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AnataFan: The ancient arts of the samurai and the ninja have been passed down through countless generations, but what would happen if ANIMALS adopted these arts?

G: Leonardo, the leader of the Ninja Turtles.

AnataFan: And Speedy Cerviche, the head of the Samurai Pizza Cats.

G: He's AnataFan and I'm G.

AnataFan: And it's our job to analyze their weapons, armor, and skills to find out who would win a Death Battle.


Species: Mutant Turtle
Height: 5'2
Weight: 180 lbs
Hometown: New York City
Occupation: Leader of the Ninja Turtles
First Appearance: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1, May 1984

- Leads the Ninja Turtles in most situations
- Defeated Shredder by himself
- Fought Lotus, a swordswoman prodigy, to a standstill on his own
- Always the one to come up with a winning strategy
- Defeated a vast array of opponents alongside his brothers

AnataFan: Leonardo is the leader of the famous Ninja Turtles. Leonardo's story began just like the rest of the turtles: Leonardo was crawling through the sewers of New York with his brothers when a traffic accident caused the turtles to be drenched in toxic ooze. Splinter, who was taking refuge in the sewers, also felt the effects of the radioactive sludge, mutating them all into anthropomorphic creatures and giving them cognitive thinking abilities.

G: Splinter decided to adopt the turtles as his own and became their sensei, training them all in the way of the ninja! Where's some toxic waste, I wanna be a Ninja Turtle too!

AnataFan: *sigh* You can't become a ninja by jumping in - G, what are you doing?! No, stop!!!

(G hops into a barrel of toxic waste)

AnataFan: Where did you even get that?!

G: That's for me to know, and you to never find out! I guess I'll have to get used to these extra arms...

AnataFan: Anyway, Splinter trained the young turtles in the art of ninjitsu throughout their childhood. When the turtles became adolescents, it was clear that Leonardo was the leader of the team, due to his skill, discipline, and level-headedness.

G: Since then, Leo has led his brothers into battle against the Foot Clan using a combination of strategy, skill, and good ol' fashioned teamwork! Or in Michelangelo's case, lots and LOTS of luck!

- Stealth Expert
- Master Strategist
- Olympic Level Strength, Speed, and Agility
- Master Swordsman
- Master of Ninjitsu
- Very disciplined and devoted to training

AnataFan: Leonardo prefers to strategize in combat over rushing his opponent head on. He will use the environment and anything in the surrounding area to get a leg up on his opponent. Leonardo is at peak physical condition, and is a master martial artist and swordsman.

G: He's also a master of stealth. He can sneak up on anybody and anything without spotted. That sure would help when I'm trying to steal from Anata's house...

AnataFan: What?!

G: I didn't say ANYTHING!

AnataFan: You just said you STOLE from me!

G: What? Who the fuck would do that?! An asshole, that's who!

- Invented by media; not a historical weapon
- Variation of the traditional katana
- Two foot blade
- Leonardo owns two of them
- Made for quick, deadly strikes
- Can cut through just about anything
- Four pointed throwing weapon
- Mostly a secondary weapon
- Samurai bow and arrow
- Used to attack enemies from a distance
Smoke Bombs:
- Created by Donatello
- Hollowed out egg shells filled with flash powder
- Briefly blinds the opponent

AnataFan: Leonardo's weapon of choice is the Ninjato. This weapon is actually a fictional weapon created for cinema, and was NOT a historical ninja weapon. Leonardo wields two of these razor-sharp swords, and the slightly shorter blade allows for quicker strikes than a traditional katana.

G: Ninjato? I wish MY toe was a fucking sword! Seriously, what kind of name for a sword IS that?!

AnataFan: Leonardo is also known to use shurikens from time to time. However, they are mainly used as a secondary weapon so he can close the distance with his swords. If Leo wants to cause some SERIOUS damage from a distance, he uses the traditional Japanese bow, the Yumi.

- Doesn't take failure well
- Used to fighting as a team

G: Ol' Leo does have his limitations, however. For one thing, he's kind of a sore loser.

AnataFan: Yes. Leonardo isn't the best at accepting failure, which usually results in him completely shutting down and losing focus.

G: Also, while Leo has fought solo before, he's more comfortable fighting with his brothers at his side, where he can make use of his leadership skills... and pick fights with his brother Raphael.

AnataFan: With that said, Leonardo is a powerful leader and a master ninja. His tactical approach to battle has led him and his brothers to victory on numerous occasions.

G: In short, Leo can kick some SERIOUS

("We turtles don't know the meaning of the word "defeat".)


Species: Cyborg Cat
Height: 3'8
Weight: 88 lbs
Hometown: Little Tokyo
Occupation: Pizza Delivery, Leader of the Samurai Pizza Cats
First Appearance: Kyatto Ninden Teyande, February 1990

- Leads the Pizza Cats through most situations
- Saved the world from being destroyed by a comet with help from Bad Bird
- Works at a pizza delivery joint while leading the Pizza Cats
- Regularly thwarts Big Cheese and his mechanical monstrosities

AnataFan: Speedy Cerviche is the leader of the Samurai Pizza Cats. While Cerviche's backstory remains a mystery for the most part, it is revealed that he and the rest of the cats were hired by Al Dente as a crime fighting force. He now runs a pizza delivery service in Little Tokyo with his two teammates, Guido Anchovy and Polly Esther. However, the restaurant also doubles as the base of operations for their OTHER job: protecting Little Tokyo from constant danger.

G: Whoa whoa whoa, since when did samurai make PIZZA? I TOTALLY didn't know that! Guess you learn something new everyday!

AnataFan: Yes G, you SURE do.

G: Seriously, are Pizza Hut hiring? 'Cause I would be the most BADASS pizza samurai ever!

AnataFan: You're not even a samurai!!!

G: Hey, nobody gets ANYWHERE with an attitude like that!

- Solar powered
- Made of extremely durable material
- Superhuman speed
- Superhuman strength
- Backpack houses smoke bombs, balloons, and various other tools
- Apparently has a jetpack

AnataFan: Speedy's cyborg body grants him a myriad of abilities. All of the Pizza Cats are powered by a small solar cell inserted into their back. These cells are what grant them their unique abilities.

G: Heh, solar power?! Another badass character ruined by goddamn hippies!

AnataFan: Solar cells are powered through the Photovoltaic Effect, which converts sunlight into electrical currents. This allows the cell to utilize the converted electricity as a power source. The current may also be stored within the cell so that it may be used as a backup source when there is limited sunlight.

G: No thanks! I'll stick to my good ol' fossil fuels. Take THAT, ozone!

AnataFan: Anyway, Speedy's physical abilities are enhanced through his solar-powered body.

G: Speedy is granted superhuman strength, making him strong enough to pull a goddamn TREE out of the ground! As his name implies, Speedy is also really fast!

AnataFan: His speed isn't used just for delivering pizzas. Speedy's hover skates and rocket boosters allow him to move swiftly, devastating his opponents with quick, deadly attacks.
He also seems to have a jetpack, but for some reason it only appeared in the intro for the Japanese version and is never actually used in the show. It honestly doesn't make very much sense, seeing as how the cats have been shown that they cannot fly without help.

G: What a waste!!!

- Attached to Speedy's helmet
- Equipped with a built-in flashlight
- Grants Speedy x-ray vision
- Worn around Speedy's neck
- Ringing the bell alerts Francine
- Pretty much useless in this situation

AnataFan: Speedy's suit also grants him special abilities. The visor on his forehead comes equipped with a flashlight and, when worn in front of his eyes, gives Speedy x-ray vision with an ability known as the "Cat's Eye Lens".

G: Cause you gotta figure out a chick's bra size SOMEHOW!

AnataFan: He also carries a bell around his neck which he can ring to alert Francine when he's in trouble.

G: Unfortunately, we don't allow reinforcements in Death Battle, so that option is pretty much out the window. Hell, why are we beating are the bush here? Let's get to what REALLY makes Speedy awesome: WEAPONS!

Ginzu Sword:
- Speedy's Primary Weapon
- Forged from an ancient formula known only to the smelt masters of the ancient shoguns
- Can cut through just about anything
- Infused with magic
- Has a second sword hidden inside the scabbard
- Used to perform his ultimate attack: The Cat's Eye Slash
- Four pointed throwing weapon
- Can throw them in rapid succession
Smoke Bomb:
- Represents a pink ball
- Used to create a diversion

AnataFan: Speedy wields the magical Ginzu Sword, a katana that is imbued with mystical properties. His blade allows him to slice apart his cybernetic foes with speed and precision. Speedy also has the option of dual-wielding this deadly weapon by using a second sword that's hidden on the opposite end of the scabbard.

G: When Speedy's ready to finish his opponents off, he uses the deadly Cat's Eye Slash, a souped up blade beam of DEATH! This attack will cut through whoever it hits like butter. Hell, this attack is so strong that he once used it to PART THE FUCKING SEA! Take THAT, Moses! Also, even though he's a SAMURAI, Speedy uses shurikens too!

AnataFan: Actually, shurikens were not exclusively a ninja weapon. Samurai were also known to use them from time to time, so Speedy having them in his arsenal isn't ENTIRELY unheard of. His cybernetics allow him to rapidly throw many of these at a time. Like Leo, however, they are mostly used to close the distance with his Ginzu swords.

- Only used in dire situations
- Calls the Magical Gooney Bird which transforms into a suit of armor
- Grants Speedy flight
- Allows Speedy to breathe in space
- Not much difference in terms of fighting abilities

G: When Speedy really needs an extra boost, he calls upon the Magical Gooney Bird, which is launched out of the Supreme Catatonic. This strange bird allows Speedy to enter Extra Topping Mode. They sure are hammering these pizza-themed puns home, aren't they?

AnataFan: This form allows Speedy to fly on his own, and he can even survive the vacuum of space in this form! This form is mainly used to deal with larger than life or out of reach threats.

G: Holy shit, they look like Gundam Cats! Pizza delivery is sounding better and better by the minute!

AnataFan: *sigh*

- Clumsy
- Somewhat of a slacker
- Needs solar power to function properly
- Heavily reliant on the Ginzu Sword

G: For all his awesomeness, Speedy is kind of a slacker. Whether it be delivering pizza or fighting crime, Speedy WILL get sidetracked, which sometimes results in him screwing up completely. His laziness is accompanied by him also being a klutz. This guy seems to trip and fall over anything and everything. Hell, he'd probably make Luigi jealous!

AnataFan: Also, because Speedy runs on a solar cell, he does need sunlight in order to function. While he does have backup power to rely on, he only has so much of it. Without solar power, or if he pushes his body too far, Speedy becomes MUCH weaker and will eventually be unable to function completely, as evident when Big Cheese blocked out the sun with one of his mechanical monstrosities.

G: While he may be a goofball sometimes, Speedy is one of the coolest cats around. He's not afraid to rise up to his foes and give them a taste of his Ginzu Swords. He's got more fur than any turtle EVER had!

("You think you can just walk away from all this? You think I'm gonna let you go just because our spineless criminal justice system allows crooks to walk the streets, while innocent people live in fear? Ooh-who, that really ticks me off!")
It's finally here! It's a battle of ninja turtles and samurai cats as Leonardo, the leader of the Ninja Turtles, sets his sights on Speedy Cerviche of the Samurai Pizza Cats!
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He watched the seasons change from atop the Temple's roof. The grass turned stiff, the leaves turned a bright a vibrant orange, and the oxen never returned. But neither did his lost children, who abandoned them in the time of their greatest peril.

The Instigator bore an empty patch of skin beneath his eye; a farewell gift from the oxen. The scar tissue felt tight, and gave his left eye a newly permanent squint. Although he tried to maintain his cheerful disposition, now more than ever he felt it was a futile act. The scar on his face stung, but the wound in his heart stung worse.

He spent most of his time, when not with the others, perched atop the Temple. Gator was always anxious that one day the oxen would return. And if not the oxen, then perhaps the phantoms of the lost Fingers pack. Or some new disaster. He felt he had to be ready to protect them. But a slow seedling of ache in his bones warned him that he was getting no younger.

The depression that had settled over Chickadee when Sisoes died had eased very little in the seasons since. Though he couldn't bring himself to leave outright and betray the trust his family had put in him, especially after what had happened with Crocodile, Pelican, Scooter and Ren, the terrier honestly didn't feel like he had any place in the House anymore. His leg had never regained it's former strength, and remained a twisted mangled wreck that couldn't even reach the ground, much less bear weight. He couldn't spy, he couldn't hunt, he couldn't even act as a bait dog like he'd originally been recruited to do. The terrier just limped around the territory, peeing on things out of habit and trying at least not to be in the way.

His packmates would bring him food, since he could no longer chase most prey for himself, but he picked at most of it. Though Dee appreciated the effort they went to for him, he sort of wished they wouldn't. As winter closed in, the House would need all of the resources it could get for it's healthy and contributing members, not a small crippled mess. The terrier had lost some weight as consequence, and while he wasn't going to die of starvation anytime soon his fur had taken on a dull, lifeless quality and his energy was not what it should have been.

As he limped back towards the temple from yet another pointless trip out to mark their boundaries, he was unsurprised to see the Instigator up on the temple roof. He seemed to be spending a great deal of time up there in recent months, perhaps keeping watch in case the oxen returned, perhaps simply brooding.

Dee sat in the grass, tilting his head as he looked up at this strange dog who he had long ago accepted as his leader. Though he'd never wanted to join a pack when he was young, and had intended to flee the House of Intrigue as soon as it tried to recruit him, somehow here he still was almost five years later. Gator had a lot to do with that- though Dee would never have imagined it when he first met the eccentric Guy In Charge, he was a very warm and caring individual. Though he wasn't sure if the Instigator felt the same way, Dee had come to regard the pack leader as his closest friend, and trusted him more then anyone else.

"Y'know boss," he called up to Gator. "I wonder sometimes what the world looks like to yeh way up there. What sorta things do you see that the rest of us can only guess at? Must seem like lookin' at tiny ants sometimes."

"I wish that you could come up and join me," Gator replied. "Because while it is a very grand place to sit, and I can see our beautiful home stretch from horizon to horizon, it is also a very lonely place to be."

He unfurled his wings and leaped from the edge of the temple, swinging a wide circle in the air until his claws reached the earth. The Instigator put away his feathers and returned to a shape much familiar to Dee's. He tried to wag his tail a little, but looking at his friend so worn down, Gator managed only a sad smile.

"Look at us," said Gator. "Whoever said that aging was a noble feat was lying through their teeth. At least it doesn't look like we'll have to fight off any more oxen for now."

The terrier reflected on all the times the Instigator had spent up on that roof with Pelican, who COULD join him up there, and winced. Probably it was partially that which had soured it for the leader, and it made Dee wish he could renew the pleasure of the experience in some way.

When the Instigator commented on their advancing age, Dee chuckled. "Dunno. I honestly never thought I'd live long enough to think about the bad sides of gettin' old. At least not when I was on my lonesome. After I joined up here, well... I guess I've never really been the sort who thinks too far ahead"

He sighed, shaking his head. "You're a lot better at that then I am. I always trusted yer judgement, and did what I was told 'cause I knew you wouldn't put any of us into a bad situation if you could help it. And if somethin' went wrong you'd do what you had to to get our tails back out again. 'S probably why you got rid of the oxen and I just..."

He'd watched helplessly while Sisoes died. That was what he was thinking, though his voice died before he could say it.

"And you just nearly got killed for the sake of our family, once again." His ears flattened. "You have put yourself in harms way again and again for this family, and you've come out more hurt than anyone else."

Gator didn't know how the little dog could put so much faith in him when each time it got Dee injured. There was no way The Instigator could ever repay the little dog's deeds; his debt to him was too grand.

"I am sorry that all of this has happened to you. I should have been the one run in by those horns. But I've come out of the ordeal with only this scratch, and nothing else. I think even if I live twice my years and die of old age I wouldn't be able to repay all of your actions."

Dee laughed hoarsely. "I appreciate it, Boss, but I dunno if any of those things I did made much difference in the long run. Maybe I distracted the beardog so you could save Junior, but the fight with the General was pointless and the oxen was... I... I couldn't save her."

He leaned down, shoving his face into the dirt. "I c-couldn't save her, she let them k-kill her so my stupid ass could get away, i-it's my fault."

Gator shook his head. "I love my family. All of my family. And I loved Sissoes. But she knew that she was old. I would have wanted her to go out of this world quietly in a dream, but she had different ideas. A grand blaze of glory. Sissoes loved this family too. It is no one's fault but the oxen. I don't understand why you can't accept that all of these years, you have sacrificed to keep the family alive too."

The Instigator sat back and looked out towards where the land met the sky. The wind was growing cooler by the day, and he knew soon winter would be at their backs. He tried to take in as much of the autumn colors as he could. He had no way of knowing if this would be the last autumn he ever saw again.

"When we fought the oxen, I believe wholeheartedly that I would die. That I would be run through, and go out in a blaze of glory as well. Now I had no wish to die, mind you. I love my family too much. But I would give everything to protect them. You included. I am very glad that I did not die too, of course. But our family is growing smaller and smaller..."

Chickadee swiped a paw across his nose, giving a halfhearted grin. "I suppose you could just go pee on some more dogs. It's worked before."

He sighed, growing somber again. "I dunno. I guess I always just felt like I didn't deserve it. I was always a thief and a sneak, but the House took me in and gave me a real family. We didn't always get along all the time, but that'd be true of anybody. I wanted to do something to feel like I'd earned it, but everything I tried just bit me in the rear."

"But I'm glad you didn't die, Boss. I dunno if you know it, but we'd be in right sore shape without you. And... I'm glad you think I'm worth somethin', even if I find it hard to agree."

"I'm afraid our reputation has spread so far and wide, and that we are so feared for our strength, that strangers do not come down this way as often. We are, after all, the grandest pack in all of Athens."

The Instigator's voice resumed its grandeur, if only for the moment. Their pack was small, the smallest it had been in years. He had never anticipated his own family factioning off, let alone leaving so suddenly. And without word.

"Well, I am glad you did not die either. Mess would be most distraught at such a turn of events." He drew up his mouth and was silent for a time. His eyes were caught on a fragile brown leaf, dangling from the edge of a tree limb. A gentle gust clipped it from the twig, and sent it spiraling down.

"I've been thinking," said The Instigator. "That if we manage through the winter, and the spring looks good. Well. Maybe I'll ask Mess about having more children. Our family could grow again. I've always been happiest, as a father. What do you think? Could you tolerate being an uncle again?"

Dee looked up at the pack leader in surprise. It had been so long since the last time, he'd assumed that neither of them wanted to have more pups. And after the way all but two of the group had run off on their own, he was surprised the Instigator was willing to take that chance again.

"Y'know, if Mess doesn't mind I don't think I would either. The kids were fun when they were little and shiny-eyed, and I could probably spin a few yarns for 'em even if I can't really teach 'em my tricks anymore. I bet Messie'n Ree would be over the moon. And... you really did seem to love the lil' uns, especially when they were at their littlest. Be nice to see ye that happy again."

The Instigator gave a smile. A genuine, warm smile. "A lot of bad things have happened to us. But I like to think that things will get better from here. This isn't the end of the House of Intrigue. Just, the end of another year. Spring will come again, even if we can't see it through the fall. I am glad that we are all here, and I am glad to still have you as a friend."

Dee was surprised to hear the Instigator call him a friend, and he smiled back up at the pack leader. "Aye. Thanks Boss."

He looked up into the cool, clear autumn sky with a soft chuckle. "Here's to the seasons ahead, and lots of new things to see and pee on."

A final rp between Dee and The Instigator. Much feels were had.
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Planes: Fire and Rescue

Smoke filled the sky as the orange glow of flames filled the air. Burning embers covered the sky, nothing safe from their touch. Vehicles tried to flee, but were trapped in the fiery blaze that cut them off from the escape route outside.

A red, black, and grey helicopter with blue eyes flew down as he released the mud that covered some of the blaze. Next to him, a green and white helicopter did the same thing as a yellow, red, and black Super Scooper followed suit. These three were backed up by an ex-military transport and his crew of Smokejumpers.

They were the Piston Peak fire-fighting crew, but alas, they were only nine vehicles. A large forest fire was just barely outside their capabilities, but they still managed on a tight budget that never seemed to increase.

None of them minded, although a larger budget would cover their lack of equipment and fire-fighting crew.

Too bad that never seemed to happen…

On an American aircraft carrier, a small prop-plane with a four bladed prop and wing-tip tanks was resting when a World War II Corsair came up to him. On both planes was the piston-and-cross-wrenches symbol. “You doing okay, Dusty?” The warplane asked as Dusty Crophopper nodded.

“Yeah. Why?” He asked. “Is something wrong, Skip?”

Skipper Riley just narrowed his pale blue eyes as he looked into the silver and black warplane’s blue ones. “Some funds for a public park’s fire-fighting team have gone missing. The Secretary of the Interior normally would ask the FBI to investigate, but the one who runs the park is very adamant that the FBI not get involved. That is where you, and by extension, we, come in.” He replied.

“So, we are being asked to find out what is going on?” Dusty asked as Skipper nodded.

“What we have planned is this. In order to get in though, you need to be willing to do something that may take you out of racing for a while.” The Corsair began. Dusty began to get a sinking feeling in his tanks.


Skipper closed his eyes as he breathed out to calm his nerves. Then, he opened his eyes as he faced Dusty with a resolute expression on his front. “You need to get hurt.”

Dusty gaped before he spoke. “Are you serious?!”

“Look, it won’t be forever. All we need is for you to get yourself hurt so that you can’t race for a while. Then, you can get in to be trained as a fire-fighter. That should put you in close proximity to the car that runs the park. Once that is done, we should be able to find out what happened to those funds.” Skipper replied, trying to reassure Dusty it wasn’t forever.

Dusty looked down as he pursed his lips. “But what about my racing career?” He asked as he looked back up.

“Your duties as a military officer come first, remember?” Skipper replied as he glared at Dusty. The racer/warplane remembered what he had agreed to and sighed.

“Yeah. I do…” He sighed as he relented. “I just hope it is not forever…”

‘Me too, kid…’ Skipper thought as he looked away from Dusty. ‘Me too…’

In a small desert town, two cars had just finished up plans for a small vacation and were readying for their journey. The red racecar looked very excited as he glanced back at his father, a midnight blue Hudson Hornet with blue eyes that matched his son’s.

Lightning Hudson-McQueen was very eager to get going as he looked back at Doc Hudson with anticipation.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to Piston Peak!” The younger racer exclaimed as he twitched with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”

Doc chuckled at his son’s eagerness. “Just calm down. We’ll get there soon enough.” He assured the younger car. Lightning just laughed sheepishly.


But both racers were unaware of just how their fates would intertwine with the fate of Piston Peak’s fire-fighting crew and one certain air racer/warplane…

In a small town just outside of Propwash Junction, a blue and white police plane with a custom sprayer and a golden police badge on his sides looked back as another robber was brought into the station. He smirked before the chief came up to him.

“There you are!” She exclaimed as he looked back at her.


The chief sighed before she looked into his brown eyes. “There’s a mission I have for you.” She explained as the police plane looked confused.

“And what would that be?” He asked.

“We need you to find out why the funds for a fire-fighting team in a national park are vanishing. The Piston Peak fire-fighting crew has only 20% of their fire-fighting funds left, and the Secretary of the Interior has asked for help. The FBI can’t get involved though, at the insistence of the park manager. So he has been forced to call on those who are not of the agency.” The chief replied as the police plane pursed his lips. “So can you do it?”

He nodded, but he was unaware of how his fate with intersect with the local fire-fighting unit as well as that of his friends…

The fates of four groups, all separate, were to intertwine in one adventure/mission that would reveal the plight of one fire-fighting crew, and bring to the world, attention just what they were going through.

In plain sight, true heroes would be revealed…
Here is the prologue to my next fic! Enjoy~! :la: :icondancingcactusplz:
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Charlie is awake before dawn, he races the sun and he’s never lost. Breakfast is simple, eggs and orange juice he’d fry both if he could just to save time. Next is a jog thirteen times around the city- EXACT LOCATION ONLY AUTHORISED TO T.H.E.M. PERSONAL GREATER THAN LEVEL 4- park and then on to relieve his current partner from her night shift. Usually he works the full twenty four seven but he’s been told that’s self destructive and likely to kill him. Charlie knows what will kill him and it won’t be a lack of sleep.

I could tell you what Charlie looks like but then you might run into him. We’ll say this he looks very much like someone you’ve seen before out of the corner of your eyes but you never really saw. He’s a man you’ve asked for the time, he’s a man who has asked you for the time. You’d forget him ten seconds after you met and now just thanks to the way his tie looks inviting you could fall into the pattern and forget your life for a while…. oh bugger that thing! He’s plain perhaps a little too plain.

Save the eyes. Like storm clouds they are, strange grey things that hold no emotions but a promise for violence and noise. Don’t look Charlie in the eyes, nobody looks Charlie in the eyes except close family members and even then they only do it when he can’t see them do it. Wrap your head around that.

He enters a coffee shop, one of a thousand that’s appeared over the last decade, and orders a couple of things not safe for human consumption. He takes the coffee, pays for the coffee. He knows people like him members of the RADIO who stopped living lives and started living ideas. He could never settle into that, too much pressure. He prefers what he does now to what they might want him to do tomorrow.

He’s out of the building and climbing the stairs of it’s neighbour and at the top he walks into a mirage. The top of this building doesn’t exist, well it does but shush and let me tell you why it doesn’t exist for you and does for me, okay, okay, you see, well you don’t actually and this is why, it’s because you can’t see it. It’s simple really, not really simple but simple really if you’re still following which you should be, as they don’t want you to see it and it’s really as easy as all that. If you don’t want someone to see something you hide it, right of course you do, this is the same bit on a grander and altogether more worrying scale.

If you can hide a secret from your friends, your family, yourself- the easiest person to fool is those closest to you after all- then you have to consider, because I’m telling you to now, just what the people you don’t know can and are hiding from you. You don’t know T.H.E.M. so you have no idea what they can hide. You have no baseline, you have no basic comprehension, you’ve seen as much as can be seen and that’s only because they let you see to begin with.

T.H.E.M. are hiding an entire reality somehow. Isn’t that amazing? It is. But isn’t it also a little scary? A little worrying that such a thing is even possible? I’d think so.

Charlie saunters into a mobile headquarters on the rooftop a sparse little tent with a few kit bags and a pair of other figures. He hands the one closest to the entrance the coffee but they don’t accept it. Their hands blurring in a frantic series of circles and lines in the air as though working at an abacus only they can see. Charlie places the coffee at the figures feet. Sweet soul that one, responsible for the cover they were receiving and about as strange a soul as Charlie had ever worked with.

Found them while scouting hopeful talents and spent a month or so following them to see if they could A: spot him and B: If they were worth the expense of training and C: how shitty a person they were. The last one matters most when you’re on stakeout duty so Charlie prioritizes it in candidates for his little team. Mirage, for the sake of privacy that is what we shall call this person after all Charlie isn’t Charlie’s real name either, passed the introductory test by well having Charlie never find out what Mirage looked like.

For a month Charlie followed Mirage and Mirage gave no sign of noticing him but during the entirety of that time appeared to remain in the same baggy all concealing clothes topped off with a hood. At all times, in all places, during all activities. Mirage was then offered the job in the same way Charlie was. Dragged off the street, hit several times and told you worked for T.H.E.M. now. Albeit in Charlie's case twelve people died in the progress of this action. Mirage, like most people who “work” for T.H.E.M. were told they had no choice and when told to jump they’d had better do it.

Mirage regarded the coffee cup and Charlie from deep within the hood, inclining their head slightly in a show of thanks. Charlie did the same and wandered to the other person in the tent. She had a code name, everyone who worked for T.H.E.M. in a major capacity did. It was a fine one but Charlie never referred to her by that alias because he had a much better one.

“Tall foamy latte for The Tall Foamy Latte,” the description Charlie felt was apt. She was a tall dark skinned woman with a light golden afro. She was also, like coffee, quite hot Charlie felt.

“Hm,” she said as she held out a hand for the drink.

“Anything big happening with our boy?” Charlie asked handing over the drink. She popped the protective white top from the drink and took a horrid slurp from the drink. She placed the cardboard container on a waist height table next to a deck of cards and a blue cell phone. She had a thin wisp of foam across her upper lip that caused Charlie to smile.

“No, the usual,” she said slowly, “lots of pacing though.” She ran her tongue over her top lip and Charlie slowly thought about when he last spent a day with a woman. The thought was interrupted by more precise matters of concern than the lack of anybody waiting for him back at home. HE was a professional after all.

“Pacing?” Charlie plucked a small scope from a table and peered through it to see that yes their target was pacing his living room and seemingly chattering to himself. “Hm,” Charlie hawd, “he been doing that long?”

“Better part of the morning,” Latte replied, “something happen to the target?”

“Not that I know of. Shows going well, relationships at decent levels.” Charlie shrugged and placed the scope back on the table. “Something’s clearly going to happen. Suppose I should get ready for it.” Charlie paced to one side of the tent and took in a pair of suitcases. He looked at the two twin cases, long things easily twice the length of a grown man’s arm and about as thick, and took one down. He crouched to his haunches and twisted at the various dials across the side of the case to unlock it.

It hissed open, a faint click of locks and a mute exhalation of cold air. Charlie removed a series of small chrome like plates, tubes, levers and dials. He began to put them together piece at a time. “Keep watching him, he does anything weird tell me. I don’t want to do anything serious but better to be ready for the worst.”

“Weirder than usual?” Latte offered.

“Yes, weirder than usual.” Charlie grunted.


“How have you been Lyle?”

Lyle had been the same as he’d ever been. Content. Lyle Trainor was a thirty something year old man who for the last twenty seven years of his life, give or take, has been under heavy T.H.E.M. surveillance. Lyle Trainor is what T.H.E.M. calls a class seven crisis pretending to be a human. Lyle Trainor like a number of Hyper Reality residents was born with strange and, on paper, unexplainable powers. His power has earned him the affectionate title of Nuclear Man. If something goes wrong around him, if he worries for too long, is surprised, scared, any number of things really and he will destroy the entirety of the northern hemisphere in a massive nuclear catastrophe.

Several T.H.E.M. operatives considered killing Lyle, ‘putting down a potential threat’ as it were, they were outvoted and decommissioned. T.H.E.M. or some of T.H.E.M. consider all life as sacred. The majority seem to anyway.

So Lyle is left alone. Anywhere he lives, anywhere he goes, the signs of Hyper Reality are covered up. He lives in a city with a low level encroachment process and all reality subdivisions in that area- be they hero, mystical, mechanical,monstrous,biological,intergalactic or planetary- have been put on eternal hiatus. Save for the running of the Lighthouse Initiative of which Lyle is a member save the fact he’s knows nothing about it. He assumes it’s weekly therapy mandated by his job in programming.

“Good,” Lyle says warmly, nodding to Sally, “really good. Quotas all met this month and I think I might be in for a raise.” He notices his therapist note something down. He always wonders what they write or if like in those movies they draw pictures of people in unflattering ways. Sally seems too nice to do that though, too kind. She smiles at him and he gets the very incorrect idea she can read his mind.

“Might be going on Holiday soon,” he says trying to ignore the very real heat he can feel on his cheeks. She places the end of her pen against her full lips and coos a little excitedly.

“Where you going?” Sally Griswold asks with all the enthusiasm and warmth of a sunrise. She’s dressed in sunny colours, floral prints around the lower parts of the shoulder sling dress. Red hair cascading down her back save a single errant strand which she slides away from her face with a delicate finger. Tucking it behind an ear before smiling to Lyle over her clipboard.

It’s a social predator’s instincts that bring a smile to her face, Lyle takes all the pitfalls she sets up. Every smile, every laugh, every engineered crossing of legs elicit the exact right responses from him. It’s not malicious to do this, no, she reminds herself that Lyle needs to be kept in a certain mood range or he kills everyone in North America by accident. So really this level of flattery and interest is essential.

“I was thinking of one of them British places. With all the hills. “ He said unhelpfully. Sally nodded and continued to write it all down. The room was, more than likely, bugged but she wrote it all down because somebody would want a copy. Some bald fellow in glasses came by, same guy every time, and took it.

Sally met Lyle every three weeks for sessions where they just spoke about him. His life, his mood, how he felt. A bottled existence that she helped orchestrate. There was something in there that she knew should be wrong but really the end justifies the means. It has to. It should. She liked Lyle he was a nice sort of person, typical in a boring way. She could respect boring thanks to the Lighthouse.

She met people who could turn their eyes invisible, people who sweat motor oil, folks with the power to explode into flames but were very much still capable of being burnt despite this. She was used to people who teleported by exploding into giant giblets of meat- “It’s evolutionary, they assume their prey died and the gore masks my scent!” the client had pleaded by way of explanation-  so it was nice to just meet a salary guy.

She wouldn’t think of Lyle as a friend, he was a client like the rest of them, but he was amicable and hadn’t covered her in caustic fluids or accidentally summoned a living storm indoors. So he was head and shoulders above most of the Lighthouse members.

They spoke some more. About plans for the future, how Lyle’s family was doing. The usual things that it’s awkward to tell someone you’re paying to listen to about. They say their goodbyes. Agree to meet again in three weeks time and he leaves. Sally stays by the door and half a minute later a bald man in glasses comes in.

“I request the information.” He intones with one outstretched hand. She hands him the slim group sheaf of papers and he nods. He’s gone just like that. Sally takes a moment to herself. Exhales, returns to her desk and surveys the stack of potential applicants for Lighthouse interviews.

Most days of the week were spent going through the seemingly endless stacks of possible candidates who needed the Lighthouse to help them. People with faulty powers, useless powers, powers that wouldn’t work unless intensely specific circumstances occurred. For every superhuman that could do amazing things there was as many stuck with hideous limitations. It was up to the Lighthouse to make sure they were looked after. Sally and the Chief were struck with powers that in her case were useless and the less said about the Chief the better. She sighed before sinking into the chair behind her desk.

She usually had help with the sheer number of claims. Usually Lucy was seated at the desk to her left but she’d been, according to her voicemail “Dragged to the Amazon to be part made queen lord of the Sun.” This always happened to Lucy. It was the reason SHE worked here...when this kind of thing wasn’t happening obviously. She had another helper a while ago, recently.

A brief image of a blonde man with green eyes and the kind of smile you should slap off someone when you see it on their face floated across her mind. Travis Mandrake or was it Louis Niccals now or was it Mr. Redd- that was the name they kept asking her about. Any of the three brought on a barrage of headaches and the urge to find something with a neck to wring. She furrowed her brows in fury as the whole sordid affair passed by.

He showed up with some horrendous excuse about only being invisible when you never saw him. Things started vanishing when he began working there. Stationary went missing, printer paper by the mountain load, ocean loads of printer ink, an entire scanner went missing. It was obviously him, he confessed as such. She kept him from getting fired because….reasons that were strictly unprofessional.

They had something of a heart to heart and then he, he had HE

Sally heard something strain as her fists balled around a pen. She looked down to find her stomach straining against her dress which had suddenly become much, much tighter in the last few rage fuelled seconds. She rested her now slightly saggier cheek against her hand and recoiled quickly. Lord she’d lost touch for a moment.

Sally had, like everyone working here, less than useful powers. She was….given…. the powers when she was young. She was told she had a mutation of the growth/elasticity/morph tree of powers. Most similarly to those who could shift in size to become gigantic or subatomic she could alter the amount of mass within herself and expand accordingly. However this power only applied to areas with fatty deposits. It also had an upper limit, the rest of her did not stretch too terribly much and to top it all off her skin still garnered stretch marks from attempts that were taken too quickly.

In short. Perfect for the Lighthouse.

She grumbled as her body reset itself. Mass shifting, snapping back and ceasing to split. Excessive spite and anger lead to this kind of thing happening. She dragged the first file down from the pile, imagining it weighed as much as a solid slab of stone as it slapped to her desk. She peeled it open and went to work reviewing the names within.


James Phineas Griswold has a problem. He is aware that in about a year, maybe a little more and maybe a little less everything in the world will die. He has taken this news well and vowed to do everything he could to fix it. That's why for the last fortnight he’s been covering everything he owns in duct tape because that fixes everything. Oh. I suppose I should say something about J.P. and I’ll say what he usually says.

“I’m crazy.”

J.P. is a crazy person and I mean that in a very literal way. J.P.’s mind does not work correctly or even in a way that we would recognize as functioning. J.P. is...special. J.P. Griswold paces his home that he shares with his sister and runs a finger across the silvery tape covering every single surface. He listens to the faint creak of resistance. It’s a horrid sound that to him sounds perfect in it’s simplicity.

He nods as he takes his fifth lap of the living room that hour. He stops at the window and runs a finger first around the underside of the sill and then back around the top to continue the perfect rhythm. He wanted to cover the windows, everything told him to cover the windows, but Sally...Sally liked how the outdoors looked and he didn’t want to upset her. HE didn’t want to upset her no matter how essential it was, this was not a conversation he wanted to have with his sister.

The room sounds good, the room sounds perfect, all is muffled perfection. This will fix everything and he knows this will fix everything because...well he’s crazy so clearly this will have to work. Oh, that and of course someone told him this would work. Who?

Who is a good a question but unfortunately an incorrect one. The correct question you should have asked is “What?” Not what as in a declaration of surprise, though I dare say that it’s an equally valid response to scream what at such a blunt nosed statement. But the question should be “what” as in what told him this rather than who told him this.

And the answer is the obvious; the duct tape told him. It says so on the box, perfect for fixing anything. Did I mention J.P. was crazy because he’s very crazy. He realises it’s Wednesday because something reminds him it’s Wednesday and then he remembers he was going to do something important on Wednesday. What was it, what was it? What?

He turns around at a sound. The TV that’s right! It reminded him that he’d agreed to meet with the T.V. people today! Yes it was all coming back to him now. He flopped onto the duct tape couch and looked for the remote.

J.P. looks like an amalgam of the words accountant and crack addict. He’s dignified in dress and not ungifted in looks but he looks a bit too much like a geography teacher. Tweed is his fashion statement and it’s a very loud statement. A little blue bow-tie adorns his neck and matches the colour of his eyes. He’s pale though and always looks to be sweating, head darting around looking at either nothing or everything.

He scratches at his auburn mop and realises where he left the remote. He reaches over the couch side and peels a bumpy strip of duct tape free and nestled within is the remote. He stabbed a button and the television turned on to a noxious display of orange graphics. A jaunty tune, that J.P. felt didn’t suit the news show and then sat there quietly watching the Silent Sentinel News Channel.

He’d been following the paper for a long time, it sort of called out to him one day from the racks amidst the dozens of comics and other tabloids. He may well have been one of the first subscribers to their delivery service. Now, after some amount of years, it was a Television channel and all manner of other things. He still liked to read the paper, a little part of J.P. would have liked to write a paper. He imagined it would be relaxing, a little side column or something like that.

But he didn’t do that. He had a 4 A.M. show about telling people he didn’t speak to dead people that was very popular. He did Cold Reading without the big farcical other side bint that everyone else in that particular field operated using and somehow that made him more amazing to the audiences. He told them, explicitly told them, that he was using the most base facts and pointless questions to fish hook them along. They still ate it up which was nice. He put effort into that show, more than it deserved for a late night public access nonsense, and it showed.

J.P. subscribed to putting in maximum effort on everything possible, he currently sat in a home with every surface and object swarming with duct tape to attest to this philosophy.

The T.V. showed a pair at a news desk one  was a very slightly aged looking female coated in enough make up and key lighting to make her look less aged and the other was someone encased in a giant iron suit. The woman was made of angles, cheek bones high enough to give altitude sickness and sharp enough to cut through steel, her hair was a thick blob of black formed into a bun with regimental stiffness. Her smile was warm and inviting which told J.P. she’d either been in TV for a long time or used to dealing with cameras. The TV said her name was Kimberly Black

The man, J.P. only knew it was a man the TV said his name was Oscar Ostavo, was a fortress of steel with a faint holographic display where his eyes should be. Faint digital lines showed his eyes in a sort of adorably retro display. The steel outfit was painted to resemble a sort of business suit, a black border all over with a painted white shirt beneath and what looked like a magnetic clip on tie attached to the front of the suit. That got J.P. smiling for some reason.

“Hello,” Kimberly enunciated loudly. “If you’re just joining us here’s a recap on today’s biggest pieces of Hyper-Reality news;

The Legion Of Jacks has started their yearly hunt, residents are advised to be on the look out for the calling card of the Jack’s in their cities and alert any heroes available as quickly as possible. The Jack’s are a legion of trained killers and are not to be taken lightly.

A mysterious temple has risen in the Amazon basin and several dozens of cult groups have come forward to take credit for it, none have been concretely linked to the new addition to the area. T.H.E.M. have started questioning spiritualists and blanketed the area in Quantum Wraps- rewards are open to tomb divers and raiders willing to investigate for T.H.E.M.

Tesla’s University for Malcontent Youths, The Cape and Cowl Advanced Learning College and many more have started allowing people to register for studies and higher learning in heroics. The city of Midway has, for the first time in three years, allowed The Collegia Magnificent to allow peoples outside the city to attend the hallowed magical academy. With the express condition they live within the city limits during term time. Apply for all places of higher learning now while you have a chance.

Over to Oscar for current events and developments.”

The tin man whined as he turned to look into the camera, J.P. felt his teeth itch at that. “Thank you Kimberly,” his voice sounded pleasant despite the suit which made J.P. think they had a proper sound guru in that place.

“ Thirty seven separate robberies have been perpetuated simultaneously by new up and coming villain The Ninety Nine Percent, the new villain is slowly becoming a rising star in thefts of all sizes and scale. Scouts from several organizations have approached to induct him, including both the Society of Acquisitions and the Jack O-Lanterns- a group of mask wearing criminals who enjoy spectacle. The Ninety Nine Percent has apparently turned them all down. He also continues to elude our ORB cameras and crews vying for an interview.”

“Oh,” Kimberly cooed reproachfully, “you think he’d have something to hide. What with the mask and that terrifying want of privacy. You ever get invited to the Jack O Lanterns, Oscar?”

“No they like spectacle, Kimberly, most spectacular thing I can do is getting in and out of my car in this suit.” The laughed warmly and J.P. wondered if he could get a co-star on his show….

“Other stories include a small protest breaking out against our ORB cameras. Several Hyper Civilians and Heroes and Villains protest it’s a strange and awkward violation of their rights and patents to be spied on while working; giving away tricks of the trade.” His eye display swiped as though wind shield wipers had passed over it and then reformed giving him worried brows. “Troubling scenario. Many people are comparing us to T.H.E.M.”

“Hmm troubling,” Kimberly parroted with a nod, “we’d like to remind everyone the ORB cameras are only used for high tension scenarios and we trim the footage through a highly trusted intermediary between ourselves and T.H.E.M. to handle and edit the footage. Anything possibly “private” or dangerous is destroyed and deleted. The Silent Sentinel does not use your footage for anything other than the news and even then we endeavour to contact you for your permission to appear. The Sentinel apologises for any worries we’ve stirred up.”

J.P. flicked off the set because he was certain someone was coming to the door. A squeaking of floorboards told him so. He struggled up from the couch, sticking for a moment by the seat of his pants before wriggling free. The door was hammered at and he repressed the urge to leap across the apartment in fright. he knew it was coming but...knocking doors always freak him out with how loud they get.

He swallowed nervously, exhaled a few times to clear his head and looked out the window at the group of T.H.E.M. snipers across the street told to kill him, just to make sure they were still there. Sometimes he lost sight of them and that was a bit worrying, he didn’t want them to get in trouble with T.H.E.M. for losing sight of him. He knew he was difficult enough to work with.

“...I think he just waved at me,” The Tall Foamy Latte said. Charlie just snorted a laugh as he lay down a long barrelled rifle beside her. Flat stub nose like an arrow head pointing into J.P.’s home.

“He does that.” Charlie said. Mirage uttered something in a language Charlie didn’t speak but he knew sulking when he heard it. Poor kid, had no idea Griswold properly made them out the minute they were on the roof. J.P. was good like that. The best maybe.

At the door J.P. saw three people. Two he knew and one he did not. The two he knew he’d seen a week prior; Grant and Felicity two reporters for the Sentinel. He’d known Felicity years ago and she’d changed a great deal since then, grown up clearly into a very pretty lady with an intense smile and an overpowering presence that smothered people around her.

The boy he did not know well but knew enough. He was Grant Ellis and he was the second most dangerous person in the room after J.P. himself. But Grant didn’t know that and he didn’t need to. The boy carried himself lazily in that teenage way and had a smirk painted across his face, he nodded to J.P. tweaking his glasses in a hello.

The last individual was another woman, shorter than Felicity but taller than Grant- whom he had to admit was quite short. Everything about her was soft from her face to her hair to her body even, not an angle to her. She was short as well as round all over and the girl had so many freckles they seemed to reach into her green eyes as well. She beamed at him.

“J.P.,” Felicity belted before enfolding him into a very tight hug. He was aware it could have been tighter as she had some body morphing power, he could feel the strange looseness of her clothes and having washed his sister’s own elasticated wardrobe for about a decade he knew the feeling of morphable fabric.

She placed her chin on his shoulder and peered into his apartment. He could feel her smile before he saw it. She pulled back, a huge crazed look on her pretty face. “I’ve been doing some interesting things here.” She kept an arm around his shoulders as they walked into the duct tape filled room. Grant and the girl followed, the dropping of Grant’s jaw knocked away his smirk. The girl just took out a phone and snapped a photo of it.

“You know Grant of course,” Felicity said as her heels punctured the duct tape, J.P. hissed loudly through his teeth and she stopped walking. She leaned against J.P. and took the shoes off, having him bare her weight for a moment. “Sorry,” she mangled, “didn’t know it was sensitive stuff.”

“Oh yes!” J.P. said taking her shoes and placing them on a duct tape covered coffee table. “Very essential they are kinda,” he looked around the room a few times as though searching, Felicity followed his eyes and found nothing there, “essential to...what I need to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” Felicity said warmly, placing an arm against his and letting him guide her to a separate table in the middle of the floor with chairs on either side of it. She grinned, “Set up for us already?”

“Oh yes,” J.P. said with a vigorous nod, “ wanted to be professional. I work on TV too, wanted a simple set up save your people time.” He pulled out a chair for Felicity and she settled into it with an almost demure batting of the eyes. Very lady like, oh la la what a gentleman.

“Very nice of you, oh. The girl with us is Debbie, “Felicity indicated the smallish girl setting up a tripod behind Felicity while Grant set up one behind J.P. “Debbie is our camera woman, sound woman, anything really. She’s a star.”

“Hello,” Debbie bubbled, “I’ve seen your TV show, watched it when I was up late cramming for tests.” That seemed to be his demographic, J.P. thought. “It’s really cool, I always wanted to work on TV shows and now I do.” She chirped as she went into a bag slung over her shoulder and removed pair of radio mics. “You don’t mind if we use Radio mics, I think the….” she looked at the room, “surfaces might make the boom crackly.”

J.P. neither nodded nor said anything he just sat there, eyes swimming in his skull as he looked at everything around him. Debbie looked to Felicity who just shrugged her shoulders and nodded at her. Debbie hooked the little black speck onto Felicity’s white collar and then onto J.P.’s brown tweed collar.

“So,” Grant said as he held up a trio of orbs in a trio of ethereal hands, “how do you want this lit Debs?” Debbie and Grant swam about the apartment setting up the lights on the ORBs to get their wide angle shot while they manned the standard camera’s for over shoulder basic shots. Grant’s powers would make each camera invisible to another and hide himself and Debbie- making their jobs easier and more expedient.

“Felicity,” J.P. rasped, “thanks for doing this I need to get this message out.” She flopped a hand at him and leaned her elbow onto the table, blonde hair falling in a curtain around her face.

“No problem, old friends. I’m sure I owe you one,” She said and J.P. figured she did and she’d forgotten probably, he hadn’t. He couldn’t forget. A lot of things kept reminding him, just seeing her again and all the things that came with her kept reminding him of what he was doing.

“It’s okay,” he said, a fine film of sweat forming across his brow, “it’s just we need to make sure people know this.”

“Know what?”

J.P. swallowed. “The world’s going to end in a year.” J.P. saw her mouth twitch up at one corner and knew she didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe it but he knew it, he’d been told it would happen after all by the strange man full of machines.

“Okay camera test,” Debbie buzzed from behind Felicity.

You look SUPER J.P.! The camera said to J.P. and nobody else. This is such a good idea, the lights think so too.

Yeah we do J.P. sorry if it’s too hot man, we can’t help it. But we can try and make it dimmer.

HEY EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LET ME FIX IT! The duct tape screamed as it always did.

Remember Felicity owes you a favour J.P., Felicity’s suit jacket said primly, she’s not a nice lady all the time but she’s very proper about her debts. She also used to have a huge crush on you and thinks you looked pretty!

It’s sunny someone should close the curtains.

Did I mention J.P. hears everything talking to him all the time or that’s he’s crazy? These are important things to remember.

“Are you ready J.P.?” Felicity asked as she noticed the way his teeth chattered and how he mumbled to himself.

“Yes!” He barked, “YES I AM.” He spoke loudly, as though over someone.

Outside on the neighbouring building Charlie was sweating up a storm himself. The news people were there. They brought Grant Ellis the kid who was, according to Juliet, “The single biggest error of the fucking human race and likely to kill us all one day.” with them and now they were going to put the crazy man on the television. He made a judgement call, no time to warn T.H.E.M. this might be a live broadcast they needed a faster and crazier response to this.

“Latte,” He called, “I need you to initiate plan C.”


Sally’s phone rang, it was their neighbour Ms. Flavish. A lady from one of the countries in Eastern Europe nobody could pronounce. She was always at home so Sally tasked her with watching her brother and making sure nothing bad happened to him while she was out. He was delicate for lack of a better term.

“Yes,” Sally said into the phone. She listened, she gritted her teeth at a few names and then she cried out.

“TV CAMERAS!?” She then called her boss and asked if she could run home to stop an emergency very quickly. He of course said yes to his favourite employ and she ran out past the small wrinkled leathery doctor who worked her, almost bowling him over.

“Sorry Morte!” She called as she ran past, “Family emergency!” She didn’t wait to hear him say it was alright or whatever old time passage he would spray at her today. She had to hurry home and make sure her brother was okay. She took a ride using the teleporter in the Lighthouse garage complex. She was running out of a phone booth in her home city a hundred hundred miles away moments later.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment Charlie,” The Tall Foamy Latte supplied as she watched Sally through her binoculars, “don’t nobody deserve that crazy white girl’s temper.”

“It’s this or the end of the world, maybe, sides if I don’t gotta shot everybody in there I call it a success.” He replied wryly. He really didn’t like shooting people in the face, he just happened to be very good at it. He’d rather race boats. That sounded like more fun. Way more fun.

In the apartment the door clicked upon suddenly and there stood Sally panting, face ruddy and eyes wild as she took in the room. J.P. sitting opposite Felicity, a figure from her past she’d rather never have found her all those months back. She had with her that spiky haired lackey of hers and some other rather rotund girl. The room was silent save her panting- and the voices ONLY J.P. could hear that told him how upset and worried his sister was but that was okay now and all manner of other things.

“Hey, Sally,” Felicity said warmly, smiling so wide it reached her ears, “you want to be on TV too?”
The next part of the Year Of Fire and the First BRIDGE moment between stories. The next story continues on from here with another cast of characters.

In this part we learn more about Charlie, Sally and J.P. and things start getting into motion all over the place. What's happening? Read and find out.

as ever tell us what you like, what you didn't and what you think could be better. Appreciate feedback and it's necessary, ya know?
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Michelle's Passage - Chapter 6

Sat Aug 30, 2014, 9:58 AM


“… and then there were no more little Indians…”

Michelle Bed Back by rainbowscriber

look at your broad back.  Your deep breathing expanding the ribcage and muscle with every breath. The deep rift down your spine, like a river flowing somewhere deep down in a canyon of rolling muscle. Major and minor tresses muscles on the sides, bulging and swaying along with your rhythmic breathing. Traps flaring out and relaxing. Tapering down to the small muscular hips and the adjacent powerful gluteus like two perfectly formed melons. The satin panty caught between the gorgeous cheeks of your gluteus muscles.  Small veins scurrying underneath the beautiful skin trying to feed the massive muscle of the back and legs.

How did you transform from the cute little girl on the photograph you showed me later that day to this muscled nemesis of awesome power and beauty?

And more important…why?

What happened in your life to turn such a sweet little girl into this anomaly lying in my bed? For an anomaly you certainly are, Michelle.

Sometimes I’m not sure if I should admire you or just fear you? Like Medusa one can’t resist staring at your incredible physique but at the same time looking at you makes me feel like I’m looking at the deep dark abyss of some weird fantastic being’s soul. Staring long enough at you might turn me to cold stone of fear – for I’ve seen what your muscles can do and just how powerful your body is. You are like a beautiful siren of myth, one can’t resist coming closer, want to touch, feel…but what if you decided that touching then was not what you wanted…what if that strange look came over your eyes and you decided that it didn’t please you?

I’ve always wondered if muscles like yours are just for show?

 “Plastic” muscles, as that guy called them that evening I saw you lose your cool for the first time in my life. There was nothing plastic about those muscles. Believe me… women built like this are strong, lethally strong. Don’t fool yourself for one moment to try and ease your own mind about whether your male body can beat those powerful muscle – hours, days, years of lifting weights of 40 kg and more, over and over, day after day … well,  you do the math...

My mind drifts back to that afternoon in your cozy little apartment when you unfolded a tale to me that I though only was possible in a work of fiction. Did things like that really happen to people, to beautiful little girls like you and happy families?

Monsters are alive and well on this earth, and they have nothing to do with vampires and werewolves. Nothing.
Those things are fantasy metaphors for the real monsters amongst us. Just look in a mirror. One might be staring back at you, right there. William Golding’s novel, Lord of the Flies, flitted through my mind.
This exquisite girl with the emerald eyes and angelic face has stared into the face of the dead pig’s head on a stick and did not faint, but decided to take the battle to it.
She discovered early in her life, just like a young innocent Ralph on that island, that the real monsters weren’t under your bed or in the closet in your room. No, the real monsters was living in the house with you, they were your next door neighbours, your own family, your best friend…it could be anybody with a heartbeat. The real monster was inside all of us...


I looked at you...

You are so different from the other men I have come to encounter in my life. So gentle and polite. You make me smile.
"Martin", a normal name, nothing special about it, but I liked the name anyway.
I felt comfortable around you, from that very first day I met you in the studio and you came crawling in on all fours after your lens cap. That was so funny!
I was so nervous. I have never done anything like  that before, posing for photographs in a studio or any place else for that matter. My body was different from the normal girls around me, and I knew that. I have been forced in life to exhibit myself a few times under dire circumstances and did not like showing myself in public at all, if I could help it, it brought back dark memories, memories I'd rather forget, but couldn't. But here in this studio, here with you,  it was different; you made it different.
I felt safe and calm around you. I found myself wanting to show you my physique and didn't mind your admiration and the interest you showed in me. I found myself craving more of your attention, and for the first time in a long while, I found my muscularity a blessing and not a curse.

You never tried to impress me or ever gave an indication that you felt intimidated by my muscular physique. You were comfortable with me and with yourself as a man. You didn't see me as some female freak who wanted to become a man, or any such nonsense. You looked beyond the muscle and saw the woman inside.
Men think because I look this way that I would only look at another man that are as muscular as I am. Would I prefer a guy with huge muscles? Yes I would, just as I would not like to be assaulted by a fat blob of blubber. But a normal guy would be just as fine, what counts more is his character and personality, and if he happens to be muscular, well,so be it, I wouldn't mind. But it is not the only criteria, as some would think.

Your words of praise and admiration burned into my soul and send shivers of emotional bliss through my skin and body. Just as much as you probably enjoyed looking at me, I craved your admiration and words.
I wanted to perform for you, I wanted to be more muscular for you... see your eyes as you watch me grow, expand and  developed but at the same time I was afraid you might find me a freak and abomination or feel intimidated by me. I didn't know you that long, but there was this rapport with you that I could not explain.
Your beautiful photographs captured my image so perfectly, I sometimes wondered if that was really me on those images, but every picture you took also captured a part of my soul, and I didn't mind, I wanted you to own a part of me.

My encounter with you changed my life in so many ways. You once told me that I have changed your whole way of thinking about women. I wonder what you would think if I told you how much you changed in my life? And I don't just mean financially, but also the way I see myself through your eyes and art.
That is how you saw me..a work of art. For so many years I felt like Frankenstein's  monster, a freak of nature with a soul and not just a body that could be used and abused, a piece of meat to be butchered and bargained with.

And here you sit now, in my little apartment and we are talking like old friends.
Yes I can call you that. You are my friend. The only friend I had in a long time, except  for  Li-May... who saved my life and helped me escape from a terrible fate a few years back.
You want to know my story...?
Are you sure you want to go there?
And yes, in a strange, awkward way I had the terrible urged to reveal my life to you. I wanted you to know about past...and be there for my future, to help me with what I had to do.
I needed a friend, a real friend, who will understand and not judge. Who will support me and be willing to turn a blind eye when I had to do what must be done. Somebody who could handle my metamorphosis, accept me as I am.

And so, on that fateful afternoon as the sun was slanting in through the windows, I told you my story...

Michelle Apartment Talking2 by rainbowscriber 

I was half American Indian and half French Canadian. My mother was from Cheyenne descent and my father was a Canadian scientist.  Her mother’s Indian name was Kuwanyauma, which means “Butterfly showing beautiful wings”.
They called her Auma for short, as nobody could pronounce the Indian name correctly. She was very proud of her Indian blood and ancestry.
My mother was a woman with exceptional beauty.
She met my father through the Harvard Native American Programme at the University of Western Ohio, where he lectured in bio-chemical engineering and genetics. He was a brilliant young scientist and she was one of his most promising students. He was about ten years older than my mother, but the attraction was mutual and they dated and saw each other in secret and very discretely for a number of years at university.

Shortly after my mother finally graduated, they got married and moved to Canada where both of them were offered a very lucrative employment opportunity at a pharmaceutical company called Quantum Technologies.

“I still have a photograph taken in front of the building,” I said.” Wait let me get it for you; it’s one of the few pictures I have left of my mom and dad that helps me to not forget them. ”
I got up and walked to the small bedroom and returned with an old book, that looked like a make- shift photo album. It looked like an old note book that was turned into a photo album.  I took my place on the couch next to you, and curled my legs under me again. The calves flared. I caught your gaze as you looked at my legs. It made me feel warm inside for a moment.

“This is all I have of them… This, a necklace my mom gave me before her death and the traditional Indian outfit she used to wear.”

I opened the “album”. It was old and contained a number of photos from my past. There was also a brown envelope in the album which was marked “Records”.

The first photo I showed you, was a beach scene. A man a beautiful dark-haired woman and a little girl on a beach somewhere. The woman was leaning back and looking at the man, so her face was in profile and somewhat obscured by her long, thick hair. She had a very short beach skirt on and her legs were very well formed and athletic. Her torso was covered with what looked like a black top.

Parents Beach 2 by rainbowscriber

You commented on my mother's powerful legs and I jokingly said that I probably inherited my legs from her. 

My mother was sitting on the sand. Next to her was a little blonde girl with pinkish purple ribbons in her pony-tails, large  eyes and a broad smile looking at her parents. Me.
  My dad was behind my mom on his knees and his arms around her middle just below her ample breasts. Even though one could not see my mother’s face that clearly on that photo, I could tell that she was a beautiful woman. (“Kuwanyauma”, “butterfly showing beautiful wings”) Very fitting name.

The thing that actually caught your attention the most was my dad. He was looking at the camera, like somebody would look at a camera that was set on a timer to makes sure the photo was taken and to see if it did its job.  You could see his face very clearly in the picture. My heart skipped a beat. I wondered if you noticed it as well as I realized it for the first time!
It was like I was staring at your face!
You did not look like my dad exactly, you were taller, but there was a resemblance, a very strong one.
Is that why I felt attracted to you?  To you… Mr. Plain- Joe- and- coffee.
Have you seen the connection like I just did? Or did you not realize yet that I might be seeing my dad in you? is that why I have this weird attraction to you?
They say girls look for qualities of their fathers in men they date or feel attracted to.
Is this what’s happening here? Have I unconsciously being comparing  you to my father?

The photo was old and worn, the colour was faded. I swallowed.

I turned the page to the next picture. It was a picture of the same beach scene. Both my parents was standing upright now, close together holding hands.

I was at my mother’s feet, playing happily in the sand. Nobody was actually looking at the camera. A happy family scene, there was love. That was clear.

Here you could also see my mother’s face clearly now.  You could see where I got my looks from. My mother was shortish and beautiful. Raven black hair framed a face that would make any man go weak in the joints. She was unmistakably from American Indian descent, but she had Western features which made her really beautiful. And she was built. She didn’t have an inch of fat on her body anywhere. Her legs were very athletic for a woman, back then.

This photo had a bit more colour to it. You could now see my dad’s hair, it was a reddish brown colour like yours. Another similarity.

On the page opposite was another beach scene, taken during the same session. My mother was kneeling on the sand at my father’s feet and I was still to the left, playing in the sand. You could see us all clearly now, a beautiful, happy family.

“What colour was your Dad’s hair?”  you suddenly asked.

                     Parents Beach by rainbowscriber

“Reddish brown, a lot like yours,” I replied, smiling, ” and you do look a bit like him…did you notice?”
"I noticed, yes." You smiled back.

(So, he was aware of the resemblance.)

“That first day when I met you at the studio…” I looked down. “ It took me a few minutes to get my balance back. I’ve look at these pictures so many times, and my memories of my parents started fading over the years, but I try my best to keep them alive and in my mind. Then to suddenly look into a face that is not on a photograph looking back at me and one that looks like the familiar face in the photo. It was a bit bizarre.”

“I wondered if you noticed,” he said, “when you opened the album it jumped at me immediately. One can’t miss it. I didn’t. I was wondering if...”

“…and you are wondering if I’m interested in a friendship with you because of that?” I completed his thoughts for him. “ I would lie if I denied that there is that attraction, but I can assure you that I’m interested in you as an individual, as a person in your own right, Martin.” I smiled my best smile at you.

“Your mother was a beautiful woman,” was all you could get out at that stage. “I can see where you got your looks from. One can see the Indian in her but she is very Western as well. And your dad was not too bad looking either.” 

I laughed at that. “Yep she was. You see my grandmother, whom I can vaguely remember, also married outside the reservation. My grandfather was from Wyoning. My mom said my honey coloured hair was from him.
I still imagine sometimes I can smell her perfume. She was so alive and active. She jogged a lot, could run for miles and miles without breaking a sweat.
My dad on the other hand was an academic. He was tall and lanky, not fat or anything, but exercise was not his thing.
My mom could not sit still for a minute. I think I got my restlessness and active genes from her. I remember her legs. She had strong muscular legs, very athletic. Not very lady-like for those times I suppose but she didn’t care. I remember her stretching and warming up before she went running and exercising on the lawn when she got back from her run.  She ran every day. Got up early in the morning and ran some miles before returning home, showering, making breakfast and get everybody ready for work.”

I turned another page. “Here, that’s the photo I was telling you about.”

I  pointed at a black and white photo of my mom and dad standing in front of a building dressed in lab coats. They both wore protective glasses. They looked  very “official” and this time there was no smiling or happy faces. They both looked like they had a lot on their minds in that photo.

                                           Mom Dad by rainbowscriber 

Your eyes drifted to my mom again. The lab coat was very loose around her body and the area below her breasts looked very distended. Gone was the slim shapely figure of the beach we looked at just now. Her breasts were enlarged and not even the large lab coat could hide the fact that she was very pregnant.

You voiced your thoughts to me.

“Yes. I discovered that later, when I realized what I was looking at,” I said.” A brother or a sister that I will never know now. That was the last photograph taken of them.”

“You mean the accident?”

“Yes.” That was all I could say to you. You didn’t press me for more as you could see that my throat was trying hard to swallow, and my eyes were avoiding contact.

“How old were you on those photos taken at the beach?”  you tried to steer the conversation away from the last picture.

“I was five or six I think.” I said softly.”

“We don’t have to do this, Michelle. If it’s too difficult…” you said.

“No, it’s ok, forgive me, I want to tell you…I have to tell somebody. I need to tell you all of this.” I blinked away the tears and then got up to blow my nose. “Be back in a sec.”


Michelle Apartment Pictures by rainbowscriber

I looked at the photo album...

In her absence I picked up the album. Three photos that were lose inside the covers fell onto the table. Her father and mother standing in what looked like a forest clearing. Michelle’s mom was holding her on her hip, cradling her arm beneath her. Her mother was dressed in a traditional Native American dress with accessories. She looked beautiful. The dress had slipped open and a muscular, tanned brown leg was just visible.

The other two pictures was of Michelle, definitely a couple of years older than in the other photos, dancing in a dance studio and another of her doing gymnastics. If she was about five or six in those other photos, I estimated her here to be about nine or ten years old. She has changed a lot in four to five years.
Posing in a fantasy dance costume was a beautiful young girl with thick mop of honey coloured hair.
Michelle gymnastics by rainbowscriber   

Gone were the thin childlike body of the beach photos, instead there was an athletically build young girl with finely muscled legs and body. Five years of gymnastics and dance training has shaped her body into that of a beautiful athletically molded young girl.

I could see her mother all over her face and physique. I turned the dance studio photo over. In a very dainty handwriting on the back of the photo somebody has written:
Magaskawee at the dance.”

Magaskawee? Michelle?

When Michelle returned, she had a large Tupperware bowl with her and a fork. 

“I’m sorry, time for one of my six meals I have during the day,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind if I talk through the eating for a moment.”

If only she knew that I didn’t mind anything, as long as she just sat there and let me sit here and allow me to watch her just do whatever it is that she does. Breathing, eating, sleeping, talking, moving, my God anything she does is a revelation to me. I suddenly felt myself wishing this afternoon would never end.

“What are you having? I asked.

“Salad. You want a taste?”

Before I could protest, the fork was in front of my mouth.

“Open wide.” She was enjoying herself.

I took a bite.


It was actually very tasty. Tuna and noodles, pine apple pieces and chicken, and a very tasty salad dressing.

“Very tasty.” I said.

“Want more?” She was up and came back with another fork.

“Dig in!”

And there we sat on her couch with a large bowl of high protein salad between us, eating and talking the afternoon away.

“Who is Magaskawee?” I asked. I pointed at the photo that fell from the album. “That is you in the picture, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” she smiled. “That’s the Indian name my mother gave me.”

“What does it mean?”

Swan maiden” or “graceful”.

"Like my mother I was very active as a child. Still am. I think you’ve noticed.” She smiled.  “When I was six she enrolled me at a dancing school and also had me join a gymnastics club. I went for dancing lessons twice a week and three days a week I had gymnastics.  I enjoyed both tremendously and couldn’t wait to go there each day after school. I especially enjoyed the competitions and exercise. Dancing made me feel like floating and flying. Gymnastics made me feel invincible. I mostly enjoyed the working out with weights at the school’s gym to build strength for gymnastics. I also did track and field during our school’s annual athletics meet. Very active child. My mom always said she got tired from just watching me go.

Her eyes sparkled with the memories. The smile again.
She picked up the picture that fell out and showed it to me.

Once again I was amazed at the beautiful young girl with the athletic body staring back at me. She was dressed in a black leotard with white stars all over it. She was striking a typical gymnastic pose in front of a “horse” I think they call it. She was standing on tiptoe and her arms were raised above her head.  She had typical powerful and shapely gymnasts legs.

“I was so good at both. The dancing and the gymnastics. Everything was so good... so good.”

She finished the last of her tuna and chicken salad. ( My God she just ate a meal big enough for 4 people – I gave up after fork and mouthful number 5 – where does she put it all?)

“ I waited outside the school on that fateful day for my mom to come pick me up as she always did. She never came. I never saw her face again or my dad’s. That afternoon a policeman came to fetch me from school. I knew that something was horribly wrong. I was ten at the time and old enough to understand death.”

“What happened?” I ask.

She took a deep breath. The pectoral muscle moved.

“They were killed in a car crash. I never saw the car or them. My last memories of my mom and dad were from that morning when we left for work and school. It was a day like every other day. Or so it started out, at least. They told me that there was an accident. I knew what that meant. I wanted to ask the policeman if both were dead. But from the look on their faces I knew the answer already.
 I later learned that they went over a cliff in the nearby pass, after swerving to try and avoid a collision with a deer in the road. My dad or mom must have lost control over the car and went over the cliff, a sheer drop of hundreds of feet of mountain.
They said they were sorry. Sorry? I felt nothing. I remember thinking, “ why would you be sorry, you didn’t kill them did you?”
I was floating in a deep watery river. Reality was receding around me. I remember hearing voice of people around me. I was lead to a police car and my satchel was taken from me. I moved along and did what they said without really thinking about it. It was all mechanical. I couldn’t feel the earth beneath my feet as I moved.  It was all so unreal. My mom and dad were still there. I was sure it was a mistake, I will go home and open the door and they will be there as always. And tonight they shall tug me into bed and bring me my glass of warm milk and cookies as they did every night. Like clockwork, always, they would both come into my room and wish me a good night. Always with the glass of warm milk and cookies.”

She looked at her hands.

“ But the nightmare continued unabated. My mom had no family from her side still alive. I vaguely remembered and old Indian woman whom we visited a few times in a reservation village, but she passed away a longtime ago. There’s a photograph in the album we had taken during one of our visits to the reservation during a Heritage Day celebration. I think you saw it just now.”

She opened the album and took out the photo I saw earlier where she was seated on her mother’s arm.

“ My mother always dressed up for that in the traditional clothing she kept at home. That dress and accessories is one of the few things I kept from that life.”

She stretched her beautiful legs and turned to her other side facing me.

“My father had a brother. I knew about him, because he talked about him some time. Not in any kind terms, however.
 That was the only living family I had, as far as I knew. I have never seen my uncle. He was a myth to me, a name I heard now and then.
My father didn’t say much about him, but what I knew as a child was that he was a bad man. My dad was Dr. Jekyll to my uncle’s Mr. Hyde it seemed.

My father went into academics and science; my uncle went into the underworld of crime and corruption. He was in and out of juvenile detention centers and prisons his entire live. He was the dark side of my father’s family; my dad seldom talked about him.
I just remember that he once said that my uncle was responsible for sending both my grandfather and mother – whom I never met or knew- to an early grave.
Where he was or even if he was alive I didn’t know.
Even if he was alive somewhere, to me he was a total stranger. The family I knew was ripped from me forever. It was over. My life as I knew it was over. I was ten years old and had nowhere to go.”

“I was taken home to get some personal things and to pack a suitcase. I woman from welfare accompanied us to the house and helped me get some stuff into a suitcase. Our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Bleezedale, came to help and assured me that everything will be ok. I had to go along with the welfare lady and spend the night at a local government facility, while they sorted out all the things that had to be done. I could not stay in the house alone. I wanted to, but they refused.
There was a locksmith that had to open the door of the house. There were people from my dad’s company, newspaper people and people I didn’t know at all.

Never seen most of them, ever. I was pushed and dragged by the arm. I took my photo album, some clothes and the necklace my mother gave me and the Indian dress she had in her cupboard and bundled that into the suitcase.
I couldn’t think straight. I think the welfare lady and the police woman packed some other clothing, toothbrush, tooth paste and things I would need into the case as well. All I could think about was this album, the photos, the necklace and my mom’s dress.
The rest was numb.”

I tried to imagine what a ten- year -old girl must have gone through in a situation like that. To have your whole world turned upside –down in an instant.  Little did I know that this was just the tip of the iceberg.

I asked if I could see my mom and dad. In the back of my mind they were still alive and well. But I never saw them again. I was bundled into a car and taken to a government facility for orphaned children and that night I slept in a strange room under a strange roof with strangers I’ve never seen.
I stared at a strange wall for hours, without seeing anything. Somewhere during that first night at the orphanage I drifted off into sleep. I didn’t cry.
In my dreams people with unknown faces were passing by me, telling me to “be brave” and “all will be fine”.

I didn’t go to school the next three days. Mercifully, they put me in a room by myself in that first week. Three days later I was taken to a funeral home where a short ceremony was held. I was surrounded by strangers whom I did not know or cared to know.
The only person I recognized was our neighbor, Mrs. Bleezedale, who sat next to me and held my hand. There were no caskets. Somebody told me that it was better for me not to see my parents. There wasn’t much to see, the car burnt out somewhere down in the ravine where it ended up. People said things, sympathized, took my hand, hugged me and left.

Mrs. Bleezedale said she’ll come and take me out for the weekend. That she’ll try and arrange for me to come and stay with her.
A man with thick glasses came to me and told me that he was my dad’s solicitor and was taking care of the house, finances and everything. I didn’t have to worry about anything. He’ll contact me soon, for the will and testament. Apparently my dad had his final will and testament re-done shortly before the accident.”

I didn’t say a word, just sat there and listened as her life story unfolded before me. The more she spoke the less I wanted to say anything at all. She’s been through things that a beautiful girl at that age should not have to cope with at all.

But what doesn’t kill you…you know the saying.

Michele continued.

Michelle Apartment Talking by rainbowscriber

“ A week later I was moved into a dorm with three younger girls. This would become my home for the next two years. The children in the orphanage ranged from babies to eighteen- years-old. I was the oldest girl there. There was a boy, Jesse, who was then sixteen- years-old. He was the oldest boy in the orphanage.

I looked at some of those babies that were abandoned by their parents and counted myself lucky that I at least had the privileged to have known my parents for as long as I did, and that I was loved.
It was only now that the reality of what happened was starting to dawn on me.
For the first time in nearly a week, I started crying. It goes without saying that my days and nights were spend crying mostly. The slightest thought of my mom and dad, my home, my room or anything of what I was used to drove me into tears.
Most of the other kids respected my feelings and steered clear of me. I hugged my pillow on my bed and slept, or I went and sat outside in the garden.
The days went by in a haze. My schoolwork, which I always excelled and loved to do, deteriorated. I was moved to a new school as my old school was too expensive to continue with.
I’ve always loved reading and gaining knowledge. I was an obsessive reader from the moment I discovered how to read.
Now I could not concentrate on anything.
The few friends I had at my old school drifted away and I could not blame them. I would not have been friends with myself.
“When I got home from school one afternoon, a large black car was waiting for me and I was taken to the city Centre by a chauffeur in a fancy suit and cap. I was met by the man with thick glasses who introduced himself to me at the funeral service.
 Mrs. Bleezdale was there as well. I was so glad to see a friendly, familiar face. I ran to her and clung to her for several minutes before I let go.
We were taken into an office and the man introduced us to some other people that were already waiting there. There was a lot of formalities and red tape that had to be waded through and finally they got to my dad’s will and testament. I didn’t know much about anything. These were all words and phrases that meant absolutely nothing to me at all.  It was explained to me that basically what was going on and what was about to happen was the following:

    1.       My dad has left a substantial amount of money. (There were also life policies that was about to pay out large amounts on his life and that of my mother’s.) The will stated that it should be kept in a trust for me and my brother/ sister and equally divided. All assets and property to be sold and added to the trust to look after me and any siblings that survived them after death.

    2.       That whoever took up the responsibility to look after us, was to receive a substantial amount of money every year to look out for us. That person will also receive a handsome yearly honorarium for doing so.

    3.       If no living family or anybody sees fit to take care of me, (we) were to be remanded into the custody of the state and looked after financially until the age of 21. The money would be controlled and governed by the firm of lawyers my dad appointed to do so. There after I (we) should have full control over whatever was left to do with as we saw fit.

“Large amounts were mentioned. It made no sense to me. I’ve never worked with a lot of money. My parents did all that. But I was old enough to realize that my parents were not poor people, that there was money in abundance. Whatever they were working on for Quantum Tech, must have been important research.”

“And then the sharks set in…”  I thought to myself. If her parents left all that for her, where did it all go? What happened to all that money? How did she end up here in a back-alley part of town struggling to survive?

“Do you know what they were working on?” I asked.

“Not at that stage, no. It was only much later that I found out what they were working on.
The night before the accident I heard my parents fighting in the living room. Something they very seldom did. They never raised their voices to each other. I could not hear what it was about. It scared me when they did that.
The next morning they were friendly as usual, but there was tension all around. We went through all the normal motions of breakfast and getting ready for school and work.
Just another day.
And that was the last time I saw them.
Whatever they were arguing about was important. I only discovered what that argument was about a year ago, Martin.
But I’ll tell you about that next. All I can say at this stage is that my parents’ death also turned out to be no accident at all…”

My head was spinning. No accident? Things were getting more intriguing by the minute. I’ve only had contact with this girl a few times so far, so I can’t expect her to just throw it all on the table. But I could sense that there was a lot more to her and her story than what I realized before. And every word that came from her mouth now, made me a part of it.

The afternoon was moving on. Outside, the buildings were beginning to throw long shadows. I found myself unwilling to leave her side. I wanted to stay, just sit there and drink in her image, voice and life story.  I’ll be just happy to sit and look at her all day long. Just these few moments with her thus far has revealed so much to me. I wanted to know more, I wanted to know all about her.

She got up in her slinky graceful way.

“Coffee?” she asked and smiled.

“Yep, sure, would be nice.”

She walked into the little kitchen and got busy with making coffee for us.            

                                                                                               Coffee by rainbowscriber


I looked at the place where she was seated just now. Her body left an indent on the material. I tried to guess in my mind what she weighed. She was about 5.5. Sixty, maybe seventy kilos? Mostly muscle? I reached out and put my hand on the place where she sat. It was warm. I could smell her. I closed my eyes. She was really there…this is really happening?

“Martin?” she called from the kitchen.

I nearly jumped. Did she see me touch her seat?


“Sugar and milk?”

“Three sugar, and milk please,” I said. (Come on snap out of it!)

She smiled back at me. God, I think she did see me touch the material where she sat! She’s got that look on her face, that one that says, “I saw you doing that… I can read your thoughts.”
No way could she have seen me do that, she had her back to me. Am sure she had.

“Here you go!” She curled up on the sofa again. She sat a lot closer to me than before. The green eyes that looked at me over the rim of the cup was full of little devils.

(“Shit she did see me…!” I wanted to melt away in the floor.)

“Shall I continue?”

“Yes, please do.”

“The orphanage became my home for the next five years, while my father’s lawyers tried to locate my only family, my uncle, whom I didn’t know from any which way.
I begged old Mrs. Bleezedale to take me in, she was more family to me than any I might have had out there. But she was an old lady and not up to looking after a young girl like me.
I told her I would be no problem to her what so ever and she would be well awarded. But she refused. Back then I didn’t understand why she would refuse me and it hurt me, but today, looking back, if it was me, I probably also wouldn’t have taken on the responsibility of raising another person’s child, no matter how good we know each other.
Her visits to the orphanage also diminished in time. Her health was going and finally I heard the news that she passed on as well. I was now truly alone in this world.
Apart from the people at the orphanage there was nobody from my previous existence that was left for me. All I had left was a suitcase and the few things I gathered from our home.”

“I took a day off at school to attend Mrs. Bleezedale’s funeral. Seemed to be doing that a lot in those last couple of years.  Attending funerals, that is.

Then a strange thing happened.

Her housekeeper came to me after the funeral and handed me a box. She told me that Mrs. Bleezedale got it from my father (!) and has kept it under wraps all this time at her house.
The box was given to her by my parents. Apparently they both visited her and entrusted it to her care in case anything ever happened to them and made her promise that she would give it to me on my 21st birthday and not before.
My head was spinning. I had no idea what this was all about.
The housekeeper then handed me a letter written by Mrs. Bleezedale.  It simply stated that which the housekeeper has already told me and she said that her health was failing fast and she will not be able to keep her promise to my parents and wait until I was 21. She gave it to her housekeeper who had to promise she would see to it that I got it.

It was simply a fancy looking box. It was sealed with a little lead twisted wire. I couldn’t wait to get back to the orphanage to open it. I thought that there might be a letter or something in from my parents. Somehow I hoped that opening the box would somehow reverse the last years and like a magical gene from the bottle grant me a wish. I would only have one wish: That this nightmare should come to an end. That this was all a mistake. That my parents was alive and well.

“But when I opened the box in my room, I discovered inside a photograph and a weird looking necklace, which I later realized was no necklace but a key of some sort. A key I had no idea what it opened.
The photo is the one I showed you in my album, the one where they stood in front of the Quantum Tech building.
I had no idea what it meant or what I was supposed to do with that or why they even left this for me. Instead of giving me closure it just deepened my confusion even more.
I put the photo in my old album and the box in my suitcase where it stayed for the next eight years.

In the year I came off age, the strange looking key came back to haunt me again.
But more about that later.”

“Continue,” I said. This was getting very interesting.

“I was sixteen then. The orphanage had been my home for a number of years now.”

“And that was then when they found him… my uncle…” Michelle said.

Art & Story by :Rainbowscriber

The story of Anna fox chapter 3: crushing on a fox,love and a date?

It had been several weeks since anna was taken out of storage the fun loving fox had at least made friends with the others a little bit but freddy didn't seem to like her no matter how hard she tried.

so in the end she gave up she was getting closer and closer to foxy now and as the months drawled on she had grown to love him but she didn't want him to know she was crushing on him.

so she kept to herself occasionally she'd blush lightly whenever she saw him a certain way,she stared at him as he ran down the hall way.

sometimes she'd join him but she'd run the opposite hallway to him tapping on the glass and laughing revealing herself though she'd never attack even when she just stood there waiting. glowing eerily in the darkness playing her pirate theme slowly and creepily.

It had scared the security guard multiple times and she'd sometimes whisper to him,"'" over and over before she would disappear.

-present day about 3 months since she was taken out of storage and christmas was drawing closer-

'should I tell.. him..oh..foxy..if you only knew..' she thought watching him silently.

what she didn't know was foxy was staring at her from the corner of his eye it may have looked like he was staring ahead, but he kept an eye on her over the past few months he too had felt something but in all honesty he wasn't that sure.

soon in grew dark as the security guard showed up anna was powered down and wouldn't be active until at least 2am foxy however was awake watching her occasionally he'd touch her face with his paw not that she'd feel it anyway.

foxy sighed to himself,"anna.." he whispered softly sighing "if only you knew.." he was paying attention to the time but at the moment he wasn't the clock had struck 2am when foxy uttered the next words. "how..much" he said softly his eyes where closed so he didn't see annas light up a small trickle of a happy tear rolled down her face.

"I love you too.." said anna shyly,foxy's eyes widened " did you" spurted foxy.

"when you said how much i love you..and..I..feel..even when I'm powered down I..feel when I power felt the touches to my" said anna stepping forwards metal peg leg clinking. "I.." she said softly before just moving forwards capturing foxy's robotic lips in a quick kiss before pulling back blushing.

"um..I..uh.." said anna stuttering a little as foxy approached her he gently cupped her face before bringing it closer and kissing her gently.

anna wrapped her arms around him kissing back after they both pulled back blushing. "" asked foxy. "..sure..but not about..oh I know my storage..I think I can open the door now" suggested anna. foxy nodded.

"but not now..for now..uh..we..uh can we cuddle.." asked foxy anna smiled sitting down on the fake sand "yeah..come here then" she said foxy sat next to her pulling her close.

anna let out a soft robotic like purr resting her head on his battered chest.

they stayed like that until the both fell asleep.

(A/n oh god.. I feel bad but Hey at least I did not totally go into the naughty stuff yet hell they haven't even had the first date before you go ask no.. not happening.. on that chapter there spoiler for you ha that's all your going to get. :'D )

Hey..this one is probably one of the ones without the need for a mature tag yay?
Anna belongs to me HalfInane-HalfMental
Foxy (c) respective owners :'D
I got nothing man.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 2:
Chapter 3: here
Chapter 4: (nope not written yet)
also read here on my fanfiction >…
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Reencuentro... familiar??

Cap 2. Celoso?? eWe

*Cafeteria de la Eskuela*...

-Zim, ese es tu nombre... no?? como sea necesito ir a tu base, se que eres Irken, yo tambien, necesito hablar con los Altos, ellos me enviaron aqui y no tengo con que...- dijo la Irken susurrandole a la peluca del chico verde

-Eh... mi base?? Zim, no sabe de que hablas...-

-Soy Irken tambien, y necesito contactar a los Altos- contesto con cara de pocos amigos

-Esta bien, ya que, pero solo por los Altos... y porque no quiero pasar todo el dia en este estupido lugar llamado Eskuela...- contesto levantandose y caminando hacia la salida

-Bien, yo te sigo...- contesto la Irken siguiendolo

*Al otro lado de la Cafeteria*...

-Gaz, te lo digo, esa niña nueva trama algo, ademas creo que se lleva bien con Zim, no crees que eso es raro??- preguntaba el chico de ojos ambar a su hermana, la cual lo ignoraba

-Aha, si lo que sea, no es que estas celoso??- pregunto la pelimorada alzando una ceja -siempre que alguien se le acerca a Zim, tu reaccionas raro, como una chica celosa, Dib-

-Gaz, eso no es cierto y yo no soy celoso-

-Ay si como no, y yo soy Franken Chokie-

-Gaz, al menos estas prestando atencion a lo que digo, creo que la chica nueva es de la especie de Zim, quizas le ayude con un plan maligno o...- Dib iba a seguir continuando durante horas y horas con mas explicaciones, claro si Gaz no lo inturrumpia con esa pregunta...

-O si es su prometida, es alienigena debe tener varios años en su especie pero en la Tierra debe tener como, no se, 12 quizas, seria algo obio que tuviera prometida...-

-Pro... me... tida??-

-Estas celoso...-

-N... no es cierto...-

-Estas de casi todos los colores, Dib, jeje-

-GAZ!!, agg como sea, me voy!!-


*En el taco loco*...

-Esa es la razon por la que estoy aqui, quiero que me entrenes para ser una Invasora, los Altos me mandaron aqui por eso tambien-

-Aha, QUE!!??-

-Lo que oiste... que con ese perrito verde comiendo tacos??-

-Eh... tacos... verde... GIR!!!!-

-AMITO!!!! ME VA A COMPRAR MAS TAQUITOOS Y BURRITOOS!!!!??? uuhhh, ella se parece un poco a ti amitoo, TACOOOS!!!!-

-GIR a la casa, AHORA!!-

-Tu unidad SIR... cierto??-

-Si, si como sea, LOS DOS CAMINEN!!-

-No me mandas...-





-Quieres contactar a los Altos!! ENTONCES CAMINA!!-



En la base subterranea...

-Mis Altos...-

-Ay no, Zim!!??-

-Mis Altos, esta Irken dice que fue enviada a la Tierra por ustedes...- dijo el Irken señalando a la Irken (ya los dos sin su disfraz) mientras ella intentaba quitar a GIR de sus antenas risadas

-Si la enviamos, se quedara contigo, hasta que termine sus estudios de Invasora, y tu seras su maestro, fin de la llamada... uy mira Purp, rosquillas- dijo Red cortando la transmicion

-Uhh...- solo se escucho que dijo Purple

*Se corta llamada*

-Tu?? en mi base?? NUNCA!!- dijo/grito Zim enfadado

-Ok, finjire dormir en el jardin, eehh... perrito verde tienes algo donde pueda dormir??- dijo Zam sin darle mucha importancia

-TACOOO!!! una casa de campaña- dijo el perrito sacando su lenguita

-Como sea- dijo la Irken sin mucho interes poniendose su disfraz, saliendo y cerrando la puerta tras de si -COMO SE SUPONE QUE VA ESTO!!-

*4 horas despues (3:00 pm)*

-Al fin pude armar, lo que sea que sea esta cosa...- dijo la Irken secandose el sudor de la frente y entrando a la casa, cerrando la puerta detras de si -cuando se supone que iniciare el entrenamiento, hoy, mañana, dentro de un año??- pregunto impaciente

-Aqui no hay mucho material para entrenarte como Invasora, pero quizas... uum... comienzas mañana a priera hora de la mañana, 20 000 vueltas a toda la ciudad, eso seria darle unas 20 al campo de entrenamiento en Devastis...-

-Vete mucho a... Vago 13...- contesto la Irken con ganas de estrangularlo -y no hay algo con que pueda iniciar hoy??- pregunto calmandose

-Si puedes controlar a GIR... seguro que puedes peleear con esa Dib-larva-

-Claro que puedo peleear contra quien sea... despues de todo soy una Guerrera, aunque hay muy pocos en Irk...-

-Si, entonces...- *inserte sonido de alguien tocando la puerta xD*

-GIR abre!!- grito el Irken poniendose su drisfraz

-Si amo!!- dijo GIR poniendose su traje de perrito

-Pfff- dijo Zam refunfuñando, esa peluca y lentillas si que le eran icomodas


-Zim, se puede saber porque faltaste a clase despues del receso??!!- entro caminando Dib, ignorando olimpicamente a GIR que estaba haciendo todo tipo de cosas con tal de llamar la atencion -... y porque habia una casa de campaña ahi en tu patio??-

-Pfff, JAJAJAJAJA, LA NOVIA DE ZIM VINO A BUSCARLO HASTA SU CASA, pfff JAJAJAJAJAJA POR IRK, pfff JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA!!!- exclamo Zam casi vomitando su Squiddly Spooch por la risa -LO MAS SEGURO TAMBIEN VIENE A DARLE LA TAREA, JAJAJAJAJAJAJA, por cierto, a mi tambien me pasas la tarea, tu... eh... como te llamas y... POR QUE TU CABEZA ES TAAN ENOORMEE!!??-

-MI CABEZA ES DE UN TAMAÑO NORMAL!!- grito Dib tocandose la cabeza -y en primer lugar tu quien eres!!??-

-Soy Zam, la nueva, estamos en la misma clase... para tener una cabeza tan grande, eres tonto- dijo Zam rascandose el lugar donde se supone que tendria la nariz

-ESO YA LO SE,YO ME REFIERO A QUE ERES DE... ZIM!!??- grito Dib intentando disimular como estaba (celoso eWe)

-Si que actuas como novia celosa, y por mi no te preocupes que no te quito a tu novio, soy su... hermana...- dijo la Irken al principio riendo y despues algo seria pero aun riendose un poco de lo que habia inventado de ser hermana del Irken

-S-su her-hermana??- dijo Dib con un tic en el ojo derecho

-Si, eehhh... ella es la, eehhh... hermana de Zim, Dib-Larva porque estas todo rojo??-

-Pfffff JAJAJAJAJAJA, por Irk, se supone que el es tu enemigo??, parecen mas novios, JAJAJAJAJA!!- dijo la Irken retorciendose de risa hasta el punto de casi llorar

-GIR, saca a la larva apestosa de mi base!!- grito Zim mandando a GIR

-Si amo!!- dijo GIR sacando a Dib que aun seguia en shock -ADIOOOS MAAARYYY!!!-

-Tu novia se llama Mary, pffff JAJAJAJAJAJA!! y si que es celoso, JAJAJAJAJAJA- dijo la Irken despues de recuperarse y volviendo a reir

-Bien, mañana seran 20 000 000 vueltas a la ciudad, paseando a GIR- dijo Zim lo ultimo con un tono sombrio con un rayo callendo y el cielo obscurecido

-Ya que...- dijo la Irken quitandose su disfraz -tu novio es extremadamente celoso, jaja-
(Warning: May contain slight spoilers to Ace Attorney: Apollo Justice and Ace Attorney Investigations)

The judge had called for another recess on the request of Portsman. Phoenix and Sasha went back until the lobby. They were silent, as neither could think of anything to talk about or ask. After a few awkward moments, there was a knock at the door. Phoenix opened the door and Boyd Scott was standing there. He saluted, and then gave the scout sign.
“A scout is friendly and kind,” He said, “Hello, Mr. Wright. Would it be alright if I talked to Ms. Weldon?”
“Uhh…sure, I guess,” Phoenix answered, letting the scout in.
He went over to Sasha, and Phoenix swore he heard Scott crying slightly. After a few moments of hushed talking, Scott left and Wright went over to Weldon.
“Is he going to be ok?” Phoenix asked, concerned.
“He’ll be fine,” Sasha assured, “He feels guilty about testifying against me, but he’ll recover.”
Phoenix shrugged and decided to let this matter resolve itself.

Court resumed once more and everyone took their places. Portsman had a dumb, smug smile on his face. Whoever his next witness was, Jacques seemed pretty sure this would turn the case in his favor.
The witness was eventually called to the stand. He had a bald head and a tough face, his eyes covered by circular shades.  The man had on a black suit with a slightly lighter black shirt underneath. As if he didn’t have on enough black, he was also wearing black pants and dress shoes. He cast suspicious glances all around, and then reached into his jacket, slowly pulled out a walkie-talkie and whispered into it, “All clear.”

“Witness,” The judge looked at him slightly nervous, “What are you doing?”
“Hehe,” The man laughed, “My job.”
He turned to face Phoenix.
“Ah, Mr. Phoenix Wright,” He smiled, “It’s been a long time. Hehe, so good to see you again.”
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix said, “I don’t think I know you.”
“Hmm…” The man thought for a moment, “Maybe you remember a woman named Dee Vasquez? I used to be an…acquaintance of hers, hehe…”
“Wait…” Phoenix suddenly remembered, “You were one of the mob members that tried to kill us!”
“Wrong, Mr. Wright,” Portsman smiled, “Bob Stirr here is actually an officer working undercover as a mafia member. I’m not sure what happened with you two, but I assume it involves his undercover work.”
“So, Mr. Stirr,” The judge looked at him, “If you could, please explain what you saw on the day of the crime.”

“Hehe,” Stirr laughed, “It should obvious what I saw. I saw everything that happened that night! The man running out of the cabin, the woman running after him, both of them returning very shortly afterwards, and then the killing its self! They were killed by the woman next to Mr. Wright, Sasha Weldon! Why, she wasn’t even provoked. She just walked right in and shot the both of them. She’s crazy I tell you! Crazy!”
“Hold it!” Phoenix yelled, “Where were you that you could get a good enough look at who the killer was?”
“Right next to the cabin,” Stirr answered, “I was picking up some important packages for the mafia, as I was still under my disguise as one at the time, and the drop of point was next to that cabin. It was originally inside of it, but since two people unexpectedly rented it out, we had to move it to outside.”

Portsman’s been laying all of these traps… Phoenix thought, Let’s see if maybe I can catch his witness in one of my own.
“Mr. Stirr,” Wright began, “I request that you answer some questions, just to verify something for me. How do you know that the killer is Ms. Weldon and the other two people you saw were the victims? Also, how long were you standing in that spot?”
“Hehe, simple,” Stirr answered, “I can tell you what they were wearing from off the top of my head. The defendant was wearing a black coat and the same exact hat she has on now.  The man was wearing a similar coat and had on a white shirt, while the woman had on a nice red one. Oh, and she had on a nice little dragon necklace too, if that’s proof enough. As for your second question, I left at around 8 PM.”
“Then,” Phoenix reasoned, “That means that the murder could have happened after you left! Maybe my client simply went into that cabin by mistake, as she was looking for the band that preformed that day that were staying in a similar cabin.”
“Mr. Wright,” The judge looked surprised, “Are you claiming that the defendant was going to kill the band members?!”
“What?” Wright asked, bewildered, “No, that’s not what I meant at all! She was looking to get their autograph! Anyway, maybe she went into the Corpus’s cabin by mistake, thinking it was the band’s. After realizing her mistake, she soon left and made her way back to her own cabin. Then the real murder took place between 8 and 9 PM, after Mr. Stirr left the scene!”

There was a slow applause. Phoenix looked around for a moment only to discover that it was Portsman. He had on a big grin that Wright only knew meant trouble.
“Oh poor Mr. Lawyer,” Jacques sighed, “You thought you were so close to a touchdown. But you don’t seem to realize that it’s my team who’s nearing the end of the field. All you’re saying is guesswork.  You have no proof whatsoever to back up your claims that the murder happened after the witness left. Not only that, but we have proof that the crime did occur while he was there; a photo of the crime its self!”
“There’s…” Phoenix was stunned, “A…photoooo?!”
The bailiff gave a copy of the photo to both Wright and the judge. The photo was a shot of inside the cabin. It clearly showed someone with Sasha’s hat, jacket and hairstyle holding a gun to the blond haired, red shirted victim. Her husband wasn’t in the photo. The victim didn’t even see Sasha behind her, as the woman’s back was turned, her hands at her side, seemingly oblivious to the threat behind her.
“This photo,” Portsman explained, “Was taken by Mr. Stirr here. He has a hidden camera on him for his work as an undercover. He just so happened to be smart enough to use it when he saw what was going on. I think this here’s pretty solid evidence, wouldn’t you say?
Phoenix was panicking. How could his disprove this? He knew for sure that Sasha was innocent, but how could he get everyone else to believe that? There had to be some way…
Then it hit him. If Sasha really was innocent, then how could this photo exist? There’s no way Stirr could have taken a photo of her if she never committed the crime. It must have been a fake. Phoenix completely focused his attention on the photo, looking for any mistakes.
“Now then,” The judge announced, “With this new piece of evidence, I don’t see any reason to further prolong the trial. I hereby pronounce the defendant—“

“Objection!” Phoenix shouted, as loud as he could.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Wright?” The judge asked, surprised, “I think you realize as much as I do how incriminating this piece of evidence is, correct?”
“Your honor,” Wright smiled, “I believe this photograph to be a fake!”
The gallery gasped.
“Mr. Wright,” The judge snapped, “Explain yourself right now! Do you know how serious the claim you’re making is?”
“Of course I do,” Phoenix answered, “And that’s why I wouldn’t make it without good reason. Mr. Stirr, you claim that this was the moment the female victim was killed, right?”
“That is correct,” Bob nodded, “Right before she was shot.”
“That’s the main problem,” Phoenix explained, “If she was just about to be killed, then why are her hands at her side? According to the autopsy report, both of the victims had their wrists bond with rope, which this woman clearly is not!”
“Objection!” Portsman protested, “Maybe her hands were bound after she was killed!”
“Objection!” Wright protested back, “What purpose would it serve for a killer to bind the wrists of a dead body? Furthermore, this woman is clearly not panicking. However, once again according to the autopsy report, she was killed after her husband. If that’s the case, wouldn’t she be panicking over her recently killed husband? For a fake photo that was supposed to save you, you got really sloppy with it!”
Bob Stirr was visibly freaking out. He was sweating furiously and kept fidgeting with his suit. “What do you mean, ‘save me’?” He asked.
“Because,” Phoenix smiled once more, “You’re the real killer of Chris and Haley Corpus!”

The crowd went into a furious uproar. It took the judge several bangs of his gravel to quiet everyone down again.
“Mr. Wright,” He said gravely, “Another serious charge. I suppose you have proof to back it up.”
“Of course,” Phoenix nodded, “Earlier, Mr. Stirr testified that he saw the victim wearing a dragon necklace. However, in this fake photo it’s hard to tell if the ‘victim’ is wearing the necklace or not. This shows that from the outside, it’s difficult to see things this miniscule inside the cabin. Then how, might I ask, did you notice the details of her necklace? Especially during the event of a murder, where most people would not notice such small things because of the event that just took place?”
“Hehe, w-well,” Stirr tried to explain, “I saw it…outside, yes! It glint in the sunlight and caught my eye!”
“Objection!” Wright called him out, “During the time you were waiting outside it was dark and raining. Our previous witness, Boyd Scott, proved that visibility was very limited. How could it even get your attention, let alone ‘glint in the sunlight’?”
“Who said I saw it just before the murder, huh?” Bob protested, “It was before then, when there was no rain! I went to the talent show earlier that day. It was before the time of the murder, and it was sunny. Both of the victims were there, and that’s when I saw the charm.”
“Mr. Stirr,” Phoenix knew he had him now, “You do realize that the talent show was moved because of the rain, right? It was changed to be after the rainstorm, at 8 PM, after you say the killings took place! I believe that you saw the necklace when you killed the victim yourself!”

“I believe that Mr. Stirr went to the cabin to pick up whatever delivery he was supposed to be receiving. When he got there, the Corpuses were out because of the recent fight which Boyd Scott witnessed. However, the couple eventually returned and, panicking, Stirr bound their wrists and threatened them. However, either from panicking or being encouraged by the person he was picking up the delivery for, he killed them. Fearing for himself, he somehow got two other people to pose for a fake picture to implement Ms. Weldon, who he must have seen to be in that area. Mr. Stirr, just confess already!”

The fake mobster was silent for several moments. He then began to burst out giggling; he took his glasses off, put them on the witness stand and started punching them, shattering the shades to pieces and bending it beyond recognition.

After the man was walked away, the judge called Sasha back to the witness stand.
“Ms. Weldon,” He started, “In light of recent knowledge, and a confession from the true culprit, we no long have any reason to suspect you. My verdict for the trial of Sasha Weldon on the murders of Haley and Chris Corpus is…not guilty. Ms. Weldon, you are free to go.”


Bob Stirr was later found guilty of the murders. After being taken into custody, the police discovered Borginian cocoons on his person.  During questioning, he admitted that he was in the international smuggling ring that Interpol was currently tracking down. He also accidentally let it slip that the ring might be going for the famed Alif Red statue, causing Interpol agent Akbey Hicks to be sent to investigate.
After being released from custody, Sasha Weldon went right back to her job as a gym teacher and volunteer scout leader. She and Boyd Scott made up, and the two are once again on good terms with each other. She is currently helping Boyd to reach his next rank in scouting.
Portsman was in slight shock after being defeated for the first time in a while. Before the prosecutor had a chance to recover, however, he and Buddy Faith were sent to investigate another murder. This one’s crime scene was the famous amusement park; Gatewater Land.
Entry for the OC contest over at Court-Records
This is part 3 of 3

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Baccano 8 by LightStrom

~ 1711 Sur l'océan Atlantique à bord d'un navire de croisière appelé l’Advena Avis ~


Connaissance et technique provenant de l’Egypte ancienne et, en même temps, une culture.

Débutant comme une pratique Égyptienne, mélangée avec la philosophie et la tradition grecque, puis passée à travers l'Arabie et lentement infiltrée en Europe à la Renaissance.


Cette pratique se résume en général à changer les métaux bon marché en or pur, ou encore à créé la vie sans l’aide de la main de Dieu. Mais son but ultime est d’obtenir la vie éternelle… Non, même cela ne compte pas comme «ultime». Ce que les alchimistes recherchent est illimité. Ils se seraient plongés jusqu'à la fin de leurs jours dans la tache de changer l’impossible en possible. Mais s’il en était ainsi, la chose deviendrait « possible », et le but ultime s’estomperait. Jusque-là, ils sont susceptibles de continuer à poursuivre l'impossible, de se noyer dans l'espoir et la connaissance, ou dans une autre façon de se perdre dans leurs quête.


Les temps changent constamment. Dans le chaos du monde réel, les alchimistes pourraient profondément apprécier les qualités nécessaires à un héros, parfois, ils furent entravés par des obstacles de tous les côtés, et d'autres fois furent la cible de l'envie des autres;  Ils devaient repousser constamment  les limites de leur art. Mais pas en vain ... l'alchimiste Newton a bien découvert la gravité...  Les scientifiques modernes ont toutes sortes de contributions à la société.

Alchimie n'est certainement pas une science fausse.

Mais parfois ---- l'alchimie est appelée « compétence magique » ou « miracle divin », et certains essayèrent de brouiller la frontière entre l'alchimie et la science, de fusionner les deux pratiques en une seule entité.

En général, il est facile pour les gens ordinaires de confondre l'alchimie et la magie, mais en réalité, ce sont deux choses complètement différentes. Parmi les alchimistes, il y a ceux qui s’en remettent à des "puissances extérieures qui ne peuvent pas être expliqués par la science", et se reposent sur ​​la magie et la prière comme un lien... mais bien sûr, il y a ceux qui se souillent en la pratiquant comme expérience.

Que ce soit les arts magiques ou démoniaques, si son existence peut être confirmée, alors il est également possible de transformer « l’impossible » en «possible» - c'est juste une question d'ouvrir "l’impossible".






Le navire était plongé une nuit noire.


Dans l'obscurité ... ils écoutaient la «voix».


Ils étaient alchimistes, loin de chez eux, à la recherche des terres inexplorées.


Ce fut eux qui eurent finalement réussi à invoquer le «démon» dans le monde des humains, à bord de ce navire.


 «  m'avez-Vous appelés « démon »? Ah, je comprends. Est-ce que l’un d'entre vous a déjà vu Dieu ou un ange? Un mot comme «mal» existe uniquement par le contraste de cette comparaison. Eh bien, peu importe. 103 années se sont écoulées depuis que j'ai été ma dernière invocation. Cela aurait été merveilleux si cela s’était passé 3 ans plus tôt, mais ... peu importe. « Peu importe » est mon expression favorite. N’y faites pas attention... je transmets directement ma voix dans votre cerveau, de sorte que cette expression est un peu étrange. Eh bien, peu importe ».

Ce « démon » prolixe tenu sa promesse, et convenu d'un contrat d’apprentissage des « connaissances interdites » pour les alchimistes qui étaient directement responsables de son invocation.


Les Alchimistes prononcèrent la phrase suivante:

« Nous voulons tous savoir sur l’immortalité »

« Cette requête ... n'est-ce pas suggérer que vous souhaitez être immortel? Eh bien, peu importe ».

Sur le pont du navire ... un récipient débordant de liquide fut placé au milieu du groupe d’Alchimistes.

« Vous n'avez qu'à boire ceci pour devenir immortel. Tout ce qui arrivera ensuite c’est à vous d'en décider. Je suis peux être immortel, mais mes pensées à ce sujet sont tout à fait différentes des vôtres ... Attendez, attendez, calmez-vous et écoutez bien ... je suis généreux, cet élixir est plus que suffisant pour tous les membres présents. Cessez de vous chamailler.

...... Maintenant, si jamais vous vous lassez de l'immortalité et désirez vraiment la mort ...


Le «démon» commença à expliquer aux alchimistes comment les immortels peuvent mourir.


« ... cette personne devra trouver d'autres personnes qui ont aussi bu l'élixir d'immortalité. Après avoir été trouvé par un pareil homme, placez votre main sur la tête de celui qui veut mourir et pensez «Je veux manger». Eh bien, pensez le fort, cela suffira. De cette façon, l'homme qui cherche la mort sera aspiré dans votre main droite et sa vie s’achèvera. «Manger» est juste un moyen de réception de toutes les connaissances et capacités de l'autre personne. Le dernier qui aura accumulé toutes les connaissances et expériences des trente autres personnes présententes  ici même... Si cette dernière personne se lasse de l'immortalité alors elle devra m’invoquer. À ce moment-là, je la  «mangerai». Ainsi, j’obtiendrais la connaissance de 30 personnes ... Bien, un mot d'avertissement ... il y a des risques. ... Ceux qui ont bu l'élixir perdront la possibilité d'utiliser de «faux noms». Ce sera une contrainte mentale ... Si c'est juste une présentation temporaire à des gens ordinaires, alors il n'y a pas de problème. Mais si vous venez à utiliser votre vrai nom lors d'une conversation avec d'autres immortels,  votre corps va rejeter cette fausse identité. ... Si je ne fais pas cela, vous ne serez jamais en mesure de vous retrouver les un les autres ... »


Les alchimistes réfléchirent, puis tout le monde partagea l'élixir d'immortalité et bu. L'élixir sentait l'alcool.


« Hm, c'est ça ... Nous avons encore le contrat de l'enseignement à « tout le monde »... Même si je ne suis pas sûr de ce que vous entendez par  « tout le monde », de toute façon, je vais vous apprendre la recette de l'élixir. Mais je ne vais pas la donner à touts, mais seulement l'alchimiste qui m'a invoqué. Si les autres veulent savoir, alors qu’ils lui demandent par la suite. »


Une fois que le «démon» les eut informés, il leur donna la «connaissance» à l'alchimiste qui l’avait invoqué. L’homme ne savait pas ce qui s'était passé. Il avait la «connaissance», il ne savait pas d’où elle venait mais elle était encrée dans sa mémoire.

La voit du démon s’évanouit.


L’homme qui avait reçu la connaissance passa toute la nuit à méditer.


Il décida de confier le secret de l’immortalité à son frère cadet, qui était également à bord du navire.
Il était au milieu de son résonnement  lorsque soudaine pensée s’imposa à lui.

Et le lendemain, il déclarât :


« J’ai un plan pour occulter ce savoir à tout jamais »


Mal grès l’opposition de tous les autres alchimistes, sa décision était prise.


Et cette nuit-là, cela arriva.


L'homme à la connaissance resta. Au beau milieu de la nuit, il sentit la présence d'une personne et ouvrit les yeux ............ Debout au centre de la chambre était un de ses amis.


La main de cet ami était posée sur la tête de son frère, Gretto, qui dormait en face de lui …


En un instant, il fut tout à fait réveillé, mais il était trop tard. Son propre frère était, son ami ...

Non, ce fut à ce moment, comme par magie, que son propre frère fut aspiré dans la main droite de son camarade.


"... Impossible, je ne m'attendais pas que cela se passe si rapidement."


Tout en regardant la scène, le «démon» murmura seul, quelque part dans l'obscurité.


«Je suis celui qui a attisé les flammes, mais ... voilà pourquoi les humains sont une race avide. Regarder est agréable, mais ... »


L'existence désignée comme le «démon» continua d'une voix un peu mélancolique,


"Cette fois-ci, aucun doute, cela arrivera."


La voix du «démon» ne pouvait déjà plus être entendue. Il ne restait rien d'autre que le vide sombre, comme si le démon n'avait jamais été là.


Et alors, le temps passa.

Que vas-t-il se passer ensuite ? 

(A suivre)

Chapitre précédent:

01 - Baccano! VF - The Rolling BootlegsÉpilogue - Partie 1

Pourquoi ça m'arrive à moi?
« Face au mur! »
« Feisu » était le visage ...  «  wo-ru » devait donc vouloir dire mur... ah ah, et le « TU », que pouvait-il bien signifier? *  Mais ces gars-là n'avaient pas vraiment l'air de s'occuper de si j'avais bien compris l'anglais ou pas. Mais qu'est que je disais? ...
Avant leur mise en garde (ou du moins je pensais que c'en était une), ma tête était déjà contre le mur de pierre.
*Le narrateur est Japonais, ne parlant pas l’anglais couramment il essaye donc de traduire  l’expression « face to wall » (face-à-mur en français).
Tout a commencé par un tirage au sort sur ​​une rue commercial

Voici la traduction du prologue (ou plutot la troisième partie de l'intro) de Baccano! 
bonne lecture !
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