> limits!  I'll even throw in my cut from the job!  Dammit, Sylia,
 > he's my *friend*!"  She dropped to her knees in the middle of the
 > floor, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  "My friend," she
 > repeated in a choked whisper.

    Well, Syl, it's time for the Vorlon Question:  Who are you?  Really?

Character is who you are in the dark, and this here is a dark enough 
moment to qualify.

 > open collar and a distinctly informal jacket.  To be frank, he
 > dressed like a pimp.  What really disturbed me was that he looked
 > hauntingly familiar.  I couldn't put my finger on precisely
 > *why*, but I was certain that I ought to know him.

    Ooooh... I sense Great Revelations in the offing.  Well, there *better*
be, since this is the last chapter.
    Geez, *everybody* calls Quincy's wardrobe pimpish.  They're tight, of
course, but still... how does a man in his position fail to have *any*
fashion sense?

He's the Pimp Daddy, and the world is his bitch. Why shouldn't he 
dress the part?

 > "Who is this man you're talking about?" Jennifer asked softly.
 >
 > Priss ran her fingers through the girl's golden hair.  "A mouthy
 > asshole who's done a few good things, and who's gotten in a
 > couple hits at GENOM," she said softly.

    "No, wait, that's *me.*"
    C'mon, Priss -- pot, kettle, black much?

When I read that line, I figured she was complimenting Doug, myself.

 > "<Here we are now,>" I burbled with false lightheartedness.
 > "<Entertain us.>"
 >
 > "<Indeed,>" he replied, also in English.  "<We always were fond
 > of Kurt Cobain's work, weren't we?>"  Madigan looked confused --
 > whether because she didn't speak the language, or because the
 > reference escaped her, I didn't know.

    Always preferred Weird Al's version, myself.
    And now I have an image of Doug's powers running on Weird Al songs.
The only question is, why didn't I think of it sooner?
    (doing an organ transplant within the runtime of "Like a Surgeon" would
be difficult even for Doug, though...)

Just imagine the chaos of Doug groovin to one of the polka medleys.

 > "Yes, yes," I growled with a mixture of mock and real impatience.
 > "Can we speed this up?  'Skysaber Conquers The World' is on TV
 > tonight, and I don't want to miss it."  Behind the old man's
 > shoulder, Madigan quirked a quick grin, then banished it
 > immediately when she noticed that I was looking at her.

    Hey, Bert!  Your public is STILL waiting.

Skysaber would be 'Jaired' - or was there a reference to the Skysaber 
series in Bubblegum Zone?

    BTW, Bob?  There's some lunatic in a motorcycle helmet leaning over my
shoulder, reading this.  He says he wants to have a few words with you...

Don't laugh, just after DW2-14 was released, I saw a guy on a black 
motorcycle with a flame job on the tank, wearing grey leathers with a 
cavarly jacket closure, with a pearl grey helmet that had oversized 
ear-domes and some kind of blue logo on over the face opening, where 
he had goggles instead of a solid shield. He either didn't hear me 
shout or wasn't named 'Doug,' however. I wanted a cameo, too, dammit, 
if not to hitch a ride to the next dimension.

 > "And so one morning I awoke, and there was the plan, laid out
 > before me.  The mirroring forces of action and reaction are a
 > fundamental law of the universe.  There was no reason for
 > superhumans -- no, super*heroes* -- to exist in the real world.
 > But what if I *made* a reason?  What if I built myself up into a
 > proper supervillain, so that action/reaction was forced to spawn
 > heroes in order to balance and oppose me?  It was so blindingly
 > obvious.  Not easy, not at all, but *so* obvious...

    Okay.  This has to be THE single most unique root motivation for any
supervillain I've ever come across.
    What's truly nervewracking is that I actually find myself sympathizing,
to a certain extent.
    (Un?)Fortunately, I'm too lazy to become a supervillain...

I had the same idea a few years back, but by breakfast had concluded 
I didn't have enoguh leadership ability. I joined LIITLE LOCUS's 
organisation instead, as I can handle being a Mostly Trusted 
Lieutenant. (LL plays it by the EOL, so Fully Trusted Lieutenant is a 
position only awarded posthumously)

 > death right then and there.  "I just wish I'd gotten my hands on
 > that little Sailor Senshi-wannabe!" he trumpeted.  "Having *two*
 > samples would have made finding the Seeder genes child's play!"

    Oooooh, boy.  Doug's powers *work* in Megatokyo, hence there's no
ironclad reason that no one else could have metagifts.  Maybe the BGC
world just never got a "push." 
    Until now.  Oh, Lisa, I think your kids will be interesting....

 > Off to my right, I heard a gasp from Madigan.  Then, in a moment
 > of pregnant calm, the sound of rustling fabric reached my ears.

    Yeah, Kate.  You finally have someone you actually care about in
Quincy's line of fire.
    Which side *are* you on?

Madigan doesn't know that Lisa is Sailor Loon, from things said on 
Bob's messageboards, and there's nothing in-story to suggest she has 
any information that would so much as hint at it. One of the other 
regulars on the boards is wprking on a fic-fic of Megatokyo after 
Doug leaves, with much (figurative) rubbing of hands and choltling in 
glee at the prospect of the scene where Lisa eventually tells her 
goood friend Kate that little secret on the part of several people.

 > which I wish to take my life are no longer compatible.  In short,
 > Mr. Chairman," she drew in a deep breath, "I *quit*!"
 >
 > And with that, she gave the keypad a final, vicious punch.

    Most people would've just sent a letter.

Hallmark pocket EMP weapons: When you care enoguh to send the very best.

 > laid the magnetic keystick along the edge of his manacles.  Their
 > one moving part clicked and they obediently popped open.

    Wait -- didn't Q say those cuffs had NO electronics?  I could see some
sort of magnetically-actuated mechanical tumblers, but wouldn't a purely
mechanical locking system be more Tune-proof?

I already chopped out that bit here, but I'm pretty sure it was 
either 'nearly no' or 'few' electronic parts - and a amgnetic lock 
doesn't need any, anyway, just a mag key strong enoguh to move the 
tumblers. I know because after losing the keystrip for the one that 
used to be on our garage, it took about eight hours and twice as many 
hacksaw blades to get the damn thing cut apart to the point it could 
be removed, and there were no electroics in evidence. It would have 
been a lot easier to just rip out the loop and patch the door, but no 
one thought of that until afterwards.

 > "Will do.  You should have an easier time picking us up; if he
 > *is* using 'Konya wa Hurricane,' Priss estimates that the storm
 > should last no more than four more minutes."

    I didn't think KwH was that long.  But I don't have the soundtrack on
hand...

It's a bootleg from a live performance, so it's longer.

    "Saint Priscilla of Asagiri, save us!"  (:)

Nah, that would be the Priss from my own BGC-based fic, Bubblegum 
Disaster, where she's the literal chosen champion of god for the 
coming trouble, gifted with the Light of Hope. People will be 
swearing 'by Jesus, Elvis and Priss!" before it's finished, if I ever 
live long enough to do so. If it keeps up at the  current rate, 
that'll be around 2055.

 > Not that it mattered.  There, on the edge of the Genom comm grid,
 > I found myself face-to-face with the *real* Quincy.

    "I am Quincy, the great and terrible.  Er, pay no attention to that man
behind the comlink..."

More like, "I am Quincy, king of kings. Look upon my works, ye 
mighty, and tremble."

 > As he fought his way through another coughing spasm brought on by
 > his grandiloquent pronouncement, I pondered my next step.  I
 > could not leave this man alive.  Just the risk that he might
 > recreate the Servant Factor virus alone more than justified any
 > action I could take against him.  But not only that, this man was
 > responsible for untold misery and countless deaths, all in the
 > name of trying to remake the world in the image of a game he had
 > played sixty years earlier.  And if he wasn't stopped, he'd just
 > keep on going as he had.

    It's twitchworthy, watching Doug set himself up as judge, jury, and
executioner like this.  OTOH, he's right.
    At what point does a person become so dangerous that killing them in
cold blood constitutes self-defense?

In this case, when someone has set up shop trying to duplicate 
something previously used on your best freind to turn him into your 
personalized asasin that you had to kill to stop. Doug mentioned this 
in a previous chapter, when the Servant Factor virus was first 
mentioned.

 > "Wait, wait!  You... you can't *kill* me," Quincy wheezed.
 > "You're a superhero.  It's against the Code."  That's the way he
 > said it.  You could hear the initial capital.
 >
 > I shook my head.  "That's where you're wrong, old man.  I'm not a
 > superhero, whatever you think that is.  And I've never heard of
 > this code you're talking about.  I'm just a soldier, a soldier
 > with a duty.  And that duty is to identify the enemy, engage him,
 > and kill him."  I paused for just a moment.  "I'm a Warrior -- if
 > you know me as well as you claim to, you should know that.

    Maybe he did, once.  But if so, he lost sight of it.

The Doug he got isn't quite the Doug he was expecting - Bob said he'd 
had to cut a scene that would have made that clearer to begin with 
for pacing reasons. Basically, the Warriors of Quincy's game world 
were like the JLA, and the Warriors of Bob's game world are like the 
Green Berets.

 > "By all rights, he *ought* to be dead."
 >
 > "Holding on by his fingernails, no doubt," said another.

This is literal rulebook text in at least one game, but I can't think which.

 > "What did you do to them?" asked the disguised Knight whom I had
 > guessed was Pink.

    "Oh, just gave 'em a little '60s free love and peace.  You know, Mary
Jane for biocybersynthetic lifeforms."

It was certainly a mind expanding experience, that's for sure.

 > I didn't answer, and instead turned my attention back to the
 > disembodied head.
 >
 >     "<I don't care if you're a champion,>"
 >
 > I spat at it.
 >
 >     "<No one messes with me.
 >       I am ruthless in upholding
 >       What I know is right,
 >       Black or white,
 >       As you'll see.>"

    Reference, please!

It's in the DWII Concordance, on Bob's web site, and was one of the 
Songs of the Day on his forums.

    Yiii... C&C power... fading.  Must... keep... going.....

...must... read... second part ... really .. must stop .. talking ... 
like Shatner...

- CD

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