Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Bitter Bickering

Ash picked up the receiver on the ruby red telephone with a rotary dial. It was certainly an old-school phone.

"Hello? Azzy, this is Ash," she said, into the receiver.

"High there, sugarplum, how'd you make it out with the hothead?" came his reply, as his image appeared on the screen.

"I heard that, you snowball!" Heat Demos lashed out.

"Oh, my goodness, speak of the devil," Snow Azguard said.

They were now speaking directly to the screen, and Ash set down the receiver. And odd piece of technology, this.

"Madam," Heat Demos said, addressing Ash, "kindly state your business with that drippy snowman and get him out of here!"

"Mind your blood pressure, hotcakes, the Master has warned you about that low boiling point of yours," Snow Azguard said, coolly.

Heat Demos fumed, "You think you're hot stuff just because the Master likes you best!"

"Boys! Boys!" Ash interceded. "Now, please, don't fight!"

"If I can't have a little fun, then I might as well leave," Snow Azguard said.

Deciding to plow on with the matter at hand, Ash told Snow Azguard, "Your brother agreed to let it snow in the city."

"He did?" Snow Azguard said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Of course, there has to be a small concession on your part," Ash said.

"Oh, really?" Snow Azguard said, tone changing to sound unsurprised. "What does flaming fool want this time? RAF?"

"Well," Ash said, still trying to be diplomatic, "yes, as a matter of fact."

"WHAT?!" Snow Azguard roared.

"I told you he wouldn't cooperate!" Heat Demos said, even though he didn't say anything of the like.

"COOPERATE?!" Snow Azguard raged. "Surrender RAF and you call that 'COOPERATE'?! I have a good mind to chill your embers for you!"

"Oh, yeah?!" Heat Demos said, threateningly.

Then, somehow, the two used their powers through the screen, with Snow Azguard sending snow and Heat Demos sending waves of heat. Neither aware that Ash was just really fed up with the pair of them. Saffa, Abby, and Vinny were just observers at this point, just mere bystanders.

"Alright, enough of this!" she said, holding her hands up. "I hate to do this to you boys, but you've left me little choice. I'm going over your heads."

"You're kidding!" Snow Az said, aghast.

"You won't dare!" Heat Demos said, doubtful.

"I would, and I will." Ash said, as she motioned the others to follow her as they began to leave.

"Ash!" Heat Demos said, then he turned to his brother, blaming him, "You see what you did, you old blizzard? She's going to tell the Master!"

"What I did, you hot dog?!" Snow Azguard protested. "It's YOUR fault."

"Come along," Ash said to her traveling compatriots.

"We're not really going to do it, are we, Ash?" Abby asked. "We're not really going to disturb him?"

Ash walked away, and out of Heat Demos's lair.

"She's not serious . . ." Abby said. "No . . ."

"Who? Where're we going? Who are we going to see?" Vinny asked.

"We're going right to the top, Vinny," Saffa said. "Ash is through fooling around. We're gonna see none other than the Master of the Elements."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
The Master

The quartet arrived in an area that looked very much like a wildlife preserve. There were stone effigies of wolves, leopards, pandas, gyrfalcons, sheep, elephants, polar bears, lions, swans, cobras, gorillas, elk, eagles, octopuses, and wild pigs to the right of the entrance, and stone effigies of tigers, lions, leopards, jaguars, cheetahs, pumas, deer, bears, bison, dolphins, elephants, foxes, sheep, rhinoceroses, turtles, wolves, and snakes.

"Well, that's not intimidating or anything," Abby said, as Vinny started to cowering behind her.

"I must admit, I'm more than a little nervous myself," Ash said, as if she were talking about the weather. Which, in a way, you could say that she was. "I've only met him a couple of times, but I know that he doesn't like to be disturbed."

"THEN WHY ARE WE GOING?!" Abby exclaimed.

"You know why perfectly well, Abby," Ash said. "I admit that I have no idea of what to expect from the Master. I just know that he took that position from his mother, Mother Nature, when she decided to quit abruptly."

"Have you met Mother Nature?" Vinny asked. "Is she nice?"

Ash hesitated a moment, before saying, "Let's move on, shall we? Richard needs his holiday, and we shall give it to him."

The hesitation was all Vinny needed to know that Mother Nature was, in fact, not very nice. Not very nice, at all. Anyway, they passed by the stone effigies that marked the entrance to the Master's territory. It was like entering a Jurassic Park paddock -- a very bad idea by all stretches of the imagination -- and that gave a very ominous feeling all around. Silence fell over them.

***

Yes, GH was aware that he was making this up and it was a distinct departure from that forty-five-minute holiday special he saw. He didn't care. He wanted to make the Master, which he obviously based on Cloak (he didn't think that he'd mind this representation of it), seem ominous and powerful and scary.

***

There was only a singular path made of dry earth the color of old concrete that was devoid of plantlife. It seemed to be a game trail. Each of the four heard various rustling in the thick vegetation on either side of them. All four of them felt as if they were being watched, but only Ash kept her poise and her eyes on the goal at hand. True, the sounds unnerved her, but she refused to let that deter her. She had to do this.

"What was that?" Vinny said. He was scared, and Abby tried to comfort him, despite being scared herself.

It seemed like shadows were streaking from tree to tree every so often, but Ash wouldn't allow them to get distracted. It wasn't too long before they came to a small home in a clearing. It was a small house (proportion-wise, it was very much larger than the quartet), with two large windows total side facing the path, but the blinds were shut, not allowing people to see in and ruin the inhabitant's privacy.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" came a growl.

They saw a man, far taller than either of the miser brothers, standing before them. His cloak blocked out what he looked like beneath his neck as it swirled around in front of him, and it's hood completely obscured his face in shadow, so that only his inhuman, amber eyes shone out from it. They were feline, not human at all. But his cloak was easily the most distracting thing about him. It was quilted, with each patch being either water, wood, earth, metal, fire, or cloud. And each patch oscillated in that order, but not always at the same time -- some were quicker, some were slower. The effect was almost hypnotic.

Before Ash could answer, the Master answered for her, recognizing her. "Ash? Why have you come here?"

"We have a bit of an issue," she said, in a tone that suggested familiarity.

"An issue, you say?" he said, his tone was far less intimidating that the other three had expected. Only Abby, Ash, and Saffa knew that it was by design. He could be fearsome if he needed to be. He gestured to a table and chairs to his left. "Take a seat. Tell me the situation."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Exasperation

"Oh, I see. They gave you a hard time, did they, Ash?" the Master said, with the weary sigh of a father told of his children's misbehavior and misdeeds. He had sat down with the four and withdrew his cloak around his body, revealing a humanoid, feline form with plantigrade feet. He pulled his hood down to reveal a head to match. His fur was scarlet and his stripes golden streaks. Removing the cloak in such a way had an odd sense of humanizing the figure. "Hmm?"

"Oh, I'm sure that they didn't mean to --" Ash said, trying to be polite.

"Oh, yes, they did." the Master said, with all the weariness of a single father trying to raise two hoodlums. "They're spoiled brats, both of them. I blame myself -- I probably coddled them a little too much."

"Oh, I wouldn't say --" Ash began.

"Don't worry, Ash, I'll straighten them out for you," the Master said, affably. Then he turned over his shoulder, and roared, "BOYS!!"

And then they were there, as if the very earth spat them out.

"What is it, Sir?" both said, in unison. Then they went about menial tasks which they hoped would curry favor with the Master.

"Now," the Master said, waving them away from those menial tasks which he had not asked them to carry out. "Ash has made a very simple request. Now, you let a little snow fall in that city, and you let RAF have a nice spring day. All you have to do is compromise. And, at this time of year especially, there needs to be some examples of compassion and good will, and we need to set a good example for the people down there to follow. So, boys, PLEASE!"

There were a sparse few seconds of the two antagonizing each other, before Heat Demos cried, "I WON'T DO IT!!"

"ME NEITHER!!" Snow Az agreed.

"ENOUGH!!" the Master roared, standing. Everyone, even Ash's quartet, backed away at the palpable power felt by the Master. Even Snow Az and Heat Demos seemed to shrink away from him, all affability gone.

"Yessir," the two said, immediately complying.

The Master shut his eyes and took a deep breath, "They're really nice boys, Ash, but sometimes they bicker. But you'll have no further trouble with them. I do hope Richard enjoys his holiday. He's long since deserved one."

"How can I ever thank you?" she asked, shaking the Master's hand.

"Oh, don't mention it," the Master said, waving the gratitude away. "Safe travels, Ash."

And the four took their leave.

***

Meanwhile, back at the city, it began to snow. A furious flurry of white specks descending from the sky in a mighty force. The children hadn't wasted any time and managed to make a snowman from the snow that had already accumulated.

"It's snowing! It's really snowing!" one was heard to proclaim.

Meanwhile, in the mayor's office, he was on the phone to his mother, "Yes, Mother, I'll be home early. . . . well, I should be leaving here in a few minutes. What's that? . . . Don't forget to wear my WHAT? . . . Galoshes? Whatever for? . . . Oh, it's snowing, is it? In that case, I'll -- WHAT?!"

Then he turned around and looked at the window that he had his back to. Then he bore witness to the falling fluff from the sky, and he was in awe.

"Snow? Here?" he said, quietly to himself. "I guess those ladies weren't pulling my leg about RAF after all. . . ."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Well, That Was Abrupt

Ash rushed into Richard's thread with news. "Richard, wake up!"

He roused a bit, before waking up fully. Ash declared, "Look at these headlines!"

Saffa, who followed Ash, said, "Yes, listen to this: 'Mayor Declares a Legal Holiday For RAF', 'Snow Falls For First Time in a Hundred Years'."

Then Abby, who had followed the previous two in, said, "And get this: 'Day Off For RAF'."

"Yes," Ash said, putting a whole stack of different newspapers and web addresses down on Richard's blanketed lap. "And all these say the same."

"Well, Ash, I guess you proved your point," Richard conceded. "There is some good will in the hearts of all men and women. The world gave us .  . a vacation."

Then he leaned back and fell asleep.

***

Speaking of being asleep, Leatherhead was deeply asleep.

GH noticed it immediately, and noticed that there was no point in continuing the story. He was actually feeling mixed about it, as he was getting into it. But they had already hit the climax and were now just basically wrapping up. The story was already fundamentally over.

GH sighed, and kissed Leatherhead on the forehead, which was cool and scaly, as he wasn't wearing his humansuit. GH smiled as he saw LH clutch his keytar as if it was a teddy bear. Even though they weren't related biologically, GH saw so much of himself in the child. GH got up slowly, as not to disturb his adopted son's slumber.

Then he flicked off the night from his son's room. Yes, Leatherhead had his own room now -- the RAFian threads work sort of like the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts. The thread gives its occupant what he or she or they require. In GH's case, it gave him what essentially amounted to a two-room flat. Things like laundry and cleaning were still taken care of by the native house-elves, which were often overlooked or forgotten about.

GH quietly made his way to his own bedroom, and looked up at the walls which he had plastered with various posters of bands that he was fond of. He leaned his favorite guitar against the wall opposite the one he shared with Leatherhead. Then he looked toward his bed, which was made immaculately. This was the one sign that they had house-elves clean up after them -- if they didn't this bed would be a complete mess.

Anyway, GH sat down on the bed and ran his fingers through his hair, and let out a quiet sigh. It was a fortunately uneventful day, but he had to go to work tomorrow, and they're still trying to convince him to wear that suit again. He didn't want to -- those damn kids never were happy with whoever was in the suit. The suit either terrified the younger ones, and the older ones got a kick out of hitting whoever was in the suit. Particularly in the one place that he would never want them to hit -- it was bad enough when that Techadon piece of . . .

GH laid down upon his bed, not bothering to remove the covers, and stretched with a quiet yawn. He thought of why he even wanted to keep this job. Being a RAFian was pretty much a full-time job as it was. Sure, he had friends there, but there were coworkers that he couldn't stand. Like that Carmichael fool, who half-assed his job and had the nerve to complain about how he, GH, did his. He always left more work for others to do, and he's one of the reasons why he didn't really talk about LH at work -- because Carmichael already stated that he thought GH was too young and immature to ever have a child (of course, Carmichael assumed that he was straight, as well, and GH heard what Carmichael thought of gay people).

Hell, if he told him about Leatherhead, he would, first, criticize GH about the boy's name. Even if he had abbreviated it to his usual nickname of LH, Carmichael would demand what it stood for. He was noisily nosy in that way. Second, Carmichael would suggest that GH might have kidnapped LH from his real parents or suggest that he was actually his brother. Carmichael was such a charmer in this way. Third, Carmichael would criticize LH's rambunctious behavior as poor parenting, when, in reality, it was normal part of childhood. (Carmichael wouldn't know -- he still had to pay his ex-wife child support and he had nothing to do with his children.)

GH had to berate himself. He shouldn't be thinking of that idiot right now, he should be trying to go to sleep. Especially because he would have to deal with this idiot tomorrow at work.

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Remember Me

Meanwhile, while GH was telling his bedtime story, Cloak had knelt at the effigy that he had made in his beloved late aunt's visage. They say things that get easier with time, and Realm Walkers like Cloak have that in spades. But this . . . this affected him more than his grandfather's death was. The shock of that had worn off in the years past (Realm Walker years, that is). But the shock of this . . . even though it had been a few months (Realm Dweller time), Cloak still felt it. The numbing effect of time hadn't soothed this pain, hadn't taken away the shock he felt, the sadness in his heart, the yearning for her not to be . . .

Then a song approached his ears. He did not know if it was real or imagined, but he quickly found that he . . . that he didn't care. In a slow lullaby, the song sang as he gazed up into the statue of his beloved Aunt Wheeza:

Remember me.
Though I have to say goodbye,
Remember me.
Don't let it make you cry.
For, even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart
I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart.

Cloak bowed his head at this point. His mind flooded with the images of his aunt. Happy memories. Memories he no longer got to make with her. Her absence was like a void, a void that was very slow in being filled. A void that felt as if it would never be filled again. A sinkhole in his heart that no one or nothing seemed able to span.

Despite himself, tears welled up in his eyes. Why did she have to be gone? Could . . . could he have done something? Could he have somehow saved her from death? He wanted to blame Death for taking her away from him. He wanted to place all the blame on him and be done with it. But he couldn't. See, he had actually met the personification of Death himself. He wasn't what you'd expect, looking like a doughy, Jason Alexander-type of person. He didn't want to take people away from their loved ones anymore than they wanted him to.

But he ]had to. He was obligated to, and he couldn't chose who was on his list. That was decided by someone else, presumably Fate or Destiny or some other denomination of that. Death didn't make the decision, that was out of his hand. Death wasn't a bad person, but he understood how people would see him as such and had long accepted it.

Immortality was a scam. Nothing truly lasts forever, not even whatever gods or titans or monsters lie out there in the universe. Permanence is a naive hope, as the only thing permanent is the existence of change.

The words of the song lit up again, as Cloak kept his head bowed.

Remember me.
Though I have to travel far,
Remember me.
Each time you hear a sad guitar,
Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be
Until you're in my arms again.
Remember me.

Cloak waited for a long time after that, he was only vaguely aware of the sun going down and the night air chilling around him. The words seemed to be on an infinite loop now. And he listened to each lyric deeply. Each lyric, each word, striking a very deep cord with him. It only ended when he spoke, his tears searing the ground before the statue of his aunt.

"I will," he said. "Always."


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdrOobeTn8k

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity again.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Goin' Commando

Blaze went to the desert where the next fiend took as its nest, armed with a new buzzsaw/shield-type weapon. It was only a prototype, however, and it wasn't known how durable or effective the weapon would be. Blaze knew that if he was careless with it, he would never hear the end of it.

Anyway, he proceeded through the desert. First, he tried on foot, but found that it was far too irritating sinking into the sand, so he just flew. He had wings, so why not use them? It wasn't long before he came to an abandoned facility, where the fiend was alleged to have made its nest. From here, he could either descend into a dropshaft or move on pass it. He decided to move on pass it.

He quickly discovered that he wasn't able to fly as effectively here. There were scattered sandstorms that made it difficult, if not flat out impossible, to fly effectively. Visibility wasn't spectacular, either, when one of the sandstorm fits happened. At the end, he came to a drop shaft which he dived down.

Towards the bottom, he flared his wings and slowed his descent, landing with scarcely a sound. Then he came to another dropshaft, but elevated from where he landed. He barreled down the dropshaft, and then flared his wings again when he was close to the bottom. Then he turned to the left and continued forward, perhaps a tad brash and reckless. But he was rather disheartened to discover that he was back out in the desert, full of deep dunes and sandstorms. It wasn't too long through this that he came to another facility building, which looked as if it only consisted of a single room. This was obviously the fiend's nest. Blaze entered the bunker-type building and saw that he was right.

The fiend was stout, head sunken into its chest cavity. Its round, cylindrical head was red with black ears. Where the nose of a normal human would be, its head was sunk into its artillery platform-like torso and its eyes (green sclera and brown irises) were in shadow, with a silver antennae coming out the back of it. It had red block shoulders with white Xs on it. Its upper arms were white with silver at the connecting joints, and connected with red turret cannons by black connector ports. Its abdomen was a darker red with a metallic ring at its waist. It's crotch was black with white thighs, red shins, and black feet.

Blaze waited to see its strategy, and he managed to determine it with surprising ease. It's stratagem seemed to mainly fire bombs at the RAFian while jumping around the room. It could fire them while on the ground and at the apex of a jump, while the bomb arced down when fired from above, if the Blaze passed under it. When the fiend jumped high and raised its arms as it drops down, it would cause an earthquake that would have held Blaze in place, leaving him vulnerable.

The fiend's bomb could be easily avoided by fluttering over it when it fires it on the ground (though it had a small chance of arcing up), while an aerial bomb should be avoided by getting out of the way, to the other side of the room. He had to be careful as the shockwave from the bomb reached out and could still hit him. The fiend jumped high, the player should jump to avoid the earthquake. It jumped low with its arms raised, creating an earthquake as it lands to stun Blaze. Then, by punching the ground, and it created an explosive shockwave that travels all the way across the room. The earthquake can be avoided by jumping or flying, whereas whereas he just flew the second time to avoid the shockwave. The fiend was vulnerable to attacks as long as it did not jump too high.

Once Blaze had its pattern down, slaying it was child's play. It only took seven connecting attacks with the buzzsaw shield . . . unfortunately, upon the seventh and killing blow, the buzzsaw shield broke.

"Of course," Blaze grumbled as he left. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

***

Demos called it a "komandosapien", and he intended it to be used in mine-sweeping operations with remote detonations to clear minefields all over the world.

***

Malice was, again, starting to panic, afraid of losing relevance. And she kind of was.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

BOOK CLXXIV:
KIDNAPPED
CHAPTER ONE:
Bringing a Blade to a Gunfight

Parker went to an old, forgotten castle that was rotting away because the family that could lay claim to it didn't want to -- for tax reasons. Such a shame too, Parker considered, it looked like a massive, mighty installation. It was sad to see it go to ruin, but he hadn't any claim to it. And, to be honest, taxes would be a very good deterrent.

It wasn't very long before he ventured into the castle proper. Fortunately, he had his armor on and that it was self-contained. But he could see the blatant evidence that the castle itself was cold and drafty. Unsurprising, considering the years, possibly decades to centuries, of lacking proper upkeep and maintenance that most, if not all building structures require. He continued forward, feeling uneasy. It was too quiet in here -- there should have been some sort of noise, and his helmet wouldn't have muffled that from his ears.

Then he stopped and looked down. A spike trap. Blatantly in the open. It was almost insulting. But, then again, he saw signs that this trap used to be more hidden, more covered, but that had eroded away over time. He jumped the pit, and the two following it. Then he noticed a ladder to his left, and he took it upward. Then he came to a small room with uneven flooring and a ladder directly ahead, to his right. He took it.

Once he emerged on the landing, he immediately proceeded to the right. The flooring here was uneven, too, but everything else was uneventful. Until he came to a floor pitted with spikes and seesaw-like devices. Clearly he was intended to use those to transverse the room, and he would have to use it. He hated feeling like a trained dog, and he hated stupid puzzles like these.

When he landed, he glanced around at his surroundings and saw nothing particularly spectacular. Then he came to a large room that was sparsely lit, with a smaller, "play castle" inside. It was a legitimate castle, large enough to be bigger than most studio apartments. Apparently who initially owned this castle had too much wealth -- this was a fantastic waste of money. Building a castle within a castle. Clearly, this person had become accustomed to such ostentatious opulence, even in this ruined state, that it took all of Parker's self control not to throw up in disgust. Parker left this room as soon as he could, his disgust was growing much too fast. He found a ladder, and climbed down it.

At the bottom of the ladder, he discovered a grand staircase leading to a pitfall, and Parker felt rather reckless, so he dived down the hole. He landed a "superhero landing" sort of pose to find another staircase, this time an ascending one, leading to another pitfall. The last dive ended so anticlimactically, he tried it again, hoping to land in the fiend's nest.

He landed into a sinewy hallway, and sighed in disappointment. He had wasted a perfectly dramatic entrance. Twice! Oh, well. Time to press on. Only to come to that seesaw puzzle again. The architect of this castle was getting friggin' abusive with these spikes and seesaws. Fine, Parker decided, I'll play your stupid game.

Eventually, they just gave up on the seesaws and he had to jump over three spiked chasms. Parker was finding this rather tedious. And people used to live in this friggin' madhouse? Then he came to a seesaw . . . over a large chasm. Presumably, the spiked floor fell away with age. Of course, this just made it even more difficult. He didn't really want to have try climb back here again, assuming the drop was survivable, even with his augmented SPARTAN armor (yes, augmented -- he had a knack for tinkering with it whenever they came across some tech that he thought was remotely compatible with his armor's systems). Then he looked up and saw that the ceiling was spiked for good measure. This architect was clearly sadistic.

After he finished this seesaw puzzle (there was copious amount of cursing and swearing, and Tyr "tsk-tsk-tsk"-ing), he paused for a momentary breather as he had to put up with Tyr scolding him for his sailor's mouth. Leatherhead wasn't here -- he didn't have to censor himself. He saw the fiend's nest ahead, and thought it was about damn time. He boldly clomped into the fiend's nest, and, disgruntled, stared the creature down.

The fiend had wiry, yellow body with a purple neckline and shoulder pads. It's head was sword blade with human-like eyes (dark brown sclera and black irises). Its upper arms where black and connected to sabers from the elbows down. Its chest was orange, its abdomen and thighs were white with a metallic red band at its waist. Its lower legs were orange with pointed, metallic gold feet.

When the fiend decided to engage, it jumped around the walls, sticking to the walls and ceiling by stabbing one of its sword arms into it, and fired anywhere from three to five blades at Parker, which his armor was more than enough to tank. But it didn't make it any less annoying. But Parker found that his explosive equipment made short work of it. Not direct hits, surprisingly enough, but the shockwaves from indirect hits. (He wouldn't call them misses -- he could be prideful in that regard.)

***

Demos called it a "bladesapien", and was intended to be a guide at an ancient castle. The other RAFians poked a lot of holes in this, but Demos ignored them.

***

Malice wasn't having a good time. She couldn't even bother to watch the fiend fight, she was too concerned about her relevancy.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWO:
Duplicitous Intentions

"They waste their talents on these so-called heroics," said a prim woman in a navy blue business suit with a matching skirt and high-heels. Her dark hair tied up in a tight bun. She wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and clutched a clipboard to her chest. She had a pointed, beaky nose with a slim, svelte build. She looked rather like a human version of a Pearl. "They should be used for more --"

She fell silent immediately when her corporate superior raised his hand, such was the power he exuded over her. She was behaving almost as if she was, indeed, a Pearl. He was standing and was entirely in silhouette. He was a big, meaty man in a three-pieced pinstripe suit with a black derby. He looked as if he was part ogre without the enlarged lower canines. He had no hair upon his head, and his ears weren't pointed.

With but a gesture, he manipulated the screens before him. On each screen was a RAFian -- GH, Dylan, Myitt, Parker, itw, Oceanspray, Aila, Aquilai, Gaz, Helen, Empress Goose, Underseen, Wild, Pez, Rad, Ash, Mr. Guy, Shenmue, Saffa, Abby, Broken, and Melissa -- and each one had a conspicuous similarity. Each one was human, or, at least, outwardly looked so. It seemed that these were the only ones that it seemed interested in. This man was watching and analyzing the little footage of them.

"How are the new . . . accommodations . . . progressing, Yasmin?" he said. His voice was deep, slow, and somewhat guttural. Like a hoarse Michael Clark Duncan voice.

"Twenty-three-point-zero-four percent complete," she replied at once, consulting her clipboard, "and progressing at a rate of twenty-two-point-one percent per hour, Mr. Convertir. It shall be done within the next four hours, sir."

Dominus "Dom" Convertir didn't say anything at first. Yasmin Heep was used to this, as she didn't react to it at all. She just stood with the clipboard clutched almost desperately to her person, almost as if she were terrified of losing it. She feared her superior's anger, and he could be very . . . dangerous when he was angered.

"Very well, Yasmin," he said, in that slow, drawling voice. Then he clapped twice after he said, "That will be all, Yasmin."

Yasmin knew when she's been dismissed. Not fired, but dismissed from her boss's presence. When she was a fair distance away from work, she allowed herself to breath a sigh of relief. Mr. Convertir didn't get angered often, but when he did . . . well, she was usually the closest thing nearby. She still had nightmares from the last time . . . It's such a pity, really, how so many people don't realize that violence and intimidation and fear is not the way to ensure loyalty to you. In reality, it has the nasty habit of doing the precise opposite. Yasmin never understood how people like Mr. Convertir could see being feared by everyone more desirable than being loved by everyone. Fear does not equate to respect, but precious few people seem to understand or realize that fact.

She would quit this job in instant had she not foolhardily signed a contract and was sworn to secrecy with a rather long nondisclosure agreement that she signed without reading. Despite the very real and present danger that existed within her job, it still paid fairly well and provided her with affordable health insurance with vision and dental. If she left, she would basically be giving those things up, and she had a family to support. So, she basically told him what he wanted to hear, but in an honest way. She pretended to be on his side on all issues, even if she didn't agree with him. She had to sacrifice her integrity to make ends meet, and she secretly hated doing it, and hated herself for doing it -- but, again, she had a family to support.

But she didn't have to worry about him for a couple of hours, when she would go back to work again, so she tried to put this fear and whatnot out her mind. For the next few hours, she was free, and she would try to leave that stuff at work.

Meanwhile, back at the dark office room, Dom was still looking at the various floating screens. The footage of the RAFians wasn't the best around, but it was enough to wet his appetite. He looked at them with rapt attention, almost covetously. He was a retired military man, but he eventually grew very tired of the retired life and he came here and built this up from the bottom up. The whole organization was covert, very hush-hush. He still had many contacts within the military itself and he wouldn't hesitate to call in some favors if he had to, or grease some palms, if necessary, to get local and federal law enforcement to look the other way in his activities.

He had a habit of treating his employees either like slaves (as in the case of Yasmin Heep) or like wartime soldiers. When he told someone to do something, he commanded it, and he expected it to be carried out immediately. He had been too desensitized by combat and had extreme difficulty of seeing the people around him as people and not pawns or means to an end. The combat had almost effectively dehumanized him to a certain point, and he didn't see it. He just believed that he ran a tight ship. He knew that a lot of his employees feared him, which he thought was good. That there should be a little fear in talking to your superior officer. He tended to overlook the fact that he tended to be overcritical and overanalyze his employees which was why no one sought out a conversation with him, unless absolutely necessary.

Anyway, he continued with his excruciating scrutinizing examinations of the RAFians. He rubbed his square jaw thoughtfully, thinking that they could prove useful to what he had planned. He would just have them do what he would call their "patriotic duty".

[Cloak]

I believe that GH is the most fleshed out character in Memoirs (second to me, of course). Perhaps it's because he wrote those books set within the same universe, the supplementary books, the spin-offs.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THREE:
GH's Workplace Drama

"Ugh," GH grumbled.

"Don't be so sour, Lewis," a female coworker of his chided gently. He got along with her reasonably well, but that wasn't enough to dissuade him from his bad mood. "You don't have to work with Carmichael for very much longer."

"It's just that I'm tired, Verity," he replied back, sounding much more harsh than he had intended. "I'm tired of having to pick up his slack. He can bus his own tables, but he rarely -- if ever -- does. Then he has the nerve to bad-mouth me for doing."

"And he never gets punished for it, and he always gets away with it," she said, repeating the common complaint against Carmichael. 'I know, Lewis, I know."

"If he wasn't always on that goddamn phone of his," GH muttered. His annoyance with the man would not go away unless something was done about this. "He says that 'it's the same work', acting like doing things in a timely matter isn't important.*"

"I understand, Lewis," Verity said, "But there's nothing we can do about it. The head honcho is the only one that discipline him, and the fact that he hasn't . . . well, I can't say that I know or understand why he hasn't, but you gotta roll with the punches."

GH wanted to say he could roll with the punches. That he did so in his time as a RAFian, that he had to deal with things that were far more distressing that this little man named Carmichael. And, yes, that was his given name. GH couldn't help but think that it was a stupid one -- though, granted, he may not have thought so had Carmichael as a person had not been so aggravating a person. He rarely did his job, and expected others to do it for him.

Verity could tell from GH's mulish expression that he was less than convinced. "Look, Lewis," she said, bracingly, trying to be a good friend, despite being completely obvious to GH's RAFian life . . . and his adoptive son. GH didn't say anything about Leatherhead, for fear of the government trying to take him away, discovering his true nature, and deciding to turn him into a lab experiment. Not to mention the age disparity between the two being rather smaller than most parent-and-child relationships. Not to mention any other rather . . . uncomfortable . . . questions about Leatherhead's origin and GH's status as a RAFian. Although, he never wears a mask or anything when he was out on missions, so that was perhaps a bit foolish on his part. "Lewis, look on the bright side."

It took GH a sparse moment to realize that his name here was Lewis. "What bright side, Verity?"

"Carmichael's in that suit," she said, with a smile. "And not you."

"Wait, what?" GH said. The shift was nearly over, and he hadn't realized that the suit was even on the floor. How did he not notice that? He didn't know what this alarmed him as much as it did, but something in his gut said something was off. And, usually, he's found, when something is off, then someone is up to something. But this seemed too trivial, too banal, to trigger such a gut reaction. It confused him.

"Yeah," Verity said, surprised at this reaction. "He's been in the thing all shift."

"He has?" GH said, trying to reconcile what he knew of Carmichael. Then again, he didn't know much about him personally -- he didn't even know his last name. But, given his lazy, layabout demeanor, this didn't sound like him. It was work just wearing the thing. It was hot, it was sweaty, it was difficult to maneuver -- all things that Carmichael, as GH saw it, typically tried to avoid.

"How did you not notice?" she asked. "I thought you were in the room when he was putting it on."

"That . . ." GH said, more to himself than Verity, "that doesn't sound like him."

"Perhaps he's trying to make amends?" Verity suggested with a shrug. "Maybe this is his way of giving you an olive branch, Lewis. Don't be too proud to take it."

GH frowned at this, considering her words. "Maybe."

Verity hitched up her purse higher onto her shoulder, "Well, in any case, I've clocked out. I'll see you later, Lewis, and remember to try not and hold grudges."

GH grunted in acknowledgement, and he mulled over what she said.


* I've actually had to work with someone with this work "philosophy". I'm pretty sure everyone has dealt with this type of person before.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FOUR:
DUDE! WTF!

Carmichael and GH had worked with each other with basically an unspoken agreement. He stays out of GH's way and GH would stay out of his way. Although, GH was always indirectly impacted negatively by Carmichael's inaction and laziness. His workload was always heavier whenever he was scheduled to work with him, and that always rankled the RAFian. He severely resented Carmichael's incompetence and slothfulness, and the fact that he never seemed to be disciplined for it, as he was sure that he would be if he pulled the same thing.

But GH wasn't like Cloak -- he didn't hold a grudge for as long. Perhaps Verity was right, and Carmichael was trying to nonverbally make amends for his work ethics, or lack thereof. They were closing together, which wasn't something that GH was particularly fond of doing with him. Carmichael also had an annoying habit of demanding that GH do things his way, and Carmichael like to strut around, acting as if he was the boss. It wasn't cute. It wasn't funny. It was a frustrating source of incredible irritation.

Carmichael's pompous, pretentious, and holier-than-thou attitude was the reason why he had no friends amongst the kitchen staff and servers and busboys. Should he have ever sought to be the supervisor -- well, there wouldn't be a kitchen staff, as almost everyone would have given their notice or walked out, never to return. GH was sure that Carmichael was perfectly unaware of this fact, and perfectly happy in his ignorance. It was a pitying position to be in.

But, still, everyone in the kitchen knew how he hated to wear that suit. It wasn't something that he hid -- he wore his hatred of the suit on his sleeve. His reaction to wearing it again was always negative*, and it's become a bit of a running joke in the kitchen and amongst the servers and busboys. It was well-known and well-documented. Everyone knew this, and the fact that this was the first time that Carmichael's worn the suit, much less volunteered for this . . .

Maybe Verity was right. Maybe Carmichael was tired of the tensions and hostilities that had arose between GH and himself. Perhaps he wore the suit to offer a concession of some sort towards GH's criticisms of laziness and half-assing his job. Perhaps this was a way of proving GH wrong, and showing him that he was not, in fact,  lazy at all. Perhaps GH should make an effort, and swallow his pride. Make an effort to work with this . . . person. There was a fine and distinct difference between self-assurance and arrogance, and too many people confuse the two for the other.

Anyway, closing time came and went, and Carmichael wormed his way out of the suit. GH wondered idly why a roadhouse chose such a rather unimpressive creature like an armadillo for a mascot. GH felt that armadillos weren't exactly emblematic of steakhouses and roadhouses. Perhaps they wanted to stand out from other such establishments.

GH turned his back to Carmichael, something that he would have never done before today. And, unfortunately, what he did before now was for very good reason. As after a few minutes after doing such, the RAFian musician was still gathering his belongings from his locker at the end of the shift. It wasn't much, but it was enough to distract him sufficiently.

It was after these few minutes, that he felt a pinprick on the right side of his neck, right on his jugular vein. He felt his next and felt a fuzzy something stuck in his neck. He plucked it off his neck, as if he was plucking off an overlarge tick. He looked down at what it was. A small, empty cylinder with a needle and red and blue plumage. A tranquilizer dart.

He whipped around to see who fired the dart. He saw Carmichael smiling. Holding a blowgun. GH's mind was growing more and more sluggish. It took him longer than he cared to admit to put two and two together.
 
"I know what you are, 'Lewis'," he said, quietly, with that broad smile. "You really should try to hide that mark of yours. And your face when you do your illicit activities."

Then Carmichael put his smartphone to his ear, as he called Convertir. "Hello? Dad? Dad, I got one."

Pause.

"We'll be en route shortly," Carmichael Convertir said. "He'll do his 'patriotic duty', alright."

"You bastard son of a b . . ." GH said, his words slurring before his vision warped and undulated, as if he were drunk. But soon everything just faded to black.


* Granted, I don't know if this still holds true. The real GH's disposition about wearing such suits may have changed -- I haven't really talked to him about it.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIVE:
I'll Be Your Friend . . .

GH found himself on a strange, circus-like mindscape. At the center was that armadillo mascot, which looked completely out of place. Then he heard him speak, though its mouth never moved and his facial expression never changed, typical of a mascot. Was it that psychic parasite, the Mummudrai? Or was Armadillo Anderson just a dream construct created by GH's own subconsciousness? There was literally no way to tell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! GATHER 'ROUND! GATHER 'ROUND!! Sit back, relax, and please, stay in your seats! KICK YOUR FEET UP AND GRAB SOME POPCORN!!! Oh, and of course... OOHHH, LEST WE NOT FORGET...!! ENJOY THE SHOW!!"

Then some rather metal music began to play. Had GH been in the right mind, he might have been able to precisely distinguish which style it was.

"Come one, come all, and behold! Have I a sight!
Immeasurable! A spectacle of innocence and fright!
Or maybe two, three, four . . . or even five long nights.
Now you're crawling, ever stalling, with no end in sight!
Up all night to see if you can make it.
An all new friend to see if you can take it.
Be still! Be quiet! They still know that you haven't left yet!
And we'll pretend, we'll just pretend,
Pretend that this day would never end!
I'll make believe that you can see
Everything that YOU did to me.
Nowhere to hide, and now we're through.
But if I were just like you,
I'll be your friend.
I'll be your friend.
You can trust me to the end!
There's something bad inside you,
It's broken beyond fixing.
Save me!
I know that I've been here . . .
It only hurts a second.
There's nothing to fear!
I have you hidden way too well!
It's time to let me out!
Put on a mask to hide myself.
That makes me one with you now.
And we'll pretend, we'll just pretend,
Pretend that this day would never end!
I'll make believe that you can see
Everything that YOU did to me.
Nowhere to hide, and now we're through.
But if I were just like you . . .
I'll be your friend.
I'll be your friend.
You can trust me to the end!
I need you, so I can escape.
If he finds you, it'll be too late.
I need you, so I can escape.
If he finds you, it'll be too late.
And we'll pretend, we'll just pretend,
Pretend that this day would never end!
I'll make believe that you can see
Everything that YOU did to me.
Nowhere to hide, and now we're through.
But if I were just like you . . .
I'll be your friend!
I'll be your friend!
You can trust me to the end!
Now I'm afraid, we're all afraid.
Afraid that it might be too late.
They never learn to wait their turn.
Now we get to watch them all burn.
Nowhere to hide, and now we're through.
But if I were just like you . . .
I'll be your friend!
I'll be your friend!
You can trust me to end!
Trust me to the end . . ."

Then this Armadillo Anderson's body language indicated that he was smiling devilishly, despite the mascot head's expression not changing at all. One could say that was the scariest part of mascots -- the never-changing expressions, which made it extremely difficult to determine their intentions if they decide to stand still, and even then the suit could hide their more subtle, hostile body language. Then Armadillo Anderson's body language seemed to change to apoplectic rage.

"No!" he roared, despite the mascot head having the same goofy grin. "No! You cannot push me down into you sub-subconscious again! You cannot bury me forever, Logan!"

He didn't acknowledge that he did so willingly before, but he tended to live in the "now". GH, however, wouldn't remember any of this, as he was only acting on subliminal, subconscious instinct. Granted, it probably would have been prudent to expel the Mummudrai instead of burying it deeper within his being. But GH had no conscious input in this action.

Then GH awoke to find himself in a brightly lit room, on a cold, waxed floor. His vision still swam before him, and took a moment for him to clear his vision. It was then that he realized the bars in front of him made of reinforced iron. He was in a cage.


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U4fRaNlL8mE

[guitarhero01234]

To be fair, I’m probably small enough to just slip through the cage

[Cloak]

Think Jurassic World 2, GH. The cages are more akin to that. Specifically the one that held the Indoraptor. . . .

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIX:
Waking Up

GH moaned, groggily. His vision still swam, but he was fairly certain that he was in a cage of some sort. He could tell, sort of, that there were many more cages like his around here. As his vision cleared, he saw that several of them closest to him were occupied by figures that he couldn't quite make out. The room beyond this cage was surround in darkness, made even more difficult to see by the small suspended light over his and other cages. He glanced blearily up at it, as his visual acuity was slowing restoring itself.

He glanced behind him and saw that this cage, with its iron bars (which weren't like a sitcom jail -- there was no way that he could slip through these bars unless he was either made of a liquid or gas, or if he was as thick as a candy bar -- so, he wasn't gonna get out that way), was set into the bricked wall behind him. There was an opening behind it, and his heart leaped before his rational mind caught up with him, still feeling quite sluggish.

He quickly stumbled his way to it, to see that it was just a toilet and sink, with some soap and a towel. Whoever was his captor was, they didn't want to see him have a poop. Well, that was reassuring in some way. But this wasn't an exit. He was still caged. He didn't have his guitar -- that was still in his thread. In his thread with . . . with Leatherhead. . .  He had to get out of here. Leatherhead needed him. He had to . . . escape . . . but how? He didn't have his powers without his guitar -- or some sort of stringed instrument (but he preferred his guitar).

He returned to the more open area of the cage. His vision had adapted to the lighting situation, but he didn't like the situation he found himself in. He looked around to the other cages and saw that Saffa, Abby, Helen, Aquilai, and Dylan had also been captured. How?! GH wondered hurriedly and fretfully. Then he touched his neck, where Carmichael had hit him with that tranquilizer dart. This just made him remember his anger.

That stupid layabout could have killed him if he had used too much tranquilizer in that dart. And he wouldn't have cared! GH remembered all too much that malicious smile Carmichael wore as the RAFian passed out.

"That son of a b--" GH began, ready to go on a tirade, as the others were waking.

"Watch what you call my son, boy," came a voice in the darkness of the greater room beyond these cages. "And don't you dare impugn my late wife like that."

GH's anger did not evaporate with this new voice. If anything, it was just transferred over to him. But before he could speak, Helen beat him to it.

"And who are you?"

"That's not important," he said, repressively.

"You don't decide that," Saffa said, hotly. "You don't get to decide that."

"You forget the situation that you find yourself in," the voice boomed. "You haven't the right to demand anything of me. I'm the one that holds all the cards here. You don't eat without my say-so. You don't bathe without my say-so. You don't sleep without my say-so. I'm in charge around here."

"You have control issues," Dylan said bluntly, and, one could argue, tactlessly.

"Silence!" the voice boomed once more.

"Seriously?" Saffa said, unintimidated. "'Silence'? That's your big authoritative stance? Posturing like a child playing supervillain? You do know that's not intimidating at all."

"Be silent," he said, waving away what Saffa said, as if it was unimportant and irrelevant.

"And if we refuse to be silenced?" Abby said, with a tone of deepest dislike that she doesn't usually utilize.

Whoever this voice belonged to evidently decided to ignore this, as he spoke again, "You RAFians have been wasting your talents. It is time for you to do your , , , your patriotic duty."

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Dissent

"'Patriotic' . . . 'patriotic' . . . are you effin' kidding me?" GH said.

"No. You live in this country, on this planet, thus you're obligated to do your patriotic duty," the voice said, simply. Whoever the voice belonged acted as if this was a simple concept, when it was vague and loosely-defined concept.

"Our 'patriotic duty'?" Helen scoffed. "What you mean is our 'patriotic duty' as defined by YOU."

"No, I mean your patriotic duty!" the voice said, apparently unaware of the weakness of such an argument. "You must give all you have to serve the country, the planet, in which you live, in which you were born --"

"Ah. I see." Aquilai said, facepalming with a roll of his eyes. "You're one of those."

"I don't care for your tone, RAFian," the voice growled.

"And we don't care for your racism," Helen countered. "Is that what you kidnapped us for? So we could kill the aliens that you deem as all being rapists and criminals? Or do you fancy us your own special little militia, that you could used the 'magic words' of 'patriotic duty' to get us to do whatever you wish? Sorry, buddrow, doesn't work like that. We all have our own minds and wills, and you can't just coerce us (amateurishly, too, by the way) to do whatever you wish. We're not robots that can just be reprogrammed at your discretion and whim."

"You're little more than a Knight," GH added, disgusted.

"I am a knight," the voice growled, as if that was supposed to be intimidating. "I'm the only one willing to do what is necessary to save the country, to save the world, in which we live."

"A Knight of Humanity, you dunderhead," Abby said, coldly. "A member of a fascist, authoritarian, racist organization that supports killing and chasing away visiting extraterrestrial lifeforms, even if they mean no harm and are just visiting. You, sir, are no better than them, if maybe a tad better organized."

"I am a knight," he repeated mulishly, latching onto the term. "A knight of more than humanity. I'm a knight of Earth."

"You have delusions of grandeur," Helen said, icily. "Do you frequently kidnap people to force-feed them your propaganda? Or are we just a special case?"

"I am not the one that's delusional, RAFian," he said. They didn't like the way he said "RAFian". It almost sounded like a slur coming from him. "You stay stowed away in your ivory towers, doing nothing, reveling in your power, while a silent blight has infiltrated our world, our borders."

There was a brief silence that met these words, which he clearly thought had a profound effect on them, when the reality was that they all thought he was really tone-deaf and stupid.

"You . . . don't know anything about us, do you?" Dylan asked.

"I know plenty," he said.

"You know nothing," GH said.

"I know you're all human --" he said.

"About that," Aquilai said, "you do realize some other species might look human, as well, right? Maybe due to convergent evolution or the like?"

"Don't be foolish," the voice said, with scorn.

"Fine," Aquilai said, deciding not to argue the point. "Your funeral."

"Now, out with it," Saffa said, angrily. "what's the specific reason you kidnapped us?"

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHT:
I'm Just Not Sure How Well This Plan Has Been Thought Through

"I already told you," the voice said, with a condescending tone. "You were brought here to do your patriotic duty."

"'Patriotic duty' as dictated and defined by you," Helen added, coldly.

"Specifically," GH said, calling him a vulgar name.

"Your . . . patriotic . . . duty," he said slowly.

"Yes, we get that," Saffa said, with a tone that suggested that she thought that this man, whoever he was, was very obtuse. "But what, specifically, are your intentions."

"Your patriotic --"

"Duty," Abby interjected and interrupted. "Yes, yes. We've already established that, sir"

She said "sir" in the most derisive manner that she had ever used.

"What we are inquiring about, sir," Aquilai said, using the same derision, "is how you intend to go about making us do that?"

"Your innate sense of patriotism should --"

"You really didn't think this through, did you?" Saffa said, bluntly interrupting him, her arms crossed, unimpressed, over her chest.

"Silence! This is --"

"Did you honestly believe that just spouting some worthless propaganda would move us to back your asinine claims?" Helen asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Did you honesly believe that your rhetoric, devoid of fact and substance, was that strong, was that sound? Are you serious?"

"You will do your duty!"

"And would you care to explain just what that 'duty is?" Dylan asked. Just like his RAFian brethren, he just about had enough of this. It was embarrassing enough just to be captured so easily. "Or do you expect to keep us in suspense?"

"You . . . you will do your --" he blustered.

"Yes, 'duty'." Helen said, with a bite of impatience. The owner of the voice clearly didn't intend for this to go this way. He clearly didn't intend for him to lose control of the situation this quickly, this easily. "You keep saying that, without bothering to define it any, just expecting your vague assertion of 'doing our duty' sufficient enough information to go on. Newsflash, buddrow -- it isn't. You clearly have only planned out the initial parts of our kidnapping, with no clue with what do with us after you accomplished that. You clearly didn't look this far ahead."

"Don't psychoanalyze me, RAFian," the voice barked.

"This isn't a psychoanalysis, you --" Helen said, before shutting her eyes and rubbing her temples. She was finding this conversation as scintillating as conversing with a brick wall, only more stubborn. "Look, you're little plan has so many holes in it, I could drive an aircraft carrier through it."

"Yeah," Underseen chimed it. "Just let us go, and we'll forget this little incident."

"Or not," Dylan said, mulishly.

"Dylan," GH said, sharply. "You're not helping."