Greywind

“Gah!” “Are you okay?” a deep male voice asked. Marla lifted the device that covered her head. “No! I feel like I swam in slimy.” “Would it help if I said I'm sorry?” Dan Thomas asked. “No.” “Assessment. Can we use him?” the deep male voice asked. Standing up, Marla said, “Yes. Give him to Challenger for target practice. Give him to Shadow as a knife rack. Alan, he is completely immoral. He has a superiority complex driven in part by his ability to persuade others to do what he wants them to do. “As for whether or not we can use him, my answer is an unequivocal no. He's a rabid feral dog. He is safe so long as he is leashed and muzzled. If you remove the muzzle in order to make use of him he will turn on you. The last thing we need, sir, is someone like you being his sock puppet.” “Noted,” Alan Baines said. “Why am I always the one that has to get inside their heads? I really wish there was a way to use what I see as evidence.” “I'm sorry, Dr. Pearson,” Dan said. “It's your gift.” “Are you okay?” Huntress asked quietly. Shaking her head, Marla said, “I need to take a shower and scrub myself clean. I need to get out of my skin so I can wash where he got underneath it. I need to take my brain out so I can bleach the filth from it. How did you catch him?” “I saw him first,” Huntress stated. “I thought you were blind,” Alan said. Huntress' lip curled into a small smile. “Recommendation?” “Find someone that can make him do all the sick things he's made others do. Failing that, put a bullet in the bastard's head.”

No. The Goa'uld wanted the real estate. All of it. They fought over planets when one system lord showed a weakness.

The Persuader Marla Pearson relaxed and settled back in the chair. She cleared her mind and shut out the noise. As she did, the room slowly grew darker. In front of her was a full-length mirror. She stared at her reflection choosing how best to present herself. Starting at the bottom, her low heels became flats. The color of them lightened to a medium gray. The skirt she was wearing, Marla decided that it wouldn't do. It lengthened and then split into dark gray slacks. Her blouse was white. She left it for the time being. Ash-blond hair fell to her shoulders. She gathered that up into a tight bun. The intense blue of her eyes she muted until they were a dull gray. Her reflection put on black rimmed glasses. Marla gazed at her double and decided to go without makeup. It simply vanished from the reflection. Her double put on a lab coat and picked up a thick pile of folders. “The blouse,” she said to herself. It shifted from white to a pale green. She looked over her double to pick out any details that might stick out. Nothing did to her mind. “I'm ready,” she stated. The mirror changed into a door, which she opened and stepped through. The room beyond was white; the walls, the ceiling, the floor only broken by the joins of the tiles. One wall held a one-way mirror. Marla set her files on the table and took a seat. Across from her was a man wearing an inmate jumper. His hands were shackled to the arms of his chair. Without looking, Marla knew that his ankles were likewise shackled to the chair. Done to keep a prisoner from attempting to up-heave the table onto the interviewer. He had a few days growth on his face and his brown eyes were shadowed. His hair was shorn with a light stubble of regrowth. He was collared. Leads from the collar were attached to his temples. At the back, Marla knew there were two more on either side of his spine, at the base of his skull. She pulled the first file off the pile, opened it, and scanned the first few pages. “Where the hell am I?” “Mr. Greenwood. Hugh Greenwood. Obviously not a lumberjack.” “I don't get it and where the hell am I?” he screamed at her. “Hugh... Do you mind if I call you Hugh?” “You can call me 'Sir'. Or 'Master' if you prefer. Which you'll learn when I get out of this.” “Okay, Hughie.” “Not that. Call me Persuader.” “Sorry, Hughie, but you are going to have to persuade me not to. It says here that the first known occurrence of your powers you got one of your high school teachers to do a strip tease on her desk.” Persuader smiled. “What can I say. I was hot for teacher. Why don't you get up on the table and do one for me?” He screamed in pain. “No, Hughie, I will not strip for you. You seem to have covered up other uses of you abilities until you asked the head cheerleader, who also happened to be the prom queen and the quarterback's girlfriend out. In front of him.” Marla turned a page. “The girl, some time later, ended up in the mental ward of a hospital. The quarterback suicided after being the center...hmm...the center of a gang-bang of the coaches and the rest of the football team. All of whom later went through counseling.” Persuader smiled. “It did help me expand my horizons. Be a dear and let me loose.” He screamed again. “What the f**king hell!” “Every time you attempt to persuade me, Hughie, you are going to suffer that pain. Or it will end up burning your ability out of your brain.” She turned another page. “Petty larceny. Grand theft. Oh, bank robbery. You hit the big time there. Except where you were caught on camera with one of the bank's employees in the vault. It seems she also went through counseling for your little escapade.” “What do you want?” Marla ignored him. “You ended up with a perfect grade average in high school. The school records show that you spent a lot of time not doing your work. You have three doctorates from three different universities on three different subjects. And those schools have no records of you ever attending, Hughie.” “I needed a little something to hang on my walls. I want to talk to my lawyer.” Marla suppressed a smile. “Hughie, you don't have a lawyer.” “Then I'm not saying another damned thing!” Another page turned. “You moved into the suburbs. Rented a room from a middle-aged single woman. And turned her into a sex toy.” Persuader grinned. “Made friends, and I use that term extremely loosely, with neighbors. Once again with the quarterback scenario with the neighborhood men, while applying your abilities to the females. Females ranging in ages from fifteen to...” Another page turned. “Fifty-six.” She turned her full attention on Hughie. “You are a real piece of work. What is it? Daddy issues? Is that why you have problems with authority figures? And the control over women. Is that due to an Oedipus Complex? I understand that your mother was immune to your ability.” “Not saying anything, sweetheart.”

Try asking in the Hero System forum. This is for the Hero Designer software.

"We cannot answer you on account no one is here to answer you."

I meant about the book.

Which is why the rules bloated into an encyclopedia set instead of keeping things relatively simple. By one means or another they generally tend to move faster than everyone else.

That is usually a good place to start.

Mark Arsenault is a member of the Facebook Hero Games Fan Group. You could ask him there.

Just as easy, and cheaper cost-wise and END-wise, to just buy DCV with the SFX of the speed.

There was something in Jason's eyes that startled her. Kris became acutely aware of how close the bed was. Jason pulled himself erect and closed his eyes. Kris watched as his hand formed a fist. He smiled and opened his eyes. Whatever Kris had seen was gone. “I don't want dinner to burn,” he said, turning back to the hall. “Are you okay?” “I'm fine,” he said. Returning the kitchen, he began stirring. Kris resumed her perch on a stool. There was a large portfolio laying on the counter next to her seat. “What's this?” “Something I thought you might want to take a look at. Maybe give me your opinion on it.” Kris pulled it closer and opened the cover. The first image was of Jason's old cabin. She had seen enough of Jason's art over the years to recognize that he had drawn it. She turned the page and was presented with interior design sketches. Kris flipped back to the external drawing, made some mental notes, and turned back to peruse the all the internal sketches. She started smiling. Glancing up at Jason, he gave her a questioning look. She grinned and continued to look through the drawings. By the time she was finished and closed it, Jason was pulling the chicken out of the oven. “This isn't the old cabin,” Kris said, tapping the cover. Jason shook his head. “Then what is it?” Jason set the pan with the chicken aside. He moved the portfolio down the counter and appeared another in front of Kris. She opened it up and after a moment she realized she was looking at a copy of the blueprints. “You aren't... These are...” “Plans were finalized last week. It was fully approved. Construction begins on the old foundation in two weeks.” “Awesome! What possessed you to rebuild after all this time?” Jason's head dropped. There was something in his look that made her think. “Marlene?” Nodding, Jason said, “I want it at least started when we find her. She told me that in not rebuilding it that I had let the bad guy win. She also told me she had never gotten time in the cabin like Sandy and Leah did.” Kris grinned. “Long vacation with no clothes?” Jason grinned back. “Something like that. She also told me that it didn't just belong to me.” “Smart girl. When are you going to tell everyone about it?” “Not until after it is finished.”

Julius Schwartz felt that there should have been a hard reboot of all characters once every 10 years or so.

“Come on, Leah. Answer the damn phone.” Shannon hung up when it went to Leah's voice mail. Again. “Okay, girlfriend, you want to play that way, I'll try an end-around.” She picked out another contact and hit “Call”. “Hey, Kate. Where's your roommate?” Shannon glanced around while she listened. “No. She bugged out early. There's someone here looking for her. Tell her when she gets in that he was looking for her. Tell her that he is also the one that bought her dress.” Shannon smiled. “Jason Scott. Talk to you later.” Shannon slipped her phone back into her clutch. * * * * * “I can't,” George said. “There are rules about these things. I could lose my job.” “You dream of better things, George. You said you designed that dress?” George looked at Jason and shrugged. “It was a one-time thing. I got lucky. They let me enter the one design.” “And I bought it. I liked it. I was really hoping to see it on the model up close.” George looked down. “Leah wanted to wear it to the Meet and Greet.” “She was supposed to wear it,” Jason said, holding out his copy of the receipt for George to see. “Instead she didn't even stick around for it.” George read the request Jason had written. He looked to the copy attached to the hanger. The bottom below the buyer's signature had been torn off. “I'm sorry. That wasn't on my copy.” “Her name is Leah. Does she have a last name?” “I can't.” “George, give me a lead. Something I can work with. Maybe we can come to an agreement.” “Now you're trying to bribe me.” Jason held out a business card. “Tell you what. Take Leah off the table. If you decide you want to try on your own, you give me a call. I'm always looking for investment opportunities.” Slowly, George reached out and took the card. “And I will take my dress and be on my way.” * * * * * Turning into an alley, one moment he was in a tux with a dress slung over his shoulder, and the next he was in slacks and a jacket. Jason slipped his hands into his pockets. He wasn't sure where he was going. His general direction was towards home. In time he passed by an ice cream parlor and glanced through the window. He smiled to himself. He couldn't see her face, but deep down he knew it was her. His eyes traced the line of her boots and fitted jeans. Her hair hung loose. Jason pulled the door open, made his way to the counter, and sat on the stool beside her. “That's a big sundae.” Glancing at him, Leah paused. “Jason?” “Hello, Leah.” “It's a comfort food.” “Can I get you something?” the counter girl asked. “Banana split,” he answered. “So, what happened to you today that you need that much comforting?” “Well, I was working and took a few missteps where my boss was concerned. After work there was this party. I got all ready for it, but the dress I had picked out for it disappeared on me.” Leah turned to look at him. Jason smiled at her. Leah shivered. “That wasn't from the ice cream,” Jason said quietly. “I feel it, too.” “I looked for you...” they said in unison. “You first,” Jason offered. Leah smiled at looked back at her sundae. “I looked for you at the party.” The counter girl set his ice cream in front of him. “Thank you.” He turned his attention to Leah. “I got called out for work. Emergency situation. When I went back you were gone. Celeste said you had a migraine and left.” “Word of advice, don't believe much of what she tells you. I don't suffer migraines. Except for Celeste.” “She struck me as a shark. Looking to take a bite.” “Apt. She's looking to get set for life. On her back.” Jason chuckled. “Funny thing is, she was pretty much pointed out to me three different times. She's very pretty. There was something about her that just left me cold.” Fiddling with her spoon in her ice cream, Leah asked, “So, what do you do for a living? Besides sponsoring fashion shows?” “My father is the sponsor. I just get to make the public appearances. I do...troubleshooting. CEO in training. For if my father ever decides to retire. Does modeling pay all your bills?” Leah smiled at him. “No. I model part-time. I'm a college student. Pre-law. I work as a researcher. Legal assistant.” * * * * * Leah watched as they locked the door. “That's the first time I've ever been thrown out of an ice cream shop.” “They do want to go home and we did keep them late. What now?” Smiling, Leah looked down. “I... I don't want tonight to end just yet.” Jason put his hand up and waved down a taxi. “Me either. I do know a quiet, intimate place that serves a great cup of coffee.” The taxi pulled up. “Or he can take us home.” “Coffee sounds good,” Leah said, slipping in the back. Closing the door behind him, Jason gave the driver an address.

StormWatch One

He's huge. Tall, wide, thick, and heavy.

I guess having a comedy routine in here is acceptable if Trump is your target. All other politicians were off limits.

John McLane or Hans Gruber?

I can get it from somewhere else if you'd like 😛

https://nypost.com/2020/11/06/aoc-facing-heat-for-wanting-to-archive-posts-by-trump-sycophants/

The Spice must flow! ~ said no man ever.

I used to work for a company that relied heavily on part timers. Because there wasn't as much investment in the people in the long term. What they found out was that full timers had a better grasp of the merchandise they were supposed to be selling and were more invested in their jobs. Look at McDonalds. Used to be, depending on how busy, 2-4 cash registers taking orders in the front. Now, generally zero, and it is all a do-it-yourself kiosk. The push for higher minimum wage also pushed for the businesses to automate faster. Absolutely.

Minimum wage goes up, less people and more kiosks up front.