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accomplishedThe Team evolved out of the terribly named and written Fairly Interesting Super-Heroes (F.I.S.H.). Only SpiffyMan kept his name and general Superman e-trope concept. The generic name simply came from my inability to come up with a decent name that fit the general "parody" setting of SuperGuy. And I still haven't finished a decent version of LawyerManPublic Defender. Which leaves the Introductions for founding members Dr. Nifty, ColorClash, Rabid Wombat and SpiffyMan. Later additions to the group would be BuddhistMonk Girl, Gingerbreadman, Goth Grrl and GQ-Man...
Introduction: Dr. Nifty
The Nifty’s of New Neoppollis City, a respectable old-money family whose wealth and influence had helped to build the city. A family of idle wealth and political power. Work and labor were for the lesser classes; the ones without trust funds and land holdings. The lesser classes and the family black sheep.
Eric Nifty, who could trace his family line back through fifteen generations of gadabouts and dilettantes. And the first in memory to do more than coast through a token college education. Eric Nifty, who used his inheritance to gain multiple doctorates in the fields of Esoteric Science and Weird Physics by the age of twenty-four. And who then went sold several patents to establish his wealth independent of his family. Wealth that he used to build his own extravagant home away from the family compound.
And now Dr. Nifty waited at the gates of his home for the arrival of his attorney and friend, John Idle. It was time to advance his plan to the next stage.
Introduction: ColorClash
Alice runs in a panic thru the alleys of Oldtownsvilleburg. She stumbles along, crashing into piles of trash and debris. Her glazed eyes dart around as she looks for someplace to hide. Someplace safe. She’s given up on yelling for help and is concentrating totally on simply fleeing. Turning another corner she comes to a stop. The alleyway she’s turned into dead-ends at a brick wall.
“No, no,” she mutters as she pulls on the rusty iron doors facing the back court. But all of them are securely locked. Alice collapses to her knees and begins sobbing as hears footsteps run up behind her.
“You shouldn’t have run bitch. Now we’ll have to take our time, “ a harsh voice says.
Alice flinches as a large, rough hand grabs her shoulder. A second figure moves in front of her chuckling.
“Now sweetie just relax and this won’t be so awful. I’m sure you’ll even enjoy it a little, “ the second man says as he grabs a hold of her chin.
Alice jerks her head away and tries to lunge back to her feet. But the first man pushes down on her shoulders, keeping her on her knees.
“Please, please, please, “ she pleads softly, tears streaming down her face.
“See Charley, she’s begging for it already, “ the second man says with a grin.
Charley laughs as he shoves Alice forward, sending her sprawling to the ground.
“I’m going first Tom, “ Charley grunts, as he fumbles with his belt, “no way I want your sloppy seconds.” Tom merely nods and looks down at the weeping Alice as Charley reaches for her.
“Let her go!”
Tom and Charley turn around and see that someone has come to aid the young woman. He looks to be a young man in his late teens wearing a grey trench coat. His dark brown hair is tied back in a ponytail and his face is partially covered by a simple black domino mask.
“Its some punk wanna-be cape, “ Tom snarls as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a folding knife. Charley grunts as he begins clenching his fists. Both men tense up as they prepare to attack the kid hero.
But before either can act a strange glow surrounds the young man. The glow flickers between various colors as it looms up behind the youth. As the kid steps forward the two thugs step backwards, almost instinctively. They exchange worried looks and turn back to the hero.
As they do the young hero’s glowing aura snaps forward, shifting colors more intensely. It washes over the pair of would-be rapists, who momentarily vanish beneath it. And then it snaps back, leaving the two curled up in fetal positions on the ground. Tom only manages to make weak mewling sounds, while Charley whispers about “plaids” and “the colors”.
“Miss, “ the young hero says quietly, “its ok. They can’t hurt you now.”
Alice struggles to her feet and sees the condition of her would-be attackers. Still crying she clutches at the masked teen.
“Thank you, “ she manages to stammer out, “thank you.”
“Don’t…I mean only doing my duty ma’am,” the hero says nervously, “C’mon, let me get you somewhere safer.”
“But who are you?” Alice asks as they leave the dead-end.
“Just call me Color Clash, “ the hero replies.
Introduction: SpiffyMan
The 1st International Bank of World Commerce. Inside can be heard screams and the occasional gunshot. A trio of masked men rushes out, carrying duffel bags and sub-machine guns. They quickly pile into a waiting care, where a fourth masked man sits behind the wheel.
“Go! Go!” one shouts.
In response the driver merely points ahead, where SpiffyMan can be seen floating above the hood of the car.
“Surrender now foolish criminals, for you are no match for,” SpiffyMan begins to say. But one of the thieves responds by opening fire thru the windshield, cutting off the Ponderous One.
“Tsk, tsk,” SpiffyMan says, wagging his finger as the 9mm rounds of the SMG flatten against his sculpted abs. SpiffyMan’s eyes glow briefly and the gun of the trigger-happy crook glows and warps out of shape. The other robbers, knowing themselves outmatched, quickly surrender to the Man of Might.
As the thieves pile out of their car, hands laced behind their heads, the police begin to arrive. As numerous squad cars pull up, SpiffyMan floats up several more feet.
“Once again, let evil-doers beware. For the weed of crime bears a bitter fruit. And truly, those stray from the path of Right and Decency shall learn…”
Seemingly oblivious to the rolled eyes and groans of cop and crook alike SpiffyMan continues on with his monologue. As the last bank robber is hauled away SpiffyMan nods to the police, salutes them and flies off.
“I know the guy is effective, “ one of the beat cops mentions to his partner, “but why can’t he ever just shut up?”
“Tell me about it,” the trigger-happy robber mutters from the back of one of the squad cars.
Introduction: Rabid Wombat
“You ripped off the wrong people Aussie.”
Jeromy turned around on the bar stool and looked up at the person who had spoken. It was a tall black man, cloaked in a trench coat with a beat up Raiders cap pulled low over his face. The gleam of metal could be seen at his wrists and neck and the coat bulged in the back as if he was wearing a heavy pack.
“You speaking tome pal?” Jeromy asked. A rhetorical question given how empty the dive bar was this early in the day.
“You bet your ass. The toy's owner wants it back. Hand it over and I won't have to hurt you. Much.”
“Sorry mate. But I'm still lost in the woods here.”
“Cut the crap Bunyip. This sad ass disguise don't fool me. Just give up now before I bring the pain.”
“'Fraid you've got the wrong Australian mask kid. Now scat let me enjoy my drink in peace.” Jeromy turned back to the bar, dismissing the whole thing.
“Don't turn you back on me!” With that yell the man reached over and slapped Jeromy's beer off the counter to smash on the ground. With a sudden growl Jeromy dropped off the stool and then side-kicked his harasser into a nearby table.
“You got a name kid? I like to know whose ass I'm delivering a beat down to,” Jeromy said thru clenched and unusually pointed teeth. At the same time he flexed his hands and his fingers lengthened and grew...sharper.
The man stood up from the wreckage of the table and tossed aside his coat and hat. He revealed a slim body sheathed in gleaming silver metal. As Jeromy watched more metal folded out to cover the rest of the man's head and hands. And then the hands continued fold out, as they morphed into large metal pincer claws.
“You can call me Scorpio Killah, Bunyip. And thank you for picking the hard way.”
Jeromy tensed up briefly as he studied his opponent's upgrade. But he smiled as he responded, “I keep telling you fuck-wit you picked the wrong guy. The handle is Rabid Wombat. A name you can dwell on while I deliver your scrap punk ass to the junk yard.”
With the trash talk out of the way, Rabid Wombat sprung forward, claws aimed at Scorpio's throat. But the cyborg unleashed a whip like tail that caught the Australian in mid-leap. Scorpio then shifted his hip and flung Rabid Wombat hard against the wall of the bar.
“It doesn't matter much now,” Scorpio said as he stalked forward, “I'm in the mood for blood now.”
sleepy