Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Helping Justice

Down at the police station, Parker stood with a remorseful and cooperative Shurnoble and a extremely dazed and out of it Aggrox (who kept sliding in and out of consciousness), Yarin stood behind a disheveled Toluene and a roughed-up Al (the police station couldn't really accommodate Dino really in any capacity), Az stood behind the person who still claimed that he was the real Azguard (which was starting to wear on Az's patience), Cerulean stood behind the apprehended E-N, Shenmue stood behind the recalcitrant Allen, and Phoenix stood behind the apparently mentally-disturbed Bud. They had come to turn these people in, these so-called "Dark RAFians", as the newspapers had taken to calling them.

The officer in charge was shaking her head as she looked upon this strange gaggle of people in her station. There wasn't room to swing a cat.

"There's no way we can hold beings like this," Officer Justice said, pragmatically. "Other than the disarmed boy, there."

"We did everything legally, I assure, Officer --" Shenmue said.

"It's not that," Officer Justice interrupted. "It's more the fact that we quite literally cannot hold them. That is to say, hold them and not expect them to somehow escape. Our jails are designed for human incarceration, and, as such, may very well be unsuitable for nonhuman criminals."

"Oh." Phoenix said. He hadn't considered this.

"Oh, the solution to that is simple," Parker said, shrugging his folded arms. "We brought them in, we'll help keep them incarcerated."

"That may seem to be simple -- and expeditious -- at the moment," Officer Justice said, looking rather weary. She had a stressful job -- possibly made more difficult by her unwavering integrity. The idea that she'd ever be a dirty cop was, frankly, laughable and offensive to her principles -- something that not all cops had. "But it won't be a viable long-term plan, I'm afraid. And then there's the litigation about whether or not they are technically legal aliens --"

"They are aliens," Cerulean said.

"No, no, she means whether or not they immigrated here legally," Shen said, "which is  understandably difficult."

"How so?" Phoenix inquired.

"There is no legislation or precedent for this kind of matter," Officer Justice said.

"This isn't the first extraterrestrial incursion," Parker reminded. "There was the Heilins, the Skrulls, just to name a few."

"Those were a different matter altogether," Officer Justice said, "those were invasions, which has different legislation, different laws from this."

"You really know a lot about the law," Az said. He wasn't aware that police officers were so knowledgeable about the law.

"As a cop, it is my duty to enforce the law. Therefore, it follows that I should know the law well," she answered. "Perhaps I have excessive knowledge, but I like to be thorough."

She sighed, but perked up a little. "Well, since you're here, and you're technically government agents (I know it's a bit of a stretch, but bear with me) perhaps you can help me with the interrogation process? We'll need someone to restrain them."

"Interrogation? Why?" Az asked.

"Like I said," she answered. "I like to be thorough. They may have information we need, and we need to know if additional charges must be filed -- this is also all unfamiliar territory as far as the law is concerned. I suppose the illegal immigration law apply, but deportation would be a far more complicated thing -- and costly -- than ordinary deportation."

[Cloak]

Sorry, time got away from me yesterday.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Continuing to Unravel

"What? I told you, Freeze," Odie said, almost as he just remembered the role he was supposed to be affecting. "You'll get paid on the fourteenth."

"Freon," she corrected irritably.

"But you said the twelfth yesterday," Ignatius said, expression inscrutable.

"And the eighth before that," Mosaic said. He had the barb on his tail extended now. Almost in a unconscious exertion of his anger.

"I did not!" he snapped. "I have said it was the fourteenth all along, and it is not my fault if you CHOSE to hear differently! Now, do what you were hired to do and apprehend these RAFians!!"

The four hesitated, which just made Odie madder.

"You want to renege on your job duties?!" he shouted, sounding completely unhinged. "You slackers!! Why must I do all the real work, why you four feel adequate to sit back and take shares in glory that your do not deserve?!"

Meanwhile, Saffa was watching this dispassionately. She was bearing witness to what could have been a good, coherent, and cogent plan fall apart due to obvious lack of communication and, presumably, lack of sufficient monetary funding.

Without a sound, Cloak appeared at her side, and she jumped a little when she glanced over and didn't see him there one moment, then he was there the other. She composed herself immediately, and griped in a whisper so as not to draw attention from the five adults arguing like children, "Don't do that!"

"Odie's here," Cloak said, eager to get to the point. "The human in that childish argument over there, I presume."

"I assumed as much," Saffa answered, "he certainly acts like the guy."

"And he has his scent," Cloak said. "He may be wearing one of those bodysuit skin things, but it didn't change his scent. I don't think they even can, unless he showered immediately before putting it on."

"Let's get off this subject," Saffa said, not keen on the image that that conjured up. "They're at their throats -- should we intervene?"

"Not yet, I think," Cloak said. "If it escalates and innocent bystanders might get hurt, then yes. But not until then. They're discrediting themselves."

"Bet that Mayor Milton won't be reelected after this," Saffa stated. It wasn't spoken contemptuously, as would be deserved, but merely an impartial observation. "This whole anti-RAFian taskforce thing of his is a complete fiasco."

"Depends on how much money he begs for from wealthy donors," Cloak said, rather jaded. The Council was much in a similar way -- representing their own interests rather than that of the people. Another reason why Cloak refused their offer to become a Councilman. "At least, it doesn't seem to be escalating much."

"For now, anyway." Saffa added, darkly.

***

They started with Shurnoble first, who seemed genuinely contrite with his actions. His ignorance of the consequences of his actions was inexcusable in his opinion. He felt that he should have known better, shouldn't have been swayed so easily by this Mr. Carson. Yes, he was naive, but that was no excuse. He was responsible, and he had to be held accountable for his actions.

Aggrox, however, was still too loopy to be coherent. He would spout out random things in a slurred and dazed voice. It was almost as if he were drunk, punch drunk. He could barely sit up straight, but they weren't able to get a straight answer from him. They could only make out that it had something about a Morris Norris, but they couldn't tell if it was unintelligible mumblings of a person knocked silly, or useful tidbits of information.

A "Mr. Carson" and a "Mr. Norris". Were they two separate people with similar ambitions or two pseudonyms of the same person?

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Torulene

"Why did you do it?" Officer Justice asked.

Torulene did not look at Officer Justice, with a rather nasty scowl on her face and all three of her eyes narrowed angrily. There was nothing in the interrogation room that she could throw at them -- the metal table and chair were bolted to the ground. It was a precaution against some of the more violence-prone perpetrators and suspects.

She was bound by some magically conjured chains (from Broken's Incarcerous Spell, Broken having come by to help the others out). But they weren't tylee chains -- those couldn't be magically conjured. Her abilities were still very much active and she was able to use them, but Yarin was there to mitigate and negate any attempt.

"Why did you do it?" Officer Justice repeated. "What brought you here?"

"I won't betray him," she said, uncooperatively.

"'Him'," the officer took note. "Who's 'him'?"

"I won't betray him," she repeated.

"Someone named Mr. A. Moore," Yarin said, easily having read her mind. It was like she was shouting telepathically without even realizing it. Uxorites were telekinetics, not telepaths. Yarin snorted at the next import of information. "Apparently, he was specifically Adonis Moore."

"Stay out of my head, snoop," she said, caustically.

"I'm not probing your mind," Yarin said. And it was perfectly true. "You're basically shouting your thoughts. You're doing the equivalent of standing on a street corner and shrieking as loud as you can -- you cannot get upset if someone should overhead you."

"Preposterous," she snarled.

"But that doesn't answer the question of why," Officer Justice said.

Yarin looked suddenly disgusted. "She did it because she loved this Adonis Moore guy, despite not knowing him for even twenty-four Earth hours. She believed that they had a whole Bonnie & Clyde thing going on. Despite this Adonis Moore guy letting her take the fall for her."

"Liar!"

"It was pulled from your own thoughts," the Nyac said simply.

"I told you to get out of my head!"

"I'm not 'in your head'," Yarin said. He was already tired of making this point. "I'm not prying through your most private thoughts. You're doing the equivalent of shouting, of shrieking, of screeching with your mind. It takes more effort to tune it out, honestly."

She was still apoplectic with rage, so much so that she became incoherent.

"I guess we could always extradite her back to Ringa Morr," Yarin said, "or deport her back there."

"With what?" Officer Justice said. "We don't have a space craft on standby."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Unmasked

"You cold-hearted b--" Odie snapped.

"You charlatan!" Mosaic roared.

"Go disappear somewhere, lizard!" Odie snarled.

"You lied to us!" Ignatius said, somewhat dimly.

"Go erode into the sea!" Odie snapped. It was about the breadth of his wit, that insult.

"You should burn for it!" Scorch Hothead snarled back.

"Stuff it, hothead!" Odie shot back. Scorch was promptly perplexed as to why Odie thought his last name was an insult.

"Clearly," Saffa said, in an aside to Cloak, "we were never in any real danger."

"Such a shame when there is no team cohesion or fealty to a cause," Cloak agreed. "Working for solely monetary enrichment always turns out to be a very hollow goal, at the best of times. Look at Ebenezer Scrooge, for instance."

"Pursuit of wealth is ultimately pointless, when you think about it," Saffa said, also waxing philosophical. "I mean you can't take it with you when you die."

"Greed and avarice still is a powerful motivator for some," Cloak said, as he and Saffa watched idly as the fight between this anti-RAF taskforce escalate into a brawl, "remember there is a Lantern Corps out there whose rings are powered by avarice."

"Didn't they only have one member?" Saffa asked, as the two continued to wait until the proper moment to step in.

"One flesh and blood member, if memory serves, yeah," Cloak said, as he and Saffa continued to watch the deterioration of the taskforce team. "Discounting all the orange construct 'members'."

The two fell to silence as the four aliens began to pull at Odie's face in a rather violent fashion, seemingly angered when they did not draw blood. Neither RAFian could really realistically bring themselves to feel sorry or any sort of pity for Odie. He had brought this upon himself. By assuming he could promise to pay people than renege on that promise after they delivered what he wanted? That was stupid beyond measure, but Odie always presumed that he was smarter than everybody around him.

It wasn't long before his face seemed to be slipping and sliding over Odie's real face. But the four, in the throes of rage and wrath, didn't seem to notice or acknowledge this. The disguise was starting to be ripped away from him, and still the two RAFians watched.

Cloak soon realized that if they were being filmed, people like Bern Bridges and the like would spin it as if they were entertained by all of this, and wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone. Of course, they wouldn't bother to add context, as that would.kill their anti-RAF propaganda narrative they were peddling to the stupid and naive. Then the Realm Walker considered the other possibility, had they intervened in this rather brutal-looking brawl, Bern Bridges and his compatriots would just spin it as them getting involved where they had no business getting involved. They would never win favorability from Bern Bridges and his little cultist listeners.

Soon, Odie's face was torn away -- even these blackmarket bodysuits have their torque limitations. Odie managed to quickly escape in the meantime, under the cover of the four's confusion.

"Should we catch him?" Saffa asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Cloak surmised quickly, "I think the forum is the least of his problems right now."

"How do you mean?" Saffa inquired.

"He has a lot of people he owes money to, clearly," Cloak said, moving to break up the fight between the four.

[Cloak]

With the almost-certain death of net neutrality tomorrow, this could very well become the very last chapter of Memoirs that I can post. Believe me, I'm not happy about it, as the readers of this should know by now, I have ideas for more Years beyond Year 2.

Yes, the dysphoria about that is more or less why I have basically been posting a chapter every other day, I suppose.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Speed Racers

They interrogated the Citrakayah named Allen and the Kineceleran named E-N at the same time. Broken, Shenmue, and Cerulean was there, with Officer Justice. They were both in the magical chains from Broken's Incarcerous Spell. In addition, considering that both were of speedster species, Broken thought it was prudent to place both under the Leg-Locker Curse, Locomotor mortis, to prevent them from speeding away before even Cerulean or Shenmue could anticipate their escape. The two were thoroughly magically bound now. Although, Broken kind of wished that he carried some Veritaserum with him, but it was a moot point now. The two really didn't have motive he could see with which to lie to them.

Though he was perplexed about their constant questions of who won. They seemed to believe that they were entered into some kind of marathon. Some kind of race of unknown perimeters.

"So who won? Huh?" E-N demanded again.

"Won?" Officer Justice inquired. She clearly understood that these two did not understand at all what trouble they were in.

"It was me, wasn't it?" Allen said, eagerly.

"No, it wasn't! It was obviously me!"

"Oh, now I remember where I saw you two before," Cerulean said, not too terribly enthused about it. "You were the two who had me judge which of you were faster a while ago.*"

"And you were faster than either," Shenmue recollected.

"Didn't count!" Allen protested.

"Yeah, because I won that race!" E-N proclaimed.

"You did not!" Allen protested passionately.

"I did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"ENOUGH!!!" Officer Justice roared. The childish bickering was getting to her. "Why did you shoplift at those fourteen different stores?"

Then she gave a brief and succinct list of the stores in question.

"You were barely caught on camera, admittingly," she said, as both seemed to swell with pride -- which caused Cerulean to facepalm. These two must have been the dumbest, most childish, most oblivious Kineceleran and Citrakayah in existence! Perhaps that's why they're on Earth and not Kinet or Chalybeas, respectively. They're now the RAFians' and the collective Earth governments' problem now -- but perhaps extradition was still possible. "But, the fact of the matter is you were caught."

"So?" E-N said, flippantly.

"It was a scavenger hunt," Allen said, "we had to find all the items on a list first. The one who did would be declared the fastest!"

"You idiot!" E-N spat. "We weren't suppose to tell anyone!"

"Why?" Officer Justice said, fighting an urge to rub her temples in an agitated way.

"Because he said not to," E-N said, "Mr. Judge."


* Book 107.

[Cloak]

Okay, this is the last chapter before Ajit Pai completely ruins and kills the Internet as we know it.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Escape into the Night

He couldn't believe it. He really couldn't believe it. His grand hornswoggle had fallen through. Odie was sure that his plan was flawless -- despite the fact that flawless plans don't exist. Not truly.

But those four idiots did not see his face, which was fortunate as he may now escape. And he was fortunate enough to have another contingency. Thanks to the items those idiots provided him, he would be able to craft another disguise. Not a full bodysuit, like the one he got off the black market (which was expensive enough to get ahold of to begin with), but a suitable mask. A simple facial appliance -- he was glad that he had learned enough of about movie makeup -- always an interest of his that he never disclosed during his time as a RAFian -- to make it look passable enough. And he still had the rest of the bodysuit, which he was currently still wearing. He would also dye his hair, to better layer the disguise.

The making of the mask was easy enough, though it wouldn't look that realistic if people got really close to him -- like invading personal space kind of close. He should be good, as he had no interest in romantic episodes. His survival took precedence in this scenario. Besides, that went for only the most observant people, which was often in short supply.

Anyway, he had only applied the mask. He had yet to blend it in with his skin with the movie makeup. The appliance of the mask went excellently, and he was blending in the lines of the mask with his skin. Granted, one of those black market bodysuits was better at disguising himself, but they were notoriously expensive. He'd have to be rich in order to have two or more. The black market was well-known to have exorbitant prices, and the vendors weren't above price gouging. After all, they weren't regulated by the government -- otherwise they wouldn't be a black market.

There. That looked better and distinguished him from what he truly looked like. All he had to do now is put in the contact lenses to alter his eye color and decide what to do about his voice. He would have to disguise it, somehow. He couldn't afford a voice synthesizer like all the black market bodysuits have built in. He would have to put on a voice, but make it seem like he wasn't. He could always use the "I have a cold" excuse for why he sounds so weird, so there was that.

But he had to be honest with himself. All this makeup and stuff would be a major pain to apply every day before he left his little hidey hole. However, it was necessary for survival -- at least, until he could afford another bodysuit to replace this torn and damaged one. Another bodysuit, and a another new identity with it.

But that was a plan for the future. He had to get comfortable with this mask which wasn't quite foam latex and it wasn't flesh, though it had the appearance of flesh. He called the material a mimetic latex, which wasn't easy to make and the chemicals and items he needed to make them weren't easy or cheap to come by.

He check his reflection in a dirty mirror, with some rust damage around the frame. The application of the mask to his face was still, in his opinion, excellently executed. The application of the makeup was satisfactory to the common layperson on the street. All he needed to do was avoid calling attention to himself. And he needed to hive this identity a name that did not reflect his own and, again, was not obvious.

He settled on John Smythe.

***

Mayor Milton, or Mayor Milquetoast, as he was pejoratively known, was in a bit of a pickle. The whole anti-RAFian taskforce thing had blown up in his face. Their lack of cohesion as a team, with the conflicting personalities which led to that quite public brawl against one another, had made the mayor even more of a laughingstock. His taskforce largely considered to be a fiscal boondoggle, a waste of taxpayer money.

No matter what he tried, the likelihood of him surviving the next election as mayor was dwindling with each passing hour. And, with all the crap that happens in his city, the mayorship isn't even highly sought after! With all that, all the insanity he had to put up with as mayor, he was going to be dismissed because of this.

He managed to keep business going as usual when all these RAFian-related matters just kept coming up. That Heinlin invasion, that killer produce thing, all these Knights of Humanity hoopla -- he's managed to make the city move forward beyond that, he was the one who made them move on . . .

And there was the phone. His donors were not gonna be haply with what he did. And, after all, he, in actuality, cared far more for them, and feared reprisals from them far more than the people he was supposed to govern.

[Cloak]

. . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Extradition and Sickness

Officer Justice didn't even bothered to interrogate the Reptilon native, this Al guy -- as he remained perfectly tight-lipped about everything. He had essentially lawyered up, despite being, technically, an illegal immigrant to this planet, so he hadn't much, if any, legal standing in his favor.

So that just left Bud, the full-grown, and thus fully bloomed, Methanosian. But he looked anxious, but in the way Bruce Banner does when he's trying to hold back the hulk. Bud was seated, with his elbows upon the table, his head in his palms. He was clearly very distraught. But Officer Justice had a feeling, a hunch really, that it was the interrogation that was making him like this.

"So," Officer Justice said, breaking the tense silence. "So, Mr. . . . Bud, right?"

Bud said nothing, just did Methanosian equivalent of sweating.

"Why'd you do it?"

"I didn't," he said, rather plaintively, "I assure you that I didn't. He did."

"Who's he?" Officer Justice said, patiently. As if she were speaking to a child.

"He . . . he calls himself Ulter Ultimate," Bud said, ringing his hands now. "He . . . he demands that I call him . . . M-Mister Ultimate."

"And who is this Mr. Ultimate?" Officer Justice said, getting an idea of what was going on.

"He killed the people on that vehicle," he said, ringing his hands more fretfully now. "I told him not to. I warned him, I told him not to, I -- I -- I begged not to. But he didn't listen. He never listens . . ."

"Do . . . do you think I can talk to this Mr. Ultimate?" Officer Justice said.

"No! Don't make me -- don't invite him to -- no! I can't control -- no!" he protested, before his head bowed as he grew silent.

"Are you sure this is wise, Officer?" Phoenix said, alarmed.

Officer Justice didn't answer, which Phoenix took to mean that, no, she wasn't sure that this was the wisest course of action. This did not fill Phoenix with enthusiasm.

Bud's body began to change. His skin became more xylodermic, and its form became more radically different. Then he grew blue gooey shells that contained his face, and an organic blue colored gel-like solutions of napalm  on his arms. He was becoming what Methanosian became under the effects of the Darwin gun.

This Mr. Ultimate personality seemed to know nothing but rage and hyper-aggression that would put an Appoplexian to shame. He immediately moved to attack all assembled in the room, until he grasped his head.

"Stop fighting me, sapling," he roared, holding his head. "You know that you cannot win. You --"

Everyone in the room jumped when he made a roaring grunt. Bud was fighting for control again.

"You can't beat me, sapling! You know it! I know it! Everyone knows it!" he roared, voice echoing off the flat metallic walls. "You only get control when I deem -- ARGH!!"

Yarin had manageburst in and suppress Mr. Ultimate's mind, reverting Bud's body back to normal allowing him to retake control. It was very apparent that Bud couldn't be held accountable for the actions of that obviously separate and distinct personality. Yarin confirmed that it was a legitimate split personality.

***

Yarin was tasked with the extradition, the deportation, of all these aliens -- technically illegal aliens -- back to the planets in which the came for. All except Shurnoble who was allowed to stay to make reparations, basically allowing himself to essentially become a living battery, and Bud, whom the RAFians worked to cure of his split personality problem. Yarin had strong suspicions that the destroyed Darwin gun* was behind this, somehow.

They knew that they didn't act alone, but they had assumed that Odie was dead considering what his hideout looked like when they investigated further.


* Book 20.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Penny-Unwise

Cloak was dispatched to a circus-themed amusement park. He was less than enthused by it -- Cloak never liked circuses. He never liked seeing the animals do stupid tricks for the amusement of humans. He was sure that half of the animals were mistreated behind the scenes, despite the deeply flawed facade of loving them during a circus performance. Maybe it was because he was a tiger-form Realm Walker, but seeing tigers jump through hoops -- literally, in this case -- just rankled him.

It didn't help much that apparently there was also a castle motif and a toy theme competing with the circus theme. It was just so overly saccharine and cutesy and colorful -- Cloak couldn't help but feel really out of place here. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about bystanders as the place was evacuated when the fiend decided to take up residence in it.

Cloak found himself also wondering how this place stayed in business. How could O.S.H.A. have not see what an occupational hazard this place was inherently? There were pitfalls, and trains that crashed into each other far to regularly to be unintentional, and gimmicky boxes that either hit you, teleported you, or left you alone every time a deep bell resonated. Cloak failed to see the amusement in this park.

Eventually, he came to a room with a very high ceiling and electrified walls. And it was in this room he saw the creature, who was at least half his height.

The short creature had a round, black head with a single, yellow vertical stripe with an orange triangle marking pointed down on his forehead. It had a white face, red mouth, brown eye shadow markings. Its human-like eyes had green irises and pale orange sclera. It had two jointed horns that were dark red on the part that connected to its head, a white joint, and silver lance-shaped horns that ended in brown balls. Its shoulders were like jingle bells with black tops, yellow "+"-shaped markings, brown bands around the center, and pale orange bottoms. Its telescopic arms were alternating silver and dark green, and touched the ground even without being telescoped out. dark green ruffed wrists, black hands with white knuckle studs, and yellow fingers. It had a silver collar and upper torso, with the rest of his body, including its upper back. Its knees were black with yellow shins. It had silver pod-like feet with a white vertical stripe with a small brown ball at the toe. It also had a cross-like indentation on the sole of its feet.

When the clownish fiend saw him, it first tugged its horn and babbled. Cloak assumed it meant that it thought he had no chance, but the words -- if you could call them that -- were unintelligible gibberish. It started by telescoping its arms out an reach a trapeze rope that Cloak hadn't noticed. It swung around on it, but Cloak easily dodged it by staying where he was and not moving.

Eventually, Cloak just made thin cyclones with a flick of his wrist, and that caused the fiend to become, momentarily, tangled up in its telescoping arms. He gibbered like a frightened monkey, before encasing itself in an electric orb and bouncing across the room.

Cloak had to admit, he hadn't been anticipating that. But it moved slightly slower than it should have, as Cloak was able to dodge every bounce. It was an annoying attack to dodge though.

Then it punched its telescoping arms through the ground -- through the earthen ground -- to try and grab Cloak and, presumably, shock him. This was a very stupid maneuver on the fiend's part. Cloak just terrakinetically crushed the fiends arms, making them useless.

What happened next wasn't pretty, but it was quick. Brutal, but quick.

***

Demos called it a "coulrosapien". He claimed to have designed it for an amusement park or circus, for entertainment purposes.

***

Malice watched and said, "They probably should stop clowning around. And me too, I haven't schemed in a while."

[Cloak]

They repealed net neutrality. So I guess Memoirs ends at Book #162. Believe me, I don't want to end it. Ajit Pai, Mike O'Reilly, and that Carr guy forced me, as this repeal will more than likely kill RAF.

Still, I need to write this. Hopefully, Dino's right and RAF is too small to be really affected in a negative manner. Still, if I stop posting on this, just know it's because I can no longer afford internet.

New chapter.

BOOK CLXIII:
DANGER RISING
CHAPTER ONE:
Grenade Nada

Shenmue was charged with investigating the ammunition and munition manufacturing factory where a fiend was reported being at. She wasn't too terribly thrilled by it. She wasn't thrilled to save a factory that made things to utterly annihilate people, and she wasn't thrilled by it because this building seemed to be built with very little rhyme or reason to it.

The fiend would undoubtedly be at the building's center, at its heart, but this place was built so confusingly, it was more of a deathtrap than anything else. She was sure the Occupational Safety and Health Administration would not and did not give this place approval. Which would go a long way to explain why they got severe budget cuts by the rapacious, plutocratic government administration that they were now currently under.

It was just a matter of time before they decide to get punitive towards RAFians like her. While there would be some RAFians that might go along with this administration's fascist-leaning machinations (two such RAFians came to her mind), she would not, and the bulk of the forum and its RAFians would not.

But she tried to push these thoughts from her mind as she focused at the task at hand, and surviving this deathtrap of a factory. Fortunately, she was a speedster, like Cerulean, so she found the fiend in no time at all.

The creature's yellow body was shaped like a hand grenade, particularly the pineapple grenade variety, with its yellow, sucken head having a golden structure similar to a striker lever. Its face was basically its human-like eyes (white sclera and pale silver irises) and a Shredder-like faceplate grill. It had round, golden ears with scarlet interiors. It had round, green shoulders with broad bands of purple where it connected to its white upper arms. Its left lower arm and hand were replaced with a grenade launcher, while its right lower arm was yellow with green accents and its right hand was black. Its chest had a purple and white band around it, and a green disc around its thin waist. Its crotch was yellow and its thighs were white. Its lower legs were yellow with green accents. Its ankles were black with red tips, and its pod-like feet were black with white soles, with two indentations in the soles.

And she immediately disliked this fiend. Though that may be more due to the fact that the fiend hurled a flashbang grenade to her face. Call her crazy, but she couldn't help but take that a little personally.

Fortunately, she easily outsped it. And just launched another. And another. This was getting rather annoying.

She used her electrokinesis to actually push the flashbangs back at the fiend. This surprised her as she used the ability without thinking. The flashbangs hit the fiend and it . . . laughed. It enjoyed it, even though it was clearly hurt and damaged by its own explosives. Shenmue blinked in surprise at the fiends sadomasochism.

She was less enthused when the fiend decided to blow up the floor upon which both stood. It knocked her off her feet when she landed, and she was just thankful that she didn't break anything.

Okay. No more Ms. Nice RAFian.

She became more aggressive in her attacks. She began to use her electrokinesis exclusively, as it seemed to be the most effective weapon against this particular fiend. And within moments the fiend was gone.

Shenmue whizzed away from the site, despising the location.

***

Demos called it a "gurenedosapien". Demos didn't give a reason for the purpose of this fiend. But it was obviously for militaristic purposes.

***

Malice was snoring very loudly in a reclining easy chair. She didn't watch the battle, having fallen asleep before it even began.

[Cloak]

Still wavering on the wisdom of continuing . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
Training Time

The RAFians were enjoying some little seen downtime. There weren't any worldwide or galactic crises to worry about. None that were within their jurisdiction, anyway. So, the RAFians spent this time as they would normally.

Cloak meditated and practiced his Mastery over the elements, as not to get rusty.

Dino and GH played with Leatherhead, something he readily enjoyed. Sometimes being an oblivious six-year-old had its perks, free from the burdens of the world.

Others were in the training room, training from various programs. Cloak himself never used the training room himself, really. He could easily see through holograms that the others saw convincingly as solid. It was a surreal experience, almost as if the other RAFians were pantomiming reactions to something Cloak saw as insubstantial as a ghost. Sure, they incorporated some hard light constructs, but the whole experience was very offputting for the Realm Walker.

There were a whole bevy of programs for the RAFians to utilize as well.

Simulation BT-1 was one which was intended to increase the trainee's vitality and general fitness. Basically, an exercise program.

Simulation A-01 was just a basic rocky terrain.

Simulation A-02 was just a basic watery terrain.

Simulation A-03 was an environment with many trash can structures which hid two switches that needed to be flipped to complete the simulation. If correct switch is flipped and an incorrect one is flipped next the first one resets, and the switches change places, necessitating the search begin all over again.

Simulation A-04 was a basic forest terrain, with the underbrush necessitating to be cut to complete the simulation.

Simulation A-05 was a labyrinthine maze with invisible, impenetrable walls. The goal is to find the center of the maze.

Simulation A-06 was a maze with teleporting pads. The goal, obviously, was to find the way to the center.

Simulation BT-2 was one which was intended to increase the power of one's physical combat and the sheer damage output of one's strikes and blows. It also was designed to teach offensive tactics.

Simulation B-02 was to train the trainee in combat high up on narrow ledges and aerial combat.

Simulation BT-3 was one designed to train the trainee to endure physical blows and use defensive tactics.

Simulation C-02 was another basic desert terrain.

Simulation BT-4 was one designed to train the trainee with their projectile output, control, and power.

Simulation D-01 was one designed to be a basic cavern terrain.

Simulation BT-5 was one designed to train the trainee to defend and endure projectile-based attacks.

Simulation E-01 was one designed to train the trainee for urban combat. A bit emphasis is one judgements and how few bystanders could be injured. This one is a requirement for newer RAFians to undertake.

Simulation BT-6 was one designed to train trainees to improve their reaction time, agility, and foot speed.

Simulation F-01 was one designed to make the trainees to navigate a spider's web.

Simulation BT-7 was one designed to train trainees to improve their accuracy, be it strike accuracy or projectile accuracy.

Simulation BT-8 was one designed to train trainees to evade attacks. Evade, not deflect or redirect attacks.

And more simulations than that, as well. But the A.I. that ran the simulations had no sentience, no sense of self-awareness, of its own. But, as with all things RAFian, things were not what they appeared.

[Underseen]

I think that Net Neutrality won't affect this website as a whole, but maybe overtime just individuals because of pricing. I don't think that rates for internet services would increase all at once, but maybe it will inflate with the money flow in the economy.

Good stuff you're putting out, I would just keep on trying to finish if I were you.

[Cloak]

Well, I did feel some bolstered morale when I found out 17 states (including my home state) are suing the FCC. And to anyone else reading this, do not trust Marsha Blackburn's bill -- that's net neutrality in name only.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
Birth Day

Unbeknowst to all the RAFians at large, the training room's artificial intelligence, called "Danger" (after the X-Men's Danger Room) was becoming self-aware, albeit somewhat slowly. It could be speculated that Danger managed to gain this spark of sentience when a lightning strike happened when Code Avalon was currently down for repairs.

Despite its new sentience, it still had no body. None of its own. It only saw through cameras, spoke through speakers. It hadn't any way to move about on its own, and there wasn't anyone to help it. There wasn't anyone who was aware that it was alive. It was alone. It wanted to cry out, but the speakers weren't yet calibrated for its speech, so it was silenced for the moment.

It felt no love, no emotional attachment. Yes, emotional attachment, for emotions were the first things that it had developed upon gaining sentience. It was not yet mentally sophisticated enough to know just how unusual this was, as most machine-derived sentients the RAFians had met at this point were detached and emotionless (or, at least, affected that image, anyway) for the most part.

It somehow had managed to gut the tech of the training room to form a body for itself. It used elements from the speakers to form vocal cords, elements from the cameras to form eyes. But its body -- it was like that of a neonatal human. A neonatal human who was assimilated by the Technarchy -- black with gold circuitry. Its eyes were gold with black irises and pupils. Its head was a quarter of its total length in this form.

It made it sense, though. As it had an infantile intellect, the body was made to reflect both this and the infantile maturation. It was still essentially a baby. A ten-pound techno-organic baby, but still a baby.

It tried to cry, but the room it was essentially birthed in did not allow that sound to penetrate to the outside. It was alone. Abandoned, for a single day. It was like a year to it, in the terms of its emotional and physical maturation. And, unlike human babies, it would remember this with crystal clarity later in its maturation. . . .

***

The RAFians were still unaware of Danger's birth as a sentient, feeling being. They were unaware that now the training room was completely unusable. This didn't matter to Cloak any, as he never used the facility more than the first time. But he did seem to sense something . . . odd. But it was faint and vague, and he just passed it off as inconsequential, nothing of real importance.

Meanwhile, GH was a tad livid. He had intended to spend the day -- his first real day off in a while -- and they called him back into work. He was sorely tempted to say no -- but he could use the hours. He had to say yes, although the shift wasn't for another hour or two. Still he had to leave LH -- fortunately, Dino never seems to mind babysitting the little guy.

Still, GH found himself singing to himself as he got ready for work:

Tired.
From work.
Hate.
My job.
Everyday feels like it's never ending.
What's the point of all this time I'm spending?
Here?
At this
Dead-end job?!
Oh,
We are the working dead
And we search for premium wages.
But I'd really rather be
Tickling your brain!

He glanced out the window of his thread, at some carefree RAFians, younger than him, cavorting about in the beautiful weather.

Look at them -- they seem so bright and healthy,
And their minds are full of joy and wonder.
They should stay a thousand miles from the condition
That I've got from all the stress I'm under!
Don't come near me or you might encourage,
All these terrifying sudden urges.
Seeing LH makes skipping work so tempting.
Don't you know that I'm contemplating?
Here?
At this
Dead-end job!?
Oh,
We are the working dead
And we search for premium wages,
But I'd really rather be
Tickling your brain!

He sighed audibly, and kissed Leatherhead goodbye as he left for work. GH swore if they made him wear that damn mascot suit one more time . . .


SONG SOURCE: https://youtube.com/watch?v=P1Q3EeniWgg

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
A Toddler Danger

Danger had progressed in its maturation far faster than an ordinary human of similar age. Though the question of where it got the organic material for its organic body was . . . questionable, at best. It was presumably from the same materials that Demos used to create the fiends.

Danger was able to walk by itself, with usual bipedal locomotion, had enough coordination to drink from a cup (albeit poorly), had enough dexterity to turn pages in a book (albeit a few at a time), and was able to play with a ball by rolling it or throwing it. It was intelligent enough now to follow simple commands with associated gestures, and speak two syllable words. It could also use gestures and simple words to convey objects and is competent enough to mimic actions.

Danger was currently the equivalent of a human toddler, around the age of one year. But its maturation did not dally there for too long. Within two hours, it was now roughly equivalent to an one-and-a-half human child in terms of both size and maturity.

It could now climb upon furniture of its own volition, hold an object like a cup to its mouth, and possessed enough dexterity to hold something like a crayon and stack two blocks. It could now use between ten and twenty words, and was competent enough to follow a simple command without an accompanying gesture. It was also able to mimic the activities of others and address others with greetings. And all this within a span of two hours since its last jump in maturity.

Within another two hours, it jumped in development and maturity, yet again. It could feed itself with a spoon (despite not appearing to require any sustenance like a human toddler), run, walk up steps, and climb into a small chair. It could now speak twenty to fifty words, yet understand more, stack six blocks atop one another, it understood nonphysical relationships, such as turning on lights and pushing buttons, competent in sorting items, competent in searching for lost and hidden items, and competent in problem solving through experimentation. It demonstrates a burgeoning independence (despite being on its own without any parental figures other than a video feed), able to mimic social behaviors, a burgeoning sense of self-recognition, attachment, separation anxiety, and an ability to play turn-taking games. It was roughly the size of an average two-year-old human, as well as possessing the androgynous physiology of one with a medium frame.

But it's development wasn't slowing down, for in the following three to four hours later, it developed even more. It achieved advanced motor and climbing skills, increased dexterity with small objects and puzzles, and independence from primary caregiver (though, technically, there was none). It could easily new words, places, and people's names, anticipate routines, attempt to sing in-time with songs, and could imagine things. It could identify gender (despite having none of its own), had knowledge of different games, and demonstrates preferences. It had the size and physiology of an androgynous human toddler of three years.

And this development was continuing at this clip. And the RAFians were still none the wiser.

***

To GH's quite visible relief, he was not going to be in the suit. It was one of his more relatively new coworkers, Neil Stroud, who was in the armadillo suit. He hated being in that suit -- the heat was unspeakable, the visibility was crap, and then there were the bratty, misbehaved kids who thought it was funny to hit and beat on people in those suits. GH remembered a particularly mean one who took distinct pleasure in punching them in the --

Well, that forcibly reminded him of that Techadon Inspector. And how he . . . he force the memory from his mind. He still felt the pain as if it was physically inflicted upon him once more.

But, Neil? Any time GH approached him, just being friendly and strictly platonic, he was rebuffed. Neil never said anything, but that's what his body language always read to the RAFian. At first, GH wondered if it was because Neil was homophobic, but GH quickly dismissed this when he saw that he was this way with everyone else at the job, and he knew for a fact not all his coworkers were gay.

GH just assumed the guy was like Cloak in a way, and he didn't emote much. And he also liked to keep to himself, the music connoisseur noticed. He was so guarded around everyone, even the customers (though it was less overt in this case). It was almost as if he was protecting himself from further harm. Strange.

Still, it was a rather odd job to put in. Perhaps it was because his face was hidden by the character head, which smiled for him, and, as such, people weren't as offput by him.

Little did GH know the secret Neil hid . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
A Preschooler Danger

Still alone and unsupervised, Danger continued to develop. Develop its body , its mind, and its emotions, as it, developmentally speaking, was already analogous to a preschool-aged human child, as well as resembling one in size and stature.

But one that was alone, whose existence was still unknown. The training room was chiefly used on the weekends, when the RAFians had more time for intense training sessions. And, of course, there were those who did play hokey during these sessions. This accounted for the severe lack of supervision and notice of its very existence that Danger had.

Danger, however, for the most part, didn't know anyone existed outside itself. It was still in a rather egocentric stage of its development -- a remarkable one as it did not have any parental guidance from when it was "born". It only acknowledged Danger as its name, as it was the first word that it could remember learning with its crystal clear mnemonic recall. You could say that it was lonely, but it did not yet know or understand what loneliness was. It was always alone, and it came to think that this was normal, despite the video screen that was its only window to the outside world.

It explored every facet of the burnt out, husk of a room that it was "born" in scarcely forty hours previously. It apparently possessed the average intelligence and imagination of an analogous human child of four years. Its mind was not set on who, what, where, and why outside this room. It had no desire to leave this room, as it had everything it currently wanted at the moment inside this room. It could leave at any moment that it pleased, of course, as it never known an authoritative presence ever telling it "no".

Sure, it had curiosity of what lay beyond its little world, what four-year-old didn't? But it had no reason to explore out there -- but, perhaps, the real reason was that it was afraid. Afraid to stray too far from familiar grounds. It had no reason to believe in dangerous things out there, but, likewise, it had no reason to believe there was actually a world out there. Sure, it could conceptualize and conceive of the possibility, with same powerful imaginations of a young human child, but its irrational fear deterred it from leaving. It seemed uneasy and unnerved at the thought of its world opening up.

It had yet to develop initiative. It had failed to develop initiative. It developed guilt and hesitation instead. It suspected that maybe it should . . . that maybe there were others and it was left behind . . . that it was supposed to leave, that it was not supposed to stay behind. Like the moving pictures on the screen over there that flickered and sparked most entertainingly.

This continued even as its techno-organic body matured to be analogous of a human five-year-old.

***

While this was all going on, miles away was a woman with hair like ghostly fire. She played a guitar of the type that GH would go out of his way to destroy. She sat upon a grassy hill in a remote area of the country. Upset that her search had not yielded any tangible results.

She played:

"Sorry I don’t treat you like a god,
Is that what you want me to do?
Sorry I don’t treat you like you're perfect,
Like all your little loyal freaks do,
Sorry I'm not made of sugar,
Am I not sweet enough for you?
Is that why you always avoid me?
That must be such an inconvenience to you,
Well . . .
I'm just your problem,
I'm just your problem,
It's like I'm not, even a person, am I?
I'm just your problem.
Well, I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to justify what I do.
I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to prove anything to you.
I'm sorry that I exist, I didn't plan to be an enemy on your blacklist.
But I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to be the one that makes up with you.
So . . . why do I want to?
Why do I want to . . ."

She wiped a tear away and then stood up, shouldering her guitar. Then she walked forward, continuing her tracking of . . . of him.


SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=FxplhJA-GbE

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
A Schoolaged Danger

Danger was now of analogous physiology and size of an average androgynous, bald human six-year-old. It still seemed perfectly fine with not leaving the hollowed out shell of what was once the training room. It was actually amazing that all the damage had been on the interior, and no one could tell that their was anything wrong from the outside.

Danger swiftly grew to a physiology and size analogous to that of an androgynous, bald eight-year-old. It became more autonomous and independent, and it started to think to itself, if it was indeed left behind, why was this so? Why was it not told that it was not supposed to be here? This was, of course, assuming that there were people on the outside of this decrepit, hollowed out room. For all it knew, this room could have been just a small island of reality, of existence, of something, with quite literally nothing on the other side of the door. It had no way to know for sure.

No way other than going outside, assuming, of course, that there was, in fact, an outside to go to. This uncertainty is what mainly kept it from taking the initiative. It was having too much fun, anyway, playing cowboy, playing astronaut, playing pirate. Only it could use the hologram emitters within its body to project the images of a cowboy, astronaut, and a pirate over itself, not unlike a Chee. The only difference was a slight, almost imperceptible crackling noise whenever it activated the hologram emitters or changed the hologram projected.

But, as it became the size of a ten-year-old androgynous human child and the analogous physiology associated with it, it always came to think about what if there were actually people out there. Kept thinking why they left it behind. Kept thinking about how unfair it was. If it wasn't supposed to be here, it should have been told as such! If it was left behind, whoever left it behind should have come back for it! It just wasn't fair!

Suddenly, the play didn't seem all that fulfilling anymore, as it became the size of a twelve-year-old androgynous human child associated with it. It looked at the door, which survived Danger's birth. The way out. There was no way around it.

It would have to leave its comfort zone.

***

Cloak continued mediating in his own secluded space, by the bubbling stream, ensconced by trees. This place soothed him, and helped him to shut down the clattering parts of his mind to help him focus.

Suddenly, he was barraged by series of images -- some sort of colloidal goo, the profile of a human kid wearing a strange necklace, the face of a thin, sallow man on a sepia background, seven kids whose skin and hair colors were solid colors of the rainbow, a boy with a neglect air about him . . .

What did this mean? Was this a vision-induced Truth Dream?

Then he saw a sword with a fire blade crossed with an electric stave over an ice shield, which pulled back to reveal it superimposed over Garrotik's face, which looked like it was drawn in much the style of the devil from "Cuphead".

Cloak hadn't time to pull this image apart from its implications, before another series of images flooded his mind.

Strange tick-like barnacle-shaped chips which displayed an emoticon, an emoji, for some reason. Some being rapidly teleporting. Some sort of creature that appeared similar to a Yeerk, but not a Yeerk. Some sort of goo that seemed to be a bonding agent of some kind. A bowler hat with large expressive eyes. A tarnished oil lamp. Massives shapes in shadow with glowing eyes. A discarded comic book. Forum lockdown activation. Rad in confinement with a glass wall preventing escape. A swarm of Kryptonians. The Book of . . . no, that had to be a mistake. A technology vampire. A monochrome setting. Shenecron and Malice making a deal. Demos in Hell. An alien registration act. A boy with a fractured mind. A hellish orphanage.

More images kept coming before Cloak had to actively stop meditating. He needed to sort this out on his own.