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Master of Disguise
Played By: Soberguy

Master of Disguise by Soberguy

TEAM: Solo Hero

SECTOR: INDUSTRIAL

KIT CLASS: Everyman


Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 9 wins!

Brutal - 4 fatalaties!

Fight Record
League Wins: 9
League Losses: 3
Out Of League Wins: 0
Out of League Losses: 0
Total Wins: 9
Total Losses: 3
Cannibal Man - Win 12-3
The Last Virgin of Pele Island - Loss 6-10
Furious Styles - Win 13-3
The Black Mirror - Win 9-6
Greg Remon - Win 8-4
Richard Stromberg - Win 9-2
Johnathan Crenshaw - Win 6-4
The Travels of Dr. Peter Schlagbaum - Win 7-2
Intellect's Antichrist - Win 7-3
The Door - Win 8-6
Who killed Landon Morisato? - Loss 6-7
The Great Golem of Warsaw - Loss 24-25

Deep within the secret underground lair, the diabolical work of Dr. Bouvier neared fruition. Arcs of electricity leapt between the towering Tesla coils arranged at the far end of the massive cave. At their base sat a smooth metallic chair and within the chair, a pretty American reporter sat bound and terrified.

“You are far too curious for you own good, Madamoiselle Marsh,” said Bouvier as he adjusted the various knobs and pulleys of his infernal machine, “but ‘zis intrusion does ‘ave its benefits, non?”

Pulling the large lever in the centre of the machine's control panel, the Tesla coils began to hum loudy. Sparks flew as the devices began to power up. Bouvier's assistant, Gaston, took up his position at the secondary power activator. The lenses of his dark welder's goggles flashed, reflecting the surging energies before him.

“Now we shall see if my Man-O-Bot technology works just as well on zee fairer sex,” said Bouvier, “Gaston! Activate zee Bototron!”

The coils flashed brightly as Moxie Marsh clamped shut her eyes and let out a prolonged scream, preparing for the worst. In a moment however, the loud buzz of the machine died out. The once-impressive creation powered down - silent and lifeless.

“What ‘appened,” exclaimed Dr. Bouvier, angrily addressing his usually dependable assistant. Gaston simply looked at him and smiled, holding up the ripped out power core in one hand while he playfully stroked his long moustache with the other.

“Traitor!” shouted Bouvier, “Zee Fuhrer will ‘ear about zis!”

“I don't think so,” said Gaston calmly and he pressed his belt buckle. In a flash, his appearance shifted and blurred until finally, it revealed his true form. A slender man in a dark cloak and wide hat, his face partially-obscured by a long black piece of fabric.

“Zee Black Scarf!,” exclaimed Bouvier.

“My hero!,” cooed Moxie.

 

Personality: Before the Nazis started rolling tanks through France, Bouvier had been sitting in a prison cell for three years. The results of his experiments into the strange fusion between man and machine were enough to net him a life sentence from the French High Court, but to Hitler he was an asset to be tapped. His mad devotion to his art allowed him choose his invaders over his countrymen.

It's the sort of mad devotion we all feel after decades of conflict. Lines are drawn. Adversaries are defined. Each man in turn then decides where to place his loyalty. From that point on, each commits himself until death, defeat or victory.

I was content to sit out the war. I had grown rich and comfortable as a world renowned stage actor. My only conflicts Shakespearian. My only battles with wooden swords.

When General Gräber and his Katobelpas Legion invaded England, his forces destroyed my beloved theatre. The Allied commanders never saw it coming. It was a colossal failure of military espionage, and a mistake I vowed would never happen again. It was then that I became the Black Scarf - master spy of the Allied forces in Europe.

That was 15 years ago. Just as we thought the tide had finally turned and the Axis were on the brink of collapse, Hitler rose out of the Austrian front to rally Germans anew. Now the world is deadlocked once more.

The stage grows barren and dusty in my absence. The theatre of the Bard has been lost in the theatre of War. Yet still, the show goes on. Every actor believing himself to be the lead - none willing to concede the final curtain.

 

Strength:

 

Standard Normal human strength.Agility:

 

Standard Normal human agility.
Body:

 

Standard Normal human endurance. Mind:

 

Superior Highly educated and ingenious.
A smart cookie.

The Daring Escape!

  • Power: Weapons Creation
  • Level:Superior
  • Ranged and Melee Attack! Attack is equally effective at range and up close.
The jet black Daimler limousine tore down the mountain pass, swerving around the bends with such force that Moxie felt for certain they would tumble over the steep drop and be dashed onto the rocks below.

“Stay down and hold on tight, Ms. Marsh!” bellowed The Black Scarf heroically as he hung halfway out the rear passenger window. Though Bouvier's lab was left a smoking ruin, the last of his dreaded Man-O-Bots were in hot pursuit.

“Faster, I-Ching,” the Scarf called to his faithful Chinese chauffeur, “they are gaining on us!”

Indeed, the fierce rattle of Nazi motorcycles buzzed noisily around the Daimler. The German soldiers riding them were products of the Bototron - transformed into a strange hybrid of man and machine. Moxie screamed as a thick metallic pincer burst through the reinforced glass beside her, the monstrous Nazi attached to it trying to pluck her from the car.

“Ha ha!” shouted the Scarf heroically, “Not today, my friend!”

Grabbing hold of the pincer with his specially-designed gloves, he released a jolt of pure electricity straight through the metallic arm and into the German, shorting his robotic circuits and sending him hurtling to the road with a fatal thud.

“I-Ching, the roof,” he called as his loyal sidekick pushed a button in the front compartment, opening the hatch in the roof of the limousine. Facing the two Man-O-Bots from the top of the speeding car, The Black Scarf pointed a gloved finger at them.

“Tell the Kaiser I said hello, boys,” he taunted as a jet of slick black oil poured forth from his fingertip, covering the road behind them in a thin black sheet.

As soon as the tires of their motorcycles hit the oil, the misshapen and poorly balanced Nazi Man-O-Bots skidded and slid until soon they both were pitched over the side of the step mountain pass.

Returning to the back seat, The Black Scarf gave Moxie a wink and called out to his driver, “I-Ching, to the airfield!”

The Grim Report!

Back at British High Command, The Black Scarf reported the dire news to the assembled officers.

“Gentlemen,” he said sternly, “the Nazi threat within occupied France is greater than we feared.”

Dramatically placing the severed robotic arm of one of the Man-O-Bots on the conference table, the assembled military men murmured amongst themselves in amazement. “I was able to destroy Dr. Bouvier's lab, but uncovered documentation detailing the creation of as many as three entire brigades of Man-O-Bots, hidden for now in the French Alps but ready to strike at any moment.”

An audible stir erupted at this revelation. Major-General Blackwell stood in protest, “Impossible,” he blustered, “our aerial reconnaissance would have spotted a force that size! The materials we tracked going into that complex could have produced nor more than a handful of these abominations!”

“See for yourself, Major-General,” said The Black Scarf as his placed a thick folder of documents onto the table, “I can assure you the evidence is all there.”

“Nonsense,” huffed Blackwell, “these must be false documents - probably created by COIL and your Nazi nemesis, Baron von Doppelganger!”

“Gentlemen, please,” said General Woolcott with authority, “The Black Scarf has provided our nation with top-notch intelligence since you were still a Second Lieutenant, Blackwell. I think he would know a forgery when he saw one.”

Angrily, Blackwell took his seat. “Now gentlemen,” said Woolcott, “we need to re-think our incursion plans. If there are three brigades of super-soldiers waiting for us, our friend The Scarf may have just saved our boys from walking straight into a trap!”

The Enemy Revealed!

Opening the lid of the crate slightly and with great care, Moxie Marsh peered out into the room. She had stowed away in Norway and kept herself hidden, knowing full well where the delivery would end up.

The cold stone walls of the COIL-controlled castle was filled with large maps and charts. Hundreds of annotations covered their surfaces as a slight, hooded man in a black jumpsuit busily added more. “Holy cats,” thought Moxie, “it's the Night Ninja!”

“The loss of Dr. Bouvier was regrettable, Herr Doppelganger,” said a disembodied voice from out of her field of vision, “the Fuhrer was hoping to create a new super-army of Man-O-Bots but now, we are left with nothing - thanks to your meddling nemesis, The Black Scarf!”

“What a scoop!” Moxie whispered to herself, translating the spoken German into shortform American on her notepad.

“A worthy adversary, Gruppenfuhrer Hausser” said another deep, frightening voice, “but once again, I have gotten the upper hand on my old foe!”

The rustle of papers interrupted the Baron's speech for but a moment, “for as he was destroying Dr. Bouvier's lab, I was infiltrating the British forward base in Northern France.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Hausser.

“For ordinary men, perhaps,” boasted the Baron, “I have brought you a gift to present to the Fuhrer. The complete armed force strength of the Allied forces in Northern France.”

Moxie could hear Hausser flipping through the stolen reports, “Mein gott! Are these numbers correct? If we push onward now we'll be outnumbered along the front two to one inside of a week!”

“Perhaps a temporary halt to the advance is in order, to dig in and await reinforcements,” suggested von Doppelganger.

“Indeed,” replied Hausser, “good work Baron.”

Moxie scribbled furiously as she heard Hausser leave. Boy, wouldn't the boys in the newsroom back home be jealous! Suddenly, the lid of the crate opened and above her stood the looming figure of Baron von Doppelganger, cool fury squinting behind his eyepatch as he reached for her.

“Not this time, ya brute,” yelped the feisty reporter, “Moxie Marsh isn't getting caught twice in one week!”

With a bellyful of gumption Moxie punched the German superspy in the stomach.

“Ow!” she yelped, realizing painfully that her fist struck him square in the belt buckle.

His form shifted and blurred until the eyepatch and swastika-adorned uniform disappeared and revealed his true form.

“The Black Scarf!” she exclaimed.

The Foul Plot!

Removing his black hood as he restrained the stunned reporter, Night Ninja revealed his own deception.

“I-Ching?” asked Moxie rhetorically, “Black Scarf, what's going on?”

The Scarf turned away from Moxie, staring out the castle window to the moon above. “Now you know my secret Moxie. The Black Scarf and Baron von Doppelganger are one and the same!”

“B-b-but, why?”

The Scarf lowered his head. “This war Moxie. It has been raging for decades. Most of Europe has be razed, rebuilt and razed again over and over and over. Africa, Asia - even North America - all have suffered greatly. I thought we had the war won, you know? Seven years ago the Kaiser was dead, as was the last of his clones. The Axis were on the ropes, backed into a corner. Victory was right there in our grasp.”

A long sigh. “Then Hitler. A resurgent Germany. An emboldened Japan. Mexico. The Ottomans. It all started to turn again. Every time we though they were done some new superpowered foe would tips the balance in their favour and delve us back into a deadlock. As fast as I would neutralize one threat, we'd discover three more. On and on all over again, just like before.”

Moxie was too shocked to struggle against I-Ching's grip. She stood there stunned, trying to understand.

“You see that's when I realized it. The Germans felt the same way. Every time the Axis had us on the ropes, we'd have an Uberman or a Johnny Big Guns step up and tip the scales again. Reading intelligence from both sides, I realized they were showing the exact same thing. The war would never be won.”

The Black Scarf turned again, moving closer to Moxie with a genuine sadness in his eyes. “That's when I created the Baron. You see, neither side can win this war - that's why it has gone on for so long. Only patriotism and fanaticism prevents us from accepting that victory is impossible. Each side fools themselves into thinking they can win, and each small victory emboldens them further. I aimed to sabotage that idea on both sides. To rot the core of optimism until the only option left was a lasting truce.”

“So I forge documents to create a fictional brigade of Man-O-Bots in the French Alps. The British High Command halts their invasion of Southern France. Thousands of lives are spared and the idea of victory seems a little more remote. Then, I inflate the numbers of that attacking force to prevent the Germans from advancing. The lines draw steady. The front immobile. The standstill deepens.”

Moving to the large map on the wall, he continues, “For two years now, this has been my modus operandi. I've driven this entire war closer to a hopeless deadlock than it's been in the last 20 years. I have convinced the leaders on both sides that over every horizon lies a hundred thousand super-powered enemies waiting to punish any aggression. In time, the threat of mutually-assured superpowered destruction will thrust the world into a different kind of war. A Cold War - slow, frozen, diplomatic in tone. The world will draw their lines in the sand and retreat in fear. They will live on in peace, terrified of a war which will as surely destroy them as it would their enemies.”

“That is the plan. That is my solution. That is how I will end this war.”

Moxie fought back tears and raged instead, “Not if I can help it! I'll expose you .. you.. traitor!”

Nodding subtly to I-Ching he replied, “This is bigger than both us now Moxie. I can't allow you to do that.”

A week later, the mysterious death overseas of one of New York's pluckiest reporters went barely noticed beneath the screaming headline announcing fearful reports of Nazi supermen secretly based in Cuba, ready to strike America soil at the slightest provocation.