Oh hai, gaiz.

While I finish wrapping up the novel that marfin's application is turning out to be, I thought I'd reveal my evil plans for what I expect to be my final character. Emerald Reginald will be filling our need for somebody in a supersuit. She's the granddaughter of the lately deceased Archibald Reginald, old school super-scientist and professional pain in the national super community's ass. Believing firmly that the best way to deal with troublesome supers (and everybody else) wasn't repressive technology and politics, but a good ol' freeze ray or plasma canon he left behind a legacy of being that asshole who wheeled out a doomsday device while everyone was trying to melt each other's faces like proper powered people. He was a cunning bastard with a mean cackle, and meant to leave a legacy of hyper-intelligent offspring to carry on his questionably good works. Unfortunately, his son turned out to be useless, going to school for "Philosophy" instead of Science(!), "accidentally" banged a gold-digging super villain and then nine and a half months later choked on a celebratory waffle cone. Even more unfortunately, the stupidity was hereditary.

With her grandfather dead and no other heir apparent interested in carrying on his mission to bring peace to the peoples through Things That Go Explode, Emerald has taken up the call. She presumes that being raised in a scientific compound around bunches and bunches of smart people qualifies her to slap on an experimental exoskeleton and become a superhero. You'd think someone would stop her, but everyone involved with the suit's creation, having a much greater grasp on reality and the legal ramifications, has decided to pretend they've never seen it before.

What does this mean? There's a twenty-something who traded her brains for the secrets to big, shiny hair in a hijacked high tech tin suit of death who's come to fight your crime. God help everybody, and give me lines.