No edits or colored text because I wanted to crank it out before I go see Professor Odd and the Dimension of Niceness, but here's Iron Man's sample(it has also been added to the sheet but posted here as well for convenience).

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Rhodey’s hotshot repulsor lived up to its name as a yellow beam that glowed like every muzzle flash in the world lanced from his palm and through a handful of beetle-like enemy fighters, filling their cabins at once with inferno and cold vacuum. If he hadn’t set his visor to auto-polarize he’d be blind, like the pilot of the last fighter, whose craft spun out of control and slammed into his speared allies, finishing them all with a rushing ball of plasma as his stardrive overloaded.

“Talk about results!” Tony’s voice flared in Rhodey’s helmet speakers. “If only the hotshot could’ve sent ‘em to the gift shop before wrecking that raggedy ass fleet, huh?”

“For a few dollars more?” Rhodey mumbled, ignoring his hit and even the full palm blister swelling on his hand to see that even the [i]armor itself[/i] was boiling. An unburst bubble of metal and gas had risen around his blaster so that he couldn’t close his gauntlet. Then there was the hotshot module itself, a robust red block affixed to his forearm that sparked and fizzed like Tony spilled his whisky on it again. It was good that Tony was only exaggerating; with his hardware like this Rhodey would have real trouble against a full fleet. He held the arm to his face so Tony could inspect it over the feed.

“Bit of operational difficulty here. The hotshot sure as hell isn’t firing again, thank God. I think some idiot in engineering is trying to blow my arm off.”

“Probably Stark working drunk again,” Tony said, “I’ll talk to him about it over a whisky and soda. A damn fine hit, Rhodey.”

“Not that [i]fine[/i] with just [i]one[/i] hit,” Rhodey said, “if I didn’t get ‘em all in one a better pilot pulps me with his plasma guns, every day of the week.”

“A one shot wonder is still a wonder, Rhodey baby…” Tony mused. Rhodey saw Tony in his mind’s eye, disconnecting and staring off into the middle distance to perform some act of mental acrobatics that no one else could hope to follow.

While Tony enjoyed his daydream, Rhodey’s eyes scanned the wreckage. The fighters weren’t uniform. All four had the same base craft, simple space sloops studded in ablative ceramics favored by traders, but each was heavily modified, from upgraded plasma coils to a body mod that made the craft swell from a bug to a full horned beetle. Kitbashing parts like this wasn’t uncommon, especially among pirate vessels, but for pirates, these four fighters had prepared vanishingly little place to store their loot…

“What were they doing here?” Rhodey wondered.

“Getting folded in half by Iron Man,” Tony said, coming out of his trance, “lets pack it in. I’m starving… Cheeseburgers?”
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