Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TEN:
A Source

Meanwhile, in the McGeezax household once more, Dickie was playing one of his video games when his father came home. He was sopping wet from the tremendous downpour outside that had just started up. Dickie was only dimly aware of this, focused entirely on his game, knowing that his father would be upset that he was neglecting his homework for just a little gameplay of some game that was part hack-and-slash and platformer. He was thoroughly engrossed with it, knowing that his father would call him when dinner was ready. He could finish his homework after dinner, he reasoned, as there wasn't all that much to do. Granted, he could have done it already and have it done with.

"Dickie," his father said. His voice sounded the same, but the tone and inflection was slightly, subtly different. Too subtle for Dickie really to take any real notice of. "Come here."

Fearing that he was in trouble, and also fearing a reprimand, he deftly paused his game and hastened to obey. He expected his father to rebuke him for putting games above his schoolwork. It was a point of contention, Dickie knew.

"Yes, Daddy?" Dickie said. But his father said nothing, which intimidated the boy. Dickie couldn't help but remember when his father was infested by Merser, and he was fearful of something like that. He saw his dad was wearing a hat that Dickie had never seen before. Before he could stop himself, Dickie asked, "Didja get a new hat?"

"Something like that," he replied vaguely.

"What's in your hand?" Dickie asked, noticing his father clutching something in his right hand as his trench coat was dripping onto the hardwood floor. That was a bit out of character for his father, and Dickie wasn't really mature enough to register that this was really off, though he detected a change in his father's mannerisms. "Daddy?"

"Come here," his father said.

"What is it, Daddy?" Dickie said, feeling a mounting dread of bad news.

With a quick gesture, as lightning flashed, Dickie's father roughly placed a blue cap upon his son's head, and Dickie's mind immediately went blank and faded to nothingness as Madcap took over, piloting his body.

"Well, Madcap?" Darby demanded, using its own voice instead of Dickie's father's voice. "Does this juvenile human have any useful information like his progenitor believes that he might? Anything pertinent?"

"There's a lot of impertinent information in here, Darby," Madcap said, respectfully. "It's a lot of slosh to sift through, Darby. A thousand apologies."

"Just hurry up," Darby said, impatiently, as Andorra and Tex appeared behind it and Dickie's father. They weren't "wearing" anyone, but walked on their own four wire-thin legs with suction cup-like feet. "Or I'll do it myself. We don't have time to muddle about."

As far as Darby was concerned, they need to re-secure their ship again and repair it (they had obtained all that they needed, other than more fuel, during their first excursion away from the ship). Then they could leave this miserable mudball. But Darby still had future plans for this planet, once they quashed these rebellious regents and reasserted control over Fez once more. These humans weren't bad rides, and they could be useful for future conquests. But that would be then. The regents took priority first. And getting the toppr to Fez was the top priority -- it may be the only way they could legitimately win against the regents. Though Darby wouldn't argue if they won "illegitimately", as long as they won.

"They call themselves RAFians," Madcap said, shutting its own eyes in addition to Dickie's. Madcap desperately sifting through the boy's over-imaginative mind. Madcap had to discern fact from fiction, and it was more difficult than it sounded because a lot of what this juvenile human knew on the subject seemed to be absolutely ridiculous. "Most of this stuff can't be true. A sentient star? A talking seal? A vampire?"

"Sentient star?" Darby asked, immediately. "That could prove to be a problem. What more about that?"

"Nothing, Darby," Madcap said. "This juvenile knows nothing more about that. It seems to be more . . . conjecture and suspicion and rumor than anything more concrete. This human desperately wants to be a RAFian when he grows up."

"That's it, Madcap," Darby said, kneeling down, head close to Dickie's. It was getting a little fed up not getting the answers he wanted. "We're switching hosts. I'll do this myself."

Madcap knew better than to protest against this, and complied immediately.. Both hopped off their respective host's heads, and onto the now-vacant heads of the other. Darby roughly sifted through the boy's mind. Darby said, "Ah. So, I see."

Darby made a snap decision. "Okay, Madcap. Get off. I want that host back."

They switched back, but Darby used Dickie's father's hand to stop Madcap, and swept Andorra up.

"Daddy?" Dickie said, sounding rather dazed and disorientated. "What happened?"

But he was immediately taken over by Andorra, who took immediate command of his body.

"Look in the juvenile's mind, Andorra," Darby said. "Memorize what Madcap and I've seen in the juvenile's mind. Memorize it, then get off, so Tex can do the same thing. Then we'll find a way to use this information from this . . . 'fanboy'. Then be on our way and find a way into this 'forum'. Our ship is obviously there."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Data Mining

"Can you interpret this, Cloaky?" Yarin asked. "I can't make heads or tails of it. It seems to be some sort of ledger, though.

Cloak took a look at the symbols upon the screen, depending on the Realm Walker's kind's innate ability for instantaneous translation -- an ability that's always one and isn't really useful in combat under a great majority of circumstances, so it goes understated. Granted, some languages of semi-sentient or nonsentient beings this ability does not and cannot be used for (other than tigers, but that's because he was a tiger-form Realm Walker).

It read:

"Lo, behold the mighty Flarg Darby! The mighty Empress of the Galaxy! Her greatness knows no bounds, and nobility oozes from her noble brim. She is the strongest, most honest, and absolute infallible of all of us! Her manipulation tendrils are without flaws and she can perfectly dominate beings with an octillion-level intellect. She is incapable of mistakes, and is perfect in literally every way. She has no fault, and she will save us from those Girdist terrorists, lead by that nitwit coward Klaatu Rownd II! Flarg Darby's iron will shall crush these terrorists and return us to the glorious path of conquest, the destiny that we're obligated to return to. They're bending our children to their sacrilegious ways, and turning them against us. They need to be silenced before they sire a revolution where questions are asked where they have no business being.

She, our beloved Flarg Darby, the Grand High Potentate of countless planets and many more to come, casts her brilliant light upon her chosen entourage. The celebrated mechanic and pilot Barrada Tex. The lovely Secretary of Conquest and chief scientist, Talaya Andorra. The unswerving loyal Captain of the Guard and the brightest tactician on Fez, Nikto Madcap. These three are nearly as infallible, unless she deems otherwise, as our great leader, the greatest of the Flarg Dynasty! Grand High Potentate Flarg Darby, the Grandest Conqueror, soon to be the King of the Galaxy! No one is worthy to besmirch her manly brim! No other leader is as powerful or merciful when it is necessary. She works for the betterment of all Fez kind, despite what the Girdist terrorists would have you believe. Do not believe their propaganda! Do not listen to those crown-thirsty monsters who would rather see you dead and enslaved rather than basking in the glory of the one and only Potentate!"

"Huh. Chapeausapiens do have genders," Cloak said, "I only had tangential knowledge of this, and assumed that the wideness of the brim was an indicator. Apparently, that isn't necessarily true. And, apparently, they are are matriarchy. The females lead and hold power while the males have less power."

"Like Helmacrons," Xeno interjected.

"Not as psychotic," Cloak said. "They aren't a fungible species. Though their social structure that this article indicates is radically one-sided. And their leaders clearly needed to have their egos routinely stroked. 'Perfectly dominate beings with an octillion-level intellect' . . ."

"What?" Aquilai said, as Cloak gave a scoff at the notion. "Octillion-level intellect?"

"No such thing exists," Cloak said. "Except those who want to inflate their own egos to the point of ridiculousness."

"So what is this ledger?" Yarin said.

"It's not a ledger," Cloak said, "it's a sickening propaganda piece of such obviousness that even the Realm Walker Council wouldn't put out because of the utter ludicrousness of it. And THAT'S saying something."

"So nothing of substance," Ash said, sounding disappointed.

"Why include a propaganda letter in the ship's data?" Yarin said, brow furrowed in confusion. "What would the point be of having that in the files? When such things would just be useful on their home planet --"

"Fez," Cloak supplied. "It looks sort of like a cork -- or a fez without a tassel."

"The question still stands," Yarin persisted. "Why?"

"They evidently need their egos stroked on a rather frequent basis," Cloak said, with a shrug.

"How do we go about this now?" Underseen asked. "Four of them of them are still out on the loose, and who knows the damage they can cause, even without their ship?"

Cloak reread the "Girdist terrorists" bit again. "I have an idea, but --"

But any answer to this question was cut off by a slight, shrill, klaxon sound.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Potential Targets

"Darby, how do we get to the ship?" Andorra said. She was riding the head of a collegian girl, with Tex having taken her boyfriend. Darby was riding her best friend with Madcap on Darby's host's brother. "Even if we find candidates with potential, they might be wise to us."

"We just need the candidates to get us inside the door," Darby said. Tex and Andorra had used two precocious boys as hosts to do some recon about the forum which they found by sheer dumb luck. Darby and her entourage didn't see it as dumb luck, though, but divine providence. They actually believed their own hype, and Darby certainly believed that she was a genius in every way. "Pass that force field and get to the ship."

None of the other three poked considerable holes in this vague, simple plan. The fact that they didn't know where in the forum that the ship was located, and the forum wasn't a small place, nor is its layout particularly obvious. The fact of how they would try to get by the many, many RAFians that dwell there, not knowing that the Mark will prevent any of them from taking control of any of them, no matter how long they sit on their head. The fact that, unlike Heilins, they stick out more. The fact that the RAFians vet anyone who wishes to become a RAFian for exoparasites and endoparasites, and whether they're voluntarily or involuntarily, and whether they have their parents' consent (Rotiart's father didn't care when he came to RAF -- he didn't care about much, to be honest). The fact that in order to be a RAFian, they'd have to withstand Epslin's grueling basic training regiment -- and not all would-be applicants can, and it's rather necessary for the line of work that the RAFians frequently undertake.

And these were just but a few holes in this plan -- if you could call it that. Plans that vague rarely ever work out -- plans need to be detailed to a point and structured, with a contingency or two in place. Darby's plan had none of that, but she believed that she didn't need anything more than this simplicity. And why would she? She's never been humbled or rebuked during her childhood.

"Well, with all due respect, Darby," Madcap said, tentatively. Any misspoken word could result in immediate condemnation when Darby was in such a mood, and potentially casting out of Darby's entourage. The whole thing with Dickie McGeezax reminded him of that little fact. "I don't think that these humans would be any good as prospective candidates."

Darby said nothing, as Madcap cringed in fear. Darby said, "Agreed. We need to find better hosts as candidates."

She suggested that as if she was suggesting finding candidates for something as mundane as a boy band. She acted like this would be the simplest of tasks, apparently ignoring the monumental task it was. Granted, Code Avalon wasn't perfect, as Ima Atreyu managed to luck into a glitch that went unnoticed by the RAFians, so it was possible for them to get in. But none of the four had sufficient intel to implement a plan with any real efficacy, but Darby's entourage wasn't really willing to go against her or pointing out all the holes in this plan.

"Let's ditch the bipeds," Darby said. "And see if we can find real prospective candidates."

They hopped off the head of the collegians, and scrambled off to find such candidates. The first place they went to was a martial arts tournament, due to the convenience of location. It was being held right on the campus gym. Darby waited, and ordered the others to wait to take hosts as well. She would take whoever the winner was. It would be the primer host of this species to have, even if her plans failed.

Within moments, an overall winner was declared, and Darby followed him as he went to a locker room. And that's where she took him. It was very easy, she was pleased to discover. Which just went to feed into her feeling of divine providence. She was allowing her ego to inflate like a balloon, which was incredibly dangerous for a leader of anything to allow to happen. Her new host called himself Matthew North, and he was elated at winning the competition. And, Darby thought smugly, he would soon be a RAFian -- completely discounting that it would be far more difficult than that, as Billion found out.

She turned Matthew's head toward her cowardly compatriots, and said, "I've got my prospective candidate. This one will most definitely work. Now, you three, go and find good candidates and rendezvous with me and this human I'm riding a couple a clicks away from the forum. There we will work the facade. These RAFians will never realize what is happening."

This was actually beyond optimistic to the point of delusion, but with their limited intel, it was hardly surprising that Darby, with her ever-inflating ego, would see it as easy as one-two-three. She was massively unaware how wrong her assessment was, but, in her mind, she doesn't make mistakes. She was incapable of making errors, as far as she was concerned. That was for other, lesser beings.

"Off you go," she said, as her three compatriots went off to find suitable candidates for this part of the plan.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Hell Toupee

"Hear that?" Cloak asked.

"Yes," Xeno said, at once. "Quite clearly."

"Barely," Aquilai answered.

"It's from the ship," Cloak said. "Some sort of alarm. A klaxon sound."

"Why possibly would an alarm sound?" Yarin asked, perplexed. "Unless --"

"Crap," Underseen sighed. "The security failed. It's probrably --"

There was something that could have sounded like a ferocious roar, had Cloak been smaller. But he was hardly intimidated. They had faced more terrifying threats. Cloak recalled the Black Lanterns. Some feral toupee was hardly something that he'd consider bone-chilling.

The ship shuttered and shook as the RAFians watched on, Cloak doing so dispassionately. The shuttering and shaking steadily became more and more severe, until a piercing, shrill shriek was heard. The sound only seemed harsh to Cloak and Xeno's ears, as the others didn't react as negatively towards it. But the whole scene was playing out like some B-movie monster plot. The creature remained within the ship, apparently tearing at some sensitive instruments and whatnot, before it realized that the door to the ship was opened -- the Chapeausapiens never having closed it, apparently. Or, quite possibly, couldn't.

Suddenly, the ship stopped shuttering and shaking. It obviously realized the door was open. It must have sense the presence of these six RAFians outside the ship. Perhaps it smelled them. Who knows the sensory capabilities of a sentient, living toupee? Cloak imagined that it was gearing up for a pounce, rather like a cat sighting a mouse or bird. Judging the distance and making tiny adjustments to compensating.

With high-pitched, shrill shriek, it launched itself from the ship. It was clearly aiming for Yarin, who, due to being a Nyac, was bald. Cloak presumed that this meant that it had similar abilities to the Chapeausapiens. But the thing didn't make it within two or three feet of Yarin's head, as it found itself in a golden-scarlet orb. It actually had gnashing teeth. The canine teeth seemed to be about a half an inch long, and could probably do serious damage, left free and unrestrained. It was clearly designed to tear through the fabric-like flesh of a Chapeausapien. It was biological weapon.

"See?" Underseen said. "Scary."

"Nothing that we can't manage," Cloak said, calmly, as the vicious hairpiece beast snarled and attempted to attack the bubble. It failed, of course. But it clearly had no real semblance of sentience.

"It's like the --" Underseen began.

"Don't say it, we know," Ash said, almost as if saying its name would wake it. It was their backup generator, after all. All six RAFians fell silent as they was this wild, slobbery beast attempt to attack the energy bubble it was encapsulated. It scraped its fangs against the bubble's walls. It wouldn't work, but it was the only thing that its simplistic mind could conclude to do to escape.

"We know what must be done," Cloak said.

"Are you suggesting -- " Aquilai began.

"You know perfectly well what I suggest, Time Walker," Cloak said. "It needs to be done. This thing was clearly designed as a weapon."

"Seems like a waste," Ash said, rather tepidly.

Cloak was slowly shrinking the energy bubble. He said, "It must be done. Take away this weapon from those Chapeausapiens."

"We don't know if they're technically the good guys or bad guys," Yarin said. "We mustn't get involved with politics that we don't know the optics of."

Cloak hesitated, then he remembered. "I forgot. You guys couldn't read the contents of that propaganda article. No, Yarin, trust me. I don't think these guys are the 'good' guys. From what I read in that article they seem to be very authoritarian and oppressive. A race of would-be conquerors."

With that, Cloak shut his eyes and there was a brief and shrill shriek, then silence as the creature moved no more.

"Now, we should move," Cloak said, as if he had no remorse. "We haven't too much time."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Jock on Lock

Andorra, Tex, and Madcap had split up to find their suitable hosts, while Darby pretended to be Matthew North, making excuses for wearing a hat. Granted, they weren't as mobile on their suction cup-like feet and four tentacle legs which spout below the crown of their hat bodies. Having host bodies allowed them a greater amount of mobility, in addition to being able to relish in their memories and minds. They had yet to discover a species -- well, a species of a moderate size, in the "Goldilocks zone" for Chapeausapiens to ride, not too big or too small -- that they could not absolutely dominate once they're on their head. (They've never met a Realm Walker, which would be impossible for them to test anyway, considering they can never lower their cloak's hoods (outside the Nexus and Cloak's thread).

Madcap had made his way toward a field. It was September and the temperatures were slipping into cooler fall temperatures. It could be argued that it was already there. And yet, there were three large humans -- young adult human males -- throwing some sort of brown, elliptical item to each other with three white stitches on either side. Madcap only had a tangential knowledge of this game from the humans that he had worn, and he thought the humans called it a "football". And, apparently, it was "off-season", whatever that meant. Although this wasn't a reliable assumption, as the hosts he wore weren't sure if it truly was or wasn't.

Madcap watched these humans, trying to calculate a way to get one of them. To ride them. Any of these three should be considerably worthy of being a RAFian. Anyone of them, only really distinguishable by their hair and eye color (one was blond with blue eyes, one was a redhead with green eyes, and the last one was a brunette with brown eyes), would do nicely for the purposes that Madcap and the others needed. All Madcap needed was a way into the door -- none of the four considered trying to take over a known member, instead of opting for this more random, more vague plan that the same likelihood of succeeding that one would have robbing a tank with a pellet gun.

Madcap scaled a spruce tree easily with its suction cup feet. He climbed out onto a low-hanging branch. He did this in the hopes that one of these thick-bodied jocks would actually walk beneath it. Of course, despite the rather random (and low) likelihood of this happening, one of the collegian human males, the redhead one, failed to catch the item that the blond threw. The plaything landed right beneath Madcap's branch, and the Chapeausapien waited eagerly.

"I'll get it," said the blonde human, "you guys go ahead and get going."

"Alright, see ya later," the brunette said.

"See ya," the redhead and the blonde said, in unison.

The other two humans walked off. If Madcap could smile, he would. There might be something to this divine providence thing, after all, he thought. Apparently, he never considered that it might have just been coincidence, but "divine providence" apparently was more appealing because it sounded impressive.

There! The human was in the right place. The time was now to pounce! And . . . he missed. But, fortunately, the human was bowed over, reaching for the strange throwing item. Madcap was one the ground, right in front of the human. He immediately shut his eyes and retracted his tendril legs into his body, hoping that the human would only assume that he was a husk (the term that Chapeausapiens use for hats). Fortunately for Madcap, this human wasn't very smart and thought precisely that. He grabbed Madcap, gave him a cursory look, and then put him on his head, almost as a goof.

Madcap took immediate control, and immediately was flooded with information, as he blinked this human's eyes as he acclimated to this body. However, the bulk of this information Madcap didn't consider very important. This human's name was Joel McCartney, and it's two friends were David Osment and Jesse Gallagher. All three were attending this college, each on a sports scholarship. All three were rather obsessed with the sports -- football, wrestling, and the like -- and none of the three were very academically inclined. They skated by in high school by copying the work of meeker, brainier classmates. That wasn't really an option for college, so they depend on the teachers giving them a pass simply because they played a sport, thereby not really earning the grade.

They were very oblivious to the fact that this would technically gyp them out of an education, due to their academic laziness and the fact that the college was using them to make money. Joel just assumed that he would get signed to something he called them "Majors" (Madcap didn't bother to find out more about it, deciding to deflect if asked about it or dig into that part of this human's mind (if you could call it that) if the need should arise. This human was just meant to be a conveyance to beyond the threshold of the forum. He would ditch this jock at that point.

He wouldn't be able to fit this human into the ship, anyway. He looked at the item that he saw them throwing around -- it was called a "football", apparently, despite looking nothing like a foot. Madcap could explore the why of this.by digging just a little deeper into this human's mind, but Madcap found this human's mind a wasteland full of broken glass and land mines.

Madcap, having securing his host, one he believed these RAFians would consider suitable to join their number, went to the rendezvous point where Darby was waiting, riding Matthew.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Gunfire Choir

It was Tex's turn to find a suitable host to fool those unworthy RAFians. Tex didn't really think too much of them, but knew enough that they weren't to be trifled with lightly. Only fools would underestimate their opponents, and Barrada Tex most certainly didn't consider himself a fool. He, however, moved around very slowly. He usually preferred having a host for transversing long distances such as this, as it was most certainly faster and less awkward. He wouldn't go for those artificial hosts that those damned terrorists on Fez were pushing for. They had evolved to be able to do this, so they were well within their rights to exercise the ability. If whatever they chose to make their hosts didn't like, then oh well for them. They evolved this ability and they could use it on whoever and whatever they liked.

Tex had made his way away form the college, not really knowing where he was going. He didn't have a map to this planet, after all. He just stuck to where there was enough cover to make the unwary observer think that he was just a discarded husk -- what they called "hats" or "headwear". He had the tallest crown of the four of them, so this made hiding rather difficult, unless passersby though him just a discarded husk, or "hat". He did not know how long that he had traveled, but was suddenly alarmed when he heard the shots of ballistic projectile weaponry. It took him a moment to realize that the shots were not aimed at him, but some targets a fair distance away.

He had wandered onto a shooting range. Or rather, the hedges surrounding it. He was still unseen and unnoticed by these oblivious bipeds, which gave him time to survey prospective hosts to ride. He saw four humans -- three male, one female -- of a variety of builds and features. One was a mildly lean, slightly muscular build as was the female one, one was of a large, bulky build, while the last one was of a thinner, meeker build. All possessed dark color hair, though the large one had a bald head. He could be useful if they had a greater control over the toppr, and the monstrous beast could certainly do some real damage with a host such as that one. The mildly lean, slightly muscular build human male wore a husk similar enough to himself. If he could take that one, then he would be able to pass himself off as the human with ease, Tex considered. Granted, the "hat" he wore had a subtly different shade gradient, but it was still yellow. It would have to be good enough. Now, if he would only take it off . . .

And he did. He took it off to put on what appeared to be some sort of auditory protection. Then he picked up a long metal tube with what appeared to be a wooden base. Tex watched as his fellows did the same and his desired host took aim at some targets. Then he squeezed the trigger as his fellows followed suit. Tex managed to sneak up to the table that the young adult human set his husk -- his "hat" -- down. As his target and his fellows continued what Tex assumed was training of some sort, Tex managed to push the husk off the table and out of sight. Hopefully, that would be enough to fool this human into thinking that Tex was his "hat".

This human had better be suitable to get his brim in the door to that forum. Tex couldn't wait to get back to Fez. He was starting to think that these humans were more trouble than they're worth. Granted, some of them were . . . entertaining to ride, to dig into their deepest memories with their laughable secrets, and their food wasn't too bad. But, still, in spite of all that, Tex would be glad to get back to Fez. He wanted to see the toppr destroy those terrorist. Those terrorists actually had the nerve to call themselves "revolutionaries". Tex scoffed at the very idea. If the peasants didn't like their lot in life, then they should have been born elite, as far as he was concerned.

After what seemed like forever, the four seemed as if they were done shooting their tube weapons. They took a fabric strap and shouldered these metal tubes, the firing end facing downward at an angle. After this, Tex shut his eyes, pretending to be a husk. He felt relieved and excited that his little plan had worked and he was being lifted up, and placed on his head. Tex immediately shot his suction cup-tipped tendrils out and made contact with his head.

He blinked this human's eyes as he took immediate control. Tex saw through this human's eyes, as he kept his own true ones closed, as to maintain the pretense. And, when he made contact with this human head, he was flooded with this human backstory. Practically none of it was any interest to him, Tex only cared enough to make a plausible excuse to leave this human's friends -- Nathan, Raymond, and Allison -- behind and meet up with Darby at the rendezvous point.

But still it flooded him --  these humans always had so much memory and thoughts. Though Tex would never admit it, it was always exhilarating to take a new host. This human's name was Landon Rock, and he was a responsible owner of a gun -- the metal tube that he had strapped to his back. His friend on the other hand, weren't exactly very responsible with theirs. Nathan always disregarded safety with carelessness and always handled his weapon haphazardly. Raymond was rather violence-prone and really didn't have any business owning a gun. Allison worked for an association that profited from national tragedies that happened due to guns, the association getting paid from gun manufacturers. This is why they never talked politics -- because Landon knew that the three would simply regurgitate the gun propaganda and vehemently reject gun reform. Landon was, albeit secretly, for the reform -- he didn't want violent-prone people, like Raymond, to have guns, he didn't want mentally-challenged people to own guns, he didn't want access to guns be without any sort of vetting, be it background check or otherwise, be it from a vendor or a gun show. But his friends would twist this into the government taking away their guns -- which it wasn't anything of the sort. But Landon was all too aware of the circular conversations that would follow if he confronted the other three on this, and he wasn't really in the mood for such a fight, knowing the other three would use propaganda, half-truths, lies, and fallacies as arguments. Arguments that they believer were valid. All in all, Landon was a bit of a coward on this, and, thus, largely ignored any talk of politics when it was approached by any one of the other three, who just assumed that he agreed with them. Because he allowed them to think that.

However, Tex saw all this, and didn't care one bit about it. Who this human was friends with mattered very little in the grand scheme of things. And Tex needed use this human to get his brim in the door of the forum, then he would discard him like a styrofoam cup.

"I still don't know why you wear that stupid hat, Landon," Raymond said. He was actually trying to start a fight, and he was being rather brazenly obvious about it. "It's so ugly!"

Tex knew that he was talking about the husk. But Tex resembled that husk a great deal, so this could be construed as offensive. The thing was, however, Tex couldn't really care less about what the violence-prone human thought. However, this was an excellent opportunity to act offended, and storm off. Tex could do this and keep up the pretense.

So he did, and he immediately went to the rendezvous point, where Darby would be waiting. This host had better be suitable -- Tex didn't want to suffer the consequences if he wasn't.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Belting It Out

Andorra was the last one up, though she would find her chosen target at the same time that the other two found theirs. When she split from the others, while Madcap and Tex stayed relatively outdoors, Andorra went indoors. She immediately gravitated towards one place in particular. It was a wide expanse of hard-backed seats covered in some rather threadbare fabric, as if it was crudely crocheted by several hundred elderly human females. Andorra found this expanse of seats and the barely-carpeted floor, with hardwood flooring, rather daunting as there was very little cover that she could exploit.

But the large area filled with these seats, each sharing one armrest with the other, faced another area, on a raised platform that was as high as the tallest seat. There were short staircases on either side of this raised platform set into the the back wall. Perhaps there was an area behind the thick, burgundy, heavy-looking curtains, but they were closed and Andorra could not Earthsight, so she could not see behind the curtain without going back there. On this platform, this stage, was just a singular human female, standing behind what appeared to be a microphone stand. There was only one other human -- and older, tweedy-looking one with small glasses perched upon his nose rather precariously. He wore a cardigan with patched elbows and khaki dress slacks, while the human female looked like a blonde Jessica Rabbit in a sultry scarlet dress trailed and pooled on the ground as if it was viscous . . . almost like blood.

"Is it ready to go yet, Mr. DeVille?" she asked. Her voice, however, was nothing like Jessica Rabbit, but more whiny. Like an entitled starlet trying (and failing) to be sexy.

"The calibrations are underway, Jazz," he said. Mr. DeVille's voice was like the snap of chalk, and his expression seemed to be permanently set to sour. Then again, this Jazz human seemed to be very demanding and "high maintenance". This older male human could just be expressing how tiresome this type of overbearing personality can be, and the toll it can take on those around them. "You must have patience. It should be completed momentarily."

"This is taking forever," she kvetched.

"Have patience," Mr. DeVille intoned, parentally. "It's nearly done. The lighting needs to be just right to accentuate your best . . . features. For when you sing your solo."

"I wrote a song that I wanna sing," she said.

Andorra may not understand all human gestures and body language, even with the few specimens she managed to ride. But she thought that this older human was biting back frustration as to not upset his star. Unless, of course, he had ulterior motives for pleasing this female human -- this human didn't appear to be too terribly intelligent. But all Andorra needed was to get her brim into the forum. This human would only need to serve that end, and then her usefulness wouldn't matter anymore.

"Alright, Ms. Mann," Mr. DeVille said. Switching to a more formal tone was a hint that this Jazz Mann (yes, Jazz Mann -- like jasmine) was getting on his nerves. The only reason why he didn't give her what for was simply because he needed her. There was no time to recast this part . . . assuming that was truly what he was after. "We're ready for you to sing."

The young-looking female human with the husk similar to Andorra's form, was on the rather large, elaborate stage. She belted out, singing rather pompously, and with an only passable performance.:

"I can't help it if I make a scene,
Stepping out of my hot pink limousine.
I'm turning heads, and I'm stopping traffic,
When I pose, they love it, and when I joke, they laugh.
I've got a pair of eyes that they're getting lost in,
They're hypnotized by the way I'm walking,
I've got them bedazzled like a stage magician,
When I point, they look, and when I talk, they listen,
Well, everybody needs a friend,
And I've got you and you and you!
So many, I can't even name them,
Can you blame me? I'm too famous!!
Haven't you noticed that I'm a star?
I'm coming into view as the world is turning.
Haven't you noticed I've made it this far?
Now, everyone can see me burning.
Now, everyone can see me burning.
Now, everyone can see me burning."

"That's not the song," Mr. DeVille said, removing his glasses and squeezing the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Clearly, a gesture of frustration. "And you didn't write that song. You stole it from a cartoon show."

"You don't know that," she said, with a sniveling tone. Andorra was pretty sure that this human's mind was a wasteland, and she was starting to second-guess her decision to take this human as a worthy host. But she was under a time crunch, so she couldn't deviate from her decision now. Andorra was forcing herself to stick to it.

Instead of wasting energy to argue with her, he decided to just deflect to the subject at hand. He didn't want to be here all night with this prima donna, being all diva and such. "Let's just try with the song that you're supposed to sing for the play, Ms. Mann, okay? You did commit it to your --"

Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind from a nearby wind machine located in the right wing inexplicably turned on, blowing her hat away. This was Andorra's opportunity. She actually hesitated, wondering whether she really wanted to do this. Really wanted to take this host. But there was no time. Andorra's proverbial hands were tied.

Andorra managed to hide the husk and replace it when Jazz Mann came to look for it, as Mr. DeVille went to give the unseen stagehand who turned on the wind machine a piece of his mind. Jazz Mann came and mistook Andorra for her hat (and Andorra forgot to shut her eyes). She deftly lifted Andorra to her head, put her on her head, and Andorra took immediate control. And she immediately regretted it as she was flooded with her memories and thoughts. Andorra thought it was akin to wading through waist-deep sewage. This human's mind was a repugnant wasteland, and she thought that the world should and did revolve around her and what she wanted. Anyone who told her otherwise was just somehow wrong and mean. Her ego was so massive and fragile -- a rather dangerous ****tail.

There was no way that this human would be consider worthy. But maybe she could fool the RAFians -- she just had to get her brim in the door, after all. She went off to the rendezvous point, leaving Mr. DeVille hanging and wondering where she went. Though she was rather flaky, and this wasn't the first time she walked off the stage and left without telling anyone. She had her host -- a less than worthy one -- but hopefully she was just acceptable enough.


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3sH7S1SlyA

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Rendezvous Interruption

Darby was starting to get impatient. It wasn't that hard to find sufficiently worthy hosts. She found hers, Matthew North, rather easily. The others should have found theirs with similar ease. How hard could it possibly be to find hosts to get past the registering process? Their methods of vetting couldn't really be all that stringent, could they? Not to mention, Darby thought, that they had divine providence on their side. Everything was falling into place before them.

And all the wanted was their ship. Was that really too much? Granted, Darby was intending to come back to this planet and conquer it. These humans weren't that bad a ride, she would admit. The nimble, dexterous fingers, the bipedal gait, the height, the strength . . . or maybe that was just her current host, who was a human male in peak physical condition and in his youthful prime.

"It's about time," Darby said. She was using Matthew's voice. This close to the forum, she didn't want anything left to chance if they could help it. Hopefully, Andorra riding that human that this one, "Matthew", found rather attractive. Darby, however, felt no such attraction. Tex and Madcap arrived shortly after Andorra. "I was getting bored. And you're very nearly late."

"Sorry, Darby," Andorra said. She was quick enough on the uptake to know to follow Darby's lead and speak with Jazz's voice.

"'Matthew," Darby hissed, barely moving Matthew's lips. Then she spoke in a low, quiet, conspiratorial tone, still using Matthew's voice, as if the RAFians were listening in (which they very well could possibly be), "Use your host's name instead of your own. Anything else will be considered a security risk and be treated as such. They may know about our ship, but they may very well not know about our kind. I would like to keep our existence as secret as possible."

"Sorry, my . . . 'Matthew'," Andorra said, hastily corrected herself.

"Now," "Matthew" said, still maintaining the conspiratorial tones. "Who are all of you?"

"Jazz Mann," Andorra reported..

"Landon Rock," Tex reported.

"Joel McCartney," Madcap reported.

"Good," "Matthew" (Darby) snapped, glancing around with minute, furtive looks, as if any blade of grass had the potential to sell them out. But her mind kept relaxing into thinking that "divine providence" would save them.. "Memorize and use those names. We just need to adopt these personas just long enough to get to the ship. We can ditch these humans as soon as we're in. We managed to get this far."

Darby snapped Matthew's head to "Jazz", "And, 'Jazz', make note of this place -- after we deal with the dissenters, this will be the next place on the ETA to conquer."

"Duly noted," Andorra said, bobbing Jazz's head in a rather exaggerated nod.

"And agreed on the assessment," "Joel" said.

"What's our next step?" Tex asked, thoughtfully crossing Landon's arms.

Before Darby/Matthew said anything, they saw a flash of light in the sky.

"That's the same kind of propulsion that the . . ." Tex said, his gun swinging rather haphazardly on Landon's back. Fortunately, it wasn't loaded and the safety was on. He turned Landon's head toward Darby/Matthew, wearing a look of incredulous surprise on Landon's face. "Ya think?"

"I do," "Matthew" said, standing taller with rather more pompous body language. She clearly thought this was that "divine providence" thing. "Clearly, they didn't know what they had."

"But, darling," Andorra said, "how are we supposed to get on it when it's that far up in the atmosphere?"

"But, D-- er, 'Matthew', there's a bigger problem," Tex said, very seriously, and Landon's face mirrored this seriousness. "The ship wasn't any condition to fly. I still haven't had a chance to repair it. Premature liftoff could potentially do more damage than it already suffered. Premature liftoff could result in the ship detonating."

"Killing the toppr onboard," Darby said, dropping the pretense. Getting into the forum was no longer necessary, now that the ship was outside it. But they weren't going to ditch these humans just yet. As the watched the ship's engines sputtered, and the ship turned at a forty-five degree angles. Then it plummeted back to the ground.

Upon seeing this, Tex relaxed Landon's body. Following Darby's lead, he spoke with his true voice through Landon's mouth and tongue, "At that trajectory, the ship should easily survive. Any damage it suffers should be purely cosmetic, and it should not lose any functionality."

Any RAFian could tell them that this reeked of a trap, but they continued to follow this "divine providence" ideology and saw it as such as they went to the prospective landing site. They took their human hosts with them. They will only ditch them when Tex assessed the damage and repaired anything that was in desperate need of repair. Then they can go and deal with those terrorists.

Darby was sure that everything would just happen to fall in her favor -- it always seemed to. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Wait -- Seriously? That Was An Obvious Trap!

The four traveled deep inside the forest nearby the forum, where the ship had crashed. It was in Cloak's former mediation spot that he had to abandon when that insane, grandeur-obsessed human came around, violating the sanctity of the place. There, nestled in the deep brush, was the metallic silver of the hatbox-like ship.

"The divine providence has blessed us once more," Darby said, foolishly abandoning all pretense. "The ship is there."

None of her fellows dared to contradict her, though they did stole some looks from one and another. There was no debris or anything indicating that the ship was ever airborne. No broken branches or charred earth, no trail towards the the ship. It was as if the ship had arbitrarily decided to turn intangible until reaching its current resting spot. Chapeausapien ships could not turn intangible. This ship was obviously planted here. This was immensely obvious to everyone gathered. Obvious to everyone.

Except Darby, that is.

She ran Matthew's body over towards the ship, unconcerned with the scratches and punctures the thorny briers left on Matthew's body. There was a path to the ship, but it was a narrow one. The briers also tore at his clothing as Darby took this narrow path. Darby didn't care about this human's clothing and inconsequential injuries. Her entourage followed suit, the briers tearing at their clothes. Jazz's dress was filthy and torn to rags. Landon's gun's strap actually frayed considerably and visibly. Only Joel's clothing seemed tough enough to survive the briers, the jersey and the blue jeans.

But as it turned out that there wasn't any briers around the actual spot where the ship was. There was at least a thirty-foot radius clearing around it, and this STILL didn't register to Darby as being a trap. She still stubbornly believed it to be divine providence was at play, when every thing practically screamed ramshackle, hastily-made trap.

"Um, Darby?" Madcap began.

"Not now!" Darby snapped. "Tex!"

Tex hastened to obey. "Yes, Grand High Potentate?"

"Is the ship serviceable?"

Tex moved to take a look at the ship, but suddenly the area was surrounded by a fine particulates, like pollen or . . . or pepper. The four humans sneezed violently, causing the Chapeausapiens controlling them to fly off, as if all the synapse fired off at once. Only they didn't land on the humans heads again, as, with another sneeze, the four fell into four portal gun-esque portals behind all four. These portals vanished as they finished falling through. The Chapeausapiens were now without hosts.

But they had other concerns. They were ensnared in some sort of woody vines that formed what appeared to be a loose net. Their tendrils kept slipping into the holes in this loose net. Which caused Derby much irritation. That and the fact that these vines seemed to be tightening and the holes seemed to be getting smaller. Wait -- the holes were getting smaller, and they were starting to enclose over them.

"It was a trap!" Darby squeaked, in her natural Chapeausapien voice. "It was a trap!"

Her fellows tried very hard not to say, "No duh!" or some derivative. It was at this point that the briers seemed to recede back into the forest as if they were some artificial obstruction placed there on purpose. When all the briers had retreated, the four Chapeausapiens saw their captor . . . a being about eight foot or so tall in a cloak that could blend into the darkness easily, and the cloak sliced the air menacingly. Despite herself and her ego, Darcy found this being frightening and intimidating. Whatever it was, and whoever it was, it was crystal clear -- it was not one to be trifled with or taken lightly.

To this creature's left was a being that was only visible for a moment, before shimmering out of existence. To this creature's right was someone that Darcy recognized and hated. It traveled on a single wheel with a top-like body that possessed three dials on the front, two long, gangly, hose-like arms (held to his sides, as so they would not drag along the ground) ending in three fingers with two joints, and a bulbous head with a panel that traveled up and down. But this was an artificial body as the driver of the body was an European crown Chapeausapien. It was the leader of the revolutionaries, the group that Darby and her entourage deemed as terrorists. Klaatu Rownd II.

This would not stand!!

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Loose Ends

This will not stand!! This cannot stand!!

Darby would not allow herself to be in the clutches of these terrorists. Let them have Tex, Andorra, or Madcap. They were expendable. There lives weren't as important as hers was. She would not suffer the indignity, the humiliation, of being captured and taken prisoner by these uncouth, traitorous terrorists! These repugnant insurgents! She was the powerful Grand High Potentate! She has never been defeated!!

"Thank you for your assistance," said Klaatu.

How he could ride that abominable automaton instead of a proper host was almost sacrilege to Darby. She had outlawed the creation of such creatures. The meeker Chapeausapiens without the the crown to take hosts deserved to walk on their suction cup tentacles, like the pathetic creatures that they were. And hosts were only allowed to Flarg dynasty loyalists. Darby refused to acknowledge that this was actually a dwindling number, that loyal to her and her lineage had been steadily declining for millennia. So most of their conquered planets were full of beings not being ridden by a Chapeausapien -- and this was actually fine with a growing number of younger Chapeausapiens, who had come to see taking hosts as morally reprehensible, unless they were voluntary and the host has some say so in the occupation.

As far as Darby was concerned, they were all fools for thinking this way. They were embarrassingly weak for sympathizing with these creatures. They were blinded with compassion, and lowered themselves to thinking that these creatures were to be befriended and treated as if they were equals!! The very idea! That would be like humans place cows on the same level as themselves, when they kill them and their progeny for meat and take their females' milk for their own consumption. That's what all other species were suppose to be to Chapeausapiens. The sentience of the species was immaterial. Chapeausapiens had dominion over all they see. Who cares what these lesser intellects and savage brutes thought or felt? It didn't matter in the grander scheme of things -- a scheme which would be dictated, as it should, from a Flarg.

"There are four in there," Cloak said. "That should be all of them."

Darby was apoplectic with rage. Not only due to her capture due to her ignorance and arrogance and belief in some ludicrous "divine providence", but because she knew when she saw the ship, which looked very much like it came from the Jimmy Neutron universe, only in greens and reds and golds. She knew that, in her desperate attempt to squash the group she and her family called terrorists, that her family's attempts to quash this rebellion had failed. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but deep down, she knew. She knew that her authoritarian attempts to quash and squash and smush this opposition had only turned more people against her, instead for her, like she thought it would.

"Yes," Klaatu said, "Ms. Flarg, Mr. Barrada, Mr. Nikto, and Ms. Talaya are now accounted for. They were the leaders of the failing regime."

Darby interpreted his tone as smug, and she found this unbearable. She could not longer stand this indignity of her position that she found herself in, this degradation of Darcy's authoritarian rule and the debasing of her family name, of her dynasty!! This was too much. This was really too much. Her regime was not failing. The toppr would have changed everything. They just had to get to the ship.

"We also destroyed the dangerous sentient toupee that they had contained on the ship," Cloak said, matter-of-fact. He was looking at Klaatu as if he was trying to judge whether Klaatu was honestly being truthful. The Mirror of Truth they had had managed to vouch for the story Klaatu gave them. Still, Cloak wasn't exactly the most trusting of people, which was understandable, considering his background.

The mere pronouncement of this understated fact absolutely stunned and floored not only Darby, but all four of them. Klaatu was also shocked by this.

"They . . . they made a toppr?" Klaatu said, aghast. "That's another crime that these four will have to answer to Chapeausapien people for create such a . . . a monster. You -- RAFians, was it? -- you've done us a great service. We are in your debt."

As they talked, Klaatu's men -- four police hat Chapeausapiens riding the plastic and mechanical bodies -- took the four regime Chapeausapien and put them in small hat boxes, which was akin to handcuffing them (which they obviously couldn't do as Chapeausapiens don't have any wrists to handcuff. When the four Chapeausapiens and their ship were secured in the larger ship, Klaatu thanked Cloak profusely.

Only when the ship was gone and out of sight, Broken, who had used the Disillusionment Charm on himself and was unseen by any of the Chapeausapiens, spoke up, "Are you sure that that Klaatu guy was telling the truth?"

"No," Cloak said. "Their physiology is so radically unusual . . . my Earthsight doesn't work on them in the same way it does with other beings. But the Mirror of Truth vouched for him. I trust that."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Cold Shoulder

Shenmue was dispatched to a frozen city, under mounds of snow. She was expecting to deal with one of Demos's fiends, but part of her worried that it may be that ice ifrit back for another go. She certainly hoped that wasn't the case, as she wasn't entirely sure she could handle that thing without any backup whatsoever. She's strong, but she's no Cloak or Estelore. She knew that and had accepted that. Though she had no fire-based abilities -- it seemed odd to send her after a cold-themed fiend when it would make more sense to send a pyrokinetic RAFian, like Cloak, Demos, or Phoenix.

Oh, well. No going back now.

She traveled upon a rather broken-looking street. Geez, the infrastructure in this country really needs far more governmental investment, she thought as she walked toward what she hoped was the fiend's nest, hoping that the path there would be fairly easy. Eventually, she came to a point where she needed to take a left, up an alleyway. Then she zigzagged between buildings until she needed to go left once more. She went forward a bit, before taking a sharp right. Then she came out from the network of alleyways and moved right.

Then she had to walk lightly over temporary ice bridges, that crumbled if she put too much weight on them. And there was getting to be a lot of them. Because of course there were. Well, best to get this over with quickly. Then she came to a dropshaft, which she quickly dropped through and proceeded through the winding hallway that followed to another dropshaft.

And at the end of that dropshaft? A cryokinetic construct of a snowman. Oh, she did not have time for a distraction like this. She would like to defeat the fiend in a timely manner and this would just slow her up. She blasted the construct with electricity enough times for it to lose its cohesiveness and revert back to snow and ice. There. That's done. Time to move on.

She jumped down another dropshaft, and continued to the left to another dropshaft. Then she continued to the right to a flooded part of this abandoned snow-laden city. There were more crumbling ice platforms here as well, and most of the terrain was submerged in freezing water. Shenmue sighed audibly. This would be the type of environment where Horse would have excelled, not her. Well, time to just suck it up and move forward.

Then she came to a "T"-intersection and she took the left-hand path. Then she proceeded forward on the windy path. Then she went to the right, then to the left when the path opened out. Then she followed this a short stint, and made it to the fiend's nest room. The room had flat walls and floors, and lacked a ceiling. The short fiend was predominately black and built like a refrigerator. It had a circular headpiece that was black on the top and dark red beneath. It hadn't any face other then large, angular, human-like eyes (pale orange sclera and dark orange irises). It's chest had a keel on its chest which can open up like a refrigerator (there were even white handles similar, if not identical, to the kind that you could find on an actual refrigerator) and can access ice-based attacks. Its shoulder pieces were rectangular with dark orange piece atop them. It had thick black arms with dark gray tubes connecting from its shoulders to its forearms, with thick, blocky hands with fingers to match. It had a dark red crotch piece, brown thighs, thick black shins, and dark red, pod-like feet with two purple growths on each one.

The fiend's primary means of attack appeared to be creating an ice wall, a spiked, rectangular block of ice, and pushing it toward Shenmue. The block bouncec off of the ice wall and was destroyed as it slammed into the other wall. This meant that Shenmue had to jump over it twice in order to avoid getting hit. After this attack, the fiend jumped toward Shenmue a tiny bit, then repeated the attack. After it took a ecertain amount of damage, Cold Man started creating small cold clouds that would interfere with her motor functions before her attack. Shenmue wisely took these clouds of coldness before moving to the fiend.

Shenmue decided to stop playing around, and take control of this battle. When the fiend started its attack pattern again, she launched a bolt of lightning at it, which stunned it. She did it again before it could react. And again, and again, and again, until the fiend was no longer an issue . . .

***

Demos called it a "psychrosapien". He claimed that designed this fiend to keep DNA specimens cold. Why he couldn't just use a mundane refrigerator, he refused to say.

***

Malice watched this dispassionately, wondering idly if she was becoming irrelevant as an antagonist.

[Underseen]

That's the best use of Wingdings I've ever seen. Maybe the only use of Wingdings I've seen, but still my statement stands.

[Cloak]

Really? No one has ever used Wingdings in that way? It just seemed so natural that that font would be perfect for an alien language.

New chapter.
 

BOOK CLXXI:
YOU ARE WHAT YOU READ
CHAPTER ONE:
On the Back Burner

Horse was dispatched to a forest, which was in rather grave danger of being immolated by a fire-themed fiend. She felt very out of place, though she could use her cryokinesis to keep herself comfy in such a temperate climate, why was she given this mission? She wasn't the only hydrokinetic in the form. Cloak had mastery over the element. Aquilai was a waterbender -- no, wait, he mysteriously Regenerated into a firebender. But, still, Cloak could do this! She sighed audibly as she made her way forward on the uneven, hilly ground, far slower than she would have liked.

Eventually, she came into a building of some sort. There was that marking again -- the eye-beaker-DNA strand one. She disregarded it, and moved forward, having to use her hydrokinesis to move forward at a pace she like more. This abandoned husk of a facility was cramped and claustrophobia -- fortunately, she was smaller than an average human, so this didn't bother her all that much. She made her way through the winding corridors, and was finding it boring. The walls were deteriorating, it's true, and it looked as if the place would come down with the next gust of wind.

Then she had to go onto catwalks with high railing. There were hidden holes everywhere in these catwalks. Well, Horse thought, that was most certainly inconvenient. Inconvenient, but not wholly un-doable. Horse took a note out of Iceman's book, and just ice bridged her way over these holes. It wasn't a particularly challenging puzzle for her to solve, but oh, well.

Then she came to an area whose left side and uneven floor was perforated with holes. She had an inkling what would happen when she would proceed into this area. And she wasn't a fan of it at all. Wasn't it bad enough that she had to pass through the G.I. tract of a rabid Pikachu? She guessed not, apparently. She ensconced herself in a water bubble with an icy shell and skated forward as fast as she could. And she was right. There were all matter of spears being poked through these holes. Whoever put this here was a sadistic piece of work. But she managed to escape this area without being harmed at all, coming to this abandoned facility's next dropshaft.

She fell for a while, before landing safely, if roughly, at the bottom. Then she proceeded to the right. And there was an annoying profusion of birds in this particular area, which all seemed to think Horse was a threat. Wonderful. But she managed to make it by them and to the next dropshaft. Then she found herself in open forest again. She was outside. She didn't know if this was better or not. And she would have to travel into the darker part of the forest.

Then the forest started to burn. It took all of Horse's might and hydrokinetic prowess to stem this fire. Then she swept herself up a latter and into the small hallway before the fiend's nest. She had had just about enough and was about to take it out on this fiend. The room was actually open, albeit dark, forest. But the fiend was upon a small parcel of land with a moat of spikes all around it.

The lanky fiend had a human-like head with a nozzle on its crest with a green Bunsen burner-like flame emitted from it, with two more raked backward. It had a deranged face, with wild eyes that dark green sclera and dark brown irises. Its chest was armored with green armor and a slim, white midriff. It had a silver ring around its waist and a green crotch piece, and white thighs. It had propane tanks for shoulders, Its upper arms were brown and its lower arms were green with a black wrist. On its left arm was a Bunsen burner-like nozzle which also had green flames. Its hands were pale orange with open fingertips which allowed it to fire more of these green flames. It's shins were bulky and green, with a black ring around the middle of the shin. It had black heels and toes with a white stripe separating the two.

Horse that the fiend was very quick. The fiend began this fight by dashing toward the seal, then turn around and dash in the opposite direction. He will do this either once or twice.  It threw an explosive barrel at Horse's position, then launched three bear traps that will immobilize Horse (as well as horribly maim her). Then it jumped in the air and slammed into the ground, sending a pair of fire waves in all directions. After it performed these three attack patterns. it performed another of the three or use an undulating wave of fire,  jumping a small length toward Horse as it did so. This attack lasted for about five seconds, and it would repeat this an infinite amount of times.

When it did this a second time, Horse, upon instinct, created a wall of ice. To her surprise, it actually blocked the green fire waves. Then an idea hit her upside the head, and she smacked the ice wall with a flipper -- causing it to rush forward, and slam the fiend. Slamming it into the spikes surrounding the battle area. But it survived this and hopped to the other end of the stage. Horse did this another six or so times, trapping the fiend into a sort of stun-lock.

The deed was done, and so was Horse. She was planning to sleep for a year when she got back to the forum.

***

Demos called it "banasapien". And took him something to admit that this fiend's creation was actually an accident, and it's mind was warped as a result. It explained its pyromaniacal tendencies.

***

Malice only had this on as background noise as she still suffered from scheme block, and she wasn't too happy about it. She would not allow herself to fall into irrelevancy.

[Cloak]

This was a f*ckin' ordeal to put up with my sh*tty internet going out every two seconds.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWO:
The Convention

"Oh, don't be such a grouch!" AniDragon said, bracingly. "Have a little fun!"

"I wouldn't qualify this as . . . 'fun'," Cloak said, stoically. "I'd much rather be dealing with that fire fiend that Horse was sent on."

Cloak was wearing his ID mask which projected a human form on him, which actually made him look far shorter and more innocuous than his true form. Of course, he wasn't the only one that AniDragon dragged along. Abby and Melissa came to, and Leatherhead begged for GH to take him with.

Leatherhead was, naturally, wearing his human suit, although he needn't have. There were many humans in costume at this place, many very impressive, others not so much. Most were a median of these two extremes, all seemed to have a rather homemade feel to them. Despite himself, Cloak found himself in awe at the craftmanship of many of the more extravagant costumes -- he believed that they called it "cosplay". Granted, it wasn't something that Realm Walkers would indulge in -- although, one could make the argument that that was what he was doing right now, disguising himself as a fairly nondescript human.

"That's the spirit!" AniDragon said.

Cloak glowered at her, which just caused her to laugh out loud. Cloak wasn't fond of the crowded atmosphere, and really just had every inclination to recoil to the shadowy corners of the room -- although, there were none. This was like bringing a caged tiger to a prom -- its just an exercise in poor taste, though, granted, this wasn't nearly as cruel.

"Why are we here again?" Cloak muttered.

"Oh, you know you need to get out of that stuffy thread once and a while," AniDragon said.

"I do," Cloak said.

"Outside of missions, Cloak!" she replied, a bit too jovially for the Realm Walker's taste. "You need to unwind for a while, get out, meet the people that we're protecting as RAFians."

"Oh, yeah, because Bern Bridges is making that so easy to do," GH said, almost nihilistic.

"Daddy, lookit lookit!" Leatherhead said, dragging GH off by his right hand. It was like Leatherhead was at Disney World or something. The kid didn't know his own strength -- he nearly dislocated GH's right arm -- leaving GH to say, "Alright, alright -- calm down, LH. I'm coming. I'm coming."

Cloak noticed something to his right, about seven o'clock. It was a full-color comic book, but there seemed to be something about it. Something that Cloak couldn't put his finger on. But it was something that Cloak didn't like, something . . . wrong. The comic book's front cover had the title of "Ultimate Man", and it had a very Kryptonian figure underneath this title. This figure wore a very Superman-esque costume, but all-black with no insignia on the chest. But only the head and fists were bare. The character had a very square head and close-cut hairstyle, with a lock of hair, twisted and curly, hanging down over his rather squared forehead. The character's cape looked more like a leather tarp if anything else. Yet, something about this repulsed Cloak.

There was a boy, maybe a little younger than Leatherhead, with threadbare, ragged clothing and messy black hair and an odd look in his eyes. He had seen things, with eyes like that. He was eyeing the comic book with all the avarice of that a young boy has for things that they cannot have.

He wanted that comic book.

Actually, that was inaccurate. He wanted to be that character. He wanted to be out of the position of powerlessness that young children often find themselves in, especially in loveless, dysfunctional households. This boy wanted to be free to do whatever he wanted, as all children do. This boy wanted to be powerful. He wanted all these things. He looked at the comic book, in its case, and knew that he'd never own it. He'd never be able to read the story within, never be able to afford to purchase it.

He looked around, secretly hoping someone would buy it for him, like a child would. But he knew the reality of the situation, though he hoped otherwise. Knew that he would never get the comic book. No one would pay a thousand bucks or so for a comic book, even a first-edition, first printing, mint condition one. No one . . .

[Cloak]

Sorry for the delay -- was struggling with internet and it was the sixth consecutive day of work for me.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THREE:
The Cursed Comic Book

The boy’s name was William Baxter Radcliffe, but he went by Billy. He didn't have many friends, and his parents were less than stellar at parenting. Hence why he was at this convention without any sort of parental supervision whatsoever. His parents, Ann and Edward, didn't really seem to love him, apparently seeing him as nothing more than a burden rather than a person. He was too young to recognize some of the deeper implications of what this meant, of what child abuse really was. He didn't understand, not really, that not everyone suffered this sort of neglect and derision. And this kind of dehumanization that he had to endure.

His father rarely, if ever, spoke to him, and whenever his mother did, it was just to bark orders that she expected to be obeyed immediately. When he was gone, for any length of time, he was never questioned about his whereabouts. It would be very easy for him to be a Controller and feed every three days, as his parents wouldn't care. Despite his young age, he basically had to fend for himself, but he was too young to understand that this was illegal by the laws of the country. His parents threatened him most severely if he told any person of authority of his treatment. They made him see figures of authority as monstrous, evil people and he tried to keep his distance away from all people in uniform with badges, harboring an indoctrinated terror of them.

Billy has never known any possessions of his own. He was fortunate enough that his parents had deigned to clothe him and feed him. Occasionally. It wasn't fair, he knew this much. But he found himself completely enraptured by the comic book. It was the first appearance of Ultimate Man, an obscure character that Billy personally saw as being unjustly obscure.

He was super powerful with a myriad of superpowers. Superhuman strength. Superhuman durability. Superhuman solar energy absorption. Powerful healing factor. Solar energy emission. Heat vision. Solar invulnerability. Flight. Superhuman speed (purportedly). Superhuman intelligence (only claimed, never shown). Superhuman breath. X-ray vision. Superhuman hearing. Superhuman vision. Vocal abilities. And possibly more as the writers came up with them.

Ultimate Man was, as a character, not especially well-written, but Billy refused to hear any of this. He stubbornly asserted that Ultimate Man was the best character ever, and could beat any other character with ease. He would twist any argument to make his argument stronger, but he was a young kid and he was, naturally, stubborn about such things. He would argue that Ultimate Man didn't need any help for anything, didn't need a team or anything, was able to do anything imaginable (including things outside his established power set), and was without any flaws or defects. Billy ignored the fact that this made Ultimate Man a rather boring character that couldn't support a single-run series.

Ultimate Man was everything was everything that Billy wanted to be -- powerful, fearless, and confident. All things that Billy felt that he was woefully lacking in all accounts. He ignored the fact that Ultimate Man, in his comics, was a rather misogynistic, cruel, and violence-prone character, not above using intimidation and threats of physical violence to get his way. Well, he either ignored it, chose to not understand it, or pretended not to understand it. Billy was not a stupid kid, however. He was often quick on the uptake.

Anyway, he stood there, staring at this comic in its glass box case. He wanted that comic so badly, and no one else at this convention was bothering to stop and give it a second glance. This annoyed Billy a bit, as he thought the character was grossly underrated and undervalued. But, on the other hand, he didn't have to worry about fighting his way through a crowd to see the comic. He was so absolutely ecstatic to even see the comic, even if he could not read it.

Then some thoughts began to curling and swirling around in his mind, though it was unknown if those thoughts were actually formed by the boy himself. It was almost as if the comic book emitted an orange light that was taking effect on the boy. That some unknown force, whose sentience or lack thereof, was unknown. His eyes seemed to sparkle with orange light flecks as he started to look even more covetously at the comic. The desire to have it was growing inside of Billy, and he didn't even seem aware of it.

What use was a comic book in a glass case? the thoughts said, still unknown if they came from the boy or some external source, Comics were MEANT to be read, to be experienced to be enjoyed. That was their purpose, their function, their . . . destiny. They were never meant to be locked up and hoarded away, like a dragon with gold. They were never meant to be sequestered away like some religious artifact from a day and age long since past. They were never meant to used as a means to get the owner rich or to be in some innocuous collection from some rabid collector.

These thoughts, regardless of origin, spoke to Billy. They were doing a rather spectacular job in convincing him, in justifying the action.

I deserve that comic book more than its current, GREEDY owner, Billy found himself thinking. I'd take better care of that comic book. Just look at the spine of the book! It had never even been opened even once! That's sacrilege! That's blasphemy! No jury would convict me. I would . . .

Billy apparently didn't realize, not really, what he was planning on doing. It was almost as if he lost control of his body and mind, and he wasn't even aware of it. He just knew the desire to have the comic book. But he couldn't liberate it with so many people here. . .