Matthew S. Williams's Blog, page 170

Stompy: The Giant Walking Robot!

Is this likely to be the next wave in robotics? Six-legged walking machines that are capable of carrying heavy freight, towing large payloads, or erecting tall buildings? And let’s not discount the militarized version! Six-legged mechanized warriors stacked with missiles, rail guns, and giant foot pads capable of crushing entire columns of enemy infantry! Seriously, is this the future? Because I’m starting to get a tad nervous…

The people responsible are what is known as Project Hexapod, a teacher-student cooperative working out of Massachusetts’ Artisan Asylum. For almost a year now, they’ve been working towards their goal of creating a walking, rideable robot. Beginning in April of 2012, the group began work on the design, and after four months, they launched a website and began soliciting donations. And of course, they promised plenty of returns for those pledging money.

For those making modest donations, stickers, photos and T-shirts were the common prize. But for those pledging more substantial donations – on the scale of say $200 – they promise to take an object of the donor’s choice and crush it for them. They even promise to post a video of the destruction on YouTube for the world to enjoy. And for those pledging $300 or more, they will get to ride the 18-foot wide steel beast while those giving $1000 will even get to man the controls.  Look out world! The only thing more cool than that would be if you could float a cool $300,000, in which case they will construct one for you!

Much like the Hoverbike, this Project represents a new wave in the field of technological development. Rather than being in the hands of private industry, or dependent on their investment capitol, here we see enterprising individuals going directly to the public to make their inventions a reality. Much like alternative media and indie publishing, we once again see the internet cutting out the middle man and the traditional gatekeepers, and opening up opportunities for those with dreams (and an extensive technical background!).

Check out the video of Stompy’s development below. And if you are one of those rare individuals who can score a ride on this behemoth, let me wish you good luck, and good stomping!

Source: kickstarter.com

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 48

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen..”

-Requiem Æternam

The entire Battallion stood at attention, holding their stance and keeping their heads high amidst the noise. The flag was removed from the coffin and folded, the final product handed to Braun, who reached up from his crutch to accept it with both hands.

“Sir, please accept this flag on behalf of the United States Armed Forces.”

Braun nodded and thanked the man. He looked quickly to Saunders on his left, then back to the grounds to see Wilcox’s cask being lowered. She and everyone else in the ranks braced as the guns began to sound in honor of the departed soldier.

The shots reverberated across the open field and into the distance. Long after the dismissal call had been made, she could hear them spreading into the far hills. Braun stayed behind as well, the two of them standing their for a moment together, neither of them talking. She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it too.

Eventually, he grabbed hold of his crutch and turned himself about. She looked to it and smiled.

“Needing a hand, sir?”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t want the grunts thinking I’m incapacitated.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a piece of folded fabric. “Besides, I only need to give you this.”

“What are they?” But she knew, the moment they landed in her hand. The three bars and the crossed weapons contained within were an unmistakable symbol.

“Congratulations, Gunnery Sergeant.”

Her mouth fell open and she looked up at him with what she imaged were bald eyes. She couldn’t summon any words; luckily, the Lieutenant wasn’t done speaking.

“The Mage still needs to make it official and he’s going to be announcing it himself later. But I thought I’d let you know. Its one of the many honors we’re schedules to receive.”

“This is… an honor.” She immediately felt stupid for saying that. “I mean I’m flattered.”

“Good. Because Alpha Company needs a new NCO and I can think of no one better qualified. You’re a Rattlesnake now.”

Her smile quickly faded. The thought of stepping over another man was a little more than she could take pleasure in.

“Any word on Dezba?”

Braun’s smile faded too. He nodded sparingly. “The doc’s say his wounds will heal, and he’s being fitted for a prosthesis. He was a lucky man in that respect. But it’s going to be awhile before he’s able to serve again.”

“He’s been through a lot.”

Braun frowned at that. His expression seemed to be conveying wordlessly that she didn’t know the half of it. She knew enough not to ask further.

“Well, he’s being taken care of. That’s what’s important.”

“Yes… just wish we knew what was happening to -” She cut herself off in mid sentence. Yet another thing that they weren’t supposed to be talking about. Not that it would matter. No information was exactly forthcoming on that front.

“Things will become more clear in time,” Braun said quietly. “In the meantime, we have duties to get on.”

She eyed his crutch and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re going back in already.”

He shrugged. “I’m not good at anything else. Besides, we have trucks for this sort of thing. My NCO’s do all the running now.”

She rolled her eyes, the bars in her hand suddenly feeling a bit heavier than before. It was a lucky coincidence that she hadn’t broken anything particularly vital. Otherwise, she too could be looking forward to a nice convalescence. Which reminded her…

“The commendation we’re getting, does it extend to the entire team?”

“Absolutely,” Braun said, grunting as he walked. “Which means CObb and Dezba are going to have to have their hand delivered.”

“You planning on doing that yourself too?”

He looked down at her legs. “Did you legs get blown off in that mission?”

“No, but technically, neither did yours.”

Braun nodded. “Then how about we do it together? I’m sure it will mean more coming from the both of us. Plus I’m sure Dezba would love to see his replacement placing a medal on him.”

She chuckled to herself. “You’re insane.”

“You get used to it.”

*                         *                          *

The dim light hung above his head like some mockish halo. His head hung low, the locks on his head wet and greasy, his face composed in an expression the Major General had seen many times before. It was the look of a man who had become completely exhausted being on edge. Every bit of resistance and strength was sapped and ground down. The only thing keeping him from breaking was that small space inside him that told him to maintain, that soldier’s training that taught him to hang on.

One could go mad clinging to that thing. It was a terrible thing to see it used against him so. It was even more terrible to put him against his greatest fear, holding him over the abyss, neither letting him fall or pulling him back. He couldn’t even look at it anymore, the rotten, clawing face having inspired far too much fear in him thus far. At this point, he simply kept his eyes shut and tried to block out the noise of the beast that was desperately reaching for him from the next cage.

Through the room’s internal speaker, the questions continued, generated on an ongoing loop. The Mage stood there and watched through the sealed glass, monitoring every sound in the room and recording the results.

“What is your name?”

The man drew a deep breath and repeated the answer he had given so many times before. He stayed huddled in a ball in the corner, arms wrapped around his legs, mere inches from the Whiskey’s clawing hands.

“My name is Sergeant Michael Beauvoir, twenty-ninth Infantry. One-nine-seven, four-three, nine-seven-three-seven.”

“What was your purpose in Los Angeles?”

“We were… given a mission…”

“What was your purpose in Los Angeles?”

“I don’t know…”

“Who was your commanding officer?”

“Captain Fischer. He was the only one who -”

“What was your purpose in Los Angelese?”

“I don’t know…”

“What was Captain Fischer’s orders?”

“I don’t know!”

Thur reached out and pressed the red button on his terminal. The questions immediately stopped. He looked to his left, eyed Vasquez standing there.

“Six hours, and he’s still telling the same story.”

Vasquez nodded and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Shall I send in the interrogator again?”

Thur shook his head. “What could we learn from drugs and electricity that hours of this couldn’t pry loose? No, I fear he’s just plain ignorant.”

“Too bad… but there’s information to be gleaned from their presence in the area alone.”

Thur smiled. He knew there was a reason he kept Vasquez around. He had learned all the Major General could teach him about counter-intelligence and covert action. Perhaps he would even be a fitting replacement someday, especially if things escalated; which at this point, was a likely possibility. The presence of Homeland elements in the field was indication enough that certain “others” had their eye on Pappa Zulu, and the arrival of that gunship and the fact that it fired on his people, that was indication enough that they meant business.

The only question remaining was, did said other now suspect that they had Mance in their possession? If so, it meant that they would certainly be coming for him…

“I’m afraid this man has outlived his usefulness to us.”

Vasquez looked at him quizzically. “Shall I have him disposed of?”

Thur narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath and considered the man sitting on the other side of the glass. “Not a bad idea. Given his state, it might even be considered a mercy.” He thought on it a second longer. There was no reason they couldn’t simply put him away either. Under the circumstances, that was certainly the more merciful option. What’s more, there might be a slight advantage in having some of their would-be enemies prisoners this early in the game. Ignorant or not, The Mage was sure they would want to get them back, if for no other reason that to prevent them from sharing what little they knew.

“Put him in the brig. He’s not a threat to anyone but himself right now. Besides, we have bigger fight to fry.”

“Yes, sir,” Vasquez said, and opened the door to their room. Calling to two grunts in the hallway, he ordered them to remove Beaumont from his cell. Thur watched as the Sergeant was removed a second later, the Whiskey moaning angrily that his prospective meal was being taken away.

Yes, they had lots of fish to fry, the Mage realized. He had been hoping their victory in Santa Fe would be a mere stepping stone onto more crucial operations. Every other major city in the region was still infested, and the recon his men had brought back said there were plenty of civilians alive and looking for an evac. What’s more, there were vast stretches of the northern and western countryside to take care of. They couldn’t hope to mount more offensive operations in the south, not in all good conscience when those flanks remained exposed and their people threatened. Not when the Whiskeys were proving more adept at getting in than previously thought.

And of course, there was the matter of the vaccine itself, which was crucial to any plans they might have at repopulating the region. Every area they retook was a step in that direction. But the more space they occupied, the more guns and bodies were needed to keep them secure. At present, he had barely enough to monitor their current holdings. In the long run, what was needed was a means to combat the virus itself. Only then could they spread their forces and their people with ease, knowing that every Whiskey they took out could never be replaced.

But now, they had defensive preparations to think about as well. If worse came to worse, they would be dealing with a human opponent soon enough, and that kind of enemy was far more unpredictable than the Whiskeys.

“Sir,” Vasquez said. “Shall I order our forces to pull back from the southern front and begin preparing defensive positions?”

“No need,” the Mage replied. “We can only assume that our collective enemies back east are still heavily engaged themselves. And if we have the means to generate a cure, they’ll have to deal with us sooner or later. In the meantime, all our efforts should be focused on taking the next objective. There’s still plenty of this state that needs to be liberated.”

“Still,” Vasquez added. “It wouldn’t hurt to double security around the Doc and his research facilities.”

The Mage nodded approvingly. “Yes, it certainly would not. Speaking of which, how is our dear researcher?”

Vasquez laughed. “Surly, as always. But he’s working hard.”

“Good.” The Mage nodded to the cage in the next room. “Hate to have to stick him back in there.”

*                *               *

Stay tuned for the final chapter! Coming up next!

Epic Rap Battles of History

You know what I learned recently? I am ALL about Epic Rap Battles of History! It was months ago when a fellow blogger (Thanks Dave DeMar) put me onto them with their Darth Vader vs. Hitler rap. Admittedly, that one had some humor which could be a little hard to take, especially if you mind such things as thinly veiled references to Hitler’s genocide. However, I’ve found they do just about everyone, from beloved historical figures to pop-culture icons. And there confrontation between the Master Chief and Leonidas was damn near hysterical! Check it out:

NASA’s X1 Robotic Exoskeleton

It may not be Iron Man, but it’s certainly a step in that direction. It’s known as the X1 Robotic Skeleton, a spinoff of their earlier Robonaut 2 project. Designed specifically to assists astronauts with either exercising in space, performing difficult tasks, or restoring movement to astronauts who have suffered from paralysis, the X1 is a big leap forward in terms of ergonomics and man-machine interface.

The exoskeleton is powered by four motorized joints and six passive joints, all of which give the 57 pound suit a good range of motion. When set to exercise mode, it provides resistance to the astronauts movement, ensuring that their muscles get the exercise they need while in zero-g environments. The rest of the time, the motors provide enough force to allow an astronaut to get a full range of motion and maintain full ambulatory capabilities.

A joint effort between NASA, The Florida Institute for Human and Machine Cognition, and the awesomely named Oceaneering Space Systems, the X1 is still deep in the research and development phase. Still, the suit could some day be used both in space and on Earth. In that respect, it is not unlike ReWalk and other robotic systems that are currently employed by the military which are used to help restore motion to the paralyzed and assist people in power lifting. Soon, the word “disability” will be entirely without meaning and “power lifters” will have to be redefined!

Check out this video of the X1 in action and/or click on the link below for more on this story.

Source: news.cnet.com

Zombie-Proof You Car and House

Believe it or not, there’s actually an insurance company that thinks ahead. You’ll be pleased to know that while others are preparing for the latest hurricane or earthquake, there’s a company that is preparing for the zombie apocalypse. Okay, not really, but its fun idea. They are known as MoneySupermarket.com; and wouldn’t you believe it, they found me and offered these helpful infographics. In honor of Halloween, they offered a string of comedic “Spooky Insurance” options. These include insurance on your haunted house, broom, time travel, and the afterlife.

In addition, they provide the following helpful infographics on how to prepare your vehicle and your home for a zombie attack. In the former case, this involves outfitting your means of conveyance with defensive armor as well as a series of non-lethal counter-measures (click on the image to enlarge). It also rates different kinds of vehicles based on their practicality for a zombie apocalypse. These include speed, fuel economy, ruggedness, capabilities on all terrain, and capacity for modification. Granted, not all the information is practical, but you didn’t exactly expect it to be, did you?

In the latter case, the infographic on modifying your home. This is especially important when you’ve found a place you want to go to ground in. Or maybe you just don’t want to let things escalate to the stage where you have to modify your vehicle to become a mobile tank and defensive arsenal. These include land mines, chain link fences, trenches, a guard tower, explosives, and of course, a fully equipped arsenal. Well, not exactly fully equipped – once again, the weapons are strictly non-lethal. And I’m not entirely sure what the point of a robotic sheep is (see right). You’d think zombies could tell the difference between the real thing and an automaton.

Naturally, the Halloween-themed insurance offering won’t last long now that Halloween is over. Click on the link at the top to see the full range of options they’re offering for witches, ghosts, time travelers and the undead. Unless the zombie apocalypse actually arrives, or someone finds a way to make time travel feasible, these gimmicky insurance options won’t last!

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 47

“Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed; to kindness, to knowledge, we make promise only; pain we obey.”

-Marce l Proust

He could feel the cold, clammy feeling of the cement floor beneath his hands. It was always that way with it, somehow. It always felt wet, even when it was bone dry. The seamless, poreless surface never seemed to retain moisture.

He looked up and saw only darkness, and chains. They were close at hand, and led deep into the shadow. He touched one. Cold. Cold and biting. The way of iron and steel. And it was rusted too, giving it a grainy texture.

He grabbed hold of it and began to follow it forward. It pulled taught on the first touch, and he could hear a loud clang. It sounded close at hand, whatever it was pulling against. He followed it further, hand over hand into the dark…

He proceeded on his knees, pulling it again hard. He saw it go straight again, clanging loudly and disappearing into the shadow. It receded as he advanced, the chain growing shorter with every step he took. A small gleam appeared in the near distance, a faint grey light that almost disappeared the moment he set eyes on it.

His hands were growing colder. The grainy texture of the rust was beginning to rub off and turn them red. Very red. The rust was the deepest shade of red he had ever seen. But the light! He was too close to finding his way in the dark to stop now.

The light was growing brighter, and taller. It was the strangest thing, extending upwards and downwards as he neared it. It was strongest in the middle still, but seemed to be reaching up along some kind of spine. The chain was now completely taught. He only need one hand to pull it to him. He pulled a few times, noted the clanging. He could touch it now, whatever it was.

It felt rounded and thin, like a pole in the ground. He traced it upwards and felt it recede into the distance. Even standing, he could not touch the top of it. But crouched low, he eventually followed it down into the cold, hard ground again. He was close enough to touch it, but couldn’t make it out in the dark. This worried him…

He found his way back to the chain again and pulled it toward him. The far end, where he had started, it dragged along with the weight of something attached to the end of it. He hadn’t seen it before; but then again, he hadn’t picked it up at its very end either. At least he didn’t think so. It was hard to remember anything in this place…

It took time to bring it into the meager light, but he saw it clearly before long.

It was a shackle. It was terribly rusty… cold and wet.

He took hold of it, turned it over in the light. The red rust began to come off on him. Sticky and thick, slippery between his fingers.

It wasn’t rust at all. The manacles were bloody. And it was fresh…

He heard a loud cocking noise. He looked up in time to see what it was.

It was him.

The gun was in his hand. A bottle in the other. He was sitting on the stoop and watching himself with teary eyes.

““I’m sorry, baby.”

The gun trembled in his hand. He tried to speak, tried to reach out. Nothing was coming. His voice was mute, and his arms would not reach far enough. Something was holding them back. He pulled and pulled. The familiar clangs sounded again.

He looked down, saw the manacles on his wrists. They were bare now, his uniform gone and his arms exposed and bloody. Tears where the manacles clung too him when he pulled at them. His hands were a bloody, dirty mess. The fingernails caked in dirt and dried blood, torn and jagged.

“I couldn’t keep my promise.”

The gun cocked.

You’re going to a better place… both of you.”

He reached out again to stop it, opened his mouth to plead. Nothing but a sickly roar came out.

The gun fired…

*                         *                         *

He woke up screaming. His eyes were open, but it took a moment for the world to appear around him. The bright light that shattered the darkness gradually turned into a ceiling light. The shackles were fabric and plastic. He looked down at himself and saw another one strapped around his waist. Instead of torn rags, he had a patient gown on, blankets covering the rest of him.

It all began to fade as he lay back down and tried to breath slowly. Little by little, everything grew stiller and less frantic. And yet, there was still a noise close at hand. A terrible, persistent noise.

He looked to his right where it seemed to be coming from. A large display hung there that seemed to be monitoring his heart rate and BP. The machine seemed less than enthused, but was slowly calming down itself.

He took several more breaths and closed his eyes, opened them when he heard footsteps approaching.

“Well, look who’s up at last?”

He squinted his eyes and tried to make out the face. A medic, clearly, but none he seemed to recall. She checked his glucose drip first, which he didn’t notice until now. Her hands went to the restraints next. First the right one…

“Sorry about these, but we had to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself or pull the IV loose.”

“I… uh…”

She smiled, began working her way to his left side. “You also had plenty to say in your sleep.”

She put her hands to the other restraint. Dezba looked down and saw what was there. His voice caught in his throat.

The monitor began blaring again.

“It’s okay…” she said. “Sergeant, it’s going to be alright.”

He didn’t hear her. The blood was rushing to his ears and drowning out all outside noise. That, and the terrible burning sensation that was crawling up his arm.

The medic yelled to someone outside the room. He couldn’t hear what she said. But he could make out a few things when she leaned in next and began speaking to him softly.

“…alright… okay… safe now.”

An orderly ran in to the room carrying a syringe. Dezba raised his right arm and shoved her away.

“I’m infected! You have to kill me now! You have to put one in my brain!”

The medic lay down on top of him, her hands clutching his right arm and holding it in place. Her body pressed down on his midsection and held him flat. The orderly came back and went for his shoulder. He had barely the strength to stop her and felt some warm relief beginning to spread over him. He knew that feeling well enough, liquid lorazapam taking the edge of his anxieties, making them dull and ineffectual. With what strength he could, he still pleaded.

“Infected… you have to end it now…”

The medic sat up and grabbed a hold of his face. She stared directly into his eyes. “Sergeant, listen to me! You’re clean. We ran your blood when you came in. There was no trace of the virus. You’re clean…”

He breathed hard. Was he hearing her right? The itch was so intense though, and what he’d seen in the darkness…

“You’ve been with us for three days now,” she said, as if sensing his arguments. “You would have turned long ago.”

He raised his left arm. “Why is my arm burning?”

She stood up and smoothed out her gown. “You suffered extensive nerve damage, Sergeant. That’s the downside to your not picking up the infection, the way you removed your own limb left much to be desired.”

Dezba lay his head back. The drugs were taking full effect now, lulling him into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he wouldn’t be turning anytime soon as well. Or perhaps it was just the medics influence. She seemed to be having that effect on him now.

“Hurts…” he said.

“We can administer morphine for that, but not until the anxiolytics wear off. You’re going to be okay, Sergeant. You’ve got a long and peaceful recovery in store…”

Recovery, Dezba thought. How lovely did that sound right now? Plenty of sleep, rest, and drugs to numb the pain. Plenty of monsters to haunt his sleep.

Yes… lovely!

Whiskey Delta – Chapter 46

“All that we fear we hold close to ourselves to survive. So if you’re drowning and you see a corpse floating by, hang on to it because it will rescue you. “

-Tom Hardy

The plume was the largest single object visible through their window now. The pilot banked sharply right, putting them into the second leg of their maneuver. Soon enough, they would be lined up with the runway, pushing through the smoke and flame to land just a few dozen meters from their evacuees.

For a few minutes, they got a distant view of the runway through their right window that wasn’t obscured by the fire. And they saw the muzzle flashes and airbursts that were going up.

“They’re already contested,” the Colonel said. “Heavily too.”

From his seat, the pilot shook his head, the stearing wand shaking in his hand. His body appeared to be doing a little shaking itself, and not because of the mounting turbulence.

“We might not make it in time…”

“We’ll make it,” the Colonel said.

“As far as maneuvers go, this is the trickiest of them, ma’am. They’ll have less than a minute to get on, and that’s hard enough without all those things charging at them.”

“It’s been done before. Crews were under fire when they did it too,” she said plainly.

“The plain or the squad?”

The Colonel shook her head. “Both. And that pilot had far fewer complaints.”

The navigator looked from the window. “Were you in the bird or on the ground in that story, ma’am?”

She smiled. No answer. Better to let them figure it out.

They completed their right turn and began to level out. The smoke was directly in their path, and a field growing with bodies and spewing sporadic muzzle fire. They began to descend. Little by little, the landscape began to disappeared beneath their front window. First, the suburdan developments, then the highway, and soon it would be the hangar bays themselves.

“Guide her in, boys. I’m going back to see them in!”

“Good luck.”

She opened the cabin door and slipped through. She grabbed her Tavor weapon from the rack and chambered a round. More than a greeting, they might need some covering fire. No Whiskeys on board her bird. No living ones at least…

*                          *                         *

Another dropped. Then another. Then several more in quick succession. But there were no shortage of replacements coming, and they were getting closer.

Several thuds sounded from behind them. The Claymores going off between the hangars. Saunders looked to their rear and saw several shadows drop in the tight alleyways. She spun the other way and saw what worried her most, the sight of them being outflanked. A large cluster was making their way through the parkade and coming up behind them. The noise was the draw, but by now, they could smell the flesh and were picking up speed.

“Mill, east side! Cover our flank!”

Mill looked to their left and removed his SAW from the hood. Bracing it against his hip, he began to spray burst after burst in their direction, hitting several at a time. Not all dropped however, as the bullets had a way of missing their skulls on the first try. But they all dropped eventually, the bullets tearing into their limbs and bodies and making it impossible for them to keep moving.

The distant whine of the Hercules four turboprops became a constant presence now. She looked to the flaming plume at their back and saw the span of its wings stretching out to either side of it. They were growing wider with every passing second, but still seemed to be taking forever.

Saunders feet were beginning to itch, the instinct to get moving threatening to overpower her. It was like waiting for the gun at a starting line, too soon and they would be screwed. Too late, and the same end result would occur. Couldn’t move until their bird took to the sky behind them. And then they had to be moving fast.

“Whitman! Get ready!” she yelled. From the cabin, Whitman ceased firing and put the gun beside him. The engine was already running, no telling if it would start up if they shut it down again. She was old vehicle, even if she had got them this far.

Next to their driver, Cobb and Dezba sat in the front seats, laying on each other as they slept this one out. Braun lay semi-conscious at her feet, Wilcox’s body sitting next to him. And with Sanchez and Beaumont packed in next to the bed door, that left just standing room for the rest of them. Making their way out without being thrown clear was going to prove tricky.

Saunders slapped in her last cartridge and took her last five shots. She lined them up as best she could, which was easy at their closing range. Heads came off, as well as some arms. She stowed her rifle, drew the LT”s SCAR, and called to the others.

“Kobayashi! Mill! Load up!” He fired off the last of his grenades and ran for the back of the truck. Mill sprayed down the closest of the flankers and drew back. Whitman reved the engine a few times while the others kept firing at any Whiskeys that got too close. They had effectively created a bubble around them, but it wouldn’t last forever. She looked back up at the sky and saw the winds descending upon them.

She looked down to Beaumont and Sanchez. “You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” yelled Sanchez. She nodded to both of them and looked up in hurry. Movement was coming from the darkened alleyways again. More Whiskeys were pushing through, the Claymores having not deterred them from advancing through the narrow spaces between hangars. She extended a hand to Sanchez and Beaumont, who looked ready to start firing.

“Shit. Hold your fire! Mill,” she pointed to their rear. Mill unloaded on the last of the ones advancing from the east and adjusted his direction. He blew the back out of two more that made it beyond the hangars and popped his ammo drum.

“Empty!”

“Alright, men. You’re up! Keep them off our rear.”

She turned to their front and targeted the closest of their Whiskeys. She passed Mill Dezba’s SCAR and made room for him to move in next to her. In the back, Sanchez and Beaumont let loose with some three round bursts. Her feet were now in agony, they needed to move now or she feared she might tear off on her own. Or worse, order Whitman to do it for them.

“C’mon, c’mon…” she found herself muttering. From her side, Mill popped off a grenade and then back to popping single rounds. The bubble was beginning to close, contracting and threatening to implode. She could feel a growing panic, and it was beginning to make her spend more ammo. Some of her targets didn’t even appear to be slowing down anymore.

Mill seemed to notice too, or else he was feeling it on his own. While replacing his magazine, he yelled to the sky. “Now would be a good time, Colonel!”

The whine began a roar. Kobayashi yelled at the top of his lungs to be heard over it.

“They’ve arrived!”

Saunders looked up just in time to see the plane break through the cloud of smoke. Its cargo bay door was open and threw up sparks as soon as the plane hit the ground. An entire wave of Whiskeys evaporated in the wake of the air current it kicked up.

Saunders slapped the roof over and over again. “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

Whitman gunned the gas and steered them onto the tarmac. Saunders didn’t stop and she could hear her own hand slamming the roof long after the engine noise died down.

They began to close slowly, Whiskeys flying by on either side of the runway. Body parts began to fly as the turboprops sliced through them. She swore inwardly as she realized this was not how the plan was supposed to go. She just prayed none of them would prove to be the Whiskey that broke any of the Herc’s precious props. That might complicate their escape a little.

From the back, she saw the Colonel standing there, a weapon in her hands. It seemed unnecessary at the moment, but she kept sending flames from the muzzle. They were getting closer, but they were also running out of runway. She slapped the roof again.

“Faster, Whitman!”

“It’s an old truck!” he yelled back, but still pushed the gas pedal as far as it would go. The engine began to scream and the transmission struggled to keep up. The revs Whitman was putting on her were something she wasn’t designed to take. And yet, they were closing the gap. The ramp seemed within reaching distance now.

And then, it bumped. A pile of bodies sprang up from under it and sent it hard against the tarmac again, sparks going everywhere. Whitman swirled to miss the pile-up and nearly put them in the ditch. Saunders and Mill nearly feel out sideways as well. When she looked up, they were aimed at the cargo bay at an angle. Whitman pulled them back left, sending them into another swerve.

She slapped the roof. “Straighten us out, dammit!”

Whitman raised his finger to her and cranked the wheel again. They swerved left and right a few more times before he had them all lined up. Saunders lapped the roof one last time.

“GOOOOO!”

He gunned the gas and put their vehicle over the cargo bay door. The vehicle lurched and fired into the back, the wheels burst as they cut over the edged metal. And when they hit the bay, they did so running! Whitman slammed on the gas and everyone who was still conscious enough screamed.

They came to a stop finally when they hit the far wall. Saunders and Mill were thrown into the cabin and the others thrown over the edge. Every pane of glass in the truck was broken too. And she wasn’t sure, but she thought she tasted blood…

The Revengers Starting Lineup!

Happy Halloween everybody! In honor of this momentous occasion, I have decided to release the starting lineup of the Revengers! And here they are, a new superhero team to save the day, and with none of that sissy Avenger stuff neither! No, these are the Revengers! A dark justice league for the new era, taking on the scum and villainy of the world, and doing it Revenger-style!

Atrum Auditor:

Alter ego: Kevin Roussy, beer advocate

Appearance: Black slacks, black button down long sleeve shirt, combat boots, utility belt.

Abilities: Telepathy, Teleportation, Precognition

Backstory: Atrum Auditor was the product of a corporate warlord’s mistress and genetic manipulation. He was raised in secret to be a master at corporate espionage, but defied his father to go rogue and began using his powers for justice instead of peersonal gain. Now, he seeks the world secrets, releasing government and trade information to the public in order to manipulate public perceptions. To what ends, no one really knows for sure… All they know is, if it’s a secret, it won’t be for long!

Catchphrase: “No More Secrets”

Inferno:

Alter ego:  Victor, movie critic

Appearance: Black and grey skin-tight top, red pants, grey and balck mask. Nuclear emblem on the chest, golden cuffs and flaming hands.

Abilities: Fire control, Telekineses, Healing

Backstory: As a teenager, Victor I was identified by a Corporation as a Level 5 mutant. They sent men to his home to abduct him, and during the course of the abduction a Superhero came to interrupt their plan. In the ensuing battle, Victors home was destroyed and his brother paralyzed. The Superhero’s code of conduct prevented him from killing the principle leader of the group before he injured Victor’s brother, and then as the police were taking him away he was able to escape and killed my mother. From that moment on I vowed revenge against that man and the Corporation, but knew I could never be entirely on the side of the angels. Because in the end, I planned to murder the man who destroyed my family.

Catchphrase: “It’s your time to burn!”

Captain Smackdown:

Alter ego: Matt Williams, mild mannered educator/writer

Appearance: Molded armor suit, dark gunmetal grey, fist logo on the chest, utility belt with tons of guns, smoke grenades, incendiaries, and assorted gadgets. Cigar in mouth, eye patch over one eye. Expressions range from shit-eating grin to a scowl

Abilities: Mad Fighting Skills, Guns, Gadgets

Backstory: Once an educator with inner city youths and part-time writer, Matt was traumatized when a student of his was murdered in front of him and he was left mortally wounded. Saddened, angry and broken, he joined a private security firm and learned the art of weapons and tactics, but soon became disillusioned with their methods. Realizing that the world was full of evil and that the line between right and wrong was something one could easily find themselves on the wrong side of, he began trekking across the world, learning martial arts and philosophy in East Asia before returning home to fight crime on his own. After many years of battling scum and criminals in the streets, he rose to become head of a new order for fighting evil wherever it reared its ugly head. The Revengers!

Catchphrase: “Here comes the Smackdown!”

Erotica Girl:

Alter ego: Casey Sheridan, bookish, shy librarian

Appearance: Black and purple skintight suit, zipper in the front leading up to partially exposed cleavage. Mask, half black and half purple, thigh-high black leather boots.

Abilities: Invisibility, Mad fighting skills, Super strength

Backstory: Casey was given a formula by a Crime Kingpin, a man who, before becoming a Crime Kingpin, worked in a lab for a company that developed organic weapons for the government. After his lab partner caused an accident and left him for dead, Mr. Kingpin declared vendetta against him and developed a formula to change his lab partner’s girlfriend (Casey) into a super villain. Since she was super hot and erotic, he gave her the name Erotica Girl

Catchphrase: “Feel the love!”

Judgement:

Alter ego: Rami Ungar, student and freelance writer

Appearance: Long white hair, black skin with gold designs, yellow-orange eyes, super-sharp teeth. A pair of pants that somehow survive the transformation

Abilities: Absorb Energy, Energy Blasts, Telekinesis

Backstory: One day, he fell in love with a girl whose father was a police investigator. Her father got too close to something that involved an unknown corporation working with a terrorist group. He was murdered for his troubles and his daughter left disabled. He took her in and tends to her as his alter ego. But as Judgement, he fights corruption within the corporations, government, and anywhere else he sees it going unchecked.

Catchphrase: “Feel my wrath!”

Styka:

Alter ego: Kristy Halseth,

Appearance: Jeans, Tank top, Leather jacket, Doc Martins.

Abilities: Flying, Invisibility, Telepathy

Backstory: While browsing a fine jewelry store, Kristy witnessed an armed robbery that went horribly wrong. During the commission of the robbery, the criminals caused an explosion that killed half their crew and the store. Taken as a hostage by the part of the crew that managed to escape, they took out their anger and frustration on Kristy and left for dead. When she woke up in hospital, she realized she could read minds, avoid detection, and even levitate and fly about. In her search for the the people who nearly killed her, Styka discovered that one of the city’s crime bosses had been responsible for the robbery. His orders were to kill the hostages but the robbers were as incompetent at that as they were at following the plan he had ordered. Her vendetta against her attackers became a vendetta against his as well.

Catchphrase: “Justice is on the way!”

Panacea:

Alter ego: Phyllis Moore, mild-mannered fantasy-fiction writer

Appearance: Indestructible close-fitting fiber suit, toga skirt, and a concealing mask. When Panacea, her air changes from blonde to burgundy

Abilities: Flying, Acrobatics, Healing

Backstory: Phyllis was on vacation in India when a terrorist attack blew up a nearby chemical factory. She wasn’t close enough to be killed, but was exposed to the chemical traces picked up by the winds as she fled. She leapt over obstacles, climbed up walls, and ran across rooftops. It first, she thought her abilities came from years of yoga and marathon races, but as she ran faster, she noticed that she could even fly. After everything had settled, she returned to see the horror of the wounded and dying and became furious. But instead of retaliating against those who committed such acts of terror, she decided to undo their hate by healing the wounded and loving them back to health.

Catchphrase: “Stop the hate!”

The Veiled Tsunami:

Alter ego: Hawa Ali, mild-mannered nurse

Appearance: Chocolate brown leather duster over Black jeans, black T, and a black hijab. Black combat boots and black shades of well.

Abilities: Alien Technology, Super Smarts, Telepathy

Backstory: Hawa grew up in New Haven Connecticut, two blocks from Yale University. She never knew her mother, but her father was a university professor and scientist named Dr. Eesa Ben Ali. His work in human mutagenics was quite controversial, due in part to the fact that Dr. Ali shared a name with another man on the NSA’s terror watch list. He was on the cusp of creating a substance that would successfully, and without adverse effects, create the first human with super capabilities. Unfortunately, his work was cut short when a disgruntled student – Calvin Cur – broke into his lab and tried to take him prisoner. When his daughter interfered, Cur shot her and sent her falling into some of her father’s lab equipment. The serum spilled on her and ran into her wound, and Cur shot her father shortly thereafter and fled. Hawa was changed, and from that point onward, was known as the Veiled Tsunami, seeking out injustice and looking to avenge her fathers death, all the while trying to unlock the mystery of what she has become. For it is rumored that her father’s serum contained alien blood that was retrieved by the government, and remains kept in some secret facility somewhere…

Catchphrase: “You won’t see me coming but I will blow you down.”

FYI, still waiting on key details from Freedom Fighter, Joaco, Pax and Typos. If you want to join, you gotta file the requisite paperwork. I guess that doesn’t sound too superhero-y. But hey, you wanna play in the big leagues, you gotta pay the big dues! Happy Halloween Everybody!

Create Your Superhero Image!

Behold, the portrait of Captain Smackdown! Thank you to Victor Giminez of victorsmoviereviews for drawing me to it. It’s really quite simple, just follow the link, select your profile type, and begin tweaking the particulars.

As you can see, I went with a Punisher-type costume, but only because they didn’t have the logo I wanted (a fist!) However, the guns and armor were certainly fitting, and the mad fighting skills are pretty clear from that frame, right?

I encourage all members of the Revengers to get over to this site and create an image for themselves. Between Victor and myself, we have two, and that just leaves ten to go. Move your butts Revengers, this is your Captain speaking!

http://marvel.com/games/play/31/create_your_own_superhero

The Bane Costume!

Well, I did it, I went through with it and decided to be Bane for Halloween, bald head and all!. And as promised, here are some of the pics to prove that I’m not lying through my teeth. Personally, I felt it came together pretty well- the clothing was planned out but I didn’t make any special purchases. And I ordered the mask through Amazon so no credit is due there. But the real work came in the form of the  head-shaving, which took a good hour at least. I don’t think I invested in a very good electric razor, and I can tell you that for the next few days I will be applying lots of lotion to make sure I don’t chafe!

And of course the feedback I’ve gotten so far has been pretty interesting. When I wore it to the grocery store to compare costumes with the local staff, they all laughed and thought it was pretty good. The children and casual shoppers… not so much! I had to assure one little man that it was all just an outfit and that it would be coming off soon.

And when I went to pick up my darling bride from her friends house that night, they were both pretty scared! My wife has not looked at me the same way since. Mainly she just looks at my bald head and smiles! Ha, she wasn’t smiling when she saw me enter with the mask on and heard the perfectly intoned British voice!

Anyway, here are the top three pics. Front profile, front posing, and side profile. Let me know what you think, and please post pics of whatever you got up to this Halloween! I especially want to hear from my superhero kin on this one. Consider it a test run for our official Revenger uniforms. If we can pull of some real life costumes that bear just the slightest resemblance to our Revenger profiles, we’d be in the best of business!

Oh yeah, and happy Halloween everyone! May your evenings be filled with plenty of fright and excitement, and plenty of sugary swag!