John Wolfe, a.k.a. Permafrost, sat in the back of the limo on his way to the Halloween fashion show, a celebrity function at which he was a guest of honor. As the limousine drove him from his hotel through the streets of Philadelphia, he had some time to think. He was in Philly to help Dr. Wight with the sorority house massacre and the attack at the Jefferson Hospital emergency room. The doc felt that the two were connected and there was a metahuman involved.

Ever since John arrived this morning he had spent his time looking at gory pictures of the attack sites and patrolling the skyline, something he would also be doing later that night. The fashion show seemed to be a good way to take his mind from the grotesque photos that were haunting him and earn some brownie points with Nike.

The limo pulled up to the front of the Adams Mark Hotel. John could see the sidewalk jam-packed with people looking to see who was inside the approaching limo.

Ah, some adoring fans, he thought with a grin on his face.

The front entrance was draped with a large banner that read: "Halloween Fashion Show! Fashions by Abu Patel. Closed to the Public -- Invitation Only."

"Hope I remembered my invitation," John jokingly said, but nevertheless started to feel the coat pocket of his tuxedo. Feeling the stiffness of the envelope inside his jacket, he unconsciously relaxed slightly. "Well, I could always show them the Nike-endorsed spandex I'm wearing under this penguin suit if there is any question as to who I am."

The driver stopped the limo, got out and headed for John's door. "Well, the moment of truth. Hope I don't trip getting out of the limo," John said.

As the driver opened the door, a flurry of flashbulbs lit up the place like a ferocious lightning storm. Cries of "I love you Permafrost!" and "Permafrost, you're the man!" accompanied the blinding hail of camera flashes. John Wolfe exited the limo flawlessly, put on his best Hollywood smile and waved to the screaming mass of fans as he was ushered by two burly men to the hotel's entrance.

"Guy's, hold on a minute," the super being said to the ushers. "I gotta show a little love to my fans." John Wolfe then turned to wave for some more photos, signed a few autographs, and hugged a couple of screaming, shaking women. All the Philly news stations were present, Channel 3, 6, 10, 29 (Fox) and 17 (The WB). After a few moments of meet and greet, John headed into the Adams Mark.

The hotel lobby was decorated with black drapery, fake webbing, and plastic spiders. The centerpiece was an open casket surrounded in pale white orchids, with a hockey-masked, chainsaw-wielding "corpse" under a glass cover. Most of the invited guests were milling about the lobby and heading into the showroom. From his vantage point he could see Donald Trump, Patti LaBelle, and even Mike Schmidt, the old Phillies short stop from the 80's, all decked out in their finest tuxes and gowns.

"This is too cool," he said as he walked to the showroom.

John noticed some of the celebrities pointing at him and saying, "Look -- that's Permafrost!"

Ooh Yeah! he thought to himself as he walked into the show room with his chest out and his head up high.

As he entered the room, a gorgeous woman took his invitation and showed him to his seat. "Woah, front row," he said as he sat down. "I must be bigger than I thought and I didn't even have to do a spread for People to get here. Wait till I tell Tommy!"

John took a moment to take in the scene. The curtains were tied back, exposing the runway strewn with big black bats and spiders. Axes hung from the back wall, like some medieval weapons chamber, and the stage was lined with white and black orchids.

Kinda tacky, but who am I to judge? he thought. He then looked at his watch -- it was 9:19. He had about eleven minutes before the show started.

For the next ten and a half minutes he talked with a man beside him, who turned out to be Tommy Conwell, a local rock star who along with his band the Young Rumblers had a national hit back in the late 80's. People of money and fame were seated around him. Tommy Conwell was a pretty cool guy who wore his "rock 'n roll rebel" attitude well with a tux.

At 9:30, the lights dimmed, the spotlights lit up the stage and a phenomenally beautiful woman with raven black hair walked to the podium. All John could think was, If the announcer is that hot, the models have to be out of this world. She was wearing a dark, tight-fitting business suit that showed off her legs. John used his powers over cold to cool down his loins a bit as the woman started to address the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began in a voice that made the birds jealous. "Welcome to Abu Patel's Halloween fashion show, brought to you by Abu Patel Incorporated and Vidal Sasson hair products. We have many distinguished guests here with us tonight." Her eyes met John's and locked for a long moment.

Cool down, he thought as he gave himself another cold blast.

"Dude, you're killin me here," Tommy whispered in John's ear.

"Oh, sorry," John replied in a hushed tone as he killed his powers, never losing the lock he had on the woman's eyes.

"...I would like for everyone to sit back and enjoy the show," the woman finished.

The models came out one by one, wearing various outfits that look like they were stolen straight from Mortisha's closet. The models were equally as disturbing looking, but sensual in a Gothic sort of way. John swore he saw Cindy Crawford walk down the strip wearing enough white facepaint to mask her trademark mole. She was followed by a girl who could possibly be Kate Moss, with a big, poofy black wig and enough mascara to coat the West Coast.

But it was the announcer that John was constantly drawn to. She remained at the podium, describing each model in her low, sultry voice as the girls came down the catwalk. Throughout the show she kept looking over at him as if she was waiting, possibly for the show to end so he could ask her out.

The end of the show came, and all the models were returning to the main stage for a final bow, when suddenly a huge form of a man busted out from underneath them, sending models flying  in all directions. The powerfully built man was wearing a hockey mask and a ripped-up flannel shirt that exposed massive pectoral muscles covered in scars and what looked to be old bullet wounds.

Wait a second...  John remembered the opened casket in the lobby.  That's the Jason motif corpse that I saw when I first came in...

"What a shame," the announcer said. "We could have at least fit six more models on the stage. Guess Hack got excited." As a smirk formed on her full red lips, she felt the joy of bloodlust starting to rise in her veins. She couldn't really be mad at him. It tormented her to be up in front of the audience for an hour, and she was itching to unleash some mayhem herself. Now, at last, the fun could begin.

For a second John thought it might be a gimmick, or some kind of stunt, until he saw the models hit the floor. Bodies landed in unnatural shapes, limbs twisted and broken, some even managed to wrap around other bodies. Some of the models were crying, others were just silent and motionless.

John reflexively stood at the ready, although he felt he should have been ready sooner. As he turned again to look at the monster that caused the tragedy, he was met by a big beefy right hook. The punch hit him in the left side of the face hard, sounding like one of Mike Schmidt's 500 career home runs. John flew off his feet and into the front row of seats. Somewhere in front of him, up near the stage, models were screaming and the lithe announcer was in with them, bending over and reaching for women on the ground. She must be trying to help them.

Gotta get these people out of harm's way, John thought. He felt the left side of his face start to go numb.

John rolled off the overturned chairs and spectators, turning his back to the charging mass of muscle. He willed the moisture in the air to do his bidding, collecting the molecules around his hands, and shot toward the crowd. A jet cold crackled through the air and super-froze a wall of pure ice around the innocent people. John then turned his attention toward the real threat bearing down on him.

The madman called Hack grabbed John's outstretched arms, ignoring the frost that was quickly forming on his hands and wrists. He swung him like a ragdoll twice in a large spinning circle, flinging into the stage's large curtain. John hit the curtain and the bindings gave, entangling him in the thick cloth.

"Enough is enough," said the trapped hero. Within seconds he manipulated the molecules of moisture trapped in the cloth, freezing the material into a solid, rigid shape of ice that took
him minimal effort to break out of. Finding himself standing in the middle of the stage, John yelled, "Oh yeah, you want some of this!" as he tore his tux off to expose his Permafrost costume hiding underneath.

John moved sideways, trying to position himself between the huge metahuman and the announcer. She was still there, heroically, he thought, stooping to help a model who was screaming on the floor with vicious claw-marks gouged down her face. There must be another attacker somewhere, but he didn't have time to think.

The hulking form of Hack leapt on top of the stage and Permafrost pointed two angry fists at him. "Freeze!" yelled the lord of ice and snow. A jet of winter crackled towards Hack, instantly solidifying the air about him.  Permafrost continued to point his fury at the maniac, overlapping the layers of cold, trapping him from shoulders down in a mound of ice.  The large man was like a fly in amber.

"Your short career is over buddy," taunted Permafrost.

Hack's head swayed furiously, straining.

"It's not gonna happen, bud. That ice is nine inches thick," Permafrost said with a slight smile, a smile that reminded him of the sore left side of his face.

Suddenly inscrutable cracks appeared on the ice mound, then tiny fissures that grew into thick, jagged openings.  Then the shell exploded, showering everything with ice chunks. The noise was near deafening.

Permafrost tried to grasp how Hack managed that, and that's when he realized a niggling thought that was bothering him. He was thinking sluggishly and he knew it; he just couldn't pinpoint the other thing that was bothering him. It was almost like he had a few drinks in him, slowing his thinking process. When he lowered his arms, he was just in time to see a hand
almost larger than his head grab him by the throat and squeeze.

Hack drew his hand back with the struggling superhero dangling from it and hurled him into the brick wall behind the stage. Permafrost hit the wall with a sickening crack as his body indented the stonework. Permafrost then slumped to the floor. Hack approached the disoriented metahuman with a steady walk.

"Why is it so damn tough to pull my thoughts together?" the dazed meta asked himself.

He floundered mentally, trying to come up with a good strategy for defeating the behemoth, but his thoughts slid away into a mental fog. His vision cleared, however, just enough to see the seemingly unstoppable juggernaught approaching him.

Permafrost decided it was time to do something he didn't like doing, and that was get deadly. He thrust his hands out before him in a claw-like position, ordering the molecules to join into one of their most deadly forms. Sharp shards of ice flew from his hands, hitting the big man square in the chest and knocking him back off the stage and up against the ice wall Permafrost had constructed moments earlier. The ice shards ripped through the air, some snapping off Hack's tough skin while others impaled him and were instantly assaulted by the warm blood that poured from his wounds.

Permafrost rose to his feet and walked up the runway, keeping the lethal projectiles pouring from his hands. When he reached the hole the maniac made in the stage, he stopped his attack, figuring the man-beast down for the count. Hack slid down the ice wall slowly, stopping only when his feet touched the floor, blood trailing him down the wall.

Slightly exhausted and feeling the effects of the shots he took, Permafrost challenged him: "Had enough, big guy"?

With one swipe of his arm, Hack broke most of the ice shards from his chest and started to leap at the ice hero, but Permafrost had watched enough slasher movies in his time to almost feel that move coming. He quickly lifted his right hand, pointing his hand in a wedge and shooting a super-cooled beam of deadly power at the monster's head. Within seconds, Hack's head was encased in a block of ice. Permafrost could feel the ice block forming. He created the ice as a
sold block, making sure the deadly frozen moisture traveled down his throat and filled his nasal passages. He even went as far as to freeze the behemoth's inner ear. The large form grasped at its neck for a few brief seconds before falling motionless to the hard floor.

The exhaustion and pain running through Permafrost's body was incredible as he tried to catch his breath and clear the fog from his head. "Well, you gave me a run for my money, but you still loose," he panted with a fine cold mist leaving his lips accompanying his words.

A well-placed kick from his right suddenly hit the exhausted metahuman in the solarplexus, knocking what chilled air he had left in his body out as he fell to his knees. The beautiful announcer stood next to him on the stage. "Where did you come from?" was all he could think of saying through the clouds in his mind.

"I think you have more important things to think about right now," stated the raven-haired beauty as she followed up with a spinning back kick that landed a stiletto heel directly into his ear opening, drawing more than a little blood. Permafrost, now finding his balance compromised, fell forward to his elbows, which still seemed too wobbly to support his weight as the world spun around him. Behind her, he could see the bodies of the models littering the floor, with a few mutilated victims still crawling and mewling in horror. Ah, yes. That was the
thought that had eluded him. If she was helping the models, why were they all dead?

"Enough of this charade," snarled the woman as she grabbed the lower left hand part of her skirt with her right hand and ripped it off, revealing a tight fitting leather suit that looked like something from an S&M catalogue.

"You did pretty well against Hack, but boy is he gonna be pissed when he gets up," she stated with the cool smile of a cobra.

"I hate to bust your bubble, lady, but he's not getting up," replied the disoriented Permafrost with his knees, elbows and forehead to the stage, barely holding his own weight.

The woman placed another strong kick to Permafrost's mid-section, flipping him to his back while saying, "Do you really think you are that good? I see I overestimated your intelligence." Standing over the fallen hero and looking down her very well proportioned body, she continued in a sultry, taunting purr. "Just think, you're not even our target. You're are just the bait, little man." She effortlessly planted another stiletto heel hard into Permafrost's stomach, causing
him to curl in pain as the hero heard the sound of an ice block hitting hard pavement. "Guess who just woke up?" she smiled.

Rolling over fighting the world as it spun, Permafrost got up to his knees and sat back on his feet. It seemed to take every ounce of energy in his body. He'd never been this exhausted in his life; it felt like every muscle in his body was screaming for mercy.

"How heroic," said the woman in a mocking tone as his head started to steady. He could feel the warm blood tapping on his shoulder and hear a large block of ice break. "You men in tights never know when to give up," she sneered, seconds before landing a backhand to the already sore and bruised left side of his face.

The blow jolted the upper part of his body back, but he didn't fall over as a thin line of blood sprayed from his lips. Permafrost looked at the woman through the top of his eyes and said, "Lady, you don't know the half of it," as he shot all he could muster of a small avalanche from his lowered hand. The snow and ice-filled concoction hit the woman full on sending her flying back into the wall of protective ice.

Permafrost then heard the sound of a loud chainsaw wail through the air as he struggled to his feet. Turning, he saw the hulking man standing a few feet behind him and advancing, the chain-driving motor of his chainsaw almost looking like it came straight out of a Volkswagen. The monster took three lightning fast swings that felt to Permafrost like someone ran a large finger across him three times. The hero looked down to see his stomach opened up along with a diagonal cut deep across his chest, and as he went to wrap his arms around his midsection to keep in whatever might fall out, he noticed a muscle-ripping blow landed in his left bicep.

In shock, the hero looked deep into the ice-caked face of his assailant, ice still clinging in chunks to the mask and clogging some of the holes in the hockey mask. He choked out a last few words as his strength and will drained from his beaten body.

"This wasn't supposed to end this way." His broken whimper was followed by the dull THUDD of his body hitting the stage

Late that night, the full moon shone down on the dead white marble of an abandoned crypt. From within, voices could be heard, echoing softly into the night of All Hallow's Eve.

"Intact, as agreed. You'll remember that we do have plans for him."

"Impressive. You have kept your end of the bargain well."

"We were well motivated." Orchid watched Black Priest, doing her best to keep her gaze level and hide the nervousness she felt. He was an unknown quantity, and a powerful one. It felt good having Hack silent at her back, but she could see the slow movements in the shadows that were Black Priest's minions. She glanced down again at the marble slab where Permafrost lay, pallid and motionless. Hack's great slashes criss-crossed his chest, gashes deep enough to kill a normal human being. He'd have scars from it for life, she mused. It was not at all a displeasing thought. But there were greater fish to fry.

"He may require attention for his wounds. He's no good to either of us dead, and of course you may have other modifications to make."

Black Priest nodded at her words and leaned over the body to touch the flesh. With a writhing like maggots, ribbons of flesh boiled up from the wounds. Orchid grimaced and glanced away as the gashes began to close, threads of skin twitching and bubbling over them to join together. Soon the lips of the wounds were sealed, foul masses of knotted keloid tissue hardening over them in twisted ridges.

Black Priest looked up, his thin lips twitching in a perverse smile.  "I hope you appreciate the beauty of my treatment?"

Orchid nodded, her stomach calming as the power and irony of the gesture sank home. Permafrost lay on the slab, his face still shining with boyish charm but his torso crossed with raised weals of dense scar tissue. "Masterful work indeed. He'll find it a daily reminder of your power over him." She paused, wanting answers and knowing that she could not demand them. She struggled for the proper delicate elision of her request. "No doubt he'll remember little of his
traumatic experience."

Black Priest smiled slowly, letting her know how he enjoyed her uncertainty and hesitation. "No doubt. But these things can be so unpredictable. You'd best leave him with me until his recovery is complete."

Orchid nodded, suddenly anxious to be out of the stuffy confines of the tomb, into the night and the cold air. "We'll leave him with you. Our plans are best served by your continued care for him." She readied herself to leave. A last glance at Permafrost confirmed that he was still breathing. "If you're looking for Halcyon, contact us. You know how. The enemies of our enemies are our friends." She turned, swept her cape around and touched Hack's arm.

As the two stepped out into the night Hack looked over his shoulder as if remembering something, something lost deep inside a long time ago. He turned toward the door after a tense second and the two continued their exit into the night, leaving the twitching shadows to creep in around the body on the slab.
 

Home     Gaming Guidelines        PC Roster       NPC Roster