Here begins a creative writing exercise/game for those in the forum that dabble in writing as fun. Let's hope it works.

How it works:
Like any story, our tale will have phases and in each phase there will be different methods of scoring points. In this phase will be the following.

A) You may not write in your own persona as a character in your portion of the tale (- 5 points)
Skillful introduction of a Forum character into the tale (+1 )
C) Skilful introduction of a character power/story arc/ancillary plotline that supports the narrative (+1)
D) Killing off a character this early with little or no reason (- 5)
E) Masterful switching of genres (+3)
F) emotional narratives (good funnies/good sads/suspense) (+5)
G) Continuing a previous character or plot arc well (+10)
H) Introducing and removing a character permanently in the same post(-10)
I)Good drama (+10)
J) Providing branching plot options for the next writer (+5)
K) Originality (+7)

Imagine the tale as a creative writing relay and you should get the general idea of how it works. O, and keep the story portions in italics so its easier for me to score . I won't score myself so I won't be in the running for any prizes. (As if this were an actual TJNR competition. lol.)

The heavy set blast doors leading into the Agency opened. The dry smell of concrete. The long echoes as his leather shoes clapped on the harsh floor.

He thought about the last time he had been here. Before the shakeup. Before he had become one of the disavowed and had been cut loose into retirement. Into simple contract work.

They had cut him in his prime. And he had told them to go fuck themselves.

That was more than a decade ago. He never expected them to contact him. Ever.

Down the corridor, in front of a room, stood Sampson. Once his closest friend in the Agency. Once his protege.

"Hello Ted. How have you been?"
"It doesn't matter. What's this about?"
Sampson laughed.
"Typical. Still straight to the point I see."
"Have you ever known me to be otherwise?"

Sampson turned to the door and opened it.
"Well you might as well see for yourself."

Entering the dark room, the protege muttered something under his breath and flicked his fingers and the walls of the room began to glow an ethereal blue. A gurney was at the center of the room and a skinny figure lay upon it. Shallow breathing and barely conscious.

It was only after awhile that Ted could see pass the painful bruises to identify the person.

"Oh my god. Wombat. What happened to you?"

"He was found like this in a back alley in Cyprus two days ago.",said Sampson. "No idea of what happened or how he ended up there. More importantly.."
Sampson tilted the head of Wombat gently, ignoring the former agent's weak moans of protest. A long scarred stitch ran from the base of the neck up the back of the shivering man's head.

A chill ran up Ted's spine. A memory of a case in Jerusalem in 1976 awoke in his mind.

Sampson reached into a pocket in his suit and drew a pack of playing cards. Swiftly he shuffled and split the deck. Showing the card picked to only himself and Ted, he asked the Wombat to identify the card.

"What card have I picked?"
The man whined and hugged a pillow.
"I don't know."
"Come on now. This is entry level stuff for you."
Wombat cringed and sobbed.
"I don't know I can't.. I just can't tell anymore"
"Try. Try to remember how you used to.."

A woman walked up from behind Ted.
"He can't do it. Leave him alone"
"Clare, we have to be a hundred percent.."
"He's not lying. ", she said, tapping her temple. Sampson left it there.

"Ted, meet Clare. She's new to us from Dresden."
Ted nodded to the woman.
Clare walked to a table and motioned to Ted to follow. A black box lay on the table. Shattered remains of what looked like a high level clearance tech. A communicator maybe. Or a camera.

"This was found in an adjacent room to his in Cyprus. He followed the SOP. Stashed in a ventilation shaft."
Sampson said, "This is where you come in, Ted."

The device lay shattered. And even as he looked on, Ted began to feel the creeping of his mind. Shapes forming and rearranging in his head. His hands began the itch he had not felt for the last ten years or so.

"I am not coming back. If I do this, it's to help him. Nothing more."
"It's all we ask."

Slowly Ted walked up and placed his hands over the dead device. Pushing away the instinct he had mustered in stopping his powers, now he welcomed them, The itching grew and a low hum sounded as sparks emitted from his cupped hands. Shapes became other shapes. Changing and growing and changing yet again in his mind. The smell of burnt plastic wafted through the room.

And just like that, it was done.

"Have you got a phone on you", Ted asked.
Nodding, Sampson reached into his pockets.
"Lay it on the table and put it on speaker". It was done as he asked.

Once again Ted reached into the back of his mind, calling upon the skill. The phone crackled with static. And the message began to play.

With that I hand off to the next writer. Please no cheesey "it was all a dream" or "then he woke up" stuff. thanks

"Hello, Sampson. I knew this would find its way back to you. And if you've managed to piece back together this recording, then I presume Ted is with you as well? It's been a long time, Ted. I wonder, do you remember the promise I made to you? I told you, Ted, that I would find you. I told you I would find all of you. Wombat's passing from this world is the first, but I promise, it will not be the last. We'll be seeing each other again soon, I would think."

The silence was chilling. Finally, Sampson spoke.
"Who the hell was that, Ted? How'd he know about this group, these tapes?”

“It’s been a long time. Christ, I still had hair then.” Ted pulled out a chair and sat down, his thumb massaging his temples.

Clare put a comforting hand on Ted’s aged, but still powerful right arm, which was now trembling with nostalgia.
“Please, start at the beginning. It’s important that we hear everything.”

Ted nodded.
“It’s important we have everyone gathered here. It’s vital that everybody knows what we’re dealing with. We got lucky this time, Wombat survived. HE doesn’t know that. This may turn out very useful to us, if we can help him recover. Before I go on, issue the call. I want to speak to the group as a whole.”

The first of the three missing members showed up within seconds of the signal. Standing six foot tall, the looming figure of KVL entered the room. The monkey on his shoulder tugged at his hair. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a long stick and reached toward his shoulder. The monkey hungrily pushed backward the large face of Cinderella and slipped the candy that protruded into his palm, then into his mouth. KVL put the dispenser back into his pocket, at protest of his fond pet.
“Hush, Pez, that’s enough for now. What seems to be the trouble, Sam?”


I think maybe a stub post would be good, like "I'm writing a response to the previous entry" type thing, so there aren't duplicate story arcs people have to follow, when there's a two authors adding to the previous. Thought that could also make it interesting.

"Dammit, KVL, take off the elevator shoes. This is serous!" Ted growled.

With a sheepish grin, KVL stepped out of his platform shoes and was restored to his actual height of 5 feet, 4 inches. "Sorry, Ted. I heard Clare was here and, well..."

"Goddammit, KVL, keep it in your pants. There's no time for that shit now. This is important!"

Pez, startled by Ted's shouting, scurried down KVL's back and cowered behind him, peeking fearfully around KVL's legs.

A low moan from Wombat's prone form brought their bickering to a halt and KVL noticed the shrouded figure for the first time. "Is that...holy shit, Ted, what happened to Wombat? How could anyone have gotten the drop on him? There's no way anyone should have been able to get within a mile of him without detection."

"Indeed." Ted grunted in assent. "Unless details of the abilities of our cadre have become more...well-known."

"But..." KVL's gaze jumped from one face to the next, looking for some indication of what was happening, "even if they knew, how could they...?"

"We don't know, but that's where you come in." Sam interjected. "We're going to need you and Clare to work together to rabbit out whoever is behind this. And wipe that supid-ass grin from your face, KVL, this is serious!"

"I won't let you down, Chief." KVL responded, trying to contain his irrepressible grin.

"Sam, are you sure this is the best idea?" Clare asked. "Surely you remember what happened in D.C.? Shit, it was only through random chance that we were able to divert the blame from KVL. If Puzzlehead hadn't been there, who knows how we would have gotten out of that one."

"It could be worse, Clare. We considered assigning Bart to the team."

"Say no more. What are the orders?"


I just realized the weakness in my "edit the stub post" idea...it doesn't let anyone know you've updated the thread. So ignore that suggestion. I might experiment with the genre-change next. That should be fun...though my cross-genre-knowledge is severely limited, so it may not be as interesting as I hope.

Somewhere in Nowhere, USA.

JustSumDude pulled up into the gas station. He cursed at the biting cold. Frost formed on his breath and the dry air hurt his eyes. It was 2 in the morning and too early to be called out like this.

But the Agent had called. It was an emergency.

Entering the service area, he saw the Agent standing by greyed old coffee and dry shrivelled pies in the warm food section.

The nod was slight. But it was all that was needed.

"I am sorry to call you out like this. But you needed to be briefed."
"This better be good.", said JSD.

The Agent glanced around. And spoke.

"Last week I was at Brubakers having a meal when this guy sits down. This guy. He sees the sign out on my car. My old Commodore, for six grand. He tells me he's interested and when I'm done he wants a drive to show him the vehicle.."

"He looks familiar and I tell him that he does. Turns out we both go to the 10.30 at First Presbyterian he says. Small world. Anyway, I tell him that the Ford runs okay and if he likes the car and can pay cash then I'm all for giving him 500 off. What with me heading to Vegas over the weekend and our church connection and all."

"So we jump into the car and I'm taking him around the block. He's talking about how his first kid's failing math and how much it's gonna cost him to arrange a tutor and all that"

"I'm smiling. He's cracking jokes and we're about around the dogleg on Montrose when I feel this fucking pain in my neck. I turn and there this guy's sitting with a damn syringe in his hand. This look in his eye. Craziest dead eyes."

"So I'm sitting there shocked. And he's shuffling around trying to get the lock to get out. I don't know why I did what I did, but I hit the central locking and all I can think about is driving straight to the cop shop."

"Struggling, we both are thrashing around, I'm trying to keep steering proper when the whole car runs into the side of a bakery. "

"I'm there sitting stunned in there. So is he. Two deflated airbags in our faces. I'm pulling change and CDs and whatever else out of my lap from before the glove box exploded."

"I turn to this guy. He's slumped over and his wallet's fallen out of his coat and onto his lap. I dig through trying to find out who this fuck is. And honest to God, he's got a list in there. All folded up. About 15 names in there. Mostly people I don't know. All except two."

" I do not know what comes over me but I start swinging. I crack him so hard in the face he wakes up. He is yelling how I don't understand. But at this point I just want to kill him. Next thing I know my side window shatters and this pedestrian has a choke hold around me screaming at me to stop hitting the passenger, whose face is all bloodied and passed out again."

The Agent stops to catch his breath. He buys a shit grey coffee.

"So two days ago I am driving up to the hills. One of the people on the list. I know her. I have to let her know about this. Let her know to be careful in case some crazy fuck sticks some syringe into her neck.

"But you know driving up to Little Bear, there is a landslide and half the roads closed. We have to alternate traffic to get things going smooth. But being the long weekend and in the early hours, the only road up the hill is backed up both ways going up and down."

"That's when it happened. Fucking three in the morning pissing wet. Out of nowhere, this god awful bang. And everything I see for the next twenty seconds is bright colours. It's so bright I gotta shut my eyes and still I can feel colours bleeding through my lids. And close to my ears I hear whispers. Too quiet to hear what they're saying. And bang again."

"As soon as the lights and shit end I open my eyes. And fuck me standing, it's daylight. Midday to be exact. I'm sitting in my car, which is completely dead, unable to start."

"I get out and around me are all the rest of the cars which were going up and down the hill. But they're all empty. Everybody's gone. I yell out for someone to hear me. And for awhile there is nobody. But then I hear someone. Someone running down the hill. Christ, it's the person I came up to see."

"First thing I ask her is if she's okay. She's shaken but otherwise unharmed. But all around us, there must be something like 35 cars and everybody's gone. And it's dead quiet because all the engines are dead. My watch is dead. Both our phones dead. "

"Half a day has passed like that and neither of us knows what the fucks happened. That's when I remember what I came to her for. I ask her why she never picked up the phone for my calls but she says she did not get any of my calls. So I tell her about the man with the syringe. I tell her to be careful."

"She gives me this look. She reaches into her parka and she shows me a leather case full of these syringes. She says she was attacked the night before by a guy in her backyard who got her with one of these. Whatever that golden liquid was, she got a full dose before she clubbed him with a rake. At any rate, she was coming down to warn..

..shit". The coffee fell out from the mitts of the Agent's hands all over the floor. Splashing stale shit all over JSD's boots.

"Goddamit Wombat. You know how to hold a fucking coffee or what?", JSD cussed and grabbed a handful of paper towels dabbing furiously at the stained footware.

That's when he felt the sharp pain in the side of his neck.

Here we meet two new people. If they could be called polar opposites that would be fine, ultimately they were, but in the grand scheme of things, they were only two people left on the planet more alike and more important to anyone else. But right now, that's neither here nor there.

People referred to them as the Twins. Spanky and Boom, that’s what they called themselves. They weren’t related, but had been raised in the same orphange together until they were both 18. Old enough to get out and make a mark on the world for themselves. The first one was asian, with close cropped hair, tall and lanky but moved with a grace that didn’t suit him at all. He also had the misfortune to be an Albino. Therefore, he always wore sunglasses which covered those pink, beady little eyes of his they called him Colorless, he didn’t mind, because it was true. His brother was stocky and muscular. His name was Shampyon.

Colorless stood over the dead body and pulled up his pants. Shamp, took a drag on his cigarette and looked at his friend. “Everytime, every bleeding time. I can’t double tape someone in the back of the head without you having to piss on it. Why?”

Colorless looked at him and tilted his head. “You know, never mind, I don’t want to know. “ He pulled his Crocodile Dundee knife held up to the guy that was strung from the rafter. “You see this is what you get when you cross Lord Bison.” He pulled the knife up and sliced the skell from nuts to hairline and then muttered unhis breath. “This we give to you Oh Lord Cthulhu.” He flicked the knife to the side and let the blood splatter on his boot. Him and his companion exited the wharehouse and looked around. It was going to be a beautiful day in the Rockaway.
• * *
Bison paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was all he could do to contain the fountain of rage building in him. His plans were going on track. Going fine, everything was going to be Easy Cheese George McPeasey. He pulled his cloak closer around him, like a child with a security blanket. He though it made him look regal and mysterious, everyone else though it made him look like a ponce. The door to his sanctum opened and in strode his advisor.

“My Lord, I bring news.” Faust spoke and then folded his hands behind his back. “A new player has entered the game. This is unexpected but beneficial, none the less. That drunken bastard and his lackies will never see us coming now. ”

“Do you know who this player is?” Bison asked over his soldier, never once turning around to look at Faust.

“No, my lord, but it’s someone powerful, they took out the Marsupial and the Dude.

Bison smirked. That was indeed quite a feat. “Oh Lord Cthulhu , give us strength to dedicated this world and to give you the subjects you desire.

Faust stepped back and rolled his eyes. He didn’t believe in this hocus pocus. He dwelt on facts, but he had joined this cult under the pretense that it could bring him great power, damn the responsibility that came with it.

The Book of Dude
Chapter I

1. Thus did JSD learn of the Plan. And whenst when the needle entereth into his neck, he didst know colors and sights not known to mortal man. And the Lord, Zot, in His regal glory, didst speak unto him, saying,
2. 'JSD, thou art My loyal disciple and thou hast always served Me well. Thou hast earned My gratitude, yet there are evils afoot that I wouldst have thee deal with in Mine name.'
3. 'Oh, Lord Zot, thou knowest I am Thy loyal servant and will lay down mine life for Thee if Thou shouldst but ask. Speak, and Thy instructions shall be done unto Thy exact specifications,' saith JSD.
4. 'I hadst hoped thou wouldst speak thusly,' didst Zot respond. 'Thy obedience will earn thee great rewards on Earth and at Mine side in the Kingdom of Heaven,' saith Zot unto JSD.
5. 'Speak, and let Thy will be known,' didst JSD respond.
6. 'Thou knowest of our mortal enemies, the foul Dark Brotherhood, and thou knowest the peril that faceth all mankind shouldst the plan of these vile miscreants succeed,' intoneth Zot. 'It is written in the Book of Justin that thou shalt not consort with mine enemies and thou must flee in a great exodus shouldst any creation from Mine hands be found under the control of Mine advesary.'
7. 'Yes, Lord, didst JSD respond with less patience, but Thy plan...'
8. 'And thou knoweth Mine other commandment: thou shalt not stick needles in the necks of Mine loyal servants. Thus hath the minions of Cthulhu dealt with Mine loyal footsoldiers,' continueth Zot.
9. 'Yes, Lord I am aware of these facts, but Thy plan...'
10. 'And thus didst I speak on the Mount of BDub, that foul, lumpy and odiferous mound, of the perils that face mine loyal followers shouldst they not heed my words...' droneth on Zot.
11. 'Yes, Lord,' didst JSD respond a third time before his Lord could conclude His thoughts. 'I well knoweth these things. Yet I know not Thy plan which thou wouldst have me act.'
12. 'All things that are good and holy cometh from Mine own hands and are thine to use as I instruct thee. As thou doeth Mine commands, thou shalt find rewards incomparable and riches put away in heaven,' Zot continueth.
13. JSD, who hadst learned the futility of interrupting, heldest his tongue with much patience.
14. 'Now, Mine good and loyal JSD,' didst Zot continue, 'I shall give thee My commands that thou shouldst act upon Mine enemies as I wouldst have thee act. Mine people must be led forth to the water that they mighteth drink.'
15. The countenance of JSD hadst turned a fiery crimson and he hadst clenched his hands, his knuckles as white as the purity of the virgin mother, Doughnut Fairy. Yet naught escapeth from his pinched lips.
16. 'And now, Mine obedient JSD, my plan is thus: thou shalt findeth Mine other loyal servants and worketh together with those gifts bestowed upon thee by Mine hand to overthrow the dark designs of The Brotherhood.'
17. 'Yes, Lord,' JSD didst respond, 'but...er, what exactly didst Thou have in mind? I meaneth...well, Thy instructions are not quite as clear as the undisturbed face of holy Lake Queltor.'
18. 'Thus let it be written, thus let it be done,' didst Zot command with a dismissive wave to his servant JSD.
19. 'But...er, okay.' saith JSD in defeat as the face of his Lord didst fade from his mind.

At 36,000 feet, the Ragnarok shot across the Earth faster than the speed of sound. The Agency's pinnacle of innovation, the testament to the wealth of resources available to this most covert of covert organisations.

In the conference room, the members of the Agency sat. Briefed via commsat by the senior officer of Intel, Pitchit.

The hologram looked at each of the assembled, and the usually pristine grooming of the unfazeable man looked drawn. Haggard.

"Ted, It's a pleasure to see you back."
"The pleasure's all yours P. What have you guys been doing while I was away? It seems a lot has slipped under your radar since I left."
"When you left, the world was preoccupied with building a better toaster. Times have changed and things are a lot more complicated and fast now."
Ted waved it away. Dismissive.

"Well.."said the hologram, "if we are done kicking each other in the balls then let's continue, shall we?"

The image flicked into a series of 3 dimensional pictures. Each playing in one segment of the image. A 6-fold dossier with data and specifics.

"Try to get up to speed with the info, Ted."
Diagrams flicked and flashed. Arranged and rearranged.
"Spectral analysis of the comm tech message in Cyprus indicates the use of a pitch shift degraduation with a Lambert matrix and De Pena frequency filter. The quality of the work indicates either an individual with extremely advanced training, skill sets and personal wealth or a group with resources similar to ours."

KVL blew a low whistle. Whoever these people were, they meant business. Gazing over the vast table on which a platter of pastries sat far from his reach, he whispered the word, "Shrink."

The Capuchin monkey on his shoulder writhed within itself. Clawing and tugging its fur and skin away the creature tore away it's excess, revealing its new form as a Lion Tamarind; a much smaller primate. It scuttled cross the desk lightly, clutching to fetch a couple of bear claws.

Ted motioned to KVL to keep attention on Pitchit's brief.
" Whatever the case may be, all operative resources below a Class Black 2 Delta rating has been disengaged from our employ in order to enable Backburn Contingency should the need arise.

As you know now there has been reports of strange events taking place near our South African branch. Talal Zaheer is the branch director."

The hologram changed into Zaheer and spoke.

"Gentlemen, SA office started a batch of serious investigations into rumours of a local man harassing two level 2 potentials that we were monitoring under our recruitment/scouting program. The man was harangued by local uniformed PD but it didn't take. He subsequently made contact with the first potential at the night markets. She was a level 2 Suggestive Telepath and before they could lock her down reports say she was touched. After which, this same man, whom locals call the Prodigy, orders the two guys in our unit to sleep.

This talent was the same one as the first potential's"

"How's the potential now?", asked Ted.
"233 status and catatonic. Not coping well now given her powers, well.."said Zaheer
"Well what?"
"Well they're gone."
"Prognosis?"
"The rest you have got to know when you guys get here, it's not safe for me to reveal any more without..What the hell is he doing?"

It was Wombat. Somehow, he had walked right up to the exit door next to the next. His eyes glassy.
And he said, "How dare you all try to rub your superiority over us. Why should you make yourselves the masters who watch us while the common us cleans up the messes and filth left behind my you. "
Clare muttered to Ted, "Mentalism?"
"I don't know. Something about it's all wrong."

The Wombat continued, "Let it be known. I will be your destroyer. The world of men deserve the rule of men. Not titans and other false gods. I have now the seeds sown for your end. But why waste the time with only one of your fates when luck might end you all now."

With that, the Wombat decoy blew apart. The shrapnel tore through a large part of the room. Only the use of belts prevented the team from being vacuumed out by the ensuing void.

Alarms issued through the torn fuselage of the Ragnarok. And before he knew anything, the sheering speed had tore the entire room open.

Ted fought with great strength to keep his eyes closed. The noise defending.

In fate he had to trust now, as now this special Agency team fell piece by piece into somewhere in the Meditteranean, far away from their destination of South Africa, he had to trust to hope. Hoping that somehow, they all could survive..

Clare crawled wearily from the surf, the blazingly bright white sand of the beach blinding her. she shaded her large, doe-like brown eyes as she examined the coastline, passing over the many swaying palms until her gaze fell upon the broad bronzed shoulders of a god-like being standing knee-deep in the surf, his shoulder muscles bunching as he drew a net in toward the beach. His long, muscled legs were bent slightly at the knee and his loincloth left little to the imagination.

She sighed contentedly. If she had to be stranded somewhere, thank God she was stranded with a man like this.

Shaking her long, damp, auburn tresses and combing her fingers through her unruly mop of hair, she staggered toward this vision. She knew her proud, prominent breasts were clearly visible through the thin, wet, white material of her jumpsuit and made no effort to hide them as she made her approach. She did make an effort to splash around in the surf as she neared him and he finally realized that he was there, athletically spinning to see Clare's bashful smile, carefully calculated to display just the right amount of abashedness, as she stood dripping before him.

"Who...I mean where...uh, who are you?" he stammered.

After giving him a brief glance of her heaving breasts, Clare shyly crossed her arms across before her body, hiding her stiffly-erect nipples from view. She thought quickly, building the perfect cover story to get this giant of a man to melt in her hands. "I...I was sailing with my par..pare..parents..." Clare sobbed. "There was an..an...explosion and, and the next thing I know I'm he-he-re...wherever here is..." she finished with a choking sob.

The moment Clare's tears had started flowing, he had taken her in his arms, enfolding her in his warm embrace. Clare drank in the manly scent of his body, rubbing her face across his taut, well-muscled chest, and tried to remember to keep the gasping sobs coming even as an entirely different sensation was coursing through her body.

"I'm Rich," he said, "but my friends all call me Big Rich."

Clare was now close enough that there were no secrets between them and she knew he exactly how appropriately he was named. His flimsy loincloth hid nothing and she had to make an effort to restrain herself. "Ri...Rich, can I...I mean, I lost everyone, and I..." Clare sobbed.

Rich lifted her as if she weighed nothing and carried her out of the shallow surf. Without a word, he took her beneath the gently swaying fronds of the palm trees above and into a small bamboo hut. He set her gently on the narrow bed and stroked the smooth, perfect skin of her cheek gently. "Rest now," he said with his deep, masculine baritone, "I'll be back in about an hour." With one last look at her generous curves, he turned and left the hut, leaving Clare's tiny form sobbing alone on the bed in feigned misery.

Shampyon wrapped the rope around his hands and Colorless tied it. Colorless looked at him and shook his head. That was the equivalent of good luck.As soon as Shamp stepped into the circle, his opponents Leader lit the ring on fire. This would be a fight the death, it seems that gaining strength in an underground empire was long, arduous work. But it in the grand scheme of things, they were just reclaiming the kingdom of the Great Lord Cthulhu. He looked at his opponent, a real ugly mongrel of a Mongol.

If Bolo Yeung had twin brother that was about 30 years younger, this was him. He looked like a mountain of muscle and smelled like a bushel of ass. He slapped his chest and then flexed his pecs and motioned towards Shampyon. The man know as Boom Boom rolled his head, adjusted his stance, centered himself and waited for the first attack to come. For some reason, before the first punch made the connect, he mentally crossed himself, he hadn’t done that in ages, at least not since the parochial orphange him and Colorless were at. He blinked and that’s when the Mongol, snapped a left jab. It was a highly unorthodox move considering, but this wasn’t a rules match. This was a pit match. Everything went. Shampyon barely had time to roll with it but snapped his head back as fast as he could and then felt his left cheek slice open. He slipped back and then flicked his tongue and tasted his own blood, a coppery reminder that he needed to focus. He the flames licked the edge of the ring and saw his opponents smiling and the site of first blood.

Shampyon snarled and then spoke out loud “Alright Mate. Fun’s over.” He stepped forward and snapped out a side kick that the Mongol shrugged off. Shampyon arched an eyebrow and then repeated the manuever again only this time adding a left kick. The Mongol grabbed the left leg and was getting ready to bring his elbow down on it when Shampyon punched him in the throat, then followed with a with rabbit punch to the nose. Blooed gushed everywhere and then, The mongol released the leg and then grabbedh is face. That was a mistake. Shampyon did a quick split and Johnny Caged him, the Mongol roared in Fury and went into a melee rage. Shampon did his best to move in out, but he was quite literally stuck right the middle of an unstoppable force. So he became an unmovable object, he set one foot back and braced himself, he swiveled at the waisted ducked. Then the oppurtunity present itself. The Mongol telegraphed what he hoped would have been a huge haymaker, Shampyon stepped into it, grabbed his wrist, then threw a punch that connected right in the middle of the elbow, he punched then threw an elbow back into the alread broken nose of his opponent. He grabbed the Mongol by the ears and then Shampyon brought his knee straight up in a hard knee straight to the sternum. Then Shampyon wrapped his arm around the Mongols neck and then pulled himself back and let gravity work. There was a loud snap, a small moment of convulsing and then it was over.

Shampyon heard a dry click, followed by a rapid succession of dry clicks and looked up to see guns, lots of guns pointed at him. He rolled his eyes, changed his stance and then Colorless jumped into the ring and then held up a remote device.

“What?” Shampyon asked increduously. “You didn’t think we’d show up without a back up plan. Your lands, your businesses, your families, belong to us. You shed blood in our name now. You answer to Us. You have one pledge of devotion to make. Will you concede?”

The elder asian stood over the body of the fallen warrior, his youngest grandson and had a mournful look on his face. He wasn’t sad, he knew the rules of engagement, hell, he wrote half of them. He shook his head and then spoke softly. “We concede. What choice have me? We give you our pledge.”

Shampyon smiled on the outside and on the inside he had image of his Angel. The one girl who saw him for the good he could truly be if he allowed himself to be. Now wasn’t the time to think of Angelpie. Then again, never was the time. He shook her image out of his head then with a hint of sadness and guilt, something he hadn’t felt in ages He replied with. “We ask for your blood to to consecrate the grounds and to…seal the deal as it were.”
Before, they could react, Colorless the depressed the switch. It wasn’t anything as glamourous as automated machine fire, nor was it anything as flashy as explosions. That would have ended badly for our antiheroes as it were. The side of the ring that was on fire detached itself and pointed itself at the delegates and proceeded to bath them in streams of fire and they were charbroiled faster than BK Special.

Somewhere on the otherside of the country, an Angel cried and Bison smiled. But within Shampyon, a battle started to rage, it was a question as to who would win.

"Psskt.. Ted."
Ted's eyes rolled around behind his closed lids. His head swam groggily.
"Ah, for fuck's sake Ted, wake up!".
It was KVL.

Opening his eyes gingerly, Ted's eyes took time to adjust to the darkness. A low series of amber lights hung in equal distances on either side. Somewhere in front of him was KVL, but his vision in such dimness eluded him. The sound in the room reverberated with a metallic resonance and stamping down on the ground proved it to be steel grating.

A low constant purr growled just under the range of their hearing. Like being in the belly of a great iron beast. Trying to move failed Ted, as his limbs were bound to what felt like a heavy chair that might as well have been carved out of lead.

"Yeah. I'm up. What kind of chicken livered shit are we in now?", he said.
"The fuck if I know. I've been coughing up sea water
the last 20 minutes. Are you hurt? I think I broke some ribs.
"I think so. Well, my head stings something fierce but other than that I think I'm okay."
"Hang on. I'll try getting Control."

In the darkness, Ted heard KVL try to make contact with the Agency.

"Control, this is Puppetmaster. Do you copy? Over."
A sigh.
"Control, this is Puppetmaster. Situation Orange. Do you read me, over?"

Ted asked, "No luck, I suppose."
"None. No static. Nothing. The crash must have killed the implants."
"Alright then, it's improv time. Can you move?"
"No. I think I've been cable tied."
"Where is your monkey then? Can you summon him?"
"Sorry. It does not work that way with me. I bio-manipulate through commands. I ain't a telepath. I can communicate, but no Harry Houdini stuff. What about you?"
"I can fix your microwave if I can get my hands on it and turn it on and off. That's it. You got your monkey with you?"
"Does it smell like pistachios and breath mints?"
The answer was obviously no.

A sound issued from deeper along the darkness. A metal door opened somewhere further along. Beads of sweat started to come through his pores. Ironic, given the cold air that gusted from somewhere along the underside of the grates. As they strained to listen, the sounds of hushed but curt conversation bled through the walls.

Then as suddenly, a harsh white light fell on them and painfully they clamped their eyes to shut out the hurtful light. Heavy boots stamped towards them purposefully. And stopped. The sour smell of old sweat and grime filled Ted's nostrils.

A voice barked.
"Who are the operatives activated for your mission?"
Ted said nothing. And almost immediately his body racked and convulsed with the sharp burning surge that coursed through him.
"Answer us. Detail the specific objectives of your mission."
Ted coughed up a bloodied wad and spat it in the general direction of the interrogator.
"Go spit.", said Ted.
Immediately the pain shot through his body. Freckles of colored dots swam in front of his eyes. The muscles in his chest seized as they tensed against his will.
Fighting to catch his air, he groaned between breaths to say, "Fuck a rake. Go spit."
In a low whisper, words that sounded like dry leaves went back and forth between the people hidden in the light.

The light persisted but the footfalls moved away from him. They started the same torture on KVL. With the same outcome. Nothing.

After more crackling whispers the light vanished and the door slammed shut somewhere as the vision crept back slowly into his eyes. There seemed to be pink circles everywhere he looked now. Thanks to the blinding beam.

It seemed like an eon before KVL spoke again, gasping.
"Wow. That was more fun than the time I found balls under the skirt of that blond asian on my Patpong vacation."
"I think you might have met my first wife", said Ted.

They laughed.

Then they heard tiny patters coming from the grates beneath them. They froze. The tiny hairs on the back of Ted's neck stood straight. He felt himself catching his breath.

A sharp staccato of chittering burst forth. And Kvl heaved a sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank fuck it's you, Pez."
More chittering.
"Look you have to slow down. I can barely keep up."
A little chirp remonstrated him. Then more chittering. A lot more.
"Okay. Okay. Let me tell my friend first."

"Well?" asked Ted.
"He says that he's been around other rooms on this metal banana."
"Metal what?"
It took them a moment then it occurred to them almost at the same time.

Submarine.

"He says they have got a bunch of people here hooked up to machines. Wearing helmets. Clare is hooked up and she's been sobbing under that helmet having conversations with the machine. There were two other guys in another room and one of them appeared to be combating some invisible foe. JSD is also in another room."

To Ted this all sounded a little too familiar. It was a theory put forward during the early 80's. During the cold war. Put forward by an entity so high up in the government echelons that he was only known by his codename: Observant.

Hypnotically induced disengaged disassociative entropic normalization. It was a theoretical solution to neutralizing dangerous skilled individuals. It was also classified beyond top secret.

Obviously someone had succeeded in making it more than theory now. And was using it in a much more diabolical way.

Ted said,"We have to get the fuck out of here now before they start slapping helmets on us!"
"You don't have to tell me twice."

Kvl said, "Alright Pez. It's your show. Who says you can't send a monkey to do a man's work?". With that he said ,"Grow."

The chittering began to slow and deepen. Belonging to something much larger and terrifying. Something that was forcing the grates upwards with violent pops, dislodging them and warping them out of place.

The sounds of a vast beast taking deep full bodied breaths and sharp exhales filled the room. And a hot stink of breath fell over Ted's face. This leviathan was right in front of him and panic filled his gut.

And just like that , a finger that could only belong to an ogre popped the cable ties binding him as if they were confetti. Ted was free. And with a slight tilt of the head the ambient light slowly revealed the thing that had grown from Kvl's command.

The little chittering primate had become the almost unrelenting power of a Silverback Gorilla.

And boy, did it sound pissed off.

Ted could not see it, but he could almost hear Kvl grinning when he said,"Let's get the fuck out of here."

The halflight of the setting sun did little more than extend the shadows from the lichen-draped trees of the dank forest. A thick, cool mist shrouded everything more than a few feet in any direction, masking much of the ground, and an erratic breeze in the treetops - which completely failed to stir the ground-covering mist - animated the gnarled, twisted limbs of the surrounding trees, as if they were grasping blindly for trespassers. Somewhere nearby an animal howled.

"Please let it be a dog," Wombat hoped fervently as he cautiously crept between the trunks of the trees. The bark of the trees felt cold and slimy and Wombat did his best to avoid touching their trunks or the hanging lichen beards as he edged forward through the gloom.

Despite his caution, there was little Wombat could have done to avoid pitching forward into the pit that seemed to open without warning beneath his feet. He threw his hands blindly before him and landed with a jarring thud on a cold, metallic surface after falling downward for several feet.

Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Wombat reached out to the sides of the pit and found them to be about three feet apart. The only-slightly-less-dark sky above was framed by the rectangular shape of the pit's mouth. With a cold certainty, Wombat realized that he had fallen into a freshly-dug grave. And was even now sitting atop a freshly placed coffin.

"Dead people. Why'd it have to be dead people?" Wombat thought as a shiver ran down his spine.

Balancing on the coffin, Wombat extended himself to his full height, but quickly found that his five and a half feet was just a few inches short of reaching the lip of the grave no matter how far he stretched. Panic rising, he crouched with his arms splayed to his sides as he readied himself to jump, and then shot upward with all his might. His mighty leap brought him barely above ground level and both of his hands grasped the weeds, roots and crumbling soil with futility. Slowly, inexorably, Wombat felt himself sliding back into the blackness below. The sun was past the horizon now and the only relief from complete darkness was provided by a yellow gibbous moon shrouded by wisps of cloud in the sky above.

Wombat's fingers burned from the effort of clinging to the lip of the grave and he began to believe that there would be no escape from this cold, dark pit when he felt a cold, clammy hand grasp his wrist and pull his not-insignificant bulk effortlessly upward. He could do little more than pant on the ground in relief, the adrenalin of the past few minutes' effort having used his last reserves of strength, as the figure above him stood silently.

"Where..." Wombat finally managed to gasp, "am I?"

The silent figure said nothing as Wombat waited, for the first time getting a closer look at his savior. He was very tall, at least six and a half feet, and slender - bordering on skeletal. He had a decidedly unhealthy pallor and seemed to either have some sort of skin disease or to be recovering from a recent sunburn, as his skin was peeling away in large flaps in many places. His clothing, which hung from his scarecrow frame in tatters, seemed to be little more than rags. As Wombat watched, an insect of some kind bored out from the soft tissue of his left eyeball and continued to make its way down the unresponsive face of the silent sentinel.

"I, uh...thanks, and everything, but.." Wombat stammered as he backed away. "I'll just be going now..." Wombat said as he scrambled away on all fours from the horrifying figure.

The creature made no response as Wombat fled blindly forward, tripping over stone grave markers, scratching his hands and arms on jagged thorns, and narrowly avoiding braining himself on a stone monolith in his haste to escape the frightening apparition. When the thing made no attempt to pursue him, Wombat paused to survey his surroundings.

Wombat found himself in a cemetery bordered by a dark, grim forest on all four sides. Brambles covered many of the crumbling grave markers and the ever-present mist obscured the ground, making the footing treacherous. On one side of the boneyard, a path opened through the trees and led away toward a surprisingly well-kept house that stood nearby. The skarekrow, as Wombat had begun to think of him, had not moved an inch since Wombat had made his strategic retreat, so he felt the panic subside as he made his way cautiously toward the path leading away toward safety.

The howling he had heard earlier returned, this time sounding much closer.

Ok, so here's the deal, I intended to do more writing, but the story reached a natural stopping point right there and didn't want to go further. I apologize it's taken so long to post these few lines, but the character development behind these two characters wants to be special.
Stephen King Said it best, The story writes itself, you don't write the story.


He cut to the side and grated ice off the rink like a chef skinning a fish. Ice flew into the air and then fluttered down as he raised the hockey stick and prepared a slaps shot that would put the team over and win the Cup. Before he could swing the stick, he got jacked. He heard an internal pop and felt his lower leg separate from his knee. He screamed, then passed out in pain. His last thought being that his career was over.
* * *
Mike woke up and shook his head. His long hair, needed a trim, but screw it, the last person who had told him to get a hair cut, had left him because he didn’t. He figured it was a good sign. He got up, took a shower, got dressed and went to his office, which basically meant he went downstairs. He unlocked his door and his assistant Angel walked in. She looked at his state of dishevelment and wrinkled her nose.
“You’re shirt needs a wash, you need a haircut and we’re behind on bills. We need a case and we need a case now.”

Mike looked at her and grinned. “Sure thing Pie,” that was what he called her. He didn’t need to worry about a call from a lawyer about sexual harassment. She wouldn’t get anything anyways. “I’ll magic up a case as soon as possible.”

He shook his head in disbelief and fired up a cigar. “What’s wrong with my shirt? I figured since it was Island shirt, no one would care.”

She looked him over he glasses, with the green eyes that had broken many hearts. “Just because you bought in Honolulu, doesn’t mean it has to smell like the day you wore it.”
She handed him a paper and he took in the front page and grunted. “Charred remains of local crime bosses found. Police are investigating.”

He whistled as he read the list of bodies that were recovered, he walked over to his filing cabinet, took out a bunch of files and handed to them Angel. “Pie, go ahead and mark all of these solved and then dispose of them.”

She nodded and then walked off. Over the whir of the shredder, he looked at the ceiling, something big was going down. He could feel it. He heard a gasp , heard a glass shatter and then ran into the copy room. Angel had dropped her coffe and was looking at the paper…

Wrapping things up...sorta

Eamon sat behind the bank of monitors, bathed in their cancerous glow, and rubbed his tiny hands together as he chuckled.

"Deny me acceptance into your organization, will you? I warned you that I would have my revenge! Lo, after all these long years, it is finally coming to pass. It took time and effort to recruit adequate numbers of rejected potentials to my cause, but we are now legion. Who knew than among them would be the source of your ultimate downfall?"

"Muwahahahaha!"

Eamon's cackling was interrupted by an incoming message on the terminal before him.

Supreme and Imperious Commander, we have a problem. The prisoners have escaped and are loose somewhere within the facilities. All available forces are armed with the serum and are combing every inch for signs of their whereabouts.

-Communication ends-

"No, no, no..." Eamon screamed as he pumped his diminutive fists in the air. "This can't be! I will not allow this to happen again! I will have my revenge!!"

Jumping to his feet, Eamon quickly climbed inside the mechanized exo-skeleton that gave him the stature of a normal man. With the sound of pneumatic servomotors constantly adjusting to keep him upright, Eamon dashed from his control room into the corridor leading to the detention cells.



With Pez's assistance, it had been easy to secure the release of all the other team members. Ted and KVL had done little more than stand back and watch as restraints were snapped and guards were rendered unconscious and then disposed of.

"All right, I know you all feel like shit, but you've got to reach way down and find hidden reserves. I don't know what they've been injecting us with, but we've got to get the hell out of here - wherever here is - and get the word out to the others."

Clare, JSD, Wombat and Puzzlehead stood groggily before them, the reality of their surroundings at war with the so-real, but fading, remnants of the helmet-induced fantasies.

"Oh, and good to see you, Puzzlehead." Ted added, "I wish we could have sent a warning out to you before this came down, but we didn't know who was listening."

The slight Asian man perked up at the mention of his name. "I understand, Ted. Believe me, I've been on enough Ops to know the rules of the game. Do you have any intel on who we're facing or where we might be?"

"No, but I was actually hoping we might be able to use your special abilities to find out a little..."

Before Ted could finish the sentence, the sound of boots running along the corridor outside the small supply room interrupted him. Their refuge was far from secure and wouldn't withstand any real attempt to gain entrance, so stealth was key.

Fortunately, the sound of boots passed the door and diminished in the distance. Only then did Ted continue.

So, as I was saying, Puzz, if you would be so kind as to get a lay of the land while we wait here, we'd appreciate it."

The outline of the slight Asian man seemed to waver and become less distinct as he slowly became less...there. If you know where he was and studied the space, you could see him. But to anyone not expecting him, he seemed to be no more than a distortion of the air, as of heat waves rising from hot desert pavement.

Puzzlehead moved to the door and listened before opening the door slightly and slipping into the corridor beyond. As the door closed, Ted, KVL, Clare, Wombat and JSD sank back to the floor with backs against the walls to wait for his return.



The corridor was very brightly lit and even though this made Puzzlehead's ability less effective, he knew he would remain undetected if he just kept his movements small and slow. Cautiously, Puzzlehead crept down the corridor with his back pressed against the wall. Other than the occasional locked door, there was nothing to distinguish this corridor or the residents of the facility from any corridor in any other facility.

Puzzlehead was beginning to feel a tinge of desperation when he heard a new sound approaching. It was footsteps, but heavier footsteps that the men who had passed him moments before. In addition to the heavy steps, there was another peculiar whirring sound accompanying each step. As the figure strode into view, Puzzlehead instantly recognized the source.

Eamon Angelface. So now he knew who they faced and where they were being held.

Eamon was known to the Agency, but had never been considered a threat. A curiosity, yes. But never a threat. The miniscule Canadian's impotent screams of protest when his application had been rejected had roused more sympathy than fear in the other Agents.

But somehow...he had managed to do all this.

This was taking too long. Far too long. Last time it took this long for Puzzlehead to come back with information he never came back at all. Ted had found him passed out beside a vending machine, surrounded by containers that once contained Strawberry Milkshake flavored Whoppers, Banana flavored Twinkies, and some chemical concoction he later claimed was a "Sunkist Float". Somehow they had managed to escape alive that time, and Puzzlehead was sent straight to rehab.

No, that couldn't be why. He was probably collecting information. He had to be.

The room was getting stuffy. Pez paced back and forth between KVL and Clare, occasionally stopping to nervously scratch his posterior and then raise his hands to his nose and smell them.

"That is revolting. Stop that." Clare hissed, glaring at him. Of everyone she had ever worked with, she hated Pez the most. When Pez was first brought to the Agency, like most animals, he was difficult to work with. The fact that he liked to bite people at random didn't help, and one day he bit Clare. Always one to be logical and clear headed, she responded by shipping him to the local zoo.

JSD stifled what would have otherwise been a mighty laugh and whispered,"He's not hurting anything, leave him be."

"Look, he's doing it again! Stop it!"

Ted did his best to ignore the bickering around him. It was still taking too long and the room was starting to get hot now. The smell of stale whiskey, cashews, and monkey were starting to grind his nerves and he really wanted a cigarette. And for KVL to control his monkey. And for Clare's incessant bitching to stop. But mostly, he wanted a cigarette.

Pez scratched his butt again, sniffed it, and snuggled up beside KVL. KVL pet his head a little bit and sat back against the wall.

"Don't encourage him." Clare snapped, glaring at the filthy creature.

"Hey, it could be worse. At least he stopped humping Sampson's leg all the time, eh?"Just as the monkey was going to chatter in agreement, the door slowly swung open.

Mike looked at Angel and inwardly cringed at the horrified look on her face. He walked over to her took her into his arms and held her tight. She was shaking, so bad, you would have though she had just taken a dip into the Arctic Ocean.

“On The paper. It’s him.” She said softly into his chest. Mike looked down at the paper and studied the photo. He couldn’t see what he was looking at then he noticed in the back, near the edge of the crowd was a man with close cropped hair and a broken nose.

“No frakking way. I though you said…”

“I thought he was too, I paid for the funeral. I cried for months . But somehow, I always felt like it was wrong. This is. I mean, I can’t find the right word. I need a smoke.”

Mike looked at her and then laughed. “You don't smoke.”
She let go of him, wiped her eyes and grinned mischeviously at him. “Not cigarettes at least.”

Fifteen minutes later on the roof of the apartment, they sat on the ledge amd llooked at the midday traffick. She smoked, he drank and the talked. She exanded on how she met Shampyon at one of the orphanages and of how he always seemed levelhead, but held himself back because he wanted to keep an eye on his best friend. “Not that there was anything wrong with Colorless, not one bit, he was just…chemically unbalanced. Rumors were his mother did every known drug and even made some the entire time she was pregnant just to see how he would come out. But kids can be cruel. He got into so many fights just protecting him. Shampyon was a smart kid. But inside, it was like, he was a fountain of rage just waiting to explode. But whenever I was around, he was a perfect gentlemen. Centered. Calm."

Mike looked at her and nodded. He knew what the was like. To be the lynchpin in someones life. She was gone now, but he’ll never forget her. She ditched him a long time go, said a hockey player was ok to date only 5 months out of the year, but you could date a band member all year long. Stupid bands, he remembered hanging out with the band in their basement just shooting the shit.

Oh well, he was destined to the constant bachelor. “So what happened?”

“That’s the difficult part.” Angel said, took the final drag and then put it out. “ We dated for while after he left. Him and Corless left at the same time, but since I was few years younger, he stayed in the city and we dated. He came by a lot, he cleaned up a lot, went to school, he was a really tallented artist. Then, one day it all fell apart. Someone attacked Colorless, while Shampyon was with me. He was helping me study for a precal test. Not Colorless can handle himself. He pratically taught Shampyon how to fight. But Colorless, he didn’t like to hurt people not one bit. This gang of Neonazi’s attacked him. It was an initiation for someone else. The sad thing is, the kid knew Colorless, they were in the orphanage together. Colorless, would never hurt anyone he knew. Never, it was like some kind of code to him. So he sat there and took the punishment. First with fists, followed by boots and finished with a pipe to the throat. After that, he couldn’t talk anymore. When Shampyon found out he blamed himself. I tried my best to calm him down. Nothing worked, it was like he was broken on the inside after that. I got pregnant. We got engaged, but he wasn’t the same after that. Before we got married, he got arrested. Someone had torched the local hangout of the gang that attacked Colorless. The kid who did the hitting and the leader were found strung up from the lampost with their veins. “

She started to cry again and Mike felt awkward. He wasn’t used to this side of Angel. She was his rock, his anchor, now he understand how close her bond was to this guy. "I got him out of jail, but he said he couldn’t come near me or the baby, and that the wedding was off. He had to fix himself before he could come near us. My baby girl is 9 years old and she has never seen a picture of her father. “

Mike sat there and tried to the thread everything together. But, it all came apart when said the next line. “I Blame all of this on that walking virus of a human. Bison, may he roast in eternal hell.”

Mike looked at Angel pursed his lips and and then exhaled. “One thing I don’t understand. How did you get him out of jail if they had him for the murder of that gang.”

"Circumstancial evidence. Because of who he was, how he was connected, and who the victims. There was no solid lead that it was him. But I knew, he was calm again. But off center. I knew he was broken beyond anything that I could fix. “

Mike stood up, flexed and then looked around, it was bright outside, but the brownstone was in a pretty good neighborhood. He could see pretty much all around the area, it was packed with diners, boutiques and a few bars. He noticed that traffic had slowed down more than normal for lunch time and filed that in the back of his mind. He turned around and looked at Angel. “Pie, honey, I need you to tell me everything about Bison.”
She looked at him, set her jaw and then a fire lit in her eyes. “You first, I saw how you reacted when I said that name.”

He had hoped this wouldn’t come up not for awhile at least. “ I met bison on one of my first cases. Met is such a strong word. It was more along the lines of influenced. Thirteen girls, all the same description, blond hair, brown eyes, 5’7, all between the ages of 13 and 17. I hate cults, more than anything else. They always, always go after kids. So after searching, my partners and I came across Bison. He's not the one you should be afraid of.”

At that Angel raised an eyebrow, and it was the sexiest eyebrow raise ever in the history of eyebrow raisings. “Yeah, I had partners back then. Two of them, Sam and The Slinger. One was an occult/tech specialist. The other a stone cold figher who was so methodical, he made people with OCD look healthy. We were a great team. Bison took care of that fast . Hold on, I have to run downstairs for something.”

Mike ran down stairs to his apartment and grabbed a pack of cigarettes that he hadn’t touched since Detroit had a team that didn’t suck. Then he thought about outside and grabbed , his holster and then strapped his guns at the base of this back. He went back upstairs and then looked at Angel.” Pie, there is one thing you need to know about Bison. He’s the puppet. He’s not the dangerous. It’s who he’s working for. That sonabitch Faust, he’s just one of the guys controlling the strings. That whole cult was his idea. He sits in the back and he let’s Bison think he’s in control. “We found that out the hard way. Halfway through the case we knew we were dealing with someone and something bigger than any of us had ever dealt with. We found the girls. They were in a circle, all strung up, by their veins.”

Angel looked at him. “So there ya go. It wasn’t him. Bison does that. It’s like his calling card. That case tore us apart. People should not be treated like that. No matter what. Sam, he tried to go mind to mind with Faust. He got broken. He’s a shattered genius, almost like a beautiful mind, but it takes forever to get him to talk. I still go see him, and only every now and then I get a glimpse of him. Slinger, well. He’s only lost one fight in his life. He lost it to one of Fausts lackies, guy by the name of Ryan Cook.”

Angel tensed up and looked at him. “Oh, no. how long ago was this?”

Mike lit another cigarette, looked at Angel, “About 3 years ago. Name mean anything to you?”

“Ryan, was the fourth. Out of our group of friends, he was the fourth.”

I was hoping to tie everything together, but that proved too difficult...



Puzzlehead wasted no time, quickly heading in the direction from which Eamon had come. The blaring of the klaxons and the harsh fluorescent lighting reflected from every shiny, sterile surface around him and made the journey along the long, featureless hall almost dreamlike and surreal. By the time he reached the imposing door at the end of the hall, Puzzlehead's temples were throbbing and his concentration was slipping. Any of Eamon's patrols that happened by would have no difficulty spotting him now.

A quick examination of the biometric security device on the wall beside the door brought a wide smile to puzzleheads's sallow features. It was a model J, series 42 Iris-reader - a cheap product from Uncle Mao's Security Warehouse that any two-bit agent worth his mettle could get past. Good ol' Uncle Mao and his insistence on backdoors in every product. Nobody loved the backdoor quite as much as Mao.

Puzzlehead lowered his eye to the reader and moved it in a pattern of well-documented directions. After the seventeenth motion, there was a distinctive click and the light above the reader flashed green. He quickly applied pressure to the door's surface and it swung slowly inward, revealing the singularly unimpressive technical array that was Eamon's central command center. Ancient CRT monitors lined one wall, a third of which were non-functional or flickering rapidly and on the verge of becoming non-functional. Several of the other monitors showed nothing but static. Each of the few functioning monitors showed a different room of the seemingly vast complex. Several video game consoles and an ancient 19" TV were set up along another wall. A third side of the room was filled with a cheap plywood desk and a state-of-the-art-in-1995 computer with other similarly unimpressive peripherals.

And this guy is somehow a threat to the agency...inconceivable, Puzzlehead thought as he completed his scan of the room.

Puzzlehead quickly scanned the wall of monitors and spotted Eamon conferring with a group of his henchmen. As he watched, it became obvious that they were fighting the urge to laugh out loud at each of Eamon's unintentionally comical gestures was articulated by his mechanical suit. Each time Eamon swung a robotic appendage, a series of coughs would break out as his troops covered their faces to hide their grins and stifle their laughter.

Motion on another of the monitors drew Puzzlehead's eye from the Eamon-spectacle and he discovered an unconscious man strapped to a table with IV feeding tubes inserted into his nostrils. Puzzlehead studied the figure with revulsion; his enormous, swollen, marshmallow-like body was emitting a noxious yellow liquid through a tube connected to a needle that was puncturing his massive gut. Puzzlehead puzzled over this discovery and then realized he was looking upon the source of the very serum Eamon had used to nullify the abilities of the Agency. As he watched, the marshmallow man occasionally tossed his head from side to side as if in the throes of a dream from which he couldn't escape.

Oh shit, it's another one of our bastard stepchildren, Puzzlehead realized. Who knew these no-talent half-wits could unite and actually pose a threat after we turned them away?

Beneath the monitor was a piece of masking tape with a single word written upon it: Observant.

So a long time ago there were two brothers. Twins actually, only these two guys were acutally twins, not like the aformentioned Spanky and Boom Boom. They were both studios, both very inteligent, but they both studied different fields. One loved everything that science had to offer. Whether it was technological or biological, he had to study it. The other placed his beliefs in theology. They grew up, both being very powerful in their respective fields. But the most important part was left out, they were rather, shall we say well off. Two trust fund kids, with more money to burn than time. To say they were bad would be an understatement, the proper word is misguided.

So years after being separated the met at their home and had a fine dinner, a fine evening. They noticed the changes in each other. Eamon had dedicated his life to science and allowed his body to whither down and moved around in a robotic skeleton he had made for himself, he was small and frail with jaundiced color skin. Bison, on the other hand was tall and strong dedicating his body and soul to his Lord, but somewhere on his path, he had found a new God, or rather an older, more powerful God.

They brothers, they laughed, enjoyed life and had a conversation.

“I’m telling you brother, the human condition is in a sad state. Only technology can save us.”

“No, Eamon, a persons faith is more poweful than any piece of machinery.”

The sat, drank some more and each had a cigar. “Wager me this. In 12 years time, this entire planet will embrace a Technocracy before it even dreams about a theological one.”

Bison smirked and blew a smoke ring “I’ll wager you that. But on my behalf brother. Accept a wager. That a theologian will have passion, will embrace love and will do everything in his power to spread the word. My Gods are more powerful than yours as it were. The world loves passion leaders. Science is the antithesis of passion. It’s cold, sleek. You cannot become enthralled in something with no emotion. Love is the greatest feeling in the world. But it’s also the greatest weapon. This world will crumble and I will be the cause. “

They laughed, smoked and drank all the night. With one thought going through Bison’s mind. “Love, ain’t it grand?”

Writer's block. I tried the best I could, didn't do much, but I also had no idea where to take the story. So here's what I got

Something about that word- name? - was eerily familiar. Observant. Puzzlehead put it aside. This wasn’t the time or the place. He’d have to ask Ted later. He took a last look at the monitors, and then turned around; his friends would be worried by now. He took a deep breath, the molecules around him shuddered, and he began heading back.

Sneaking past anyone who happened to walking by, he managed to reach the room where the others were held. He opened the door, slowly, knowing that there could be any number of people inside there now, but what he saw was the thing he last expected – nothing. Whether by force or choice, his friends had left him. If it was by force, they’d be waiting for him…if it was by choice, there had to be a reason to get out of the room. Either way, it was best to leave.

He weighed his choices – surely he’d have passed them if they’d gone through the entrance he was in; he walked, still using all the mind power he could muster, across the room to the corridor on the other side. The walls were painted with eyes that followed any one traveling through the corridor, seeming to pierce even the power hiding Puzzlehead from the outside world. Moving quickly, the hairs on his neck erect, he managed to get to the other side. His mind was growing tired, he knew he couldn’t hold on to the disguise much longer, but this was not the room to let it go. Reaching the end of the hall, he looked at his new room. Doors on every end. There wasn’t time to search every door, but it didn’t matter right now – he couldn’t go much farther without a rest. Seconds after his guise fell he was greeted with a loud bang. Alert, he looked around for the source, but it found him first. A cold hand grabbed onto his shoulder, and he spun around to find a skeletal creature; a man, but with such rigid features no crow would go near it. The scarecrow figure put a bony hand on his lips and motioned Puzzlehead to follow him.

Now that Krow's story has tied in with the rest of the story, I'm in the process of integrating the two in my edited compilation file.



Ted had misgivings about moving his team without first conferring with Puzzlehead, but he was sure the signs he had left would be evident to any member of his team, while being completely indistinguishable to anyone else who might happen upon the seemingly randomly scratched walls and curiously placed objects in the room.


Clare was still doubting her senses. When the towering figure had entered the room that her team was hiding in, she was sure they'd been discovered and a wave a shocktroops would soon follow...but after catching a good look at his face, she realized there was something oddly familiar about this imposing stranger. Slowly the fleeting remnants of her recent drug-induced fantasy reformed in her mind and she realized that she was looking upon the same that very dream figure. Though his skin was closer to pink than bronze and he wasn't quite as well-muscled as the fantasy version, there was no mistaking him. This was, as the fantasy version had introduced himself, Big Rich.

Holding his hand palm-outward to them, he spoke in a whisper, "there's no time to explain, but Eamon is combing the fortress quadrant by quadrant and his troops will be here in a matter of minutes. Follow me." Before the team could question him, he had turned and, without waiting to see if anyone was following, jogged purposefully to a door further down the corridor. He quickly placed his palm on the biometric reader and the door opened with a hiss.

Ted's first thought was Eamon? That little piss-ant? But there wasn't time to delve more deeply into the mystery if ted wanted to let Puzzlehead know where they'd gone.

As the rest of the team followed their rescuer, Ted had quickly set about leaving a message to Puzzlehead to let him know what had happened. Ted just hoped that the mental strain of keeping his undetectable hadn't exhausted Puzzlehead to the point that he would fail to notice Ted's message, "new ally. stay out of sight and rest. we will find you."

His message complete, Ted hurried from the room in time to see Wombat stumble through a doorway further down the corridor. He jogged to catch up and ducked in behind Wombat as the dor was closing. Ted quickly surveyed his surroundings and saw that their rescuer was acting alone, unless there were others elsewhere in the complex. There were no other doors from the room and Ted could see no hiding place large enough to conceal a man.

"Right then, who are you?" Ted demanded gruffly.

With the time for action having passed, a change came over their bold rescuer. He seemed to deflate within himself and became...less. He suddenly wasn't quite as tall or quite as heroic. And in addition to these other changes, he developed an obvious stutter.

"I-I-I...I be-be-belong to a se-se-secret group o-o-of reb-reb-rebels within Eamon's or-org-org-..." Rich stammered.

"Eamon? That little rat-bastard? How in the hell could he have done all this?" JSD demanded.

"Regardless, there's obviously friction in his ranks," Ted interrupted. "How many of you are there? What can you tell us about this mystery serum that we've been getting injected with?"

"Geez, guys, give him a chance to catch his breath," KVL interjected before Rich could respond.

"Th-th-thanks," Rich responded with a smile. "I-I-I have a har-har-hard time speaking when I'm ner-ner-nervous." As he finished his sentence, he gave Clare a shy smile a blushed furiously. "I-I-I've heard so mu-mu-much a-a-about you all and I've always wanted to meet you...especially you, Clare." Suddenly the floor occupied all of Rich's attention.

Clare still had the fantasy version of Rich firmly implanted in her mind's eye as she snuggled up against the real Rich's side. "There's nothing to be nervous about, big guy," she purred, "we're all friends here."

Rich inhaled deeply and started to respond, but Wombat cut him off. "Okay, now that we're all friends, tell us what the hell this is all about. Why are we here? When you said Eamon, were you talking about that little bitch, Eamon Angelface?"

As Clare pressed in close to Rich's side, rubbing her ample breasts against him, a visible change occurred. before their eyes, he lost his slouch, his chin stuck out with more confidence and he seemed to swell up. Clare was surprised to feel tendons in his previously doughy arm firming and rippling beneath her fingers. She couldn't resist releasing his arm with one hand and brushing it against his now rock-hard abs. He visibly became Big Rich.

From the other side of the room, KVL watched Clare's every move with a scowl. Why the hell does she flirt with ever goddamn guy on the planet but me? he sulked. Pez responded to KVL's irritation and began screeching angrily.

"Dammit, KVL, shut that thing up!" Ted growled. "Do you want to bring Eamon's goons right to us?"

"Right. I don't know what your association with Eamon has been in the past, but he is a man of nearly limitless resources," Big Rich said. "Though he has no special abilities to speak of, he is staggeringly intelligent. If not for his stunted physical and emotional development, he would have done great things with his life. As things stand, he lives to seek out revenge on anyone his dementia determines has wronged him."

"What's your role in his organization?" Wombat asked suspiciously. "Why the hell should we trust you?"



Here's the collected and re-edited (Krow's and Mao's story threads are again intertwined) edition: http://barthost.net/tjnr/story_combined.html

C'mon, you slackers!

Write something.



Where's that new guy who said he was a writer? Razza-frackin', guzz-snarfin' kids these days...

something coming up tonight.

Is "tonight" Spanglish for "next month?"