FunstuffofDoom

((ZOMG. I'm oh so terribly sorry for missing posting these last couple days, and I swear upon the immortal soul of <insert person here> that I will post soon. Blargh, I go to sleep now.))

Gabe looked a bit surprised at that. Clearly, Static hadn't quite thought through what they were doing.

"Static." Gabe reached forwards and planted a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to Rogue Isles to save a hero. No one's going to consider you a villain after this. We're about as heroic as you can get. If that's not going to sit well with you, I said it before. Walk out now, because once we hit the point, there is no return."

“Could I speak to you privately?”

Gabe looked up. One of the members of his task force had approached him. Gabe nodded. “Please, step outside with me.” They left the room, and took several steps down the hallway.

“What’s on your mind.”

---------------

Cell Block had dropped the leather coat in a pile, along with several of his effects. Disguises might be necessary for some, but he doubted he’d be identified by any villains. Still, Frost Fiend was significantly better known than he was, and Arachnos was aware he’d be coming. Cell Block decided if he was their leader, he’d have changed his appearance, as well. But he wasn’t. He was simply a grunt, and he had no real reason to change out of his armor, not when he could wrap a large trench coat around his frame, and the zip it closed. Impractical as hell, but stylish. It would work, he supposed.

((Whoopsies! I'm out of time to reply this morning, but this afternoon I'll certainly write somethign up. Sorry about that.))

“Where shall we acquire hull modifications for infiltration purposes? Can you upload those coordinates to us now?”

Gabe nodded, and then lifted a massive cardboard box, and another, and another, onto the table. He opened one up, and dumped it sideways. Out spilled assortments of armor, weapons, gear, ranging from practical to uniquely useless. Helmets, equipment belts, guns, chest plates, gloves, crowns, several different fashion of knife, all slapped together for taking. Gabe looked around the room for a moment, and smiled. “Remember, the point of this is to look nothing like you currently do. Go as wild as you want, but make sure the stuff works. We can’t have any of you dying on us.” With that, he reached out and grabbed a pair of Crey gloves. They’d go wonderfully with tech-y chest plate lying in front of him…

(( [ QUOTE ]
Oh... hm... do you have magnesium grenades?

[/ QUOTE ]
Don't think I didn't see that. ))


The recruits filed in, and Acid Zero closed the door behind them. Gabe surveyed the group, and nodded mentally. He hadn’t heard of most of them, but a few he knew by reputation. He did recognize Cedric and Matt, of the Grey's Army, however. He’d spent some time out of Paragon, touring other super-powered cities. Kingsvale had been on that list, and Grey's Army had made him feel quite welcome during his stay. But, that was a different business.

Overall, Gabe was pleased. He had heroes willing to help, and by the look of it, a diverse bunch. Best begin, then.

“Okay, folks. Listen up.” He called out. Any sense of pandemonium died out, and was replaced with calm attentiveness. “We have a problem. A hero was kidnapped, and taken to Rogue Isles. To dispel any rumor mongering before we continue, yes, the hero in question is quite close to me, and was kidnapped in response to a mission we executed. We have reason to believe Ghost Widow is directly involved. If anyone feels they can’t take that level of threat, walk out now, no loss of face.” No one moved. “Good. Our mission is to infiltrate Arachnos, find the location of Subtle Inquiry, stage a rescue, and escape. We have full support, until we leave, in which case we’ve hit the point of no return. To rephrase that, stock up on anything you need now, because no one is coming in after us.” Gabe let that digest for a moment as he called up various maps and plans he displayed on the hologram field.

“Now, Ghost Widow’s tower is here, in Mercy Island. We’re going to enter as close as we can, aquatically, with transportation provided by Acid Zero and Portal corporation.” Gabe nodded to Acid. “He’ll also be responsible for pulling us out, but he’s a last ditch effort. We are not to rely on him unless we’ve been identified as heroes. Speaking of which, does anyone here rely on their equipment for powers? We’re going to be completely swapping out our costumes in a few moments, and Longbow’s put together some alternate IDs, which they assure us will hold the highest level of scrutiny.” Gabe paused once more for breath.

“That just about covers it for now. Any questions? Once we’re geared up, we’re leaving. It’s a guarantee Rogue Isles knows we’re coming, just not where from or how many. Once we leave this room, the Task Force has begun, and no contact with the outside world is allowed. “

((Edit: Grey informed me I got his character's backgrounds incorrect. Fixed!))

You'll like this.

Ya'll rock. End of story, that is the coolest thing I've ever read.

“I don’t want us in undetected. I want us ignored. I know you can do that, you’ve got Portal Tech like a Rikti’s dreams. Get me near, Acid, and trust me, I’ve got the rest taken care of.” Gabe smiled, but it lacked any sense of humor. “Oh, we’re going to have a good time on the Isles.”

Acid looked at him doubtfully, but Gabe let it pass. “Grab the folks standing outside, would you? I trust we’ve had enough time to build up the ranks.”

Not bad, not bad at all! I await the next installment.

Oooo! Burn! (No pun intended!)

I realize this was on AK-47s for Everyone a while back, but it needs re-linking, because it applies so well. And it still makes me lawl.

Statesman running his TF

"Yyyoouu rrang?"

Gave turned around slowly. “Took you long enough. I’ve been standing here, what? Less than a minute? You’re not aging on me, are you?” He waved off his comment, though, and pushed straight into serious matters.

“Listen, I need help. I need to get a group of heroes into Rogue Isles undetected, and I need to get them inside Arachnos undetected, and I need someone to have a master switch ready to pull them out again. Can you do that?”

-----------

A tall, brooding figure entered the HQ. Pale skin was covered by dark motorcycle leathers, but bulky enough to reveal armor of some form or another underneath. His hair was an equally dark shade, but long and unkempt. His eyes were flat, disinterested, but they still flicked around the room and observed minor details. The strangest thing about him, though, was his aura. He literally didn’t seem ‘all there’. He was opaque, to be sure, and human in every way of appearance, but he seemed… slightly more immaterial than the people around him.

Shortly after arriving, he noticed the people he was looking for. A group of heroes, all gathered together, all looking grim, suited up for the worst. He approached them, and opened conversation with a quiet voice. “This is the where those seeking to join the task force are located, yes?” A slight clip in his pronunciation betrayed eastern European decent. Someone murmured an affirmative, and he nodded thanks. “I am Cell Block, and I greet you.” He spoke again, before heading down the halls, into the guts of the base.

Harlequin Fear didn’t trust him. It wasn’t the costume; mercenaries needed armor, and mercenary bosses needed ostentation. The heavily padded vest covered salvaged Crey armor adequately enough to show it off, and the chains added that extra little edge that made him look mean. No, even though he was out of place, the self-styled ‘Mr. Golden’ was untrustworthy by virtue of that simple instinct most humans lost in favor of their humanity. Fear’s humanity had never existed, so he had a decent grasp of instinctual responses, and this man triggered them. Still, Ghost Widow was willing to give him a chance on the ‘If he’s stupid enough to betray us, we have more than enough resources to utterly destroy him’ premise, which was probably a safe assumption. But, Ghost Widow was dead, and the dead had no access to unconscious reactions. So Harlequin Fear kept his eyes firmly planted on the mercenary leader, from whom they had just leased an extradimensional prison.

Several Arachnos Rank-and-File stepped forwards with Fel. (A Webmaster and a Fortunata seer on top of all the de-powering they’d planted on Fel? They weren’t taking any chances.) Ghost Widow had even blindfolded Fel, just to add that little extra feeling of helplessness. Fear smiled as he tasted it, but it was well hidden. Mostly, there was worry for Gabe. Gabe, who was going to die like she was, only he didn’t know it yet. They were all going to die, slowly, painfully, afraid. Oh- it was times like these Fear couldn’t imagine doing anything serving the Mistress. She was beautiful, sublime, and devious. If he was capable of feeling love, clearly, this would be when.

But, in his musing and tasting, Fear had neglected to pay full attention to the happenings in front of him. Rituals and technology had been combined, and a halo of light surrounded Fel. It flared brighter, and both Harlequin Fear and Fel winced. The process was hurting her as much as the light pained him. But, with a small pop, the light dissipated, and Fel vanished. Ghost Widow handed some trusted underling an amulet, and instructed her to place it in the vault. The minion bowed, and hurried away. Harlequin Fear smiled. Soon, very soon, Gabe would be in a similar predicament.

And then, he was going to die.

((Mm-kay, folks. I dig the enthusiasm. Love that we're getting posters, because it definately rocks. There is a problem at my end, however, which means I'll be, not unavailable, but disinclined to post. I invite you all to filter your way towards the briefing room. Stuff'll happen, don't you worry.

Also, folks who're worried about a lack of villainous or antagonistic representation, I've got you covered. If a post from my side happens this weekend, that'll be what it covers.))

((Jenn, if you've hit writer's block, the easiest thing I see to overcome it is ask yourself where this thread is, and where do you want it to go. You then begin focusing on how to get it there, and ideas come with time. Feel free to ask us for help in this; it's your thread, and we're here to ensure it keeps moving.))

((Well, quite the cast list brewing, and more on the way! This is great. Thank ya'll for joining up, I really appreciate it.))

The broken man who had stumbled into Freedom Corps HQ had faded away when Gabe passed out for the second time in as many hours. And, when he awoke, that person was gone. All that remained was Frost Fiend, a nationally acclaimed and decorated hero, who happened to know a fellow hero had been kidnapped. And for Frost Fiend, all that remained was a mission, save that hero, at all costs. He wouldn’t fail, couldn’t fail. It was simply unthinkable.

Gabe rose from the bed he’d been stored in. The room was typical of all hospitals: white, antiseptic tiled flooring, and a wallpaper trim that looked older than the building. Someone had decided the sweats he’d been wearing were too raggedy for him to wear again, and had set out a pair of Freedom Corps Gym gear. He shrugged into it, and then opened the door out of the room. Maybe someone around here could tell him where he was. He needed to help organize a rescue operation.

The hallway outside his room was definitely a hospital’s. White antiseptic, white wallpaper, white ceiling, wooden chairs designed for sleeping in. And… what a surprise. Manticore, of Freedom Phalanx fame, was waiting for him, sitting off to one side of the doorway. He rose when Gabe exited, and looked around for a moment, before offering his hand. Gabe took it, they gripped tightly, a motion that conveyed complete sympathy and support, while returning gratitude and weariness. Manticore rested a hand on Gabe’s shoulder, and said “We’ll get her back, Gabe.” Gabe nodded. “I know.” They turned, and walked down the hallway.

“States just finished releasing a city-wide broadcast, actually. You’ll have quite the list of support. We’re rooting out the applicants that are too inexperienced, too young, too conspicuous, whatever. You’re going to have massive support here. All of Freedom Corps, Wyvern, the Phalanx, and every hero in the city’s got you back on this.” Manticore pulled Gabe aside to let some doctors pass. “Listen to me, though. You guys can have all the support in the world, but one you get there, you’ve got nothing. You’ll be on your own. Be careful, okay?” Gabe nodded again. “Good. Step in here, please.”

The hospital look completely transformed into utilitarian tech. Freedom Corps funding at its best. A passageway and a ramp led to a long, circular room, with a table taking up the majority of the space. A screen on the far side showed flashing maps of Rogue Isles, but other than that, the room was bare.

“Your team will filter in as we let them. You’ll have a few minutes to prepare, and after that, it’s all on your call. Good luck again, Gabe. We all feel for you.” Gabe nodded one last time at Manticore, and then waved as the other left. He flipped several switches on the screen, and then toyed with the hologram projector in the middle of the table. On an impulse, he toggled several buttons, and opened a comm channel set to low frequency, but a high enough range to cover the entire planet, and most of the immediate space around it.
“December Night.” He whispered into the receiver, and then shut down projector. They’d pick it up quickly. They always did.

Gabe peeled off the leather-and-Kevlar combination shirt he wore as torso armor. It looked good on him, ate lead for breakfast, and allowed him complete freedom of movement, but –Oh! That thing was almost more trouble than it was worth to pull on and off. His bracers, wrapped chains of thick padding, lay on the bed next to him. The bed he shared with Fel. Such a beautiful girl, and, yes, it was true. They were affianced. By god, if that wasn’t a sign he was doing something right, what was? Ah… long, dark hair. Light eyes, grey-ish, but clear. And her- Ouch! Gabe cursed as his shirt pinched yet more skin. He wasn’t losing any hair to this fiendish thing, as he didn’t have any, but he lost more than enough skin. Good thing he healed slightly faster than normal. Crey had zapped him good some years back. And while it had ruined his home life, the zapping process jump-started his powers exponentially, shot his skin blue, and granted him some minor regeneration abilities. Not nearly as powerful as some of them scrappers he met now and then, but way more than a normal person. Heh. He hadn’t been normal before the procedure.

Gabe managed to extricate himself from the shirt without any further trouble. His pants and boots, which were a lightly plated armor, slid off far easier. Gabe then entered his shower, and let water slough off him, and take the day with him. Oh, it felt good. The rinse lasted a long ten minutes, or maybe a short half-hour, ended with a good rubbing down with a massive towel, and a change into a pair of baggy sweats. Gabe strolled down the stairs into the kitchen, where Fel was setting out dinner. Lasagna, salad, fresh bread, it looked wonderful. Gabe set their places, she poured the wine, and it began to look like a perfect evening. They sat down at the table, made light conversation, and enjoyed the mood. Pleasant it was, and almost had that ‘dinner-by-candlelight-in-a-really-expensive-restaurant’ feel.

Then came the knock. Gabe decided later, that was the problem. That knock, when he’d gotten up to answer it, that was when things went south. Heck, went? Things plummeted south like an anvil dropped from twenty thousand feet. He answered the door, but no one was there. A shadow from something he couldn’t see, but that was it. And then, that shadow became something real. It turned into Fear, Harlequin Fear. Gabe attempted to throw a bolt of ice at him, but Fear was simply to close. Before Gabe could even [censored] his arm, a clawed hand had his neck gripped in a deadlock. And then, he was lifted off his feet, and carried backwards. Into the kitchen, where he heard a glass shatter as Fel dropped it. The hand around his throat shifted a wee bit, as he heard Fel grunt. She’d tried to attack him mentally, but clearly Fear was prepared for that. Then, the hand left his throat, and Gabe staggered to catch his balance as well as his breath. Shadows danced around the room as Harlequin spun between them, leaping from one dimension to another like most people inhaled. In retrospect, the outcome of this battle was obvious from the start. Gabe was too disoriented to put up an effective attack, and Fel wasn’t able to puncture Fear’s mental defenses, so she couldn’t attack at all. Fear was simply letting them fight to build the tension, and the exhaustion.

And it worked. Gabe could barely see straight, could barely move, and he certainly couldn’t fight. “It’s a gift from the Mistress.” Harlequin whispered in his ear. “You’ll pass out in several minutes. You’ll lose motor control slightly before that. And then, it will simply be myself and Miss Sevarde here. And, oh, how the Fear she exudes tastes. Wait until she realizes how alone she is. She’ll scream like no other, you think?” Then he swung a massive side-armed blow into Gabe’s back, which threw him into a wall on the other side of the room.

“Gabe!” He heard Fel call. It was too late, though. His body was overloading. A sudden beating, adrenalin, and whatever Fear had poisoned him with had all conversed with his system, and they made profound arguments for him to shut down. As the blackness ringed his sight, he saw Fel leaning over him, and a clawed hand clad in leather grab her shoulder. Then, there was nothing.

--------

Three hours, 5 minutes, 42 seconds, and a maybe a freckle past a hair later, a blue-skinned man in a torn T-Shirt and Sweats stumbled into city hall. His eyes were dripping, the snot had been beaten out of him, and in his hand he clutch a small note, reading, to anyone who cared to ask, Don’t steal from me again. Love,, and was signed with a kiss of black lipstick. The man barged past various officials, staggered down into the hero sections of the building, and collapsed into a heap at the door to the Freedom Phalanx’s Headquarters. He slapped a hand across the access port, and it flashed green. The door opened, and he fell inside. “Help!” He cried, before passing into unconsciousness.

A hour after this, Statesman released a citywide broadcast to all heroes. A task force was forming, and it was heading to Rogue Isles. They were going to hunt down Ghost Widow, and rescue a kidnapped heroine. They were forming a rescue operation. And they were going to the Isles.

“You’re sure they have it?”
Ghost Widow rubbed her temple as though she had a headache. It was impossible, but human habits lingered even in the undead.

“Mistress, by your will I consume.” A deep, rasping, broken hiss of a voice echoed from behind a mask.

Ghost Widow gave a sad sigh.
“My dear one, I know. I seek assurance, nothing more. Too many are uncertain all too often. Forget my remark.”

Harlequin Fear did not move from his kneeling position, but his head dipped into a slightly deeper bow. “I will obey your command, Mistress.”

Widow nodded. “I know, dear one. Tell me, do you know the two who took the amulet? It will save us work, and perhaps a spell or two.” Fear’s head rose. A white mask, commonly called a ‘bonehead’ by those who knew nothing, was framed by a pointed hood. A deep crimson sigil was etched into the mask’s left cheek, beginning behind the eye socket, and drifting around the cheekbone, until it swept back to the jawline, and followed it to just fore of the chin. Highlights of sanguine color, and deep lavender flowed around the form in a variation of swirls, spirals. It was a beautiful mark, reminiscent of flowing blood, of life, and of death. Passion, heated passion, and languor. It spoke of musk, of haze, of mortality. To most who saw it, it spoke of death. Such was Harlequin Fear, a man clad in straps of grey, sheathed in armor of black. A man so touched by shadows, it dominated every aspect of his life. A man so obedient to Ghost Widow, he was barely a man. A man, whose touch was as soft, immaterial as the tattered cloak gliding around him. Harlequin Fear was a man, and a shadow.

And as he knelt, gazing at Ghost Widow, who had just asked him if he recognized two people, shadows flared around him. Tendrils, which normal extended barely a finger off his body suddenly tripled in length, swinging in a brilliantly dark aura, reaching, flailing, for some unimaginable hold. Yet the gaze lowered, and the tendrils cooled. The entire outburst was so completely unexpected, so out of character for the most stoic, emotionless being in existence, that his words were dumbfounding. In stead of a hated name, grating out from a clenched jaw, a toneless voice, like all others, whispered two names.

“Gabriel Jousin. Felincia Sevarde. I will consume.” Ghost Widow absorbed the information like she did everything else. Tacit calm. And she pondered for a moment, before issuing her orders. “No, my dear. Don’t consume them. Bring me one of them. The girl. They have stolen from me. Let us break them in return.” Harlequin Fear bowed. Of course, one couldn’t see if smiled. He had a masked sealed to his face. Still, one who knew him could read subtle signs. When shadows flew from his eyes, like they did now, he was keenly excited. Harlequin Fear thrived on things such as this. “I will leave at once, Mistress.” He bowed once more, rose, and disappeared. The shadows had swallowed him whole.

“This is it?”

Gabe looked over at Fel. The amulet in his hand glowed a light red color in pulses, and felt rather tingly, but didn’t strike him as potentially world-ending. Still, when he flipped open his HUD and overlaid a picture of the amulet, it matched perfectly. But, magic wasn’t his forte by any stretch, so instead of explaining any of that, he shrugged.

“Could be. Azuria will know for sure. Let’s get out of here, huh?”

They slowly retreated from the room, and while they kept their eyes open for anything new, the building was quite deserted, and any Arachnos soldiers in the area had already been ‘ported into the Zigg. Deciding they were free, Gabe wrapped an arm around Fel’s shoulder, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She didn’t grin so much as radiate contentment, and snuggled into his arm.

Frost Fiend and Subtle Inquiry. Who’da thunk it? To be sure, it wasn’t the first time someone had fought crime with their significant other. Statesman, for instance, had fought with three generations from his wife’s side. Just, Gabe and Fel were slightly more couple-ish than most heroes. They made no secret they were in a relationship, absolutely trusting that anyone stupid enough to attack one to hurt the other would be far too stupid to succeed, or simply not skilled enough. And, for the most part, it was true. Anyone stupid enough to attack either one individually was about to receive a large boot from the entire hero community. Being a high level hero couple had its advantages, including ethical and physical support from anyone who supported romance, “getting’ some”, or doing the right thing. Kidnapping someone’s girl was definitely considered not part of the above. But the events that were to take place simple did not care for that support, nor did they care for the odds. The events knew ways around them, and they were quite sneaky. Those events were named Harlequin Fear, the premier assassin for Ghost Widow, an all-around bad person. And, because she wanted it, he wanted the amulet Fel and Gabe had just walked away with. Vengeance was going to strike.

((So, I've been on these forums for several monthes, and gotten myself back into posting, writing, and generally enjoying myself. Now, I haven't seriously posted for an RP forum in almost 4 years. But, one of the things I still held something of a grudge against was starting my own thread. It never worked. So, I wasn't feeling enthused about starting one here, as I figured it'd be a quick way to burn myself out. But, as things progressed, I got several PMs from various people talking about plots in some of the threads I write for. And, it always came up that I hadn't written a thread, and that I should, and that it'd be a good time. So, I finally ended up brainstorming, with the help of some select people, a scenario that I think is enclosed enough for me to direct a chain of events, but open enough that others can really join in and feel they have a say in the plot. It evolved into Rescue Operations: A Force Into the Isles. Suffice to say, I'm excited about this whole project, and definately can't wait to see how it goes, but I'd like a couple things clear before things start.

1. This is an open RP, but I will be handling events villain-side. Please, unless you send me a request ahead of time, don't jump in as an antagonist. That isn't to say we won't need villains, as this will take place primarily in the Rogue Islands. Just, don't plan on your character ruling the world, or something.

2. This is the standard 'No Auto-ing, No God mode, etc.' rule. If you wouldn't want something done to yourself, don't do it to someone else. This shouldn't be a problem, but I do want it out of the way.

3. This isn't so much a rule as a notice. This thread is Forum Canon. It applies to all future events on this Forum. However, it is not Game Canon. These events don't necessarily follow CoX ingame laws, don't expect them to, but don't violate Rule 2 in response.

Other than that, feel free to do as your character would. I want a high post count on this baby, and am stoked for what's to come.

Thanks for joining in!))

Beep beep. Beepbeepbeep. Beep. Boop.

Diaaaal Toooone.
Diaaaaal Toooone.

"Hello? Is this Dominatrix? The Praetorian? Yeah, it's Statesman. Listen, I was wondering what you're doing for dinner Friday night..."

In game, there's one thing I've seen that makes or breaks a character, and it's an important thing to have. From it, you can basically flush out every major detail of your character's life. I speak, of course, of speech patterns. Does your character have a southern drawl? Is his english impeccable, but with a slight accent, because he's from a foreign plane and learned it via some spell? Is he from the bronx, speaking with massive slang? (Careful with that one- some folks might simply get irritated at you for acting 'gangsta', as opposed to truly RPing.) My point is, figure out how your character speaks, and what they speak about. Give them a catchphrase or two. (In game, Harlequin Fear, a dark/dark stalker of mine uses the phrase 'I will consume' every time he enters a mission.) From there, you can flush out all sorts of minor details with simple improvisation, and your character is set. But, ya gotta get them speech patterns down. It's essential.

That turned out to be a Spectrum Emitter, or some other such technological goody, and it was emitting everything from x-rays to micro-waves. Oh, Mistress how it hurt. But Harlequin Fear wasn’t human. Pain was a reminder of limits, not a factor in decision-making. And, as Fear was mostly outside the Netherworld when they flipped the switch on that damn contraption, he had a goodly amount of power to pummel it with. And pummel he did. Wisps of nether flecked from his body as he tore into the contraption, ripping, rending, destroying. As he broke emitters, he was able to channel more power into his blows, and break even more emitters. Soon, all that lay in front of him was a twisted hulk.

And then, Fear had a startling realization. They sent the emitter in to him. They had opened the door. Shut down some of the fields. He could walk right out. The power he could absorb from their bodies would easily allow him to teleport into a safe location. He began to walk towards the exit, weaving shadows around his body as he did. Guards in hard suits spun into attack position in front of the opened gate, and began firing at him, but he paid them no mind. The shadows would absorb anything they could shoot at him. ‘Puny mortals.’ he thought. ‘Always trying to solve a problem by shooting it. Even when bullets don’t work.’

But then, he felt the sting of light. They weren’t shooting bullets at him. They were shooting light bursts. Fear threw himself into a dive forwards, to dodge further incoming beams, but as he came to his feet, he stopped. The emitter, the one he’d trashed, wasn’t nearly as trashed as he’d hoped. It was whirring. It was up to something. He looked on in horror, as a massive bag of white powder was lifted into the air by some robotic arm from deep inside the hulk of metallic scrap.

One of the hard suits noticed his reaction. “That’s right, meat. Magnesium. We’re gonna burn you, punk.” A spark twitched out of some hidden ejector, and floated towards the bag. It splattered onto the edge, and then began a chemical reaction, in which magnesium rusted at a remarkable rate, producing Magnesium Oxide, a small amount of heat, and the most brilliant light known to man. Fear screamed. He was still screaming when he hit the floor, and continued to writhe until he passed out.

It’s impossible to blink when you possess a mask for a face, and thus lack eyelids. However, for all the rancid smells, disgusting imagery, hunted feelings, and whatever else had been laced into the manifestation, when it snapped itself shut, it slid right through Fear’s body without any resistance. He did not blink. Instead, he shook his head slightly, to fight off a wave of disorientation, and then concentrated on the cell he was occupying.

He wouldn’t be able to escape it, the nullifiers prevented that, the ‘fields, too. He wouldn’t be able to hide for long, as light automatically reduced the presence of the netherworld. If they shone some at him, he’d probably rematerialize. And, with all the power he had currently maintaining his connection to the netherworld, a disruption would leave him quite vulnerable. So… did he pray for stealth, or prepare for combat? A creak at the cell gate answered his question for him. It slowly pealed open, and he began withdrawing into reality as fast as he could. Then stopped… what the devil was that?

((I'm leaving it open for someone to jump in there, I really don't mind what ya do, so long as I don't get godmoded, or something. Really, though, I'd dig seeing some uber robot brought in to capture Fear.))