Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

Oh, just wait, Abby.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
Reports

After the wedding, Broken immediately reports this to the others. But he only managed to locate, Abby, Xeno, GH, and Cloak.

"I thought you quit," Cloak was saying.

"Please, Cloak!" GH begged. "I need them!"

"Do you now?" Cloak said.

"YES."

"You made me promise, GH," Cloak reminded.

"I know!"

"Promise that no matter how hard you beg," Cloak continued, "that no matter how much you plead, not to let you have these cigarettes."

"I know that!" GH roared, crankily. "Don't you think I know that?!"

"I have kept my promise," Cloak said.

"Can I recind that promise?" GH asked.

"You remember that you told me not to, no matter how much you beg and debase yourself for it." Cloak said.

"I never said debase," GH said, temporarily forgetting his cigarettes. Part of Cloak's cunning plan to change the subject.

"You did when you were in that bathtub of coffee," Cloak said, carefully shifting GH's attention.

"I wasn't bathing in it, Cloak! I was --"

"Guys," Broken interrupted, "I have something odd to tell you."

"You've come to the right guy!" GH said, apparently forgetting about his cigarettes. GH gave a big anime-like gesture, almost if he was trying to use a Z Move.

"What was that?" Abby said, poorly suppressing a case of the giggles.

"Never mind," GH said, chagrined.

"Guys!" Broken said, before abruptly launching into what he saw at the wedding. "I'm pretty damn sure that she was seeing something that only she could see. Like some sort of hallucination. It was almost as if she was under the Imperius Curse, only her eyes weren't blank."

He took a deep breath, and continued.

"And I'm pretty sure that whoever was behind it, tried to stop me from reporting it you, and everyone." Broken said. "I guess Protego was sufficient enough to block it."

"Why'd you cast Protego? Shouldn't your Mark have blocked it?" Abby asked.

"Not necessarily," Cloak said, at once. "While the Mark is a formidable defense, as I continually remind everyone, it is fallible. It might not have worked in this circumstance. In any case, I'd rather not experiment with it in this case. Good instincts, Broken."

"Well, from what you said," Xeno said, consulting a computer screen, "it's like a handful of other reports that made it to the internet already. Allow me to show you."

They watched a nearby monitor -- Xeno loved to tinker, like Yarin, only he wasn't as stubborn when one of his inventions fails or was proven to be dangerous -- and it showed a real estate tycoon rob himself of his valuables from his own overly opulent mansion which were loaded into an odd-looking, yet nondescript truck. He seemed to be under the impression that he was in some sort of war scenario. But he wasn't the only one.

An oil magnate stole from his own business, but he clearly was under the impression that he was in some sort of video game or something, and the expensive items were collectibles.

A gun lobbyist, apparently thinking he was in some sort of gangster movie, mowed down his bought politician and her constituents.

And there were more, but they were hard to make out, with grainy footage at best. But Cloak and Broken noticed one underlying connection. The truck was always in the footage. The same truck.

The truck driver was the one responsible for these delusions. But the obvious question remained -- who was he?

[guitarhero01234]

Well, it happened. The cigarettes and coffee bathtub finally got brought up together. Thank you, Cloaky; I can finally die happy

[Cloak]

Glad you liked it.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Spellbinder

The truck driver was driving to an undisclosed location -- remote and overgrown with several weeds. He didn't seem to mind this, after all it could just be an illusion to deter unwanted visitors. It was here that this man hid all his ill-gotten loot. He was a proper supervillain in that he wore the spandex on his svelte, lightly built body, only it was full body -- head-to-toe full body -- black spandex suit with psychedelic orange swirls. He was so overconfident in his mastery over the human psyche and advance technology, he was sure that he wouldn't be caught. Even if he was, his face was hidden.

Once he was safely in his hideout, he removed his mask, revealing a thin face, sharp nose, brown eyes, and matted brown hair. It was Jon Billings, a guidance counselor at the local high school. He was disgruntled with his job, but hid this fact. He had created his tech -- his "spellbinding" tech, as he called it -- remarkably on the kind of salary he was given. It was one of his sticking points. He felt that the high school had severely underpaid him for his efforts.

He also felt very unappreciated for his endeavors. He decided to use his talents against the people he felt spurned him so badly -- the rich. (Although Charlie wasn't particular well-off as his usual victims, Sophie was somewhat.) He used the students with well-to-do connections to get at the people who could get him the riches that he believed he deserved. To have them abscond with their own valuables, and give them to him using his spellbinding tech. Even if he was caught, he felt, that should, at least, keep him legally in the clear -- even though everyone would make the argument that he tricked and manipulated them into doing it, so he wouldn't be in the clear as much as he believed he would be.

This suit he wore actually had a practical purpose, as he had his spellbinding tech inside a eyeball-shaped device embedded on his right hand. With it, he was able to feed whatever he liked directly into his victim's mind, which replayed it as if reality. He had no empathy for the rich, and believed he deserved their riches more than they did. He presented a caring compassionate cover when he was at his guidance counselor job, but his true self, as his Spellbinder persona, was a greedy, manipulative man without campassion and who was willing to fight dirty.

And he had a passable competence of disguise, but they mostly are holographic projections unto himself that any Realm Walker could easily see through. But he knew nothing about Realm Walkers or aliens or whatnot. All he cared about was opulence and filling his bank account, as he would regularly go to pawn shops in various personas, including a skin suit he got off of some black market thing that he didn't like wearing any more than he had to. And sometimes he had to, to get near a target.

While Spellbinder may have had a genius-level intellect and competence at disguise, he was not a skilled fighter by any means, preferring to rely on his spellbinding tech. But he was so arrogant in his abilities, he didn't think anyone could touch him.

However, he's never used his spellbinding tech on a non-human, as he thinks that they don't really exist, as he doesn't watch the news or listen to Bern Bridges or the like. He was still a dangerous foe to be sure.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Not According to Plan

Spellbinder had known where Broken was headed when he had escaped him. He knew the location of RAF, although it really wasn't that guarded of a secret, the site of the forum. But still Spellbinder took satisfaction and pride in this fact, despite the fact there was nothing really outstanding about what he had done.

It was dusk, and the sun was quickly setting, eager for a nightly slumber until dawn of the dollowing day. The land was already consumed with the shadows of night, and the moon would soon begin to assert its dominance in the night sky.

Spellbinder was wearing his spandex suit again, hiding his identity. He encroached slowly and stealthily towards the forum, the orange spirals on his suit actually helping, somehow, to camouflage himself from the poor night vision of human eyes. It worked for tigers, anyway.

He sneaked and creeped into the forum proper, coming to no obstacles. He didn't question the apparent lack of defenses, it just bolstered his ego, which was already of a prodigious size. He thought that he was just that good.

His plan's elegance was in its simplicity. He would manipulate a RAFian -- who he believed to all be human, explaining the clearly nonhuman ones as overly-elaborate cosplay -- and he would have that RAFian steal for him. He would not get blamed and the RAFians would take all the heat and he would have the satisfaction in knowing he did what many could not -- destroy RAF. Not to mention he might get a few new expensive trinkets out the deal.

He felt a bit disheartened as there appeared to be no RAFians around. No lights on. No light except from a street lamp in the middle of the forum, between the General Board building and the auditorium. Beneath it was a person, sitting with his legs crossed. A RAFian, obviously. He had messy black hair, glasses, closed eyes, a somewhat tanned complexion, and a rather feline face, for a human, which was unshaven. He wore black jeans with a nice khaki shirt, white socks, and worn black shoes. If he were standing, Spellbinder would put him at about five feet, ten inches, tall.

The perfect victim, Spellbinder knew.

Spellbinder deliberately made some noise to get his attention, causing the young adult -- though he appeared somewhat younger -- to open his eyes, revealing them to be dark brown. He said something under his breath that Spellbinder couldn't make out, but didn't care at the mutterings of his victims.

He deftly and quickly raised his right hand and activated his spellbinding tech. He had intended to have this RAFians see himself in constant battle with innumerable forces, forces that even he could not defeat.

But this is not what happened. The tech had no effect.

"Surprised?" the unnamed RAFian asked, knowing the answer full well.

"Impossible!" Spellbinder said, his voice unencumbered by the suit he wore.

"You're clearly a master of the human psyche," this RAFians said, reaching up to his face. "On that you have no peer, it would seem. But, quite unfortunately for you, I am --"
He reached up and removed his ID mask, revealing Cloak, who, at eight feet tall, towered imperiously over the six-foot-tall man, before concluding his statement, "--- not human. You're fancy mind-bending trick will not work on me."

"Wh-what are you?" Spellbinder yelped. But instead of waiting for an answer, Spellbinder fled in fear. In no time he was outside the forum, revealling him to be the coward that he really was.

Cloak, at any point, could have stopped his flight. But he let him go. Perhaps it was his feline nature to want to play with his prey before going in for the kill, but it was, in actuality, for the practical reason. Cloak assumed that Spellbinder would return to his lair immediately after this.

He could be tracked and trailled.

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Predictable Genius

Cloak couldn't believe it. Spellbinder didn't even hesitate, didn't even consider the fact that he may have been trailed or tracked to his hideout for his illicit goods. Never notice the occasional amber eyes following him.

But he was also frightened in another way. He had never had his spellbinding tech not be effective against anyone. Now, having found one, it unerved him. What if his next chosen victim wasn't human enough for his tech to work? What if they're were more of them, disguised as humans? This was a huge kink in his plans. He was so sure that all these reports of aliens and their invasions -- the Skrulls, the Heinlins, the Reach, thr Yeerks -- he was so sure they were faked. But now he started to doubt himself on that.

But then it occured to him that he was being silly. That guy wasn't an alien -- just a really tall man in a cloak with some makeup or prosthetics to make him look inhuman. Just someone . . . with a . . . natural immunity to his tech. He found he didn't like this idea much, either. He was accustomed to the idea that his power was peerfect and foolproof, so much so that allowed him a certain ****iness and arrogant swagger. He didn't much like this new development. Not at all.

Nor did realize that he wasn't alone his secret lair, milling through his ill-begotten gains. He had planned to pawn them off in his various disguises, including the skin suit he didn't like using very often, in thr black market, which was still surviving like a festering wound in a place that no one could see.

Spellbinder began to pull at his neck, until his mask came loose, and then he slough it off, revealing his identity as Jon Billings to anyone who saw, but he felt safe here. It was his sanctuary. How was he to know that this safe space of his was violated? How was he to know that he wasn't alone? How was he to know that his identity has been breached? How was he to see this cool, but fierce amber eyes watching him, judging him?

Cloak knew that he had him.  He had saw his real face. But beyond that he had no real evidence of his crimes. He didn't see the truck connected to all the robberies anywhere nearby here. He could tell the local authorities about this place, but, unfortunately, his credibility would be questionable as the police chief and some officers had developed an anti-RAF bias of late. Bern Bridges wasn't helping matters, either.

But Cloak had memorized the location, and left when Spellbinder left, when he replaced his mask, Cloak left, as well. Spellbinder was none the wiser to the whole thing. Cloak would have to return to RAF, and hash out a plan with the others.

[Cloak]

New book ideas!

• Book MLXVII (1,067): "Fang You, Vladdy!" -- A teenager is turned into a ventriloquist dummy.
• Book MLXVIII (1,068): "Deceitful Darkness" -- The Toyman makes a legitimate amusement park, with rides and colorful costumed characters, the whole shebang.
• Book MLXIX (1,069): "Radioactive Man" -- The RAFians meet a man who cannot live without radiation.
• Book MLXX (1,070): "Joyland" -- Toyman's Joyland falls onto hard times. . . .

Don't think I rehashed anything. If I did, I think I can work around it. As always, these are tentative titles, and are subject to change.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
What Next?

"So?" an obnoxious RAFian said. "Some rich people lose their stuff -- many of them didn't earn that money to begin with."

"Neither has this Spellbinder guy," GH countered, dully.

"There's a greater danger here," Cloak said, interrupting the obnoxious RAFian's comeback. "These illusions are so real to the people experiencing them, if Spellbinder introduces a traumatic one, like a World War Two scenario or something, to someone with, say, a heart condition. My knowledge of human physiology may be imperfect, but that could lead to a heart attack, which in turn could lead to heart failure."

He didn't spell it out anymore then. The implication was all too clear.

"Spellbinder is.a.potentially dangerous foe," Cloak said, "and I don't mean to sound speciesist, but I don't think that human RAFians should deal with him."

"He makes a good point," Wild said, in his human form. "If Spellbinder's knowledge of the human psyche is as good as we anticipate, then it would be much more dangerous for humans, even RAFians."

"Pfffft," the obnoxious RAFians snorted, "the Mark would just protect us from it."

"You're really stupid, you know that?" GH said, testily. He was still not over the Weapon Master of Techadon thing, and this particular RAFians was chafing him. "Cloak has said many times that effin' Mark isn't infallible. It has its limitations. Pay attention once in a while."

Before the obnoxious RAFian could respond, snottily, Abby asked, "Can we be sure that he'll try again? Perhaps when Cloak scared the bejeezes out of him, he decided to stop all this."

"When has it ever been that easy, Abby?" Saffa asked rhetorically.

"Touche," Abby concede the point, but contjnued to ponder, "but there has to be a reason, more than simple financial gain, that he's doing this. People are rarely that one-dimensional."

"He's probably motivated by vengeance, like the rest," Cloak said. "Might not be against a singular person, mind you, but an idea or a class of person. There's a myriad of things that could be motivating him, that we can't even begin to hazard a guess at. So there's no point in doing so right now, until we get more pertinent information."

"So . . ." Gaz said, as Laserbeak nestled comfortably on her shoulder, "what exactly do we do now?"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Heart Stopping

Gregory Riley was the manger of a dress shop, where there were some expensive pieces. He was well-liked by both his employers and his staff. He was an all-around good guy -- amicable, compassion yet grounded, optimistic yet realistic. He was also a war vet, but didn't like talking about it, as he got just a little PST from it.

He opened the shop, like any ordinary day, a prepared for a dreary day of retail. A lot people seemed to like having their May weddings recently, and they've been relatively swamped for the past few days. Retail such as this was not an easy profession as some of those that have never worked it believe.

The day went by as it usually did, nothing out of the ordinary, other than it wasn't as busy as the previous day. Greg was thankful for this, as he and his staff weren't so harried as they normally were. It was something to be grateful for, as it seldom happens, and so is cherished when does.

Suddenly, the tickling of a bell. A customer had entered the store. Greg began to turn around to service this customer, when --

Then Greg witnessed a bright flash and he suddenly was on a battlefield. He was in uniform, with his helmet firmly upon his noggin. A few metres to his Right he found a fallen soldier. Wounded but not dead. But he would be if Greg did not act soon. He immediately went over to the soldier and began to move him out firing range.

It was risky, but no solider in his platoon was gonna get left behind as long as Gregory Orwell Riley had a say about it! He moved him quickly and carefully toward the nearest medivac chopper.

He did his best to keep the soldier talking, to keep him conscious. To allow him into unconsciousness would be a slippery slope. He had to . . . he had a sharp pain in his chest, but he ignored it. This had to be done. He had to save this young man's life. He could still be saved.

The pain was starting to intensify, getting harder to ignore. But he had to. He had a job to do. He felt the sweat on his brow, smelled the dirt, mud and death as he put the man -- though he was more of a kid, really, into the medivac and watched them fly away.

It was only then that he realized just how labored his breathing was, how intense the pain in his chest was. He fell to his knees. The pain . . . He fell forward on to his hands, and one flew up to his chest as the pain continued to escalate. Escalate until he was on his side and his vision swirled.

And soon there was just blackness. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Obstinate Obligation

"Parker, this isn't wise." Cloak said.

"I'm coming and that's that, Cloak," Parker said, mulishly. He could get just as stubborn as Cloak when he has his mind set on something, and that's saying something. "His tech can't affect me while I have my helmet on."

"You're still human," Cloak countered.

"I'm a SPARTAN," Parker corrected.

"Which is an enhanced human," Cloak replied easily. "I know that last victim with the heart condition struck a chord with you, but this is too dangerous, Parker."

"If you can do it, so can I," Parker said, stubbornly. "My armor will protect me from his illusions."

"Like the spectral mist did onboard Collector's ship?" Cloak countered. "Or Evil Gaz's bite? Or the Phalanx? Or --"

"That's not fair," Parker argued. "Those were extenuating circumstances, and you know it!"

After a few more moments of arguing, it became clear to Cloak that Parker would not budge from his decision, and if he persisted in trying to talk him out of it, they would be at an impasse.

"Fine, then, Parker," Cloak said, irritated, "have your way. But let it be on your head if you are proven mistaken."

With that the two went to the forest, and Cloak couldn't help but feel like this was stepping into a Slenderman game of some sort. He never did like the horror genre all that much really, though he never was scared. He only was every truly terrified of one thing, one person, with fire and scorpions a close second.

Still, if he was on the ground or travelled by land, Cloak would know. Unless Spellbinder chose an arboreal escape route, where Cloak's Earthsight would not be helpful in the least.

But, soon enough, Cloak's concerns proved almost prophetic.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Smile For the Birdie!

Though it was really against Cloak's better judgement, the two split up. Granted, it was not really intentional on either part, Cloak still blamed himself for it -- and he could really be hard on himself when it came down to it. It was an admittingly stupid move, and Cloak acknowledged it as such. He immediately backtracked when he came to the conclusion that he shouldn't have let this occur, even if it was just an honest mistake in an unspoken, undiscussed disagreement of where to go, of which path to take.

Meanwhile, Parker was travelling without a hitch, and apparently under the impression that Cloak ditched him. However good the tech in his suit was, it didn't allow him permanent 360-degree vision, because he was still, fundamentally, human -- an enhanced human, but human nonetheless. He wasn't an Andalite, and even they can't see in all directions simultaneously. And Cloak's feet had a habit of not making a sound when he walked, it was feline thing.

Parker was feeling a smidgen aggrieved at this, as he bickered with Tyr like an old married couple. This could have accounted for Parker's testy mood recently. That and he wasn't too sure where he was with his relationship with Helen stood. He hadn't even met her parents yet, and when he brought it up, she seemed hesitant about it.

Suddenly, he saw a blinding flash.

He was standing in front of a photographer with a bright smile and flowing ebony hair. He was wearing a military uniform that looked to be from the 1940's, while at his right, Helen sat, looking gorgeous in her violet dress with subtle pink accents, her hair in a forties-style hairdo. In front of them, were two squirming little boys, five and seven, who were quickly bored by this family portrait, only partially heeding the gentle remonstrations of their mother and father.

He never thought he would enjoy this, being a father. But he found it more enjoyable than he had expected. Though he probably would never admit it aloud --

***

"Oh, Gateburst, Parker!" Cloak snarled angrily, when he saw the somniferous stupor into which Parker had fallen.

Clearly, Tyr, the artificial intelligence unit of Parker's suit, had been too late to react. After all, Parker didn't have Earthsight to give him the 411 about opponents traveling upon the earthen ground like Cloak did. Cloak was sure that even Tyr was trying to wake Parker up from whatever he was seeing.

Cloak had been afraid of this. Parker's armor couldn't save him from Spellbinders tech, and neither could his Mark. The only thing that saved Cloak was that he was not human and Realm Walkers have a very nasty reputation about being highly difficult, if not outright impossible, to be controlled in such a manner.

"Gateburst, Parker, wake up!" Cloak growled as it appeared that Parker was hugging some brittle boulder that crumbled to dust as he hugged it, as if it were a child. The illusion was great, and this just proved that Spellbinder was not someone to be trifled with so easily.

Cloak was sure Tyr was trying to snap Parker out of it as much as Cloak was, and was having the same level of success. Cloak could even still Earthsight that Spellbinder was still within range. He could still nab him.

But Parker clearly needed help snapping him out of this illusional reverie. Tyr's appeals were apparently was not working as well as they should. Spellbinder's knowledge of the human psyche was truly what made him so incredibly dangerous towards the populace at large, but Parker needed to snap out it, or he could hurt others in this state, due to whatever scenario he might be seeing. Or worse, he could hurt himself in the process. Helen would never forgive him if he left Parker in such a state.

It was a tough decision to make, one of many he's had to make as a RAFian.

[theyoungphoenix]

dang. i came back to eight new chapters!! which are all great, btw cloaky. ^^

[Cloak]

Thanks, Abby. This next chapter is gonna add a wrinkle.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Breakthroughs and Breakups

Ugh. The weight of priorities.

"Snap outta it, Parker!!" Cloak roared so loudly that it probably could be heard two miles away. And, yet, it still couldn't get through. Cloak's anger and frustration seemed to be colluding against him, and the Elements Master's irritation was beginning to show.

He used his ferrokinesis, his Metal Mastery, to freeze Parker. The SPARTAN could move, just not in his armor. Not at all surprising, considering the titanium alloy of the armor was metal. Then the Realm Walker inhaled and then, using his aerokinesis to somehow amplify his voice, roared, "GATEBURST, PARKER!! WAKE UP!!!!"

Cloak actually heard Parker coming out of his reverie with a groan, and was tempted very much to strike him for his impetuous foolishness -- but decided against it when he came to the conclusion that that would be hypocritical on his part.

But he couldn't help but feel irritated and aggrieved at this inane little distraction while Spellbinder got away. In truth, it mattered very little, Cloak already knew where Jon Billings was headed.

"Believe me now, Parker?" Cloak growled. His anger was misplaced, but he couldn't help himself with venting some frustration. "Believe me that your armor isn't as infallible as you think? Even with the Walker tech inside it?"

Parker said nothing. He wasn't really in any mood to be berated by an arrogant Realm Walker.

"Fortunately, I didn't have to get Yarin here to free you from that illusion," Cloak said, knowing that he was grousing and fuming, before he could stop himself. "Do you realize just how much worse it could have been? Fortunately, we were in this forest and no innocents were around besides these cute little woodland critters."

"Don't talk to me like a child," Parker said, thickly.

"Then don't act like a Hatchling!" Cloak snarled, before he could help himself. He quickly collected and composed himself before speaking again. "You need to go back to the forum. Raise Code Avalon again."

"You shouldn't be out here al--"

"I'm far safer out here than you are," Cloak said, in one breath. He didn't intend for it to come out as a threat, but he could understand how it could, and probably would, be taken as such. Cloak repeated, "Go back to the forum. I know where he must be heading."

"But --"

"This is no longer up for debate!" Cloak snarled.

***

Melissa had heard about these cases, and what the media was dubbing the Spellbinder. Melissa felt compassion for the victims involved, of course, despite their more duplicitous sides, except, of course, for that poor dress shop manager with the heart condition.

It was all horrible. The work of a crazily callous individual, obviously. When she thought of just who such a person could possibly be . . . her mind cast back to some less then pleasant memories she had never wished to relive.

He was so nice at first, so kind. He appeared to be so gentle, so nuanced. The way he spoke, the way he smelled . . .

A facade. All of it was a facade. And she was too young, too stupid, to realize what he was, to see him for what he truly was. She allowed herself to be suckered by his sweet nothings, to be swayed by his smooth talk . . .

She didn't like remembering those days. She hated herself for them, even though she had done nothing wrong, it was all his doing. She never told anyone this. She tried to forget it desperately, wishing beyond all credulity that it never happened. That was the darkest two years of her life. Something she hid, something she was weary about reliving.

She had successfully suppressed these memories, these contradictory feelings . . . she wished she had a Pensieve, so she could cast these ugly memories away and be done with them. To never have to remember them again. To firmly shut that chapter of her life for good, without it leaking into her life ever again. To cast them into the aether.

She felt that no one would understand what she went through with that boy. Or worse -- not believe her. She could even bring herself to tell Broken, her mentor and friend, about it. It was just too painful.

Little did she know that there was at least one RAFian who would understand this pain precisely.

[theyoungphoenix]

oohhhhhh... interesting...

[Cloak]

Just wait . . . although it maybe obvious.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Ultimatums and Ubiquity

Spellbinder, confident that the cloaked one would not be able to undo his little trick, confident that no one knew where his little hidey-hold was, made a beeline to his little treasure cove. The low-ceilinged structure that protected his expensive items before he could pawn them off for cash in his modest bank account.

Jon Billings -- Spellbinder -- had an awfully big sense of entitlement. He believed that he was actually owed such items, such wealth. He examined each item with an ostentatious eye with a smug air of pretentiousness. It was a wonder how he could hide this side of himself from people he had to interact with at his job.

He was so callous with people he used, he didn't care if his tech might have induced carcinogenic effects in his victims, or if their sanity unravelled. This was all for his personal gain and no one else's. He was supremely selfish in this regard.

Here he could be assured of his safety. Here he could not be harmed. No one knew its location. Of this, he was absolutely certain.

"You've gotten quite a boon," said a voice, which echoed around the surprisingly cramped, yet wide, place. A voice that deeply violated the very sanctity and serenity that Spellbinder had come to expect here. A voice that revealled that Spellbinder's most well-kept secret wasn't so secret anymore. "Stolen from their rightful owners."

The last five words angered Spellbinder, clearly beyond good sense. "Rightful owners, you say? I am their rightful owner!!"

"A bold assertion," the voice countered smoothly.

"No assertion! FACT, fool, FACT!" Spellbinder sounded off, sounding quite demented.

"How so?" said the voice, sounding like a parent talking to a hyper-emotional toddler. Spellbinder noticed and resented this.

"I deserve them!" he said, sounding rather more petulant than he intended. Especially as he was planning on selling them off for financial gain. "I am more entitled to these luxuries and wealth than those fatcats who just inherited their fortunes from daddy! I've worked hard! But, thanks to those parasitic oligarchs, I have nothing to show for it!! I deserve these riches more than they do!"

"How do you figure?" said the voice, still with its irritating parental tone.

"I have invented a technology that borders on true mind control!" he shouted. "I should be appreciated and compensated for my work, my genius!!"

"Perhaps," the voice revealled in the dim light to be Cloak. "But you've decided to wrong route to go about this, not to mention the copious ethical questions your precious technology poses."

"Don't judge me," he snarled, his anger still overriding his good sense.

"Either return all these items to their rightful owners," Cloak said, "or everyone will know that Spellbinder is Jon Billings."

"How'd you know --?"

"Your name?" Cloak said. "I saw your face. Also -- probably shouldn't leave your wallet unattended. I saw your driver's license."

Billings said nothing.

"I'll give you one hour to work on your redemption," Cloak said, hoping there was a scrap of decency in the man. "If not, I'll make sure that the items are returned and you are arrested."

***

Melissa went for a walk around the forum. But something was clearly bothering her. Even the least perceptive RAFians could see that. But she didn't want to talk to anybody. She just kept reliving those . . . those awful times. The more desperately she wanted to shut them away, to lock them away, to forget, the harder the memories strove to make themselves known, the more they struggled against the suppression.

She plopped herself down, on the shore of the forum lake, trying to ignore her ubiquitous feelings. She had managed to push them down, push them down and repress them successfully. And yet she was here, still mulling over these roiling thoughts.

She didn't want them. She wanted to abandon them as soon as she could. If she could just siphon them out of her head and into a Pensieve, where they'd be gone forever. Just completely and undeniably gone.

She looked at her hornbeam wand, and seriously considered doing it without the pensieve and let the memories soak into the ground. Let the ground remember it instead.

Yes, she supposed she wasn't the only woman who had an emotionally-abusive boyfriend, but her situation was a bit more . . . unique. He knew of her capability to wield magic, long before she became Broken's protege and obtained the hornbeam wand. He knew of it, and desired it, becoming rather jealous when he couldn't. He had seemed very especially fond of the effects of the Imperius Curse.

This disturbed Melissa, but, at the time, she ignored it as a quirk of the relationship. She didn't question it, believing he loved her unconditionally. She was wrong. He only loved what she could do for him. He saw her as nothing but an appendage, a marionette, that he could control and manipulate as easily as a puppeteer. To have power, but through her. He had no powers, magical or other wise on his own.

She felt so stupid for having allowed it go on for so long. . . . Stupid . . . and shamed.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Tantrums and Tangents

How dare he. How dare he!!

How dare he come into his sanctuary, defile it with his presence, and issue him an ultimatum? What right had he to do that? Spellbinder wasn't doing anything wrong! He was perfectly in the right on this.

He was just like . . . no. No, don't remember that, Jon. That part of your life is done. But it sparked you to create your magnum opus, did it not? He smiled at the thought. His spellbinding tech was perfect, so he didn't need -- it was inconsequential, at any rate.

But, no, he would not be giving these items back. Those rich, corrupt, unappreciative bastards don't deserve them. He did. He was entitled to this stuff way more than those intellectually-deficient oligarch and plutocrats! Deserved their riches more than they did because he suffered more than they have, because he had worked harder than every single one of them put together!!

But the arrogant cloaked figure would be back in an hour. He needed to shore up the defense of this sanctuary of his. He would pawn off all the little stuff, unnoticed. He would have to use the skinsuit in order to do so, like he did with the items before. Ask for cash instead of a check. . . .

But first to defense this place. He had to get busy.

***

Eventually, as Melissa reminisced, she got wise to what her "boyfriend" was doing. She was embarrassed that she hadn't figured it out sooner. She felt shame that she didn't figure it out sooner.

She wasn't anything to him but an object, property, a thing to possess. She had come to realize that he didn't love her, that he never really did. He just pretended that he did so that she would to what he wanted. If she didn't . . . if she didn't, he . . . he . . . he hit her. He really battered her. She could fix the damage in a thrice afterward, however, with her magicks, and not many battered women have that. Even then, she kept making excuses for him, excusing this unacceptable behavior.

But then she had to wonder. Especially when he was pressuring her heavily to use the Imperius Curse on people he felt that had slighted him -- there were many -- but she always refused, saying that it requires a wand to perform, which, in reality, she didn't know whether or not it was true.

This didn't go over too well with her then-boyfriend. He wanted what he wanted, and while he was a patient man, frustration could lead him to impatience. And when he got frustrated and impatient, it often lead to violence. Violence against her. Physically, he was stronger than her, and, unbeknowst to both of them, he was beating the magic out of her.

The longer this relationship continued, the more her magic began to wither and die. This coincided with her own feelings. Her then-boyfriend would not hesitate to be verbally abusive during this time. Deriding her. Denigrating her. Calling her worthless and useless . . .

It was then that she realized that he never loved her -- the Veritaserum she slipped into his morning coffee helped as well. She had to find out the truth, and when she did, it devastated her. She really loved him, but then she realized that even that wasn't exactly true. She thought he was cute, sure, but she was in love with the idea of being in love.

She had to admit part of her wanted to use Amortentia, a love potion, to force him to love her. But she swiftly decided against it, as it would have been no better than his Muggle brand of it. No, the only thing to do would be to breakup with him.

He didn't take it very well.

But she had no idea how creepy he could be after she decided to break up with him. Even now, she cringes at the thought of her ever entertaining the notion of being Mrs. Melissa Billings.

[theyoungphoenix]

o h