Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

BOOK LXXXIX:
THE RACHEL TOXIN
CHAPTER ONE:
Return of the Ifrit

Even several days afterward, Cloak was still ruminating and reflecting on the whole ifrit thing. He questioned himself on he handled it, whether he overstepped his bounds or was quite within them. His broody introspection had taken up a majority of his time after he banished the ifrit.

He also contemplated the ifrit himself. How the icy ifrit had such a narrowed perception, refusing to see his actions as anything but benevolence. How he refused to see the negative ramifications of his actions. . . .

Then Cloak found himself thinking, was he really any better? He did not consider the consequences of his actions, especially when he acts on impulse. His own unstable emotions are a constant source of danger for anyone. Anyone who wasn't a Master of the Six Elements as well. . . .

Cloak stood in the forum, taking it all in. How it looked encrusted in snow, though the walkways were cleared and it was only about a foot or two deep. Cloak could see some of the younger RAFians had decided to have an impromptu snowball fight, and the Realm Walker was only marginally amused at this.

Suddenly, someone was approaching. Cloak sensed him before seeing him.

"YOU?!" the Realm Walker raged, as six tendrils of energy leaked from each of his eyes. He was royally ticked. "YOU?! YOU DARE TO RETURN HERE?!?!"

The snowball fight quickly ended, as the combatants turned to watch an enraged Cloak confront the ifrit again, who had decided to return against all better judgement. Even the ifrit recoiled from this reaction from Cloak.

"YOU DARE HAVE THE AUDACITY, THE GALL, TO RETURN HERE?!"

"Uh . . ." the ifrit said, retort forgotten. He had not expected such a strong, intense reaction.

"You shall regret your decision," Cloak said, voice calmer than he felt. Cloak ****ed back his right fist, then punched it forward, causing a concussive horizontal column of blue flame at the ifrit. The ifrit managed to lean out of the way, but about sixty percent of his entire left side was all that managed to survive of the area struck. His right side was spared, but the ifrit knew that Cloak wasn't playing around, especially as he did not seem to be able to regenerate it back.

He quickly ambled away, back to his tundra, never to return. He actually seemed to be terrified. Of Cloak.

Cloak, however, was looking at his hand in shock. He had never used blue flame before, as far as he could remember. He reasoned it had something to do with his emotional state, but this scared him. He knew blue fire was hotter than regular flame, and Cloak was still pyrophobic.

[redtailedsaffa]

Wow, we've started off pretty quickly.

also this is possibly the most disastrous theme for a Memoirs Christmas special

[Cloak]

Expect a lull, then, Saffa.

Hmmm . . . perhaps "caveat lector" should be the series tagline. Hmmm . . .

New, shortish chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWO:
Manufactured Cowardice

Meanwhile, in a secret, underground headquarters of a criminal black market group that deals in with elixirs, potions and whatnot. Nearly all of their products were phony placebo potions and rip-offs.

They were naturally very secretive, and never stayed or dallied in one place for very long. Which was one reason that the RAFians never busted them up, as the RAFians would be well within their jurisdiction to do so, if any of their potions actually worked, that is.

If anything, this nameless group was just a traveling cartel of conmen. Their wares were barely on the radar of law enforcement, and was more of a caveat emptor -- "let the buyer beware" -- sort of deal. Most of their buyers generally do not believe or realize when they've been swindeled.

Heck, some of the vendors even believed their own hype.

Anyway, one of the member of this cartel, name of Albert Scorpio-Nok, was trying to devise a legitimate potion, despite a rather telling lack of knowledge in potioneering. Though he was skilled in chemistry, if not a bit bumbling and dimwitted in nature. Henry was a rather oily person, with a long, greasy ponytail. He also had rather blocky, clumsy fingers and a club-like feet.

He was trying to make a potion that would increase the fear of a victim who ingests or is injected with it. He seriously wanted to manufacture the essence of cowardice. He imagined a whole like of mind-altering potions after this one's imagined success. Manufactured loneliness. Manufactured unreliability. Manufactured impiety. Manufactured ignorance. Manufactured hatred.  Manufactured hopelessness. Manufactured darkness. If anything, Brandon was ambitious.

He had managed to synthesize enough of the potion that he believed to be finished. It was a bright, mustard yellow with the viscosity of runny eggs. It did not look like it would be very appetitizing to ingest. But Albert was certain that it would make him a fortunate . . .

But he would need to test it first. He already had a reputation for incompetance. He couldn't have this potion further that presumption, he just couldn't allow it. He had to be sure.

He decided. He would find test subjects, people who would never be missed. The perfect test subjects.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THREE:
Test Subjects Gone Wild

Albert managed to collect six young street people in ragged clothes on the simple promise of a hot meal. Whether or not Albert would renege on this deal after he got what he wanted, it wasn't really clear.

The six people had rather disseparate histories, and varied appearance, though all shared a state of haggardness that made them avoided and contempted by those with money and the compassionless. There names forgotten by those who could do something to help them out of their homeless hell. They had discovered food was not a right, not for people like them. These six were among the most deseparate for a good meal, and not the mere scraps that others discard.

They were the forgotten people, the ones abandoned by society.

Orion Prince. A burly, middle-aged man with thick arms and dark skin with a rather brutish expression set into his face. He fell from the middle class by being falsely accused of murdering a man, found innocent (though society had already convicted him), and then resulted in difficulty finding work because of this whole scandal thing.

Chester Tawr. A rail-thin, impetuous young man who has an unhealthy thirst for speed. He was in prison for street racing, and when he got out, he was unable to find work that was willing to hire him. He is very naive and gullible.

Ratso Trapp. A mousy, deminiuative man who was born homeless, to parents who abandoned him when he was five. He hated anyone that wasn't him, but he fell for the lure of a free meal just as the other five did. He is very snarky with caustic, wiethering humor.

Ryan Nox. A large, bulky former-computer technician who used to be in the CIA, who was framed and took the fall for the higher-ups there who did some real illegal stuff. He was blacklisted, essentially, from any job within the field and there were no openings elsewhere that he could get to, as he quickly lost his car and his house was foreclosed. He was considering commiting murder just so he could go to jail, and have a roof over his head. But he could never bring himself to do so.

Dylan Blott. A reformed criminal, who people never trusted. He got into an altercation with a bigoted police officer (which the RAFians had to deal with from time to time, but Dylan didn't have their resources) who provoked him so that the officer could come up with a complete BS reason to rearrest him. When he was released, the court of public opinion (thanks to biased media coverage) was against him, and it was practically impossible to get back on his feet from.

Arianna Zohr. A pilot who recovered from a plane crash, in which she nearly died. The company she worked for, however, turned on her and pursued litigation against her for causing the crash. They took her for all she was worth, proof of the corruption not only in the courts, but the government itself.

None of them ever suspected that the food they were given was tainted, was tampered with. They were starving, so they weren't picky. They did not remember what this kind of food tasted like, having to live off the forgotten and discarded remnants of the meals of others. Forced to live like jackals, who live off the scraps of lions and such.

It went just how Albert wanted it to. The six homeless stooges that he procured never realized that their hot meals was laced with his cowardice draught. He never paused to consider that they were already fearful -- derived from fear of survival and possible starvation -- so he would not know that it worked. Not really.

But he knew when he royally screwed it up. . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

Loving the dark backgrounds.

PDF of the last book:

[Cloak]

Yeah, this'll be a pretty dark book. I dunno how many more goofy ones are left. I don't think they survive past Year 2 (Book CI to Book CC).

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FOUR:
Unexpected Consequences

Albert was very economical with the potion in the six homeless people's single meal, not using more than necessary. Using more could very well kill them, and what Albert was doing was already quite illegal . . . that is, sadly, if anyone really cared about these poor people. Unfortunately, not many people have that kind of empathy anymore.

The single meal provided was gone rather quickly, and the six were glad for the full bellies. They did not know that their food was spiked. They tasted nothing, although they might have if they had adequate food on a daily basis. They did not realize that something was quite wrong, and, at first neither did Albert.

Orion was quite pyrophobic and drowning He never learned how to swim, but after the meal, within minutes, he dived into a nearby lake. He no longer feared drowning. He no longer feared dying, so he became rather careless with his life, not caring if he did die . . . and he drowned.

Albert scribbled a note on a clipboard at this, unconcerned with the man's death.

Ariana was terrified of being never able to fly again, being taken advantage of, and of dying alone, without love. All erased by the meal, unafraid of anything. But her agression and hostility was heightened bit by bit. It did not seem to be metabolized away. But she did not kill herself, like Orion.

Albert made a note of this.

After the meal, Ryan became belligerently arrogant and undeniably brutish. Unafraid of hurting the feelings of others, unafraid to be impolite and emotionally hurtful. Unafraid of being physically hurtful. He actually went to pick a fight with something that he shouldn't have -- a speeding train. Ryan died, and there wasn't enough left of him to identify.

Albert, with a cold, unmoved heart, made a note of this on his clipboard.

Dylan was fearful of doing or being anything he considered dishonorable. His morality was tied to it, so that when the potion in his meal erased all his fears, he essentially removed of all morality. And that is what eventually got him killed, when he decided to tango with a grizzly bear.

Albert, with cold indifference in light of Dylan's death, just calmly made a not on his clipboard.

Chester and Ratso were also now fearless, but a fearless boardering on risky carelessness, but they managed to survive. But, like Ariana, their hostility and recklessness were being increased to near superhuman levels. It was surprising that Red Lantern rings weren't giving away Albert's position.

But the awful human being got what he wanted, and as far as he was concerned these test subjects . . . well, they were disposable. Expendable. Rubbish to be thrown away.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIVE:
The Swinger

Albert quickly disposed of the surviving three of the six affected, as they had outlived their usefulness to him. Albert really had no compassion or love for anyone but himself. Sadly, such selfishness was not unique to him. The whole cartel he was a part of was a classic demonstration of this aspect.

All Albert cared about was that now the black market cartel vendors would have to take him seriously. He was not as dimwitted or slow-witted as they said, as they mocked him behind his back. He was not as stupid or clumsy as they mocked. He was as valuable as any of them!

He had discovered a way to eliminate fear altogether! Granted, he discovered it by accident . . . granted, he was trying to amplify fear of the victims, but no matter. He just wouldn't mention that to the others, hoping they ignored his needless boasting three days previously.

But he would need a way to get the word out. It would need to be in a carefully controlled way. Here, he actually regretted his impulsive action of killing all the test subjects, although he only took care of three of them.

He had an idea. He would have to be exceptionally careful, he would have to put a lot of thought into how he should do this. . . .

***

"WHOOOO-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

High above, amongst the tallest skyscrapers of the city, a curly-haired, rotund man with a face like a prepubescent Jason Alexander was pulling a Spider-Man, despite being a regular ol' "flatscan" human -- a human with no powers, with no potential for having powers.

"WHAAAAAA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

He seemed to be enjoying himself, ignoring the potential hazards of doing such without even the simplest safety device. This man, this Jebidah Avery, would not be doing this normally. He is a severe acrophobic.

Yet he wasn't acting like it.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

This couldn't help but get noticed.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIX:
Downtime Interruption

"Uncle," Shadow said. She was wearing an ID mask that projected the appearance of a Latino eleven-year-old girl, with long raven hair. But the sparkle in her eye was all her own.

"I see it," he replied seriously. He too was wearing an ID mask that projected the appearance of a moderately-sized Caucasian man in his late twenties whose skin was one of the darker varieties. The projected appearance wore glasses and had short black hair and dark brown eyes.

The two Realm Walkers had come to visit the city, but in disguise so that they would not be recognized, so that they would not be gawked at. Cloak had never liked such attention, had never liked being in the spotlight. Given the nature of his powers, and his work with the RAFians, that had been happening more and more. So, he and Shadow had decided to go into the city in disguise.

"He's going to fall!" Shadow exclaimed.

"Yes," her uncle agreed, silently agreeing and resigning that they would have to do something. It would take the police at least thirty minutes to an hour to get to this part of the city.

Cloak watched him intently, trying to project the man's trajectory. Cloak tried to concoct a way to get him down safely.

"C'mon," Cloak said, getting up and sinking into shadows with his niece. The two removed and stored their ID masks on a pouch on their belts. They ran to rescue the man, after the man started to pendulum back the way he came, shrieking with joy like a madman.

Cloak knew it was a matter of time before. . .

"FIRST LIGHT!" Shadow screeched a simian screech. It was the Realm Walker equivalent of the human exclamation of "God".

Ol' Jeb was now plummeting to the ground, laughing gaily all the while.

***

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" Hutch Crowe, the leader of the black market cartel, addressed Albert. "What on God's green earth made you think that doing that was a GOOD IDEA?"

"Mr. Crowe," Albert said, voice more oily that an used car salesman. "I was just using that man as simple advertis--"

"You incredible FOOL!" Hutch roared. "You don't realize what you've done, do you?"

"I created a formulae for erasing fear," Albert countered swiftly.

"Pity you didn't use it on yourself, then!" Hutch returned with renewed viciousness. "I know about the increased hostility and recklessness -- you know, I wouldn't be surprised if you had used it on yourself, Scorpio!! Nok!! Whatever!!"

Albert recoiled and cowered a bit. Hutch was a great deal larger than him, and he was seriously ticked off.

"Your actions have endangered us," Hutch growled. "All of us."

"I have just netted you more clientele!" Albert protested.

"You brought our existence to the attention of the RAFians!" Hutch countered. "Do you have any idea how much more difficult that makes it for us? Do you even have any clue?"

[redtailedsaffa]

Whoa, sudden chapters.

Surely anybody would know that any clearly underground organization doesn't do advertisments.

[Cloak]

Precisely, Saffa. Albert wasn't as bright or careful as he thought he was. And now I'm going "off-book" a bit, so I don't know if this book may exceed the requistite twenty. But don't hold me to that.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Interviewed and Speculation

The man, Jeb, was rescued easily and taken away for observation. It was clear that he was under the influence of something. Some unknown substance . . . it did not give Cloak the warm fuzzies at all. Cloak ruminated on the possible ramifications of this new development. He pondered on the possible reason or delivery of such a thing. . . .

"Do you know anything new?" Cloak queried Officer Mikail Hayes, a friend and supporter of RAF.

Officer Hayes grunted, "Nope. Not until medical guys give him a once-over."

"Hmmm . . ."

"Although one point of note," he said. He was allowed to disclose this information to Cloak, because of his status as a RAFian, which was essentially part of the government at this point of time. "He was a very open acrophobic."

"Acrophobic?" Cloak said, sharply. "Are you certain?"

"That's what the report said," Officer Hayes said.

"He was doing . . . and yet . . ." Cloak said, unable to adequately articulate his racing thoughts.

"What's acrophobia?" Shadow asked.

"A severe dislike or fear of heights," her uncle answered immediately with a wave of his hand. "So he was obviously under the influence of something that either surpressed or eliminated -- at least, temporarily -- his fear response."

"Why?" Shadow asked.

"I don't know why myself," Cloak replied, folding his arms. "I've never really gotten the obsession with fearlessness that's so prevalent with so many species, including our own. Feeling fear isn't anything to be ashamed of. Feeling fear, while unpleasant, has its necessity -- it prevents people for doing stupid things."

"It can also be used against someone," Officer Hayes pointed out. "I've seen it used by a number of vile people, even those on the force."

Cloak noted the note of bitterness and revulsion in his voice as he spoke the last five words. He knew the officer found it disgusting when members of the police force used excessive force, and would brutalize the people that they were supposed to be protecting.

Changing the subject slightly, Cloak mused, "I doubt that the Sinestro Corps and Parallax would like a serum or a potion or a something to erase fear."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Introspection and Infection

A few days had passed, and nothing happened associated with this incident. Cloak was pensive about it, he wondered just why allowing that one man, allowing Jeb, free. Was he not supposed to get out? Was allowing him swinging through the city supposed to send some sort of message?

Or was his captor, assuming there even was one, just too stupid to realize that this would attract attention. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps it was supposed to attract attention, but why?

Did it have something to with that black market that the RAFians heard scarce reports about? They didn't have much information on it, but none of the reports specified anything as serious as this. Cloak suspected that they dealt in potions, elixirs, and such that didn't actually work. Phony Polyjuice Potions, artificial aphrodisiacs, and the like. It could be potentially dangerous stuff . . . but they didn't really have enough evidence, sufficient proof, to warrant a raid, Cloak felt.

Besides, they only had the vaguest information of the whereabouts of their major headquarters location. They clearly moved around a lot. Cloak wasn't sure if they were really a threat -- caveat emptor, and all that.

Though one could make the argument that desperation could drive such choices, and the heartbreak it could bring when the buyer discovers that they had been had. But those stories never made it to the light of day, due to sheer embarrasment of being had.

It was complex and complex and convuluted.

***

Despite all the black market's precautions and meticulous security checks, somehow Faerie, Underseen, and Parker stumbled upon the headquarters of Hutch Crowe. It was an amazing coincidence -- though Parker was caught with his helmet off.

They were walking in what appeared to be an industrial carcus -- the stereotypical dark, dank and dreary place. It was rather like the elephant graveyard in "The Lion King" only in an industrial setting. It had the feeling of neglect and disuse, which belied the fact that it was, in fact, being used.

The three RAFians were briefed about the possible presence of a black market cartel within the premises, despite not knowing precisely where, but they had taken a wrong turn at Alberqueque, so to speak.

"Parker, for someone who so protective over his armor," Faerie said, her usual blunt, cutting way, "how could you possibly have lost your helmet?"

"Oh, shut up," Parker grumbled. Truth was he took it off and set it down for a minute and some miserable, insufferable urchin stole it. She was a ways off before Parker caught sight of her. Parker could barely put up with the embarrassment of the incident.

They had managed to blunder into a trap and were sprayed, as if they were cars at a carwash. It seemed to be an accident.

Seemed to be.

[redtailedsaffa]

Getting sprayed is their defence mechanism?

[guitarhero01234]

Ugh, now memories of KA's weird obsession with skunks are coming back.

[Cloak]

Not quite, Saffa.

And not that kind of spray, GH.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER NINE:
Unaffected . . . Right

Parker had managed to escape the spray, having discovered his helmet moments before and quickly put it on, but Faerie and Underseen was not as lucky. They inhaled some of the spray, accidentally. Then all of a sudden, the spraying ceased with astonishing abruptness.

The two did not seem affected, but there was a certain snappiness to their movements that Parker found unnerving. He suspected that they were more affected by what ever that spray, that aerosol delivery, was. He found it somewhat obvious that it was not mere water.

But he didn't know what it was, and Tyr wasn't being helpful. He was a little miffed at Parker for losing his helmet, for being so careless. Parker wasn't thrilled on the aspect on having to deal with Tyr's huffiness or the other two's increasing proclivity for carelessness and recklessness.

And Parker had to get everyone back to the forum.

***

"You dropped the helmet," Albert said coldly.

He was addressing the child thief, back to her. A little orphan girl dressed in a raggedy, gray dress and had snow-white hair. She couldn't be any older than eight. She looked rather harried, a bit malnourished, and potmarked.

She was afraid. She was afraid for her survival. This is what motivated her to thievery. She stole and worked for the cartel, but not of her free will, not really. She had no parents, no siblings, no relative to take care of her, to love her, to hold her . . . she was alone. All alone.

"I . . . I  . . . I didn't mean to! It was an accident, sir. Honest!! I didn't mean to!!" she blurted without really intending to. "I didn't mean it, sir. I didn't! I swear to you. I didn't . . . didn't realize -- I didn't realize that I dropped it, sir. Please, be merciful. Please!"

"Quite your babbling!" Albert said, sharply. "I don't care about your excuses, whelp!"

The thief girl cringed and recoiled at Albert's harsh, heartless words. He did not speak to her as if she were a child, but as if she were a piece of litter upon soiled ground.

"You're just fortunate that they still bumbled into the trap," Albert continued coldly. "My scheme may work out. Crowe would have to acknowledge me, to venerate me . . ."

"Sir . . . ?"

"Silence, you worthless beggar!" Albert snapped, ignoring the girl's tears. "Quit your crying, you useless vagabond!"

Albert finally turned around and glared at the girl, who flinched as if she was struck. She was too hurt to say anything -- she was eight, after all.

Albert spoke again, in a dangerously merciless tone, "You have outlived your usefulness, rat."

The girl's eyes widened as Albert's shadow fell upon her . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

Oh, wow.