Synapse

Crey Industries

Building A Brighter Future


DATE: November 24th, 1991
TO: Chief Researcher James McHenry
FROM: Alexander Dumont, Geneticist, R&D Facility #4
RE: The loss of facility four


I have reached these conclusions regarding the involuntary powering down of the research and development branch of Crey industries facility number four.
Cause of laboratory power drain
The loss of power that occurred on Saturday, November 16th was a direct result of nascence project P-437 A, electrical infusion subject Steven Berry (Code Name- Synapse).
Subject became violent during testing sequence CI-63, cellular energy infusion. Upon insertion of bypass node, subject’s internal power stores became unstable, resulting in several manifestations of arc lightning.
The energy discharges spread over the subject’s skin, shorting out the mechanical restraints. The electricity emitted from P-437 A continued to build as it broke free, causing a system-wide power failure.
Condition and whereabouts of P-437 A
Mental monitoring at the time indicated a dramatic increase in neural activity just after the surge. Readings from the cellular accelerator also suggest that subject’s reflexes and reactions times have been enhanced to superhuman levels as well. Readings are inconclusive as to the exact extent of enhancement. A breakdown of last recorded levels is as follows, though the possibility exists that the new cellular infusion has dramatically increased these abilities.

Regeneration rate- Subject now heals at four times human natural rate. Cellular regeneration nullifies many toxins and viruses.
Mental activity- Subject’s mental abilities have increased, presumably to cope with increased physical acceleration. No increase in intelligence quotient was recorded.
Reflexes/reaction time- P-437 A’s reflexes and reaction times have been monitored to be seven times faster than normal human levels.
Increased Movement rate- Top running speed last tested indicates that subject is now able to achieve speeds of up to 746.3 m/s
Electrical Discharge- Maximum output of electrical emission recorded to be 249,324.2 joules.
Note: Infusion project designed to specifically enhance output of this ability.

Due to loss of power within the facility, security camera evidence of the event is unreliable. The last recordings indicate that P-437 A was able to escape. Retrieval crews were dispatched to bring it back, condition unimportant. Search was aborted due to subject’s association with the Freedom Phalanx. Records indicate that subject has petitioned for membership. Current status of petition is unknown.


Personal information on P-437 A

Doctor Adrian Grimes, project psychologist, has provided the following analysis of the mental and physical conditions observed throughout the testing procedure.
When Steven first arrived, I was skeptical of his qualifications. Physically he was in good shape, but mentally he seemed agitated and full of nervous energy. Originally slated to be part of our Nobility Prime project, I decided that he would be better suited for the electrical infusion procedure. His mental state seemed to be the match we’d been looking for.
After the first procedure, I could see that indeed this was our man. His responses to the first few infusions were a resounding success, and he showed improvement almost immediately. Initial speculations were that the process would take weeks to show results.
Over the next few weeks, more drastic advances were made, as Steven began showing his true potential. He seemed eager to continue, actually looking forward to the next treatment. The pain he was experiencing was forgotten every time he’d see himself getting stronger. His spirits were high, and his psychological profile remained relatively unchanged, up until a week before the accident. During the last few treatments, he became irritated, and sometimes lashed out at the technicians. He wanted to get out there, and use his new powers, instead of being stuck in the lab. Doctor Dumont felt that a field test at this time was less than prudent. Attempts to comfort and calm him were met with anger, much as a caged animal would react. It came as no surprise to me when I’d heard of his escape. I recommend that any attempts to retrieve him be forgotten, so as not to link his powers to Crey. I will be making a full report once all of my data has been compiled.

Conclusions on success of project, and aftermath
Despite the escape of test subject P-437 A, the electrical infusion process is determined to be successful, though more testing is recommended. As standard with procedures, facility four has been decommissioned, and the interior stripped of all signs of Crey activity. Any inquiries into the matter will be denied. As far as the authorities are concerned, the experiments never occurred.

Statesman

“Statesman”

A thousand men in unison expressed displeasure at the mere mention of that name. Standing poised on the eve of attack, Lord Recluse addressed his troops, his voice dripping with venomous intent.

“Today shall be a great victory for us, my followers, a true blow towards all he stands for. Too long have we hidden, fighting from shadows and meeting nothing but defeat at the hands of the Freedom Phalanx. From the webs, we shall strike, our hatred like a boiling venom penetrating the fibers of their core, and destroying them from within like a vengeful necrosis!”

A cheer, shaking the walls of the stronghold arose. The battle these men had been preparing for was at hand, their decade long training, finally bearing fruit. Recluse continued.

“He hides behind the banner of strength and power, yet surrounds himself with weaklings. And why? Because HE is weak! His strength is failing, brothers, and now is the time to strike! The illusion of might that he weaves is unraveling as people see that no longer is he their strongest hero. Look at the so-called Phalanx! Why would one so strong surround himself with such weak allies? To hide his own weakness! But today we shall expose this farce, and hold the broken form of Statesman high for all to see. And then, my loyal followers, the city will truly be ours!”

Lord Recluse had carefully cultivated the hatred within those who served him. The toxins bore within their bodies had reached potency, and soon, the city would be flooded with nerve toxins, crippling the bodies of every citizen within.

“Like the Midnight Squad before them, the Phalanx shall fall beneath our heels. Already, hundreds of our allies stand poised to strike, pawns to the slaughter, but useful nonetheless. They shall provide the necessary distraction to allow our agents to move in. I shall personally challenge the Statesman once city hall is within our grasp. Without his presence on the field, the rest of the heroes shall fall like autumn leaves.”

Once more the base erupted into resounding cheers. Lord Recluse listened to the revelry for a moment, before raising a hand, silencing the crowd in an instant.

“I have much to attend to. Prepare yourselves for the coming battle. Victory to Aracnos!”

With that Recluse turned, and stepped into the shadows, as chants of “Victory for Aracnos” echo behind him. Dark thoughts flooded his mind, weaving an intricate web of satisfaction, as each part of his plan seemed to fall into place one by one. For a decade he’d waited, watched, striking in precise and hidden ways. Soon, everything he’d worked for would be at hand. The time and resources spent would reach its glorious apex, and his hated enemy Statesman would finally fall by his own hand. The decades long fight would be at an end. Even now his biological weapons, soldiers altered through a decade of slow poisoning were taking position. Today would be the final run for these loyal followers and unknowing martyrs for the cause. Already, the final dose of poison was slowly transforming the blood inside each one into a deadly nerve toxin. In one hour’s time, they would die as the pressure of the gas within split their skins, releasing a cloud of deadly gas into the air around the city. Beneath his helmet, a smile crept across his lips.

“There is nothing he can do now but watch helplessly as his allies-his city- die before his eyes.”

The cadre of his generals was already assembled when he arrived.

“ Have you found him, Ghost Widow?”

“Yes, my lord. He is currently travelling west, over the Atlantic. Estimated arrival time is Thirty-four minutes.”

“Excellent. See that everything is prepared for his arrival. I shall be making last minute preparations of my own.”

The dark schemer retired to his private quarters, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind.

At last, I shall once and for all destroy the accursed Statesman. Too long have he and I clashed, too often has he spoiled my plans. But for every plan he’s defeated, a little more was added to the grand weave. Each defeat, a silent victory, each resource lost only serving to further the cause. How easily the heroes fell into place, giving me everything I need to devour this city in one venomous bite. All handed to me by Statesman on a silver platter. His greatest folly shall be my final victory. His age of glory is at an end. Tonight, the city belongs to Recluse.

Sister Psyche

Paragon Times Special Report

Vol. 174 No. 495 Paragon City, RI, June 20, 2005 75 cents
______________________________________________________________________________________
HEROES OR THREAT?
Often in the course of the crime fighting business, we forget about the potentially lethal methods used to subdue those who do wrong. Recently, I had the chance to speak with one of these, for lack of a better word, victims of "hero brutality".
Are the defenders of our
City really protecting us?

Renee Goble
Special to the Times

The Ziggurat- Nearly two years has passed since Sister Psyche brought Alphonso "Reactor" Birelli to justice. But was it really justice? Were the methods used to apprehend him over the line? I had a chance to speak with him earlier today at Zigursky Prison. What I discovered was truly frightening.

Alphonso Birelli: You’d think that this kinda thing wouldn’t be allowed, ya know? I mean, what kind of hero arrests somebody with a sword and gun? It’s assault, I tell ya. Sure, I’ve swung a sword or two in my time, but I wasn’t exactly Mr. Boy Scout.

Goble: The heroes of this city have done a lot of good, though. Yes, some of the methods they use can be a little overzealous, but they’re still making a difference.

Birelli: Don’t tell me you buy inta all their "nobility" hogwash. Look around sweetheart. They’re just like us. You just don’t wanna see it.

Goble: How can you compare those who’ve put their lives on the line for this city countless times to the criminals who continue to threaten the populace daily?

Birelli: Think I’m lying? Listen up. Take your so-called "Sister Psyche". Psycho’s more like it. Heh. Sure, she’s great to look at. I mean, how tight IS that costume? Rowr. But, how "good" is making a guy beat the snot outta his best friend?

Goble: I see your point, but you weren’t in that warehouse for a party, now were you? Describe what happened the night of your arrest.

Birelli: We were just minding our own business. Checkin’ out this warehouse that Jim’s uncle owns y’know? We had no idea the place was locked, and Jimmy forgot his keys. So yeah, we broke in. Jim said it was cool. He’d smooth things over later. Sis showed up, and BAM. Next thing I know, six inches of steel sticking inta my backside, courtesy of my good buddy Nate. Don’t think he’s the only one she’s mentally strip-mined, either. Little itch inna back of your brain, and BOOM- All control goes out the window.

Goble: So, you believe that it’s wrong to use mental powers to manipulate behavior, even if it’s to stop crimes? Many share those views. Please continue.

Birelli: Personally, I’d rather she’d use her hands to manipulate, if you get my meaning. Heh. Anywho, she cut through our gang like freaks gut toasters. Sure, we fought heroes before, but she’s something else. Had this look in her eyes, like a vicious pit bull or something. Like fighting two people at once. Lotta the guys she dropped, she wasn’t even lookin at. Talked to herself a lot too. Freaky.

Goble: Well, until recently, there were two distinct beings inhabiting the same body. Thanks to the efforts of some fledgling heroes, she was recently separated.

Birelli: You mean there’s two running around now? Maybe it’s best I’m locked up then, not that that’s any real comfort. Little wannabes pop in here and beat up guys already in prison! I mean, I thought that’s why we’re here, to pay off our debt to society. But they just won’t leave us alone. Guards stand there and let it happen

Goble: That seems wrong to me. I’m sure our readers would be interested to know that since 2003, there have been reports of at least seventy three savage beatings by heroes within the grounds of the prison, though many more are rumored. I don’t blame inmates for being afraid.

Birelli: A friend had t’go to the hospital after some nut-job with a rifle dropped outta the sky and started blasting. Took a slug right to the chest. Nearly killed the guy. Just not right I tell ya.


So there you have it. Though their guilt has been proven in court, prisoners here at the Zigursky Prison still fear for their own lives at the hands of vigilante heroes trying to make a name for themselves, as well as trusted, well established ones. Perhaps it’s time for our representatives to step in and do something about this growing problem.

Positron

"Just can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can ya?" Synapse quipped as he rounded up the last of the freaks, sirens from the arriving police units blaring. "Did the big bad freaks hurt you? Would widdle Posi like a wowwypop?"
The young hero hefted his friend onto one shoulder. "You’ve put on weight, big guy. Keep that up, and we’ll have to get you a dumpster for your next armor!"
Raymond knew that Synapse was kidding around to hide his anxiousness. The kid was annoying, but a good guy.
"Hey...what are these?"


"We’ve managed to get all the etchings off, with very little harm to the armor itself. At first, I thought they were battle scars, but when I looked closer, I found this. Many of them make no sense. But, take a look at this one."
Dr. Science’s fingers clicked over his keyboard in quick, deft strokes.
"See this? Seems someone felt like writing you a little note while you were out"
Dr. Raymond Keyes scanned the words displayed on the screen briefly before sitting down, to once more read the cryptic message from the Freak’s commander, Clamor.


Adore, abhor, we’ll bore your core,
To find what you’ve been looking for.
Who knew the Freakshow had the cure?
Trapped within the shellish home,
Pity pity, pretty pretty, come out to see the day
Sweet turtle hero trapped with limits
Don’t you want your freedom?
Please come out and play.
I promise we won’t hurt you sweets.
Just take that pain away
How very sad it is to see you trapped.
Lying still, your power sapped,
Within your prison,
Let us set you free.
You’ve enamored the Clamor
From your personal slammer,
Oh hero boy confined,
Embrace our way, be one with us,
All you’ll lose is your mind.
Chaos, yes, it is the key,
To break your armor’s seal,
You know where you can find us,
And we can set you free.

Ray closed the file, and turned to leave. "Gibberish. I’ve dealt with freaks enough to know better than to trust them. I’m going to get some rest. It’s been a trying day."
Great. Now I have the Freaks pitying me.
Sleep wouldn’t come for Positron that evening, as the words echoed through his head. Who knew the Freakshow had the cure? He could hear Clamor’s voice echoing the words over and over in his mind. What if it was true? The freaks knew their tech, that’s for sure. Clamor seemed especially interested in his armor during his unplanned visit. Could she possibly know something? If so, what does she want me to do for the information? Freedom always has a price. Is it worth the risk?
He sought answers in the only place that had given him any comfort these past few years- His laboratory. Half-finished projects occupied his mind for a time, but eventually his thoughts caught back up with him. The modern marvel’s eyes caught a reflection in a sheet of steel, causing him to pause. Something about Clamor’s words struck a chord within him. More and more of late, he’d found himself pressing harder, fighting more fiercely than before. Fighting not only for Paragon’s freedom, but his own. A dark part of his mind spawned jealousy, envy at the freedom of those he sought to bring down. Was he punishing extra harshly to make up for his own sense of loss? Is this really how he was destined to spend the rest of his life? Trapped within this self-made prison? Years of research had failed to find a solution. If a way existed, he had to try. But could the Freaks be trusted?
A few hours of soul-searching later, Positron was streaking through the skies of Crey’s Folly, towards the Freakshow’s Carnival. Much to his surprise, there were no attacks, no violence. They seemed to be expecting him. "Look boys. Our new weapon’s here,"
Clamor smirked as she stepped up to greet him when he landed. "I knew you’d come, Doctor. Heroes always follow the smell of liberation." Her hand traced gently over the gleaming metal of his faceplate. "Poor dear, all bottled up like a genie in that tin can. I feel sorry for you, so shut off from everything. Missing out on so much." She smiled a sadistic smile and ran her hand along his chest plate. "But we can fix that little problem for you. - For a price, of course."
"Of course."

Manticore

Excerpts from the journal of Doppelganger
Translated from German

October 18th, 1978, Sinclair assignment, day 4
The house was just as detailed in the mission briefing. I went in expecting very little in the way of surprises. Infiltrating the home was easily done. Inside, however, I ran afoul of a small child, wandering the darkened halls. He asked who I was, and what I was doing there. "I’m here to kill your parents," I told him. A rage crossed his face I’d never seen in one so small, and he attacked me. His skill for his age was formidable, but still untrained, and I easily subdued him. He was not part of the assignment, so he shall live.
I carried the child into the master bedroom, where I found his father waiting for me. I smiled, holding the child by his neck, and demanded surrender. He quickly dropped his weapon, and submitted. My own weapon drawn, I struck down his wife, and with one swift blow, slew him as well. The horror on the child’s face made up for the kick he’d placed to my chest, in a valiant, but feeble attempt to stop me.
"See how weak they are, how easily their sanctuary is invaded, and their lives are ended." I spoke of weakness, and of futility. His father had fought my employer on numerous occasions, but never had he been captured. I laughed, and dropped the child to the floor by his dead parents. Perhaps in time, I could find use for the boy. I offered him a chance to train with me, but he refused, spitting onto my shoe and cursing my name. Pity. I departed, but was not about to let this be the end of things between young mister Sinclair and I.


July 7th, 1986, Richemont Academy
Paying a visit to my favorite distraction, I found young Justin had remained behind during the summer break to continue his studies and training. The amazing progress he repeatedly made in his fighting skills was truly a sight to behold. No target could escape his bow. He was out-shooting the rifle teams, in both accuracy and distance. The mighty Crimson bow he carried was one of his own design, a feat he'd accomplished that any aerospace engineer would envy. He seems to have forgotten the events of that night. Perhaps it’s once again time to offer him a seat at my side. His skill is growing each day, and must be molded in the right direction.

May 18th, 2002, Front-line
The nobility of young Justin’s spirit continues to shine through, despite my best efforts. Since the day he learned of his parent’s fate, he’s been a brutal and relentless force. I have clashed with him several times, a true victor never being determined. His skill has far surpassed my own, but my experience keeps me from being truly defeated at his hand. He has joined the other heroes in the battle against our invaders. Several of the villainous factions have also banded together under a banner to combat this menace. Pity I am too old to assist them as anything but advisor now. If only the boy had fallen under my sway, they would have a true leader. As it stands, I am in some way proud of the progress he’s made. Manticore has proven himself a truly unconquerable spirit, and in his fight, I wish him well. Perhaps one day, I shall stop running, and give him the revenge he’s sought for so long.

TQ's Story Index

This post will be edited as needed, to keep track of additions to my writing sample blog-verse

These are writing samples I did when Applying for the City of Villans Web Content Editor position. They got me close to getting the job, and got my name noticed at NCSoft. I plan to add to them when I have the chance, as some are unfinished.

Manticore
Positron
Sister Psyche
Synapse
Statesman


This is a parody piece I am working on, about the state of a certain comic company.

A Marvel Christmas Carol


More as things develop