The Big Villains Thread

Games Sentinel Comics RPG
421

Villain of the Day:  August 22 (Anamnesis)

Jean Barclay could have sworn she'd been here before.  

She stood in the middle of the sidewalk adjoining to James Madison Avenue, staring up at the sun.  She looked around frantically.  There was the bodega; she'd never been inside, though the smell of a freshly-grilled sandwich wafted out.  She whipped to her left:  there was the construction worker, leaning against the inactive jackhammer, wiping his brow and chatting with a fellow workman.  Behind him, the single mother, holding her daughter by the hand as they waited for the stoplight.

Jean looked to the sky as she'd done so many times before.  "I can't look up.  Why am I looking up?  I looked up last time, didn't I?"

Overhead, the streaks of multiple spacecraft cast red-orange fire through the atmosphere.  "I can't scream.  I screamed last time.  I can't point, I can't...what am I supposed to do instead?!"

Even as her mind screamed against it, Jean found her left hand rising to point, found her voice shouting an alarm to all those around her.  This was how it happened before.  This was how she died.  Jean trembled on the sidewalk, even as all those around her flew into a panic.  The workman dropped the jackhammer with a hefty clang; the bodega owner slammed his door shut, flipping the faded sign from 'Open' to 'Closed'.

Jean dropped to her knees, "What do I do?  What do you want me to do?!  Tears streamed down her face as the first of the laser blasts hit.  The earth trembled beneath the impact, brick and mortar shattered as tumbled from the building above her.  Still crying, Jean waited for the bricks to hit...

*    *     *     *     *     *     *

Jean Barclay could have sworn she'd been here before.  And she wasn't the only one...

422

Villain of the Day:  August 23 (Seethe)

The door to the decript manse exploded in a spray of wood splinters.  In the doorway stood The Harpy, each of her hands orbited by floating white-yellow runes.  She swiftly surveyed the interior of the mansion:  only a dusty hardwood floor and a few pieces of cloth-covered furniture awaited her entrance.  As Huginn and Muninn soared in over her shoulder and alighted on the banister, Harpy activated her hands-free comms device.

"I'm in.  Hemogoblin, anything on the roof?"

"Roof's clear; I'm headed in through the east side, second story."

"Enigma, anything at the back door?"  

The investigator quickly responded, "Nothing.  Door's open, though.  I'm heading in."

The trio converged in the central hall of the manse, surveying the carnage at the foot of the grand staircase.  Nearly twenty bodies, clad in the robes and regalia of the Cult of Gloom lay ravaged in the hall, their bodies torn and rent asunder.  Harpy extended her hands, and the dim blow from her runes spread throughout the room, illuminating the area.  

"The Dunston Sect.  All of them..."

Enigma cracked his knuckles, "...looks like they saved us the trouble." 

Hemogoblin, however, pointed to a blood-soaked scroll, sticking out from beneath the body of one of the cultists. "This wasn't planned, I don't think.  There's a ritual scroll here..."

With a gesture from Harpy, Munnin snatched up the scroll and delivered it to its master's hand.  "This is a summoning ritual; not surprising, all told, but..."

"But what?" Hemogoblin walked closer, "What's wrong?"

Harpy hesitated, "...this ritual has nothing to do with Gloomweaver or the Realm of Discord.  Why would Gloom cultists hope to summon that isn't one of Gloomweaver's minions?  What would they have to gain?"

Enigma squinched his eyes in contemplation, "Maybe they decided that something else might be able to aid them.  Doesn't look like whatever came through had any interest in helping..." 

Hemogoblin peered over Harpy's shoulder, "I can't read this script, but I can pick out a few words.  'Implacable'?  'Tireless'?  Maybe something to do with continual or continuation..."  Harpy nodded, "I can do a full translation back at the Aerie, but for now, let's gather what evidence we can while we're here."

Enigma knelt beside a group of bodies, slipping on a latex examination glove as he looked closer, "...lots of deep abdominal incisions.  Something was pulled out of each of them.

A solitary drip caught the Hemogoblin's attention, falling from the arched ceiling onto his shoe.  The fledgling blood mage made the mistake of looking up, "Um...what's that?"

The Harpy extended her hands once more, the runes intensifying and brightening.  Smeared onto the ceiling in the bile from each of the Gloom cultists were a series of shifting, swirling sigils.  Within moments, all three of the heroes could clearly read the sigils' intent:  "Children of Gloom, I come for you..."

423

Seethe should recruit Writhe and a super-spinning would-be hero named Lathe to go after the Cult of Gloom, just because of the assonance. :V

424

Villain of the Day:  August 24 (Voracity)

Chris McNamara pushed the trolley out of the kitchen at the Friendly Feast Gourmet Buffet, heading for the salad bar section.  He hated his job, but in this economy, being a prep cook was as good a way to earn money as any.  While he'd gone to school for web design, the tech bubble crash left him without a job and his brother-in-law was the manager, so his space at FFGB was all but assured.

It wasn't so much the preparation or the cooking that bothered him; Chris was a competent enough cook, and he could chop lettuce with the best of them.  Rather, it was the patrons.  The bloated, gluttonous patrons who drifted from station to station, filling up plate after plate, bowl after bowl.  Little children scuttled like vermin to and from the soft-serve ice cream machine, while overweight seniors waddled along the hot bar.

Worst of all, though, was the carving station.  Chris was on-duty at the carving station at least twice a week, slicing roast chicken, "prime rib", or some other slow-roasted meat for the customers.  Their drooling, insipid faces simply drove him up a wall.  More than once, Chris pictured himself carving up a patron like so much trussed chicken, his carving knife whickering off chunks of patron with each slice.  While he kept such thoughts to himself, even his closest friends among the co-workers starting giving him a wide berth.

But, thoughts remained thoughts alone...until a brief accident at the carving station.  Placed out on the floor when Mark, the originally scheduled carver, called in sick, Chris was already in a foul mood when he took up his knife and meat fork.  For about two hours, all was well.  However, while slicing off a portion of roast beef for an elderly woman, Chris simply slipped.  His fine German steel knife slipped off the meat fork, catching himself across the forearm.  

Immediately, Chris dropped into an utter diatribe, cursing violently and clutching at his bleeding arm.  He screamed in the old woman's face, blaming her and all the patrons for bringing him to this.  The vitriol Chris spewed was like something out of an Internet rant and, as it turned out, something simply couldn't resist the combination of hate and hunger on that buffet floor.

The very building of the Friendly Feast erupted into an amorphous being of food and crushed plexiglass and detritus, as it manifested a crushing maw and swallowed the still-screaming Chris.  It rampaged through the husk of the building, devouring all within its path with a Voracity not seen outside the most arcane circles.

Some arcane scholars have compared the Friendly Feast creature to that of known Gloom-cultist "Missy the Maw", though Voracity does not seem to be a demon or a denizen of the Realm of Discord.  Rather, it seems possessed only of a hunger for all things:  living, non-living, organic, inorganic.  All will be consumed...

425

Villain of the Day:  August 25 (Nurse Nora)

Bill Castleman hated going to the dentist.  For years, he'd put it off, citing a good habit of brushing and thrice-daily mouthwash to keep his teeth free of cavities.  It wasn't the actual act of going to the dentist that bothered him, mind you; rather, he had a solid realtionship with his family doctor and didn't even mind his first colonoscopy that much.

Rather, it was that noise:  the subtle grinding whirr of a drill against enamel, followed by that hot metallic odor of something being ground away.  That sound, that scent kept Bill a long way from the dentists' office for years.

Thanksgiving Day, though, Bill met his match.  In the midst of his pecan pie, Bill felt something snap in his mouth, followed by a blast of white-hot pain through the left side of his jaw.  Bill howled, "My tooth!  I think I broke a tooth!"  Like it or not, something had to be done.

Bill's daughter, Emma, was quick on the button:  "Dad, there's only one place open right now.  It's a holiday.  If you can wait until tomorrow..."  Her dad's moans from the couch, where his jaw was buried in a bag of frozen peas, said it all.  It had to be tonight.

The drive to the Urgent Dental Care was not one that Bill typically liked to make.  Just off of an isolated highway on the west side of town, the waiting room had an all-too familiar septic reek.  Within minutes, Bill was taken into the back.  Emma never saw him again.

Bill lay back in the chair, awaiting the dental assistant with the bag of peas still pushed against his jaw.  They had started to thaw; nothing was really working at this point.  He sat up slightly as the door opened; a tall, slim woman stalked into the room.  Bill nodded to her, but she said nothing, simply placing her tools onto the table.  A mirror, a series of dental picks, a drill head.  Bill's eyes widened as she turned on the light above him.  

"I'm Nurse Nora.  Won't you please open," she requested firmly.  Bill found himself compelled as he lay back, opening his mouth as wide as he could.  The woman picked up the mirror in one hand, a pick in the other, and began examining Bill.

Bill shuddered as the pick slowly moved from tooth to tooth across his mouth, finding its way ever closer to his cracked molar.  He winced in pain, closing his mouth just slightly, as the woman scowled.  "No.  You will remain open."

Bill felt both his eyes and mouth open wider as the woman rotated the pick into the broken socket of his tooth.  Bill winced in agony, trying desperately not to scream.  A low moan of pain resonated in his throat as the woman smiled.  Slowly, she began pressing, the pick driving deeper in.  Tears streamed down Bill's face as he screamed.

"No.  You'll stop that now." She said quite dispassionately.  Bill complied immediately, his body following her every order, even as his mind screamed at him to get up, to leave, to attack her, to do something.  Instead, he laid back, openly crying as he opened his mouth wider.

The woman smiled in a broad, sadistic grin.  It was just then that Bill noticed something truly wrong.  Her lips parted to reveal a set of sharp incisors...then another...then another...  Row upon row of teeth, stacked like that of a shark, devouring, feeding, feasting.  Bill's eyes widened as the tears came rolling down even harder.  

426

Villain of the Day:  August 26  (Reverie)

All that Aliza Maxwell could do was watch.

After a pulling a double-shift at the restaurant, all Aliza wanted to do was sit back with some of her leftovers--the stuff left over from the staff meal at Cromwell's Steakhouse--and watch some late night television.  As she tucked into a slightly-dried-out baked potato and a steak just slightly too done for her taste, the house band reached a cresendo and the announcer boomed out an introduction for comedian Chip Carlson. 

Four days later, the fire department burst into Aliza's apartment.  She sat cross-legged, barely-breathing, unmoving, staring at the static-covered screen.  All attempts to garner her attention were for naught; it was as if Aliza was in some sort of Reverie.  That is, however, until one of the firefighters turned off the tv.  Instantly, Aliza flew into a scratching, biting rage, to the point where the paramedics on-scene were forced to sedate her.

After being taken to the local hospital, the mystery only deepened:  Aliza was acutely dehydrated and on the verge of organ failure, desipte the fact that the meal she had heated up--including a full glass of apple juice--sat directly in front of her on the coffee table.  She claimed to have no memory of the past four days, but rather, only of Chip Carlson.  In her own words, "He called my name..."

Aliza related her entire story to police authorities which led to a brief (and fruitless) investigation.  She claimed that Chip strode out onto the sound stage of his talk show, but began to speak specifically to her.  He coaxed her to relax, to sit, to get comfy and to just listen to the sound of his voice.  However, as the evening wore on, Chip never left the screen.  The show would change, the scene would change, but Chip would remain.  The early 4am news?  Chip was behind the newsdesk.  The 10am soap operas?  Chip sat on the couch as Lady Edderly slapped her evil twin for embezzling the company's money.  The 3pm game show?  Chip was up on stage, watching Morgann try to guess the price of turtle wax.  He never left.  He was just there, with his comforting, peaceable voice keeping her transfixed.  

Representatives for both Chip Carlson and his agent could not be reached for comment.

427

Villain of the Day:  August 27 (The Troll)

Maria raced off the bus, flew through the front door, dropped her backpack onto the couch and practically leapt up the stairs to her bedroom.  Within seconds, she was in her computer chair, ready to post the latest entry to her ongoing video blog.  She logged onto her laptop, pulled up her UToob administrator page, and her eyes went wide:  687 new comments!  

For an instant, Maria's elation couldn't be contained.  Then she made the mistake of reading the comments.

Comment after comment, downvote after downvote, the comments were as thorough as they were merciless.  The nameless, faceless audience lambasted poor Maria for everything from the color of her tank top ("She looks like a salmon filet.  Fish-girl!") to the wallpaper on the far-side of the room, ("She lives in a fracking hovel!  How does she aford a computer???").  Maria slammed closed the laptop and threw herself down on her bed in tears.

That lasted for all of 10 minutes.  Maria, if nothing else, was resourceful.  And, while she wasn't a computer expert, she certainly knew two people who were:  her friend Sherri and Sherri's twin brother, Shaun.  Both Sherri and Shaun went to the local STEM school, focusing on computer programming and networking.  They regularly spent their weekends at science competitions and museums and were, without a doubt, the smartest people Maria knew.  At an offer of take-out Chinese and as much Peak Quench as they could drink, the twins made their way to Maria's house to begin solving the mystery.

Now, after wiping away her tears and catching her breath, Maria was savvy enough on the way over to copy/paste the comments into a Noter document.  That's when the weirdness started.

Sherri noticed it first.  The comments simply didn't line up.  The items that appeared in Maria's Noter document simply didn't appear on any of her 27 vlog entries, nor did any of the associated screennames.  UToob's policy had always been to replace abusive comments with a corporate-sounding, "This comment has not met our community standards and has been removed."  These comments simply morphed into other insults, in a different order, which changed each time the page was refreshed.  However, Shaun did manage to find a single comment that stayed static, a sexist slur from someone calling themselves HryngarIceOgre.  A quick search revealed that Hyrngar had, in fact, posted precisely once on each of Maria's videos.

At that, Maria's phone buzzed:  a text message from an unknown number....with offensive text strangely similar to that of Hyrngar...

While Shaun and Maria called the police, Sherri continued to flex her online acumen.  After tracing Hyrngar's IP address through several proxy sites, Sherri found that the source code originated at the corporate headquarters for a JoyTech Limited, an app producer based out of the Roanoake, Virginia area.  Could they be monetizing internet outrage somehow, Sherri muttered to herself.  As a squad car pulled up outside Maria's house and Sherri and Maria saved their files, one last text message arrived:  "You'll regret that..."

428

Villain of the Day:  August 28 (Whatever)

Petty though he might be, Guise could hardly be said to be the type to ever give up.  After a single afternoon with Whatever?  Even the Best. Hero. Ever. threw up his hands and just walked away.

Alyson McCray was nothing short of the stereotypical jaded teenager.  Her phone was latched to her hand at all hours; regardless of where she went, she was clad in a loose tank top and yoga pants; and any request of Alyson that didn't actively involve her social circle was dismissed with that classic scoff/eyeroll combo.  While generally supportive, Alyson's parents found that the best (read: most convenient) way to deal with their daughter was to simply let her off on her own.

...which of course, made her a prime locus for a spirit of cynicism.  While Alyson was vaguely aware of her powers--despite being unaware of her Host-hitchhiker--said powers manifested in relatively subtle ways.  If she told a nosy mall security guard to shut up, the guard found himself unable to talk whatsoever.  With a single gesture, she could telekinetically flick away anyone who bothered her.  And, of course, messages on her phone became imperious commands to any she needed to text; the recipient became naught but a sycophant to her teenage whims.  Her response to this, of course?  "Whatever..."

Enter Guise.  Looking to swing by his local Knead to Relax to pick up a new massage chair, Guise wandered into the Central Plaza Mall hoping to make this a quick visit.  As he passed by a SinnaMon Stand (and while licking the delectable vanilla-bean icing from his fingers), Guise couldn't help but note the swarm of teenagers approaching.  A gaggle of at least fifty teens milled about, carrying various packages and each attempting to vie for "just a quick selfie" or an ExtraGram post with Alyson.  

This set Guise off like none other.  Swarmed by teenagers, he lost his temper, screaming somewhat unintelligibly about his massage chair and how these teenagers were "lazy layabouts who need a job!"  Whatever looked up from her phone for but a minute, rolled her eyes, and telekinetically splattered Guise into the front of a Cavolero's Calzones.  Pulling himself together, Guise charged forward, only to be immediately halted by a single raised finger from Whatever.  By the time that Guise managed to snap out of it, Alyson and her entourage were long gone.

At that, Guise simply gave up.  "Fine!" he said, "You win!  I'm out!  I'm done!  Teenagers today....argh!"  Whatever is still at large...

429

Villain of the Day:  August 29 (Ignition)

Iyo, the crystalline metahuman mercenary recruiter, thought he had stumbled onto a gold mine with Ignition.  What Iyo actually found in Ignition, though was a loose cannon in every sense of the word.  Unfortunately for the world, cutting Ignition loose meant that a provacateur unlike any other was free to wander the world.

On one of his typical recruiting travels, Iyo caught word of the man called Ignition in southern Spain.  Riots and insurgency surrounding government corruption had broken out in numerous cities, with protestors clashing with police and military authorities across the region.  At the core of them, however, was one particular metahuman--a slim, dark-complexioned man who seemed to be at each and every one of these demonstrations, in some violent capacity. 

Sitting down with Ignition for the first time--who, even then, refused to give Iyo his real name--Iyo nearly punched him in the face.  No matter what Ignition said, Iyo could just feel himself grow agitated and aggravated, spurred to some kind of violent action.  Looking down at the cafe table, Iyo blinked, and a combat knife suddenly appeared on the table itself.  He blinked again, and the knife became a firearm.  A third blink and it morphed into a Molotov cocktail.  Each time, he felt his rage and aggravation irrationally grow.

"So...now you see what I bring to the table?"  Ignition smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary. 

Iyo shook his head as if coming out of a reverie, "I think I do...how do you feel about sub-Saharan Africa?"

Within days, Iyo signed Ignition to a contract and sent the firebrand to Chad, with instructions to meet with a group of anti-government insurgents.

After only an hour with those insurgents, the entire group found themselves in a firefight, nearly eradicating the whole of the insurgents.  WIthin three hours, the violence had spread into the capital, N'Djamena, with the military calling in armored cavalry to put down the chaos.  The incident was on national news within the day, and the UN Security Council voted to move in peacekeeping troops within a week.

Iyo was infuriated.  He demanded an explanation from Ignition, but the firebrand was nowhere to be found...he had already left to find some other international arena in which to sow discord...

430

Villain of the Day: August 30 (The Gold Wyrm)

Let's be clear: dragons don't exist. Any stories about flying lizards over the Cotswolds are nothing more than the fanciful tales of old women, told to children before bedtime. That hasn't stopped countless would-be treasure hunters from combing the Cotswolds in search of The Great Gold Wyrm and its legendary hoard.

The story goes that the dragon wasn't always in this form. Rather, he was one of Arthur's earliest knights, who joined the Round Table as a way to gain political power and wealth. When it became clear that Arthur was more concerned with foolish notions of justice and peace, the knight left Camelot, in search of his fortune elsewhere.

In a long forgotten Thulian ruin, he found that fortune. An ancient artifact, being with power, promised to give the knight his heart's desire. Of course, the knight asked for untold wealth and the means to protect it. His body twisted and writhed, splitting his armor and tearing his clothing. He grew to an immense size, his skin morphed to golden scales, and his fingers sprouted talon-like claws. He had become a beast literally made of gold: a dragon.

However, the knight had neglected one major issue. He couldn't leave the ruins. While the chamber with the now-burnt-out artifact was big enough to house him, he could not even come close to fitting through any exit. Cursing his shortsightedness, the great gold wyrm did the only thing it could. It slept. To this day, treasure hunters seek out the caverns in the Cotswolds, hoping to find even a single scale from the cursed knight.

As the legend goes, even a single scale from the wyrm is enough gold to make a man fabulously wealthy...

431

Villain of the Day:  August 31  (JoyTech Limited)

It's said that magic is just technology that we have yet to fully comprehend.  JoyTech Limited banks on that lack of comprehension.

Originally founded in the mid-80s under the name CompUTech Global, JoyTech was one of the first to jump onto the third-party app creation wave that hit with the advent of the smartphone.  Their games Hopping Billy, Mad Mad Mushrooms, and The AxeRealm Trilogy have been acclaimed hits, with millions of downloads worldwide.  However, JoyTech also created and supports a number of other apps ranging from fitness and wellness trainers, to grocery lists that comparison-shop in real time, and a particularly notable holiday app known as Santa's Wish List. 

Since its brand conversion in the late 1990s, JoyTech has been headed by one Yonas Tesfay Osman, an Eritrean-born man who spent most of his life living in Belgium before moving to the United States.  Osman had always had a head for technology, but he knew full-well the power to be found in the strange, occult corners of the universe.  His great-aunt Ruta was rumored to be a hedge mage of some repute, with villagers approaching her to cast out demons, perform healing and cleansing rituals, and to brew up various herbal tinctures and balms.

Osman, though?  He knew there had to be a better way than moldering old books and dried herbs.  He made it his life's work to bridge the gap between magic and technology, through new and innovative programming.

You see, each of the apps that JoyTech produces has code embedded within its program that enacts an ongoing arcane ritual loop.  Each time the app is booted up, the loop restarts, allowing a tiny wisp of a Host spirit through to this world which then influences the app user.  Generally speaking, the apps are programmed globally:  Santa's Wish List, for instance, inspires feelings of avarice and want; their fitness app BetterU! inspires feelings of disgust and self-loathing such that the user will want to use the app more often to lose more weight and 'feel better'; The AxeRealm Trilogy inspires feelings of self-grandeur and an inflated sense of ego.

In all cases, the JoyTech apps rely on supernatural and more conventional feedback loops to keep users 'entertained' and enthralled.  JoyTech's annual profits now approach nearly $600m US per year, with a half of those profits coming from in-app purchases.  Osman has a literal legion of programmers and designers at his disposal at this point, each of which have been trained to include bits of "Host Code" into their work, to acheive the desired effects.  While some of these have utilized this talent for their own means, most of the software programmers have been content to enjoy their six-figure salaries, their company benefits, and numerous other perks.  Osman, though?  He'll just continue to reap the benefits of bridging the magic-technology gap.

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And that brings us to the end of AugHost!  Starting tomorrow, we're beginning a "September to Remember"--a series of villains directly linked to the past of one of the canon characters of Sentinels of the Multiverse.   See you then!

432

Welcome to a September to Remember!  All the villains this September will feature a character from the past of an already-extant character from the canon Sentinels of the Multiverse timeline.  

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Villain of the Day:  September 1 (Edouard Beauchamp, aka Edouard Cobalt)

Like his father before him, Paul Nathaniel Parsons did his best to serve his newfound country.  His hardiness and quickness made him an ideal scout and, with the newly purchased Louisiana territory requiring a great deal of scouting and surveying, Paul took up the American virtue of manifest destiny and began to travel this great continent.  However, as British aggression reared its head once more during the War of 1812, Paul found himself in the deep south, aiding in the American war effort.

It was at Villere Plantation that Parsons came upon one of the earliest forerunners of the modern Cult of Gloom.

The Villere Plantation was owned by a French expatriate named Edouard Beauchamp, who had made his fortune employing refugees from Saint-Domininique.  Beauchamp offered steady work and housing on his plantation, while the refugees offered something truly unique.  Beauchamp was fascinated by the Haitians' beliefs in the loa, curses, and Voudoun, and began putting together a massive libram of their rituals, of the various Voudoun gods they worshipped, and of the powers that could be exploited from those gods.  The most powerful, he found, was a massive skull-headed creature known as Papa nan Teneb, who was the focus of so many of the ancient rituals.

As the British attempted to maintain the blockade of New Orleans, battle found its way to Beauchamp's doorstep, and he called out to aid from the US forces. Paul's commander, Lieutenant Spotts, took up a post on the outskirts of the Villere plantation, only to find that rumors of Beauchamp's predilictions spread quickly throughout the American encampment.  As the British bore down on the plantation, Paul took it upon himself to do some investigating, showing his commanding officer just a handful of the rituals that Beauchamp had been enacting alongside his Voudoun-following workers.

Two days before Christmas 1813, the battle was joined.  History dictated it as a "Battle in the Dark", wherein Americans fought British hand to hand along the levees, each fearing to use artillery for the chance of hitting their own men.  In truth, the battle was a three way battle.  Having learned the nature of what went on on Beauchamp's plantation, Spotts ordered Parsons to lead a contingent to take the plantation, even as the British converged upon it.  Fighting quickly descended into a three way battle between Beauchamp, the Americans, and the British.  While Paul managed to take the plantation, Beauchamp and his most trusted workers had escaped with all manner of occult implements and rituals before the plantation-house itself was put to the torch.

Buoyed by the eldritch power from Papa nan Teneb--known more colloquially as Gloomweaver--Edouard Beauchamp, now calling himself Edouard Cobalt, has lasted well beyond his years.  While his form resembles nothing so much as a berobed skeleton at this point, Beauchamp commands powerful arcane forces and would eagerly see the line of Legacies end at his hand.  And, with Pauline so recently having taken up the Legacy mantle, it may well be time for Cobalt to strike!

433

Hey Platinum , have you ever explained the reason why each month has that particular theme ?

 

Like I see no correlation between September and the past

434

Honestly… because September rhymes with remember? I couldn’t think of a better theme, so I ran with that.
At first, I was doing alliterative ones (Foreign February, Mystic March), but I started hitting issues in the Js.

Also, today’s villain is going to be delayed. I just got back after spending 6+ hours at the hospital with my mother in law. Today’s villain and tomorrow’s will be up tomorrow afternoon.

435

Sorry. Hope everything’s ok.

436

I don't think anyone will complain if you miss one (or more), PlatinumWarlock. Priorities are important. Best wishes! 

437

Villain of the Day:  September 2 (Kriegsherr)

Vernon Carter leveled his flak cannon at the stone wall.  The brigade behind him held M1s and combat shotguns at the ready, eager to take on any resistance that might be within.  Holding up his hand, Vernon counted down...3, 2, 1...  A thunderous "CHOOM!" rang out as the stone wall blew open and the GIs surged into the breach.

Within, German and Austrian scientists swarmed over lab equipment, desperate to pack up their findings as the war wound down.  Now, in late 1944, the Allies were surging through occupied France, with designs on Berlin by spring.  The Axis conquest was all but a dream now, and survival was more important than Der Fuhrer's mad schemes.  The massive American Bunker suit stomped through the hole in the wall, with GIs swarming in around it.  Gunshots rang out, but the conflict looked to be well and truly in the Americans' hands.

That is, however, until Kriegsherr rose up through the concrete stairwell.  Alighting atop the landing near the north end of the lab, Kriegsherr gestured over the crowd, "Amerikanner!  You will die this day!"  Lightning streamed from his hands, slamming into two GIs and sizzling over the Bunker suit.  The suit sizzled and popped as Vernon slid open the main hatch, "Joe!  Get him out of here!"

A wiry, dark-haired man in the rear of the regiment stepped into the lab.  Rather than dressed in fatigues and helmet, he wore the trenchcoat and fedora accustomed to him in his private eye practice.  In his left arm was cradled a crimson tome, bearing a single unblinking eye surrounded by eldritch symbols.  Joe unfurled the text, which opened and levitated in front of him, as both hands alighted with misty white energy.  A piercing squeal echoed through the chamber as German and American alike clutched at their ears, though Joe began a chant that none of those in attendance could recognize.  

A slithery, mist-covered tentacle slid its way up Kriegsherr's leg.  Shaken to alarm, the super-soldier blasted the appendage with lightning, but a second, then a third tentacle grappled at his arms and legs.  "Amerikanner!  This is not the end!" he screamed, as the tentacles dragged him off into darkness...never to be seen again.

American military records list the raid as a complete success.  Only two American fatalities were recorded, with numerous German scientists and strategicians captured, along with numerous pieces of military intelligence.  The name Kriegsherr, however, does not appear in any such record.  

438

Villain of the Day:  September 3 (Subject 13)

Pete Riske walked into the room that would become his home for the duration of the medical experiments.  The cell was more than a little sterile, with gray sheets, a slim mattress, and steel shelves upon which he could put his possessions.  A name-tag sat atop the vanity; Pete picked it up and turned to the Ms. Valentine, the RevoCorp representative who has been supervising his orientation.

"Who's Gary Wilson?"

Ms. Valentine blanched just slightly, palming the ID.  "Oh, Mister Wilson was one of our former subjects.  He's since been released from the program; I'll be sure this gets back to him...  Is there anything I can get you, Mister Riske?"  Pete smiled and shook his head, as Valentine closed the door and left the company's newest test subject to get accustomed to his accomodations.  As she tiptoed down the hall, Valentine dropped the ID into the trash.  After all, Gary Wilson wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

*     *     *     *     *

Ten weeks later, the body of Gary Wilson sat up and blinked in the darkness of the Rook City sewers.  It coughed once:  a pestilent green fog emerged, flowing over Wilson's face.  It looked down at its hands; its nails had all but blackened and fallen off and its skin was a pallid gray, with the occasional black vein running underneath the skin itself.  It staggered to its feet, the joints crunching with each movement, and began to walk 'downstream'.  Within a few minutes, it was free along the riverbanks.

After just a few days, a strange infection started spreading through Rook City...

439

Villain of the Day:  September 4 (Armie Jordan)

Armie Jordan couldn't believe his 15-year-old eyes.  A real live alien spaceship, just like Dad always talked about.

Dad was always going on about "little green guys", but there they were in the flesh:  short and blue-green and tentacle-y, all wandering around the remains of their crashed spaceship.  A few of them were yelling about something, but in their own weird blubbery language that Armie couldn't understand.  

Armie thought back to all those cable specials Dad had recorded:  "Aliens Among Us", "The Outer Space Interlopers", and his favorite, "Alien Threats to Freedom".  He had to do something.  His Wolf Scout badge practically required it!  Slowly, Armie crept closer to the crash site, eventually slipping inside the remains of the ship itself.

Within the ship, Armie could clearly make out something that looked like a power source.  A green prism levitated within a blue containment field, slowly turning and orbiting as it pulsed with latent power. This had to be what powered their ship, of couse.  If he could just take it, Armie thought to himself, he'd be a real American hero!  He'd stop these Alien Pinkos from ever being able to mount a defense against our American troops.  Armie grabbed up a nearby piece of debree and knocked the prism loose before scooping it up and dashing back home.

Little did Armie know was that he had just stolen a state-of-the-art Galfaxian Extraction Crystal, capable of extracting atomic energy on the protonic level for use as starship fuel.  With the crystal gone, there was no hope of the Maerynian ship ever leaving the atmosphere again.  However, within his unguarded, unshielded, unprotected hands?  Armie himself began to lose molecular integrity as the extraction crystal began breaking down his physical form. 

Within a manner of days, Armie had been converted entirely to a being of living green energy, capable of blasting nuclear fire from his hands and flying with ease.  With concerted effort, though, Armie could alter his molecular structure, becoming a behemoth of pure Galfaxian crystal and gifted with the strength, durability, and radioactive aura that goes with the rare mineral.  

Over the years, Armie has continued to maintain his father's crusade against alien creatures and, as Maerynians and Thorathians seem to become all the more common here on Earth, Armie is always among the first to take up arms against these interlopers.  

440

Villain of the Day:  September 5 (Grizzly)

Boris Sokolov languished in federal prison for three years before being stabbed four times while on laundry detail.  The man who had once run The Organization died an ignominious death and was buried in a state cemetery.  But, even as The Chairman left Boris to rot, Sokolov's death was certainly heralded by at least one individual:  his brother, Sergei.

Sergei Sokolov was in Belarus, operating an arms smuggling ring, when news of Boris' death reached his ears.  Much like his brother, Sergei had made quite the small fortune selling off Soviet arms to various insurgents across Europe and northern Africa.  However, as Sergei learned the news, he immediately flew into a rage unlike any that his lieutenants had ever seen.  How dare they!  How dare those Americans take his brother from him!  These arrogant Westerners would pay for such an outrage.

Sergei Sokolov made his first appearance on the Rook City streets in the midst of Mister Fixer's crusade against The Organization and, for a time, none knew whose side Sergei was truly on.  While Sergei was quick to take on all comers from The Organization itself, making his desire for vengeance quite clear, it swiftly became apparent to Fixer and his allies that Sergei was not to be trusted under any circumstance.  Sergei certainly had the penchant to 'shoot first, ask questions never' and would often find the most gory, unpleasant ways to dispatch The Chairman's henchmen.  

However, after Fixer's death, Sergei disappeared.  Some theorized that Fixer's death inspired some great fear in the mobster, causing him to lay low for a time.  Others thought that The Chairman had finally caught up with the arms dealer, sending him off to meet his brother in the afterlife.  Regardless of the supposition, everyone was astounded when Sergei emerged several years later, wearing an outlandish costume and with a set of vicious claws extending from his fingertips. 

Calling himself Grizzly, Sergei had descended into mania.  He had become obsessed with tearing down both The Organization and the so-called 'heroes' who contributed to his brother's death.  However, as Setback quickly found out, Sergei had given up on his usual tactics (read: guns and more guns) in favor of brutal melee combat with a strength and dexterity that few could even come close to matching.  Setback further claims that Grizzly has some degree of regeneration, as the mobster was shot at least four times, though by the time combat had ended, the wounds had sealed completely.

To date, Grizzly has become something of an urban legend within the Rook City underworld, akin to Plague Rat or other beasties of the sewers.  However, as long as The Chairman rules Rook City, Grizzly will surely be there to oppose him...