUT MAKE IT QUICK -- I HAVE >A SOUFFLE WAITING FOR ME AT HOME." > "C'mon, Dorothy," he mutters, watching her scramble up DV's chest. >"Work *fast.*" "Souffle?" Lotor replies, his voice rather disjointed. "Don't you have...a _maid_ for that?" He laughs madly. "A maid to order, made to order..." The eyes flare with power and lock on to the gun ports. "I have a different idea. You send away your woman, and we end this, warrior against warrior. Otherwise..." his fingers twitch, and small arcs of power play across the surface of the Dark Voltron. "We find out just how much _spark_ you and your attractive friend can handle. I am willing to take the risk. Are you?" Oh, and of course if he does that, the four defenseless prisoners would fry to a crisp... =========================== Subject: AAE9A: Stop-Lion On Thu, 9 Dec 2004 16:28:49 -0500 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012311 >On Thu, 02 Dec 2004 14:53:59 -0800 >Roland X Said As FD.CAoL Message # 00000331 > > I know you're working on this, so this is going to the FD room. >Still, I just _had_ to kibbitz. "Why am I not surprised? I may just lay down and DIE of not-surprise!" >> > > OOC: I've _got_ to see this show. Yes. Yes, you do. Big O! It's SNIP TIME! (Yes, I stole that. No, I'm not ashamed of it) > [Aw, nuts,] Defender sighs, mere meters from the dark shield, and >dives for the android. Soon, he is just above her, arm outstretched. >"Need a hand?" > Even falling to her *ahem* doom, Ms. Wainwright examines her >surroundings calmly. "'Need' is arguable. It would, nevertheless, be >appreciated." > The Eternal chuckles. "I wonder what he sees in you," he quips, >voice thick with irony, as he grasps her hand and they pivot, >Defender now flying at Dark Voltron's feet while Dorothy arcs up and >towards the mighty impostor. "You *are* his father," she replies cryptically as they part hands. > "Hold still," Roland says grimly, both kinetically and >magnetically pinning the foot as much in place as he can manage, >limiting the titan's mobility even further. Lotor saws at DV's controls, but his right foot (OOC: yes, it's the *right* foot, I looked it up) seems nailed to the bottom of the bay. Not that he has time to figure it out as: >>"LOTOR," Smith booms over the MegaDeus's external speakers. "YOU CAN >>SURRENDER NOW, OR DIE RIGHT HERE. CHOOSE, BUT MAKE IT QUICK -- I >>HAVE A SOUFFLE WAITING FOR ME AT HOME." >> "C'mon, Dorothy," he mutters, watching her scramble up DV's >>chest. "Work *fast.*" > > "Souffle?" Lotor replies, his voice rather disjointed. "Don't you >have...a _maid_ for that?" He laughs madly. "A maid to order, made to >order..." The eyes flare with power and lock on to the gun ports. "*Damn*," Roger Smith snarls under his breath. >"I have a different idea. You send away your woman, and we end this, >warrior against warrior. Otherwise..." his fingers twitch, and small >arcs of power play across the surface of the Dark Voltron. "We find >out just how much _spark_ you and your attractive friend can handle. >I am willing to take the risk. Are you?" [Spark!] There's no time for Roger Smith to be thankful for that most self-defeating of the Seven Habits of Chronically Defeated Supervillains, but he'll light a candle later. The shorn chains had already retracted automatically and been attached to new arrowheads -- now he punches the jettison button for all the others (which are wrapped 180deg around Big O anyway, so it's not a great loss), leaving only his left hand around around DV's right wrist as their last electrical contact... > Oh, and of course if he does that, the four defenseless prisoners >would fry to a crisp... OOC: "Ahhh *hate* youuuuu...." The possibility of giving Lotor what he wants never even crosses the Negotiator's mind. Diplomacy is dead -- it's time for extension by other means. Roger Smith has effectively *zero* telepathic ability. But there are some bonds which endure, and he reaches for one now. /DAD! I NEED A LIGHTNING ROD!/ He casts the thought into the silent void where the scintillating presence of Roger Prime's telepathy would have been, and acts with no thought that he might not be heard... or that the object of his plea would fail him. There are some things that Do Not Happen. "Dorothy!" he shouts over a special com channel. "'ware voltage!" Standing atop the iron wedge stuck through Dark Voltron just below the shield, Dorothy hears him through his wristwatch, currently on *her* wrist, and gambles... Roger's left hand clenches around the joystick as his right trigger finger squeezes home. The MegaDeus's left hand begins *crushing* DV's right wrist with unbelievable force even as its right-hand guncluster fires-- and Lotor triggers his own weapons. The explosive and armor-piercing shells meet the Optic Incinerators in an orgy of mutual destruction before the EMP effects of the Magnetic Repulsors hit. Big O's massive frame is heavily shielded and insulated, but even that is barely enough as induced currents rip through the huge mech, blowing breakers and shutting down higher functions as damage-management subsystems scramble to maintain minimum functions. In the cockpit, Roger Smith howls as scything arcs of electricity blow his hands off the controls and blow panels and circuits open in showers of firey sparks. The Big O staggers, and collapses to one knee... but that iron clamp left hand *tightens* further, even as megaamperes of current smash through it, crawling up the outside of DV's arm towards it's chest. Dorothy, ironically safe from the Repulsors from being *inside* their arc of fire, watches the incoming wave of lightning... Lotor, laughing in triumph, yanks at DV's imprisoned arm, frowns at his failure to free it, scowls at the sudden new reports of damage from that wrist, and triggers the Sword Pivot. The motor hums, whines... and trips out. Big O's singleminded crushing grip has flexed the outer armor layers enough to force the wrist pivot bearings out of round, binding them beyond the motor's torque limits. But as Lotor curses his foe's resilience, the MegaDeus's glowing eyes flicker... and dim. The MegaDei were not mere machines. Failing to realize that was their creators' fatal mistake. Decades (or perhaps centuries, or even millenia) ago, the manmade gods turned against their makers and ended their civilization in an apocalyptic confrontation which ended only when an unexplained Event --a weapon, a cosmic coincidence, a natural event, or perhaps intervention of a higher power-- wiped every remaining memory in the world, biological and electronic alike. Well... *almost* every memory. Of all the MegaDei, one had not taken up arms against humanity, or left both sides to their own devices in order to follow its own interests. One had remained as humanity's protector, not out of loyalty to its original purpose, but rather to stand against pure wanton destruction. This one had not been the strongest, or the most advanced, but it *had* stood head and shoulders above all its kin in one critical respect: it was the most... Implacable. And its bond with its Dominus had been a thing which made other MegaDei hesitate to raise a hand to either. Inside Big O's cockpit, on the rapidly de-rezzing main screen, the blocky train of a bar code streams across through the static. And in Roger Smith's eyes, where he is arched back over his seat as the lightning caresses him through his skin, the same pattern repeats.... A MegaDeus is no mere machine. And a MegaDeus united with its Dominus is greater than the sum of its parts. There are iron weapons. And iron armor. But there is iron *will* which surpasses them all. The light in the Big O's eyes rekindled, redoubled, and settled into a steady blaze. With a groan of badly abused actuators, the MegaDeus struggles back onto its feet, haloed by lingering St Elmo's Fire. Lotor gulps in spite of himself, and tries to recoil. Nothing has changed about that glowering iron mask. But there is something behind those eyes now, something that channels burning rage through the chill dispassion of cold iron... and is *looking* at *him.* He snarls in defiance, reaching for Dark Voltron's controls. He already drove the black giant to its knees once, and he still has more weapons at his call. =========================== Subject: AAE9a: A Brief Vignette On Thu, 23 Dec 2004 00:16:55 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012331 While a terrible menace races towards Defender, and Big O chooses between the Scylla of Dark Voltron and the Charybdis of King Zarkon, other battles rage across Tokyo. Zoltar laughs at the feeble efforts of the heroes to stop his legion of troopers and monsters, led by epic menaces. And where is G-Force? In the heart of the city, four teenage girls dimly wonder the same thing. They are too busy fighting for their lives to give the matter much thought, however, as their leader is semi-conscious at best... "Serena! Snap out of it!" Sailor Mars shouts, kicking a Negaverse monster in the head. Hard. "There's too many to fight, Raye! What now?" Sailor Jupiter asks, lightning crackling from hand to hand as she prepares another attack. "We fight anyway. FIREBIRD STRIKE!" A huge fiery phoenix roars overhead, obliterating dozens of monsters at once. The Sailor Scouts gape, Mars included. "I didn't know your Firebird Strike could do _that!_" Venus gasps. "...neither did I..." Mars replies, eyes as wide and bulging as the rest. A moment later the firebird vanishes, revealing a magnificent ship. Four teenagers shoot out of the vessel in as many seconds, slamming into the creatures that assail the Scouts. "Jason, Keyop, give the ladies some breathing room! Princess, follow me in, we're going after the lady with the tiara." "Big 10!" All three reply. "Wha'd I do?" Sailor Moon asks, head wobbling. "He means _Beryl,_ you meatball," Mars sighs, then nearly boggles again as Jason lands right next to her, dispatching one creature with a volley of feather-spikes and another with a full-auto burst from his blaster. "Whew! You single, hot stuff?" Jason starts to reply...then gets a good look at his dancing partner. "Ask me again _after_ we've kicked some monster butt." -- Sailors and Ninjas and Youma, oh my! =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9A: Stop-Lion On Fri, 07 Jan 2005 15:37:56 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012348 >On Thu, 9 Dec 2004 16:28:49 -0500 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012311 >>On Thu, 02 Dec 2004 14:53:59 -0800 >>Roland X Said As FD.CAoL Message # 00000331 >> "I have a different idea. You send away your woman, and we end >>this, warrior against warrior. Otherwise..." his fingers twitch, and >>small arcs of power play across the surface of the Dark Voltron. "We >>find out just how much _spark_ you and your attractive friend can >>handle. I am willing to take the risk. Are you?" > > [Spark!] There's no time for Roger Smith to be thankful for that >most self-defeating of the Seven Habits of Chronically Defeated >Supervillains, but he'll light a candle later. The shorn chains had >already retracted automatically and been attached to new arrowheads >-- now he punches the jettison button for all the others (which are >wrapped 180deg around Big O anyway, so it's not a great loss), >leaving only his left hand around around DV's right wrist as their >last electrical contact... Lotor frowns. [Oh, the hero believes he is clever, how cute...] Still, Doom's champion realizes that this reaction will reduce the blasted human's vulnerability to the lightning burst. And though the other two foes are little more than nuisances, he is outnumbered. [Time to even the odds.] >> Oh, and of course if he does that, the four defenseless prisoners >>would fry to a crisp... >>-- >>Evil GM-San, toying with ideas > > OOC: "Ahhh *hate* youuuuu...." OOC: I *like* you! *smmmoooOOOoootch!* > The possibility of giving Lotor what he wants never even crosses >the Negotiator's mind. Diplomacy is dead -- it's time for extension >by other means. > Roger Smith has effectively *zero* telepathic ability. But there >are some bonds which endure, and he reaches for one now. > /DAD! I NEED A LIGHTNING ROD!/ He casts the thought into the >silent void where the scintillating presence of Roger Prime's >telepathy would have been, and acts with no thought that he might not >be heard... or that the object of his plea would fail him. There are >some things that Do Not Happen. /I'm right here son,/ Defender quips, /and since you never tire of reminding me about the 'iron rod implanted in my backside...'/ > "Dorothy!" he shouts over a special com channel. "'ware voltage!" >Standing atop the iron wedge stuck through Dark Voltron just below >the shield, Dorothy hears him through his wristwatch, currently on >*her* wrist, and gambles... > Roger's left hand clenches around the joystick as his right >trigger finger squeezes home. The MegaDeus's left hand begins >*crushing* DV's right wrist with unbelievable force even as its >right-hand guncluster fires-- and Lotor triggers his own weapons. Then lightning arcs inward, and were there nothing between Dorothy, the male 4/5ths of Voltron Force, and Lotor, and the lightning blast, the battle would be over, and everyone present would be a casualty. Fortunately for all concerned, the cosmically-powered Champion _is_ there. "LOTOR, YOU MADMAN!" Defender roars, and pushes his vast power and skill to their limits. He reroutes arcs and bursts away from the humans and android (gynoid?), sending some into the machinery and absorbing the rest. At first, this simply recharges his exhausted frame. Another mech would have just defeated itself. But this is VOLTRON. A Dark Voltron, to be sure, but one of a might equal to its bright counterpart. The power recharges the hero, then fills him to capacity. And keeps pouring in. Power Cosmic begins to leak out of his eyes and bracers...then pour...then cascade in brilliant displays of blue-white divinity. And still it comes. "Thank you, hero!" Lotor howls, and Defender knows he's been had. > Lotor gulps in spite of himself, and tries to recoil. Nothing has >changed about that glowering iron mask. But there is something behind >those eyes now, something that channels burning rage through the >chill dispassion of cold iron... and is *looking* at *him.* > He snarls in defiance, reaching for Dark Voltron's controls. He >already drove the black giant to its knees once, and he still has >more weapons at his call. Briefly, his eyes flicker to four monitors, smaller squares in one larger. Life signs remain healthy, but react erratically as even Defender's unparalleled (on Earth-9, anyway) energy control is pushed well past its limits. Enough electricity to power a world is surging around them, and the Eternal has kept them all alive, but still... Without a word, Lotor flips two switches. With the first, the electric super-storm ends. Dark Voltron absorbed almost as much of the backlash as struck its systems, leaving it only slightly more damaged than it started with. Defender reels back in relief and dizziness, almost literally drunk on the power that has vastly overloaded his mind and body. With the second, the four panels in the chest-piece open, and the four figures within are revealed in strange, translucent pods. They then launch into the air, rocketing up in four separate directions. "Happy hunting, Champion," Lotor quips. Defender bites back an unprintable reply. Under other circumstances, controlling the trajectory of four small pods with his powers wouldn't even require the slightest fraction of his power _or_ skill. With the barely comprehensible levels of power surging through him, however -- Defender is barely visible from the waist up from the excess bleed-off alone -- he doesn't know how safe it would be to try manipulating them all at once. [Time to do my Superman impression,] he thinks with a sigh. "I'll be back for you, Lotor," the Eternal snaps, shooting into the air and chasing Pidge first (the parent in him taking over unconsciously). Lotor, now free of both the Voltron Force and Defender, turns nearly all his attention to the MegaDeus. With the chains gone, only one thing is keeping him from ending this battle in seconds -- the implacable grip pinning his right arm and the Dark Blazing Sword. "Magnetic Repulsor off-line," Allura's voice reports calmly. Lotor snarls more unprintable comments, despite their being in Galran (the native language of Planet Doom nee Galra). "Shield of Darkness on-line," she then adds. "I could kiss you. EXECUTE!" Lotor commands. From the center shield, a pool of darkness forms, surface tension quivering like black oil ready to fall, then bursts out in an ebon hemisphere, throwing Dorothy into the air like a twig in a storm and pressing with terrible force against Big O. The clamped fingers quaver against the field, the gun arm thrust back, and the main torso is forced to bend at the apex of the shield. Lotor begins to laugh, then, for some reason, stops, considering his foe carefully. "I don't suppose you would show the good sense to surrender," he says casually, as if he doesn't really care one way or the other. Then again, why would he make the offer in the first place...? The answer comes with the sound of massive engines roaring in the distance. "LOTOR!" A deep, cruel voice rages. Lotor's head whirls to look behind him. Though the MegaDeus' visual sensors cannot penetrate the darkness to see the approaching mech, its other sensors can easily model its massive frame. Built with the same technology as the Dark Voltron, it is built to much more "muscular" specifications, not dissimilar to Big O itself (albeit not as forearm-heavy), with a barrel chest and steroidal arms and legs. Three spines adorn each of its forearms and lower legs, and its relatively small head bears huge ram horns, each of which is the size of the head itself, spiraling to a point which juts slightly forward, pointing straight out. An axe with as broad a head as Voltron's chest swings casually from its right arm. The prince gapes in fascinated horror. "...father?" "YES! 'Father!'" King Zarkon roars hatefully. "You weak, pathetic, unworthy half-human AFTERBIRTH! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? Releasing hostages to no good purpose, let alone the VOLTRON FORCE! Fighting opponents face-on when you can stab them in the back or crush them underfoot! Seven Hells, there's a whole CITY behind you to threaten!" Lotor struggles against Big O, now desperate to free his sword arm -- but to destroy the MegaDeus, or for some other reason? "Father, I...I..." "You," Zarkon hisses with utter contempt, "have allowed that _woman_ to weaken you. You're trying to _impress_ her." The huge mech lands several dozen yards away, the landing throwing steam into the sky and shaking the earth below. "Still...I _did_ let your mother influence you more than I should. This is your last indulgence, however. You are going to hold on to that piece of pathetic human construction until I can bury my axe in its back. Then you are going back to that ridiculous mountain headquarters of Zoltar's and violate your precious princess exactly as I command you. Otherwise, I will bury this axe in YOUR back and get your replacement from Allura. MY way." Lotor's eyes bulge. "Human! If you care in the _least_ about the humans you've come to rescue, release me!" It's clear he's talking to Roger now. Zarkon sighs, disappointed. "Suit yourself, Lotor." He hefts the axe and starts forward. "I hoped you would be a stronger and more ruthless monarch than even I. You had such potential...were it not for that witch infecting you." The King of Doom's voice hardens. "I should have done this long ago." OOC: How's _that_ for a curveball? So what's the Negotiator going to do now? -- Evil GM-San Who has plans for Sincli^H^H^H^H^H^H Lotor... =========================== Subject: AAE9a: Alliances On Mon, 07 Feb 2005 23:51:43 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012365 >On Fri, 07 Jan 2005 15:37:56 -0800 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012348 > Without a word, Lotor flips two switches. With the first, the >electric super-storm ends. Dark Voltron absorbed almost as much of >the backlash as struck its systems, leaving it only slightly more >damaged than it started with. Defender reels back in relief and >dizziness, almost literally drunk on the power that has vastly >overloaded his mind and body. > With the second, the four panels in the chest-piece open, and the >four figures within are revealed in strange, translucent pods. They >then launch into the air, rocketing up in four separate directions. > "Happy hunting, Champion," Lotor quips. > Defender bites back an unprintable reply. Under other >circumstances, controlling the trajectory of four small pods with his >powers wouldn't even require the slightest fraction of his power _or_ >skill. With the barely comprehensible levels of power surging through >him, however -- Defender is barely visible from the waist up from the >excess bleed-off alone -- he doesn't know how safe it would be to try >manipulating them all at once. [Time to do my Superman impression,] >he thinks with a sigh. "I'll be back for you, Lotor," the Eternal >snaps, shooting into the air and chasing Pidge first (the parent in >him taking over unconsciously). A frustrated Defender lowered Lance's pod to the ground. By hand. [This...POWER...is driving me crazy.] Another might have gnashed his teeth at the irony of having _too_ much power, but it was a dilemma that the Champion had spent his life guarding against, training himself to a peak of skill that (even he could admit it) no one on his home world could equal. At least, not among those native to this time. But even Defender had his limits, and he was carrying enough power to obliterate a small country inside him. He had been able to channel a small portion of it into making him impossibly strong, even by his own standards -- he could challenge most versions of Kryptonians in this state, if he dared to unleash the might within. Yet he didn't dare wield it any other way, except in careful trickles. He squatted down and looked at the four pods with an expert eye. Technological wizardry was a new skill for him -- wizardry was a good term, as he was far better with cosmic, ultra- or 'weird' devices than mundane science -- but he'd always had a knack for solving problems. It was what got him into this stupid mess in the first place. [Do you mean this realm, founding the Champions, or leading the CAoL?] he wondered to himself. Normally, this would be no challenge at all -- a simple reflexive shrug of cyberkinesis, and the pods would be open. Now, though, he'd fry the lot of them. That, obviously, was an unacceptable solution. Besides, the Voltron Force had been second only to G-Force as his favorite anime heroes. It simply wouldn't do for him to fricassee them accidentally. A flicker of thought activated his armor's scanners. Carefully, he examined the pods' construction. It didn't take long for a smile to cross his face. Sealing the energy off in a metaphoric Mobius strip, he turned his attention to his armor's other ability. The tips of his gauntlet fingers seemed to liquefy and stretch out, merging with the crimson egg... "What...?" a wavering voice asked as the top of the structure seemed to melt away, though it left no residue as it vanished. Defender exhaled in relief. "Keith, sir, it's an honor to meet you -- and a distinct relief." Shoulder-length jet black hair emerged first, followed by an athletic figure in what looked like a red race driver's jumpsuit, complete with logos. "My team..." Defender grinned. "I'll have them out in a moment." True to his word, within seconds, Lance, Hunk and Pidge were slowly regaining their bearings and Defender's gauntlets were flowing back to their original state. Defender was no longer grinning. "I wish I had better news for you, and that I could give you time to recover, but right now you have to get to safety." The hero looked grim. "I have no idea where your lions are, as I doubt that's them," he continued, a touch of question in his voice, as he gestured at Dark Voltron, "and if Lotor is to be believed, Allura is still a prisoner in Zoltar's headquarters." The four members of Voltron Force looked at each other, expressions equally grim. "Well, Keith?" Lance asked. Their leader looked down at his belt, hand resting on his buckle. "Our keys," he said softly, and with a careful press of a button, a small shield like a policeman's badge fell into his hand. The others paused a moment, looking at Keith, then each other, then followed his lead. "That's a relief," Hunk replied. "I figured Lotor grabbed 'em. But what good are they gonna do without our lions?" "We can use them to _find_ the lions,_" Pidge put in, "if they haven't been hidden the way they were on Arus." "I doubt even Zoltar's reach extends that far," Defender agreed. Pidge shook his head grimly. "But Lotor drained the lions for his own evil Voltron," he said sadly, pointing at the battle beyond them. "He only stole a few parts -- even these 'Spectrans' couldn't get past most of their security -- but without power..." Defender's smile returned tenfold. "Pidge, could I borrow your key for a second?" Slowly, the young Voltron pilot handed over the key. The Champion concentrated for a moment, eyes closed. "Heh. I thought so..." His eyes snapped open again. "Would the rest of you loan me your keys as well?" Lance looked to Keith dubiously. "What do you think, boss man?" "He's earned our trust," Keith replied firmly, handing Defender his key. Hunk followed suit, followed finally by a reluctant Lance. "You'll have to recharge the Blue Lion," Defender explained, "though you should have power to spare." With that, he concentrated, a pointed, powerful probe flying into the keys. A few seconds later, the energy began to pour forth. First it came as a trickle, then a stream, and finally it coursed out of him in a flood -- through the keys and beyond. He glowed so brightly that the Voltron Force and dozens of onlookers had to shield their eyes. After about a minute, Defender slowly faded back to normal, and four points of light shone on the horizon. Their keys floated back into their hands. "Much better," he breathed in relief. Lance boggled. "How...?" "The Galaxy Alliance has been performing psi experiments for years," Keith explained. "This was far beyond anything they've even theorized, but it makes sense." "Hey, that's great!" Hunk blurted. "Now let's get to our lions and kick some Robeast tail!" Pidge looked out to the horizon with concern. "That could take a while," he noted regretfully. "I think I can help you with that," Defender replied with a smile, and his hemlet thrummed briefly. A few seconds later, a flying car with both retro and sleek curved design styles raced over to them. An apparently platinum android was at the wheel, smiling back at him. A teen punk with a half-red half-blue pill on his jacket and a serious-looking young lady were in the back, the boy armed with a laser rifle and the lady's eyes glowing. Finally, an older man in a lab coat and the largest nose any of them have ever seen was riding shotgun next to the android, looking as if he couldn't decide whether he was frazzled or having the time of his life. "Hey there bro," Sil chuckled. "Someone call a taxi?" "Your timing is as impeccable as ever," Defender replied with relief. "This is Voltron Force, minus one beautiful princess in peril." "Princess?" the pill-punk asked, eyes turning suddenly on Defender. "Don't even _think_ about it," the lady beside him, Keith, Hunk, Sil and Defender all said at the exact same time. "Okay, okay, yeesh," Kaneda sighed. "How's it going with Tetsuo?" the Champion asked, looking askance at Kaneda and his companion. "He's fighting some boy with green hair." Sil shook her head. "The boy's winning, believe it or not." "Chojin Locke," Defender breathed. "What I wouldn't give to see _that_ prize fight..." He sighed. "But our whole universe isn't on that list." Sil gave him a thumbs-up. "Oh, and would you check on Astro when you get the chance?" the older scientist asked with concern. "He's quite powerful and very brave, but I fear this conflagration could prove too much even for him." "Don't you worry, Doctor O'Shay," Defender replied as the Force piled into the quickly cramped aircar, "I'll check on him." An explosion echoed from the heart of the city, followed by a roar of rage. "Though from the sound of things, he's taking good care of himself." As the aircar raced away toward the four distant lights, Defender took to the air himself for a better view of the situation. Big O seemed to have control of the situation in the bay, though it was hard to tell with the amount of steam they were all kicking up. Chojin Locke was indeed keeping Tetsuo in check, while Bird Styles and Sailor outfits were keeping the Negaverse busy. That left-- "MEW?!" Defender blurted, as a tiny pink bubble rocketed past him. It landed almost half a kilometer away, and a faint =mewww...= echoed far below. A cruel, terrible laugh followed the pink trail in, and Defender soon found himself facing an enormous steroidal green figure with almost comical antennae and a gigantic grin of shark-like teeth. "I hate cats," Piccolo snarled, still grinning, "except maybe on crackers." He laughed again. Defender glared at the Saiyan-class monster. "That was inhumane," he quipped darkly. "I'm going to have to take you in." "You?" The Dragonball character laughed again, this time less harshly but with almost the very essence of mockery. "You may be this world's idea of a hero, armor boy, but you're not even worth using my Beam Cannon on." Defender's eyes narrowed. [Oh, yeah, _now_ I could use all that energy I absorbed. Oh well.] "Then take your best shot." Piccolo sighed, still grinning evilly. "Your funeral." With that, he took one vicious swing, flying forward with terrible power. A flicker of thought, and Piccolo was flying in the opposite direction, his fist in his own face. "I may not be as powerful as you, Dragonball warrior," Defender quipped as the Namekian disentangled himself, "but I can manipulate force like you wouldn't _believe._" "Heh." Piccolo's smile was still there, even through several broken teeth and a fractured jaw. It all healed as Defender watched. His lower right arm was a ruined mass, but the alien simply ripped it off at the elbow, shocking even the young Eternal. Piccolo threw it at him, knocking the hero back through the air, and the wound had fully regrown by the time Defender had righted himself. "Looks like you've earned a Beam Cannon blast after all." He pointed one finger at Defender. "Nice knowing you, kid." "NO!" A young voice cried, and beam matched beam in mid-air as Astro flew up between the two. "What the hell?!" Piccolo blurted, his Beam Cannon matched by...a flying robot boy? "Watch your language!" Astro shot back emphatically. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Astro," Defender chuckled. "Bah," Piccolo spat, and his Beam Cannon flared more brightly. "Uh-oh," Astro gasped, slowly flying back as Piccolo's power slowly overwhelmed his. "I think he's stronger than I am." Defender smiled with satisfaction as he gently touched Astro's right arm, his whole frame glowing gently. "But is he better than both of us combined?" The force battle slowed, stopped, and began to move towards the alien. "Hnn," Piccolo snarled, dropping out of the sky (and losing _another_ arm in the process, regrowing it explosively from his shoulder) and landing among a cluster of fleeing innocents. "You hero types just _love_ to protect these fragile fools, don't you?" Dozens of Tokyo citizens (most of whom recognize the villain) screamed in terror. "Oh no..." Astro and Defender sighed in unison. TBC =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Onward On Wed, 9 Feb 2005 09:10:23 -0800 (PST) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012371 >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012361 > > As Rob picks through the computer archives on Thratchen, he sucks >in his breath sharply. "Roland," he says tensely, "about what >Thratchen did to Eric. Is that a common techno-demon ability, or a >Thratchen special? And how does the summoned 'cyber-slaving' gear >interface - neural link, or something else? I'm going to India, >regardless, but I need to know..." >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012365 > > "Hnn," Piccolo snarled, dropping out of the sky (and losing >_another_ arm in the process, regrowing it explosively from his >shoulder) and landing among a cluster of fleeing innocents. "You hero >types just _love_ to protect these fragile fools, don't you?" Dozens >of Tokyo citizens (most of whom recognize the villain) screamed in >terror. "...later," Rob finished, noticing the monitor. "Pardon me, Roland," he added, as he grabbed the Freelance Immortal's wrist...and vanished. One of the stranger conclusions of quantum science is that things which were in contact should theoretically be able to influence each other, even after the contact is long forgotten. A fairly simple spell in quantum magic allows other spells to use this link as a mystical conduit, with the possible effects varying with the strength of the connection. Roland's connection with Defender is stronger than any natural connection. As Rob appeared above Tokyo, he reflexively glanced at the bracelet on his wrist, a device he'd made to show what a universe allowed. Every gem was at its brightest. [It's never done that before...] With a slight mental twist, he focused his Ler, stopping his fall. "KINETIC PULSE!" The bolt of force hammered Piccolo into the ground up to his nose. "Now, while I have a moment to concentrate..." That was when the lightning bolt hit, shattering Rob's concentration. A surge of Possibility slashed through him, giving him a second of awareness. Vash the Stampede. Lina Inverse. Ken Masters. Mai Kuju. All of them, all their powers active. And none of them would be considered the most powerful in their specialty - not under these stelae. As he fell, he twisted to hit a roof feet-first before he smashed through to the apartment below. /Some days you storm the reality, some days the reality storms you. Defender - I can keep Piccolo busy for two minutes with no help, guaranteed. Who's up first?/ =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Onward On Fri, 11 Feb 2005 20:35:37 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012377 >On Wed, 9 Feb 2005 09:10:23 -0800 (PST) >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012371 > > With a slight mental twist, he focused his Ler, stopping his fall. >"KINETIC PULSE!" The bolt of force hammered Piccolo into the ground >up to his nose. Piccolo, so stunned that some mere human managed to a) get the drop on him and b) actually _hurt_ him with a ki attack, gets Swirly Eyes. > "Now, while I have a moment to concentrate..." #Astro, NOW!# Defender sends in a hyperfast burst. #Like we planned!# #Gotcha, Defender!# the brave boy robot replies, drilling into the ground with his arm cannon. > That was when the lightning bolt hit, shattering Rob's >concentration. A surge of Possibility slashed through him, giving him >a second of awareness. > Vash the Stampede. Lina Inverse. Ken Masters. Mai Kuju. All of >them, all their powers active. And none of them would be considered >the most powerful in their specialty - not under these stelae. > As he fell, he twisted to hit a roof feet-first before he smashed >through to the apartment below. /Some days you storm the reality, >some days the reality storms you. Defender - I can keep Piccolo busy >for two minutes with no help, guaranteed. Who's up first?/ /Busy isn't enough, but Astro and I have a plan -- by the Source,/ Roland gasps suddenly. A crimson military uniform flickers into existence, filled with a figure of a man that seems impossible short of steroids. Steroids would probably be less destructive, however, than the deep violet WRONGNESS of an aura surrounding the new entrant. "I sense my power here," M. Bison intones, a cruel smile on his lips. "Sense this," Defender replies with a snarl, a burst of power flying out even as the words leave his lips. Bison's smile merely broadens slightly, and he shatters Defender's burst with a single parry. The Champion pulls back his arm the way a mortal would when shocked. "Your power is vulnerable to dark-filled ki, psion," he sneers. "Stay out of my way." "Not a chance--" Defender begins. Then Piccolo bursts free. "Hey, Bison!" Piccolo roars. "Tell that runt I'll kill him as soon as he kicks your @$$ and I kick theirs!" Turning to face Defender, the Namekian bares his teeth. It isn't a smile. "No chibi-robot, hero, and no chibi-fighter either, but _lots_ of meat sacs you're just _dying_ to defend -- WHAT?!" A miniature earthquake erupts beneath them, and before _anyone_ can react, Defender and Piccolo are launched into the sky, the fiery trail carrying them up shouting "Leeeeeeet's ROCKET!" [Blast,] Defender sighs mentally. /Don't hesitate to shout for help if you have to,/ he adds to Rob through the link as he glares at Piccolo, a sly, menacing smile forming on his face. Reaching out dramatically, power crackles around his outstretched hand and the chunk of ground glows as Astro releases his burden with a perfectly timed stop-throw. That allows the android hero to fly up and around to take a place just above and behind Defender's right shoulder even as they continue to race upward to over a thousand feet and climbing. "What's that you were saying?" the armored Champion almost snarls. Piccolo snarls back wordlessly. "Big deal." He takes a dramatic posture to match Defender's and Astro's, one hand and arm held out in front of him, the other pointing up behind him, index finger upraised and glowing at the tip, ready to unleash his Beam Cannon. "The crunchies would have just made killing you _easier._ You want to face a Dragonball warrior? Then fight, Eternal, and let's _finish_ this!" ===========================