Greywind

Most likely they were never done.

The trigger was on Hawkeye's bow. They showed that.

Hawkeye's arrow had a trigger. It was on his bow.

...and stay off his yard!

Which leads me to wonder what Millennium City, Vibora Bay, etc. are, if not the same thing.

What does Havok have to do with balance?

Ursiel's coin remained in Hades Vault. Lasciel remained in Hades Vault.

...and currently Hero is what? 3 people?

All posts are current if you'd go look for them.

Buy Indirect on the attack. That way you get to decide the Knockback direction.

The blue chevron goes to her sternum? 'Cause I got no idea what a "stimum" is.

...except that it was spelled out in previews... Meanwhile... http://comicbook.com/2015/03/19/agents-of-s-h-i-e-l-d-comics-ad-teases-olmos-as-real-s-h-i-e-l-d/

I keep seeing "they need to do this" and yet I'm not seeing anyone willing to do it.

"Ready to Run" products in the Hero line would be adventure modules. Modules, which historically, don't sell very well. The biggest stumbling block with Hero seems to be that most people don't want to sit and read the book. This is why D&D is, and always will be, the path of least resistance. They may change some things, but at the heart the system is the same.

Then how come I don't have one?

When did Stan say that, exactly, and then, what changes have occurred in Marvel since then? Also keep in mind that Titania was stronger than She-Hulk until Jen started working out to make herself stronger as She-Hulk.

...yeah. Ranks right up there with Hercules towing Manhattan Island back into place.

Yes, if the Regeneration was based on nanite technology and the gun was the means of introducing those nanites into someone that needed to be healed.

So, let's just ignore the super-strength, super-agility...

I figured all the thread necromancy he was doing was in search of... his meds.

Everybody was Kung-Fu Fighting...

This is a revision of my last bit. An Offer The Mercedes cut through the night, the beams of its headlights reflected off the wet asphalt and disappeared into the dark. Traffic was light, an occasional car or truck passing by with long periods before another was seen. The radio played jazz at a low volume. The eyes of the driver darted to the clock in the dash. He had an appointment to keep. Considering the man he had agreed to meet, and not being given the choice of venue, he wanted to be early. Little chance of that now. A wrong turn thanks to the GPS unit in the car had set him back at least a half hour before he had managed to correct the error. The GPS unit announced his imminent arrival at the same time that his eyes picked out the sign. “Lo 's & Grill”, it read. The neon U in “Lou's” gave the occasional slow flicker of a dying light. The Bar before the “& Grill” was blackened and dead. Slowing the car, the driver pulled over into an unpaved parking lot. Pickup trucks and motorcycles tended to be the vehicles of choice in this neck of the woods. The Mercedes rolled to a stop and the engine was killed. Glancing out the car's windshield and through a window inside the building, the driver got the impression that Lou's Bar & Grill was maybe a baby-step above a dive. It reflected his memories of the man he was here to meet. Swinging open the car door, the driver glanced down at a rain puddle. He sighed. Lifting himself clear of the water by way of the door and the roof, he stepped over it. He didn't relish the thought of getting back into his car. At least not with dry shoes. Perhaps if he got in from the passenger side he could avoid soaking his shoes. He closed the door and pressed a button on the key fob. The car chirruped twice in response with a flash of the lights. The driver smoothed down the front of his suit coat and tie, buttoning it closed. He caught his reflection in a mirror on a pickup. He was a handsome black man. His hair was cropped short and neat, both on top of his head and his beard. He cast a quick glance at his watch, the only apparent piece of jewelry he wore, squared his shoulders and headed for the door. Once inside, his eyes scanned the patrons; bikers, truckers and rednecks. More men than women in attendance. He was overdressed in his business suit. The bartender was burly, bald and bearded. He picked out two others sitting quietly together that he figured were bouncers. Sitting alone in a booth in the back, drinking beer from a bottle, was his appointment. He made his way back. “Ace,” he said by way of greeting the black man. His hair was mostly black, but tending towards salt and pepper. His face was hard and rough, with a nose that had been broken at least once. “Dalton,” Ace said. “I see your tastes in bars hasn't improved any.” Dalton gestured towards the seat opposite. “Sit.” Giving the bench seat a look of disgust, Ace unbuttoned his suit coat and slid in. Dalton let out a loud whistle to get the bartender's attention. He held up his bottle by the neck with two fingers raised over it. The bartender nodded and pulled two bottles out, passing them to a serving girl. Looking Ace over, Dalton said, “You look like you've moved up in the world.” “You look like you've moved sideways,” Ace said. “The only thing missing are the sergeant's stripes and olive drab.” Dalton snorted. “You asked. I'm here.” He took another look around the bar, “Wherever 'here' is,” he said. The serving girl set the bottles on the end of the table. “Go away,” Dalton said without looking at her. She retreated to the bar. Quirking a smile at Ace, Dalton said, “Somewhere off the radar. That's all that matters.” He pulled a picture out of the breast pocket of his plaid flannel shirt and laid it on the table. He reached for the two bottles, setting one closer to Ace. “To absent...associates,” he said lifting his bottle in a toast. Ace shot Dalton a look that would burn a hole through the other man. He lifted the bottle in front of him and clacked it against Dalton's. “To absent associates,” he said and took a drink. Dalton did the same. “King is gone.” Raising an eyebrow at the statement, Ace said, “I heard rumors. But I also heard about a run in with one of the Guardians not too long ago.” “Ain't him. Guy I work for got his hands on King's gear. Had a little contest of mercenaries to see who got to wear it. Lots of corpses. Last man standing got it.” Ace put his bottle down and slid it to the side. “What happened to King?” “Got a hunting knife in the neck,” Dalton said. Ace looked surprised. “You remember that cross-country hunting trip of Callahan's a few years back?” Ace nodded. It had been quite the news for a time. “Seems they ran into each other. King ended up with his own knife shoved through his neck.” “One to Longbow,” Ace said quietly. “What about the others?” Dalton belched. The sour smell of beer and cigar annoyed Ace. “Queen is still active. If you want to call it that. Doubt you'd recognize her, though. Seems to be more comfortable in skirts and high heels than combat gear now. Still good for tossing stuffed shirts that think too highly of themselves around.” Ace laughed. “Karen was always good at that. Like that officer when we were in working out of Korea.” “Shoulda kept his hands off her,” Dalton nodded in agreement. “He was lucky she only scarred his face and left him both eyes. Scary woman.” “You just didn't know her very well, Jack,” Ace said. “What about Ten?” Jack Dalton shrugged. “Off the grid. Probably found a rock to crawl under.” “So what's this about?” Dalton ran his thumb over the photograph of the five of them before picking it up and stuffing it back into his pocket. “Got a job. A stuffed shirt is looking for some people that are willing to not play nice with some other people. Money is good. Got some nice benefits. You'd get to see Karen again.” Dalton lifted a small computer and set it on the table before sliding it closer to Ace. On top of it, Dalton set a small gift box. “What's this?” Dalton tapped the computer. “Consider this your target acquisition gear. You agree, you open it up and it sends a message to the stuffed shirt. When he wants you to go to work, he'll send you a file with the target and any special instructions. This,” he tapped the gift box, “is a token of your position in the ranks.” “What if I don't agree?” Dalton sighed. “That could be rather messy, depending.” “Depending on what?” “Your ninja hoodoo.” Ace smiled. “I thought you didn't believe in ninja magic.” Shrugging, Dalton said, “It don't impress me any. Not what I've seen you do. Not what I've seen White Tiger do.” “You've seen the Tiger?” Dalton nodded slowly. “Seen him. Faced him. Almost killed him.” “Almost? What stopped you?” “The man I work for.” “This stuffed shirt?” Ace asked. Dalton took another swig of beer. “No. Him, I work with. The man I work for is downright scary. He tells you to do something or not to do something, you listen.” “I find it hard to believe that you almost killed Kaneda.” Dalton shrugged again. “Believe it or don't. Makes no difference to me. You in?” He sat and thought for a long moment. His gaze traveled from the computer to Dalton and back. “Pass,” Ace finally said, sliding the pile back across the table. “I am not interested in selling my freedom. Just my skills.” He pulled his bottle back in front of himself. “Although,” he said, reaching into an inner pocket of his coat, “there is this.” He slid a small plastic bag across the table. Dalton picked up the bag and examining the items within; a detonator and a Jack of Spades card. After a few moments Dalton said, “Copperfield. That was you?” Ace grinned and shrugged. “You cost me two hundred thou on that job.” Ace whistled. “Two hundred thousand to blow her apartment with her in it? Tsk, tsk. Doctor Copperfield was worth five hundred thousand to me alive.” “Five hundred... Who?” Dalton asked, incredulous. “The Warmonger,” Ace said. Dalton dropped the detonator on the table. “He wanted to make use of her skills.” “It seems,” Dalton started to say. “It seems that both of us have been keeping company with some pretty powerful people.” He considered his former associate. “Where you off to now?” “New Orleans.” “For work?” Ace considered before answering. “Yes. I took a contract with a gentleman. It seems someone else with ninja magic is causing him a bit of difficulty.” “Who's your target?” “Grimblade.” Dalton whistled. “Good luck.” Ace tilted his head in acceptance. “Give my regards to Queen,” he said as he rose.