Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Memories of Earth and Current Trails

"Earth. Earth is a stubborn element -- and stubbornness runs in our family." Sage begun, allowing a smile at Cloak before continuing. "It is imperative that you stand your ground when it comes to mastering this element. The key to Mastery over Earth is your stance. You have to be steady and strong. If you're going to move it, you have to be like stone yourself."

Cloak took a deep breath. He was still rather young at this point.

"Now," his grandfather continued, "Earth is the element of substance. The people gifted with this element are diverse and strong. We all are persistent and strong. Most techniques with Earth tend toward blocking an opponent's attack, and then following through with your own. And . . . you show affinity with the element. So, let's begin."

For that first day, Sage just had Cloak punching into heavy containers of sand. Most other students can engender pain without complete understanding of the element. Not Cloak, though. Perhaps it was because of his natural affinity of it. It wasn't too long before he got the hang of it and it became rather easy to do, much to Sage's satisfaction.

After that, on a following day, Sage instructed him to him throw a heavy rock sack.  First, Cloak gets into a ready position and then hurled a contained number of rocks high in the sky. From here, he needed to recover from the fatigue of throwing such a heavy load in enough time to catch it before it hits the ground. It took him a fair few tries before he got the hang of it,

After completing that part of the training fully, Sage rose two earthen walls, flanked on either side of them. Then he pulled rocks and earth around himself, effectively making a "rock armor". Then he drew a line on the ground. It was Cloak's goal not to let him get over this line. One could point out how unfair this seemed, a grown Walker forcing a seven-year-old to prevent him from crossing a line. But Cloak himself didn't care. His confidence in the element was growing, and he was already becoming accustomed to using it.

The next exercise had Cloak multitask between supporting the weight of a boulder and avoiding craftily laid obstacles. The purpose of this exercise was to keep him grounded while showing how the earth can be utilized to enhance balance. He had a few missteps with this one, but, with determination and his refusal to give up, Cloak managed to succeed and finish the exercise.

The next exercise had Cloak race Sage uphill, on slabs of Earth. Naturally, Sage repeatedly beat him. But Cloak didn't want to give up until he got it, until Sage had to force him to stop, as he saw the young Realm Walker was exhausted. And, yet, still Cloak didn't want to give up.

However, it wasn't Sage who taught Cloak Earthsight. That was an application to the Elements that Cloak himself discovered and learned how to harness, as well as extending it to the Metal and Wood Elements. And, although those previous exercises were some of the flashier ones, there was more to it. Sage taught Cloak proper breathing exercises, how to listen to the earth (which, honestly, just helped him create Earthsight), how to wait and listen before striking, and to understand the concept of rooting -- connecting to the ground and becoming firmly grounded, entrenched, established, or settled, while being able to move one's upper body freely, like a tree.

Now the uncertainty was gone. Cloak wanted it. Cloak wanted to be an Elements Master like his grandfather, who was the only Elements Master that was currently in existence at that time. Of course, at this point and time, he hadn't any idea he was also a Truth Dreamer (or, indeed, what that even was), as he would find that out much, much later.

And while this was technically training, it was also a bonding experience with his grandfather. It took him about two or three years to master the Elements, which Shadow had managed in a fraction of the time.* However, Cloak didn't know how to dissociate his emotions from his powers . . . it was Aniyu, who wasn't a Elements Master, who helped him with that, without seemingly realizing it.

**

It was getting stronger. Cloak could feel it by the vibrations of his whiskers. Yes, whiskers. He was a tigrine Realm Walker, after all. And tigers are cats. Therefore it wasn't out of the question.

He could detect this slight current by the way his whiskers vibrated. It was a rather surreal sensation, navigating solely based on his whiskers. But he quickly adapted to it. His RAFian training as well as his elemental training helped, in that regard. However, the more Cloak thought about this whole thing, the more . . . surreal . . . it was. The more . . . unreal . . . it seemed. Almost as if he were dreaming this up, and none of it was legitimately real.

But he had no illusions of reality. This was real. And it needs to be stopped. And quickly -- before it eclipses the world. He may be already too late in that regard. He would just have to find what was generating this and put a stop to it. Hopefully, it could be reversed.

He had crossed into the threshold of the city. The current was leading forward and to the right, right about ten o'clock. He followed it, discovering that he had to basically "Spider-Man" around the city to follow this current. He sighed, than gave a shrug and followed through, toward whatever this strange current like sensation would lead him.

Even if it forced him to parkour from rooftops, which he wasn't at all fond of. He wasn't a ninja turtle nor was he a bat-themed or spider-themed superhero.


*I just realized . . . I basically made myself into sort of an Avatar Roku in this, while Shadow is like Avatar Aang, in the fact that it took the former about twelve years to master the elements, while Aang had basically twelve months.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Memories of Metal and Poor Parkour

Cloak never did like parkour. Cloak never did enjoy such things for recreation, and he failed to see the enjoyment of it. He got enough of this kind of stuff during RAFian missions. He personally thought he was rather poor at parkour -- all this running and leaping from rooftops. He hardly saw the attraction towards this kind of stuff, but to each their own, he supposed.

And, to be honest, he couldn't go rushing from rooftop to rooftop. He had to go slow and steady, lest he lose the trail. That would be very easy to do if he got distracted by being all "Batman" or "Spider-Man", if you catch the meaning. It was always his preference to wait and listen, to watch and learn. All this roof-running seemed rather antithetical to everything that he was comfortable with.

He realized he could be considered hypocritical for his views on this, as he had no compunction to run about in the forests doing this. But, in his view, that was an entirely different circumstance. He felt more at home in that environment rather than an urban one. He still saw himself as a poor parkour person. But all this was neither here nor there.

He was on a mission. He had a job to do, an objective to complete. It may have been an impossible mission, but it was one that he needed to go on. He was the only one who had any capacity to do anything, to end this, to free everyone from this grayscale apathetic indifference to everything and everyone. He was the only one who seemed to be perfectly aware that anything was out of the ordinary, though the RAFian's Marks were still blue. That was meaningless if the Mark was unable to protect them from this effect.

But the Mark was far from infallible, and it could be broken and bypassed. This was clear evidence of that.

***

"I did it!" Cloak claimed. He was roughly ten years old at the time. "I controlled the metal!"

"Actually," Sage said, sadly, "you only manipulated the earthen impurities in the metal. Not the metal itself."

"What?"

"Metal is really nothing more than Earth that has been refined and purified," Sage recounted, as if he were about to go onto a lengthy anecdote. "What you were doing is, in reality, a crutch to true Mastery of the Metal Element. Again, you manipulated the impurities, not the metal itself. You showed an aptitude for the Earth Element, you should be able to get this relatively easily. Or it may be harder, if you have trouble dissociating the two from one another."

"I can do it," Cloak said, displaying his family's hallmark obstinate nature.

"I haven't any doubt you can, boy," Sage said, earnestly. "But it will take hard work. Maybe hard, bitter work."

"I don't care," Cloak said, stubbornly. "I can, and I will, do it."

Sage smiled at his grandson's determination, this son of his eldest daughter. "Then, boy, let us begin."

"I'm ready," Cloak said, determined. He had managed to master one Element already -- he was absolutely committed to mastering the other five. He would be an Elements Master. "What exercises must I do, what training must I do?"

"We shall start first with tactile means," Sage said, thoughtfully. "Before moving on to proximity metal manipulation, before ending with remote metal manipulation."

"When do we begin?" Cloak said, at once.

"Whenever you're ready," Sage said, providing an assortment of metals in sheet form, with difference proliferation of earthen impurities in it, with the plantinum-like sheet having none. Cloak kept at it, striking each metal part with a form vaguely reminiscent of Chu Gar, although this was roughly a hundred and seven years ago, using the Realm Dweller calendar. Sage was right, it was difficult for Cloak to parse the difference between manipulating the actual metal and just manipulating the impure, earthen particles within the metal sheets.

But Cloak refused to give up. Every day after his schooling and schoolwork was completed, he immediately went back to train with this. Much to the annoyance of his mother, who didn't care for his training, but only relented because of her father requesting it. Cloak never knew precisely why his mother was so against this, but he surmised it was because she wanted him to do chores that she didn't want to do herself. Perhaps that was the worst case scenario, but the thing was, he didn't really think too highly of her.

Eventually, Cloak understood the difference that his grandfather was so emphatic about. He began to be able to manipulate the metal itself, and not the impurities. He was able to shape it into what he wanted -- at first, it was only by touch. Then it was by proximity. Then it was any metal that he sensed. He would also go on to adapt his Earthsight to metal mediums.

He noticed that, although Sage tried to hide it, he was swelling with pride at his grandson's progress, but Sage also seemed to be concerned with something. Something that Cloak didn't know about.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Memories of Fire

"Wait, that's an element?" Cloak had said. He was about twelve, thirteen at this point.

"Yes, boy," Sage said, as if he knew this was coming. "Fire is one of the Six."

"Can't we skip this one?"

"No."

"Why do I have to --"

"You cannot master all Six without Mastery over the Fire Element," Sage said. He knew of Cloak's pyrophobia. "If you want to be a true Master of the Six Elements, you must master Fire. And the sooner you get this out the way, the sooner you can move on to the next Element. How much do you want to be a Master?"

Cloak acquiesced, though it was with some great trepidation that he did. He knew that this would be bitter work, and it was true. Fire was the hardest element that he ever had to learn, due to his very pyrophobia.

"Fire is the element of power. Overwhelming force unflinchingly tempered by the will to accomplish tasks and desires. It is an aggressive element, that grows and lives and breathes with or without the Master. Common in the techniques is preempting an opponent's attack with your own, hence the aggressive nature of Fire. Power in this element derives from the breath, not the muscles," Sage said, beginning the instruction, "that is why, first, you must master proper breath control."

It took a few days before Cloak mastered breath control to Sage's satisfaction.

"Now the Fire Element is fueled by drive," Sage said, "and passions. You lose that drive and your power in this element will decline."

Then Sage set him to feeling the heat from the sun. Cloak was relieved, as he was dreading working with actual fire. And the Nexus sun wasn't a sun in the Dweller sense of it, as the Nexus tended to be more flat than a planet within the realm. The sun and moon did alternate as they did on the planets, but the process of changing from night to day and back to night again was a bit more needlessly complex, since the Nexus didn't really rotate, but the sun and moon seemed to. Cloak, and other Realm Walkers didn't give it much thought or study.

When Cloak had sufficiently did that enough to Sage's satisfaction, he gave Cloak a leaf, burned a hold in the center, and instructed him not to allow the fire to reach the edges. Cloak was perceptive enough to know that goal behind this exercise, to know that Sage was teaching him control of the Element. He dutifully did what was expected of him.

***

He still didn't know how some humans found enjoyment in this urban rooftop running. As a Walker and Elements Master, he was in no danger. Due to the very nature of his powers and physiology, "fall damage" wasn't too much of a concern. But humans don't have such things going for them. How many humans hurt themselves by doing this? Invulnerability is not a species ability by humans on Earth, so they must be aware of the risks.

Anyway, Cloak continued to follow this slight current. And while he did, he surmised that the generator of this effect must have a storage unit, a place where it is storing all the color it was siphoning out. Perhaps it was a bit of a reach, but he doubt that this was just more than just a palette swap. He was sure that if it was, people would just be grayscale, and their personalities and emotions would have been untouched. They'd be grayscale, but just the same as before. Perhaps a bit more unhappy at being various shades of white, gray, and black, and wanting their vibrant colors back, but still the same person.

That's not what happened, though. Their personalities were decidedly changed into something more dull, something more bland, something unable to feel . . . anything. Cloak couldn't imagine what that state feels like. And, if Cloak was honest, he didn't want to know what such a state felt like. How it felt to be unable to feel . . . anything . . . anything at all. . . . He couldn't imagine how it felt so apathetic about everything. He couldn't imagine how it felt to just not care about anything. And this, all of this, wasn't a choice by those affected. This change was foisted upon them.

And Cloak was sure that Malice was behind it. After so long of being quiet, she comes back with the mass murder of those Kryptonians. And now the basic murdering of all color and . . . personality . . . on the planet. Her schemes were escalating in 88scope. This may very well have been her final scheme. She may have very well won, once and for all. This was a monumental task, with a wide expanse of the landscape to search. And his Earthsight could only go so far.

. . . Gateburst! He lost the trail!

[Cloak]

Releasing this chapter early. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Memories of Air

It was bitter work, but after two or three years, Cloak finally mastered the Fire Element, though he never lost his pyrophobia.

"Good work, boy," Sage said. "Now, we move on to the Air Element."

"I'm ready," Cloak said, having no trepidation with the Air Element, like he did with the Fire Element.

"Air is the element of freedom. Air techniques often involve deflection or evasion. Mastery in the Air Element is all about spiral or circular movements," Sage said. "You must be able to switch positions and direction whenever you meet resistance. It is essential to build up the instinct to avoid and evade conflict as well as to follow the path of least resistance. To do this, these gates will be used."

He showed him to a dais of some sort with several panels that were designed to spin. Sage flicked his hand, sending the panels into motion.

"The goal of the exercise is to maneuver through the gates without touching them," he instructed, "you are required to learn to switch directions at a moment's notice in order to get to the other side. Forcing one's way through the panels will result in them hitting you while you attempt to traverse it. Allow me to demonstrate."

And he did, he moved through the gates with practiced ease. So much ease that it was enviable.

"Don't expect to get it on the first try," he said.

And Cloak didn't. He was much to heavy and hesitant in his movements. Granted, they weren't as heavy as they would have been if his form was that of a larger creature, like an elephant or rhinoceros. But they were still too slow and hesitant. This wasn't good enough for Cloak, who was still unwilling to give up. He wanted to be a Master of the Six Elements, like his grandfather, and his grandfather's father, and so on.

It took him several days to several weeks to master this exercise, which he refused to give up on. He would prove himself to be a worthy student, and worthy of the powers that he both inherited and trained hard to master. However, he still hadn't mastered his emotions -- it would take him a good long while before he did.

***

Cloak stood upon the top of the highest point in the city. Were he not an Elements Master, he would have never done this. His powers would save in the event that he should fall. He stood up here to try to regain the trail he lost, which he beat himself over. How could he lose it? He knew how important this was, finding this generator. He knew how many depended on him to fix this.

And what does he do? He allows himself to become distracted and let his guard down. He allowed his mind to wander, allowed himself to lose focus on his ultimate goal. He allowed himself to fail in this objective, and he wasn't too happy about it.

He could only hope that he could now salvage it by finding the trail again, hoping against hope that it hadn't gone cold. But it was the furtherest thing from the easiest thing in the world, and it was very likely that he wouldn't pick up on the trail once more. This was what he feared.

He waited, like a tiger hunting a pig. He was sure that he would sense the current, but his certainty of it was waning with alarming quickness and rapidity. He didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he may have just bungled up this whole thing. It would be a difficult thing to accept, knowing that he had failed so thoroughly and completely. He . . . no! No, he couldn't give in to despair. That would be too easy. That would be an easy out instead of striving for the hard, earned path. Even if that path turned out to be ultimately utterly futile.

He could not give up. He would not give up. Too much was riding on this. He just had to find the --

And there it was! He immediately started to follow it.

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Memories of Water

Cloak soon mastered the Air Element, and it was time to move on to the Water Element, the penultimate element for him to master.

"Water is the element of change," Sage had said, "You must understand the versatility of the element, possess the resourcefulness to use it, and comprehend the concept of push and pull."

Cloak gave a brief, curt nod.

"First, you shall learn how to 'stream the water'," Sage said, demonstrating. "This is to help you develop a 'feel' for the element."

Cloak tried to emulate his grandfather, but his movements were a bit stilted and he dropped the water. His face set, Sage instructed him in basic techniques of creating basic ripples in water through pushing and pulling, streaming small globules of water, creating ripples in water, and creating basic waves.

Sage also taught Cloak the "octopus form". The octopus form was a highly advanced hydrokinetic (or "aquakinetic", if you prefer) move that involves pulling in a large water globule, before splitting it into eight sections that would expand into large tentacle-like extensions. The form was highly advantageous in battle, as it acted much like a shield that allows the hydrokinetic to successfully attack and defend his or herself at the same time.

In another exercise, he and his grandson passed a globule of water to each other in a circular motion, while he stressed the importance of fluidity in the element. In addition, this exercise brought forth an important strategy mainly used with the element, which was the redirection of an opposing force as opposed to the creation of new force.

It was training with this element when an accident happened, and Cloak learned his ability to redirect energy in any form.

"H-how did I --" Cloak asked.

"That's clearly your unique ability," Sage said. "Some Realm Walkers possess abilities that don't manifest in others, usually. It's not common occurrence, but it does happen. And clearly your training in the Water element had brought it to manifestation."

"I . . . I guess," Cloak said, unsure about this development.

One thing that Sage was aware of but refused to teach Cloak or utilize himself was the manipulation of the water in another's body. He mostly didn't have to worry about it being used against a Realm Walker because their physiology wouldn't allow for it, but the Dwellers? They would be in danger of such a technique. It was just like he never taught Cloak breathbending -- he found both practices just so repugnant, as his grandson does.

Anyway, Sage continued Cloak's training, and Cloak found himself liking the strategy of redirection. . . .

***

Cloak followed the trail. There was no way that he was going to lose it now. It was getting stronger and stronger as he moved onward. It was almost as if it was pulling him, almost like a magnet.

He was so close now. He knew it. He could feel the color-siphoning current -- and that was probably something that shouldn't have been able to be felt or sensed. Was it because of his feline nature and the fact that felines of all stripes seemed to possess the ability to sense evil? Perhaps it was connected to that. He halfway wished that it was easier to find -- perhaps a rock or mountain formation, a constellation, a puff of smoke, gnarled tree, or something of the like. But this was reality and not Pokemon Snap. Oh, well. The most worthwhile things in life are the ones that you have to struggle and strive for, anyway.

But he felt that he was close to whatever was generating this grayscale effect, what was siphoning off the personality and emotions of so many beings. Malice was behind this, he was sure. But why? What would make her want to do this? This couldn't be just, as the humans said, a "trolling" of him, surely! There had to be more to this. . . .

Cloak began to close in on the source of all this . . . well, "misery" wouldn't be the right word, as none of the people afflicted with this grayscale thing even had the capacity to feel misery anymore. Well, with luck, that won't be an issue anymore. And the people can make up their own minds if they want to bland, emotionless, and without a personality. He didn't know who would decide to be such a thing, but there probably are people out there who choose to be as such, and who was he to judge?

It wouldn't be long now . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Memories of Wood

The final element that Cloak had to master was the Element of Wood. (No, not that kind of wood. Get your mind out of the gutter.) And it was the third quickest element that Cloak had mastered after Earth and Metal. He was also able to adapt Earthsight to a wooden medium. Compared the others, this one was rather straightforward and not really memorable, as Cloak had the fewest recollections about his time training under this element.

It was at this point where Shadow came along, and he mastered the element when she was about two years old. He began babysitting her in addition to completing his training. Although, he never technically completed the final bit of his training until long after his grandfather's death -- divesting his emotions from his powers, and mastering control over his emotions. But this was something that all sentient beings have to learn sooner or later, how to manage and control their emotions, lest they lose control. Not all succeed in this endeavor, though.

And it was right around this time when all his crap with his mother came full tilt. And it only became worse when Sage passed on. Sage's wife, Cloak's grandmother, wasn't much better. In fact, looking back, he could see a lot of idiosyncrasies that his mother possessed in his grandmother as well. He . . . didn't particularly care for his grandmother after his grandfather Sage passed on.

Cloak pretty much chose not to make reminiscences about this time in his past. It was traumatic, yes. But he had moved on past that. He had to.

***

Cloak found himself getting closer and closer to the location of whatever was generating this grayscale effect. He was inside a cave. It looked familiar, but he couldn't place why. He hadn't really considered just how he would manage to take it down . . . as he considered it, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't do it the straightforward way.

That probably lead to a massive explosion that would inevitably cause this cave to collapse. Cloak wasn't concerned about surviving that, as he probably would easily, due to his elemental mastery. It would be a simple matter to excavate himself from the rubble, that wasn't a concern. The concern lied that Cloak was pretty sure the power output would be larger than that. It might cause untold damage to the surrounding area, assuming that it was large enough. And he surmised it would have to be, in order to store all the color that it was currently stealing. The color -- a manifestation of the personalities and emotions of countless numbers of people and creatures, all of that given some sort of insubstantial substance -- must have a storage area or areas, perhaps within the generator itself.

It would also have to be a significant and complex machine. Unfortunately, Cloak wasn't as technologically-minded as he probably should have been. The tech he had given Parker so long ago had been made by a Walker friend of Cloak's, who went by the name of Itemsmith, not by him. He wondered idly if his fellow RAFians assumed that it was he that created it. The question never really came up, from what Cloak could recall.

When Cloak arrived at the staging area, he found it appeared to be rather lackluster. The area was rather sparse and the whole area was barren of anything but the rather nondescript generator, other than bits of litter here and there. The generator looked like a septic tank with mechanical cephalopod tentacles issuing from the bottom of it, rooting it to the ground. The generator looked as if it was, indeed, also a storage container. It also looked as if Cloak was too rough with it, that it would set it off.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "this makes this unnecessarily dangerous. Such is the glamorous life of a RAFian."

Cloak walked up to the generator, and looked at it. It appeared as if there was a panel that could be removed, but he wasn't sure that he could remove the panel without triggering an explosion. This was a very sticky situation, indeed. He wished that he had Parker, Xeno, Aquilai, Goom, Yarin, or one of the more technologically-inclined RAFians with him to instruct him how to do this properly.

He took a deep sigh, and weighed the risk.

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Discarding the Panel

After taking a few moments to weigh the risks and benefits, Cloak decided the best course of action was to slowly, and carefully remove the panel and see what lied beneath. He took great pains and caution to do as such. He slowly, painstakingly, removed the panel and set it to the side as calmly as he could.

Within the generator was what appeared to be a delicate lattice. Atop a spire of energy was a white diamond, which was feeding this energy into a white pearl, which, in turn, fed into a prism which fed into a red gemstone with a princess cut, an orange gemstone with cushion cut, a yellow gemstone with a heart cut, a green gemstone with a pear cut, a cyan gemstone with a marquise cut, a blue gemstone with a radiant cut, an indigo gemstone with an Asscher cut, a violet gemstone with an emerald cut, a purple gemstone with an oval cut, a pink gemstone with a rose cut, and a brown gemstone with a mongul cut, all arranged in a circle around this prism. Cloak couldn't say whether or not this was Walker tech or some other tech Malice had stolen from another species to manipulate and use for her own purposes. He spent his time mastering the elements and reading all he could about various species from the Nexus and the Realms.

Cloak examined all the gemstones with a greater scrutiny. He saw with a start that the red, blue, and yellow ones were showing signs of cracking. The yellow, magenta, and cyan ones were showing some discoloration. The red, blue, and green ones were showing signs of facet warping. Cloak couldn't be sure, but his hunch was that this was happening because they were buckling under the pressure of having to house so much energy, so much color.

Cloak felt some apprehension and anxiety -- this generator could not hold all this color, this manifestation of personalities and colors. This was not a permanent thing. Cloak furrowed his brow -- or as much as his feline physiology would allow such a thing. Something about this didn't make sense. It was almost as if . . . as if . . .  as if Malice had no intention of this plan, this scheme, ever succeeding. Almost as if she was indifferent to its success.

But why? Why go through all this trouble? Those gemstones couldn't be have been easy to obtain. (It occurred to Cloak these gemstones could be what she had the Kryptonians steal for her.) Why even bother to do this? Just to get a reaction from him? Just to "troll" him? Was that the entire point of this? Just for "kicks", as the humans would say?

Cloak knew he had to disarm this generator . . . but he had no earthly idea how to do it. If he disconnected any of the gemstone from this lattice, it could cause the entire thing to detonate and devastate the surrounding area with the explosion. He knew nothing about how to disarm this thing.

"Maybe if I just reverse the polarity of the neutron flow?" Cloak guessed. He waited for only a beat, before he had to acknowledge that he had no idea how to do that or what that even was. Then he lamented loudly, "HOW do I do this?!"

His hand hovered over the gemstones within this generator, hesitant to touch the lattice, for fear of detonating everything or just making everything worse. He hadn't a clue how do accomplish what he wanted to accomplish, and he found that incredibly frustrating. The anxiety threatened to overtake him, as did the worry and fear. How did he do this? How did he do this without it making things worse? Cloak was at a lost of what to do.

He watched at the stresses on the gemstones -- the cracking, the marring, the discoloration -- increased and got worse. If Cloak continued his inaction, things would get worse anyway. He had to, once again, weigh the risks and ramifications with potential benefits and successes. Things would get worse if he continued to hesitate -- so he had to be more decisive, more active.

He took a deep breath, and then stuck his hand inside the generator compartment, intending to seize the white diamond within. Intending to squeeze the color out of it, despite it having now color other than white. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Putting the Squeeze on the White Diamond

This could backfire on him. This could backfire him greatly.

The humans say something along the lines of "success favors the bold". Was this a tad impetuous? Perhaps. Was this dangerous? Definitely. Was it impulsive? Foolhardy? Hasty? Reckless? Rash? A bit hotheaded? Debatable. Did this have an unprecedented chance of failure? . . . Yes. Was there no guarantee that this would work? Yes.

But it was the best that he could hope for. He couldn't do much beyond this, and only hope that this would work. Squeezing a diamond the size of his fist. Maybe a skosh bigger. He was only managing to squeeze it, to compress it, due to his mastery over the Earth Element. Cloak didn't really know how the pearl, prism, or gemstones. As he squeezed he went through the litany of what he was feeling. He didn't know why he was doing so, why he seemed to have temerity to think about anything but the goal at hand.

He felt anger at Malice. Why did she want to do this? Why the Veil did she want to bother him so much? So what if he broke bread with Dwellers? So what if he counted them amongst his friends? Why did she seem so insistent that was such a Gateburst abomination to her? Cloak had always been raised with an egalitarian air, and that is a concept that he took to heart. Why couldn't he befriend Dwellers? Why was that so Gatebursting wrong to her!?

The red gemstone suddenly became translucent and like glass. The reds were gone . . .

He felt fear at possibly not succeeding.in this endeavor. So many people were depending on him to succeed, although they didn't really realize that they needed him to succeed. They couldn't feel anything at all. But Cloak's fear of failure in this regard. What if this didn't work? What if he failed completely? What if he couldn't get the colors back? What if . . . what if it was literally impossible? What if there was no way that he could restore this world? What if this was . . . permanent.

The yellow gemstone suddenly became translucent and like glass, like the formerly red one. The yellows were gone.

He felt a desire, a gnawing desire to finish this. To restore everything to be as it was. To give people back the option to be bland, emotionless, and without a personality. He needed to do this. He needed to succeed. He needed to give this back to these people. If people wanted to be this way, allow them to be able to chose it. Though Cloak couldn't imagine who would want to exist in such a manner, unable to feel, unable to have any personality or quirks whatsoever. Just being . . . meh.

The cyan gemstone suddenly became translucent and glassy. The cyans were gone.

He felt guilt, a deep guilt. He felt that he should have sense this earlier. He felt as if this effect was as much his fault for not stopping it preemptively as Malice's for starting it. He should have known that Malice would have a scheme underway. Although, to be fair, this was entirely unprecedented -- who could have possibly guessed that Malice would build a machine to literally suck and siphon out the colors from the world? No such thing had ever been made before, even the Nexus's long, long, long history. . . .

The magenta gemstone suddenly became glassy and translucent. The magentas were gone.

He felt hope, though. An underlying hope that he would succeed and would restore the colors and emotions and personalities to the world. Sure, there would be the bad, malicious personalities and negative emotions that would return with the good, benevolent personalities and the positive personalities. But there couldn't be one without the other, just like there couldn't be push without pull, just like there couldn't be up without down, just like there couldn't be forward without backward, and just like there couldn't be right without left. But his underlying hope wasn't faltered.

The blue gemstone suddenly became like glass. The blues were gone.

He felt shame, feeling as if he had allowed this to happen to people. He knew that he hadn't any intention to allow anything like this to happen to people, but it did. He didn't truly do anything dishonorable, but the thing was that he felt as if he did. This wasn't his fault, but he felt as if it was. Perhaps this was arrogant on his part, maybe it was self-indulgent in a way, but he felt it just the same.

The brown gemstone suddenly became translucent. The browns were gone.

He felt compassion for those afflicted with this grayscale effect. He wondered if they were truly aware that something had been stolen from them, if they were aware that they had been robbed of their emotions, that their personalities had been pilfered, or that that part of their very identities had be absconded with. Cloak couldn't fathom which would be worse to have such indelible parts of yourself taken away and not be aware of it, or have it pilfered from you, and you being perfectly aware of it, but incapable of doing anything about it. Okay -- thinking about it, the latter would be worse. Having these parts effaced away from you . . . and being aware of it . . . that would be terrifying.

The indigo gemstone suddenly became see-through. The indigos were gone.

He felt grief. It was strangely inexplicable. He really didn't have any reason to feel grief at this moment, but it hit him with such power. Was he feeling the grief of all those afflicted with this grayscale effect? . . . He honestly hoped that he was mistaken. This just told him that so many of them wanted their emotions and personalities and color back. Cloak couldn't blame them for wanting their verve back, for wanting this little part of themselves that meant so immensely much to them. He would try his best to restore their color, their verve, back to them. But that was easier said than done, it would appear.

The green gemstone suddenly became like panes of glass. The greens were gone.

He felt love for his RAFian brethren. It was odd. It was as if he was reminded the truest motivation behind this. He wanted to save this world from this bleak, indifferent, colorless world and gift them their color back. But he wanted to save his RAFians most, wanted to restore the verve, the large amount of personalities to them. The personalities which could contrast or compliment each other, but the entire forum vibrated with the fun sort of ecstasy of adventure and activity. He truly wanted to restore that above all else . . . perhaps that was selfish of him. He would acknowledge it.

The rest of the the gemstones lost their colors and were like glass. Their colors were gone . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Well, This Seems Distracting

Cloak noticed that the gemstones became colorless and translucent a beat too late. He was feeling the influx of emotions -- so much that it was nearly overwhelming. He had to not let them get to him. These weren't his emotions, these weren't his colors. He wouldn't claim them for his own. They didn't belong to him. He hadn't any right to lay claim to them, nor did he want to. He saw these emotions as blurs of images, almost incomprehensible and completely muddled, muddied messes of color without any defined form or rhyme or reason to them.

But he was focused on what he had to do. He never once loosened his vice-like grip upon the white diamond. He continued to squeeze, as if he were squeezing the color out of that diamond. It was all he knew to do, instinctively.

The mongul cut gemstone shattered into dust.

Waves of color and feelings -- pleasurable ones, envious ones, affectionate ones, courageous ones, humiliating ones, and ones of shock -- assaulted his senses. He tried his best to ignore them and continue to squeeze the diamond, as if that was the only thing that he knew how to do.

The princess cut gemstone shattered into bits.

More images, still quite muddled and muddied by the infusion of vibrant colors, attacked his senses. Prideful ones, euphoric ones, angry ones, curious ones, ones pertaining to interest, and shy ones. But Cloak would not be swayed from what he felt that he must do.

The marquis cut gemstone shattered into shrapnel.

Still more images flew pass Cloak's vision. Raging ones. Fearful ones. Angsty ones. Depressing ones. Jealous ones. Sorrowful ones. But Cloak would not allow them to affect him.

"Divest yourself from your emotions, Cloak," he muttered. "These images are not yours. These emotions are not yours. Divest from them. Ignore them. They aren't yours."

The oval cut gemstone shattered into irreparable bits.

More images came -- remorseful ones, frustrated ones, anguishing ones, ones of desire, joyful ones, and suffering ones -- with Cloak unable to make any sense from them. Ill-defined shapes and contours. Cloak scolded himself for feeling these emotions. They were not his to feel. To feel them in this way would be akin to stealing them.

The heart cut gemstone shattered into tiny bits.

Even more images surrounded Cloak -- rejected ones, grateful ones, annoying ones, ones of despair, lonely ones, and surprising ones -- with Cloak unable to make heads-or-tails of it. But, as Cloak berated himself, he shouldn't be trying to make heads-or-tails of it. They weren't Cloak's to comprehend or feel. They weren't his. They weren't . . .

The Asscher cut gemstone shattered into fragments so very small.

Images of rejection, grief, anticipation, and disappointment swarmed Cloak. Cloak tried to disspell them, treating them as if they were pesky gnats. These colors weren't his to claim, and he hadn't any intention to claim them.

The pear cut gemstone shattered into minuscule bits.

Images of resentment, guilt, anxiety, disgust, love, and trust.

"Go away," Cloak grunted with effort, "you're not mine to feel. You're not my colors."

The cushion cut gemstone shattered.

Images of sadness, happiness, awe, distrust, lust, and wonder.

"Leave me be," Cloak said, nettled.

The radiant cut gemstone shattered.

Images of saudade, hatred, boredom, ecstasy, outrage, and worry.

"You're not mine," Cloak repeated his refrain.

The emerald cut gemstone shattered.

Images of schadenfreude, hope, confidence, embarrassment, and panic.

"You're not mine."

The rose cut gemstone shattered.

Images of self-confidence, horror, contempt, empathy, and passion.

"Go away."

The prism itself shattered.

Images of shame, hostility, contentment, enthusiasm, and pity.

"Go. Away."

The white pearl shattered, and it was at this time that Cloak finally noticed that all the gemstones were shattered as well. Upon this realization, he accidentally shatters the white diamond as well.

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
OOOOOH, the COLORS!

Cloak immediately withdrew his hand and saw the remarkable difference within this generator. It was full of colors -- all mingling, fusing, isolating -- writhing around within the main body of this generator. Little did Cloak know that he had managed to stop the wave from fully engulfing the planet. But this grayscale effect didn't recede, it remained stationary.

Cloak was more focused on the device in front of him. The slow, undulating, writhing manifestation of color and emotion . . . it was just hypnotic to look at. Almost as if it was a lava lamp of some sort, but with more intriguing movements, more incredible contrasts that benefited the thing most, more dynamic color differentials. It looked like fire, but wasn't quite fire. It looked like light, but wasn't quite light. It looked like energy, but wasn't quite energy. It was all three, and, yet, at the same time, none of them. It was quite difficult to explain, and Cloak knew that no artist, however talented and skilled, would be able to reproduce what he was seeing. It almost seemed like the sheer personification of expression itself.

Just viewing it . . . watching it . . . it was intoxicating. It represented the sheer power of emotion and passion, how it could stir things within you. How it could make the noblest of people brave and courageous, while juxtaposing it with how it could also make the most despicable and cowardly so just as easily. There is always a light and a darkness to people. A yin and a yang, if you will. The realm and the Nexus itself were not black and white, but made of grays. And that seemed to be the message that this superhuman artistic piece seemed to say. At least, what it said to Cloak.

A more selfish part of Cloak wanted to keep it all to himself, to gaze upon it over and over again, and lose himself in it. But that greedy party of him was quickly expunged as he knew what this was and what it needed to do. However, he hadn't a clue how to get it to do such. This was the color stolen from everyone and everything. And it belonged to them. It needed to go to them.

But how? How was Cloak supposed to coax it into doing just that?

It seemed incomprehensible to try and force something that clearly had no mind of its own to direct its actions, no will of its own to spur it into action, no hopes and dreams of its own to motivate it. How was he supposed to get it to go where it belonged? How was he supposed to impress upon something with no thoughts or feelings of its own to recolor the world as it is supposed to be? It was a tall order, to be sure, and there had to have been some way that it could be done.

But Cloak had wracked his brain with every possible scenario he could think of to get it out of the furnace-like generator. He even tried a few cautiously. Didn't work. It was like trying to coax molasses out of whatever container it was in on a cold day. Cloak wanted to avoid trying to gouge it out of the furnace-like generator, as that could prove damaging to the siphoned colors, and he couldn't risk that.

He placed his hand on a number pad that he hadn't seen there before, and accidentally pressed 7, 6, 9, 4, 2, 4, and 8*. In that precise order, and without even looking at it. Just looking to balance himself, since his knees decided to get a bit wobbly. He had ignored any exhaustion he felt, in order to put forth that incredible amount of effort in just squeezing that diamond, as if it was a sponge for the color. He managed to accomplish already that which he felt was impossible just moments before, and he watched with trepidation as the colors seemed to be getting agitated.

He couldn't even begin to imagine why.


* Can anyone guess why these seven numbers? Take a look at your phones . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter. Again, sorry for the brevity. Time crunch, you know.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Time to Taste the Rainbow

It was amazing how quickly things could change.

These colors had been percolating in an intoxicatingly hypnotic way at first. Undulating in a magnificently robust manner that was fascinating to watch. Oscillating in an intricate dance that was marvelous to witness. But these undulations and oscillations began to increase in their agitation, their perturbatory motions. It didn't make it any less compelling to watch, either. Cloak couldn't look away.

The agitation started to move the furnace-like generator began to wiggle, to wobble. It keeled over to the side, the root-like cephalopod tentacles breaking and causing the main body of the generator, the part that looked like a furnace, to tilt at an angle. It also sounded like what Cloak imagined an old, malfunctioning furnace would sound like when it was "settling". It fumed and looked as if it was reaching critical mass.

Cloak was hesitant. He wondered if he should act or if he should just let it do what its going to do. Action may have done damage to the colors, and inaction might have led to a core meltdown and a huge explosion, with sizable amount of destruction left in its wake. Cloak's indecision wasn't good, as soon his decision would be made for him. Hesitation was not his friend in this scenario.

But Cloak's decision was taken out of his hands far quicker than he had anticipated. The generator bloated and distorted physically, before there was a cacophonous noise that sounded like a powerful "FOOOM", and the colors erupted from the top, and quickly raced across the land. They were reclaiming what was their's, and, in turn, being claimed by those who were their rightful owners.

This happened with astonishing rapidity. Even Cloak's eyes weren't able to witness how quickly this occurred. Cloak looked back at this hollowed out husk of a generator. He contemplated on destroying it, but, looking at it, it was already damaged beyond repair. Even magical repair. It should be fine to leave it here, and hope this decision doesn't come back to bite him in the butt. . . .

***

Malice saw all this from her little spy cameras hidden around the generator.

"Certainly took him long enough," she said, somewhat ambivalent. "I thought he would have gotten there at least an hour earlier."

She was in the process of making her new little burrow as comfy as possible for her. Including that chintzy easy chair that she became so fond of, despite never admitting it to anyone. She would soon start on the next bit of her scheme, which she admitted could have been seen as three separate schemes, the Kandidorians, the chromatoraptoris generator, and this next bit. She didn't really care what anyone else thought of them. Those Dwellers' opinions mattered to her as much as an ant's opinion matters before a human crushes them under the heel of their boot.

All she cared about was Cloak's reaction. She hoped that it would be entertaining. After all, that's why she was even bothering. Sure, killing Dwellers was fun to her and all, but this was what she was truly after. She loved getting a rise out of Cloak. "Trolling" him as the primitive peon Dwellers would say. They certainly had an uncivilized way to put things, she felt.

She was now resting before acting upon her next little scheme, because she was an octogenarian, after all. To Dwellers, that would mean that she was between eight hundred and nine hundred years old. So, yeah, to them, she was practically ancient. Though there were Realm Walkers would would live to be a millennium and over.

But soon . . . soon, she would get to work, and it will be wonderful to see Cloak grapple with her machinations. How entertaining it will be!

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity again, time crunch.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Open Up Your Eyes!

GH was in a bell-shaped cage with wrought-iron bars in a dimly lit room, and the cage was suspended by a single, black chain. Naturally, GH struggled against the bars. He was unable to summon his guitar and it wasn't with him. It . . . it was gone, and despite what he said if that ever happened, it crushed him. It wasn't only the medium through which he could manifest his powers -- or so he believed -- it was something near and dear to his heart.

Then he heard some malicious chuckling, as Rotiart came down the stairs at roughly eight o'clock from GH. He wore a white shirt that had a blue stripe in the middle with the stylized "R" that was the RAFian Mark with a slash through it and blue stripes on the sides of his shirt. He also wore brown cargo pants with pockets at the knees and blue and black shoes. In addition, he also wore a black hooded jacket with blue stripes on both arms and another RAFian "R" that was slashed through. He also wore a strange sort of watch on his left wrist, and a blue derby that was highly reminiscent of Darby.

When he spoke, his voice was full of contempt. "Aw, little GH, without his little RAFian friends. And no hope of escape."

"Why are you doing this?" GH asked, in a plea to understand. "We were both RAFians."

"I'm nothing like you," he said, hotly, striking the cage roughly. "I'm more than you'll ever be."

Then music started up, and Rotiart waited for the brief musical introduction before starting the song.

"It's time you learned a lesson.
It's time that you understand.
Don't ever count on anybody else --
In this or any other land!
I once hoped for friendship,
To find a place among your kind.
But those were the FOOLISH wishes,
Of someone who was blind!"

He strode away from GH's cage, and had his back to it, with his hands behind his back, before swinging around and throwing his hands down in fists, as he sang powerfully:

"Open up your eyes!
See the world from where I stand!
Me, the mighty.
You, caged at my command!
Open up your eyes!
Give up your sweet fantasy land!
It's time to grow up and get wise!
Come now, little GH, open up your eyes!"

Then his tone turned almost nostalgic, in a bitter way.

"We all start out the same,
With simple, naive trust.
Shielded from the many ways
That life's not fair or just.
But then there comes a moment.
A simple truth that you must face!
If you depend on others . . .
You'll never find your place!"

Instrumentals took the place of lyrics as Rotiart wallowed in this miserable memories, and beliefs. He was seeing the RAFians abandoning him to die, despite that never happening. The hurt of which showed quite plainly on his face.

Then he continued:

"And as you take that first step,
Upon a path that's all your own.
You see it all so clearly.
The best way to survive is all alone!"

Then his face hardened as did his eyes, as he rounded once more on GH.

"Open up your eyes!
See the world from where I stand!
Me, the mighty!
You, caged at my command!
Open up your eyes!
And behold the faded light,
It's time to grow up and get wise!
Come now, little GH, open up your eyes!
Open up your eyes!"

As the scene pulled away from the two, Cloak awoke. He was left wondering if this was just a dream or one of those Truth Dreams. Ever since meeting Destiny, the line became rather muddied and muddled.


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8x4P_PnX9kQ

[Cloak]

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity, I'm still adjusting to a new way of writing Memoirs.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
You're a Mad Mandrill!

Azguard went to the power plant to not only investigate a crash site of an unregistered aircraft and to deal with a potential fiend. It was a fairly basic mission, and was one that necessitated only a single RAFian's attention. The crashed aircraft was believed to have been unmanned, so there was no casualties to investigate.

Az entered the power plant proper, and noticed that power surged and waned periodically. Such minor inconveniences would not deter the RAFian. He proceeded forward, and he leaped and seized the bottom rung of a short ladder -- clear damage showed that it wasn't always a short ladder.

Az had to admit -- navigating this power plant with this unreliable lighting was rather annoying. There were times where he found himself in dead ends because he mistook pathways to the way onward. After what seemed to be the eight hundred and eighth time, he began to grumbling with frustrated annoyance.

He even thought he saw the viscera of someone . . . he chose not to dwell on that, deciding that it was just his imagination. Then he came to a room that was oscillating from barely visible to pitch black.

Az decided to let loose with some choice words. He wasn't Cloak. He couldn't see in the dark. He never would remember just how he managed it. Eventually, he made it to the fiend's nest.

The fiend appeared to be an anthropomorphic mandrill, who stood upright. Its eyes had purple sclera and black pupils. It was at least three and a half, four feet taller than Azguard. It had several LEDs around its shoulders.

It sat sat still, charges itself, then sends a spark shock at Az, who sidesteps it.

Then it would jump up at the ceiling, which had pipes and cables for it to hold on to. It then uses the pipes and cables like monkey bars to move towards Az, with the intention of dropping down onto Az. Of course, Az recognized this strategy and dashed under it. When Az was too close to the fiend, it tried to punch him, only to punch an ice sculpture of Az instead.

When Az was far enough away from the fiend, it dashes and punches at Az. He sidestepped it, but very narrowly. He held his hand over his opposite shoulder, forming a marble-sized ice pebble. Then he flicked it at the fiend, and . . . froze it completely. This was not his intention at all.

But why look a gift horse in the mouth? . . . That was a very odd idiom, when you thought about it. Az shook his head. Priorities.

It broke out of the thin ice shell that encased it, and began its attack pattern again. Or tried to. Az repeated the previous strategy that worked so splendidly. It actually locked the fiend in sort of inevitable loop where it was perpetually stunned and locked into place. What was that term for it again?

Oh, well, it probably didn't matter, as Az's victory was assured. And when he was done, he left without even looking back.

***

Demos called it an "electromandrilus". Demos didn't say what purpose that he designed it.

***

Malice concentrated on her next ploy, having this on in the background, as, fittingly enough, background noise.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

BOOK CLXXIX:
TECHNOVAMPYRA
CHAPTER ONE:
Rolling Shield

Shenmue was quickly dispatched to possible fiend activity. It was at some abandoned mine, which was a foolish attempt by someone with too much money and too little sense thought it was a lucrative idea and thought the mine actually had Energon in it. Shenmue couldn't help but shake her head at this, this whole mine was a financial suicide move, fiscal suicide. Why? Simple, because they never found any Energon. They didn't even find diamond, gold, or anything of the like. They didn't even find coal.

Anyway, Shenmue entered the mine proper, and found that the facility was mouldering, moldy, and poorly-maintained. She saw that the ground sloped downward at a nearly forty-five degree angle. There was no way that traversing such terrain was safe.

But she had a mission to do, and, despite wishing for it to be easier, she knew that it wouldn't be that easy. So, she just rode a mine cart down, "Donkey Kong Country" -style, which was arguably even more dangerous. Especially because it was careening into an open pit.

She jumped from the cart, her momentum carrying her well over to the other side. She took a moment for her heart to stop beating so hard, before moving on into the cave. Then she saw that she had to drop down a empty shaft to the level below, which she did with some trepidation.

And when she did, some sort of excavating, drill tank activated. Almost as if it was a trap. She really hadn't the patience to deal with this just now. She threw her hands in front of hef, fingers splayed out and fired bolts of lightning, a la Force lightning. The machine easily seized up and deactivated. Shenmue moved on.

The terrain was difficult to traverse, simply because how poorly everything was maintained. The ground itself was deteriorating, and she had to jump small pits of spikes several times.

Then she came to a second mine cart when a recklessness seized her. She hopped into the mine cart, and barreled down the slope, gaining speed. It was just like riding a roller coaster -- without any safety equipment or safety measures. It was just amount of time before she had exited the mine and and she jumped out of the mine cart, giving it the Yoshi treatment and tumbling into the fiend's nest. He saw a tattered black belt flutter down as she felt a rumbling, and saw the fiend burst into the room from the ceiling.

The fiend was an anthropomorphic armadillo with a slouching, haunched over posture. It had an armored back and ovaloid grieves on its human-like forearms which were held together with electromagnetism for some reason. Its eyes had dark green sclera and brown pupils.

When it saw Shenmue, it immediately engaged her in battle. It began by encasing itself into a ball and rolling around the room and towards her. This would prove to be very difficult, had she was unprepared. But she was a RAFian and this wasn't the first fiend that she had to contend with.

These attacks were easily dodged. The other attack consists of firing small energy blasts from a laser blunderbuss hidden in his head. It can also use some of its armor to deflect normal shots and absorb energy from charged ones, resulting in it firing quick energy blasts in all directions. Shenmue made a mental note of this.

She also noticed that it was less likely to guard while it was shooting, making it the ideal time to attack.

Then Shenmue used her electrokinesis on it, in the form of an electrical ball that she pitched at it, and discovered that it interrupted the electromagnetism that was holding its armor in place and almost all of it fell off. This left the fiend vulnerable. Even when it was rolling.

She charged her fists with electricity, almost as if she was a Zerora. Then she cupped her hands on top of one another, and then flung them apart, as the fiend was going back into its attack pattern. This sent an electrical arc out towards the fiend, making contact. This stunned it, but it recovered relatively quickly and started shooting the energy projectiles from its head, which Shenmue found a simple matter to dodge as she did the electrical arc thing again. And again. And again.

Until the fiend was no more.

 "You know," Shenmue said, catching her breath, " if you didn't try to immediately kill me . . . I might have felt bad about doing that. "

Then she walked away, waiting for her extraction from this place.

***

Demos called it a "hoplocingulata". And, once again, he didn't give a reason behind its design.

***

Malice wasn't even paying attention to this, as she was working on this new scheme.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
Leatherhead Just Wants Some Lunch

GH was having trouble with Leatherhead, who was just being fussy. He was telling GH no, and he wasn't wearing his human suit, so he was unintentionally intimidating, even for GH. But the guitarist RAFian wouldn't be intimidated by his adoptive son. He actually smiled, because he thought he hit upon an idea.

He unshouldered his guitar and began to play a little musical interlude before singing:

"Some kids like to buy new shoes,
And others like drivin' trucks and wearing tattoos.
There's only one thing that LH likes a bunch.
Oh, LH, he wants to have lunch!
Oh, LH just wants to have lunch!"

Leatherhead stopped his sniffling and turned towards his adoptive father.

"I know how to keep my boy satisfied.
When I whip out my dishes, his eyes get so wide.
He's always in the mood for something to munch.
Oh, LH, he wants to have lunch!
Oh, LH just want to have --
That's all he really wants!
Some lunch!
Don't ask him to dinner or breakfast or brunch,
'Cause LH, he wants to have lunch!
Oh, LH just want to have lunch!"

Leatherhead gave a tittering giggle, as he knew GH was being goofy deliberately.

" LH, he wants --
Wants to have lunch.
LH wants to have --
That's all he really wants,
Is some lunch!
Don't know for certain but I've got a hunch.
This little guy, he wants to have lunch.
Oh, LH just wants to have lunch!
LH, he wants,
Wants to have lunch!
LH wants to have --
He just wants to.
He just wants to.
LH,
He just wants to
He just wants to
LH just wants to have lunch!
LH,
He just wants to have lunch!
He just wants to.
He just wants to.
He just wants to.
He just wants to.
He just wants to.
He just wants to . . . "

Then both collapsed in a fit of giggles over GH's silly song. LH stopped being fussy, and GH made him some lunch. Grilled cheese -- with ham. It might have been a little burnt, and hard, but LH didn't care. (That, and the fact that he still had the bite strength of a crocodilian didn't hurt matters either.)

***

Malice was putting the finishing touches on her final creation, hidden beneath a whit sheet. She glanced over her shoulders and saw that it was raining lightly at first, but was quickly escalating into heavier rain. Thunder rolled ominously in the distance, as the storm clouds continued to press on her new little hidey-hole.

She was well aware of this whole Victor Fankenstein motif she had going her, but she didn't care. Nor did she live up to the tropes a modern day human might have expected her to indulge in. She didn't care whether or not this counted as a subversion of expectations -- in her opinion, Dwellers were nothing and their opinions inconsequential and meaningless and without merit.

She raised the flatbed table that held her creation on it, beneath the white sheet. She mustn't ruin the reveal now. She had the atmosphere, the ambiance, and the substance. Now, to allow her creation to be struck by lightning, in this remote place, this remote area.

Then the fun shall begin.


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