User talk:Tsailanza

http://dirkloechel.deviantart.com/art/Size-Comparison-Science-Fiction-spaceships-398790051 Location list:

Río Cañete Expediciones: Camping San Jerónimo, Km. 33 Carretera Cañete, Lunahuaná Telfs (51-1) 284-1271; (51-1) 9635-3921 (Lucho, móvil); (51-1) 51-1-9815-7858 (Witi, nextel).

Game list:

Fresh: Papers, please (Lucas Pope) Gravity Bone (2008) (Blendo Games) Thirty Flights of Loving (2012) - idem The Talos Principle Witcher (all) DA: Origins DA2 Mirror's Edge No Man's Sky (if comes out)... meh. Life is Strange

Started:

PC Dishonored (optional?) Sims 3 Torchlight Anna Mind: Path to Thalamus

360 LA Noir AC2

PS4 Black Flag Last of us Daylight AC Syndicate

Name list:

Ferrod Delfina De La Rosa Magdalena San Martin Arnold Zamora Columba Contreras Adela Baltazar

Book list:

Fresh: Karel Čapek Sci-fi books: Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace Dhalgren by Samuel Delany The Long Tomorrow by Leigh Brackett First and Last Men and Starmaker by Olaf Stapledon 1984 by George Orwell Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke Foundation by Isaac Asimov Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon Dune by Frank Herbert Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Dies_at_the_End Ian McEwan (anything, preferably start at the beginning) The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat (Oliver Sacks) Memento Mori (Jonathan Nolan) anything by Phillip K. Dick Neuromancer and the rest (William Gibson) The Marble Faun (Nathaniel Hawthorne) Juvenilia (Miguel Cané) anything by Mo Yan (hallucinatory realism) Arsene Lupin (Maurice LeBlanc)- inspiration for Ester and Adrian The Water-Babies, A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby (Charles Kingsley). Aldebaran - Leo (Luis Eduardo de Oliveira) Something on color theory: Feisner and Mahnke Hyakkai-Zukan - "The Illustrated Volume of a Hundred Demons." (artist Sawaki Suushi) "Dead in 5 Heartbeats" Sonny Barger "Knives, Knife Fighting and Related Hassles" - Marc "Animal" MacYoung Daniel Cohen (young audiences, lots of occult stuff) "El libro de los seres imaginarios" Jorge Luis Borges "The Glass Harmonica: A Lexicon of the Fantastical" Barbara Byfield "Sea Monsters" Joseph Nigg «Сага о ведьмаке» А́нджей Сапко́вский "Lost Girls", Alan Moore, Melinda Gebbie. The Fountain, Ayn Rand https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/As_I_Lay_Dying https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confessions_of_a_Thug_(novel) - Inspiration for Tom and Shazzi Science: Stephen Hawking & Leonard Mlodinow - The Grand Design

Unfinished:

Chernoye Bezmolviye Ficciones by Borges I, Strahd

Movie list:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nemesis_(1992_film)- cyberpunk Hunting Humans (Kevin Kangas) - inspiration for Tom https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Circuit_(2002_film) - inspiration for Tom https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kickboxer:_Vengeance - inspiration for Tom https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fearless_Tiger - inspiration for Tom? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Never_Surrender_(film) - inspiration for Tom https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confessions_of_a_Pit_Fighter - inspiration for Tom? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fighting_(2009_film) - inspiration for Tom https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gladiator_(1992_film) - idem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Red_Canvas - idem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cage_(film) - idem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Never_Back_Down - idem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_Contact_(film) - idem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Here_Comes_the_Boom - idem https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Undisputed_(film) - idem

Enduring Love (Roger Michell) Alley Cat (1984) Perfect Sense (David McKenzie) Enter The Void (Gaspar Noe) Les Choristes Primer (Shane Carruth) Thaandavam (Vijay) Eden Log (Franck Vestiel) Ain't them Bodies Saints (w Casey Affleck) Les Congrés (Ari Folman) Winter's Bone Spanish Judges https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bruiser_(film) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fantaghir%C3%B2_(film) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delicatessen_(film) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cool_World https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cronos_(film) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lost_World_(1992_film) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_of_Illusions Something by Jodorowsky

Comics and Graphic Novels list: Le Bois des Vierges - fairytales Extinctioners Flash Gordon Mandrake Agente Segreto X-9 L'Uomo Mascherato Moby Dick (Dino Battaglia) Rising Stars Dylan Dog (Tiziano Sclavi, Angelo Stano) Il Picolo Ranger Blueberry (Moebius) L'Incal (Moebius and Jodorowsky) The Metabarons (Jodorowsky, Gimenez) Valentina (Guido Crepax) Milo Manara (anything, investigate) Cages (Dave McKean) Simone Bianchi (anything, maybe Marvel) Corto Maltese (Hugo Pratt) * Scott McCloud -(?) Chew Las Moscas No Vuelan De Noche Algo dibujado por Breccia That gay comic by Ralph Koenig Eternauta (Oestergel/Solano Lopez) Animal Man - Grant Morrison, and the new one too (Rockaford=. Blacksad Paracuellos More stuff by Thomas Ott Blackhole

Unfinished Most of Marvel Rapaces Cybersix I Killed Adolf Hitler - Jason Saga

Series list:

SeaQuest DSV Defiance The Blacklist Eureka Powers

Artists: Chris Foss (Guardians of the Galaxy, Jodorowsky's Dune) for spaceships Artgerm on deviantart for female heroine bodies HR Giger for biomachinery Julie Bell and Boris Vallejo for sexualized and hyperreal fantasy Claudia Guerrero Canale (Universos Internos) Moebius's concepts for Dune

People to look up:

Gino Fornaciari Cosimo I di Medici Wilgefortis, the bearded virgin Caterina Sforza

Locations: Kaplica Czaszek, the bone chapel in Poland Yasuni Nation Park, in Ecuador

- I hope I don't need to tell you what a rotten deal this is. - Simon said. - There's a hundred ways they can screw us over if we take it, not to mention, you'd be stuck here for nothing. So I say, let's just grab what we can salvage and get off this wet rock ASAP. All in favor? - he raised his hand. Mel shot up hers in response so fast she almost knocked the board over. They both looked expectantly at Tom, who in turn, folded his arms and made an unconvinced growling sound.

- Not that easy. Fact is they can probably screw us regardless, since we got into the country with fake papers that we can't use anymore and they know our real names. You two need a safe way to get out and get back to the States.

- You mean us three. - Mel corrected.

- No, I actually mean you two. You're in far more trouble than I am. - his brow was getting progressively more furrowed as he spoke.

- I was under the impression we were in equal depths of alligators here. - Simon questioned.

- Look, this is the only way I can help you. I don't have any contacts left here.

- You didn't answer the question.

- It wasn't one.

- Don't try to outtalk me, snowflake. I'm a Drama major.

- I have a british passport. Now, we have to figure out--

- Hold up. Since when?

- Knew it! - Mel yelped. - You're like all that supersecret Jason Bourne brainwashed assasin shit aren't you? Do you have a russian name too?

- No. Nobody brainwashed me. - "technically", Tom thought. - I've had it since I was 18. - He was hoping to end it there, but his attempt at dismissiveness was met with questioning stares. - I'm not a spy - he huffed impatiently. - I was just born here.

Simon made a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head - Would've been a good idea to mention that before, don't you think?

Tom couldn't say it wasn't. Fact was, at the end of the day, people who stood by and followed him got screwed because of him being reckless. This was the mother of all deja vus.

- I'm taking the deal. - he finally said. - You two are going home.

- And after that, what?

- There is no after that. That's it. End of story.

- What the hell do you mean end of story? - Mel protested. - We're a freaking team, yo. I say screw those guys and let's get on the first cargo boat outta here. We can do it.

She was going to hate him. Simon wouldn't be happy either, but he'd get it - there was a reason he was still alive, after all. So he shook his head and turned his back to them and went for the door.

- We're done.

It was weird for him to be back in a city he hadn't really gotten to know. A scrapbook recollection - field trips, cemetery raids and sewer chases - was what the Academy had mostly offered him. Then there was the sneaking out, first to concerts and movies and riding around on the bus with a fake sense of freedom - then to Nina. She was the one who had taught him how to play guitar and made him waste almost two years trying to become good at it. Later, she claimed that what she had done wasn't cheating because they weren't serious. First girl to crush his heart ended up being just one more snapshot in a city full of half-faded, half-childish memories.

His birthcity. Fucking hell.

He switched hotels as soon as Mel and Simon left. Getting his passport renewed would probably be a good idea now that he was here, except the STC might find out he was back. Oh well. Let them. What was the worst thing that could happen, he thought, immediately regretting having asked *that* question. He set his bag on the floor, scrutinized his surroundings - one bed, one window, one nightstand - then walked into the bathroom and tried the sink, the toilet and the shower. All three of them appeared to be capable of producing cold water, which was all that was needed.

Shower was in order. Possibly a shave. He decided on the first, but not the latter. After getting out of the bathroom and drying himself, he turned on the TV, dug out the cigarette pack out of his jeans and slumped on the bed. Twelve hours to kill and all he had was this - BBC news, and an ashtray. His friends were gone. The lead on Scarface was lost. The only thing keeping him in a city that swallowed his childhood was something he had promised himself he'd never make ever again. A deal. With a vampire. The conditions of which, worst of all, he was still not entirely certain of. His paranoia getting the best of him, Tom reached for his jacket and pulled the plain white card out of the breast pocket. Just as before, the black printed letters read simply and clearly:

SSA Special Simulations Agency

Only there was nothing clear about it. At least with Baines and the Doc, he kinda knew what their angle was, but these guys - all he could tell from how they dealt with them was that they had contacts. Serious contacts. And scary good intel. Aside from that and the fact that he still felt like this was all part of some kind of hidden camera moment (at his expense, of course), all he could do was wait and wonder. Wonder about the tunnels under that mansion, wonder about a pack of werevolves showing up to back a vampire and three humans - wonder about wether the bloodsucker and the brunette were screwing each other. Big surprise, he told himself, where do you think the bitemarks came from. Either way, twelve hours were a lot of time to speculate - but he didn't care for it. Tomorrow he'd figure out what kind of mess he got himself into and how to get out of it. He slipped back into his jeans, pulled the shirt over his head and grabbed his jacket -all on the way out to the closest available pub where he could enjoy his fictious freedom, drown his unease and avoid prank calling Crawford's home phone number.

Marion Cooper was born a little under thirty years ago in London, England, to a dutch enterpreneur Michael Van Der Meer and his american actress wife Adele Wilder. When WWI began, her father thought it would be better to send her mother and herself to the states, however after it was over, and for reasons she still doesn't fully know, they didn't come back - instead, her mother recieved divorce papers in the mail. Marion has since lived in Jackson, Mississippi with her mother, who had progressively retreated into her own fantasy world of remembering the old days of glory. Eventually she a jazz performer named Isaac Cooper, moved out of her mother's house and married him. That was two years ago. Recently, she recieved a letter, notifying her of two things - one, that her estranged father finally had a fatal heart attack, and two, that he left behind another daughter - apparently, Marion's half sister, Anita Van Der Meer, who has spent the last 15 or so years in a mental institution. Given the lack of any other relative Marion passed on to be her next of kin - able to assume legal guardianship and manage the considerable fortune Michael Van Der Meer left behind, which, as his will and testament states, was to be inherited by his mentally incapable daughter. Seeing as house economy was not so good and Mississippi was still somewhat fond of lynching, Marion thought this would be a good opportunity to give her and her husband the chance they deserve and finally move to New York. Of course, first she has to go to London to assume guardianship of her apparently crazy half sister. Who, by the way, looks a lot like her. - Automaton, Alpha This halfling-sized construct is made of light metal alloys and crystal, enabling it to move quickly and nimbly as it stabs and slices with its short swords.

Automaton, Beta A lithe human-sized creature, constructed of metal and crystal approaches. It wields some sort of rod in one hand; the other is covered by what seems to be a gauntlet with a raised knob-like dome positioned midway up the gauntlet. A flick of the gauntleted hand and a light shield irises out, that glistens with ectoplasm.

Automaton, Gamma A large-sized hulking humanoid, constructed from unknown metal alloys moves ponderously toward you, each step like the toll of a heavy bell. It draws a massive greatsword from a scabbard across its back, and takes a defensive stance, awaiting your next move.

Cerebremorte Wreathed in a corona of blue-violet flames, a blackened skull without a lower jawbone hovers before you. A portion of its spine is still attached and the back of this skull is broken outward. An overlarge brain is visible and it pulses with psychic power.

Devil, Cognition The man-sized ebon-skinned devil before you is wreathed in constantly flickering flames. Its cranium is expanded and elongated, as though its brain were too large for its head.

Psionic Dragon, Psychometabolic (Groragnon) This feral-seeming dragon has reddish-brown to red-violet colored scales that are rough and jagged looking, not unlike unrefined gemstones, it regards you as you might a small animal, inferior and beneath its notice. Sensing your intent, or perhaps out of sheer malice, it exhales a line of black, vitriolic bile that burns your flesh and scours your armor and weapons.

Psionic Dragon, Psychoportive (Pelendorath) This sleek, serpentine dragon has smooth scales the color of turquoise, including the veins of brown found among the semi-precious stone. Without wings it soars effortlessly through the sky, and expels a faceted crystal that upon impact erupts into a storm of razor sharp crystalline shrapnel.

Psionic Dragon, Metacreative (Surthrymaar) The smooth, creamy-white scales of this dragon scintillate with flecks of color from shards of mica embedded in its hide. From a shimmering portal an astral creature emerges, as the dragon turns and blasts you with its fiery breath.

Psionic Dragon, Psychokinetic (Tokarrys) The forward-curving horns of this jade-green dragon give it an evil countenance. It opens its jaw and blasts you with a bolt of pure force, sending you back several feet.

Psionic Dragon, Telepathic (Xovator) This stout, squat dragon has rough, jagged scales that look like raw onyx or obsidian. It breathes a cone of gas toward you and suddenly you do not wish to approach any closer to it.

Psionic Dragon, Clairsentient (Zreikayles) The glossy sheen of this dragon’s silver-white scales seems much like pearl or moonstone. It dives beneath the water, only to come up suddenly beneath your vessel.

Ir’Llanthaal This cetacean-like humanoid has the lower torso of a dolphin, moving effortlessly through the water.

Khurduzal (Id Shambler) A mass of vegetable matter, roots, and vines ponderously moves forward on two trunk-like legs, its vines lashing and whipping about, seeming to grab for anything that moves.

Phrenic Adept A roughly humanoid figure stands several yards away, its mauve-pink tinted skin glistens and is covered with a layer of wriggling cilia; the only clothing it wears is a loincloth of heavy fabric. The air before it shimmers as an ectoplasmic creature appears nearby, with a gesture it directs the creature to attack.

Phrenic Dreadnaught This hulking brute resembles a giant, but its bony carapace with spiky barbs clearly marks it apart from any of the giant-kin. Its carapace glistens with slime and tiny tendrils of cilia writhe between the bony exoskeleton. The behemoth wears a breastplate and wields a large morningstar with ease. The ground shakes as it approaches.

Phrenic Infiltrator This emaciated bipedal creature has skin colored a deep purple, not unlike an awful bruise. Upon noticing you it swiftly moves and attacks, its jaw distends and a long tongue with a lamprey-like mouth stretches towards your head.

Phrenic Larva Swarm A mass of wriggling, writhing black maggots covers the ground before you, and as if sensing life or perhaps intelligent thought, undulates forward, almost grasping for you.

Phrenic Matriarch Like a nightmare given form and madness given flesh, this creature appears as a mass of tentacles, slavering maws, and eerie non-human eyes.

Phrenic Spawn This lumbering, filthy two-headed giant wears scale mail cobbled together from multiple sets and firmly grasps a large flail in each fist. What you thought were worms crawling on its skin is in truth a layer of wriggling cilia.

Pyn–Gok Slightly taller than an elf, this regal-looking avian humanoid most closely resembles a peacock (down to its coloration and large, fan-like tail). Although frail looking, it wields a polearm with ease and grace.

Saurood This saurian creature resembles a triceratops in humanoid form, dressed in simple garments and carrying a large staff. As big as an ogre, but projecting a calm and serene aura despite its appearance, there is a keen intelligence behind those eyes.

T’Artys The skin of this small humanoid has a pearlescent quality, shimmering faintly in the light. A barely visible wave rolls out from it and suddenly you are surrounded by enemies.

Therchias Hound Attacking from concealment, this large wolf-like canine snaps its jaws and tears at you with its claws. Only then do you realize an entire pack has surrounded you.

---

"Mr Relic, you can open your eyes."

He did, even though they were still stinging like someone had grinded a handful of pepper into them. Having sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes with eye drop streaming down his face like some kind of lacrimal incontinence was in itself not a pleasant experience. Not being able to see s"#@ just made it so much worse.

"This way please. Dr. Rosen will see you for the exam now." said a female voice. He recognized her as the ophtalmologist's assistant, though it took several blinks for him to see her as anything other than a walking blur. She motioned him towards the door with the blue label next to it which he, as of now, could not read. Eye exams were something he'd never bothered to think of, till somebody made him. So naturally, and against everyone's better judgement, he posponed this one until the migranes got too frequent to be ignored and he was stuck in a strange city for three months worth of snowstorms. Classic.

He opened the door and walked in. The office was dimly lit, blinds closed over the window. Some sort of big leafed pot plant stood in the corner, with what seemed to be Christmas decorations dangling off its branches. To the right of the pot plant was a desk and behind the desk sat a thin man in a white coat, who, without looking up from the papers infront of him, said:

"Take a seat please."

Tom obeyed, somewhat surprised by his deep baritone. He pulled up a chair opposite the doctor's and got a better look. Mid to late thirties maybe, big hands, broad shoulders, high cheekbones - and to top it off, wavy blonde hair that you could probably spend all day running your fingers through. Getting eye-poked suddenly sucked less.

"Have you been dilated?"

Not the way I'd like to, Tom wanted to say, but stopped himself.

"Yep."

"Alright then." Dr. Cheekbones looked up. Blue eyes matched navy blue shirt. "Let's take a look at you." he laid down the chart and got up. Tom copied, and found himself nearly a head shorter. Oh damn. "Can you take a seat over here please?" the opthalmologist pointed at the reclinable chair with some sort of big, metal contraption looming over it.

Relic looked at it and sighed. Cheekbones must've taken it as a sign of doubt because he then felt a hand on his shoulder and that low voice purred amusedly into his ear. "It doesn't bite, don't worry."

"Oh, but you never know." Damn, doc, he thought, if you only new. Tall, blonde, blue eyes. The guy was dead on his type.

Conversation between Vincent and Valentina at the Rosen's residence.

"We're not like thoose poor diseased creatures - we don't carry a plague and we don't get moonsick. We are noble."

"And do you honestly think that those poachers are going to care about your nobility? You know perfectly they won't. They want the rare fur, and they're going to get it unless someone stops them."

Her voice was like sharp ice. "My daughter can deal with whatever test she's being put through."

Vincent just couldn't take it anymore. "There are men. With guns. Trying to kill your daughter. And she's already badly hurt."he grind his teeth trying to fight back the sting in his eyes. "She needs her family to save her before it's too late. What part of that is so hard for you to understand?"

"Mind your tongue, Mr. Clarke. This is MY house. You don't get to tell me what to do." tension felt heavy in the sudden quietud. Everyone's eyes were on the matriarch and him, but no one was willing to step and make their voice heard. Would they really let her die like this? he thought desperately. What happened? Where was family comes first? Or was it something that only Lena believed in and the rest of them were willing to abandon her in a moment's thought? He felt so angry, he wanted to shout at them, to get five years worth of pain and sorrow and bitter frustration off his chest and stop caring about god-damn-protocol.

Only he knew that in doing so, he'd prove Valentina right. And he would most likely condemn Lena. He took a step back and breathed deeply.

"I appologize for my offenses to you and your family, Mrs. Rosen. I can't imagine how complicated this situation must be for you and I don't presume to. I realize me being here is an intrusion and I have no say in this matter. But still. I beg you. Stop this. Save her. And after she's safe - I give you my word I'll leave and not contact any of you ever again."

Valentina stood silent for a minute as she considered this. Finally, she spoke "Tolik, Anna. Call your uncle. Tell him to keep this small."

"We need to alert the guards." Valentina's husband said.

"No, we don't. We can take care of this ourselves."

And then the doorbell rang. No one seemed to have expected that except Anatoli, who walked over to the door and opened it. A tall young woman with brown hair and dark blue eyes walked in.

"Well this is a surprise." Valentina's lips spread into a smile but her eyes looked hostile. "Marina, dear, what brings you here?"

"Like you don't know." The young woman spat back.

"I called her, mom."Anatoli said.

"I can tell. Why?"

"Because her sister's in danger, that's why. And we're taking the hummer."

The poachers have been sent by Valentina's own sister who wanted to sabotage the Trial and take advantage of Valentina's secrets (like the fact that one of her daughters is not legitimate) to put herself and her own offsprings in power. This is not revealed until the very end.



They jumped out of the car and ran as fast as they could - the snow here was almost knee deep. Up the slope, tearing through the bushes until a meadow came into view. Anatoli's nostrils flared suddenly. "No." he breathed. Vincent didn't need his nose to know what he was talking about - less than fifty yards away from them a pool of red stained the snow. Lena, he thought immediately. She was already injured. A wave of panic ran through him, what if this had been the shot to finish her off?

Anatoli was already making his way down - this side of the slope was a lot steeper but that didn't seem to be an impediment. Vincent followed him as fast as he could. As he ran up to the shifter he saw that he was crouched down infront of the puddle.

"Is it...?"

"I don't know."

He looked around. There were tracks - two sets of them, leading to and away from the stain.

"They got her." he said.

Two sets

--- Their teeth tore into his limbs as he raised them to protect his neck and he cried out. No one was out there to hear him. His head spun. His movements became weak and frantic as blood began to gush out of the gaping wounds. The hungry beasts did not stop. They were eating him alive. No one would help.

No one. There was no escape from this. The fear filled his lungs, drowning him.

Whats going on?

The coalition of villains that escaped from Beacon Hill are trying to put together the ancient travelling device created by dragons. Why because the rebel dark fey promised them power and wish fulfillment. Easy enough.

What’s next?

Should they capture anyone the might obtain information. Depending on whom they capture the following will happen:

- Jack – he’ll say nothing. He will chew out his own tongue if he has to. - Duchess. – Will try to make them believe she is on their side. Will tell them to look in Genesis Labs. - The Cyberman. – Has trouble believing heroes are heroes. If not convinced will say nothing. If convinced will say the Fat Bastard is actually working for someone else. - El Frac. – Is the easiest to intimidate. Doesn’t know much, unfortunately, except that whatever is being planned, it’s for the Olympics opening ceremony.

Clues as to what’s going on:

- Magic oriented supes have been dissappearing. - “Keep an eye on the Sky.” - Dreamboy Merlin.

Genesis labs: actually property of Windryder Corp, owner of which, J. Windryder, has not been seen in decades. - Jericho is actually Boris - The lab itself is mostly legit but a lot of people who have been flushed out of it ended up being bad guys: Dr. Frankenstein and his daughter, The Duchess, among many others.

The Fat Bastard:

- Owns a restaurant. - Is providing most of the manpower for the villain missions - Is keeping the psychic ghost guy prisoner coz he is a link to the fey.

The Duchess, Jack, Cyberman and El Frac are working for him. Dr. Frankenstein is mostly working “with” him trying to locate the right genetic material to either rebuild or harvest Merlin. Meanwhile the Fey are sending them weird glowing rock to power up their gizmos.

The Gate:

A huge circle of volcanic rock adorned by precious stones the size of a human fist and carvings that look like they were made by overdexterous sabertooth tigers. Either being supersmart or doing some research will get them to figure out the missing gem was part of TWK’s armor.

Clues: “the light of the past always burns brightest.” -

Logan was the kind of man who never mixed business with pleasure. Reaver, in that sense, was the opposite kind - he hardly ever had one without the other. Were it not for the fact that his eyes betrayed a keen, if rather devious intelligence when the rest of him was acting like a common buffon and the obvious evidence of his successful business tactics, one would think he did not know when to be serious. Or worse even, he believed everyone to be too trivial, too unimportant to bother. Logan, however, was neither one nor the other. What he was was the king of Albion. And he was far from pleased.

Agile Feint, All-out Attack, Assessment, Attractive 2, Chokehold, Close Attack 2, Connected, Contacts, Defensive Attack, Diehard, Equipment 24, Evasion 2, Fearless, Grabbing Finesse, Great Endurance, Hide in Plain Sight, Improved Aim, Improved Critical 2: Unarmed, Improved Critical 2: Widow's Bite, Improved Defense, Improved Disarm, Improved Grab, Improved Hold, Improved Initiative 2, Improved Trip, Instant Up, Jack-of-all-trades, Languages 4, Leadership, Luck 3, Move-by Action, Power Attack, Precise Attack (All) 4, Prone Fighting, Quick Draw, Ranged Attack 5, Seize Initiative, Skill Mastery: Acrobatics, Skill Mastery: Athletics, Skill Mastery: Stealth, Takedown, Uncanny Dodge, Well-informed

DAREDEVIL (Matt Murdock) Created By: Stan Lee & Bill Everett First Appearance: Daredevil #1 (April 1964) Role: Street Level Hero, Crazy Girlfriend Guy, Urban Vigilante, Super-Lawyer Group Affiliations: The Hand, S.H.I.E.L.D., The Marvel Knights, The Defenders PL 10 (200) STRENGTH 3 STAMINA 4 AGILITY 7 FIGHTING 12 DEXTERITY 2 INTELLIGENCE 4 AWARENESS 4 PRESENCE 3

Skills: Acrobatics 9 (+18) Athletics 6 (+10) Close Combat (Unarmed) 3 (+15) Close Combat (Billy Club) 3 (+15) Deception 5 (+8, +10 Attractive) Expertise (Behavioral Sciences) 3 (+7) Expertise (Lawyer) 11 (+15) Expertise (Streetwise) 4 (+8) Expertise (Theology & Philosophy) 3 (+7) Insight 4 (+8, +16 Super-Senses) Intimidation 4 (+7) Investigation 7 (+10) Perception 4 (+8, +16 Super-Senses) Persuasion 5 (+8, +10 Attractive) Ranged Combat (Billy Club) 6 (+14) Sleight of Hand 6 (+8) Stealth 5 (+12) Technology 2 (+6) Technology 2 (+8) -- Flaws: Limited to Computers

Advantages: Accurate Attack, Agile Feint, Assessment, Attractive, Beginner's Luck, Defensive Attack, Defensive Roll, Equipment 2 (Billy Club), Evasion, Fearless, Improved Aim, Improved Critical 2 (Billy Club, Unarmed), Improved Defense, Improved Initiative, Improved Trip, Ranged Attack 6, Skill Mastery (Lawyer), Takedown, Ultimate Lawyer Skill

Powers: "Elite Sensory Array" Senses 17 (Accurate Hearing 4 & Scent 2, Acute Scent, Analytical Hearing, Touch & Scent, Extended Hearing 2, Ultra-Hearing, Radar 4- Ranged Accurate Radius Radio Sense) [17] Enhanced Advantages 2: Evasion, Uncanny Dodge [2] Enhanced Skills 16: Insight +8 (+16), Perception +8 (+16) [8] "Master Martial Artist" Enhanced Strength 1 (Flaws: Limited to Damage) [1]

Equipment: "Club Toss" Strength-Damage +1 (Feats: Split, Ricochet 3) (Extras: Ranged 4) (Diminished Range -1) (7) -- (9 points) AE: "Billy Club" Strength-Damage +1 (1) AE: Movement 2 (Swinging, Slow-Fall) (4) Offense: Unarmed +15 (+4 Damage, DC 19) Billy-Club +15 (+5 Damage, DC 20) Club Toss +14 (+4 Ranged Damage, DC 19) Initiative +11

Defenses: Dodge +15 (DC 25), Parry +15 (DC 25), Toughness +4 (+5 D.Roll), Fortitude +8, Will +11

Complications: Responsibility (Loves Crazy Women) Relationship (Elektra, Typhoid Mary, Echo, Various Others) Enemy (The Kingpin, Bullseye)- The Kingpin is the ruler of the crime that Matt wants to stamp out, and Bullseye is the psychotic murderer who is obsessed with killing everyone Daredevil knows. Responsibility (Catholic Faith) Motivation (Justice)- Whether it be as a lawyer or as a vigilante, Matt Murdock is committed to seeing justice done. Vulnerable (All Non-Visual Dazzles)- If Matt is struck with especially-loud noises or smells, he is rendered helpless- regular Dazzles do an extra level of effect on him, and even things regular people can stand, like loud trucks, motorcycle engines, or the subway, effect him like a Dazzle. Disabled (Blind)- Though his other senses are far in excess of a normal human being, Matt is unable to see colours, people from afar, etc. If his Radar & other Senses are turned off, he is totally Unaware of his surroundings.

Total: Abilities: 78 / Skills: 92--46 / Advantages: 26 / Powers: 28 / Defenses: 22 (200)

HAWKEYE (Clint Barton) Created By: Stan Lee & Don Heck First Appearance: Tales of Suspense #57 (Sept. 1964) Role: The Snarky Hero, The Archer, The Hot-Headed Hero Group Affiliations: The Avengers, The Defenders, The Thunderbolts, The Great Lakes Avengers Avengers Grade: A-Level PL 10 (166) STRENGTH 3 STAMINA 4 AGILITY 5 FIGHTING 13 DEXTERITY 4 INTELLIGENCE 1 AWARENESS 2 PRESENCE 2

Skills: Acrobatics 7 (+12) Athletics 4 (+7) Deception 6 (+8) Expertise (Current Events) 3 (+4) Expertise (Carny Lore/Streetwise) 4 (+5) Insight 4 (+6) Investigation 4 (+6) Perception 9 (+11) Persuasion 4 (+6) Ranged Combat (Bow) 3 (+15) Sleight of Hand 2 (+6) Stealth 4 (+9) Technology 4 (+5) Vehicles 2 (+6)

Advantages: Accurate Attack, Agile Feint, Defensive Attack, Defensive Roll, Evasion, Improved Aim, Improved Critical (Bow) 3, Improved Defense, Improved Disarm, Improved Initiative, Improved Smash, Inspire, Power Attack, Precise Attack 2 (Ranged/Cover & Concealment), Ranged Attack 8, Set-Up, Teamwork, Ultimate Aim

Powers: "Archer's Bow" (Flaws: Easily Removable) [24] "Explosive Arrow" Blast 9 (Extras: Area- 30ft. Burst) (27) -- (40 points) AE: "Standard Arrow" Blast 5 (Extras: Multiattack) (15) AE: "Sonic Arrow" Dazzle Hearing 8 (Extras: Area- 30ft. Burst) (24) AE: "Flash Arrow" Dazzle Visuals 8 (Extras: Area- 30ft. Burst) (24) AE: "Gas Arrow" Sleep 8 (Extras: Area- 30ft. Burst) (24) AE: "Smoke Arrow" Obscure Visuals 2 (Extras: Attack, Area- 30ft. Burst) (12) AE: "Tear Gas Arrow" Affliction 6 (Fort; Dazed & Vision Impaired/Stunned & Disabled/Incapacitated & Unaware) (Extras: Extra Condition, Ranged, Area- 30ft. Burst) (24) AE: "Titanium Arrow" Blast 5 (Feats: Penetrating 5) (15) AE: "Bolo Arrow" Snare 7 (Inaccurate -1) (20) AE: "Taser Arrow" Affliction 7 (Fort; Dazed/Stunned/Incapacitated) (Extras: Ranged) (Inaccurate -1) (13) AE: "Acid Arrow" Blast 4 Linked to Weaken Toughness 5 (Extras: Ranged, Affects Objects) (23) AE: "EMP Arrow" Nullify Technology 5 (Extras: Sustained +2) (20) AE: "Cable Arrow" Movement 1 (Swinging) (2) AE: "Boomerang Arrow" Blast 5 (Feats: Split 2, Homing, Ricochet 2) (15) Offense: Unarmed +12 (+3 Damage, DC 18) Standard & Boomerang Arrows +15 (+5 Ranged Damage, DC 20) Dazzle & Gas Arrows +8 Area (+8 Affliction, DC 18) Tear Gas Arrow +6 Area (+6 Affliction, DC 16) Taser & Bolo Arrows +12 (+7 Ranged Affliction, DC 17) Acid Arrow +15 (+4 Ranged Damage & +5 Ranged Weaken, DC 19 & 15) Initiative +9

Defenses: Dodge +13 (DC 23), Parry +13 (DC 23), Toughness +4 (+5 D.Roll), Fortitude +7, Will +7

Complications: Disabled (Partially-Deaf)- Hawkeye is 80% deaf in both ears without hearing aids, which can be a problem if he's in the dark and his aids are deactivated. Relationship (Bobbi Morse)- Hawkeye & Mockingbird were married, then divorced, then she died and it turned out years later she was a Skrull, and now they're kinda... it's complicated. Responsibility (Punk Made Good)- Hawkeye was a no-good punk at first, but made good with The Avengers, coming to respect Captain America after an argumentative relationship with him. This self-improvement drives Clint, and he often seeks out new, unproven heroes to help make the same change.

Total: Abilities: 68 / Skills: 60--30 / Advantages: 28 / Powers: 24 / Defenses: 16 (166)



"If you think I am up here because I enjoy climbing stairs, think again. I'm more than a little too old for this shit." He dropped with no real snark in his voice - for lack of breath, if anything.

"I suppose you could have just reconsidered on giving me that letter of recommendation" the blonde suggested, overtly non-committal, with a hint of a mockery somewhere in that perfectly enunciating mouth of his.

"As if. You're the worst employee on the planet, you're lucky I'm not suing you."

That seemed to take him slightly off-kilter, at least. "How... am I the worst employee on the planet?"

"You took off for six months and didn't even file a leave of absence."

"Aah. Touché." it was hard to imagine someone could give you a condescending drop of eyelids, but Harker, damn him, didn't even have to try.

"Still," Tom sighed, not wanting to get sidetracked "not why I'm here."

As if deciding to make a point, James put down his shirts, straightened out, arms folded "Why don't you just tell me why you're here, Relic."

Limited as Tom's capacity for drama was, he was just going to have to rely on sincerity. "Because I want you to stay."

There was maybe, a two second pause, where Harker stared at him without moving at all, and then let out a deliberately long breath. "No good is going to come from me staying, Tom. For either of us. It's taken me painfully long as it is to realize that I've worn out my welcome, which you were right to point out--"

"I'm not here to argue." Tom gestured, dropping his jacket off his shoulders and into a chair. "We might not have been friends for that long, comparatively speaking, but I do know you enough to recognize when you don't actually mean anything you’re saying."James raised an eyebrow at him, and he crooked the corner of his mouth in response. "You don't wanna go anywhere either." he took a somewhat tentative step towards the taller, grey-eyed man.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but..."

"Just, shut your mouth for a second." Tom shook his head curtly. "I'm trying to get somewhere here. If you still feel like lying to me afterwards..."

"I'm not.."

"Shh." he raised his hand.

"Did you just..." Harker paused, finding his own personal space suddenly overlapping Tom's. “... shush me?” He stared him down, all polite surprise and opaque nonchalance - but really, the ice was starting to get a bit too thin to tread on. There was an almost palpable intensity to his presence - painfully palpable, even, and he could not understand how someone could be so obtuse and not see how badly James needed to get away from him. “I’m more than prepared to gag you if you don’t let me finish.” And this was, maybe, partially true, because what he was prepared to do did involve keeping Harker’s (perfectly enunciating) mouth occupied, but things needed to be said, and the problem was, Tom wasn’t really good at saying them. Or anything at all, apparently.

“I’m listening.” James breathed out, his whole demeanor still stubbornly neutral. Never one to make things easy.

“You…” Tom inhaled through his teeth. “… you need to get something straight. There’s a decently big part of me that believes things would be much easier now if you had never come back.”

And there it is, James thought. Irony. That clearly homicidal-looking hitchhiker you common sense tells you not to stop for, yet you do - you open your door and let them in with a polite grin and spend the whole ride hoping you won’t become an 80s horror movie cliché. Either you are that damn polite, or you’re that big of an idiot.

“This way I could just keep doing what I always do – nurse my guilt for failing yet another person I care for and take it out on the world. And maybe, eventually, move on. It was actually starting to seem like a solid enough plan up until a few months ago, when I finally realized it wasn’t really my goddamn fault you decided to dive headfirst into a rabbit hole. And, ok, maybe I had some help getting there, but it was mostly me. You.” His finger raised, pointed, mere inches away from the chest of an increasingly confused Harker. “Ran away. Because you’re just that much of an ass.”

“I didn’t run away. I….”

“Yeah. Saved Harlem. I know. We would’ve figured out eventually how to get it closed from here.”

“And that would’ve taken us we don’t know how long.” The blonde man rolled his eyes. “Is there any real need to go over this *again*?”

“What did you think was going to happen, James? We’d stop being friends?”

Harker pretty much froze mid-motion, eyes wide and crisp like broken ice.

“I spent all this time wondering if I had been purposefully dense.”Tom went on, despite the other man clearly hoping he wouldn’t. “Because, let’s face it, I could do that, but no. You didn’t drop me a single hint – that is, until you decided to go all Prince Charming in what you probably imagined were your last 30 seconds on this planet. I mean dimension.”

“Tom, please.” James choked out, forcing himself, uselessly, to breathe. “I don’t want to talk about it.” His hands reached for a pair of unfolded socks hanging off a dresser, as if folding them right now was some kind of universal painkiller.

“Tough shit. I’ve had six months of not talking about it. Almost ended up tearing a hole in reality. So it’s kind of a big deal for me, you know.”

“Why?” Harker’s voice was on edge.

“Why the hole in reality? Or the…”

“…the other thing.”

“…Yeah.” The dark-haired man took an unsteady breath and smiled. “I think…” He said, wrapping James’s sock-occupied fingers with his own. “Because I’m just as much of an ass as you are. I said things would be easier if you didn't come back, but I'd be lying if I told you I wanted them that way."

James was somewhat aware of a protest forming in his mind - something sensible and necessary, yes, but he was even more aware of just how close Tom was right now - the subtle body heat that came off him in waves, his steady heartbeat, the firm, slender fingers that somehow found their way to the back of his neck. It was kind of surreal, and strangely anaesthetizing. He felt the other man lean in, forehead resting lightly against his own, closed his eyes, pretended the world was not spinning. And then couldn't, because Tom's lips, in offense to all probability, found his mouth and melded into it.

His reaction was not immediate, but it happened - inevitable as a fire spreading through old wreckage. He opened his lips, let himself savour it - the slow, condemning intensity of it, the burn in his chest as his own treacherous hands traced needy paths over layers of clothes, over shapes so familiar yet so wildly foreign. None of this, of course, could be happening. Worlds were being destroyed, realities torn asunder, giant boxes of kittens sacrificed - all because James Harker, in his unmatched selfishness, didn't have the strength to end this heresy.

“That’s.. enough.” the words came out bitter and chunky, pushing past his throat with the subtlety of rocks. On top of that, pulling away just enough to say them, and not actually doing something unnecessarily violent - that alone had taken about all of his willpower. He felt exhausted.

And there was Relic, looking at him from less than an arm’s length with an obvious question mark on his face.

“God,” Harker breathed with an edge of hysteria. “this is just so wrong.” and completely unfair, he thought, feeling a bit childish.

“You’re kidding me.” Tom said.

James let go with an exasperated sigh. “No. Enough is enough.” he picked up his coat and turned his back to the other man, taking what he hoped were some decisive-looking steps in the direction of the door. “I need to go.”

“Where?”

Not that he was planning to answer that, but Tom’s hand wrapped around his arm, and for some ridiculous reason, he was still trying to be civil.

“I don’t know. I just do.”

“The hell you do, Harker. Stop running away, I need to understand what’s going on here.”

Good luck with that, James thought, not quite managing to stiffle a laugh. Hysteria, there you go. Just in time.

“Let go, please.”

“Make me.”

“Don’t think I won’t.” the blonde man warned.

Tom stared at him, head cocked to the side, brow twisted like a ten year old facing a math problem.

“Was it that bad?” he dropped suddenly.

“What?”

“Was it bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That thing five seconds ago. I mean. I’m not trying to brag here, but ” he let go of Harker’s arm to rub the back of his neck. “I haven’t had any complaints up till now. So...?”

“Oh.” Harker lowered his head slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Dear. God.”

“It’s okay.” Tom shrugged. “You can be honest. I’m not going to be mad.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you.” Harker sighed wearily.

“I would if you’d tell me.” Relic cocked his eyebrow pointedly, arms folded.



He woke up feeling surprisingly rested. The bed, albeit unfamiliar, was dangerously comfortable, and the soft noises of birdsongs and leaves rustling along with the muted sunlight that filtered through the half-open curtains made him want to go right back to sleep. Instead he inhaled deeply, opened his eyes and jolted to a sitting position, head spinning slightly from the sudden motion.

It was definitely not his bed. And it wasn’t Faith’s bed, either. For one wild moment he considered the possibility of being in one of the Jones’ mansion’s guest rooms but he knew even before he thought it that it wasn’t the case. The view from the window was wrong, and the feeling - the feeling was familiar somehow, but there was an undertone of anxiety that had nothing to do with being at SSA HQ. Still disoriented, Tom lifted the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting an unfamiliar rug. Someone appeared to have taken his clothes off and left them, folded, on a nearby chair, although they left his underwear on. Not that it made the change of scenery any less unsettling. He got up, blinking away the haze as he did so, and made two steps towards the window before being painfully jerked back by the arm.

Grimacing silently, the collector stopped and looked down. There was an IV needle buried in the crook of his right elbow. He pulled the thing out with a hiss, let it fall unceremoniously to the floor, still attached to the serum (or what he hoped to be serum) bag suspended above the bed. When Tom finally reached the window and pulled aside the curtains the deceptively soft daylight almost blinded him. It had to be pretty close to noon, he thought, as his eyes adjusted to the picture. A wide expanse of grass spread out right in front of the window, interrupted by a few strategically placed stone benches and a neatly trimmed bushes. Otherwise it was big enough to fit half a dozen helicopters. The ground stopped abruptly some four hundred feet ahead, giving way to a row of tightly packed treetops that framed the elevation that the house was on. Beyond that, more trees and fields - everything was completely green, all the way to the horizon. That vague sense of anxiety in Tom’s gut morphed into a very familiar feeling of dread as he abandoned all doubt in regards to where he currently was.

The Relic House. Not the last place on earth he’d want to find himself in, but it was close. Frustrated, he tried to remember how he got there, and came up blank. Had he been out the whole way here? The last thing he could remember was falling asleep on Faith’s armchair, watching her breathe...

No. No, that was not it. There had been something after that. Hazy, dreamlike recollections - he had been talking to her, and she had been looking down at him with big eyes and her hands had felt really warm against his skin. And he just couldn’t believe she was OK just like that, had to be sure, had asked for it, demanded it...

“Motherfucker.” Tom spat, darting towards the chair. The clothes were dry cleaned - of course they were, he realized, as he yanked them on unceremoniously, pausing only when he noticed a hard bulge under his shirt. He lifted it back up and only then saw four separate pieces of white plastic - or something that looked like plastic, anyway - stuck to his chest and abdomen. Jaw clenched, he dug his nails under one of them and it came off with relative ease. He held it up, flipped it over and saw the back of what looked a lot like an electrode.

Tom had to fight the urge to throw it right through the glass window. He put his shoes on and stalked out of the room.

The house occupied an odd place in his already somewhat shaky memory. It sat there uncomfortably, embarrassingly large, with its stone walls and tall windows that never let in enough light; it’s endless, gloomy hallways that led to equally gloomy chambers with portraits of people he’d never met. It was a place full of shadows of things that had happened before him, that had nothing to do with him, yet there was always a nagging sensation at the back of his mind that he ought to know what they were. Not that he hadn’t bothered to find out. He’d dug through enough family history to get bored of it. And then some he just didn’t dare to know more of.

The second floor stairs came into view once he turned a corner and Tom quickened his pace. He almost ran face first into a woman that was making her way towards the other end of the floor.

“Sorry.” he blurted out as she reeled away from him. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, but her trained bearing, practical hair and shoes and the stack of fresh sheets she was carrying left little doubt as to what her job was. “I was just...”

“That’s quite alright.” she nodded. “Master Relic is in the library, I believe, if you are looking for him.”

Tom wasn’t, but now that he knew where to find him he suspected he’d have to be an adult about it.

“Thanks.” he nodded back.

The woman made to be on her way, stopped after a couple of steps and turned. “Are you feeling better...?” she asked, uncertainty marking her pause.

“Tom. And yes.” the collector replied.

“I’m happy to hear that, sir.” the maid said, apparently forgoing his invitation to first name basis. He let it go. Interacting with the help had always been awkward, especially since Relic Sr. had never kept them long enough, safe for the ancient butler. I wonder if that guy is still alive, the young man wondered briefly.

The servant was walking away now, and he turned towards the stairs. The library door peered at him from just around the corner, half open and challenging. Tom sighed heavily before making his way down.

It was just as he remembered it. Huge. Walls lined with shelves full of books, with an impressive skylight providing the best natural illumination in the building. He wasn’t particularly fond of this part of the house, but it had its charms. Not that he was in any mood to appreciate them. He took maybe three or four steps inside the room before he spotted the tall figure standing next to one of the book cases and stopped what could be considered a prudent throwing distance away.

“You’re back in town.” He ventured. The figure’s hand stilled for a second before continuing its path across book spines.

“Fortunately.” The voice was deep and calm, every syllable as clear as if the older man were standing right next to him. “I see you’ve recovered. A proper meal would still be in order, though.”

Tom bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not staying.”

“I’m sure you can spare half an hour, Thomas.” he turned around and those bispectacled grey eyes zeroed in on him.

“I’m fine. You already know that.” the young man motioned at his chest, where one of the wireless electrodes had been attached.

“I stopped monitoring your vitals after the first twenty four hours.” He held a book in his hand with an old leather cover. “Your health isn’t a problem.There’s something else we need to talk about.” He set it on top of an already large pile of books of similar quality. “But perhaps you’d like to shower first. And call your friend. She was quite worried about you.”

Tom felt the blood drain away from his face. “How long.” he asked. “was I out?”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “You've been unconscious for a little over two days.”

“Dammit.” he cursed, patting his pockets uselessly. “Where’s my jacket? And my cellphone.”

“You came without them.” the older man spoke as he walked past him. “Feel free to use the house phone if you need to. It is, after all, still your house.”

Ten minutes later he was done showering and dressing. He’d tried Faith’s home phone but no one had picked up. Her cell number was on his speed dial. His speed dial was on his mobile, which, it seemed, he had left at Jones's. If he was lucky, she hadn’t thrown it out yet. After five rings Tom gave up. Maybe not doing this over the phone was for the best. He went back downstairs and out to the garden, where a breakfast table was set under a roofed gallery. The same servant as before was pouring tea into his father’s cup.

“Thank you, Mathilde.” The older Relic said, and she took this as her cue to leave. Tom walked up to him and sat down without waiting to be invited.

“It was Stacy, wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching for the coffee pot. “She told you where to find me.”

“She helped.” Miles conceded. Tom gave him a dry smirk. “Did Mr. Clarke show you how to reverse the polarity of your sigil?”

“No.” the younger man frowned. “I figured that one out by myself.”

“Ah.” he took a meaningful sip of tea. “Gave you the tools, but didn’t have the time to show you how to use them, it seems.”

Tom said nothing. There was no point denying it but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction by confirming it either.

“So is that what you wanted to talk about?” he asked finally.

His father set down his cup and picked up one of the scones instead. “Partially, yes.” he cut it in half and smeared butter on it with deliberate, efficient strokes. “If you’re going to be wielding that kind of knowledge you should want to learn some basic safety measures. Blood as a crafting material is unnecessary, for one. And often less reliable than most organic ointments.”

“It was what I had at hand.” Tom took a long gulp of his coffee, feeling it burn down his throat satisfactorily. “Plus I wasn’t sure something else would work. Guess now I know. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And the area needn’t be so visually obvious. An arm or a leg will do.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The collector narrowed his eyes mistrustingly. “Isn’t this the kind of thing your Foundation overlords don’t want us *tools* to know?”

Miles scoffed and shook his head lightly. “If someone else in the Foundation knew how much you remembered, we would not be having this conversation.”

“You mean you haven’t told them.” Tom stared at him in disbelief. The older man held his gaze patiently, as if waiting for the understanding to sink in. It was a practiced look. “Wow. Are you actually trying to convince me you’re on my side... *dad*?” Calling him that almost sounded like an insult, though he was mostly insulting himself in that case. But the bispectacled man never flinched, and his eyes actually seemed to shine as the lips below them curled into an eerily chiseled smile.

“If that’s something I still need to convince you of, by all means, go back and bleed yourself all over that girl’s carpet. I promise I won’t stop you.” he took a bite of his scone, chewed it a couple of times and then downed it with some tea. “Otherwise, grow up. I’m going to need you to start using your head from now on.”

“For what, exactly?” Tom eyed him suspiciously. “That.” Miles said. “Is the other topic of our conversation. I'm afraid The Foundation aren’t the only ones we need to worry about.”

-

-No puedo decir que me lo esperaba. -dijo Sharon.

-Gracias. -Tom sonrió, inspirando el aire fresco afuera del pub.

-No especifiqué si era un cumplido o no.

-No tenías que. -sacó la cajetilla del bolsillo y le dio una sacudida. "Tres" adivinó al oido y sacó uno de los cigarrillos, lo depositó entre sus labios y buscó el encendedor en el otro bolsillo. -Estas impresionada de que no te pisé los pies, admítelo.

-*Casi* no me pisaste los pies.

-Esta bien, pero que conste que pisaste los mios al menos cinco veces.

La pelirroja estuvo a punto de emitir una objeción (claro que estaba exagerando, fueron dos y no cinco) pero en ese momento doblaron la esquina y por poco alguien se los llevó puesto. Mientras se apartaban del camino él pasó corriendo a toda velocidad y apenas les echó una mirada. A Sharon, por lo menos. Era un chico -al cual, cabe aclarar, Tom le llevaba, como mucho, unos cinco años, pero llamarlo chico parecía apropiado dadas las circumstancias (y lo hacía sentirse menos viejo). Su capucha gris se resbaló mientras corría, dejando al descubierto una cabeza rapada que se agitó freneticamente, buscando algo.

- Ahí estás, pequeña mierda! - gritó y de pronto, alguien que estaba caminando a unos treinta pies de ellos se puso a correr, pero el rapado lo alcanzó y lo empujó hacía la pared de una calle estrecha. Entonces como una manada salvaje, se oyeron más pisadas y desde la esquina alejada aparecieron tres *skinheads* más - quasi identicos, indistiguibles el uno del otro en la semi oscuridad salvo por el color de sus camisetas.

- ¡Lo encontré! -gruñó el que había aparecido primero. Los otros se acercaron.

- Te crees que puedes correr de nosotros, mierda?

- Ya te enseñaremos.

- Quitenme las manos de encima! -respondió alguien con un acento muy marcado. Se escuchó un forcejeo y un golpe seco, seguido por un quejido.

- Te dijimos que no volvieras a nuestro barrio, pedazo de porquería pakistani!

Tom apretó los puños. Ya había oido suficiente. Giró para mirar a Sharon, quien buscaba algo en su bolso.

- ¿Que haces? - preguntó confundido al ver que sacaba un celular.

- Llamo a la policía.

- Buena idea. - y sin más preámbulo, el cazador se fue corriendo en dirección del conflicto.

- Relic, que...-empezó Sharon, pero no había caso. No iba a detenerse. -¡Mierda! -insultó, aunque él ya no la estuviera oyendo.

Tom, mientras tanto, cruzó la distancia que los separaba de los skinheads y arremetió contra el más cercano, agarrándole de la capucha y mientras este giraba, impulsado tanto por la mano del cazador como por la sorpresa, tiró de ella hacía abajo sobre su cara y casi al mismo tiempo hundió la rodilla en su higado. El sujeto se dobló con un gemido ahogado y Tom bajó su codo con fuerza sobre su espalda, haciéndole caer definitivamente. La confusión causada por su ataque sorpresa fue ruidosa - los gritos e insultos no tardaron en llover sobre él - pero también corta; una vez que vieron a uno de los suyos en el suelo dos de ellos avanzaron con manos que de pronto dejaron de estar vacias.

- Me encantan los balisongs. -sonrió Tom observando como el sujeto de la derecha hacía un movimiento innecesariamente complicado para abrir su cuchillo.

- Pues chúpate esta. - la navaja cortó el aire directamente hacía su estomago, solo que la mano que la empuñaba no era tan rápida y el cazador dio medio paso y giró, saliendo del camino, y sus dedos apresaron la muñeca del sujeto y entonces su otra mano golpeó el codo, partiéndolo con un sonoro crujido. El skinhead pegó un alarido y soltó el cuchillo. Tom levantó los ojos - justo a tiempo para ver al otro alzar alguna especie de palo sobre su cabeza - y se preparó para un ataque que nunca vino, porque un par de manos palidas con manicura impecable aparecieron desde atrás sobre la mano del tipo y medio segundo después estaba girando en el aire como un trompo sin apoyo y estrellándose contra el suelo.

Terminó de mandar al del brazo roto a besar el cemento mientras Sharon le quitaba al suyo el bastón sin esfuerzo y lo pegaba con él. El tercero seguía con sus manos sobre el cuello de camisa del muchacho de mirada asustada, sin saber que hacer. Al ver como Tom recogía el cuchillo de su amigo, lo soltó y llevó la mano al interior de su campera, sacando su propia navaja plegable.

-Vamos, cabrón, hazme feliz. - retó el cazador empuñando su nuevo balisong.

-¡Mi brazo! - gimió uno de los skinheads en el suelo. - ¡Me rompió el puto brazo! Hijo de puta te voy a mat...

Tom resopló impaciente y lo calló de un puntapié. Luego observó a otro de ellos, al que había atacado primero, apoyarse sobre una rodilla mientras recuperaba la respiración.

-¿Quieren seguir? -ofreció- Sigamos.

Sharon presionó el bastón contra la garganta del que había desarmado y lo obligó a ponerse de pie, luego lo empujó hacía sus amigos.

-La policía va a llegar en un par de minutos. Lárguense. -ordenó con voz calmada.

Tom se encogió de hombros.

-Mejor háganle caso a la dama.

El skinhead con la navaja los miró como un perro acorralado, rechinando los dientes.

-No sabes con quien te has metido, compañero. - dijo y escupió al suelo. -He visto sus caras, tu y tu perra están muer...

El cazador alzó la mano como si se tratara de un acto reflejo y el balisong se clavó en el muro, entre dos ladrillos, a un centimetro de la oreja izquierda del sujeto.

-Asegurate de no olvidarlas entonces. Compañero. - espetó, clavándole la mirada.

No tardaron mucho en desaparecer después de eso.

-Quienes sean que sean, no he visto nada, asi por favor, no me maten. - dijo el muchacho moreno, acorralándose a si mismo contra la pared.

-Relajate, somos los buenos. - respondió Tom, aunque el otro no pareció muy convencido.

-No vamos a hacerte daño. - aseguró Sharon, dando un paso adelante. - ¿Me permites mirarte?

El chico asintió despacio y la pelirroja se acercó, tomó su cara entre sus manos y sacó una pequeña linterna de quien sabe donde.

-Tu cabeza esta bién. -declaró después de un corto examen. - ¿Tienes alguna lesión?

-No... creo.

-Deberías ir a una clínica de todas formas.

-Creo... que... simplemente me ire a casa. - el muchacho de rulos negros se acomodó el buzo y dio unos pasos tentativos fuera del callejón -casi como si esperara que lo persiguieran. - ¿Eh... gracias? -lanzó, antes de echarse a correr.

-De nada. - respondieron Sharon y Tom al unísono. Luego el cazador movió la cabeza, semiresignado, y miró a su compañera.

-¿En serio llamaste a la policía?

-No, no me diste tiempo.

-Tu fuiste quién decidió ayudarme. -se encogió de hombros- Cabe aclarar, fue un mejor uso de tu tiempo en lo que a mi me concierne. -añadió rapidamente. No quería pelear con ella, no esta vez.

Pero quizás ya era un poco tarde para eso.

-No has crecido ni un poquito. -acusó ella. - Pasaron tantos años y no aprendiste nada.

-Aprendí a apuntar mejor. -se acercó a la pared y extrajo el cuchillo. -Eso es algo.

-Buenas noches, Tom.

-¿Adonde vas? -preguntó.

-Voy a tomar un taxi.

-No quieres que te lleve? Tengo cerca la moto.

Sharon cerró los ojos y movió la cabeza como una madre decepcionada. Conocía esa expresión, era identíca a la de Reynell. Y la de Nina. Y la de Gillian. Realmente casi todas las mujeres que lo conocían terminaban mirandolo de esa forma.

- No volveré a poner mi vida en tus manos. Al menos no esta noche, esta bien?

- Esta bien. - contestó, sin sentir la boca. Recibir disparos era algo así, el shock llegaba primero. Pero por el bien de los dos, disimuló el efecto que sus palabras habían tenido y se encaminó al estacionamiento.

A veces, su masoquismo superaba lo absurdo.

What goes on:

Getting to Sealand means they meet Alex Bates, the Princess of Sealand and last surviving member of the Bates Family. Of course she also happens to be Briar Rose. Alex will explain that even though she herself lost most of her power since the last White Knight died, Sealand is still protected by magical wards and some pretty heavy firepower so they are safe here. Thus the heroes are given the option to stay in this neutral ground and ride out whatever will happen pretty soon. However, should Rowaddon find out the gem is here he will come for it, and Sealand might not hold up for long.

BTW where is Rowaddon? Well our zombie friend went to find the only other living dragon in the city, which is of course our dear Mayor, who of course, bailed immediately, only, where to? Why, Evolutionary Robotics, of course, because that's the place he's been investing into to build a weapon should his compatriot ever rise up again. However it is important to note that The Motherboard will lose this fight without HK since he holds an integral piece of her programming. Meaning he will once again be given a choice - become one with the motherboard to turn into an ultimate weapon (that possibly wants to take over the world) or... carry on doing whatever it is he is doing now.

Meantime Fat Bastard (who of course placed the price on the heroes heads) is patiently waiting in his secret lair for things to happen. Things like The Duchess contacting Tuxedo to say that she has a tracker built by Dr. Frankenstein that will help them find the gate (it's in Iceland). Once they actually find it she'll suggest transporting it to The Bastards Lair so they can properly destroy it. Weither Tuxedo would go alone or take the whole gang with him there, they'd be waiting - with nerve gas, magic dampeners, kryptonite, tech intefering thingies... the whole shebang. Naturally The Fat Bastard does not want to destroy the gate but use it to harness power and up his game in arms dealing.

Once they do actually activate the gate, Rowaddon will be there in no time, and that'll mess them up seriously - they're all out of his league. But if Rowie showes up so does Jeri, and he'll stall him long enough for the good guys to fight the smaller bad guys and get the gem back.

There's also a small chance the heroes will be smart about this and instead of listening to the Duchess they'll just go and activate the armor with the gem. That's when the question arises, who's going to fight the dragon and get himself possibly melted into scrap in the process. Whoever it is, as soon as the armor is activated, a bizarre little technoarcane interface will appear and say something like this:

"Greetings, White Knight. You have been bestowed upon, and accepted, a great power that will come at a great cost. For this show of valor and selflessness alone, you will be forever remembered - your actions from this point on shall be recorded and preserved in the library banks of Tir Na Nog. Your recent memories indicate that great danger is near - thus I am afraid we have no time to take you through a detailed explanation on all the functions and capabilities of your armor. You will be provided with a simple outline of your strongest offensive abilities and the basic principles which you must abide by in order to remain worthy of this honor.

These basic principles are:

- Never attack a defensless creature - Never use lethal force unless a life is threatened - Always put life before death.

Violating one of these principles once will cause your armor to malfunction and you great pain. A second violation will disengage your weapons. A third one will shut the armor down until it is once again worn by a worthy hero. Nod if you have understood this.

Next, you will need to select your allies. If they are within proximity, point at them with your right hand. Your allies will be granted immunity to the armor's offenses and a measure of power of their own. This power also comes at a cost - the Sidhe magick also carries Sidhe weaknesses. None of your companions, however, will be bound by the same oaths as you.

How to make things interesting:

- going through any path that does not involve coming with the Duchess or directly teleporting to Evolutionary Robotics will entail bumping into an assortment of villains and henchmen

- How do they find out the Mayor is at E.R.? Well, either he calls them or Ms. Clairmont 2.0 shows up, this time, in a much more curteous manner, and shares her knowledge.

- Should they actually go to E.R. they'll see the Mayor there. HK will have a talk with the Motherboard and Rowaddon will already be there, blasting through the building's defenses (something they will probably catch on the telly before coming over). That's when HK will have to choose.

- The Mayor will only turn into his dragon form when there's no other choice - a.e. has to save his life or stop Rowaddon from activating the gate. He's either hiding or dying a reluctant hero.

- The Boss Fight needs to have an epic scope. Ideally it will happen in Iceland, with volcanos and geisers and big ass waterfalls. It will reshape the landscape and change the weather. Rowaddon is not above hurting innocents if his plan is danger, of course. The other scenario is they wait till next day and fight Rowaddon at the opening of the Olympics which means THOUSANDS of innocent people in danger.

White Knight:

Armor - Protection Impervious 15

Juggernaught - p 117 Supernatural

Sus manos se sentían calientes y pegajosas - empapadas en sudor ajeno, estrujaban una carne tersa y palpitante. Sentía el pulso frenético bajo sus dedos, las venas salidas como pequeñas lombrices bajo la piel, las convulsiones involuntarias que formaban parte de una reacción fisiologica natural al encontrarse violentamente privado de aire. Era un espectáculo que siempre lo había fascinado, aunque también le resultaba repulsivo, las dos sensaciones parecían imposibles de separar. No era su culpa realmente, porque él lo tenía bajo control, lo escondía, como todas las cosas, bajo ese caparazón que llevaba como una placa de acero sobre una cloaca mugrienta. La culpa la tenía este cuerpo que ahora mismo se retorcía debajo suyo, esta colección desafortunada de endorfinas y



- You two. - the man surveyed them with a solemn look, his brow furrowed into a single, bushy line. - Are bloody mental.

A grin formed on his face without warning - it made him look like a satisfied piranha. He put one long arm around each of them and pulled them into some sort of fatherly hug. - I've had no faith in you at all, I swear. Thought you'd be dead in a gutter by now. Glad you proved me wrong.

- Well, thanks a lot.- McKinney joked, despite how surreal it was - being pressed into a suit that cost more than any car he'd ever driven by a mafia boss who'd just turned into an excited ten year old. He glanced over at Diane, who was about as shocked and maybe twice as happy as he was.

- Andy, my dear boy. I was gunna kill you this time, you know.- he said with the tone of a reproachful parent. - Well, Jonny was.

- Aye. - Jonny nodded amicably.

- Shoot you right in the head, then feed you to the fish.

- Thanks again?

- You're welcome, you little shit. Though it's her you should be thanking. - he turned to the smiling brunette and took her hands in his. - Your friend made me believe in miracles again. When was the last time I believed in miracles, Jonny?

- I think that was in primary school, boss.

- Tosser. But you're right. - he bent his long, thin frame and kissed Diane's hands. - I'm so glad we got to meet, luv. You remind me of my wife, may her soul rest in peace. You've got fire in your blood just like she did.

- Thank you, Mr. Harlan. - she said, and unlike McKinney, she was not being sarcastic.

- It's Raymond from now on. Now. Time to celebrate!



For all his apparent fragility, Harlan could hold his liquor amazingly well. He didn't insist, maybe to save them both the embarrassment, but Jonny and the others obediently matched him glass by glass until Harlan finally drank them all under the table. Then he sat there, wearing a smug expression.

- The useless basterd. - he said with a huff of mock contempt. - Never learns.

- Is he going to be alright?

- Oh, absolutely. Don't worry, Diane, dear, he'll be good as new in the morning.

- Doubt that. - McKinney chuckled.



- I'm not goin' to make it easy on you, lad. You know I won't.

- Yeah, that's... ok. I quit hoping you'd help me when I saw your new owner. - Tom cracked his neck. - Then I realized I'm not the one who needs help.

-



Just keep moving, the voice in Tom's head said, keep moving and get your feet under you. His breathing had turned quick and shallow, with all but the slightest of movements sending jolts of pain through his ribcage. He scrambled back to his feet as fast as he could - but it wasn't fast enough. A punch broke through his guard, lightning-fast, and caught him square on the broken ribs.

Tom's vision went white. His knees buckled and all he could do was pull his arms over his head because he knew the next punch would crack his skull. He opened his mouth but no air came in or out. It was like somebody had ripped his lungs out.

- Cheer up, lad. - he heard McKinney's voice over him. - Yer'e almost halway through.

The clock read 4:48.

Department of Celestial Mechanics XD

"What are you going to do with me?" “What do you think?” The woman looked at him and Tom felt an urge to avert his eyes; instead he held still, stared right back at her. He knew he was being read, but it didn't matter. He was scared, yes, but also angry; angry at those who deceived him, and angry at himself for allowing such deception. If I can’t get out of this place, he thought, it will be my own fault. “It’s not a rhetorical question. I’m serious.” Her expression was enigmatic. "I'm sure you have some ideas by now, I'd love to hear them." This is a game. If I guess right, they'll let me go. Still, even as he thought it, he knew it was unlikely. Every horror movie he'd seen told him that. But what if I pretend I don't want to escape. They'll forget about it eventually and then... Out loud, he said “I think you want to recruit me.” The lady raised an eyebrow at him “What gives you that idea?” He shrugged. “It’s what cults do. That or sacrifice killing, and I don’t believe you want to kill me.” "Interesting." she remarked. "And what makes you think that we’re a cult?” Now it was his turn to waggle eyebrows. “You mean besides the people in cloaks drawing that big star in a circle thing with a dead pig’s blood in the secret basement under the gym?” “It’s called a pentagram. But I see your point. That might have seemed a bit… queer.” There was an upward curl to the edge of her mouth, almost a smile. “So are you taking me to be brainwashed?” “Do we need to?” He didn’t know if she meant it so he said “No” just in case. At that moment, the elevator door opened, revealing a corridor with bare grey walls and fluorescent lights. "Follow me" the woman said. "You don't want to get lost down *here*." They started walking. The lights were far apart, so it was pretty dark. He tried counting his steps, but then they turned a corner, and then another and he lost count. “Where are we going?” “Pentagram painters HQ.” “Really?” “No, but close enough.” The click click of her heels echoed loudly as she walked. “Important to make an informed decision if you’re planning to join a cult, isn’t it?” He stopped dead. “An informed what?” She stilled her step, turned, half towards him, half facing the wall – she was not going to wait for him long, even if her patient face said otherwise. “Decision. The act of discarding some options in favor of others. A choice. Do you know what a choice is?” “I know what both mean.” “I’m glad your vocabulary is not more limited than expected.” Expected by whom, he wondered, but instead he said “Are you saying I can choose to not go with you?” “That is the implication, yes.” “So I can just go back, right now?” “If that’s what you want. But if you do, you will not have another chance to see the other side of that door. At least not for a long time.” He thought about it. As little as he trusted her, he *did* want to see what was on the other side. And then there was one other thing. “What will happen to me if I go back?” She gave him a slight nod as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “You will return to your father, of course.” He nodded back, slowly. So maybe they weren’t going to kill him or brainwash him – but they had already started manipulating him. It’s not that bad, he told himself. At least I know what they’re doing. He took a step forward, feeling her prying eyes on him as he walked past her towards the silver door at the end. When they got there, there was a door buzzer on the wall. “It’s me, Maria.” She spoke, having pressed the button. “Password, please.” “Caterpillar.” “Hello, Maria.” The door swung open. “I thought you’d have a higher budget than that.” Tom remarked, flicking his thumb in the direction of the buzzer.

Image Tags:

-By Type - People, Couples, Male, Female, Object, Landscape, Nature, Weapon, Plant, Machinery, Armor, Architecture, Interior, -By Name -By Material - Metal, Wood, Stone, Gem -By Content - Fashion, Sport, Nude, Fullbody, Face -By Pose - Running, Sitting, Lying, Jumping -By medium - B&W, manga, comic, painting, photoshop, ukiyo-e, watercolor, oil, photo -By parts - leg, arm, hair,

Katapesh:

NPCs met so far:

- Halim Hussain, the salesman with a grudge against Zulran. - Aziz, Zulran's slave boy. - The Zephyr Guard. - An'Aldane Zulran, owner of Zulran's Equines and guildmaster of the Imperial Union of Breeders. - Fatima, Zulran's daughter. - Zuleyma, Zulran's wife. - Saul, Zulran's butler. - Coran, the dockmaster. - Whispershade, member of the Twilight Talons. - Xorsov - cpt of the Golden Steeds ruk team - Farhad - treasurer of the Imperial Union of Breeders. - Shank Whitelock - gnoll ranger guide. - Moss Pelt - owner of The Rabid Dog, gnoll. - The Black Jackal - a mysterious jackalwere that seems to be involved in the upcoming assassination attempt.

- Tienes veintinueve años, Blake. ¿Cuando vas a sentar cabeza? - Sentar cabeza? - Blake levantó la mirada sorprendido. - Estas bromeando, no? - Pues claro que no. Que al menos conozcas una buena chica y la traigas a cenar una de estas…. Mama se pondría muy contenta. - Mama ya está contenta con la nueva tele que le compré - repuso. - Tiene ciento veinte canales para entretenerse, con eso ya me ahorro de que se queje de mí. Y Brit no tiene nada de que quejarse, verdad Brit? Te gustan tus nuevos juguetes? - Si! - Y te nueva gusta tu ropa? - Si! - Y quieres que tio Blake se case y se vuelva un mojón apestoso y aburrido? - No! - Pero que burradas dices, tarado. Yo no estoy diciendo “casate”. Que en fin… ni se para que te lo pregunto. - Pues yo tampoco lo se. Estoy bien como estoy, ya sabes. - Lo estas? Por eso estás cojeando hoy, porque estás bien? - No estoy cojeando. Y si que estoy bien, vale? Estoy mejor que nunca. Creeme. Laurie puso los ojos en blanco. - Si algo te pasa… - Nada me va a pasar, es que tu eres una paranoica. Mejor cuentame como te va con este… Kevin? Así se llamaba? - Kenneth. No me ha vuelto a molestar desde la ultima vez. Ojala siga asi. - Ojala. Pero si lo hace… - Puedo cuidarme sola, Blake. - Aja. Ya lo se. Pero este renacuajo no necesita más imbeciles en su vida. Laurie puso cara de que iba a refutarlo pero cambió de opinión. - Llamó Johnny. Johnny Grotsky, recuerdas? - Si, ya se quién es Johnny. Como le va a ese hijo de su madre? - Bien, está manejando camiones en Florida. Estaba de paso y preguntó por tí. No se han hablado en un buen tiempo, no? - No, bueno. No ha habido chance. Sigue en la ciudad? - Creo que sí. Toma. Me dejó su nuevo numero.