True, I do write for fun. I also write to help me keep my sanity. And I do have an idea for a non-RAFian book (using something I've actually featured in the books here -- the Fractured Realms -- albeit that would like book thirty of the book series plans I made from high school). But I haven't a word processor or printer.
Believe me, Underseen, I would love that. I wouldn't expect J. K. Rowling's level of success or even R. L. Stine's level of success (I've read that he's written 100 books or so).
And the hiatus is over. I'll post two chapters to make up for yesterday's lack of one. Unless the same thing happens as yesterday, in which case, it'll continue.
CHAPTER FIVE:
Out of the Frying Pan
The RAFians were still reeling from the PR problems. Kelly was working hard to prove legally that there was no case. That shadowed silhouettes isn't hard proof . . . but it was circumstantial.
The denizens of the city were either sure that the RAFians were guilty (many of those on this side were Knights, but not all), some thought the claims were preposterous, and still there some that were unsure. Sure, the victims and their families latched on to this, hoping the RAFians were guilty just so they could get some closure. But some of these people really didn't have to be such asses about it.
There were protesters that were protesting the existence of RAF, much like those idiot followers of the Westboro Baptist Church. There signs and posters were no less offensive. Some of these people were Knights, but a lot of them weren't. They were just looking for someone or something to hate. Fortunately, they were not the majority, and a lot of the people living within the city chewed them out for being just icons for hate. They
wanted the RAFians to be guilty, hate was all they knew. They wanted to condemn RAF with the meagerest, merest proof.
But the RAFians could not pretend that they didn't notice this. They didn't know how to salvage their PR with the city, a city moreover that they've been responsible for protecting for the last few years. The citizens didn't seem to care about this (although a great number would point this out to the detractors, who feigned deafness).
Then things got more complicated.
There were reports of several burglaries and robberies -- including nuns, banks and Boy Scouts. Naturally, all surveillance showed were dark silhouettes that could, in theory, be RAFians. But it wasn't proof enough to warrant an arrest, although there were several gung-ho people who wanted to take the law into their own hands, so the RAFians sequestered themselves in RAF. Of course, that didn't stop the drunks who thought themselves snipers from trying to take potshots at the RAFians, only to realize the mystical-scientific barrier prevented them from doing as such.
"Why are we letting them do and think whatever they want form us?" Parker paced agitatedly. Helen tried to comfort him, but he pulled himself away. "We're being treated as if we're slime for crimes we didn't even commit!!"
"And there's not much we CAN do," Richard points out, "until we can have irrefutable proof of innocence."
"So, that's the plan? Just sit here on our butts?" Gaz said, also quite agitated.
Cloak stood off to the side, arms folded, and silent. He was reeling. He hadn't seen so much hatred at one time. He didn't know humans were capable of such emotion, such lust for vengence.
But . . . are we Realm Walkers any different? a small voice in the back of his mind said truthfully.
Cloak could not blame the families of the murder victims from wanting justice of the capture of their murderers, but it wasn't a RAFian. On none of the silhouettes was the Mark visible. The Mark tends to always show up when you least expect it. Kelly had already put that into her case. . . .
There had to be something they could do about this, but Cloak didn't know what or how. But he knew this . . . something was about to give.
***
Back at Gemini's secret lab, there was a veritable armada of silhouetted figures around Gemini, unloading their burdens.
"Excellent! Excellent, my children!" he was speaking in a voice full of rapture. "You've done well! Exceedingly well!"
"Thank you, Father," they spoke in unison.
The light changed ever so slightly in the dully-illuminated place, so the thirteen silhouetted figures' faces could be seen. They looked virtually identical (except for being dark palette swaps) of Parker (in a Metroid/SPARTAN-fused suit), Noelle, Underseen, Demos, Ash, Gaz, Horse, Bear, Faerie, Blue, Blocky, Aquilai, and a compacted Dino. But they bore no Mark. These weren't the real McCoys.
"Parker2, your suit is holding up well, yes?"
"Yes, Father," he said.
"Very well, then, my children! Off to bed, off to bed, with you!" Gemini said with seemingly-geniune paternal air. The thirteen tromped off obediently, and without a word. Never questioning the motives or drives of their "father".
"You use them to pilfer for you?" said the voice of the haughty woman.
"Yes, mistress," Gemini said deferentially.
"You really don't realize their full potential, do you?"
"Mistress?"
But she was gone.
