Bronson "Timber" Studdard

Bronson's dad kicked rocks the first time Bronson barked up. Bronson's mom a custodial engineer at Seabrook, NH Nuclear Power Plant had a normal pregnacy, but Bronson started off with a soft growth of moss on his head to begin his young life instead of his normal hair which would grow later. Bronson was always bigger than normal children. Mama and Babs just called Bronson "Beefcake" and the love fest was on. Growing up on Hampton Beach gave Bronson a carnival like childhood. Salt water taffy, Blink's fried dough, endless loops around the strip, and classic rock bands at the Casino. Bronson was 6 foot by age 14 with a downy brown beard, of course he got in to see bands like Kansas, Journey, and Motley Crue. Bronson loved the bands but he was more drawn to watching the security work the show. Observing the way Rocco surveiled the crowd - how Old Boy could be grinning one minute and menacing the next - how Floyd was able to manuever his body to get between the club's assets and a drunk - finally the way Howler smoozed the big money, laughed with the regular joe's and played dirty with the rest. Bronson was the heir apparent, especially after Babs decided to move on from Seabrook and Mama came out of retirement to sling drinks. Bronson became the prince of the strip, the bands and stand up comics started to book gigs at the Casino because they loved to come back to see Bronson and Bronson began to get national gigs and for about two years Bronson traveled the U.S. and the world as the go-to protection agent for the stars. 22 was when it all changed. Bronson came back from an international tour and went to pick up Babs and Mama after a shift at the Casino when Bronson witnessed an unfortunate gang of Pagans started harassing his family. Bronson hadn't been on the strip for a minute, but he "Barked Up" and the pack of fifty bikers had their chromed out mufflers wrapped around their craniums. Bronson's legend only grew from there.

Hey bro, what's crackin'? Bronson here, living my best life. You need security? I got you. Built like a freakin' maple bro. You checking out the concert tonight? I'm there, you won't miss me.

View Character Profile

Alignment

Grand Protector

Age

Children

Gender

Male

Eyes

Hazel

Hair

Green

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Tan

Height

6'8

Weight

290

Related Reports

Sir Slugworth I presume?

Honey. Nightwing, and myself were dropped off like kids at day camp in the middle of the woods with some direct, but still somewhat misty orders. Find out what the heck is going on with an asset as they call us in the LFer's. A bit impersonal, but I guess accurate nonetheless. So this meta was undercover and we need to find out if she's been compromised. We're also on a bit of a scavenger hunt, looking for samples of various scientificy stuff. To my great relief we are in a gorgeous old growth forrest. The trees are old in this area and grant me a vision of many men disturbing the land. As we work our way through the mist which doesn't seem altogether normal, we come upon a house and a enormous slug. Nightwing landed in a cornfield behind the big sucker. Honeybadger slashed at the slimey beast, and noticed a corrosive effect it had on her claws. Nightwing and I both sustained some backlash until we got smart and started to throw a boulder at the goliath. We left it squirming and found this curious door. Looks like we heading underground. I hope we find our agent soon - Mama is making potroast back in the 'Ton.

The Night the Lights went out on Geno

Never a dull moment when I team with Honey. She seems like she’s not one for foreplay, ‘cause I tell you as soon as we found the right warehouse, she was whippin’ her claws out and slashin’ through the powerlines. Boom! Instant blackout. Much like her name Honey Badger’s work well in the dark, I just wish she talked to me about this plan first. Timber can do many things, but night vision ain’t one of them. As luck would have it, a mini red pixie joined our strange duo. She drove up on a lil’ red riceburner that would have had Prince singing songs. She was spoutin’ the LF’er call to arms, and she didn’t even own a card. Naturally, bein’ the magnanimous hosts that we are, we invited her to join our raidin’ party. Hearin’ that we were bustin’ some no good gene druggies she was down for the cause. Honey shucked the first two out of the building like late season corn on the cob. It didn’t seem like Honey was in a clandestine mood so I thought it must be Clobberin’ time. I ripped the metal door off its hinges and asked the red pixie with the kick ass bike to burn rubber into the warehouse to provide some much-needed light on the subject. Sprite obliged and soon we were battering baddies quick fast and in a hurry. People are amazed when I “Bark Up,” but this guy in the warehouse went all furry and transformed into a bear. He wasn’t ready for my metal door shield, and I swatted him back into hibernation. Meanwhile Honey was upstairs taking care of business herself. Sprite was maneuvering her bike like it was a slalom event and wreaking havoc. Between the agents and the henchmen, we made quick work of the drug den. The main problem was Doctor Druggie got away. Sprite tried to chase him down, but instead scared some lady half to death. We reconvened and took any evidence we thought could give us our next lead back to headquarters. Since Scarlett Sprite was down for the cause we thought she’d appreciate an invite. Next time we go on patrol though Honey and I might need a strategy session before proceeding to bust heads. We might’ve caught the Doc if we’d been a bit more methodical.

The Darkening

The Darkening So, I got stationed in New Hampshire, what a shit duty, Seabrook talk about a pit. That’s a soldier’s life though, no freedom while fighting for freedom, right? There were four names on our docket that night, all we were supposed to do is find them, detain them, and attempt to make them an asset for the good ol’ IERA. For some reason these things never go according to plan. Apparently, Seabrook is a hotbed for mutant activity. Something went down in Hampton this one time, but strangely the information never became wide spread. I know a couple of units were deployed there, they came back but not one of them could really describe what went down. I’m sure what happened is above my pay grade, but regardless when I’ve talked to buddies that were on that mission – it’s like they have no memory of it. They remember driving down there in the Strykers, they said one got waylaid by glass or shrapnel on the streets, but the lead truck got to the front and then nothing. Again, the brass has some pretty creative ways of keeping things hush, hush. Marty and I got squaded up with Randall, talk about a gung ho MF’er. This guy thinks he’s going to move the country back to days before Waco – not goin’ happen. The word is out – we may be the baddies. We were looking for private citizens, but if you read the briefings these citizens may be powered up. I don’t think it would have made a difference to raging Randall if the individual was powered up or just dressed funny that guy is just looking to lay the hurt on people. Sicko. The best part about Seabrook is that it’s close to the ocean, I think I saw a decrepit sign for a dog race track as we zoomed by towards our drop site. Other than that, the town, if you could call it that, it looked like an industrial park dipped in acid. Randall takes point, of course, but it’s not like Marty and I were going to stop him. He heads into this building and immediately he’s yelling. “CEASE AND DESIST!” “ARE YOU WILLING TO BE AN IERA ASSET?!” Then blam – shots fired. Marty and I look at each other and roll our eyes. “I backed him up last time, you’re up.” Marty says giving me that bullshit grin of his. I sigh because I know he’s right. As I head into the building I see a sizzling blast of flames burst through the room and Randall soiling his uniform. The target’s name was Rebecca and she looked like she had seen better days – and with Randall’s bang up bed side manner there was no talking this woman down. She was fired up and frankly Randall was lucky he wasn’t as well. I set my blaster to darken and I took my shot. I’m no “hoo-rah” trooper but I am a crack shot and the lights went out for little miss Firestarter. We call for the transport vehicle and that’s when the alert went out. “86 THE DARKENINGS – I REPEAT NO MORE DARKENINGS. TROOPS REPORT BACK TO YOUR STATIONS!” I mean we had just got there, but that’s the life of a soldier: “Hurry up and wait.”

Panic Switch - Part One

Panic Switch Special NRC Oversight at Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant: Concrete Degradation In 2009, NextEra Energy Seabrook, LLC (NextEra) realized that the intrusion of moisture into sections of walls in certain below-grade structures at the Seabrook nuclear power plant, in Seabrook, N.H., could cause the degradation of some of the concrete. The NRC and NextEra confirmed in 2010 that the degradation at Seabrook is caused by alkali silica reaction, or ASR. The result of this reaction is a gel, which can expand and cause micro-cracks in the concrete. Subsequently, NextEra identified that the cumulative effect of ASR-induced micro-cracking has led to larger macro-cracking (bulk expansion) and the displacement of some concrete walls. - United States Nuclear Regulatory Commission Earthquake felt at nuclear power plant in New Hampshire An earthquake felt at the single-unit, 1,295 MWe Seabrook nuclear power plant in New Hampshire led to an unusual event declaration, the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission said. Workers in the control room said they felt the earthquake around 7:14 p.m. EDT Oct. 16 and confirmed it by calling the dispatch office. A magnitude 4.0 earthquake centered 3 miles west of Hollis Center, Maine occurred around that time. No damages to the plant were discovered during walkdowns. The plant is currently shut down for a planned refueling outage, and the plant’s seismic monitor is out of service for a scheduled calibration. The unusual event ended around 1:49 a.m. EDT. - Power Engineering 10/17/2012 I just scored a three-point slider in the Hampton Beach Cornhole invitational tourney when Klaxon barged on to the beach. The skies were a brilliant blue, the waves gently lapped onto the shore, and the temperature was a perfect 72 degrees with a slight breeze coming off the ocean. Klaxon, tall and lanky with bright orange hair, bulging eyes, an exaggerated neck and pronounced Adam’s apple was a good guy to know. He usually warned the locals about stormy weather about to hit the shore, crazy traffic on 95, or even if there was going to be a police sting looking for drunk drivers. Klaxon let all of us know in ’54, (I’m using us liberally since I was only three,) that Hurricane Chuck was set to touch down in Rye and people better prepare for a whopper, he saved Blink’s, The Sea Ketch, and even Funarama from having to shutter their doors due to weather damage. Actually saved ‘em twice ‘cause the Blizzard Athena struck that same winter. Some people called him Doppler, but his uncanny senses gave him the ability to pick up far more than just weather patterns. So, when he came running down to the beach everyone held on to their bags and their breath. “IERA is comin’, lots of ‘em. They got a caravan headin’ this way. Looks like 10 Hummers, and two troop transports. Total of about 100 soldiers are about to touch down right here on Ocean Boulevard in about an hour,” Klaxon wailed. His eyes were typically bulgy, but today they might have popped out of his head from alarm. “Fuck!” Raygun snapped as he threw his two remaining bags into the sand. Raygun is Big Poppa out here. The de facto leader of the mutes, a quiet guy, but his words and actions carried weight amongst the strange in the Portsmouth community. When the mutants started to emerge on the scene back in 2030, (although if you ask the real old heads of the area - 2025 is when Tri-boobed Sally started shaking her thing at Kitten’s,) Raygun was the one who gathered people together and started to form a support group for people experiencing “odd body phenomena.” Ray was just Ray back then, a biker and tattoo artist at Hobo’s, but in Ray’s first meeting he revealed his mutation. Ray could “cock” his arms and two large gun barrels would replace his hands – he could fire energized beams from his arms (in other states Ray might have to register his arms.) Ray lost a lot of business as rumor mongers warned that Ray would take out your leg in the middle of a session. Never happened of course, but Ray persevered. He rallied the mutants of the area with his soft spoken from the heart approach and there wasn’t a mutant in the area that didn’t listen when Ray’s mutton-chopped, Fu Manchu mustached mouth started speaking. Ray took “Live Free or Die” and threw the state’s motto right back in the face of the delegates in Concord. Things weren’t perfect and we still had issues with the normies, but there was a “kum ba yah” vibe in the Seacoast region. “Klaxon, have you told the telepaths yet?” a hard look settled on Ray’s face. “No, Ray, you were my first stop.” For a beat the air just, kind of sizzled as the wavy lines of humidity distorted Ray’s features. “Klax, tell the ‘paths to mobilize the Mutes – seems like we have turf to protect. If this was going to be another Waco situation than they would have busted down here with more than just a hundred troops. Either that or they don’t know what we’re packing down here. Motherfuckers don’t learn – after that horrible shit that went down in Texas we’re not having that here in Hampton. Seabrook is up to date and running to their specifications – this is a power and money grab and we’re goin’ to head them off at the path. Timber, you got your girl on dial? “Errr, we’re kinda on a break.” I avoided Ray’s searing eyes by making figure eights in the sand with my shuffling feet. “You’re on a break for rita’s and fajita’s, you’re not on break for a freakin’ assault on our livelihood – get Hazy and her girls down here too.” Ray punctuated his admonishment with a crude spit into the sand and pulled his t-shirt on. “Klax, what are you still doin’ down here, last time I checked an hour ain’t gettin’ any longer.” “Yeah, sorry Ray – you got a plan?” Klaxon’s large Adam’s apple gulped like a wave crashing against the shore. “Head ‘em off at the jump, turn’em around and make them forget the entire reason why they came. I know we got the mutepower for that type of maneuver. After that we’ll have to look at who we have to pay off – someone’s looking to get their hands greased. Now get tell the ‘paths and make sure to get Forgetmenot down here as well.” Ray had his plan set and he was already moving to make more calls. “Tourney’s off for now boys and girls – we got company coming and it ain’t going to be pretty. Get the children to bed and unless you got firepower to contribute get off the streets, it’s about to get hotter than August on Ocean Boulevard. Bronson stop standing there and looking pretty – Bark the fuck up – you’re going to be center stage for this dog and pony show.” Klaxon ran off to relay the plan to the telepath network. We had a number of them around the region – we called it the Neural Net. The telepaths all gathered and formed a hive mind in the area – when they started operating it was tougher to keep rumors from spreading than keeping a groupie out of a concert. It wasn’t hard to pick up when Klaxon reached Buzz – it was like a jolt to my cranium – I could notice several other mutes in the area hands go to their temples as Buzz’s not exactly light tough went through their brains. Buzz was amongst the strongest tellies in the area, but he wasn’t exactly gentle. He could project out clear down to Boston if he wanted, but he only knew one frequency – rough. At least he was skilled enough to be selective. The message was clear – there would be a contingent to take out the trailing troop carrier – nothing violent - some coincidental flats. Seaglass could handle that by herself and likely not even draw attention to herself. Her surf shack was right on route and she could cover the road way with her glass shards no problem. Soon as she blew the tires out we’d send in the good Samaritans out to assist the stranded IERA troops. That would cut their numbers down by a quarter. Dwindling the number would be crucial in order for our other assets to be successful. Ray figured that there was no way this was a sanctioned launch. The IERA was laying low after what happened in Waco, and this must be the impulsive act of some power-hungry ambitious type. Taking out more than one of the troop carriers would be too fishy even for a cut-rate officer looking to get some cred and some cash in the process. Taking out one should be enough though. Soon enough Hazy and Pretty Poison were setting up a stage right on Ocean Boulevard making it a literal block party situation. People were naturally starting to gather; free concerts tend to do that. Funny stuff happens on the Beach all the time, but for Pretty Poison to set up in the middle of the Boulevard this was a special event. I figured I pull the band-aid off. “Hazy,” I offered trying to come across as neutral as possible. Hazy knew that a simple bat of her eyelashes was enough to make me bloom. “Bronson, you ready to rock out here?” A wry smile broke across her vibrant pink lips. Her eyes didn’t quite wink, but I’m sure they twinkled as I struggled not to get lost in them for the millionth time. “Soft rock, right? You got any John Lennon?” I smiled my own high wattaged smile right back at her trying it keep the vibe friendly and definitely not flirty… “As long as you have our back Big Boy we’ll play whatever you want.” Lacy interjected as she set up a set of turntables. DJ Lacy Arsenic was Hazy best friend and one of my biggest backers in Hazy’s world. “Hey as long as we see the white bubbles flowing through the Boulevard, I doubt there be much reason to see Timber this afternoon.” I was confident Hazy could corral the IERA soldiers – she was able to turn my butterflies into UFO’s only by looking at me in her way. “Typical Bronson, always looking for the peaceful solution when he could bust this whole thing wide open.” Hazy doesn’t need much of a reason to throw down a kick ass concert, but in this case, there was extra incentive to blow doors out. Hazy’s a talented empath – she’s manipulated my emotions on more than one occasion and that’s without her fancy E.M.O. balls. Casuals think it is just a fancy light show when the balls start drifting down color coded to the tracks Hazy and the girls are layin’ down. Most concerts I’ve seen the pink bubbles are explodin’ and the fans just lose their fucking minds like they are on E. Today though Hazy and the girls would be playin’ some John Lennon We are the world shit numbing the boys in camo. Good doggies put those big bad shock guns down no need for those in this hippy dippy daisy chain. I didn’t love the idea of Hazy being front and center, but I wouldn’t the time of day if I tried to stop her so why would I try? Forgetmenot would be behind the stage and once the soldiers were out of their vehicles swaying to the peaceful vibes she’d not so subtly wipe those government bootlickers’ brains to turn around thinking that they just succeeded in some routine exercise. to I was to be in my typical role – security and beef if the shit hits the fan. I mean this Hampton Beach everything always goes according to plan…

Hellions, Honey Bunny, and some Backup

So my trip to NYC is starting to remind me of Alice's trip down the rabbit hole, the deeper I fall the stranger things get. Considerin' I'm a 27 foot tree-man outta some Narnia book I guess the shoe fits. Last night we tried to get some answers out of those Hellions' bikers. Should've saved our breath - Geno and Electrode were dumber than a dead pile of sticks. Geno was a surly one and Honey gave him some special treatment, and Sparky got all static cling at one point so I had to help him take a nap. Once we determined that nothin' really changed for these fellows 'sides the bartender, (probably should follow up on that,) I saw the darndest thing - an alarm clock, (who has an alarm clock in 2072 - should've been my first clue somethin' was off,) jumped up off the dresser and scuttled out the room. I tried to grab the twitchy device but it was movin' like it was runnin' out of time. Eventually the thing jumped out the window apparently fallin' to its doom - I tell you somethin' not addin' up? Just as the alarm clock was kamakazin' towards it untimely demise a New York accent started speakin' to us from outside the window. Caught Nightwing by surprise because he was right there looking for the clock. I figured with 'Wings fancy suit he might have had some sort of infrared vision to see the diving clock, but I was out of luck. Turns out the projecting New York accent belong to Billy the Kid. He pulled this neat trick where he not only flew, but turned visible and floated through the wall right into the LFER safe house. Perry might want to check on the security systems in this Penthouse. Nice spot, but a lil' suspect. Apparently, Perry's got friends in low places (no offense to Billy,) but he called on Backup to help us take out the trash. This kid was able to magic up a trick that made us all invisible leaving us free to cart the two Hellions back to the alleyway behind the bar where we saw them freak. As we were leaving them behind Honey started talkin' all tough about rooting out the crooked cops in the neighborhood - it looks like I might have hooked myself up to a Mad Hatter.

Set’em Up, I’ll Take‘em Down

So, after Mama beat feet back to the hotel and I went Timber I wrapped my limbs around the bull lady and tossed her into the beefcake of a man deeper in the bar next to static cling. Bull and Brute got sent to the corner pocket. Job one, take out the bigs, mission accomplished, now to clear out the rest of the bar. Some little quick guy tried to land a punch and despite me being as big as a redwood he missed all together, then he proceeded to get crunched by some dude in flying armor. Static cling tried to shoot some sparks my way, instead the bar got some extra space for air conditioning. Brutus somehow got up and took a run at me so I grabbed him and threw him into static cling – nighty night boys. While I was cleaning house, it looks like armored dude and this blonde with claws were busy handling their business as well. Since I had bowled the competition over I had a chance to survey the crowd and I noticed a guy in MCU undercover gear, (baseball cap and sunglasses – dead giveaway) chatting away on his cellphone. I reached out to this healthy-looking ficus near him to get a sense of who this guy was talking to in the middle of a super-powered bar fight. Sounds like old dude is on a scouting mission or something. Soon as the dust settles its actually baseball cap that calls us over to the bar – he’s a recruiter for LFER’s. This little trip to NYC just got a whole lot more interesting.

Ales & Tales

Mama got me in NYC, don’t ask me why, Studdards ain’t big fans of the Big Apple. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve pulled some security gigs here in, when the money is right than the money is right. ‘Sides, I have a hard time tellin’ Hazy no when she asks me to watch her back. We have our differences and all but she’s still my baby’s mama – she might not think it counts for much, but it counts with me. I have a personal rule that I don’t like to come to a city where the rats are as big as pit bulls. Mama tells me she’s looking for a new gig, but I don’t see it. No way she’d leave Burley, Grandma, and myself – even if the money was right. So, after a day of shopping, (job searchin’ my ass,) Mama and I are parched. We don’t even look at the name of the bar before we enter – retrospect that may have been a mistake. The bar was pretty dead, didn’t look like there was any security to speak of. The exits were accessible enough, but it had terrible lighting – IERA rearin’ it’s ugly head. The main thing was the beer was cold and wet so it wasn’t all bad. Plus, the sights didn’t hurt my eyes none. There was this smokin’ hot blonde, she had this fascinating accent. I couldn’t place it, but her words lilted off her tongue like honey trickling off a spoon. ‘Course I bought her a beer and we were vibin’ – mighta gone somewhere too if it weren’t for these Hell’s Angels rip-off base heads startin’ to tweak. I mean, literally tweak, twitchin’ and shakin’ like well a shake weight. I lost the blonde, but I sent mama home things were about to get twiggy. Let me tell you when I see a hardcore biker chick mighty morph into a mother fuckin’ Minotaur, I'm goin' Timber!

Smells like Toxic Seabrook

March, 14th 1990 – Washington D.C. “The subcommittee on General Oversight and Investigation will come to order. The subcommittee meets this afternoon to review the Nuclear Regulatory Commission implementation of nuclear licensing safeguards mandated by the Congress with a specific focus on the extraordinary manner in which the agency has proceeded at the Seabrook Nuclear Power Station. Since 1972 when the New Hampshire Public Service Company made its first application for its certificate site for its facility Seabrook has served as the nation’s test case for issues relating to safe operation of nuclear power plants in this country. Unfortunately, after eighteen years there is considerable evidence to suggest that this test case has turned out to be a mad scientist experiment akin to Frankenstein’s Monster.”

Representative Peter Kostmayer Democrat Pennsylvania from the House Interior and Insular Affairs Subcommittee on General Oversight and Investigation hearing concerning the Nuclear Regulatory Commission’s licensing procedures of the Seabrook nuclear power plant.

And despite those opening remarks, Seabrook was still allowed to open in August of that same year. I mean it wasn’t all so bad, the plant employed 650 people including my Great Grandma, Grandma, Pawpa, and my Mama for a period of time. Great Grandma Bertha was hired to be the lead of the custodial department when the plant first opened in 1990. It was considered a big deal in 1990 that a woman was going to be leading a whole department in a $17 billion-dollar facility – even if it was only a bunch of janitors. G’Gma Bertha hired my Grandma Bobbi when she was 18 and Bobbi met my Pawpa back in 2014. Grandma and Pawpa got married right on Hampton Beach right across from the Hampton Beach Casino. After the ceremony they kicked off their honeymoon by seeing Extreme (an old 90’s band,) rock out on their Pornograffiti tour. Things started to get a little weird in ’22 with the beginning of the V Wars, but Seabrook wasn’t shut down and still needed cleaning so Grandma Bobbi hired Mama in 2039. We laugh about it now, but we called ourselves a real nuclear family. You know back in 2013 good old Seabrook contributed $535 million dollars to New England and generated $1.4 billion (BILLION, with a B) to the U.S. economy. Yeah, days like that are few and are far between these days in 2071. Rumors swirl that something started to seep into the Seacoast region right around 2012 when a small earthquake shook the region. Strangely, it took nine more years before studies reported odd sediment in the concrete. I guess that’s why people in and around the area are a bit different. I mean at first glance everything seems normal, right up until you walk down the strip and you see a guy with tentacles for an arm, or a girl with a silver sheen that reflects the light in brilliant ways. Than you start to say to yourself what is going on around here? Must be something in the water – old cliché I know, but in this case the sayings are true. I don’t pretend to know science, my line is security, but I know enough to understand that tiny radioactive particles seeped into the groundwater from the faulty concrete at Seabrook. No matter what governmental oversight committee studied those politicians looked the other way when the money started getting handed out. Those particles apparently started to mutate people’s DNA, you know the spiral helix thing? Then right around 2040, Mutants started to bloom in the New Hampshire Seacoast Region. They call us Mutants, because that’s what we are, our DNA has mutated – some for the good and some for the bad. We have support groups and stuff. I mean, I’ve known nothing but love my whole life. ‘Cept my Dad, but eff him, right? Grandma Bobbi and Mama have always been there for me. Even Pawpa right up until he died of Cancer back in 2057. I guess he was mutated too, I’d rather take what happened to me than to be riddled with that god-awful disease. I mean when the best Mutant healers in the area can’t even touch it than what’s worse? Turning into a humongous tree man or being laid up in a hospital bed while your blood kills you from the inside? Crazy thing is even with all of this Cancer and Mutant stuff happening the government still didn’t shut down Seabrook. That puppy kept on pumping out energy. Yeah, I know, we probably should’ve moved, but we’re stubborn people. Hampton’s our home, we got roots here – some more than others. Grandma owns the home, just over the border of the good side of town. Seabrook has become a source of pride for the area. New Hampshire’s always been the “Live Free or Die” state, ain’t no government agency going to tells how to regulate. Especially when they had their chance and they effed it up the first time. It was a bloody day when the IERA tried to bully their way into Seabrook back in ’68. Where do they get off? The plant followed their instructions to the letter back in ’55 when they changed all the regulations and had all of the hearings with their new Oversight committees. Seabrook was still producing and the area was still reaping the benefits – even if it came with some unintended consequences. Maybe the IERA didn’t realize what was happening around Seabrook. The Vanishing War kind of overshadowed everything, but after what happened in Waco in ’59 our community knew we had to be ready. In New England it is widely known that we protect our own, and protect it we did. I may have flipped a few Humvees that day – not trying to brag or nothing. But the IERA certainly wasn’t ready for the response they got. I don’t know what they thought was going to happen when they convoyed right down Ocean Boulevard trying to set up shop. Hampton Beach ain’t no police state. They licked their wounds pretty shamefully that day. They learned that diplomacy might be a better tact. There’s been a wary peace, but hey we had done everything they had asked – and still do – back the fuck off right? But shit, did you hear what went down in NYC? And right in the middle of the summer concert season – Fuck my life.

Hazy Day

Chapter 1 Lazy summer days on Hampton Beach were made for loops around the boardwalk, Blink’s Fried Dough, and wasting credits on arcade games. The sidewalk was as hot as the longing looks exchanged by the teens that wandered the strip looking for anything to break their boredom. Exposed fleshed drunk with sun; straws sipping sicky sweet lemonade; a sweat sheen glistening off nubile bodies in the brilliant rays; sunglasses shading eyes filled with longing intentions dreamt amid tangled sheets. Convertibles and open car sunroofs provided the soundtrack for the listless wandering of the collected youth as they completed one aimless circuit and round the turn to take another come hither lap. See me, Harper thought, look at me, know I’m here. She didn’t care by who - just attention - a reaction. Curiosity? Lust? Desire? Disgust? Shock? Awe? All of the above as long as eyes were drawn to her. *Pop* her pink bubble gum snapped as she chewed with reckless abandon. A breeze zephyred down Ocean Boulevard and Harper raised her arms and pirouetted her pink bikinied body as her vibrant pink hair fluttered behind her. “Watch out!” Lexi laughed – warned as Harper knocked hips with her counterpart. Alex “Lexi” Vo was Harper’s forever bestie, and practically a sister. While Harper rocked the hot pink, Lexi would bedazzle in lavenders and purples. Harper always admired her silky straight black hair. Harper’s hair was a chemical wasteland ending up in rich pink (as long as Sophia’s Dance Studio okayed it – Harper’s mother wouldn’t say a word - in between sips of her precious vodka.) If Lexi and Harper weren’t physically together then they were tethered to each other through their phones. If there was such a thing as a hive mind Harper and Lexi would be part of their own comb. Their latest endeavor? A rock band – Harper begged and pleaded with Daddy for an electric guitar, Harper wisely always waited until Leslie, (the momster,) was three martinis deep before she started her wide-eyed manipulations. It was dance for a while, skateboarding for a hot second, fashion for a solid nine months, a weird flirtation with Krav Maga, but now Harper seemed to be honing in on sweet licks of incendiary shredding on a sick axe. Lexi? Synthesizer and deejaying of course. They were all in. “Listen to this one.” Lexi shared her earbud with Harper. A trippy piano entered the scene, followed quickly by some indeterminate percussion. It flowed into an Afro-Caribbean beat with a duet of quirky voices. “Oh oh, you the queen You're the king We got out aces out You the queen You're the king We got out aces out Roll the dice on tonight, go and roll'em out (Huh!) Give me more than enough to go smile about (Aye, aye) I got all I need in a world of doubt We got our champagne dreams In an endless drought We are the kings and queens seeking our aces out We got all we need, no new friends now The song then elated into a series of La la la’s and Harper couldn’t help but to smile and skipped into a little dance shaking her legs in cutoff jeans, kicking her way too hot for the beach black combat boots into the air. “Yo, this is a vibe!” Harper, exclaimed a little too loudly even for a wide-open public space where cars are literally shaking due to the bass being emitted out of their rear speakers. She giggled and squealed with an emotion mimicking embarrassment, but not actually giving a fuck at the same time. Harper immediately pulled out her phone and shared the song into her playlist. “No New Friends” – LSD Harper made a mental note of the title as Lexi had a possessive streak, not that Harper was one to talk. She noted it nonetheless. “Lex, you think you could find out how they produced that song?” “Natch’, simple beats. It’s Sia – nothing else to say.” Harper sometimes couldn’t fathom the electricity that pinged around in the brain of one Alex Vo. “Okay, think we could work a guitar riff in there someplace?” “Natch’” Lexi punctuated this affirmation with a purple bubble gum snap of her own. Lexi could see the music mathematically; it was cool to watch her break down beats like an equation. Divide, slow it down, find the rhythm, multiply the beat and work the crescendo to bring up the energy and get people moving in the crowd. A theoretical crowd – strictly theoretical at this point Harper lamented. Harper’s love for the guitar was reckless. It was emotional, an emotional investment that even Harper was surprised by. Even though her fingers literally bleed, she wore her pink Duck tape on her digits with pride. Fuck a pedicure, these babies are tools of destruction. That’s what Leslie thought as well – this horrid guitar was ruining her peaceful chateau – Harper had forgotten to give two fucks years ago. Now that Harper had the taste of the power of the guitar she was never going to give it up. She held music in her possession. She held the conduit to people’s souls in the palm of her two hands. Harper had been accused of manipulating people’s emotions before – what High School senior with an active dating life hasn’t? But whatever she did before playing the guitar was cavegirl shit. There were levels to eliciting emotions and bringing a guitar into the mix raised the bar to the Nth level. There is just something about a musician’s fingers dancing across the fret and picking those heavy strings and then engaging the audience with their voice that forges an empathic connection like few other interactions. Inherently Harper understood how different genres of music could boost, incite, or deaden the passions of an audience. She planned on learning every audio emo bridge. Daddy invested in sound proofing the pool house. Black egg crates covered the walls and now Harper had an amp and a kick-ass set of headphones. Leslie and Harper came to an agreement – if Harper continued in dance, in some capacity, for Leslie to continue her social engagements with the other #dancemoms of the studio she would indulge Harper’s “little guitar hobby.” And people really wonder why girls enjoy applying the deepest blackest eye liner? Harper didn’t care what Leslie said, when Lexi set up her synth and turn tables and Harp plugged in her amp, they sounded good – and they had only been playing for about three months, 17 days, and 5 hours (Harper barely kept track.) Imagine what they would sound like by the end of the summer and after having their own gig. Especially now that Harper was sneaking out of one night of dance to take extra guitar lessons. “You hungry?” Lexi asked adjusting her crazy oversized sunglasses. “Def” Harper replied absently reading a text. “Nuggies?” Lex scrolled through Tik Tok. “Shakes?” Harper snapped a selfie with a cutesy peace sign “Def” Lexi punctuated with another purple gum *Pop.* The Golden Arches it would be. Someone would get fries too. They’d been putting in steps since Harper’s momster dropped them off at 10:30, (“Uber home girls, Mommy has a spa day planned.”) Of course, Lexi’s mom would be picking them up but Harper was happy not to have to deal with Leslie anymore today and she was feeling particularly free. Daddy’s credit card, no plans, and her best friend by her side how could Harper’s day go wrong – now the only goal was to make it interesting.

It's Going Timber!

Background: Bronson's dad kicked rocks the first time Bronson barked up. Bronson's mom a custodial engineer at Seabrook, NH Nuclear Power Plant had a normal pregnancy, but Bronson started off with a soft growth of moss on his head to begin his young life instead of his normal hair which would grow later. Bronson was always bigger than normal children. Mama and Babs just called Bronson "Beefcake" and the love fest was on. Growing up on Hampton Beach gave Bronson a carnival like childhood. Salt water taffy, Blink's fried dough, endless loops around the strip, and classic rock bands at the Casino. Bronson was 6 foot by age 14 with a downy brown beard, of course he got in to see bands like Kansas, Journey, and Motley Crue. Bronson loved the bands but he was more drawn to watching the security work the show. Observing the way Rocco surveilled the crowd - how Old Boy could be grinning one minute and menacing the next - how Floyd was able to maneuver his body to get between the club's assets and a drunk - finally the way Howler schmoozed the big money, laughed with the regular joe's and played dirty with the rest. Bronson was the heir apparent, especially after Babs decided to move on from Seabrook and Mama came out of retirement to sling drinks. Bronson became the prince of the strip, the bands and stand-up comics started to book gigs at the Casino because they loved to come back to see Bronson and Bronson began to get national gigs and for about two years Bronson traveled the U.S. and the world as the go-to protection agent for the stars. 22 was when it all changed. Bronson came back from an international tour and went to pick up Babs and Mama after a shift at the Casino when Bronson witnessed an unfortunate gang of Pagans started harassing his family. Bronson hadn't been on the strip for a minute, but he "Barked Up" and the pack of fifty bikers had their chromed-out mufflers wrapped around their craniums. Bronson's legend only grew from there. Personality: Bronson is casually comfortable and an amazingly reassuring individual to be around. While he is a hulking presence his magnanimous nature allows him to be in the background but totally present at all times as well. He never comes off as too big for the space but instead adjusts his body naturally to make the space feel a part of him. Bronson obviously takes up room, but brings so much joy and light that his presence is offputtingly great in every situation. Warm and level headed, but has already taken stock of every exit, blind spot, and weak point of every room and space he's been in. He can evaluate you as a friend, foe, or threat in about two minutes of time spent with you. Bronson used to love the life of the road, until Babs and Mama were threatened now Bronson won't travel outside of New England. Especially with the birth of Burley, funny how history repeats itself, because not too long after Burley was born his baby mama beat feet out of his life. Bronson's a single dad now and while he's amongst the tops in protection business he does a lot of consulting. Nothing will stop him from protecting his family. As kind and gentle of a giant Bronson is if you put him a position to fight he will look for every opportunity to knock you unconscious as quickly as possible.

Boston, City of Champions

Boston, a city and historical landmark. The streets are lined with the path revolutionaries strode to ensure America's freedom. The juxtaposition between the seeped tradition of the city clashes yearly with the influx of freshman that swarm across the metropolis each year. Boston is old, but the youth is its lifeblood. So strange that such a prestigious city, so crucial to the cradle of American society would have such an inferiority complex. Tough not to think of one selves in the shadows when the glow of New York City is so bright, at least that's the commonly held misperception. You tell a Bostonian that New York is superior they'll lower their reading glasses to look down their nose at you and say: Fuck that, what's NYC have that we don't got here? Park Ave? Newbury. The Hamptons? You ever been to Nantucket? The Yankees? The Red Sox have rings now, plus we have the Patriots and Celtics, all we build are dynasties. Finally, inevitability, inexorably the topic turns to super heroes, if Boston is NYC's equal than where are the super heroes? The Bostonian will simply wave a dismissive hand at his opponent, mumble something quixotic under their breath about the “…Ward…” and politely dismiss themselves from the conversation. You see, rumors abound from tap rooms in Southie, on the golf courses on the Cape, in the dorm rooms in Cambridge, to the vacationers from Portland, Maine down to Newport, Rhode Island that super hero and paranormal activity blossom in the states of New England but once you drift passed the borders of Hartford, Connecticut or venture into Canada or New York state the rumors that were alive in conversations all around the region drift to a distant memory the further you travel from the border. You see in New England the adage goes: “We take care of our own,” and that’s especially true of the super and paranormal population that exist within those confines. For instance if you were a native New Englander you’d realize and remember that MIT and WPI are not only two well renowned schools for engineering and technology, but also reports of lab accidents, thefts, and of course the number of Sentient Intellectual Automatrons, (Sents for short) that live among the New England people are trends that aren't decreasing in number. For instance if you were a native New Englander, (some naturalized New Englanders as well,) you’d understand that Salem, Massachusetts isn't just playing up its mystic reputation for Halloween. For instance if you were a native New Englander you'd be accepting of mutant kind, and regularly frequent the charming harbor city of Portsmouth, New Hampshire where the goals is to keep things weird. You'd also put together that Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant did more than produce cheap electric energy for those in the New Hampshire seacoast region. For instance if you were a native New Englander you'd go to the International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine for a true education (with work shops, and monster hunting instruction,) in the world of “mythical creatures.” For instance you’d know about the numerous UFO encounters in “The Cursed Forest of Massachusetts,” in Fall River; or the Spider Gate “Eighth Gate to Hell,” just outside of Worcester; or the Hoosac Tunnel in North Adams better known as “The Bloody Pit." For instance you'd understand why Massachusetts’ island towns like Nantucket, Martha's Vineyard, and especially Newport, Rhode Island thrive when you understand their special international trading status with certain aquatic civilizations. For instance you'd be wary of gambling in Uncasville, Connecticut because the Pequod and Mohegan mystics run a notoriously tight casinos. But you laugh like hell watching bus load after bus load of New Yorkers stream into the place looking to beat the house. And finally if you were a native New Englander you'd know that the third Monday in April commemorated by the running of the Boston Marathon is Patriots Day, the day where all true New Englander's know that The Patriot, The Black Mask, and the great mage Winston Archimedes Roarcroft battled through wave after wave of British troops (bolstered by summoned undead minions) to secure the battle fields in Lexington and Concord. Their exploits would be further legacy when on June 17th, 1775 joined by the intrepid swordsman Colonel William Prescott ascended to the top of Bunker Hill battling those same British curs and where upon surmounting the apex Winston Archimedes tiring of the constant battle placed the Ward of New England loudly proclaiming to the realm: “In New England We Protect Our Own!” Welcome to Boston, not Beantown, nobody fucking calls it that.

Bronson "Timber" Studdard