Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCXLVII (1,347): "The Polymeritrix" -- The man furthers his "Beastmaker Watch" into a Polymeritrix.

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Introducing the Bill and the Ponderings of the Tiger

"Every day, and everywhere, there are more and more of these monsters invading our airspace, our lands, and our waters," Representative Les said, upon the floor of Congress. "They violate and pervert and dirty our environment with their very presence here. And we don't know how many of the millions of aliens out there are here, undocumented and unregistered. Stealing your jobs. Stealing your healthcare! The reason that you don't have them, is because of them. The Alien Registration Act seeks to end all of that and force them to have some accountability for their incursions, and make their invasions felonies worthy of the death penalty. Remember, that these are monsters who we have dominion over and --"

"Representative, your time is up," said a cool voice off-screen. "Representative Pax, you have the floor."

Cloak turned away from the television screen. Even though he knew that Representative Upton Pax was vehemently against the A.R.A., citing all the problems that the RAFians pointed out in the time he had. But Cloak was leaving the room -- he needed some space to think. He was sure that Shenmue or even Dino would give him the cliff notes of the entire thing, the important takeaways.

Cloak walked out into the night sky, looking up at the stars, where Estelore was somewhere out there. The Nexus didn't have stars. He only first saw them when he came here. When he made this Realm, this planet, his new home. But he found himself in conflict.

He was not a native of this planet, of this very Realm. Did he have any right to give his opinion on any political issues on their governance? He was already technically interfering with their affairs. Meddling. Just by his mere presence here.

And his presence here, as the grandson of Master Sage, attracted Malice here. And just look at all she did to get his goat. . . . Look how many lives that she was more than willing to sacrifice, that she was more than willing to ruin. Just look at how much suffering she had caused so callously.

He bore responsibility in that. Each life she had taken was a life that he had failed to save. Each person she caused suffering to was suffering that could have been prevented. Every life ruined could have been salvaged, but the ruination could have been prevented. Every life taken, every life ruined, every tidbit of suffering . . . they were all due to his mistakes with Malice. He knew what he had to do with her, the very same thing he had to do with Cataclysm. But he always failed where Malice was concerned, though not through a lack of trying.

So what right did he have to pass judgement on Dweller legislation? Sure, it applied to him, so he should have had a stake in it. But did that justify him to pass judgement on the governance of this country? Or did he have a responsibility to do so? To prevent it from making the same mistakes that Realm Walker Councils continually makes, even to this day, with their constantly rotating members as the previous members continually get caught in corruption scandals and whatnot.

All these internal conflicts continued to plague him, and he continued to pondered this.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCXLVIII (1,348): "The Spider Pendant" -- A vagrant finds a peculiar spider pedant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Barriers and Opposition

Representative Pax inquired about how Representatives Les, Lubber, Ellis, and Smith intend to legislate this, in the terms of how they intend to go about and enforcing this bill were it to become law. The minutia and logistics of how they intend to capture and detain hostile extraterrestrials, while pointing out how this encapsulates any species, natural or supernatural, with sufficient sentience that isn't 100% human, ignoring whether they were Terran-borne or not. Their defense was vague and milquetoast, at best.

Representative Chastity Cast criticize the "alien asset forfeiture" part of the bill, asking how they intended to enforce that. The answers they gave were completely unsatisfactory and a tad delusional. It was clear that they hadn't bothered to even consider the "how" of this aspect, and she called them out on this. In response, they protested in a most petulant manner, deliberately misconstruing it as a personal attack.

Representative Temperance Tem, building off Representative Cast's questioning, asked how they intended to even be able to use the assets stolen -- and she phrased it just that way, too -- and asked if they meant to use the ship made for different physiologies for their own purposes. She asked for the rationale behind it, and pressed them for answers when they tried to deflect the subject rather inexpertly. They were clearly unprepared for this kind of questioning.

Representative Charity Carey asked how they intended to deal with hostile aliens who did not acknowledge their authority, who did not recognize their sovereignty over their country. It was a bit of a retread of Representative Pax's questioning, but she was asking for clarification on a similar issue. They could not answer this without resorting to untrue and unsubstantiated statements and assertions. It was clear that they really didn't think this through, in any regard.

Representative Dillon Indu said that in order to register all and every alien resident, that it would require a database. He inquired how they would secure that database, in the midst of security hacks recently. When they answered, Representative Indu interrupted saying that kind of security was less secure than that of Gmail. This stymied the four, who hadn't anticipated such an attack. Representative Indu made the same point that Shenmue made, that this database would be nothing more or less than a hit list for hate groups of the like of the Knights of Humanity, the Church of Numanity, and the Humanity Right. They seemed to take offense at this, but could not adequately articulate a salient argument for it.

Representative Patience Pat concerned herself with the division that this would cause. She predicted that this would cause outbursts of violence against people suspected of being aliens or supernatural creatures or just not 100% human. People who are suspected of this, with no proof and the assumptions could be very wrong. The four countered this saying that that kind of thing was beyond their control, to which Representative Pat replied not if they didn't embolden such aggressors in the first place. Not if they didn't normalize such xenophobia, and that they shouldn't because xenophobia isn't normal, and shouldn't be acceptable.

Representative Kenneth Huma questioned how necessary this was with the presence of the RAFians -- citing that they have been working on all extraterrestrial cases in a semi-official capacity, deeming that this whole legislation as unnecessary and redundant. This allowed the four to spout some virulent anti-RAF sentiment, which were the arguments with the strongest passion, though entirely false. And Representative Huma was quick to point out these falsehoods.

Representative Muru Hum took a different tack, and pointed out the buried legislation within the bill which would cut the taxes on the rich, and make those tax cuts permanent. The four were completely taken by surprise, thinking that they were incredibly clever in hiding their true legislation. Representative Hum chastised them harshly for this and all this political theater to distract from this part of the legislation.

And, yet, there was still more opposition. More than the four were anticipating. They were woefully unprepared for all this.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCXLIX (1,349): "The Giant Pendant" -- A musician finds a pendant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
First Blood is Shed

There was a group of friends who were wearing impressive cosplay, which they made themselves, on an especially low budget and low access to resources. They were currently doing a "live-action role play", or "LARPing", in a public park meadow.

Ryan Hamada was a twelve-year old boy who wore a cosplay made of primarily yellow with green accents and white "armor", with white clothing underneath that covers most of his body up to his knees, and steel-toe white sneakers. His visor was transparent blue. He was nearly five feet tall, and had a very slender build. He had fair skin, brown, rounded almond-shaped eyes, and messy black hair. He has a gap in his teeth and a slight overbite. Ryan was quiet intelligent, which could make him brazen and ****y, but never to the point of being insufferable and irritating. He was the one who designed all the cosplay, though his friends helped him put it all together. He could be a little socially awkward, and shy, but was generally a warm individual.

Jamie Tomago was a thirteen-year-old girl who wore a white-and-purple suit of "armor" with purple discs on her wrists and boots, a matching helmet, and white underclothing with a hint of green linings with white bare-knuckle gloves. Jamie is tough and extreme, making up for her usual speechlessness with bluntness, sarcasm, and occasional brutality. She was not the most approachable person in the world, and is rather unwilling to accept limits, and tends to be highly opinionated on certain subjects whilst completely indifferent to others. She was responsible for the logistics of the movement and visibility in the cosplays.

Honey Rodriguez was a thriteen-year-old girl who wore brown dress with black linings, light green sleeves and leggings, yellow platform heels, and brown "armor" with a belt to match. She wears eyeglasses, and she wears a yellow helmet with blue highlights over her head. Slung over her shoulder is a purse prop. Honey was outgoing, perky, photogenic, and generally cheerful. She has a lust for life and an eye for detail -- she was the one who got the detailing of their assorted cosplays just right.

Damon Wasabi was a thirteen-year-old boy who wore mostly red "armor" and what appears to be Japanese cropped pants, with particular patterns layered over it. Despite his burly physique, Damon was neurotic and compulsive, who was normally very grounded, cautious, and "by-the-book". He may seem to have a cowardly exterior, but he is, in actuality very brave. He was the one who basically managed the collective finances and resources of the group.

Freddy Miller was a thirteen-year-old boy who wore a mascot costume that mostly consisted of the colors blue and orange, in addition to having white, spiky, claw-like nails, a tail with similar features, and three eyes (with the top notably acting as Freddy's access to vision). Its four-fanged "mouth" is the only opening the suit has. The soles on the suit's feet enable Fred to perform higher jumps. freddy is a tall, shaggy, scrawny boy. Freddy is incredibly eccentric, zany, loud, childish, and rather boisterous. Nevertheless, he holds an ultimately very sweet disposition, and is extremely laid-back. He is also a consummate optimist, though it can get annoying at times to his friends.

As they were "LARPing", as they were calling it, Freddy was playing the role of an antagonist. But it was all in good fun, and all were pulling their "attacks". Unfortunately, this was a subtlety that was lost on some, like the balding, gray-haired newcomer.

This man was thick-bodied with a bushy beard and beady eyes that almost resembled ornery beetles nestled in a mass of hair. He wore a plaid, long-sleeved shirt and blue jean overalls with only one strap fastened. He also wore a blood-red ball cap that threatened to pop off the mass of hair on his head. He was also barefoot, and carried a shotgun. He was a belligerent sort of man who smelled powerfully of cheap liquor. Belligerence and alcohol were always a volatile combination.

Then this drunken, bellicose man by the name of Phil O. Polemik lifted his shotgun and aimed directly at Freddy, who took the longest to notice due to his more lacking vision. The others were confused as to what this man wanted, and tried to protest and talk him into putting down the gun. Then they noticed the blue lettering on his hat, and knew that he would not be reasoned with.

"Support the A.R.A."

While belligerence and alcohol were a dangerous combination, alcohol and firearms were even more so. And it nearly always ended in tragedy and tears. Especially when the would-be hero has a hero complex . . .

BAM!

BAM! BAM! BAM!

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCL (1,350): "The Monkey Pendant" -- A cultist finds a pendant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
More Incidents

The deaths of Ryan Hamada and Freddy Miller weren't the only incidents that happened when ardent, virulent supporters of the A.R.A. felt emboldened by what they had thought there was movement forward on the bill (there wasn't, but it didn't stop Representative Les to lie blatantly for it). Many of these "red hats", as what the colloquial term came to be, found this reasonable justification for their acts.

A rambunctious, precocious child had his parents killed when one of these backwards, brainwashed cultists slayed without a second thought. His reason was that he claimed the noisy, babbling child was "demonically possessed" by an "alien", and he ended his tirade that, in his view, he was making this country "great again". He thought this would justify the two murders, but the courts would not see it this way.

A old man abducted a young child from a single-mother who he believed to have contact with undocumented aliens -- literal undocumented aliens, as in undocumented extraterrestrials. This was a completely unfounded assumption, but one this geriatric, bellicose man believed with unwavering devotion and unshakable faith. He never considered the remote possibility that he was mistaken, choosing, instead, to believe he could do no wrong. The courts, however, didn't agree with that assessment.

A young genius was bullied harshly for his intellect, and it even attracted the attention of one of these "red hats". Instead of defending the boy, she decided that his intellect was an abnormality and should be shunned. Until she came to believe that his intellect was given to him instead of being inherently his. Given to him by an undocumented extraterrestrial. And she refused to accept the possibility that she could be quite wrong. Fortunately, she was stopped before the boy could suffer her delusions.

Two boys were waxing on about time travel, despite their only exposure to chronal transportation was regulated only to the entertainment media that the two consumed on a weekly basis together. That didn't stop some crazy woman -- not wearing a red hat, but strong with their xenophobic beliefs -- from attacking them, assuming that their talk was far too advanced for them to be "normal" kids. The courts didn't agree with her defense.

An unusually hairy, svelte woman was brutally attacked and killed by one of these narrow-minded extremists who assumed that she was an alien instead of suffering from a genetic disorder which caused her whole body to become hairier than what this man deemed societal normal. The courts sided with the victim.

A deranged man -- although it wasn't really clear if he was a "red hat" or just a belligerent drunk, or both -- attacked a boy who was defended, ironically enough, by the boy's pet donkey. The stubborn animal managed to drive the man off, who evidently believed the boy to be a puppet controlled by the donkey. This wasn't remotely true, and the man was still at large.

As a little girl was exploring her backyard, talking to an imaginary friend -- a periwinkle monkey wearing galoshes -- and stranger in a red hat pulled up to her and accused her of either being an alien or talking to one. He had decided this with very little evidence. But as he reached out for her, her parents intercepted him, labelled him as an aggressive drunk, and chased him away. He was still at large.

A man actually wearing the red ball cap attacked a man -- or tried to, anyway -- who possessed uncommonly high strength in his view. This "red hat" believed that was proof enough that he was either an alien in disguise or a "mised breed". Apparently, he prided himself on genetic "purity" -- despite that being a rather stupid thing to concern oneself with. And the courts saw it that way, as well.

A man accused a boy of witchcraft, and killed his cat (which this "red hat" called his "familiar") because of this. He openly admitted to the crime (which he didn't believe was a crime, and that he was in the right on this issue), and openly threatened, not only the boy and his family. He would not hesitate to confess that he did, almost as if he was assured that he was immune from any consequence. The courts were actually mixed on this issue.

Then there was a mass shooting at a convention hall where e convention-goers had dressed up as anthropomorphized animals -- felines and canines seemed to be the most prominent. The deluded shooter thought that these costumed people were real creatures and decided that they were aliens, which -- in his mind -- gave him the right to exterminate them. The courts most heartily disagreed on this.

And those incidents were just the tip of the iceberg. All these incidents were instigated by these "red hats" or sympathetic proxies, all of which were wildly supportive of the A.R.A., oblivious to the underlying reason for it. Exploiting xenophobia to steal more money from the working class.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLI (1,351): "The Lizard Pendant" -- A vengeful woman finds a pendant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Bridges, You're Not Helping!

"These alien monsters are parasites, sucking the rich blood from a host planet," Bern Bridges said, with quivering jowls. "They poison our collective culture with not just their mere presence, but with their own backwards cultures. They're dirty -- filthy! -- and full of disease."

He took a moment slurp his coffee loudly. It was rather rude and uncouth the manner in which he did this, but he did not care about decorum and things like that. Which is why a lot of people listened to and watched him, being tired of the obvious veneer  artificiality that most, if not all, of the mainstream pundits and politicians had. His audience was those who were easily triggered by disgust and fear, and he played to those people.

Whether or not he actually believed the virulent sludge he spewed or if he was just spouting such hateful rhetoric to get more ratings or whatever, that was quite hard to determine. But the general consensus was that he actually believed his own schlock, as he didn't read from papers or teleprompters. He spoke off the cuff, and he sounded earnest enough.

"These alien monsters are like rats," he said, beginning his spiel once again, "they flood our planet and take our precious resources. They devour them faster than a starving man with a four-course meal! They need to be purged from our society, from our culture! Do not hesitate!! Do not wait for 'permission'!"

He slurped his mud-like coffee once again, burped without the customary "Excuse me" and continued on with his venomous diatribe.

"You wouldn't believe how bad these things are," he said, his voice sounding a little thick from his coffee, " they're not people. They're not even animals. We should be purging them from our planet at a level and a rate that has never been done before. That's where the Alien Registry comes in."

Then he turned toward the Representatives that were opposing and blocking this legistlation. He said, "They're the real problem here. They don't care about crime. They want aliens, no matter how bad they are, to flood and infest our planet. They can't win on their terrible policies, so they probably see them as potential voters!"

This, of course, was not remotely true. The legislation was lazily slapped together and not-so-cleverly hiding the real purpose of stealing more money for the rich using the vehicle of xenophobia. And any time there was an alien invasion it was always thwarted by the efforts of the RAFians. And, very curiously, he was very careful not to mention this little fact, instead of resorting to smearing them.

"Which brings us to the the cartel that calls itself RAF," he said, after a long draw from his coffee cup. "Perhaps you've already heard of them? These are the morons with hero complexes who interfere with police operations, bumbling and fumbling those operations best left to those who have been trained for them. How situations could have been resolved quickly and cleanly had they not interfered?"

Again, this wasn't remotely true. The RAFians only took on cases that the local law enforcement were completely unprepared and unequipped to deal with. There were also cases where the RAFians worked together with law enforcement to arrest very dangerous parties. But Bern Bridges never cared about truths or facts. He was a consummate "feelings over facts" guy.

And he was just fanning the flames, making matters worse. He was not helping things. At all.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLII (1,352): "The Hummingbird Pendant" -- An aspiring reporter finds a pendant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Lot of Unexpected Heat

"I repeat," Representative Les said, once again, "these incidents of violence have no correlation with the A.R.A."

"I disagree," Representative Ira Mercer, the unpopular yet reliable House Leader, said, "the very language, rhetoric, and intent of the legislation has emboldened these fringe extremists, these stochastic terrorists to 'come out of the closet' and commit such atrocious acts, erroneously believing to be able to get away with it, with impunity."

 "I will repeat it once more --" Representative Les said, looking worn and old. Things were not going well for his sloppily-crafted bill and its chances of truly passing were deminishing. Mostly due some Representatives feeling that it didn't go far enough, wanting an out-and-out ban of nonhuman sentient creatures, and others criticized its vague premise and overly broad tenants, all of which were worded and framed rather  chaotically and with little finesse.

"That shan't be necessary," Representative Invi Staples, the self-proclaimed "virtuous" Representative. Like the more corporatist part of the government, she was rather two-faced and hypocritical. "But, Representative Les, witnesses stated they saw the transgressers all wearing a red hat, one indicative supporters of this legislation."

"No, they weren't," Representive Les said, with the foolish, childlike expectation that they'd take him at his word, and not challenge him at all. That they wouldn't push back against the fraudulent claims he made with so much bravado. It was a stupid expectation.

"But they were," Representative Gula Quinn, a so-called coolheaded Representative, said. And the way these Representatives were handling this was fairly odd in and of itself, as if this was a confirmation hearing, which it was not. "This bill clearly incites stochastic terrorism in the less . . . grounded members of our national community."

"There's no proof of that," Representative Les said, as if by saying it aloud would make  true. But real life does work that way unless you have the power of reality warping, which he did not.

"The numbers do not lie, Representative Les," Representative Aced Willingham said, coolly. He was considered to be "fearless" and the "number two" in the House. "There have been at least thirteen confirmed cases where the perpetrators involved have flat out said that the bill was the reason they committed such crimes."

"Those perpetrators were fuelled by alcohol and belligerence and because not coincidental support of the A.R.A.," Representative Les protested. But he knew he was on the losing side of this battle now, as Representative Lubber and Representative Ellis had already abandoned him for the other side. Like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

"It is hardly a coincidence," Representative Ava Moner, the self-proclaimed prudent Representative, said. "The bill is full of xenophobic rhetoric. It describes extraterrestrial beings as 'dirty' and 'filthy ' -- designed aesthetically to appeal to such people. And why? As a vehicle to gain tax cuts for the people least deserving of them. Yes, Shane, I know that's the primary reason why you're pushing this bill, and not because you want an alien registry."

Representative Les opened his mouth to protest, but Representative Moner wasn't yet willing to yield the floor.

"Besides, all the aliens that are on-world are members of RAF," she continued, "and we have information that they keep a detailed file on all their members, including their true species, and they are all Marked at this point. It's their personnel files, I'm told, and it is far more secured than your Alien Registry -- which wouldn't just register aliens, mind you, it would register anyone who happens to be nonhuman, despite where they were born. Can't you see the racist overtones in that?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

"Of course, you can," she continued, as he was prepared to answer. "You were banking on that to get the bill passed into law, thinking that we would all capitulate to the xenophobic masses. Well, Representative Les, the masses aren't xenophobic as you believe -- they're a small, but vocal, minority -- and neither are we, their elected representatives."

Representative opened his mouth to rebut her points, but hesitated, looking weak in doing so, as he desperately fished around his head for a talking point to bat away what she had said.

"While I do acknowledge that some aliens are hostile -- the Heilins and such -- and just want to invade the Earth, the RAFians have dealt with all of those with aplomb." she continued.

"They conspire with these filthy monsters to decrease our national purity!" Representative Les spat without thought to what he was saying. "We can't survive with other people's babies!"

The entire floor grew silent at that outburst.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLIII (1,353): "The Orca Pendant" -- A protester finds a pendant.

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Outted and Blowback

Things didn't really go too well for Representative Shane Les for that outburst, which he immediately tried to walk back, instead of doubling down on it (which was what he wanted to do but didn't because of his fearing for his political career and Representative seat). Even still there was significant blowback, and the A.R.A. was already heavily associated with him, even though the xenophobic legislation (which was written in such a way that happened to violate the constitution several times) alone had lost popularity with everyone but those who wallow in the mud of extremist hatred and the irrationality of the fear of the "other".

That fear may have evolved out of biological necessity for the humans most ancient and primitive ancestors, who had to worry about defending their territory from other, rival protohuman tribes. But that kind of xenophobia had no need in present day. It did not belong there.

Representative Les was coming to know this. The A.R.A.'s chance of passing seemed to be as likely as passing a camel through the eye of a needle. He walked down the street, ignoring the catcalls of people he considered worthless, lazy peasants. Their jeers were not important to him. He still considered them only necessary when it was an election year. Until then, they might as well be mice to him.

He refused to see the rhetoric of his precious Alien Registration Act as anything less than masterful, and that it's true intentions being unseen and cleverly hidden. None of that was true, though the rhetoric was on the wordy side, but in a manner that demonstrated incompetence rather than coherence or consistency of any stripe.

Just reading it through once would send Shenecron, who was keenly skillful at contracts and deceptive wording when he wanted to be -- a complete master in the subject, in fitful convulsions of hysterical laughter. He could have rewritten it in a thrice and have it arouse far less red flags.

Representative pulled up the long collar of his black trench coat and pulled his hat lower to shield himself from the icy wind. It was a rainy day, which he found to be a perfect metaphor to his mood and disposition at this point of his life. He was feeling so nettled and moody, he was libel to snap at anyone who asked him questions --

"Representative Les? I'm --" said a news reporter wearing what appeared to be a yellow catsuit with white boots.

"No comment," he said, brusquely walking past her. He didn't need the media to harass him right now. He was going through enough at the moment without having another possible scandal, for he knew that he would have eventually had a meltdown at any push or criticism of the A.R.A., which he still refused to believe was sloppily written and hastily presented to the floor of the House.

He was souring on the whole pseudo-democratic system in this country. He was expecting easy passage for this bill in what was fundamentally an oligarchy. He glowered as he entered his office, locking the door behind him. Then he took off his hat and coat, throwing them haphazardly into a chair in the corner of the room. Then he sat behind his desk, and propped up his face with his fingers. He looked almost as if he wanted to cry.

This was supposed to be easy, he kept telling himself.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLIV (1,354): "The Condor Pendant" -- An iconoclast businessman finds a pendant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
A Political Pariah

It was supposed be easy. Sorry about the brevity.

He assumed that everyone believed what he believed when it came to sentient, nonhuman beings. That everyone believed that they were dirty, filthy mongrels that taint the purity of the planet, where he believed human beings were the only sentient life born on it. That humans had rightful dominion over everything. He ran on this and was elected to his seat because of it.

Also because Rob N. Pyllage took many ballots and "corrected" them to vote for him. But no one else knew that, he was sure. He was certified, after all. He had his seat, and he would contend that he earned it legitimately. When he didn't. Not really. But he convinced himself with all his delusions of grandeur that he had upswelling of support from his supporters and that he was the greatest politician in the country. He convinced himself that the A.R.A. was immensely popular amongst the people (it wasn't -- it was struggling to reach forty percent, with about eighteen percent indifferent either way).

It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a slam dunk.

He didn't acknowledge how easily people saw through the xenophobic exterior as if it were glass and saw the underlying legislation beneath to cut taxes for those making ten million or more, paid for by cutting entitlements, which the people have paid into. Shane Les didn't see why this was such a big deal -- who cared what the peasants thought? They were only useful during election years. Other than that, Shane thought they should just shut up, generate the wealth, and take whatever the upper crust deems to do them. That was the only real use of these peasants.

And now they had started to harass him just as some of these annoying media. Especially these so-called "new media" reporters. They asked questions that Shane found untoward and improper to even dare to have the audacity to ask. He should have the impunity to act as he saw fit, and not be held accountable for such actions, he felt. These know-nothing, unruly and troublesome meddlers should be dealt with swiftly and clean, he felt. He thought that these kibitzing, interfering thugs should just shut up and bow their heads to their obvious superiors.

This was supposed to be simple. It wasn't supposed to be so complicated.

And now Representatives Nathan Smith, Christopher Lubber, and Michael Ellis had abandoned him to save their own necks. True, Shane Les could turn on his own legislation, but, due to his refusal to see anything wrong with it, he didn't. He was going to go down with the ship, despite it very quickly becoming political suicide. But Shane was unable to see this aspect of it like the other three, who saw the writing on the wall. It was this obstinate stubbornness that was his fatal flaw. Well, that, and his sheer incompetence.

But he was struggling with these feelings of betrayal, failure, difficulties, and frustration. Soon enough, he would be pressured to step down. He knew it. He wouldn't acknowledge that it was because of the puritanical xenophobic and racist rhetoric he blurted out so conspicuously, as he refused to believe that. He chose instead to believe it was a witch hunt against him by miscreants and ne'er-do-wells. That makebake instigators, good-for-nothing propagandists, and rogue Congressmen have made him a political pariah.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. He was a master legislator -- he could fundraise more money from the party's donors than any other (not necessarily true). He should have been on top. It just wasn't fair.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLV (1,355): "The Screenslayer" -- The RAFians must deal with a hypnotic villain.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
How It Began . . .

Representative Shane Les found himself reminiscing about just before he ran for his seat, and the little song that he sang to himself to jazz himself up for it, and find some sort of magical tone to use while both campaigning and while on the floor.

"I've never needed anyone.
I'll go my way alone.
I'll use my own intelligence.
To find that magical tone."

He didn't have any real platform to run on, but he managed to cover up this with bluster and smearing his opponent. And also stealing the election helped quite a bit as well.

"Yes! I'm a very important feature.
Tremendously brave and strong.
I find that am frequently right.
When others are often wrong.
Instead of arguing blindly.
They should open their eyes and see!
That the one who will bring them paradise.
Is the very important me."

He thought an awful lot about himself, and he sang this to himself, despite thinking the voters were little more than stupid peasants. He was more thinking of the people in government, who he believed himself to be smarter than by definition.

"I'm a fabulous fearsome try-er.
I handle life with finesse!
When others say no,
It can't be so!
My answer is always yes!
I was born to be their saviour!
That is my destiny!
Why do they despise?
Not recognize
The truly fantastic me!"

His ego hasn't changed much. If anything, it grew and ballooned to ridiculous proportions. But that changed when he introduced the A.R.A. bill with Representatives Ellis, Smith, and Lubber, and he came up with a stonewall of opposition. He had never been truly challenged in such a way in his entire life, and he was shocked by it. He didn't know how to react to it, other than petulance.

"Some of us are born to lead.
While the rest of them must follow.
They would have a long search
Just to come up shallow!
Looks at this right wing!
Look at this beak!
I guess you could say I'm quite unique!
It's a very important mission.
Truly impressive quest.
They think I mean to do them harm.
When I only want what's best.
And when I finally find the tone.
Then at last they'll see!
How lucky they are to know!
As they watch as from down below!
What a reverence they will show!
The very important!
Very important!
Very important!
Me!
The very important me!"

He finished reminiscing about the song, feeling very embittered and cynical about everything. This was supposed to be easy -- the others were supposed to marvel at his greatness, to genuflect at his feet, to abase themselves before him. It wasn't supposed to be like this, in Representative Shane Les's view. He didn't realize that he wouldn't be treated like a pampered prince, which is how he was treated for the majority of his life. He didn't like being challenged, he found. He didn't like it one bit.

Especially challenges that he could not overcome.

SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=2wTeRZh6mAw

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLVI (1,356): "Silly RAFians, Strixes Are For Kills" -- The RAFians deal with strixes.

Releasing tomorrow's chapter a wee bit early. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
RAF Reacts

"At least they're putting up a fight this time," Shenmue said. "They usually just roll over and capitulate to this kind of pressure."

"Perhaps the legislation would have gone over better if it wasn't just a transparent vehicle to cut taxes for the wealthy and mega-rich." Helen noted.

"He clearly overestimated his political prowess," Parker said. "I still question that election that gave him the seat -- there was a lot of fishy business there that was never really readily addressed. At least, not satisfactorily."

 Meanwhile, Cloak kept his silence. His worries seemed more and more confirmed with every news that reaches them.

"What's wrong, Cloaky?" Sakki asked, noticing Cloak's body language. "You don't support this A.R.A. garbage."

"It is because I fear, Sakki," Cloak said, quietly and earnestly, "I fear that your government might be falling down the same slippery slope that the Realm Walker Council did, long before I was born."

"How so?" the VOLCAROID inquired.

"The Realm Walker Council started out noble and for the Walker people -- at first." Cloak said in a solemn sort of way. "Then the first cracks of corruption forced their way through the seemingly impenetrable exterior of the supposed democratic republic that was supposed to be governed fairly and objectively. These cracks grew bigger and bigger, until they were fractures in the apparently seamless facade of the democracy. The fractures soon escalated into becoming fissures. Deep, irreparable fissures."

Cloak sighed deeply before continuing.

"This corruption was a blight. It was a gangrenous bile that rotted away the democracy. Robbed the people of their rights and liberty." Cloak said. "This corruption devolved the democracy into an oligarchy. The powerful reigned as nobility, and this is when the high turnover of Council members started. Within a single year - - a decade of your years -- several Realm Walkers may take one of the five seats than be disposed from the seat very quickly. No matter how good and well-intentioned the Realm Walker in question, the corruption is infective and corrosive of one's moral character and judgement. In just about no time at all, the corruption takes hold and twists their minds and souls to darkness."

"Is that why you turned it down?" GH asked, after a prudent pause. He was serious in his questioning. "This corruption?"

"There is an universal idiom," Cloak said, not really answering the guitarist's question, "'absolute power corrupts absolutely '."

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLVII (1,357): "The Fool" -- The RAFians fight the Fool.

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
The Fate of the A.R.A.

The bill was up for vote, delayed by other bills that took more priority, and Representative Les found the wait torturous. But the general consensus was that the A.R.A. was not going to fair well. The constituency knew what the true end goal of the bill was and the actual Registry was little more than fluff to get the tax cuts passed.

The Alien Registration Act had no wisdom to it. It had no charismatic rhetoric. It was not written intelligently. It was like a beast with teeth made of the cheapest sort of glass, it would have a powerful bite once, but then lose all effectiveness thereafter. It was a clumsy bill, and even Representative Les would have to, begrudgingly, admit it now. But there was no time to rewrite it now -- and he was given time to, but he obstinately refused to believe that there was anything wrong with it in the first place.

He foolishly believed that the A.R.A. was popular and voting down would be political suicide -- he vastly underestimated the constituency. They were tired of working harder than the richest of the rich, and being slandered as lazy because they didn't have a lot of money. They were tired of having entitlement programs they paid into ransacked and slashed to fund some loafer with a wealthy mommy and daddy ludicrous ambitions.

Outwardly, Representative Les showed a contemptuous grimace and exhibited a face etched with sanctimonious expression that read very smug to most people, but deep down? He knew that this legislation wouldn't pass. It was doomed when anyone gave it the mildest of scrutiny. It was sloppily put together, akin to a project that a D- student would create at the last minute.

He knew this full well, but went on lying to everyone (and himself) about how great this legislation was. He had convinced himself that other people, even those that he considered to be peasants, loved this legislation. He convinced himself that no one could just see it as a vehicle more transparent than Wonder Woman's invisible jet. He convinced himself that he was outwitting everyone. He was elated when Representative Lubber, Ellis, and Smith decided to coauthor the bill (and were now trying fervently denying involvement and desperately trying to distance themselves from it).

Then he was challenged by other, far less friendly Representatives. He was insulted, unaccustomed to pushback so powerful. He was unaccustomed to be held accountable for his actions done or words said. He was only accustomed to having his way, and he never knew when to keep his bigoted opinion to himself. He never had very much social acumen, so that it wasn't too surprising that he resorted to cheating and underhanded tactics in order to get his seat. He got away with that, so he got complacent.

Naturally, when the vote came up, he felt a bite of apprehension tinged with hope that his transparent attempt at rich tax cuts with a xenophobic veneer would pass in the House. What he failed to take into account was that several of their donors were against this legislation as it was written, and a bulk of these politicians took money from this particular donor. It was pretty much a death knell for the legislation.

As such, it was voted down and Shane Les was summarily embarrassed. He even considered actually stepping down to escape the embarrassment. . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLVIII (1,358): "The Magician" -- The RAFians must battle the Magician.

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
The Donor

In a darkened room, a figure sat in complete shadow. He held what appeared to be some sort of blood red wine with the viscosity and consistency of milk. The only light in the room came from an old television on the far end of the room. It was tuned into a channel that was airing the vote.

This figure, loosely silhouetted by the television's light, swirled his drink held in a wineglass whose stand dangled loosely from this man's fingers. He was watching Representative Shane Les politically sweal and immolate. He had to admit, it was entertaining.

He sat on a high-backed chair that was encrusted with gold, with velvet cushioning. The top of the chair had a white diamond at the very top, a pink diamond directly below it, a yellow diamond to the left of the two, and a blue diamond to the right of the two. Decorating the back of this chair were gemstones that a faint glow to them -- rose quartzes, pearls, garnets, amethysts, peridots, lapis lazuli, rubies, sapphires, smokey quartzes, rainbow quartzes, sunstones, opals, sugilites, sardonyxes, alexandrites, obsidian, emeralds, jaspers, malachite, agates, zircons, topazes, aquamarines, hessonites, nephrites, carnelians, morganites, citrines, rutile, rhodonites, fluorites, larimar, tiger's eyes, tourmaline, serpentine, and lepidolite. It was clear, whoever this was, they wanted to show just how affluent they were with this gaudy chair.

His attire mad him look like Organization XIII member set in a film noir setting. He wore a black trench coat over a black suit with a black undershirt and tie and some sort of silver pin on the lapel, and he wore a hat that shrouded his face in darkness. He even wore black leather gloves to hide his hands. It was crystal clear that he wanted to keep his identity a secret.

He was the donor to many of these politicians' various campaigns. He was the quintessential provider of so-called "dark money". Every cent he had spent had returned to him with many, many friends. Every political investment he had made -- had ever made -- had granted him even greater returns. And, of course, it did. He would not have wasted the capital otherwise.

While he liked the tax cut part of the A.R.A, the xenophobic stuff would highly conflict with the subjects that he need for . . . educational purposes. And it would greatly hinder what it was that he did, and he did not like that. What had to be done on his part was obvious. He paid off -- "donated", rather, to pretty much every big politician's campaign. All except Representative Pax's, who refused his money on pretty much every moral ground imaginable.

This donor was very dismissive of that Representative as an unimportant pawn whose presence might actually lend more legitimacy to the Congress that he paid for sixty-one percent of, personally. It was because of him, and not any childish morality, that the A.R.A. failed. It failed because he wanted it to fail, and he abandoned Shane Les. He allowed the dumbfounded dunce to take the fall, to take the blame, despite nonchalantly planting the idea in his head in the first place, despite selecting him to run in the first place. And now he was part of the massive pressure to get Shane Les to step down.

This was because this mysterious donor had other plans for him, now that his usefulness was ended. . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLIX (1,359): "The Lovers" -- The RAFians must deal with the Lovers.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Stepping Down and Stepping Out

He must have realized how it would come off to anyone who was still foolish enough to support him. people who wantonly refused to see what was so obvious to everyone else around them. Those people who deliberately turned a blind eye to how so many of his fellow Congressmen and Congresswomen, his donor, and so many others were demanding he step down as a Representative. They would see it as petulance, turning on him immediately like the hateful beasts that they were. They would chastise him for stepping down after his first piece of legislation failed.

But the pressure from all sides -- his constituency, his fellow Congressmen and Congreswomen, and his doors -- easily got to him. He would defy anyone to deny that they would not buckle under such pressures. He would wager that even Atlas, himself, would collapse from the weight of this kind of pressure.

So, with the vote against the A.R.A. not being much more than a day old, he announced that he would be stepping down from his role as a Representative. Intially, he gave no reason, until he realized he could use his age as a viable excuse. He could claim that it was because of his age and health, despite being at perfect health and having only held office for a paltry few weeks to a single month, before this entire fiasco happened. Shane Les may have been oblivious and obstinate, but he wasn't a fool, not entirely. He knew his political career was over when the A.R.A. floundered and flopped. He had put too much stake in that legislation, pinned his entire career and credibility onto it. But it had sank and drifted in the ocean.

Of course, the newfound investigation into his election -- as some election fraud was detected in his campaign, and substantial corruption was discovered. He knew it was just a matter of time before he would get nailed for it. So, stepping down served an ulterior motive to help him get out of the country and into the relative safety of international waters. His money was already in an offshore account -- to avoid taxes on it, of course -- and was readily accessible to him.

He had to do this, but he had to do it in a way that wouldn't arouse too much suspicion. He wasn't bright enough to realize it would have been prudent to wear a disguise of some sort, or not to do this kind of thing in the middle of the day. When questioned, he claimed he was making his yacht his primary residence, thinking that would be plenty explanation to satisfy the inane questions of these nosy paparazzi types.

He had to hurry. He had to hurry before his former co-Congressmen and Congresswomen caught up with him, especially that irritating investigator that he never bothered to learn the name of. He wasn't planning on sticking around, let alone long enough to learn the guy's name.  He needed to do this before anyone got wise to him, before they could stop him. Before that accursed investigator could get to him, before they realize that he was a severe flight risk.

He would have to abandon his manor. And it was very nice manor. But he decided that it was worth it to save his own neck. The investigation was just starting, so he had to act now. He never considered that by fleeing, he was basically admitting guilt.

"Going somewhere, former Representative?" said a deep, male voice behind him.

"I'm changing residences," Shane Les lied blatantly. He hadn't turned around, and wasn't really in the mood to be interrogated. He didn't care if it was the investigator inquiring behind him. He was still quite arrogant, despite his humiliation, with the emollient thought of being inherently superior than the working class and genuinely thought that this alone made him above the law.

"Not without a word from me," said the owner of this voice.

Shane Les turned around, and immediately felt fear. It was not the person he thought it was. "You?"

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLX (1,360): "The Heirophant" -- The RAFians must deal with the Heirophant.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
A New Purpose

"You can't d-do this," Shane Les said, with a hoarse, quivering voice. He was strapped to a flat steel table, with his extremities outstretched in a most uncomfortable manner. He was shirtless, and he was still wearing his suit pants. He had lost track of just how long he was here, strapped to this cold, uncaring, unsympathetic table. "I h-have rights!"

"You lost any right to be when you've become of no use to me," the shadowed man said, with the pin on his lapel showing clearly in the bright, clinical light of this overly pristine laboratory. "You're just fortunate that I managed to salvage a use for you."

"You c-can't! I have basic innumerable r-rights, and you are violating every one th-them!" he said, his voice sounding like the snap from an old bit of chalk. Even his voice sounded dry - - he was being regularly denied water and sustenance. This shadowed man didn't care about Shane Les's needs. He was already believed to have absconded to a different country, escaping justice. But he wasn't -- he was here, trapped like some particularly stupid guinea pig. "There are plenty of . . . plenty of . . . of . . ."

"Oh, stop your inane bleating," he said, in an almost clinically differential sort of way. There sounded as if there should have been a bite of impatience to his voice, but it was not there. "It serves no purpose to complain. You're here, and you're going to be of some use to me. Now, stop struggling -- it won't make the procedure any shorter for anyone involved."

"Then use one of the p-peasants!" he protested, his voice sounding like sandpaper. " There are th-thousands of them! They're exp-pendable!"

"That reminds me," said this shadowed man, with a mirthless sort of chuckle that woul send chills down anyones spine, "I'd like to thank you for your generous donation to our cause. All of your assets and accounts, your entire fortune? How very giving of you."

"I authorized n-no s-such thing!!!" he protested immediately. As if he thought he'd get out of this situation. Which was why this shadowed man laughed a cruel laugh.

"You no longer have any need of little things like money," he said, with that chilling chuckle once more. He seemed to be enjoying this too much, in a very much sadistic manner. He was standing in another room, where Shane couldn't see him. Shane was in a room that eerily looked like a gas chamber, except of a chair, there was the steel table Shane was strapped to, in an involuntarily manner. "As I've said, I've found a pertinent use for you. And it will be your final use."

Suddenly, a yellowish-green gas flooded the room. It was a type of nerve gas, that broke down cells on a molecular level. It turned them to ash in a manner of minutes.

"Oh, look at that," the shadowed man said, with faux concern, and dripping with insincerity, "there's been an 'accident'. Such a pity that you were handling chemicals that you ought not have been handling, former Representative Les! Why did you mix them so recklessly? Don't you know just how dangerous that is? Did you think you were more clever than chemists with Ph.Ds?"

Then the same chilling laugh as the silver pin on his lapel came into light -- a strand of DNA within a beaker within an eye within a triangle. The sigil of CADMUS. He just watched as Shane Les died due to this gas. this shadowed man felt nothing about the death, and was, in fact, disappointed. He didn't get data from this that he found satisfactory. Not even remotely.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXI (1,361): "The Priestess" -- The RAFians deal with the Priestess.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
A Monster Meditation

After the A.R.A. was voted down, Cloak returned to his isolated spot and meditated. It seemed almost easier than normal, as if the very elements he mastered were eager to assist him in this endeavor.

It was then he was hit by a powerful vision, which, of course, had a song in it. He was in his thread, which was quadruple its normal size. And he sensed the oncoming threat, never question where the others were or how these invaders got into the protected forum.

He sang to himself.

"It's finally come.
Come to knock down the door.
I can't hide this time,
Like I hid before."

He felt a tremendous amount of anxiety and trepidation, and was dimly aware of the elements being out of balance and wreaking havoc to all those around. He sang to himself again.

"The tempest is awake.
The danger is real.
My time's running out.
Don't feel, don't feel!"

He was feeling the kind of fear he hadn't truly experienced since his sessions with Aniyu. The fear of losing control over himself and his emotions. He remembered not being too fond of the sensation.

"'Fear will be your enemy
And death, the consequence.'
That's what the Dreams once said to me,
And it's starting to make sense."

Sometimes Truth Dreams were a burden he wished that he could do without. It never alleviated the fear, but generally just escalated those negative feelings. Perhaps Destiny thought she was being helpful, sending those Dreams -- most times, she was not.

"All this pain, all this fear . . .
Began because of me. . . .
Is the thing she would see
The thing I have to be?"

He grasped the side of his wrought iron, four-poster bed frame, lined with the same fabric that his cloak was made from, and was not easy to obtain.

"A monster, are they right?
Has the dark in me finally come to light?
Am I a monster, full of rage?
Nowhere to go, but on a rampage?
Or am I just a monster, in a cage?"

He heard an ensemble sing, and he somehow knew they were Realm Walkers. An unicorn, a bear, a leopard, a vixen, a snake, and a goat. All in Councilor regalia -- the first Council regalia. They sang:

"End this havoc.
Bring back the status quo.
Keep your guard up!"

Then he heard his own mother, Ursa the Critic:

"No harm comes to him!"

He highly doubted that she said that because of motherly love. He wasn't sure if she could ever truly feel such an emotion. Then the six ancient Councilors sang:

"End this havoc.
Bring back the status quo.
Keep your guard up!"

He was feeling rather like a trapped animal. Alone, scared, . . . and dangerous. He sang to himself:

"What do I do?
No time for crying now.
I started a tempest.
Gotta stop it somehow."

Fear and his sense of responsibility were now at war within him, as he sang to himself:

"Do I keep running?
How far do I have to go?
And would that take the tempest away?
Or only make it grow?"

Then guilt decided to have a word in this war of emotions within the RAFian Realm Walker

"I'm making my world harsher.
How long can it survive?
Is everyone in danger
As long as I'm alive?"

It was quickly becoming a toxic sort of ****tail, these emotions. He continued to sing to himself:

"Was I a monster from the start?
How did I end up with this stone heart?
Bringing devastation to the stage.
Caught in a conflict that I never meant to wage.
Do I kill the monster?"

He was engaging in self-pity, and he knew it perfectly well, but he didn't know what to do. He appealed to the memory of his aunt, Wheeza, and sang, pleadingly and imploringly:

"Wheeza, you know what's best for me . . .
If I die, will they be free?
Wheeza, what if after I'm gone,
The tempest gets harsher, and it rages on?"

In his ears, he could hear his departed aunt's words -- "AND THEN WHAT?! You never think these things through!! It's time for you to look inward and ask yourself the big questions. Who are YOU? And what do YOU want?"

 He smiled a small smile at the thought, and decided, as he sang to himself:

"I have to stay alive.
To undo what has been done.
Save the world from myself,
And bring back the fun.
If I'm a monster, and it's true --
(End this havoc, bring back the status quo!)
Then there's only one thing that's left for me to do.
(Keep your guard up!)
But, before I fade to white,
(End this havoc, bring back the status quo!)
I'll do all that I can to make things right.
(Keep your guard up . . . !)"

Then he left his thread to confront his mother and these ancient Councilors. He sang to himself:

"I can't be a monster.
I won't be a monster.
Not tonight!"

The ancient Councilors declared their disagreement:

"Monster!"

This is when the vision decided to end, and Cloak awoke as if coming out of a reverie. Was it a vision or just a dream? Or was it a Truth Dream sent to him from Destiny? . . . He sincerely hoped that it wasn't the latter. Despite her genial, affable demeanor when he met his oldest ancestor -- on either side of his family -- she still terrified him. He could sometimes feel her power . . . and it terrified him.

He never thought he would meet anyone more frightening to him than his own mother. But then he met Destiny, and burned her Diary into ashes.

SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=X-L40JAuaGU