Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TEN:
A Persistent Nuisance

Cloak walked into a new area. It was really too far from the forum to really be of any real use for a meditation spot away from the forum. He questioned to himself why it was so important to have such a spot. But the answer was simple. It was the same reason why many other RAFians held jobs and lives outside the forum -- to avoid cabin fever and avoid being desensitized toward the kind of violence and other assorted things that would come for allowing this line of work to consume every facet of your being. There are times that you just want to get away, live your own life on your own terms . . . after all, isn't that the entire reason that Cloak himself left then Nexus and began to live in this Realm?

And, Cloak mused, as he gave a snapping turtle its space and walked by a crudely-made etching of a penguin and monkey in a battle to the death, people always need a place where they can get away. A place where they can be alone and think. True, he could have just stayed in his thread, but he would feel boxed in if he was forced to just go there to think.

Cloak looked to his right to see a stately rowan tree, and he reached out, touched a branch. He wondered idly if Broken would want to make a wand from this tree. It did have a bowtruckle, after all. Then he lowered his arm, cast his eyes to the ground, and sighed heavily. He was feeling frustrated. Not at the lack of spots, really, but the evidently the lack of compromised spots.

"DIE!!" Dick said, wielding a dagger. Cloak was insulted a bit. The dagger (despite his younger sister, who always loved to play the victim, like their mother, was named after one) was not metal at all, just looked like it was. It was clearly a movie prop. Dick thought he could kill him with such a thing.

Cloak used the little metal within the hilt of the dagger to shatter the plastic blade. He spoke, keeping his composure, "This is getting really old, human."

The Cloak walked away, diving into the earth, unseen by Dick, before he could speak again.

***

Cloak walked to a juniper tree upon a hill, ignoring the grass snake slithering away and that rock that looked like a river otter. A wild boar charged toward him, and he gave the boar the same treatment that Mewtwo gave that Rhyhorn in "Mewtwo Strikes Back". This place was a very open place, a nice meadow that a red-tailled hawk probably would feel protective of. This place showed promise.

But, of course, it had the same problem as the other spots did. "One . . . two . . . three . . ."

"DIE!!"

"Of course," Cloak said, quietly annoyed. Then he decided to be proactive, and blasted fire toward the human, deliberately missing by inches. Dick immediately stopped his attack. Cloak was getting quite fed up with this human's harassment, "Those were warning shots, human! If you don't leave me alone, and don't stop trying to kill me, I shall have to force you to reconsider such foolishness!"

Cloak took a steadying breath to calm himself. If he allowed himself to get worked up . . . well, first, that would be giving this lunatic what he wanted in a way, by getting under his skin. Secondly, it may have made him go unintentionally into the Apex Tier. Go full on Avatar State. That wouldn't be beneficial to anyone in any manner.

"Now," Cloak said, "I don't know how you keep managing to find me, but leave me alone. You've seriously graduated from nuisance to harassment. Leave me alone -- or you may not like the results next time."

***

Cloak allowed himself some time to cool down before looking for the next spot, and assessing its suitability to be his new, uncompromised spot. There was a rather dapper sycamore tree located nearby, with a hedgehog looking around hastily for its next meal. A small fox streaked off, hunting a frog who was leaping away for its life. This place had sufficient cover, the canopy of the trees over head making this spot shaded in a rather nice way. This looked like a good meditation spot.

Cloak folded his arms, and began to count under his breath. He was basically counting the seconds before --

"DIE!"

Cloak sidestepped the lunging pounce. Dick fell in the dirt hard. He had a scrape mark on his stomach, but, aside from that, he was principally fine. His ego was evidently hurt, as well. He was really good at being a nuisance, not too good at not telegraphing his moves to a ridiculous degree. Dick clearly didn't know about Cloak's Earthsight ability, and Cloak wasn't about to instruct him in the finer points.

"You try my patience, human," Cloak said. He felt his anger began to bubble up with him. He did what he could to suppress it for the moment. "You clearly are disregarding my mercy. Less powerful beings have killed for less, you know."

"Just face justice, Jumper, and DIE!" he said, trying and failing to lunge again.

"But, I must admit, my curiosity's piqued," Cloak said, arms now folded behind his back. "How do you keep finding me. There are no tracking devices on my cloak's exterior, and no tracking device you could possibly have contact with could survive my corona. So, how did you do it, human? How'd you track me down?"

"I'm not tellin' ya nuthin'," he said, sounding rather drunkenly belligerent. Oh, wonderful. He was inebriated again.

But Cloak considered something that had passed beyond his notice. The thought of a strange crystal -- but no, this wasn't the type of guy to deal in the arcane. He was clearly more of the type of person who would spend his ample free time hunting for bigfoot. Cloak had a brief epiphany as he came to that conclusion. Of course. That's how he was able to keep track of him. The question was how he got there so fast to wait in . . . of course. He was using more than one. He didn't know why he kept disregarding those things . . .

[Cloak]

Yeah, I just found out that the net neutrality repeal is going into effect the 23rd, and I fear that not only RAF but the Internet itself will die on that day.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
A Parting of Ways

Motion-sensing cameras. That's how he knew where Cloak was. And he probably had multiple of them hidden around. So, when one caught Cloak, then another, he made a rough approximation to his next destination. Then he went their and hid, waiting to leap out and attack. Though why he thought the single method of attack that failed five times, now six, was something that Cloak could not fathom. Combat is something that would always require different tactics and methods of attack. This human was a one-trick pony in that regard.

"Why won't you die?!" he roared to lunge again.

"Because I'd rather not," Cloak said, evading the lunge once more. He still kept his hands behind his back, a deliberate insult.

"DIe!!"

"I think not," Cloak said, almost serenely. It was almost as if he was channeling Luna Lovegood.

"DIE!!!"

"No," Cloak replied. He looked on, as he wondered if this human was having a nervous breakdown or something.

"I said, DIE!!!" he roared.

"And I said, 'no'."

"DIE!"

"No," Cloak said. "Sorry to disappoint you, human, but I haven't any intention to die."

"I'll kill you myself!"

"Yeah, because you're making so much progress on that front," Cloak said, dryly.

"Die, die, die die, die, die!" he roared as he tried to pummel Cloak  -- he had lost whatever weapon he wielded this go round, Cloak never saw what it was, but presumed that it was knife of some sort. "Just die!"

"Why are you so concerned that I live?" Cloak asked. "Why are you so insistent to claim that I'm someone that I'm not."

"Shut up! I know you robbed that bank!" he snarled. "I will stop you, and bring justice!"

"First off," Cloak said, as if he was speaking to a child, "you don't know that. You think that. You believe that. You don't know."

Dick looked as if he wanted to interject, but Cloak plowed onward.

"Secondly, you will 'bring justice'? Seriously? You clearly haven't any formal combat training or anything of the like, that would be necessary for the type of vigilante justice you espouse." Cloak criticized. "You're like those people that think that they just need to put on a costume to be a superhero, people who have delusions of grandeur that aren't grounded in any sort of reality. Not to be immodest, but there is no earthly way that you can overpower me."

Dick opened his mouth to protest, but Cloak wouldn't allow him. He really had enough of this. After he was done, he would stop seeking out a new spot and just return to the forum.

"You are not going to be hailed as a hero, human," Cloak said, with a note of finality in his tone. "You would be seen as a murderer, and an unhinged one at that. Mark my words."

"You don't know anything," he managed to interject.

"Transference, much?" Cloak said, before taking his leave. He formed his energy disc and flew back to the forum, as Dick was looking at the ground and not paying attention.

"He's wrong," he said, mulishly. "I will be a hero, and held with high regard. If I'm not, then it's just that goddamn RAFian-ran media."

The RAFians didn't run any sort of mainstream media service, it was just another lie peddled by Bern Bridges, and Dick took as the gospel truth.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Shifty's Ambition

Shifty and Alan had teleported to a part of a forest with sufficient cover for their purposes. Their next target would be a difficult one. There was an armored truck full of money. Money that would be Shifty's and Shifty's alone. He never shared his stolen money, not even with Alan. Alan was only in Shifty's "employ" (he was not technically employed by Shifty as he wasn't getting paid) as a thuggish minion, even though Alan was nowhere close to looking like the stereotypical thug.

When they came to the forest, Shifty began to grill Alan over the details of his plan. Alan gave answers in a meek, tepid way, which Shifty secretly enjoyed. He enjoyed having such power over someone, having come from rather powerless roots. His father was domineering and his mother was indifferent. His father enjoyed using his power of Shifty -- heck, Shifty assumed that his first name was given to him as an insult. His father was very abusive towards him and his mother offered no comfort, being complacent in the abuse. Shifty had learned to walk on eggshells around his father, and basically disregard his mother as little more than a background object. They weren't rich, but quite impoverished.

This actually contrary to what one might expect from Shifty's actions and personality. One might expect extremely permissive parenting or negligent parenting. He only got that from his mother. His father was a hard-liner, belligerent and cantankerous. Mr. Shifty wasn't above striking his son to prove a point, especially when the question of money came into the equation. They had so precious little monetary wealth and lived in squalor. The hideout actually was their old home. This caused Shifty to learn that he had to get money to be happy, leading to his psychologically-certified plutomania. It also caused him to develop a certain deep apathy for the feelings and emotions of others. He became rather antisocial and, yet, pompous at the same time. He could not contemplate things like love or compassion. He understood greed and fear far better.

He had just undergone a beating from his father when he came upon the testing thing that Cadmus put out. The same thing that netted them Alan, only he found it a few days prior. He had gone there, under the promise of a huge pay day, and he went there without the blessing of either of his parents. His mother just didn't care one way or the other. She was just unsatisfied with her life, and drank her misery away. His father was all-out against it, and warned to beat Shifty within an inch of his life if he went.

But he did anyway. And, as with Alan, he was essentially imprisoned and his existence was summarily erased. While undergoing these experiments, he discovered that he could teleport, much like Alan. Only for him, he could only really do it for line of sight, and up to seven times in rapid succession without needing a cool down time. Alan's teleportation didn't have any cool down time nor any restrictions of how many times he could do it. Shifty was aware of this, and it was another factor as to why he was so hard on the seventeen-year-old boy.

Meanwhile, while Shifty was trapped at Cadmus, his father decided to disavow any acknowledgement that he had a son. He disowned Shifty, and his mother couldn't care less. Eventually, they left their home to rot -- his mother drank herself to death, and his father was thrown in prison for assaulting a man who got on his nerves (not a particularly difficult task to achieve). Shifty came to find this out when he had escaped Cadmus, and found that he didn't feel very sorry about their fates. He may have feared his father, but his mother he always wrote off as weak and worthless. He had actually returned to his old homestead to confront his father. Maybe even kill him, although Shifty wasn't sure if he would be able to. Fear is a strong thing, and it never completely goes away. So, imagine his relief to find out that his father was in prison with a lengthy sentence.

But his money lust was not quenched. It would never be quenched. Lust for monetary gain never quenches, it just grows and grows and grows until you have it all. Then what? You have to jealously guard the wealth that you've accumulated from those that you've taken it from, from those that you've stolen it from like one of those treasure-guarding dragons of folklore. Who would want such a life? Who would want to become a prisoner to their greed, enslaved by the fear of never having enough? That's the eventual fate of these plutomanics, and many, if not all, of them do not see this as their fate. These people often have a problem of seeing the long-term consequences of their ludicrous avarice. Such is their plight, but they are completely obvious to it.

"Idiot, are you paying attention to me?" Shifty glowered at Alan. He watched with secret glee to see the twig cower in front of him. He loved the fear Alan had of him, Shifty thrived on it. It enabled him to be more cruel and harsh, which caused Alan to whimper like a beaten dog. Shifty found Alan quite useful to get all his pent-up frustrations out. "I said, are you paying attention to me?"

"Y-yes, Shifty," Alan said, with a touch of hesitation.

"'Shifty', what?" he prompted hostilely.

"Y-y-yes, Shifty, s-s-sir," Alan said, aware of his stuttering.

Shifty would have given him hell for stuttering, just to see him squirm. He was really enjoying this, despite not getting as money as he wanted last go 'round.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Stewing and Waiting

"He's wrong," Dick Randall muttered again, mulishly, as he returned back to his dilapidated mess of a home. "He's wrong. I'm a hero! Those Jumpers are evil. Everyone knows it."

He banged open the door, crossed the threshold of the doorway, and slammed the door shut. He locked it which was pointless, as the lock mechanism was far from brand new, and the door jam had a degree of dry rot. The floor even was coming away from the door, but this place had so many holes that it wasn't too surprising.

"Everyone with a brain, anyway. Everyone who those damn RAFians haven't brainwashed, anyway." he groused. He had gone to his gun case, where he also kept a variety of knives of differing designs. It was the only thing that hadn't seen some kind of erosion or rot damage. It looked absolutely pristine and well-maintained. Which just went to show his priorities as far as housekeeping went. Each and every weapon displaced within it was polished and perfectly clean.

"What nerve that Jumper had," he continued to mutter and grouse. "He doesn't know me. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know me."

He was pacing around this small home. He had a kitchenette and a walk-in closet, and the entire living area and bedroom were combined into a single room. The room had papers scattered everywhere, a futon with cracking leather, and a bed that was falling apart. But he didn't care about any of that. He never thought of replacing them, though he actually could afford to. He spend the bulk of whatever funds he had on those motion sensor cameras and weaponry. He was a well-known regular at gun shows and the like.

Thing is, when you give someone a hammer, they often look for nails to hit. This goes a long way to explain how he became obsessive when targeting these "Jumpers" as he calls them. He sees them as humans, it's true, but he saw them as lesser beings to himself. As if their lives didn't have as much value as his own. He convinced himself that he was doing the world a service by ridding it of these people, who, in his view, was filth.

"What I'm doing is just," he muttered to himself, as he investigated all his motion sensor cameras. None seemed to have been triggered yet, which disappointed Dick. He was quite eager to kill this Jumper. He still believed that he would be seen as some great hero once he did. He even imagined the government throwing him a parade for doing this, that they'd erect statues in his armor. He would love that sort of recognition, that sort of grandeur, that sort of prestige. As far as he was concerned, he deserves it far more than those damn RAFians.

"I'm doing everyone a service," he growled, "and they will all be thankful for it. Those that aren't even impressed would be RAFian puppets, obviously."

He spent several hours checking each camera, but all they caught was just normal wildlife. He wasn't so deranged to assume that the wildlife were Jumpers in disguise. He knew nothing of the morphing technology, which was probably for the best, because Dick was paranoid enough as it was. He carefully analyzed all the footage the cameras were sending him, one by one. He grew more and more disappointed with each one. Just stupid wildlife interfering with his plans.

"They'll be appreciative," he muttered to himself.

Nothing. Nothing on the cameras. These Jumpers were being really inconsiderate, Dick thought, they should show up and allow him purge them from the purity of this world. Prevent them from poisoning the gene pool, he opined.

"They'll be grateful," he muttered again to himself.

It was clear that Dick Randall had a form of a hero complex, except he wasn't causing accidents to be a hero. Though, it was true that he was manufacturing a scourge, basing it solely on the rhetoric of a notoriously dishonest radio pundit Bern Bridges. He had never met any real beings that he called "Jumpers" before, despite his claims to the otherwise. As Alan and Shifty were the only ones of this sort.

"Perhaps it's time to be more proactive," Dick said, to himself. It was clear that he lived in isolation for a long time, given how often he speaks to himself.

He went to his gun cabin and considered. He swiftly came to his decision. He quickly dressed in combat fatigues and camouflage, and looked again at his gun cabinet. He considered once more, if he wanted to snipe or if he wanted a more . . . tactile sense of killing these lesser beings. He opened his gun cabinet at withdrew a large knife with a rather wicked, zigzag blade. He gripped the handle tightly before putting it into a sheath on his belt.

Then he got a hit on one of his cameras, and he checked the coordinates. He made a few calculations in his head and came to a conclusion where to hide in ambush. He hurried to do such as soon as he could. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
The Heist

"Now, we're going to move closer," Shifty said, imperiously, "the truck will be travelling down an isolated backroad that they're sure that they've secured. They've secured nothing, they think the remoteness and isolation of the road would protect the truck. In reality, it was a stupid tactic on their part. Even you could have come up with something better."

Alan said nothing. He knew that Shifty would not appreciate him interrupting him during a villainous monologue, as he made clear when they first met. He still had the welts to show for it.

"I warn you, Idiot," Shifty said, making it clear that he held no attachment to Alan. That Shifty would abandon him immediately if it served his best interests. That Shifty would not hesitate to throw him under a bus to save his own skin. That Alan was just a means to a end, nothing more. "Do not foul this up."

Alan just gave a small grunt of acknowledgement. Shifty would have berated him viciously, vociferously reprimanded him severely, ordinarily. But his greed and avarice made that armored truck his primary concern. They thought having another four armored, although empty, trucks leaving the bank depository -- the federal reserve, or whatever it was called -- would be enough to fool him. But he wasn't so stupid. He did his homework (although it never made his dad happy when he did, and his mother couldn't care less).

"You screw this up, Idiot, and you'll seriously regret it," he growled. Then he looked up, and estimated the time that it would arrive. "It should be here in about eight minutes. You better be ready, Idiot."

Alan really didn't like being called "idiot" as if it was his name. But he was too intimidated, too fearful, and too meek to say anything about it. He should have just left Shifty, and thereby leave his abuse behind. But these things were very rarely that simple and clear cut.

"Here they come!" Shifty said, feeling an excitement like a hunter just before a hunt. "Prepare yourself, Idiot. Wait . . . wait . . . wait . . . NOW, IDIOT, NOW!"

The both had managed to teleport within the truck, and it had money unsecured in large, dufflebag-sized bags with "$" printed on them. It was quite odd that there wasn't more security to this. It was almost as if it was a part of a trap of some sort. Alan found this telling, too easy. He actually opened one of the drawstring to check if there was actual money inside. There was. There was at least an easy million dollars in high-domination bills, and there didn't seem to be any tracking devices or anything of the like.

"Idiot, what are you doing?!" Shifty hissed. He didn't seem to have realized just how easy a score this was. That it was too easy. There were no dye packs or anything. Shifty didn't suspect anything at all. If anything, it played into his ego even more, fed it like a ravenous elephant shrew. Made him believe that he was oh-so-smart for foreseeing this, when he hadn't done anything of the like. "Grab as many as you can carry."

"But, Shifty," Alan said, breaking his cowed silence, but he was not able to speak another word, before enduring a flurry of verb barbs from Shifty.

"Don't you talk back to me, Idiot," he snarled quietly. Then he took an exaggerated enunciation as he said, "Take. As much. As you can. Carry."

"Shifty, it's --"

"I didn't request your opinion, Idiot!" he hissed. "Just do as I dictate!"

Alan made to protest, the mildest and meekest of self-assertions.

"Do as I say! Do not deviate from my ingenious plan!" Shifty spat. "My plans are flawless, and you know that!!"

Actually, Alan thought every one his plans were deeply flawed in one way or the other. He was just too fearful to ever tell this blusterous blowhard the hard truth. Shifty's ego tended to fragility, and when his ego was hurt . . . he got violent. Alan had seen one of these rages, and it was a fairly traumatic experience for him. Hence why he wasn't so keen on incurring another one.

Alan kept his silence and just complied. As he hefted a sixth bag, he wondered idly if this was worth it. If it was worth it, putting up with this abuse. Just to have a place to live, just to have the merest scrap of food (crust of bread, water, gristle, and any leftovers that Shifty didn't want to finish). Shifty apparently saw him comparable to a dog. A dog who could talk. And teleport.

"Hey, Idiot! Are you effin' paying attention?" Shifty snarled, shouldering six bags of his own. It was easily six to twelve million dollars in these bags, in unmarked money. Alan still had misgivings. This money sure looked legitimate, but something told Alan that it may have been --

"Time to go, Idiot," he spat, "do not miss. And do not die. I don't want blood on the money."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
The Ambush

They teleported back to the exact spot they teleported from, which was impressive considering that they were quite a distance away and out of line of sight. They had all twelve bags of cash, still worth about twelve to twenty-four million dollars. Alan, however, suspected that the money may not be legitimate currency. But then, how would they have gotten an armored truck? There was so much about this that didn't make sense, but Shifty was none the wiser.

They dropped the money to rest a bit. The teleportation with this much weight wasn't an easy task. It was possible, but it was hard and physically exerting. They dropped the bags to the ground, and stopped a bit to rest a bit.

"The money had better not be dirty, Idiot," Shifty growled.

Alan had just about enough of this. Did he really need to stay at Shifty's hovel? He could just teleport into a vacant hotel room for a time, and teleport out when the room is taken. Granted, that would be essentially stealing from the hotel, but he stole money from a bank. Even Alan's morality was skewed, even just a bit. And if he did that, he would get more than Shifty's scraps when it came to food.

"Don't give me that look, Idiot," Shifty said.

No. No, it wasn't worth it. Playing stooge to this narcissistic, plutomanic, egotistical man. Being subservient to this pathetic example of a person, whose bloated ego was easily breached with the smallest disobedience, whose first impulse to anything wrong was to resort to violence and strongman tactics. Alan thought that he could just take his six bags of money -- assuming that they weren't counterfeit -- and just leave. Shifty cannot track him if he teleported away. There would be nothing that he could do. He would not be able to follow Alan to anywhere he went, and Alan would go far away. To another town. To another country. Somewhere far away from this pathetic control freak.

"I said, Idiot," Shifty said, voice threatening. He may be physically stronger than Alan, but he was not smarter nor more adaptable as Alan. Alan knew this. He knew that he didn't have to fight Shifty either. He could just teleport away with the possibly counterfeit money, which looked really legit. "I said don't give me that look. Know your place!"

"My place?" Alan repeated. There was a note of anger in his voice now.

"Yes, your place," Shifty said, forcefully, matching Alan's anger then quickly and swiftly surpassing it. "Know your place, Idiot. At my feet and obeying my commands without question. You serve me, and you should consider yourself lucky to serve someone like me. You should already know this, and monkey would understand this concept by now."

"You know what, Lindsey?" Alan said, deliberately referring to him by a name he knew the man before him hated.

"YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO USE THAT NAME!!" Shifty said, lunging at Alan. Alan teleported behind him, with the six bags of money he carried, and Shifty collided with the dirt.

"I've had enough of your crap, Lindsey," Alan said. His voice was oddly steady and calm. "You think too much of yourself. You're just a sad little man with daddy and mommy issues. And you've taken all your frustrations out on me in a physically abusive manner. I've had enough. I see you for what you are. A man whose obsessed with wealth to the point of psychosis. You will never have enough money, Lindsey, you will just keep having to take more and more and more until you own it all. I'm surprised that you didn't turn into a dragon instead of becoming a teleporter, Lindsey."

"Stop using that name!" he roared, as he lunged again. Apparently, in his rage, he forgot about his teleporting ability.

"No, I will not." Alan said, teleporting again. Alan knew by use Shifty's given name he was changing the power dynamic they had for a while now. It was the same sort of deal as Shifty calling Alan idiot as if it was his given name. "Enough has been enough. You pushed me too far. I'm done. I'm done with all this. I'm done you."

"You serve me!!" Shifty roared. "You have no other purpose in life!"

"You do not define me, Lindsey," Alan said, teleporting again to dodge another lunge. "I define myself."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!!!" he roared, not lunging this time, but standing.

Then a voice completely unrelated to the two roared back, "DIE!!!"

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
The Struggle

Soon, Shifty forgot all about Alan and his anger to the person he basically named idiot.

He was in a violent struggle for his life against Dick, who was wielding another dagger-like knife. He was struggling against the teleporter, to press the edge of the short, triangular blade. Shifty struggled to break Dick's grip on him. Shifty didn't know who Dick was and why he wanted to kill him so badly. Meanwhile, Dick just assumed that Shifty was Cloak out of his eponymous cloak, despite the distinct size disparity. Dick had him now, and he wasn't letting go until he succeeded in murdering this Jumper.

Alan did nothing to help. He just gathered up as much of the bags of money he could and he teleported away, while Shifty remained unaware of this. He was took busy trying not to be murdered. True, this was rather callous of Alan, but he didn't care. If Shifty survived, his ego would be even more intolerable. Alan actually came back to collect the rest of the bags, and he completely ignored Shifty's plight. As far as Alan was concerned, Shifty deserved this.

Shifty seemed to sudden remember that he could teleport. And, in his desperation to survive, to live, his teleportation reached its max potential, its zenith. He tried to teleport away, to escape this lunatic's grip. He teleported to some plains area, but, much to Shifty's dismay, the lunatic's grip was not broken, and seemed to get stronger with his zealotry. Shifty tried very hard to shake off this crazy lunatic.

Shifty tried to teleport into a lake he remembered, hoping the water would loosen this guy's grip. He soon discovered that he was mistaken. Shifty wondered why this lunatic was so intent on killing him. He couldn't have known about the armored truck. Could he? This wasn't working. Maybe a larger expanse of water would break his grip.

Shifty teleported into a sea, hoping the saltwater would do what the fresh water couldn't apparently do. To no avail. This madman's grip was unbreakable and unshakable. Impossible! He must have been experimented by those dimwitted scientists as well, and all he got was this ludicrously powerful grip. Otherwise, he's a really fanaticized zealot, who was deliriously forceful in his delusions. Either way, it didn't look all that good for Shifty, who still was trying to pry Dick's dagger-knife away from his throat. This was a lot more difficult than it sounded.

Shifty teleported to a cave, hoping that a suddenly materializing stalactite -- stalagmite? Whatever -- would separate them and break Dick's grip. But that didn't work either, though it made it hard for Dick to slit Shifty's throat. Dick just shifted from that to stabbing. And he got Shifty several times in his left arm, Dick having his grip upon Shifty's right arm, just below the shoulder. Shifty cried out as he did. Crap, that hurt more than they ever showed on television. The pain.  . .

Shifty reflexively teleported the two to the mountains, mountains of sheer cliffs and drop offs. He didn't really had a strategy for this location, he was too distracted in fighting for his life, and sort of bleeding out from his arm. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder . . .  why? Why did this man want to kill him so badly? He never harmed anyone -- other than Idiot, but he didn't count -- and he just stole money, which he considered a victimless crime.

Shifty teleported to the final location . . . and he came to the realization that he would not survive this. That no matter what he tried, this madman was going to kill him. He had no clever or ingenious plans on getting out of this one. He had teleported them both in an urban area, in the futile effort to get someone to help him. There was no way that he would survive, he was tiring, and this lunatic seemed to get stronger in his madness. Shifty felt strength beginning to leak out of him

"Die, Jumper," the lunatic hissed through clenched teeth. His eyes popping with insane glee. Shifty was going to die. He didn't want to die. He didn't have enough wealth to die. He was too young to die. He was too poor to die. "Just die. I want to see the light leave your guilty little eyes . . ."

Dick clearly had lost his sanity at this point. He had given into his preconceived notions. He still was under the impression that people would see him as a hero for slaying this bank robber. His name would be remembered for generations and he would be celebrated. This hero complex of Dick's had basically became a full-on psychosis.

"I . . . didn't . . . do . . . anything . . . wrong . . ." Shifty choked out. He was still weakening, tiring. The blade's edge was mere millimeters from his throat, from his jugular.

"The hell you didn't," Dick growled. "You robbed that bank."

Shifty's eyes lit up with recognition, but before he could pass the buck to Alan, the last of Shifty's strength had abandoned him. Dick's blade met Shifty's flesh, and sunk in almost in slow-motion. Shifty felt the pain, and hoped that the end would come quickly . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
An Expected Ending

The dagger had already bit into Shifty's flesh. It plunged deeper, and time seemed to slow down for him. It was almost as if he could feel his heart slowing down, as his life flashed before his eyes, memories that he didn't even realize he had. Maybe they weren't even real, and fantasies. He could almost feel his heart pumping as if it were desperate to get in as many beats before he died. It was at least a hundred beats a minute now.

He saw his birth, and he saw the apathetic unhappiness of his mother and the irate irritation of his father. He was an "accidental" birth. Neither of his parents really wanted him, and saw him more as a burden, as an interloper to their fun. It was only supposed to be a momentary fling. Nothing was supposed to come of it, and it just happened in a moment of mutual vulnerability. They just saw him as a mistake. But there was no way he should be able to remember this, so he could have imagined this with his near-death delirium.

His heart pumped about ninety-nine beats a minute now. Now about ninety-eight beats a minute. Now about ninety-six beats a minute.

He saw his first year.when he was first beginning crawl, and his parents had haphazardly baby proofed their shoddy home. His mother was indifferent and miserable looking, while his father was rarely home. He didn't know if that was because he was at work or being a philanderer or cheating on his mother. He couldn't say. He couldn't even say if this was a legitimate memory. Neither ever held him. Neither ever read to him. Even at this young age, he was expected to feed himself. It was a completely miserable way to raise a child, even one that both parental parties believed ruined their lives. It was at this age that he learned to fear his father whenever he indulged in a tantrum, which an ordinary human child this age often engaged in. The only reason that he managed to survive not getting into unsafe situations,

His heart pumped about ninety-three beats a minute. Then about eighty-nine.beats. Then about eighty-two beats.

He saw his second year, though this could simply be a production of his delirious imagination, and it was no better than his first. Though his parents took care of him well enough to prevent Child Services from coming down on him. This would be the rough time that a child would learn empathy, but neither of his parents demonstrate it, and they were the only other human contact that he ever really had. His parents had alienated everyone else that they would have pushed him onto. So, they were the only people who he had day-to-day interaction with. He could never tantrum, or he would be punished severely, despite it being common for human children of that age. He didn't have a chance to be possessive about his belongings because he didn't really have any -- no toys, just the clothes on his back, and the food in his belly. He could only have access to toys when Child Services came round, and threatened severely not to talk to them. He wasn't allowed to be defiant, and he was far too scared to be.

Then he saw his third year. He listened attentively to his parents . . . and their derogatory statements about him. It didn't do much for his self-esteem, as you can expect. As with most human child at this age, he was slightly knock-kneed and it was something that his parents derided him for, despite not being able to help it. He wasn't able to -- wasn't allowed to -- say anything about it. Of course, this may not even be real and just a contrivance from his delirious, dying mind.

His heart pumped about seventy-one beats a minute. Then fifty-four beats. Then thirty-one beats.

Then he saw his fourth year. He began to learn to read and write, and he was harshly criticized for getting any wrong. Any delight in wordplay was severely derided and negatively enforced, as neither of his parents had any patience for that kind of silliness. They would not give him any books to try to read, and was scolded any time he tried to read any of his parents' books (there were not many, and none of them were appropriate for his age). He would put "-ed" on the end of words which were improper, such as he "goed" outside. He was ridiculed by his parents (mostly his father) for doing this, making him even more self-conscious. As such, he didn't speak much. While most human children his age were outgoing and friendly, he was antisocial and hostile, solely due to his home life. Unlike human children of similar age, he did not develop an imaginary friend, fearful that his father would ridicule him for the ridiculousness of conversing with something imaginary.

Then he saw his fifth year. He began to lose his "deciduous" teeth, his baby teeth. It terrified him -- not because he was losing his teeth (he wasn't aware that it was perfectly natural), but he was absolutely mortified that his father's sneering and ridicule of him for losing his teeth. Most of all, he feared his ire for doing so, just like he did anytime Shifty dared to get sick. It was this time that he learned how to tell time, with, naturally, his father scornfully correcting him any time he makes a mistake. This is also when Shifty's plutomania began to form, and was fostered unintentionally by his greedy father and his hands-off, negligent mother. He was able to count and save money, which he did and hoarded it away from his father. It wasn't pretty when he found out. Unlike his peers, he was not curious or inquisitive, that was beaten out of him by his father (and he was forced to come up with plausible excuses when pressed for answers)..

Then he saw his sixth year. He had far more aggression that his peers, given the home life he was brought up in, and he expressed that aggression physically outside a domestic situation. He had used this to foster subservience in the other children in his kindergarten, and he became skilled in hiding this bullying from figures of authority. He wasn't anxious to please these authority figures, like his peer, believing that they should be anxious to please him. He did not seek adult approval, choosing to disregard that (as he never got it at home). However, like his peers, he was unable to see things from other points of view, unable to handle things not going their way -- something that would persist into adulthood.

His heart pumped the last heart beat, and he exhaled his last breath. He had died, and he swore he could feel his spirit leaving his body. But he didn't want to . . . he didn't want to . . .

***

"There!!" Dick crowed, as he watched and felt the life flee and bleed from the Jumper. "It's done!"

He was aware that there was a crowd of bystanders around him. He had expected them to cheer, to celebrate in a decadent bacchanal with an insurmountable feast in his great honor. He was a hero, after all! He had killed the great, evil Jumper. They would erect opulent statues in his divine likeness. They would turn his birthday into a bank holiday where everyone would look forward to.

He didn't notice or care that his hands were still red and wet from Shifty's blood. All he knew was that he had succeeded in killing the thief. He committed, in his view, a great act deserving of honor and recognition. He even expected confetti to be thrown at him. This was a great and momentous occasion, in his view. But this elated euphoria was not fated to last.

Indeed, no one cheered. No one celebrated. No one regarded him as a hero.

The populace saw him as a deranged man who slaughtered a man for no reason right in front of them. They saw him as a lunatic covered in blood, smiling as if he were possessed by a demon, hands raised triumphantly as if this were "Gang Beasts", and the bloody dagger-like knife clattered to the pavement. He was only like this for a few minutes, before he was taken down by six police officers (complete overkill, to be sure).

"What are you doing?!" Dick demanded.

"You have the right to remain silent." one officer said.

"I'm a hero!!" Dick roared, as he was handcuffed, Shifty's blood still glistening on him.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." the officer continued, as if there was no interruption.

"You should be praising me!!!" Dick insisted. It was almost as if Dick thought that Shifty was as powerful as a being of Garrotik's stature.

"You have the right to have an attorney." the officer continued, undaunted, pulling Dick up.

"I'm a hero!!!!" Dick insisted, sounding rather psychotic.

"If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court." the officer said, dragging Dick away to the police car.

"I'm a hero!!!!!" Dick roared. He was starting to tear up. He truly believed he was a hero, and believed that he was being arrested unjustly.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
The Wrap-Up

The litigation went rather quickly for Richard "Dick" Orwell Randall. He had to be disciplined several times for speaking out of turn, firmly asserting that he's a hero and should be treated as one. At one point, he had to be removed from the court, because he wouldn't shut up and stop interrupting the eyewitnesses, the prosecution, and even his own defense.

The jury that presided over this case were a collegian, a pilot, a plumber, a performer, a doctor, a race car driver, a police officer, a model, a grocer, a retail manager, a dishwasher, and a stock boy at a local shop. They watched this deranged man acting as if he should be worshiped for murdering a man in cold blood, in front of many, many eyewitnesses. It was clear that he was not in a normal frame of mind.

It didn't take long for these twelve people from disparate backgrounds to come to a decision. They decided that he be interned at a psychiatric facility with high security, and he was labelled as mentally disturbed. At the reading of this sentence, his mind came unraveled even further, and yelled out incoherent threats and harangues that no one could really make out nor make heads or tails of., and he had to be dragged out.

It was not a pleasant scene to bear witness to.

***

Alan was finally free of Shifty, free to do as he pleased, and he had money. The ones from the armored truck certainly looked legitimate. But the security was so lax that Alan was sure that it was counterfeit in some way. His gut told him that it probably was, and it would probably be very difficult to spend without being caught. And those scientists that imprisoned him were still out there. He never wanted to go back to that facility ever again, and they were probably still on the lookout for him.

He sat on Shifty's bed, and looked around. He didn't like how it felt here. It was like Shifty's angry spirit had come home and was furious at Alan for abandoning him, possibly leaving him to die.  Alan knew of a way to hide his identity, to layer his disguises. He teleported to a shop in the black market, and found their store room. He had hoped that he found the right one, or he brought the bags of potentially-counterfeit money would be useless. He would use that as compensation, even though it might not be legit currency.

He grabbed five bodysuits -- he couldn't make out the specifics of each one, just knew that two were female, and the rest were male. He stuffed them delicately into the pack he brought -- they would be useless to him if they were damaged. The potentially-counterfeit money would be sufficient compensation for these five bodysuits, with that advanced compression field tech of those Raxacoricofallapato rians developed stitched in. With his new disguises obtained, he shifted his ski mask (in case there were security cameras) so he could see better. Then he teleported back to Shifty's house, where he gathered up the remaining bank money and teleported into another abandoned building, far from that house. It was another dilapidated mess of a dwelling, but it would serve his purposes for the moment.

He immediately stripped, and took out the smallest bodysuit, or skinsuit, if you prefer, and briefly examined it. It had short, curly, black hair, a small, thin frame, a slender nose, almond-shaped blue eyes, ears with free earlobes, and and was that of a boy about the age of eight. The identity card (which was just a small index card the size of an ordinary business card) that it came with said "Cole Nelson". Alan didn't know if this skinsuit was taken from a real person or artificially made, and he didn't care. He swiftly put it on, his height being absorbed so he looked like a legitimate eight-year-old boy, even his voice sounded right (due to the stitched in voice synthesizer).

"Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers," he said, trying out this new youthful voice.

But he wasn't going to stay this way, he still had four more skinsuits. He would layer his disguise. He took the next one, a short, squat female one with long wavy black hair, a vertically elliptical face, squinting eyes, ears hidden by her hair and a straight, blunt sort of nose. He deftly put on this skin, and he found it fit him perfect even with the small stature of "Nelson". He read the identification card (the business card-type that came with the Nelson skinsuit) and it said "Trish Desmond". He didn't look like he was wearing a skinsuit at all, he just looked like he really was a teenage girl with a large frame.

"She sells seashells by the seashore," he said, trying out her voice, finding that it had an innate, sassy timbre.

Now the next skinsuit, and there were three to chose from. He chose the smallest one of the three. It had messy black hair, a straight, pointed nose, prominent lips, dimples, ears with free earlobes, almond-shaped blue eyes, and a thin build. He quickly put on the skin, the mass of "Trish" being absorbed to fit perfectly. He read the card that came with, and it said "Ryan Doyle". He didn't look he was wearing a skinsuit at all, much less three, and it wasn't hot or restrictive of his moments at all. It was still very comfortable to wear, and not burdensome at all.

"Betty Bopper bought a bit of butter," he said, testing out this new voice. There was an innate bounciness to it that he liked.

Now, he chose the last female skinsuit to layer over this one. She had long, wavy brown hair, a round face, round, dark brown eyes, demurred lips, ears hidden by her hair, and a thin build. He hurried and put on this skinsuit, and read the card that came with. It said "Laura Dawson". Four skinsuits on top of one another, and still no movement restriction or heat buildup. This was perfect, an ingenious idea. If one of these identities became compromised or their lives don't turn out like he wants, he can always discard them.

"Shep Schwab shopped at Scott's Schnapps shop," he said, trying out this new voice. It had a bit a buzzkill respectability to it.

Finally, it was time to put on the last one. But it won't always be this way, he planned to shift them around, to make it harder to track him, though he didn't have any intention on working three jobs for each one. This would be the skinsuit that would have the most exposure, and become his primary work identity and personality. He had messy, dirty blond hair, a large nose, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, small ears with free earlobes, perfect teeth, rosy cheeks, and a thin, muscular frame. Alan thought this one was the handsomest one of the lot, and was glad he chose it to be his primary identity. The other four would be back ups, he thought as he put on this last skin. When everything was in place, he couldn't help but smile, because he actually felt handsome, not that he had any misgivings about his true looks, but . . . well, his time with Shifty had caused some distortions about such things in his mind.

"A proper copper coffee pot," he said, trying out this new voice. He loved the melodious quality to it.

He lifted his pack, and looked around. He just loved how he felt now, the confidence and self-assurance that permeated his being . .  now, to go and live a good life in this identity of "Austin Lynch".

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Saying Goodbye

The forum was being closed down due to some governmental jerks that were acting in their constituents' interests. No, no, not the people -- they were on the RAFians' side. At least 83% of them, anyway. They weren't the governmental jerks's true constituency anyway, despite them claiming that they were. Their corporate donors decided they wanted more money from the forum, that they weren't getting enough, despite the fact that RAF owned their own land. They just took it, and claimed it for themselves.

Legally, there wasn't anything the RAFians could do, as the majority of the government was as corrupt as the Realm Walker Council. It seems the older most governments become, the more inevitable corruption within such governance becomes. Not only was the forum being locked down and condemned, the RAFians themselves were being ordered to disband.

Helen sang, tearing up, her Star Sapphire aura undulating in a rather tumultuous way:

"Saying goodbye, going away,
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say."

Parker, helmetless, sharing Helen's tears, sang:

"Touching a hand, wondering why."

Both embraced, fully crying now:

"It's time for saying goodbye."

Then Helen had to fly off, off to the Star Sapphire homeworld.

Meanwhile, back where RAF used to be, Mr. Guy sang as he hugged Wild and Bear:

"Saying goodbye . . . why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had."

Then he mounted his bicycle, and began to pedal away.

"Much more to say, foolish to try.
It's time for saying goodbye."

Meanwhile, Cloak stood at a hill, looking down at the decommissioned forum, and he sang to himself:

"Don't want to leave, but we all know . . .
Sometimes it's better to go . . ."

Hunter sang, as he tromped into the forest:

"Somehow, I know we'll meet again.
Not sure quite where, and I don't know just when."

GH sang, as he and an older Leatherhead, in his humansuit, walked alongside a highway.

"You're in my heart, so until then --"

Then Leatherhead and GH sang:

"It's time for saying goodbye."

Phoenix sang, in his thoughts as he rode a train:

"Somehow, I know we'll meet again.
Not quite sure where,
And I don't know just when.
You're in my heart, so until then,
Wanna smile. Wanna cry.
Saying goodbye . . . "

All RAFians sang:

"La la la la la la la la . . .
It's time for saying goodbye . . .
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la. . . ."

Cloak awoke after the last note was sung.  He was confused. Was that a Truth Dream or just a dream based off a fear of his that he didn't want to acknowledge -- the closing down of the forum that he has called home for a long time. . . .


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNfHU748SYQ

[Cloak]

New chapter. Brief, sorry.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Plugged In

Cloak was dispatched for another fiend. This time at some sort of expansive factory. Why do all these places seem so big and labyrinthine than necessary? Cloak proceeded forward. Then he came to an area with a spiked floor, with platforms placed over it. This couldn't possibly be OSHA-approved, this most definitely has to be a violation of some sort. This was really more effort than it was worth to avoid this spiked floor. Who in the Veil thought that this spiked floor was a good idea? It was like they were trying to turn this factory into a video game level.* How asinine is that?

Anyway, Cloak continued forward, taking note that this factory was still under construction. Possibly why there were no workers or staff of any sort inside here. It was either being added on to, or simply refurbished, he didn't know. He climbed a staircase to his left, to the second level. Then he crossed a brief atrium to another ascending staircase. He arrived atop the stairs, and saw uneven flooring to his immediate right, and that was the only way to go. So he proceeded forward . . . to an area with disappearing and reappearing blocks. HOW was this even considered a good idea? What grossly moronic businessman thought that this was a good design for a factory? How much did they pay off local authorities to turn a blind eye to this madness? Was this factory designed more to be a deathtrap than a legitimate factory?

Cloak continued until he reached a drop shaft, into an area that seemed to produce a shadow clone of him, which attacked him. Cloak easily dispatched it with a simple backhand with his left hand. Then he went into the dropshaft at the end of this hallway. And he was suddenly surrounded in darkness. This wasn't a problem to his feline eyes, which easily penetrated the gloom. He streaked forward, undaunted by the darkness. He had to form an energy disc to move over a deep chasm, although the glow from the disc, ironically made it more difficult for Cloak to see. But soon enough the chasm ended, and he gave himself a moment to readjust to the gloom. Then he proceeded with all his feline grace and agility. He came to an ascending staircase, and while he ascended it the lights began to blink back on.

This blinded him for a moment, while his eyes adjusted, but only for a moment. He climbed another staircase, and turned right to proceed onward. It was a straight, wide hallway to the fiend. Cloak entered the room, which had a flat ceiling and a steeply uneven flooring, and saw the fiend. The fiend was stout and stocky. It had a white, capsule-like head and large, round, human-like eyes (dark orange sclera, and black irises).. On either sides of his head, it had spikes like that of a plug. Its pale orange torso was pod-like cylinder, with two screw heads rather like nipples, and a L.E.D. triangle in the center, point up, with a thin, white midriff. It had large, round shoulders with screw head markings. Its upper arms were metallic silver, and its lower arms were pale orange. It had a black left hand and, instead of a right hand, it had a two-pronged white plug. It had a pale green around its waist, black codpiece, white thighs, large pale orange shins, and pontoon-like feet.

It jumped down from the ceiling and took notice of Cloak. It raised its plug hand up and sparked it, almost in an act of intimidation. Cloak had faced the likes of Malice and Garrotik -- he wasn't so easily intimidated. It gave four small hops, before firing a small ball of electricity that crawled along the uneven floor toward Cloak, who sidestepped it, and watched it then crawl up the wall, then it crawled up on the ceiling before falling to the ground again, dissipating into nothingness. This seemed to be its only attack pattern, or maybe Cloak was impatient, because he pulled the metal from the surrounding environment and blasting it into the fiend.

Was it overkill? Perhaps. Cloak didn't really care at the moment, as he left.

***

Demos called it a "puragusapien". He claimed he designed it for quality control of televisions, of every unit.

***

Malice was far more concerned with finding a new scheme. She felt as if she was having a long drought in schemes and schemer's block.


*

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

BOOK CLXIX:
YOU WISH!
CHAPTER ONE:
Green Tornadoes

Shenmue was dispatched to a weather research facility, which a fiend had decided to take up residence in. Unsurprisingly, it seemed to be a very open facility, in terms of space. She walked over to an ascending staircase on her left, and began to walk up, then the one on the right once she ascended the other one. She didn't like how there seemed to be glass everywhere, so she could see just how high up she was. She found it rather disorienting, and couldn't help but wonder how any one could work here with the glass walls, glass floor and the glass ceilings. It seemed only the the parts of the floor that had to bear a fair amount of weight was the only places where glass wasn't installed.

She climbed up more steps directly ahead of the staircase she had just ascended. Fortunately, the stairs weren't made of glass. She came out into open air, and had her hair blowing rather dramatically. It was quite cold up here, and she wished she had the foresight to have brought a jacket. Anyway, she proceeded forward. Then she navigated her way through rotating generators -- she was sure that these were what were powering this facility. Then she came to a chasm where apparently the glass floor had broken away. Surely, OSHA didn't know about this facility -- it had to be violating OSHA regulations left, right, and center. Anyway, she leapfrogged across the generators until she managed to get to the other side. From there, she continued onward, climbing up on the ascending stairs that long steps but low risers. Then she dropped down a dropshaft -- something that she wasn't really happy with. She proceeded with a descending slope down a winding hallway that ended in another dropshaft.

"Because of course it would have," Shenmue groaned, as she took the dropshaft. Then she took the descending slope down, having to jump over some pits created from broken glass flooring. Her RAFian training had given her the necessary physicality to accomplish it. She ran down a serpentine hallway without pausing or breaking stride. She quickly ascended two staircases, and moved onward. She rounded a corner to her right, and she hugged the wall, rounding another corner. She ran up another staircase, before having to slow down and catch her breath.

Only to realize that she was back in open air. And what was worse was that it was now raining. Oh, she really didn't like this trope. It was difficult to see, and to make matters worse, she had to leapfrog her way across several platforms to move onward. This had to be an OSHA violation, Shenmue was sure. She continued until she came to the otherside, and had to drop into another dropshaft. Then she quickly exited the room that she was just in into open area, and the rain was now going in the opposite direction. She had to leapfrog from platform to platform until she reach the room that the fiend had made into its nest.

The room had a flat, level floor and walls, but the ceiling was very uneven with shards of broken glass like spikes. The fiend, who was floating around this ceiling, had a thin, svelte build. It had a human-like head with round, human-like eyes (red sclera and black irises) with a red helmet with large, wing-like horns on it. Its neck was black, and its torso was red with purple downward pointing arrow marking. Its upper arms were white, and its lower arms were red with black propeller blades attached to its black wrists that cold fold down on its upper arm. Its hands were black, and it had a silver band around its waist. Its crotch and thighs were white, and its bulky shins were red with small ailerons on the outside sides. Finally, its pod-like feet were black.

The fiend took almost immediate notice of Shenmue, and was roughly half her size. It raised its right hand, folded out its propeller blades, and spun them like a fan. Tornadoes formed beneath Shenmue which she dodged with agility that she didn't seem to know that she had. Then a tornado formed around the fiend's waist and lifted it into the air. Shenmue easily saw what was coming, what it was clearly planning. She dodged out of the way with only a split second to spare. Then it started this attack pattern yet again.

Time to get this going. She generated a ball of electricity in her hands as she dodged the fiends attacks, the timing of which seemed slightly random. She waited until it the size of a bowling ball, before throwing it like such. It struck the fiend, and disoriented it. The thing about this particular attack of Shenmue is that it would crawl up these walls and ceiling. She kept doing this until the fiend was slain. Then she called for pick up, with the intentions of reporting this facility to OSHA and hoping that they do something about it.

***

Demos called it a "torunedosapien", and claimed he designed it to stave off tropical storms.

***

Malice was frustrated, only having this battle on as background noise. She cursed this schemer's block.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWO:
After Today, Adventure!!

"Hey, LH! Wait up!" GH cried, coming out of the thread with a towel around his waist and hair. And fluffy pink slippers. He carried a sack lunch in his hand, and gently thrust it into a teenage Leatherhead's hands. Unlike when he was a kid, Leatherhead wasn't wearing his humansuit, but was all crocodile (despite the loose red hoodie and jeans he wore that had a hole for his considerable tail. "You forgot your lunch. Have a good day."

Then he gave his crocodilian son a kiss on the cheek, which caused a couple of kids skateboarding by to laugh at him as the oblivious GH returned to the thread.

"Max: They've been laughin' since I can't remember,
But they're not gonna laugh anymore
No more 'Leatherhead the Geek'
No more 'Doof of the Week'
Like before . . . !"

A Kineceleran girl sang as Leatherhead made his way to school:

"No more algebra tests 'til September!"

Her Tetramand boyfriend sang:

"No more lookin' at losers like him!"

A Vreedle boy sang:

"No more havin' to cheat!"

A large human teenager sang:

"No more mystery meat!"

More students sang:

"No more gym!
No more gym!
No more gym!
NO MORE GYM!"

A half-Veela girl sang:

"Gonna move to the mall!"

An amorous Vaxasaurus male sang:

"Gonna live in the pool!"

Leatherhead inadvertently interrupts the two's flirting when he sang:

"Gonna talk to Deina,
And not feel like a fool!"

The half-Veela girl punched Leatherhead on the shoulder, but his scales reduced the amount of pain that such a punch would cause. Meanwhile, just about everyone in the school sang:

"'Cause . . . after today, I'm gonna be cruising!'

Leatherhead sang, ducking a skateboarder flying through the air.

"After today, she'll be mine!"

The student chorus sang again:

"After today, my brains'll be snoozing!"

Leatherhead stops by a bench, where two rather dumpy older ladies sat, and sang:

"If I don't faint, I'll be fine!"

One of the woman, who was clearly one of these xenophobic, Knightly types, fainted, as Leatherhead shrugged and moved on. Two Splixson female twins sang:

"I've got forty more minutes
Of Home Economics . . ."

Two amorous Splixon boys sang:

"Then down with the textbooks,"

Two Revonnahgander boys sang:

"And up with the comics!"

Leatherhead sang:

"Just think of all the time I've been losin',
Finding the right thing to say!"

Then the chorus joined in:

"But things'll be goin' my way . . ."

Then Leatherhead dropped out as he saw Deina, an anthropomorphic Deinonychus from the planet Reptilon.

"After today!"

Leatherhead wiggled his fingers in a sheepish wave, but Deina did not seem to notice. Leatherhead sang, downhearted by this, but gathering strength with the next few lyrics.

"She looked right through me,
And who could blame her?
I need a new me,
Plus some positive proof
That I'm not just a doof!
And . . ."

Leatherhead was joined by a chorus in a school bus, that passed him:

" After today, I'm gonna be cruisin'!"

Some grunge, gothic, human girls sang:

"No more pep rallies to cut!"

Then Leatherhead and the chorus of student sang:

"After today, my brains'll be snoozin'!"

The bus driver, a human male with the same build as a Snorlax, sang:

"I'm gonna sit on my butt"

Leatherhead was nearly at the school now. And he slid down a railing as he sang, bumping the principal.

"I've got less than an hour
And when this is ended,
I'll either be famous --"

The school principal, Principal Truculent. sang, as he hurried tried to replace the toupee that Leatherhead had knocked askew:

"Or you'll be suspended!"

Leatherhead and the student chorus sang:

"Just think of all the time I've been losin',
Waiting until I could say . . .
Gonna be on my own.
Kiss the parents good-bye!
Gonna party from now
'Til the end of July!
Things'll be goin' my way,
After today!!!"

Then the starting bell rung to begin the last day of the school year. As he moved to go to class, Leatherhead sang, almost mournfully:

"I wish that this was the day
After today. . ."

***

GH awoke on Yarin's ship. along with Yarin (piloting the ship, obviously), Cloak, Abby, Leatherhead, Underseen, and Saffa. It took a moment before GH's memories caught up with him. They were essentially going on a treasure hunt into some desert expanse. Cloak didn't look too interested or pleased in this. GH didn't know how Cloak got caught up in this. True, there had been a distinct lack of missions as of late, and Saffa thought a little adventure -- a "DuckTales"-esque treasure hunt -- would be fun.

Cloak had asked if what they did as RAFians wasn't exciting enough, and that argument seemed to be largely ignored. Cloak muttered something about plot convenience, and GH thought he was talking nonsense again, before taking a nap.

Of course, when he awoke, it was because they were crashing.


SOURCE SONG; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoIFa94fD3c

[Underseen]

That last book made me remember that Jumper was a movie I saw in theaters and was excited to see. I remember liking it when it came out, but now I can hardly watch it.

[Cloak]

Well, it's funny you should mention "Jumper", as the last book was (albeit rather loosely) based on it. At least, the movie generated the idea, when I watched it years ago. (Also goes to show how much in advance I plan these books, I'm actually planning books in Year 7 right now.)

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THREE:
A Cowardly Guide

"My ship!" Yarin cried out. "This will take me months to repair!"

"The damage is only cosmetic, you drama queen," Cloak said, dismissively. having easily Metalsighted the extent of the damage.

"You don't know --" Yarin started, but quelled by Cloak's stern look, realizing what Cloak did.

"All this for some treasure inside some Pyramid of Excess Wealth," Cloak said, failing not to sound scornful.

"It's the Pyramid of Opulence," Saffa corrected.

"Yeah, like that's any better," Cloak said, almost petulantly.

"It's said to be basically an overseas bank account for Croesus," Abby said, ignoring Cloak's rather touchy mood. "Apparently suggesting that, even back then, they had variations of Swiss bank accounts."

"Or that could be complete and utter -" Cloak said, ending the sentence using a Realm Walker term for which there was no English translation. But it roughly equated to the English word "Bull****".

"Oh, don't be so grumpy, Cloak!" Saffa said, bracingly, "It's an adventure!"

"Yippee," Cloak replied dryly.

GH was too busy keeping an eye on Leatherhead, making sure that he doesn't go too far, and stays within his line of sight. This was a difficult task, as Leatherhead was evidently feeling very excitable, and he wore his humansuit, so he felt doubly emboldened. "LH, stay where I can see you!"

Abby took out a treasure map, as they ran into a local man. They started small talk, and found out his name was Ima Atreyu*. Leatherhead blurted that they were looking for the Pyramid of Opulence, and Cloak facepalmed, the Elements Master believing this to be a folly. As it turns out, Ima apparently knew the general area of where the Pyramid of Opulence was. The sand was doing a disservice to Cloak, because it was difficult for him to discern the truthfulness of this assertion and he told the others so when they looked at him, but he advised them not to trust him due to the evasive manner of his rhetoric.

"Don't be a racist!" he chided.

"I am not," Cloak said, with narrowed eyes. "Your rhetoric is evasive, and potentially empty. I may not know everything about humans, I'll admit, but your body language indicates deception to me. I may not be able to confirm due this sand, but I have my suspicions. And it has nothing to do with your race nor your species."

Ima didn't seem to find a comeback to this. After all, he was a former thief in the current employ of Marco Locke, a rather wealthy man with a desire for a specific artifact. Although "employ" would suggest that he got paid, instead of being terrified of the man with that odd medallion that swung almost haphazardly from the man's neck. Ima served him with the servility of a house-elf, but he had a touch of plutomania that only his fear of Locke had put under control.

None of the RAFians knew this, although Cloak was already suspicious of this man. This man who was trying so incessantly to be their guide, and the more he pushed, the less Cloak trusted him. Ima decided (rather wisely) to watch what he said around Cloak, afraid of giving himself away. Cloak was already suspicious of him. These strangers were his best chance of getting his hands on the very artifact that his master desired so much . . . he had to be careful with how he ingratiated himself . . .

"You need a guide," he said, with overt oiliness (in Cloak's view), "I know where the Pyramid is. It's not easy to find. The area is very remote -- in the desert. You would never survive searching for it, even with a map. You'll need a guide."

Cloak narrowed his eyes at him. The sandy terrain made it extremely difficult to discern if he was telling the truth, so Cloak had to rely on body language and other visual and verbal cues. Cloak would freely acknowledge that he didn't know everything about the body language of humans, such as this one. But, apparently, this argument was successful with the others. They wanted him as a guide.

"Fine," Cloak said, eyes still narrowed at this person, whose body language seemed to be rather anxious and nervous, in Cloak's perspective, "but I'm keeping an eye on you, Atreyu."


*Yes, this name is a pun. Can you guess what it is?