Who are you?

Welcome Squaddies.
One interesting thing about this game is that you don't get to pick your own name. When you first set up your account you can pass on names you don't like, but we still have ended up with some pretty weird names.

The purpose of this site is to let you give purpose to those names. Here you can write the backstory of your squad, define your powers and skills, and tell how you came to be called "Irrational Ferret Clerk", or "Major Glowing Honeybadger" or whatever.

As an added incentive for anyone that posts their story here, I will create a unique image of your character using the heromachine character creator based on your story. Keep in mind, I'm no Winter Wraith, but I will do my best. Here's a quick one I did for myself:




Juggler Emperor

Here's a list of some things you might want to include to help get you started, but if you don't want to use them and just want to go freeform, by all means, do what you think will make the best story.

Squad name:
Origin story:
Powers/Skills:
Personality/temperment:
Teammates/sidekick:
Arch-nemesis:
Greatest victory:

Let's try and keep them PG, we do have minors on the team, but other than that be as creative as possible.
Just click on comments below to get started.

Here is my story, to get things started:

I am the Juggler Emperor, the last in a long line of heirs to the Juggler Empire, the greatest syndicate of thieves and assassins the world has ever known. The syndicate is so secret, though, that their existence is thought of only as myths and stories. I was born the only son of the greatest Juggler Emperor Barnum the 6th. I did not rely on my noble birth to get ahead, I worked my way up through the ranks. As we have done for centuries, we hide amongst the circus community, and the skills of the circus are the skills of the Empire. From trapeze and high wire, to trampoline, knife throwing, and of course juggling. A Juggler assassin is the master of all forms of juggling combat including the balls(modified as grenades or smoke bombs) the rings(razor sharp and lethal), the clubs and knives. I mastered them all and was getting a reputation for being the greatest juggler of my era. I went on many team missions for the family from simple thefts to political assassinations.

As my father aged, though, he tired of the killing, and was trying to legitimize the empire, modernize it. My uncle Ringling was deeply opposed, and thought the family should do as it has always done. This led my uncle to begin a coup within the family, gathering the most ruthless and loyal thieves and assassins to him in secret.

On my 18th birthday I was finally given my first solo assignment. A reporter in Seattle Named Sam Warden was publishing articles that had a little too much real information about the Empire. I was to find out the reporter's source, and kill them both. I discovered the reporter was actually a young woman, a single mother. I broke into her house and found her source, it was just a book of old myths about the Empire that she was updating and sensationalizing to sell papers. I vowed not to go through with my assignment, but as I was preparing to leave her home I was attacked by a troupe of Juggler Assassins. My uncle had begun his coup, and he needed me dead to take over the Empire. I had taken out all but one of my foes, but he had the drop and me and would have killed me if the the young reporter had not returned at that moment. She distracted him enough for me to defeat him.
I warned her about the stories she was writing and promised I would return to tell her more.
I hurried home only to find that my Uncle had poisoned my father, told lies about my being the source of Sam's articles, put a price on my head, and crowned himself Emperor. I was now a fugitive from my own family.

Now my only task is to stay alive, fight the kind of crime I used to commit, and plan for the day I can get revenge on my Uncle. Relying on Sam's investigative skills, we are discovering the empire's plans, and doing what we can to stop them. As long as I live I will work to thwart the efforts of the Empire until I can take my place as the rightful Juggler Emperor.

Now let's her your story, just click on comments, below.

The Story of Shocking Techno Girl

Almost nothing is known about the cyborg mercenary / bounty hunter / assassin known as Shocking Techno Girl. She uses her cybernetic implants to generate an electrical field to subdue anyone who gets near her. There are as many stories about where she came from as there are planets in the Galactic Federation. One thing is known for sure, if she is after you, you better hope her contract is to take you alive.

The Story of The Punishing Lawyer

He fumbles with his wallet, pulls out a couple of notes, and tosses them at the driver without looking. Fives or fifties, he doesn’t know or care. He stumbles out onto the street and walks like he knows where he’s going. He keeps his back straight and his head held high, because that’s what you do in this town. Everyone’s a little damaged inside, but everyone hides it behind a thin veneer of Gucci and Prada. No one’s weak but everybody’s broken. He hates it. He hates it so much. Just like everybody else. And just like everybody else he smiles with impossibly-white teeth, all the while downing half a bottle of bourbon a night to sooth himself to sleep.

He carries straight on when he should take a left, because he doesn’t know if he can do it anymore. He doesn’t know if he can smile and say, ‘Good afternoon, Margaret,’ when it’s really anything but. Except, that’s not true, he knows he could do it, because he’s done it so many times before. He just doesn’t want to anymore. What he wants is to drown himself in the bay. What he wants is a drink. What he wants is… to know what he wants.

He takes out his top-of-the-line phone and he calls the office number - speed-dial number one, because there’s nothing more important in his life. ‘Good afternoon, Johnson’s Law Offices, how can I help you?’

‘Margaret, it’s me.’

‘Oh. Good afternoon, sir.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Sure. Listen, I’m not going to be in today, reschedule my appointments.’ Because he knows he’ll be back. He always comes back. This is nothing more than another routine. Sure, there’s more incentive behind it this time, but he’s not deluded enough to think he’ll actually change his life.

‘Of course, sir,’ Margaret says. No questions asked. Ever the good PA. He hangs up without another word, because he’s her boss, he doesn’t need to be polite, it’s not expected of him. Only lackey’s know the meaning of the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and he is not a lackey.

He heads for a bar. It’s a cliché, but at two o’clock on a week day, bartenders in this town effectively function as cheaper psychiatrists. Plus, if no one will listen, there’s always the alcohol.

Lost in thought, he walks straight into someone on his way through the door. ‘Watch where you’re going, you son of a…’ the man stops suddenly and smiles a poisonous smirk of Hollywood teeth. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘I know you. You’re the lawyer, right? What’s-his-face.’

‘Yes,’ he replies. There’s no point pretending. He takes a step back, because he doesn’t want to deal with this right now. Harsh words or a fist to the face, that’s not what he needs. It’s what he needs to get away from.

To his surprise, the man smiles sympathetically. ‘Sorry to hear about the,’ he waves his hand around vaguely, ‘you know.’ Of course he knows, everyone knows, and with a two inch scar running across his brow, it’s not like he’s going to forget any time soon. ‘Hey,’ the man says, steering him towards the bar with a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let me buy you a drink. Name’s Tom, by the way.’ Tom offers a hand. ‘And I know who you are.’ He shakes Tom’s hand and smiles. He lets Tom buy him a drink, and they sit and talk about sport and the weather and nothing in particular.

It’s so easy to listen to a sympathetic voice. He needs this, needs someone to metaphorically say, ‘hey, it wasn’t your fault,’ because his ribs still hurt every time he moves or breaths. Because he still wakes up screaming, in cold sweats, with the fleeting sensation of fingers wrapped around his throat. Because he can’t so much as pick up groceries without someone shooting him a dirty look. Because he can’t get over feeling like it was his fault; what kind of emotionless asshole do you need to be to defend a known super-human terrorist? He’d let his hard-edged legal ethics override his personal morality and had become a modern day Hitler in the eyes of the people. And after a lengthy stay in hospital, he’s finally acknowledged that ever taking the job had been a massive mistake.

 He talks with Tom for half an hour, then excuses himself for the bathroom. When he gets back, Tom is gone. ‘Hey!’ The bartender waves him over and hands him a note. ‘Your buddy left this for you.’

He’s expecting a phone number or an email address, or an apology for leaving so suddenly, but all it says is, I’m not sorry - Tomas, and he has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. With a shake of his head, he screws up the paper, shoves it in a pocket and heads for home.

Less than five minutes later, he’s standing doubled-over in an alleyway puking his guts up, as his vision goes hazy and he’s gripped by a sudden attack of vertigo. He fumbles through his pockets trying to find his phone and call for help. As he sinks to his knees, vision fading, his hand catches the paper. I’m not sorry. Crap. Well, isn’t that just his life in a nutshell, he thinks as he passes out.

He wakes up in the same alley he passed out in. Either no one saw him or no one cared enough to help, he’s not sure he wants to know. He staggers to his feet and leans against the wall for a moment before he realises he doesn’t need to. He feels fine. Great, even. He looks at the paper, still balled up in his fist and he wonders if he’s high. He doesn’t feel high though, just… good. Tom definitely drugged his drink, but whatever it was, it seems to have worked its way out of his system already.

With a heavy sigh, he dusts himself off and makes his way home. He sits alone, and downs a bottle of expensive scotch, because this is his life now. Except he doesn’t get drunk, not even tipsy. He stares at the empty bottle, and he realises, something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

He gets up to find another bottle when he’s hit by another sudden wave of vertigo. He falls to his knees and punches the ground and his hand goes straight through the floorboards. He laughs, because maybe he is drunk after all. Except he can see the broken wood, and feel the splinters that have worked their way into his knuckles, there’s no way he’s imagining this. He stands up, the vertigo is gone again. He walks over to the wall and he punches it. It’s a stupid thing to do really, because now there’s a fist-sized hole in his living room wall.

He experiments more, for hours, testing this new found strength. It’s not like this can make his life any worse after all. He wonders if this is the drug or the head injury or a little bit of both, but in the end he finds he doesn’t care. What he cares about is finding the men who still haunt his nightmares and making them pay. And this will let him do it. He’s a lawyer, he knows those men would never find justice in a court room. He’ll put on a mask and be the next Daredevil and he’ll get his revenge and the people will learn to love him. This is his life now.

The story of Indigo Platypus

Hello. I am Indigo Platypus. I am well known by those who know me, but those who know me don't REALLY know me. You see...I am the forgotten Power Ranger. The left over Ranger if you will. I'm one of the original 7 "teenagers with attitude" Zordon commissioned Alpha 5 to find to become his elite task force to take down Rita Repulsa and her minions. I know, I know...you're thinking, "Waitagoshdurn minute! SEVEN Rangers...I only remember 6...and one of them flip flopped colors like 3 yr old in a coloring book!" Hence...the "Forgotten Ranger."

While my companions all got cool prehistoric creatures to base their costumes and Zords off of, I was given the "mighty" platypus as my power coin for my Morpher. (I asked Zordon about this one time and he just told me, "Don't question things you do not comprehend. Besides you have more than just 'mad skill' you have a beaver tail and a bill!" To this day, I think that dude had some issues. "Teenagers with attitude?!" Really? But I digress...this is about me, not him.

In my opinion I had the coolest costume but was given the short end of the stick Zord wise. My costume features a silver duck bill and was, of course, indigo in color. That duck bill came in more handy than you can imagine...one time when a monster known as Sun Yak (I think it was related to Brain Yak somehow) blinded my team mates temporarily, I was able to duck my head and the bill kept me from the same fate. That jerk Tommy still always made fun of it though... As far as my Zord went, it was little more than a bluish 80's model Dodge Caravan with a duck bill and beaver tail bolted on to it.

I did get to join in the Megazord formation ONE time. When my Zord was attached, I formed part of the back. The tail stuck out behind and was useful during spinning attacks, which my fellow Rangers liked, however, the bill stuck out over the top of the head like a ball cap. That, combined with the side horns, made the Megazord look like he was wearing one of those soda hats all the time. This embarrassed Kimberly, so she said I couldn't form up the Megazord anymore.

Not long after we had defeated Rita and Lord Zedd, a tv production company came along and wanted to chronicle the adventures we had into a children's television show. They didn't see a place for a platypus themed Ranger, so they cut me out completely. They did, however, allow me twenty cent royalty for every episode that was made (of the original Rangers, no spinoffs).

So I guess you have the rest of the story. I have taken to wearing my costume full time now. It doesn't fit over my paunch very well, and my helmet is a little tight, but I stand here today as a reminder. A reminder of the forgotten SEVENTH Power Ranger. Now you know why I'm just a smidgeon bitter.

Indy out! *drops mike and walks away*

 

                          Indigo Platypus                           

The Story of Seeing Techno Chef

Kyle was won of the brightest up and coming Chef's in New York. One night after his restaurant closed he was throwing out the leftover food he got cut on the garbage bin and was infected by some Techno Organic Nanobots. Not knowing what happened Kyle started noticing his body changing. The Nanobots were improving his muscles and reflexes and even re-wiring brain pathways which lead to Kyle obtaining a sort of ESP allowing him to see a short time into the future. Not knowing what to do with these new "powers" Kyle kept to his same routine until one day he foresaw a robbery in his restaurant and was able to use his skills with knives to stop the robbers as soon as they walked into the door. Realizing he could do more good Kyle now roams the streets each night when his restaurant closes as "Seeing Techno Chef". With his array of knives he protects the citizens that need him most wondering when the day will come that someone or something comes looking for the nanobots that gave him this gift.

The Story of Wailing Crusader Gargoyle

The night was not going well for our hero. Danny desperately tried to shake off the dizziness, to gather his energy and spring back into the fray, but he could feel his numb fingers slipping from the edge of the building as the light rain tickled his face.

Funny the thoughts that can dart through the mind of even the most focused hero at times like this: everything from wondering if anything like this ever happens to Daredevil, to realizing that a meeting with the pavement hundreds of feet below could guarantee that he would never be available as a playable character. With that disturbing thought, Danny’s fingers suddenly gave out, even as he heard his assailants rushing toward the edge of the building, presumably to provide any aid possible to make certain that he was not late for his appointment with the concrete.

***

“What do you think, Bullseye? Will he hit that stone gargoyle and bounce a little or will this be a one-stop ride?” Klaw grinned as he addressed his deadly accomplice.

Iron Fist had never seen it coming. Bait the noble hero with a few Hand ninjas engaged in some midnight skullduggery, and then spring the trap. The trio of ne’er-do-wells and their retinue of cloth-muffled henchmen were understandably pleased with themselves.

“I hope he bounces,” Abomination chortled thickly. “I like it when they bounce.”

A few of the sinister ninjas suppressed chuckles as their leader spoke. “Looks like he’ll miss,” Bullseye pronounced as he peered into the misty night. “The angle is all wrong for a hit. He’d have to bank quite a bit… wait a sec, what?” The keen-eyed assassin blinked rapidly and shook his head.

***

Even with the pavement plummeting upward to greet him, even with a symphony of pain blaring in his skull, Iron Fist could sense the benevolent presence. It was so close, if only he could twist… just… so! One arm caught the sculpted stone, and instead of the expected explosion of pain in his shoulder, he felt warmth and balance return to his aching muscles. His dulled senses suddenly sharpened, and he could hear a whistling in the air even as he instinctively flipped to a nearby ledge, narrowly evading a shower of deadly blades from above.

***

“Unbelievable! He was three sheets to the wind before you knocked him over the edge, and now he’s actually dodging?” Bullseye snapped at Abomination, who had gotten a little carried away in the one-sided ambush.

“Perhaps my admittedly less precise methods will suffice,” Klaw boasted as he leveled his sonic blaster over the side of the building. “It is a bit dark.”

“I don’t miss!” Bullseye spat, even as a ball of reddish light emerged from nowhere and quickly came into focus for his keen eyes. Wait, not a ball, a fist…

***

“Fascinating,” Stephen Strange murmured as the sorcerer poured the freshly brewed tea into Danny’s waiting cup. “You believe that the gargoyle was the source of the rejuvenation?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Danny returned as he gratefully sipped the refreshing brew. “but I can hardly believe what I accomplished in the few short minutes following my contact with the carving. It was as if I could have dodged the raindrops, had I wished to.”

“A devastating setback for the Lethal Legion, to be sure,” Strange chuckled, pleased with his friend’s exploits. Continuing his line of questioning, he asked: “And Bullseye swore that it moved?”

“Yes, he claimed that it ‘shifted’ to intercept me. At first, I ignored him; I did hit him pretty hard,” Iron Fist smiled, recalling the uncharacteristically bewildered expression that had plagued the assassin’s features both before and after his time unconscious. “But it wasn’t there when I returned just a few hours later,” the hero concluded.

“Fascinating,” the master mage repeated as he inhaled the fragrant steam from his cup. “It seems that a powerful new presence has joined us in Super Hero City. Though my suspicion is that this presence is, in fact, ancient.”

Even as the pair of friends finished their tea and conversation, events that would have surely interested them were transpiring across town.

***

Don’t remember seeing this one before, Peter realized as he released his webline and flipped toward a nearby gargoyle. “Hey Gobbies! Can I call you Gobbies? What say we finish this up and get out of the rain?” he quipped, hoping that he sounded confident as the unlikely team of goblin-powered foes tore after him. Truth is, this isn’t going too well, the web-slinger admitted to himself as, nursing his wounded arm, his feet lightly clung to the wet stone.

As water streamed down its aged features, the gargoyle beneath the web-patterned boots seemed to grin even more than usual…

The Story of Invisible Martian Archer

I have been invisible my entire life. I’m the twelfth son of the Lord of Mars. That’s right – I’m real Martian royalty.

You might think it would be cool having Lord Inric as your father. Wealth. Power. Prestige. But I’ve enjoyed none of that. Honestly, I’m not even sure why my father kept me as a son. He’s only ever spoken to me once and that was to tell me to leave Mars and to never return.

Do you know what it’s like being the twelfth son of a monarch? Well I can tell you. Nobody cared about me or paid any attention to me. Nobody. My eldest brother received all of the attention as the heir to the throne. I think they just kept me around as some worst-case-scenario insurance policy.

Being socially invisible did have its advantages, however. Growing up, my father’s advisers thought nothing of speaking freely when I was in earshot. I was beneath their notice. But I heard everything. All of it. The corruption. The blood. The greed. I realized my father was a despotic ruler and an evil man.

I wanted to see what the world my father ruled was like outside of my high palace walls. I had worked for years to personalize the invisibility technology used hide our Martian cities from the eyes of aliens such as you humans. Nobody noticed my absence as I began to use this technology to routinely sneak out into the countryside. What I found there was abhorrent. While those in the palace lived in luxury my father’s subjects nearly worked themselves to death to pay his tax collectors.

I revealed myself to them and… they actually noticed me. It felt so strange. I quickly made many great friends in the village and I would bring them the leftovers from our royal feasts. Over many months they told me their shocking and sad life stories and I knew that I had to help them. The only way I could see to do that was to kill my father. Then the system could be changed so it would be fair to all Martians.

I planned on striking during the Feast of Phobos. I used my invisibility device to hide on a balcony in the banquet hall overlooking the dining area. The entire royal court attends the Feast of Phobos and all would be in attendance and would witness my father’s downfall. I planned on triumphantly proclaiming that the era of inequity was at an end.

But it all went horribly wrong. When I released that invisible arrow its path was true… but my mother, the lovely Queen Isadora, leaned forward to whisper to my father at the last second and the arrow struck her down. In shock, my invisibility fell and I was revealed to all in attendance there. My father cradled his wife in his arms but looked directly at me. I withered under his forceful gaze. “Beloved son,” He said with great grief in his voice, “What brought you to this treachery? Have I not watched and admired you from afar, providing for your every need so that you might one day become great?” I staggered at his damning words. Before turning to comfort my dying mother he dismissed me , saying, “Begone. Mars is no home to you now. The day you breathe Martian air again is the day you die.”

The weight of the sincere regret in his voice caused me to turn and blindly flee to the rocket bay. With tears in my eyes I launched. The trip is a blur of remorse. Somehow I found myself on Earth. Weeks passed as I remained invisible to hide from detection by the humans.

And then I came to the realization that, although I can’t undo what I had done I can still try to redeem myself. I could fight injustices and corruption here on Earth just as I had attempted to do on Mars.

With a new-found purpose, I set myself to the task of being humanity’s unseen protector. The Invisible Martian Archer.

Just kidding.