Averick

Near the beach, on Cap Au Diablo, a small, abandoned boathouse defied the elements and time by continuing to stand. It was here that a single figure hurried to bury a small canister in the darkness. His fingers fumbled nervously, despite his nearly flawless history of being unshakable. His breath was hurried, though he had used every trick his master had taught him regarding stealth and guile. His mind was distracted, in spite of years of meditation and training. His task complete, though shoddy and hurried, he turned toward the door.

A board creaked above him, and his eyes shot toward the roof. They were here. He had no time remaining, and now there was every chance that his message would be discovered and intercepted. He moved to a window and crouched, looking out.

The man was dressed in a suit made from the most modern and lightweight fabrics his clan could afford. It was protection from all manner of attack, though not complete protection from anything. He carried a single katana, and a host of other devices. On the hilt of his sword was a Kanji that read simply “Murderous Intent”. Arachnos knew him as Ichi. He was their first choice of mercenary spies, because of his reputation of getting the job done.

Right this second, though, his only thought was getting out alive. He sprung through the window and rolled up in a field of dead grass. He looked back toward the boathouse, but saw nothing. He decided to make for the city, to use the distractions and movement, to blend into the crowd and vanish.

Up the narrow path was another structure, like a cottage looking out over the sea. As he ran past it he could hear boards creaking on its roof as well. He didn’t bother looking, by the time he heard them they had moved on. Once atop the path he followed it down again toward a fallen tree that ended in some large rocks. He used his sheathed sword to glide down the wood of the dead tree to make up time and not leave any footprints. Upon reaching the base of the tree, he re-evaluated his position.

Whoever it was that was following him was skilled in the arts of the Shinobi, but not in his specific house. It was like they were more skilled than him, but in an ancient art that had been lost for many centuries. He was capable of using the modern landscape to his advantage, to make up for the fact that he was outclassed. Now he had to gamble. They could have anticipated his move toward the city, if they were confident or arrogant enough to believe that he would be scared of them. Or he could take his chances with the sea at night, something he wouldn’t hesitate to do until recently.

The darkness was his home. It was where he found shelter and safety. Just recently, though, he had discovered that Oni lived in his own home, and there were rooms that were not safe. As is the case in stories, when you discover what has been living in your house, and it discovers you, the relationship changes from mutually ignoring that fact, to a struggle for life. Now he found himself on the other side of the rocks, staring at three swordsmen. They were students of ninjitsu, but still students.

Behind him, he had given up the high ground, and beyond the three he could see the lights of the city. There would be no easy end to this fight especially considering there were mages from the Circle of Thorns performing some summoning ceremony nearby. He had fallen into their trap, now he could struggle against the snare and push on toward the city, or he could reverse himself and fall upon the spikes that sought to impale his struggling form.

He studied the adversaries in front of him. They had the faint traces of modern life on them. Their skin was stained by the perfumes of modern chemicals. Their diets still consisted of processed foods and cheeseburgers. Their hair was still styled with gels when they were not on missions. He felt that they were soft and weak enough to defeat easily, but he had made this mistake before.

Ichi lunged forward, flipping up into a kick that knocked one of the swordsmen down before he could free his blade. The other two swordsmen drew and swung at him. Ichi rolled away into a dead run. He’d hoped that the enemy would not risk alerting the Circle mages, and perhaps he could create a gap in their ambush. When Ichi heard the whistle of the arrow approaching, he knew that his plan would not work, and now he must rely on strength of heart and skill with a blade to escape.

The world exploded in light, instantly drawing the attention of guardians, spirits and mages. Soon, Ichi’s head cleared, and the world was not so blurry. His sword was drawn, and the ancient magic it was imbued with sliced at the spirit in front of him that was trying to drain away his life force. His sword glowed like a piece of the moon had been caught in the blade, as he dodged and sliced until the spirit was no more.

When his attention returned to the battlefield, only one of his swordsman adversaries was between him and the cliff that overlooked the sea. The dead grass beneath the student was stained with the blood of a fallen thorn, and a mage lay nearby, dead from arrows. Behind him, the other two students struggled with the remaining spirit.

Ichi sprinted toward the swordsman in front of him. Their swords clashed twice, as Ichi gained the upper hand. The student’s strikes were slow, and Ichi anticipated them easily. However, his awareness of the hillside distracted him when it grew fangs and attacked. Ichi dodged an arrow, and was struck in the left hand with a dart. He felt the sting, and began counting, for he knew he had only so long before the poison would take effect, and he would likely lose consciousness.

Ichi was struck on the thigh by the student, who’s blade did not penetrate deeply through Ichi’s armor due to his inexperience. Ichi heard two more arrows coming in, and could tell that one was heavier than the other, and likely contained some kind of flash bomb. Ichi slashed the first arrow out of the air, and then turned his blade on the student, delivering a life threatening wound across his mid section. Ichi sought to be out of the radius of the flash bomb and with his back turned to it, but then realized his mistake. The creator of this arrow used an ancient technique of winding feather into rope, causing the sound it made as it flew to appear more like fletching weighed down by a bomb or poison tip. In fact it was rope all along, and it fanned out, catching Ichi just by the end of it.

The experienced ninja managed to get his blade pointed out, toward the ropes, limiting the time of his entanglement, but he still cursed himself for failing to correctly perceive the threat. Two more arrows came in, and despite his relative immobility, he avoided one entirely and managed to spin his body round to receive the second in his most heavily armored spot. It was then that fire erupted on the ground in front of him and a magician breathed flame at him.

Free now, Ichi rolled away from the flame, avoiding it entirely. However, the poison had started taking effect, and his vision was changing. He felt panicked and fearful of everything. There was only one option now. He sheathed his sword and headed toward the cliff at full speed. He channeled his fear into flight and sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him.

Arrows whipped by him, many more arrows than archers, and flame erupted on the spot he sought to run through, but his momentum carried him into the flame, which stuck to him and burned him as he ran. Two more arrows found their mark in him, one in his leg, one in his back, but he reached the cliff. Off the edge he leapt, and toward the icy cold water below.

Days went by, but the attacks never came. Arachnobots walked the perimeter without being destroyed or shut down. Even the Freakshow were quiet. It was all a bit unnerving to Arbiter Kessel, who was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Kessel had watched Operative Moss oversee one of the largest construction projects ever attempted in the Rogue Isles with the most ambitious timetable ever recorded. The base of the structure was pure titanium rods forming squares that a tight mesh would be strewn between. Each of these squares would have a larger structure attached to it that hooked together to form the ground floor. The plans called for diamond hinged, titanium connectors to give the massive structure the strength of a huge building being built on the water. Twisted steel with augmented alloy cables were used to give the structure give in the event of a solid blow from an immense object, or even just a severe storm. The upper levels of the Web Throne where shaped like the base of a throne, with a thin high rise representing the back. Behind the high rise, a webwork of cables stretched to four immense towers erected, one on each of the four smaller islands around the bay.

In the seat of this throne, that is on the top of the building, was a giant statue of Lord Recluse, with a sitting and viewing area on top of his helmet where the dictator himself was to sit when giving addresses or overseeing the realm personally.

In the bay, twelve attack subs patrolled the water, and six long poles descended from tethers at the edges of the floating structure, to the bottom of the bay. Each held sonar, cameras, pressure sensors, and torpedoes. There were five fliers in the air at all times and seven on the ground, fueling and prepping. Soldiers marched everywhere and stood watch. There were two destroyers, one on each side of the Web Throne. All looked ready. Kessel was terrified.

Klint had programmed in a clear flight path to the observation seat on the statue’s helmet, which Kessel had anticipated would be there to whisk Recluse to safety if something went awry, and there were construction workers missing throughout the project, taken to assist a special project that inhabited two of the shores near the web. Moss confided that these were extra security precautions, but Kessel wasn’t above suspecting anyone of espionage or sabotage, even Klint.

Moss was also making Kessel aware that operatives of Klint were active in Sharkhead, poking about and trying to find more information on the cult. Moss reported that, of the five freelancers hired, only one remained on the job. Three disappeared, and one was found wandering the shore with nothing but the clothes on his back babbling incoherent nonsense. The last has yet to report in.

“This is going to be incredibly ugly. I can just feel it.” Kessel looked out over the landscape.

Moss nodded behind him. “It feels as if a great storm is coming.” Lightning flashed in the distance. Moss was not being as figurative as Kessel thought.

“We are as prepared as we can be, I suppose.” The arbiter turned toward operative Moss and sat in his chair.

“Sir. I feel that there will be many surprises on the battlefield, more than anticipated.” Moss stood at attention.

“Let us hope they are enough. Dismissed.”

Arbiter Klint was not one who was used to being on the receiving end of surprises. He was glad he was not responsible for the security of Sharkhead before the attack, as it seemed even Mako had been in on it, and a catastrophic failure like that could result in only one outcome, death. Oh the methods and duration of your demise might be up for question, but the certainty of the end could not be avoided. Klint wanted to live. Living was tied directly to succeeding, in this particular situation he found himself in, so succeeding would be his primary goal. Such as Recluse had set it up, it was easy to find his motivation.

“Still…” he mused, calling up the status of his personal sub, “I could always open a Shoe Source in Wyoming.”

He could virtually see the future in the plans Recluse had sent him. Recluse would under estimate his opponents, as he always does, and they would separate him from the security of the platform. When that happened, Recluse would land his flier full of over priced and over hyped thugs, and they would fight the cultists in a free for all like the last time they got together with Freedom Phalanx. Only, things wouldn’t go Recluse’s way.

Klint thought those who sought to replace Recluse were power hungry morons who had no knowledge of the headaches being in charge of an evil empire could bring. Being a powerless minion is likewise unsuitable, but there is a happy medium to be reached in the executive core. People aren’t always trying to stab you in the back with a much bigger target looming just within reach, and the chances that things will go so horribly wrong that Recluse will need to use your body as a human shield are slim to none. The problem is, staying precisely where you are without failing or some imbecile promoting you.

So he thought of what would happen when Recluse’s plan failed and he found himself surrounded by these creatures. The ramps would extend from his hidden bunkers and two battalions of Arachnos soldiers, droids and mystics of Mu would pour forth onto the web throne to drown Recluse’s enemies in lasers and bullets. It will be like the Dead sea crashing down on the Pharaoh’s men as they pursued... someone … he couldn’t remember who.

Still, it was worthwhile to investigate these cultists and discover their weaknesses. Two battalions of men and machines is hard to replace. If there were an easier way… The fewer resources expended to keep Recluse safe, the better.

He pressed his wrist com to his personal clerk outside his door. “I need a freelance spy.”

“Right away, commander.”

Klint released the com. “I wonder what the cat is going to drag in today.”

“We reconned the cave in force and found no sign of lieutenant Green’s platoon. There were visible scorch marks on the ground, evidence of smoke at the top of the cave and hits from small arms fire on the cave walls, but no casings, no blood and no debris. Further, none of the tracking devices, save for the one on the lieutenant, seem to be active.” Arbiter Zeller reported to Arbiter Kessel.

“This is a [censored] nightmare. If the tracking devices do come online, don’t send a squad, it will just be another trap.” Kessel looked out of the tower window down onto the twisted metal that was the beginnings of the Web Throne. Arachnos fliers patrolled the skies and flew low over land and water to protect the rebuilding efforts. Ten patrol boats and two destroyers secured the recovery effort, while three cargo ships sent divers into the water to lower defenses to be secured to the bottom of the bay.

The areas outside of the bay were unsecured now, with only a token Arachnos force there, held up to defend themselves vrs any attack. All eyes were on the newly created bay in the middle of Sharkhead. There were many forces of various different kinds around the bay, all poised to counter attack any threat at a moment’s notice. Kessel was taking his job seriously.

Zeller nodded in agreement. “Yes, sir. Agreed.”

“And cease patrols near the sea caves, just leave arachnobots there.”

Arbiter Zeller knew this was a waste of time, as they would find the bots destroyed by morning or missing entirely nearly half of the time, but he did not dare argue. The mood was getting grim. It had been two days since the attack and no work had been done on the structure aside from clearing away damaged portions that could not be salvaged. “As you wish, sir.”

“Dismissed.” Zeller turned and left the spacious and well lit room.

Operative Moss stepped forward as Kessel continued to look out of the room. A red screen flickered to life over Kessel’s desk as operative Moss began speaking. “I have secured the cooperation of several factories in Nerva as well as Saint Martial to fabricate and transport supplies to put us back on track. Some of the materials aren’t up to the standards of Arbiter Clark, but these materials take longer to manufacture, and we have lost time.”

Arbiter Kessel scoffed, “and how many days will we have to wait for these materials to get here?”

“The three large buildings you see near the south end, they are already filled with them. We could begin tomorrow morning or, if you don’t mind the risk to morale and lives, we could have workers on constant shifts through the night starting immediately.” Moss was pointing to the reports on the screen when Kessel turned around. The report showed the chances of worker injury and the probable timetable adjusted by an average number of worker injuries and work stoppages due to death and dismemberment.

“Already? So we are ready to begin now? That gives us one day to spare, which we might be able to make up some spare time with some forced labor.” Kessel briefly looked over the numbers. He looked at the bottom where Moss projected that, despite the loss of life and multiple injuries, they would finish 16 hours ahead of schedule. “Do it.” He turned back to the window. “I want to keep our superiors happy and finishing nearly two days early… they appear to be opening the doors to the… you already gave the order to begin at once didn’t you?”

“Nearly half an hour ago, sir.” Moss did not smile, though he could sense the muscles in Kessel’s face tensing in a smile, even though he was facing away. “Scirocco’s mystics cannot penetrate the magical defenses of these cultists, they say that their sight is being blocked as if these cultists can simply turn off their abilities. Yet you read my mind perfectly. Maybe I should transfer you to their division.”

Moss still did not smile. “Who would plan your building project?”

“Very good point. Let me know when the defense grid is up and running.” Kessel turned and nodded at Moss. “Dismissed.”

“Stay alert, Wolves. Intel says they’re certain that some of the enemy Coralax retreated to this set of caves. Engage the enemy as soon as you see them, do not wait for my order.” Lieutenant Green led the wolf spider platoon into the sea cave near the attack only fifteen minutes after Mako left the scene, hoping to catch retreating enemy forces regrouping and unprepared. He was acting on orders from a higher ranking officer, hoping to impress his superiors with his ruthless efficiency and some bodies of enemy forces.

From where lieutenant Green was standing, he could see six of his men and their flashlights on their weapons lighting the seawater drenched cavern ahead. The tide was still going out, so he figured they had hours before they would have to turn back. However, their scout had not found any tracks to lead them, so they sent three scouts ahead to mark caves that were empty or had more passages. Green could see that the point man had stopped and held up his hand. The column stopped and Green was waved forward.

In the light of the point man’s rifle, Green could see one of their scouts, secured by his feet with starfish to the roof of the cavern. He was nearly covered in starfish, the largest on his face, as his body convulsed left and right, as if trying to get free. His hands were bound to his torso by starfish, and his weapon and radio lay on the cavern below, in a small pool of blood and sea water.

“Get him down,” Green ordered, sending four men sprinting forward with knives at the ready and weapons slung to start prying the starfish from the scout. Two worked on the starfish on the scout’s face, prying it off to the sound of the scout screaming in agony and blood pouring from a hole in the scout’s face. “Keep him quiet!”

One wolf spider put his hand over the wounded scout’s mouth, but the sound just started coming through the hole in his face, this time spewing blood over the soldiers trying to get him down. By now, more soldiers had moved up to see what was going on. Knives were used to pry and cut the starfish from the scout, and more blood and screaming ensued. Minutes into the procedure, they had removed the starfish, and began bandaging the scout, who had gone into shock, and stopped screaming.

Green ordered the scout be put on a litter and two men would carry him further into the cave to complete the mission. “They’re just Coralax. Everyone just relax. We’re trained Arachnos soldiers. We are the scary ones, not them.” Green’s words did little to calm nerves. He looked back at the one Crab Spider they brought with them, assuring himself that if anything did happen, the armored unit would provide him enough time to escape and tell of his own heroics.

Further on, one of their scouts was crouched at the entrance to a cave. The point man signaled that he had found a scout, and they moved up to the crouching soldier. “Where’s Fitzhewn?”

“Wounded, we have him on a stretcher in the back. What have you got?”

“About eight Coralax, beyond those stalagmites circling a pool. I think they’re waiting for more to meet them.” The scout’s report was happy news, and the point man relayed it through hand signals to Green, who moved up to whispering range.

“Great, we’ll hit them, take their heads, and pull out and call for extraction. Mission accomplished and we won’t be all day about it. You two, stay with Fitzhewn and watch our back, the rest will follow the crab spider into combat with me.”

While the lieutenant was giving the battle plan, however, Fitzhewn had awoken to find himself in a very different reality. He could hear eight of his wolf spider comrades encamped over some stalagmites not too far away, and all around him were these lizard like monsters, who had drug him along for a bit and were going to finish eating him. He could feel intense pain from where they had been nibbling on his whole body, and he was terrified of being devoured entirely soon. He could see a box of grenades that they were dragging with them, probably spoils of war from when they overran him and the other scout. He saw no other way out, he wasn’t going to be eaten alive like chicken off the bone.
When Fitzhewn thought no one was looking, he rolled off the stretcher and scurried toward the grenade box. He managed to activate three grenades before one of the creatures saw him and raised the alarm. Fanged and clawed the sea creature lunged at him, trying to eat him alive, and Fitzhewn screamed.

To the squad, things were different. Suddenly someone yelled, “Fitzhewn, NO!” Then, there was an explosion at the rear of their formation, followed shortly by two others. The other grenades didn’t detonate, but they did get scattered around the cave. The area they were standing in went entirely dark, and the sound of a blade penetrating armor rang out, as the Crab Spider spat blood on his mic, and went down to one knee. The lieutenant yelled “FIRE!” which was followed by automatic rifle fire in random directions.

Fire erupted all over the formation, giving the unnatural darkness an eerie flaming silhouette effect, like oil on fire in a thick black cloud. Green and his men were burning, and he needed to escape. He had kept track of the direction they had come, in case he were wounded or disoriented, he would know which way to run, and he lunged for the cave that would take him to freedom. He was struck in the left arm and the stomach by rifle fire from his own men, and something bit him on the right ankle shortly before he stumbled over Fitzhewn’s bloody and burning corpse.

Green screamed from the flame that was burning through his armor and searing his skin, as he pushed uphill out of the darkness. He was noticeably alight, and rolled in the nearest puddle of seawater to put himself out. The darkness began following him from the screams of his dying men. He scurried up the cavern his rifle dangling from the strap and his left arm useless. Green’s breathing was already labored, and pained by the bullet that had ripped into his stomach. His right ankle was swelling, and his left painful from the sprain he’d suffered walking over his dead man.

He pushed and scraped and clawed toward the exit to the cavern, the darkness slowly gaining on him. He contemplated for a brief second firing into it, but terror gripped him and he continued scrambling for safety.

Green reached the last bend before he could see the entrance to the cave, and noticed the darkness had crept up to his feet. A clawed, reptilian hand latched on to his boot, as he tried to round the corner into the sunlight. He fell on his face, and began sliding across the slippery stone into the darkness. Green grabbed his pistol with his right hand and fired into the darkness, striking himself in the leg and the foot, but temporarily gaining his freedom. He rolled back over onto his face and scrambled for the light.

Once again, as he rounded the corner, he felt something grab his leg and he screamed in terror. He clutched the cavern wall with all the strength he had in his right arm, and pulled to get away. Claws dug into his ankle and then another claw latched on to his thigh. Green let go of the wall, and pulled a poison grenade from his belt with his right hand. Pulling the pin after setting it to zero seconds, the grenade exploded in his hand, breaking two fingers and sending a cloud of toxic gas throughout the immediate cave area. Green held his breath and scurried away, into the light and seconds later, out of the cave.

The toxin was burning his skin and his eyes, and he didn’t stop pushing until he was in the sea water. He forced his eyes open, to wash out the toxin. It was seconds of agony before he regained any vision at all, and that was very blurry. He realized that the water was about the least safe place he could be, and pulled himself to the shore. He activated his emergency beacon, and passed out. It would be days before he would awaken, and until then, he had the nightmares from the strange reptilian toxin injected into his ankles to keep him company in his very lonely and dark slumber.

Arbiter Klint sat behind a rather official looking spider shaped table, with the Arachnos symbol proudly displayed on its surface. The walls of the airtight, underwater bunker were bare and undecorated. In the room were six soldiers, Arbiter Kessel and Operative Moss. Klint was going over a report.

After a moment of reading, and without taking his eyes off of the file in front of him, Arbiter Klint spoke. “You nearly died, Operative Moss, in this battle against Captain Mako. You should feel fortunate.”

Moss was sporting a sling for his left arm, a bandage over the right side of his face and a knee brace. “I do not feel fortunate or unfortunate, sir. I merely wish to return to my duties, commander.”

This raised an eyebrow with Klint. “You faced Mako, and were nearly torn apart and drowned and now you want to return to duty? Aren’t you the perfect little soldier? I see your record up to a year ago was rather mundane. Then you seemed to develop a sudden interest in bettering yourself. You waged several successful campaigns to pacify Freakshow and Carnival problem causers in the north of Sharkhead, and you showed an increased aptitude for command.” Klint paused to allow Moss to respond to the insinuation.

“Arbiter Fekkler was instrumental to this change in attitude, commander.” Moss did not make eye contact or break his stance of attention.

“Ah, I see. You are aware that Fekkler died in a raid by Longbow forces, no doubt. Making your story hard to confirm or deny. Can you tell me how you survived Mako’s attack, when so many did not?” The file hit the table for the first time, and Klint’s full attention was on Moss.

“No sir, the last thing I remember was standing with the other operatives and firing on Mako as he approached, commander.” Moss still refused to shift uncomfortably or show any other signs of nervousness.

“The team that found you said that you and operative Turine were found washed ashore. They postulated that you were drug out of the water by Turine, who later lost consciousness and bled out. Is this what happened?” Klint didn’t need to look at the report anymore to recall the details. Arbiter Kessel was trying very hard not to let his own personal suspicions come to light.

“I do not have any memory of that, only of what happened after and before, commander.”

“The medical crew said that your body temperature was dangerously low, your heart rate was barely perceptible and your breathing was shallow and slow, yet when they tried to treat you, you pushed them off and began organizing the rescue in your area, re-establishing communication through the remaining submarine and the fliers to call for further instructions and assistance.” Klint nodded. “How did you manage to think so clearly after such a close call with death, and in such terrible physical condition?”

Operative Moss looked down for a split second, before resuming his gaze at the wall in front of him. “I must admit, I my recollection of those events is hazy, commander. I was probably acting on my training only, commander.”

“Well, aren’t you just the perfect little Arachnos soldier? Is that what I am looking at, the perfect little Arachnos soldier Kessel? Is this your experience?” Klint turned his gaze to the other Arbiter.

Kessel kept his voice free of inflection. “Yes, commander. I have experienced nothing but excellence from Operative Moss.”

“Too bad Fekkler is dead, we could use more of these pep talks. Clark’s death is a setback to the operation and the timetable. Kessel, I am putting you in charge of the construction directly. You’re to expect attacks daily, to harass us and slow our progress. Ultimately, the Web Throne should be able to withstand a direct attack from the Leviathan itself. Lord Recluse is keen on handling his own personal security, so you will focus on the security of the structure itself. We are now two days behind in schedule. Luckily, I planned for five days of delay. Mako tipped his hand early, and now we will be prepared for him. Am I understood?”

“Completely commander!” Kessel stood a little straighter.

“Fine. And keep an eye on your man Moss here. I think he is a spy. Execute him at the first sign of trouble.” Klint pulled another folder from his desk and started to read it as he waved them away. “Dismissed.”

Moss and Kessel left the briefing room and walked briskly toward the transport. Kessel commented to Moss as they were waiting for the lift, “I cannot be bothered to watch you the entire time, so you are to execute yourself the first sign of trouble.”

Unsure of whether Kessel was making light of Klint, or whether Klint had been joking and Kessel was just furthering the joke, Moss only replied, “understood, sir.”

Kessel smiled briefly as he entered the lift.

Operative Moss arrived several hours later at what was to be known as "The Web Throne". Many of the larger pieces were prefabricated in Saint Martial, and the basic framework had been quickly and easily set in place. The structure was not reinforced though, and construction crews were working on this diligently when alarms began going off all over the site.

Moss was in the command shed with two other operatives and Arbitor Clark, who was overseeing the building efforts. The deepest sub on patrol sent out a distress call then stopped responding. A deep water sensor reported a large bubble of air heading toward the surface, followed by an even larger sonar signal.

"The Leviathan!" Operative Moss postulated. "Free the subs, they're helpless tethered to the rig!"

Arbitor Clark was never a military commander, his first thoughts were to efficiency and sound building principals. He was renown for standing up to superiors and insisting his work be given a suitable timetable. His reputation for excellence kept him from execution a number of times. Clark fretted about the integrity of the structure, which would not survive a direct hit if the submarines didn't provide anchoring points. Clark hesitated, and the sonar image grew nearer.

Moss said nothing, while the other Operatives debated the pros and cons of releasing the subs. When the sonar image reached 200 meters, Operative Moss spoke again. "The plan is to keep our only weapons tethered to the structure instead of fight what would destroy it?"

No one could answer that point, and Clark ordered four of the six submarines to untether and dive in an effort to drive away the great beast.

Moss noted that air forces had been neglected during the conversation and suggested they be formed into strafing and bombing configurations at once, which Clark did without hesitation, causing the four black fliers above the platform to speed out in all directions and begin turning back in to strafe the platform area.

The four subs cast off and battened down the hatches to dive. The remaining two braced for impact. Workers ran for shore, and soldiers knelt in place with their hands to their radio ears waiting for orders that never came.

The Leviathon slept soundly in a cave under the ocean floor, however Mako rode a solid wave of energy to the surface followed by a small army of Merulina's children and sea creatures. The wave hit just off center on the underside of the platform with tremendous force, causing the section to buckle and the grid to give way in that area.

The first shockwave tore two mooring lines from one submarine and partially submerged the other, causing two sailors to be washed away. Everyone standing was now not, and those who smartly took a knee were fighting to remain on it and not their face or back.

Mako was surrounded by ghostly giant sea creatures who tore up the platform wherever he walked, and he was striding toward the command tent. The platform swayed back and forth, partially submerging on one side, then rising above the sea moments later as the other side submerged. The creaking of metal and the snapping of cables almost drowned out the screams of terror from the soldiers and workers being swarmed by Coralax and unknown terrible sea creatures.

As Mako reached the tent, the operatives opened fire on him, but with one motion all three were swallowed whole by ghostly sharks and drug down into the depths of the dark water through freshly torn holes in the grating. Mako's eyes never did convey any emotion apart from terrifying apathy, but today Clark could swear they looked maddened, crazed and awash with bloodlust.

Arbiter Clark's death lasted minutes. Mako bit into him, tossing him around in his mouth like a rag doll until he came apart, then stalked over to him and did it again, and again, each time Clark stared up at him, unable to move or even scream after the first few attacks. The terrible, high pitched scream was captured on film though, before the command tent and the rest of the platform was claimed by the sea.

The fliers arrived in time to see the one submarine that couldn't cast off in time being drug down to its doom and Mako's raiding party disappearing into the water. They fired at where Mako used to be, but hit nothing but sea.

Later, the survivors pulled themselves to shore, including two of the three operatives. Operative Turine, who drug Operative Moss from the water and later bled to death from his injuries. Or at least that is what the rescue team reported.

K, That's fine with me.

I think we should be ready to roll by monday ish. You have till then to bandage your boo boos.

Sidekicks always welcome.

You've confused me.

My character's origin is based on fighting Rikti and I thought the timeline was roughly where the Whit was, and I can see no indication otherwise in the first twenty pages of the thread.

EDIT: What do I have to do, to get you to post about the appropriate thread in the appropriate OOC thread?

It's like playing whack a mole with you people.

So, I hear that it's set wayyyyyy back in time to the Rikti invasion, or is this the newest rikti invasion?

I mean, we're beating the heck out of the Whitmoore OOC thread, so...

I threatened, no one took me seriously. I said I'd start an OOC thread for an RP I wasn't in.

"No no no, not 'won't', just 'shouldn't'." Doc gave one last crazy smile before jetting out the door.

He gathered supplies for about an hour, before heading back toward the bar with wheel barrel's full of items.

((letting people do whatever till Doc gets back, don't worry, still reading))

[ QUOTE ]
Wow, great help. Look harder...Why hadn't I thought of that? Nice analogy too, thank goodness helpful folk like you are here trolling! Thanks!

[/ QUOTE ]

Oh no, you're confused. I'm the real Averick. That other poster was my evil twin brother, Sarcasm Man!

I don't know why people say we look the same, you can easily distinguish us by noting the presence of his fake glasses.

No, no, I'd love to be of more help.

What have you done so far to look? Have you posted in the Virtue forum sections? Have you looked for RP SGs and VGs in the SGs and VGs threads?

Have you sent a broadcast message in random zones asking for invites to RP teams?

I want to help, truly, to undo any of the damage that SARCASTIC MAN [TM] may have done.

Look harder. This is like not being able to find wheat in Kansas.

"Really? Up by the arena? Do you think maybe Maple or second would be the fastest way to... never mind, I should just invent a GPS turnip."

[ QUOTE ]
"you know doc if something explodes I'm going to use you as target practice for my bots. Like I said before all I got now is this building that's it so if your Evil experiments do to much damage I be quite angry."

[/ QUOTE ]

Don't worry, they're not chemically explosive in nature, nor dealing with excessive power sources. Any damage I do I'll likely be able to clean up with a mop. Of course, if anything costs money, I'll reimburse you fully. Now, I must gather components for my experiments. Come, Tomato, we are off."

The tomato was busy using salt to balance a spoon on a pepper shaker, when the doctor's orders startled him and it came clattering to the bar top again. He turned, stepped toward the door, turned back, fetched his Fedora, and then exited after Doc Von Krayzee.

[ QUOTE ]
"Neither", Ildela replied, putting the device back into a pocket. "Got it about four hundred years ago, as a gift from a man by the name of Acid Zero. Not like I need it these days though, not much here in the Isles that can see through my normal invisibility anyway. Still, it has sentimental value of sorts."

[/ QUOTE ]

"Right. That still gives me an idea..." More furious scribblings were interrupted by the proprietor laying out the costs. "Tomato, pay the man."

The Tomato was busy soaking a root in the glass that the bartender had laid out for him, then suddenly reached round behind him and pulled forth several thousand dollars in bags marked "Cage Consortium" and laid them on the bar.

"Now to begin my evil experiment, muha muha muhaahahahahahahaha!" Doc Von Krayzee paused and held up an index finger. "Does anyone know if there's a Fresh and Save [tm] around here?"

[ QUOTE ]
"Nope, actually..." Her voice changed, taking on an odd quality as she attempted (probably poorly) to imitate someone. "Combination anti-detection screen. Dark matter cloak, strewstream radiation compensator, individualabsorber, et cetera. Only things that can get through this are sound and physical contact. Well, that and halfspace stuff."

[/ QUOTE ]

"Yes, well, as I said, it's hard to tell what something does just from the cover. Experimentation is key, scientifically speaking. I'm certain, given the right equipment and access to the object in a an environment where it's running, you can discover these things. If we worked on thing without them being active, we could spend days discovering what a car a alarm does. Unless, of course, we're capable of tearing them apart." Still, Doc Von Krayzee was interested.

"Where did you come across such a small cloaking device though? Is it yours? Clearly you didn't build it, but did you purchase it or collect it off of someone or something?"

[ QUOTE ]
"Now this does get me curious what happened to your Lab where Robotomato here came to be? I assume you also want to rent one of the apartments upstairs?"

[/ QUOTE ]

The doctor looked a bit sheepish. "Oh the lab is there. Fine, fine in fact. Well, aside from a Cybernetic Tomato sized hole in it, it's fine. I'm sure facilities will take care of that. I just can't go back there. Not until I understand what I've done. Yes, yes a room would be lovely. I have money, and I can get more. That's not a problem."

The doctor leaned away from the Tomato and directed his speech away from the fruit with his hand while he whispered conspiratorially. "I've been teaching him to fetch."

Meanwhile, the tomato was trying to play the "put a spoon on your nose" bar game, but, failing to have a nose, was really just dropping a spoon over and over again.

Arbiter Kessel wasn't five minutes out of his meeting when Operative Moss was walking next to him toward the awaiting sub. "The sensor reports from all subs and aircraft are here sir, I thought you'd want to see them." He handed over a folder. Just as Kessel cracked the spine and looked, Moss began to speak again. "No contact from the subs, though commanders remind you that biological targets are hard to track through sonar. Aircraft produced nothing, which should be a sign that they're watching us and were expecting the sweeps. Local population reports no contact, though I personally think that this is because they're too stupid to know they're infiltrated. Internal security has isolated four possible leaks, though none of them are confirmed at this time, they may just be incompetent."

Kessel closed the file and stopped reading. "Why do you hand me the file if you're just going to abbreviate it for me?"

They stopped in front of the pressure door and Moss turned to face his superior officer. "Because there's no reason for me to assume you trust me. I could be a spy as well, sir."

"Yes, you could have altered the reports." Kessel narrowed his eyes. As the pressure door opened, they stepped inside and it closed behind them.

"Each report comes from a different source, there are eight sources making up the one folder you have in your hand alone. If I was part of an organization that had infiltrated Arachnos that much, I think it would be game over by now."

Kessel thumbed through the interrogation sheets as the room changed pressure. "Quite right. Have these four executed, just in case."

"Executed instead of quarantined or held? Aren't you afraid of the impact that will have on morale?" Moss didn't show any emotion on his well tanned face.

"No, and I know it may come as a surprise to you but we're not serving Statesman here, we're a decidedly evil entity, and we don't... you put execution orders in the folder?"

Moss pointed to the papers. "They're filled out, you just need to sign here, and initial here."

"You knew I was going to..."

Moss handed him a pen. "Here you go, sir."

As the pressure door opened on the sub side, Kessel signed, never taking his eyes off of Moss, who was staring past him patiently. "If you're a spy, promise me this; during your end game you give me a chance to switch sides."

"Consider it done, sir." Kessel and Moss walked onto the sub.

Kessel gave the order to the sub commander. "Take us to the center of the islands, I want to see how deep this crevace goes."

It was all over the island. Operatives took their men out, black hoverships blotted out the sun and drowned out the ocean with their noise. The islands were teaming with black and grey dots, swarming around through buildings and overland. Everyone surrendered, opened fire or bunkered down.

Firefights were short, bitter, and always ended the same way. If a group wanted to keep their territory they had to assure Arachnos that there were no cultists there. They had to appease the bloodlust that follows a defeat of a tyrant on that order of magnitude.

Subs found nothing but debris and bodies under the water. None of the reported creatures, no cultists, no Lacerta, and even Merulina's children were silent and invisible. As the sun went down on the Shark Head Islands, peace was restored, of a sort.

The next day places were a buzz regarding the rigging that was being built between the four islands to house a giant, floating platform. Talk of Lord Recluse's impending visit, and historic speech was already spreading like wildfire. It seemed that several of the Arachnos lieutenants were told that it wasn't a secret, and Recluse wasn't concerned for his own security from some unknown group of vandals.

Klint had laid out the trap with the big capital T on it, and made sure they knew it. Now it was a game of chicken. If he brought the prize, would they play into his hands anyway? Could he out fox them, respond to their play in time, figure out their move before it works?

This was the assignment that would make or break him as an Arachnos leader. This would determine whether he'd be heading security for the islands, and maybe Recluse's personal guard, or tracking down Freakshow for spray painting slogans on bridge overpasses.

"You have a robotics bay? Oh wonderful! I've been wondering where I could do some tinkering with the Tomato. Do you suppose I could rent said bay for a time? I can pay handsomely." The Doc's Face lit up. The Cybernetic Tomato pointed out the thorns by flicking one with his cybernetic hand. The Doc quickly retracted the spikes with an "excuse me" before looking sheepish. "It happens when I get... excited."

The Tomato tapped out another rim shot on the bar.

Doc Von Krayzee picked up the thin disk and turned it over in his hands. "Well there's literally no way of telling just by looking at it, unless it's active right now? Is it active right now? Is it a atmospheric moisture extraction to cellulose and lignin barrier?"

"Magic? Heh, oh no. Pure scientific and reproducible fact. Although, I'd love to see some thing scientific that looked like magic. Can you imagine if you couldn't explain something? Something so technologically advanced that it was light years beyond your understanding." Doc Von Krayzee nearly exploded with glee.

Actually, he exploded with thorns. They shot through his lab coat and skewered a nearby bowl of peanuts, creating a small peanut shower on the bar around his left arm. For a moment he basked in the thought he was having, as dozens of spiky thorns protruded from his body. He was apparently unaware that he was thorny.

"Can you imagine what that would look like?"

[ QUOTE ]
[ QUOTE ]
"The why matters! What kind of scientist ARE you?"

[/ QUOTE ]

"I'm not a scientist at all, Doc", Ildela laughed. "And I don't give a damn, thus putting paid to your 'everyone cares' theory. Trust me, some things in this world can't be and shouldn't be attempted to be explained by science. I should know, I'm one of them." Exactly what she meant by that, she left up to his imagination. Though she'd probably give a demonstation if he asked.

[/ QUOTE ]

"Oh, then what are you doing in this lab?" As Doctor Von Krayzee spoke his outrage, the Tomato poked him in the shoulder then pointed around the bar. "Oh, yes, of course. It's a bar... where people drink."

"It's just that, well there's a thousand things that can be done with the smallest piece of knowledge. Surely, you can get excited over that! Of course I couldn't possibly explain it all to you without teaching a catch up course in cybernetics."

The tomato banged out a rim shot on the bar top and ended it with a spoon to the catsup bottle in front of him.

Doc Von Krayzee just looked over at him, then back. "Did you ever have an interest in science?"

[ QUOTE ]
Jameson took the napkin, felt actual thoughts starting to bubble back into her mind and immediately winced, "Chemistry was not my strong suit Doc. I know all the vital organs and major arteries of most bipedal sentient lifeforms, but I can't even begin to fathom this..."

[/ QUOTE ]

"Ah, yes, I forget sometimes that I'm not in the lab. Yes, well, there's only one way to try. Perhaps the barkeep could get me a bottle of Maddog 20/20. I have some miracle grow in my pocket. You never know when you're going to need that." He reached into a pocket on his lab coat and pulled out some money, sliding it across the bar.

The Tomato, meanwhile, had taken to stacking nearby objects on the surface of the bar.

[ QUOTE ]
"Who cares if it shouldn't work", Ildela interrupted, thoroughly bored of the science-y talk. "Obvious fact is it does, what's so important about why it does?"

[/ QUOTE ]

"Who cares?" Doc Von Krayzee was visibly agitated, but didn't seem violent. "Why, EVERYONE cares! Science isn't about knowing that something works, but WHY something works. The underlying principals are what allow us to bend science to our will and not be ruled by it. Understanding why is what takes a simple discovery, like mold growing on bread, and creates a cure for thousands of infections like Penicillium! The why matters! What kind of scientist ARE you?"

The doctor looked down at the bar. "It's not that I'm not proud of making the Tomato." The Cybernetic Tomato leaned a bit into Doc Von Krayzee and made a soft "raaaaaaaaaaah" noise. The doctor didn't show signs of noticing as he continued. "It's just that everything I've learned about science since day one has convinced me that it shouldn't work."

He looked away briefly, as if thinking about something. "It would be like controlling plants with mad dog 20/20 and miracle grow. It shouldn't work." Then he rubbed his beard. "It shouldn't, unless..."

Once again he scribbled chemical equations on a napkin, this time he passed it to Jameson. "Check my work, do you think this will have a chance at creating audiosynthesis?"