Heroid

(("B is for Balrogs having brunch at Bag-End."

Awesome. ))

((Go Dart!))

((Nice posts KR and WW!))

"Grace?"

"I told you I wouldn’t let you out of my sight," the Prioress said. "As soon as the taxi turned the corner, I was out. I’ve been out there listening. I put the closed-circuit camera in a continuous loop so I wouldn’t be seen."

Ian smiled his charming smile, and with his brogue changed to refined English, said, "Thank you for the rescue, my lady. I am…"

"Ian Scott. I’ve heard of you."

Ian’s smile disappeared and he simply said, "Oh."

Grace pointedly began to speak to Rosie, "I knew you were in no imminent danger as long as he kept talking – that is especially true of a Frenchman. At first I wasn’t sure which man to shoot, since I couldn’t see through the curtain, so I waited. It soon became obvious which one was the danger."

Rosie looked at the two dead Davids and shook her head. He had been a victim of his own powers. The flaw in his counterfeit self was that it wanted to continue living.

Grace sighed and said, "I’ll have to call and make arrangements to have these bodies disposed of – can’t have the two of us linked with this… this… debacle. It will be costly, I’m afraid…"

"Madame, if you will allow me," Ian spoke up, "I have connections in this city. I will handle the cleanup. After all, it was my caper that spawned this… this…"

"Debacle," Grace finished.

Ian looked around and nodded.

Grace took Rosie’s hand and led her out of the store.

"It’s not too late, you know," Grace said as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Too late for what?" Rosie asked.

"To get revenge on Mr. Scott for what he did to you those years ago."

Rosie paused and looked back at the store’s entrance. It would be a simple matter to take Grace’s gun and go back inside and…

And what? A few months ago, she would have done it. She would have put the gun to his head and silenced him even as he begged for his life. But she was different now.

"No," she said to Grace. "He put me on a path that took me to where I need to be. It wasn’t all pleasant, but I might never have found you if he hadn’t betrayed me."

Grace smiled and touched Rosie’s face. "Then let us enjoy what time we have left in Paris, my love."

With hands clasped together, they walked away; neither one looked back.

"Ah, excuse-moi, I forget Mademoiselle Rosie – elle ne parle pas français." David held a Gaudin MagnaForce gauss pistol in his hand which was aimed toward Rosie. "Greetings, Mlle. Rose. Eet is good to see you again. Eet is too bad I must kill you."

Rosie was very confused. She looked again at the figure sitting in the chair with its neck impaled, and then at Ian. If Ian was confused, his expression did not show it.

"Why, lad?" Ian asked calmly. "If a man is t’ die, hasn’t he th’ right t’ know why?"

"Oui, mon ami, I suppose eet would be only fair. You have been fair with me in our dealings, I shall be fair with you now." David smiled politely as he spoke, but did not lower the weapon. "Do you remember ze Rembrandt?"

A smile crossed Ian’s face as the memory rose to the surface. "Aye. A fine caper that one! Ye discovered that the Louvre had been displayin’ a fake for years! They were embarrassed as hell when they figured it out later. I’ll never forget that as long as I live." He cleared his throat and the smile disappeared from his face as he said, "However long that may be."

David continued without comment.


"Did you ever wonder where ze real painting was, Ian?"

"I didn’t much care, to be honest."

"Ah. Honesty among thieves. Not as uncommon as one would think. But I must admit, I have not been honest with you."

Rosie remained quiet, unsure of what David was getting at, and unwilling to draw unwanted attention to herself. She held the heavy gold cross behind her.

"Cut to the chase, David," Ian said, "Are ye going to shoot us or talk us t’ death?"

"Ah. But you said you wished to hear the story…"

"Aye, but speed it up, man -- or add some spice an’ make it worthy of the last tale these old ears are t’ hear."

David smiled. "I love you, mon ami, I truly do. Eet shall be as much a shame to end your clever wit as eet will to end Mlle. Rose’s beauty." He shrugged then added, "But a man must do what a man must do."

"Aye, a man must."


Rosie glanced at the "David" in the chair again.

The alive David continued: "As I said, I have not been honest with you. You and many others have come to me for appraisals, and many times I have misled you. You see, I have zis… capacité… zis… talent… a puissance superbe. I have ze ability to recreate zat which I can see."

Rosie looked at the figure in the chair, then at David as his words sunk in.

"Any thing… or – as I have very recently discovered – any body."

"Handy," Ian said.

"Oui. Zat is I stole your Van Gogh, Ian. I copied ze girl who cleans your house een Tahiti. I could have left a copy, but zen you would not have come here when I sent word that I had seen eet, non?"

"Brilliant. But why all this?" Ian waved his hands in the direction of David’s weapon.

"Because, Ian, I have the original Rembrant."

"Och. I see. You with a priceless painting and we the only ones who could tie you t’ th’ fake at th’ Louvre."

"Exactement. Eef I try to sell eet, and zat connection is made, zen I will be ze accused, non?"

Ian nodded and said, "I see your point."

Something didn’t add up to Rosie.

"No," she said. "That’s not it at all… You’re still being dishonest. The Rembrandt we stole… it was real. You created the fake. You created a counterfeit Rembrandt that was so close to the original that it very nearly fooled the experts at the Louvre – a fake so close that they assumed it had been a fake all along…"

Ian looked at Rosie with surprise, and the expression gave her a sense of satisfaction. If she was going to die, at least let her die one-up on Ian.

"Astucieux, cheri. I knew zat eef I sold ze painting, one of you would figure eet out."

"Then why, lad? Why sell it? Ye could jus’ create another forgery an’ keep th’ original…"

"Because," Rosie answered for David, "his forgeries aren’t perfect. They may be close, but the people at the Louvre discovered something. It may have taken them months, but they did find it out. Our friend here may be dishonest, but he makes his living based on his appraisals. To get caught selling a forgery would ruin that for him."

"Again, you prove most astute, cheri. Oui, selling ze painting will make me rich, but selling a forgery could ruin me. Someone would get very angry, and I could very likely wind up like my double there."

Rosie looked at the dead David again. His headpiece sat atop his head with wisps of brown hair, sticking out from under it. At his temples, a little grey showed at his temples. Then she looked at the live David with his evenly brown hair and a realization came to her.

"Wait… you can ‘copy’ anything, right? When you made your double, could you have copied your memories?"

David looked at her and for the first time since the smile left his face. He was speechless as he raised his weapon and aimed it toward her.

Then the curtain over the doorway ruffled and a dull thud sounded as the smell of smoke entered Rosie’s nostrils.

Ian and Rosie turned to see Grace tamp out a small flame that burned around the hole she had made in the curtain. Smoke still drifted from the silenced barrel of the Glock in her hand.

"Ian." She had fought the urge to say his name as a question, but if she had said it with any inflection at all, then he would know that he had taken her completely unawares. "I see you haven't changed. Still stabbing your erstwhile partners in the back – or in this case the neck."

Ian smiled at her and for the first time she realized how very much older than her he was. Though he still stood with regal posture, liver-spots covered his hands. Though his chest still was of greater circumference than his waist, he looked smaller, as if the years had diminished him. His teeth were yellowed, receding from the gums, with lower front teeth visibly worn so that they were flat on top and so were speckled with tea stains and cavities. From his yellowed smile her eyes followed to his jaw line, once strong and chiseled, now jowled and wrinkled, with a turkey-like neck below it. His hair was wispy and completely white now.

Only his eyes were the same. When her gaze fixed on them, she felt the pangs of the heartache he had caused her, and realized that she could forgive him; that she still had feelings for the man; that, under other circumstances, she could still call him her lover.

Ian smiled at her, and said, "Nae, Rosie. ‘Twasn’t me. I arrived jus’ afore ye. Poor David was a’ready sittin’ there an’ th’ dagger in ‘is neck."

Rosie scrutinized him a little longer, wanting to call him a liar; wanting to exact revenge for David – for herself – from this cruelly charming man. But, she believed him. If he had killed David, he would have been in and out before anyone – especially herself – knew he had been here.

"Explain… this then."

Rosie ripped the brown paper covering off of the Van Gogh and Ian’s eyes widened.

"Where’d ye git tha’?"

"From your lawyers, Fleesem and Steele."

"Ye misjudged badly, then me Rosie. I dinnae sen’ ye tha’ paintin’." A look of understanding passed across Ian Scott’s face. "I ha’ nae seen tha’ piece since it was stole from me…"

A panel in the wall made a "shushing" sound as it slid open and a voice from behind it said, "…puisqu'I l'a volé."

Rosie and Ian Scott turned at the same time to see David Fournier step out from the hidden doorway.

"Bonjour," he said, "Préparez pour mourir."

Le Meurice had been everything Rosie had expected. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the luxuries her life with Ian had afforded her. The sheets on the bed were so soft against her skin that she hardly wanted to get out of it. Indeed, for the first day and a half, she had hardly gotten out of bed. Room service had brought in their meals (Grace always put on a dressing gown and met them at the door, usually holding the gold-plated letter-opener from the suite’s desk behind her back – just in case.) When she wasn’t in bed, she was in the spacious marble bathtub – usually with Grace and a bottle of champagne for company. No guns (she had made Grace promise), no “zap-suit”, only luxury and leisure.

By the evening of the second day, Rosie and Grace had had enough of watching the city pulse and thrive beneath their balcony, and decided to go out for a night on the town. The adventures of that evening should best be left for another time, for ears less sensitive and sensibilities that will not be scandalized. Suffice it to say that everywhere they went, Rosie indulged herself excessively so that Grace sometimes had to literally drag her lover away from some of the general bacchanalia that takes place in Paris at night. And although Grace tried her best to guide Rosie to the more restrained and tasteful nightspots, Rosie would always find a rave or rowdy bar and pull her inside.

The third day was spent with Grace keeping an eye on Rosie as she slept off the debaucheries of the previous night.

The fourth day, Rosie had an appointment with David Fournier, an art appraiser whom Ian had always sworn by. As the taxi pulled up in front of a nondescript building, Grace kissed her goodbye, explaining that she also had a bit of business to attend to while in Paris, and wished her luck. Rosie picked up her painting, got out of the taxi, and watched it go up the street and disappear around the next right turn.

Then she stepped up to the door of the shop.

David ran a shop that specialized in “contemporary copies of classic antiques for a discriminating clientele.” What that really meant was that he was a fence for stole treasures. If there was a thief that was trusted among other thieves, it was David.

His store was lined with shelves of ancient-looking junk mixed with original antiques and artifacts. David was careful to dust neither. The place was lit by a single dim bulb in a single fixture suspended from the center of the ceiling. The wooden floor was uneven and well-worn with a clear path leading from the door to the counter in the back upon which sat an old style cash register, the kind that had tabs with numbers printed on them come up to show the amount of the total sale. Beyond the counter, a faded red velvet curtain separated the store from a back room.

Rosie knew the routine. She stepped into the shop and browsed over the and knock-offs and originals of “Louis XIII” through “Louis XVI” furniture and “Renaissance” sculpture while she waited for the store’s proprietor – who she knew was watching via closed-circuit camera – to emerge from the back room.

The place brought back memories of the night they had gone practically room-to-room at the Hotel Regina stealing not from the hotel’s patrons, but rather the opulent, expensive looking decorations of the hotel rooms, some of which now sat on the shelves in this store. It was done as a favor for David and was later traded for an appraisal of a Rembrandt which Ian and Rosie stole from the Louvre. David determined the Rembrandt to be a forgery. The two thieves stealthily returned it to its spot that same night. Several months later, the experts at the Louvre realized they had a fake on their hands.

Rosie and Ian had shared many laughs over the night they stole a forgery and returned it.

David hadn’t emerged after twenty minutes or so. Something was wrong. Suddenly Rosie found herself wishing she hadn’t made the pact to leave all of their equipment back in the Isles.

With as much nonchalance as she could muster, Rosie continued to look over the antiques and artifacts until she made her way to the wall directly under the store’s camera. There, a shelf full of brass (and gold) crosses gave her access to an impromptu weapon. She edged her way along the wall to the curtained doorway to the back, then sucked in a breath and held it as she spun through it.

David sat at his desk with his old, familiar magnifying headpiece raised up above his brow. His hands rested on the desk, spread apart and open with the palms up as if he had been holding something, examining it, but there was nothing there. A small silver dagger – probably worth tens of thousands of dollars since it was from the Napoleonic Era – protruded from his neck.

“H’lo, darlin’,” said a voice in a thick Scottish brogue, “Did ye miss me?”

It had started with a painting. “Maiden Walking Through a Field on a Sunny Day”. A rumored lost Van Gogh. Rose (Rosie’s twin with whom she once shared one body) had received it in Paragon City, along with a letter from Fleesem and Steele, LLP. The letter that accompanied it stated that Ian Scott, Rosie’s paramour from their previous shared life had passed away and, in the settling of his estate, had bequeathed to his one-time lover this priceless treasure.

Since Rose did not like to think that it was she who had engaged in that particular relationship, she carefully packed the painting – taking great pains to conceal it’s true nature – and forwarded it to the Lion Brigade headquarters in the Etoile Islands where her twin lived.

Rosie, ecstatic to have received the priceless piece could not wait to share her great news with one of her two significant others. If Dustlight had not been away on one of his enigmatic missions, he might have been the recipient of the news, but since he was not available, Prioress Grace got to share Rosie’s joy.

Grace, however, distrusted the veracities both of the painting, and of Ian Scott’s death.

So, as soon as was possible, Rosie and Grace were off to the City of Lights and Love – Paris.

Where else would you find an underground art appraiser qualified to declare the painting real?

We'll miss you, but good luck! I wish you all the success you hope for and more.

((Just a bump for those who might not have seen it the first time.))

I'm not talented enough for this, but I know some of you are, so please, take a look.

Comic Book Idol at Comic Book Resources

And good luck to any of you who might enter.

((Geeeeez! That looks so cool! Verah nice!))

And she kept falling...

Until she impacted something and... bounced?

Indeed, she bounced not once, not twice, but three times before she came to a stop. For a moment she couldn't see, but then, as if a fog lifted, her surroundings became clear.

She had bounced upon a rather large bed, covered with pink and black satin sheets, upon which she now laid. The bed was surrounded with dark curtains with many hints of colors, all blending together to form black.

Rose sat up quickly. Instinctually, her hand moved to her waist to grab her collapsible bow off of her belt, but she was still wearing a hospital gown.

Then a voice -- not the Catbird's -- said, "Oooo! Pajama party!"

Rose snapped her head around to see a girl (or a woman -- her age was difficult to determine by her appearance) of slight build, thin and waif-like, with hair so dark that it had no shine at all and skin the color of bleached bones. Her eyes also were black, and reflected no light, held no gleam.

"Catbird!" the girl shouted. "Catbird! Come on! It's pajama party!"

The girl patted Rose's knee (and when she did so, a chill ran through Rose's entire being) and said, "It's been so long since I've done anything totally girly!"

"Y-you're... Death? Right?" Rose said.

The pallid girl stuck out her lip and her arms crossed her chest, then she said, "Well! You don't have to say it like that!"

"I-I'm s-sorry."

"Why don't they ever just let it rollll off the tongue -- Deeaath. Deeaaath. See? Perfectly lovely name."

"S-sorry."

Death smiled at Rose and told her, "Oh, stop saying that. You don't have to be afraid. I mean... Have I ever hurt anybody?"

Rose began to stutter an answer when Death shouted, "Caaaatbirrrrrrd!"

"I'm here."

The curtains around the bed parted and there stood the Catbird -- out of uniform, and her wings now a pretty pink and her clothing a short, sheer nightie.

"I had to change into something more appropriate," the Catbird explained, blushing as she spoke.

"Oh stop turning red! You have the body for it!" Then Death looked at Rose and furrowed her brow. "That hospital gown will not do." Then Death reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a gauzy purple nightie. "Here, put this on."

Rose took the lingerie in her hands and looked at it.

"Don't be shy. Go ahead and change. You don't have anything we've never seen before."

Rose looked up at the Catbird who looked down at her apologetically.

"Really... what I-I would l-like to talk to y-you about..."

"Stop right there!"

Death stood up on the bed and stood astride of Rose so that if she wanted to try to escape, she could not.

"Let's get one thing straight, I want a pajama party. Now."

Rose sighed, then closed her eyes and put on the flimsy nightie.

"Better," Death said and laid down on the bed beside where Rose sat with her legs drawn under her.

"Now, you two tell me about your boyfriends."

"My lady, I..." began the Catbird.

"No boyfriend, still?"

The Catbird shook her head.

"You into chicks?"

The Catbird shook her head.

"Then you should put out. You're not a spring chicken you know. Men expect more on a date with a woman your age than just holding hands and a quick kiss goodnight."

Rose found herself feeling sorry for the courier of Death.

"Well then, what about you, miss Rose? Tell us about your boyfriend."

"Well... his name is Nick and..."

"Does he kiss good?"

"Well... he..."

"Have you done it with him yet?"

"Well... we... what?"

"Have you done it with him yet."

"I hardly think that's any of your business..."

"Of course it is. Do you know how many people die every day while they are doing it?"

Anger gushed up within Rose and she stood on the bed in nearly the same way Death had stood over her.

"Look! If I'm dead, fine! Send me to hell or... or... whereever! But I'm not going to let you... steal whatever dignity I might still have after putting on this nightie!"

Death's black eyes began to swirl in circles, the dark around them got dark, and where there had been hints of pink, red, blue, there was now only a hot red glow, like embers.

"You talk to me thusly!"

Death stood and knocked Rose down upon her backside. She did not hit a soft matress where she fell, but rather rough, hard stone.

"You refuse my good hospitality!"

Rose was afraid; more afraid than she had ever been when she had been alive. But she had made her stand and she wouldn't back down.

"I do," she said.

Death loomed over her now, as if she had grown larger. Her pale skin fairly glowed crimson with the light from the embers.

"Then go!" Death said, her tone harsh and biting. "Go! And see if I ever invite you to the part again!"

"Mom?"

Rose opened her eyes.

Nick was in the chair, shaking off the drowsiness from having just awakened.

"Mom?"

"Betsy?"

"Mom!"

Betsy leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Rose's neck and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh, mom! You're going to be all right! They said you flatlined twice last night!"

Betsy stood back as the nurses came into the room and began checking Rose's blood pressure and other vital signs.

Then she got a good look at what her daughter was wearing.

"Did you forget your pants?"

Betsy smiled and explained, "No! This is Serge's new line for next spring! I'm going to be his 'It' girl!"

"You're wearing... panties."

"No! They're shorty-short-shorts!"

"They're panties."

"No, they're part of Serge's new GGW -- that stands for Good-Guy Women -- collection! And I'm going to be the catalogue model!"

"Oh hell no..."

Rose pushed away the nurses and against Nick's protests grabbed a robe and threw it on and then stormed out of the room.

She hadn't backed down from Death. Serge should be a piece of cake.

((For what happened between the last post on this thread and now, go here: Maggie's Rock Forums ))

"Rose? Rose McAden?"

Rose didn't move, didn't reply. She didn't want to open her eyes. For the first time since she had been taken captive weeks ago, she felt at peace .

"You must come with me Rose."

The voice was insistent and against her own will, Rose opened her eyes. She was in a hospital room. It was dark. Machines hummed and shot wave-patterns across digital readouts. A respirator hissed and thumped like a heartbeat.

Beside her bed, slumped in a chair, her fiancee, Nick Kinsolving slept the restless sleep of the weary. Rose stood, as quiet as a ghost, kissed him on his cheek. His mouth twitched a little as if it wanted to smile, but then it relaxed and rested, partially open.

"Rose?" the voice said again.

With steps so light they never touched the floor, Rose stepped out into the darkened hallway in search of the one who called her. She made an inaudible gasp when she saw a beautiful woman with black wings that nearly blended into the gloom.

"Come with me," said the woman.

"Who are you?" Rose asked, unsure if she wanted to go with her or not.

"I am the Catbird, and I have come to keep you company until you are ready to pass over."

Rose looked at the woman again. She had seen her before, in a different form. The Catbird's adopted daughter was a student at the Rock.

When the Catbird reached for Rose's hand, Rose pulled back and backed away from her.

"Why should I go with you? And what do you mean 'pass over'?"

The Catbird sighed and explained, "You have died before your time, Rose. I'm afraid I must keep your soul in my care until your appointed time arrives."

Rose felt a panic rise within her. How could this be? She had been rescued! She had been healing! How could she have just... died?

"This can't be... no, this can't be real..."

"Denial is the first stage of..."

"Don't give me that! Don't give me that psychobabble! I'm not dead! I'm not ready to die! I won't go! I won't!"

A look of utter sadness crossed the Catbirds face as she said, "Then you will become a shade -- a non-manifesting ghost -- doomed to walk among the living, but never able to speak to them, touch them... They will not even know you are there. To them, you will not exist. Only those who loved you will feel your presence. Oh yes, they will feel your presence, and you shall feel theirs; for the grief they will carry with them for the rest of their lives will become as fresh to them as the day you died and you will feel their grief a hundredfold."

The panic and denial gave way to tears as Rose thought of Nick and Betsy.

"Please," she said, "there must be a way out... a... a way back?"

For a moment, the Catbird's lips formed a thin pink line, and then she said, "That is not up to me, but I can take you before my boss."

"Comrade Smersh?"

The Catbird covered her face with the palm of one hand and shook her head.

"Commander Smersh is not my superior on this plane. I only serve under his leadership in the realm of the living. I speak now of another; one whose presence you will fear."

Rose was quaking now, she backed away from the Catbird, and in doing so, passed through a wall. This startled her so much that she became altogether immaterial and fell through the floor.

And she kept falling...

Thanks!

Smoke Ghost and Nachtmusik, dishing out justice from beyond...

Nice!

I don't think the ribs are too thick. I think the black line just accentuates them maybe a little much. A line coming down accentuating her abs might balance it a little.

But I really love your style in this one. She looks lovely!

I have a deviantART page, here, where I am displaying my meager doodling skills.

Hmm... that pic of Shae Firewarder seems to be pretty popular...

((LOL! That was great, TV! ))

"You did not bring the book."

Demonelle's near-perfect reproduction of a human mouth turned down at the corners. She had brought the other Rose and had figured Nick Kinsolving would use the magic book which Bittenhauer so desired to locate her. But Elle hadn't counted on...

"I hadn't counted on the Rikti invasion complicating everyone's plans."

Bittenhauer had his back to her as he worked over the sister Elle had brought to him. "And I hadn't counted on you bringing this one to me with a gangrenous leg," he said.

He had only specified that she be brought to him alive -- he had said nothing about her condition. This was the second time she had failed to satisfy the strange little man.

"She didn't have gangrene when I delivered her. You waited too long before you began your healing magics."

"The situation is complicated beyond your comprehension, Demonelle," Bittenhauer explained, still without turning to look at her. "If I use the wrong healing spell, it could interfere with the reason I need the sisters to begin with."

A soft yellow glow settled over the sister's prone body. The slab on which she lay seemed to rise from the floor, then it settled back down and the glow faded. Bittenhaur sighed in defeat.

"Kinsolving will come," Elle assured him, "I can promise you that. Despite the invasion, he will come."

Bittenhaur finally turned toward her. His brow was beaded with sweat and his eyes were darkly circled and wild.

"He'd better, android, he'd better. Now, will you pass me that bone saw?"

"Can I have more of that candy?"

"Can you tell me your name?"

"I'm Kid 'Borg! My pop is HEROID and my mom is Ireland Love!"

"Very good. Have a piece of Turkish Delight."

"Thank you, nice lady."


Rose McAden stood on the rooftop of the living structure called Maggie's Rock and looked to the east. She wanted to go hunting for this "Demonelle" woman. After Betsy had told her about her kidnapping, she knew Demonelle would be back. It seemed to Rose that the best approach would be to take the battle to the enemy.

But that wasn't going to happen. She had asked Roy for a leave from her security job (she figured no more than five days) to go hunting, but he had vetoed it, although he when he did so, he also promised that when she did go, he'd go with her as backup.

Then, last night, a doppleganger of one of Maggie's children appeared inside the Rock. When Maggie tried to talk to him, he ran. The kid looked just like Maggie's and Roy's son, Ben, except that Ben was no longer a cyborg with robotic limbs. The mysterious double looked exactly like Ben did a year or so ago.

Needless to say, the whole thing spooked Maggie and Roy pretty badly. And Maggie was already worrying about something that she had a feeling was going to happen. Roy had hired more staff for security. Old Abe had even been hired back.

"Now, if someone tries to read your mind what do you do?"

"I run!"

"Very good. If you answer the next question right, you can have another piece of candy."

"Okay!"

"Who do you love more? Me or your mommy?"

"You!"

"Have more candy."

So here she was, making her nightly rounds as she did every night. "Securin' th' peraminer," as Roy always said.

Then the sound of metal feet skipping along the sidewalk caught her attention. Rose's head snapped around even as her hand grabbed a snare-grenade off of her belt. It was him -- the doppleganger. She leapt off of the roof and landed in a crouch just a few feet in front of him.

"Don't run, kid," she said, "I just want to talk to you."

"I'm Kid 'Borg! HEROID's my pop, and Ireland Love's my mom!" He smiled guilessly as he spoke.

Rose wasn't that good with kids. She generally avoided contact with the younger ones at the Rock.

"Well. That's nice, isn't it?" she said, with the most patient tone she could muster.

"What's your name?" Kid 'Borg asked.

"My name is Rose."

"Hehe! 'A rose by any other name...' and I can't remember the rest."

Rose found herself smiling at him. He had an infectious laugh and the sweet smile of a child who is genuinely happy. She put the snare-grenade back on her belt.

"Would you like to come inside?" she asked, hoping to lure him in so that Maggie could talk to him again.

"No ma'am. I don't think so. I'm supposed to meet somebody in the Downside right now."

"Oh?"

Now Rose was torn between calling for help from the inside and going with him to see who was behind this. She decided to compromise. She palmed her comm off of her belt, keeping it hidden from Kid 'Borg, and began texting on it's tiny keypad. If anyone was watching the security computer monitor, they would see it.

"Can I come along with you?"

Kid 'Borg thought for a moment, then said, "Sure. Um... I don't think the nice lady will mind."

The boy moved along pretty fast on those cybernetic legs. Rose's side spasmed and her lungs pulled in air with the force of desperation. She followed the boy through the darkened streets of Atlas Park until they arrived in the darkest section -- the Downside. They stopped in front of an derelict old office building.

"Is she here," she asked between gasps. "Is the nice lady here?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy said.

Rose looked around. There didn't seem to be anyone else there.

"Where? I don't see..."

"I'm here," came a voice that was cracking and rusting with age.

From out of the shadowed alley stepped an elderly woman. She was stooped and leaned on a cane. Her wrinkled mouth turned up at the corners in a pleasant old lady smile. A cloud of white, curly hair sat atop her head like a pile of cotton balls. Rose couldn't help but smile back at the kindly, grandmotherish face.

"Hello, I'm Rose McAden."

The grandmother's smile turned into a wide toothless grin as she said, "That's all I needed to know."

Something slammed into Rose's back, knocking her face down onto the crumbling sidewalk. She recovered quickly, rolled to her back, then with a kick of her legs she was on her feet facing her attacker.

"Roy?"

"Heheh. Whaddayknow?" replied Roy's deep, gruff voice.

Even though she had pulled her collapsible bow from her belt, Rose had stopped short of notching an arrow when she looked up into the familiar face of her boss and friend, Roy Kirby.

"Wha...? Roy... why?"

Rose felt like she had fallen into some sort of bad dream.

"Why? B'cause I wuz told ta."

Then with speed that surprised her, his hammy fist smashed into her face.

"Stop it!" It was Kid 'Borg. "Pop, you're hurting her!"

"Yeah, kid, that's th' idea."

"No," said the grandmother, "the idea is to take her back to our client and collect our pay."

Rose lay on the sidewalk and choked on the blood that filled her nose and mouth.

"Oh, yeah, guess yer right," Roy said and bent down as if to check on her.

"However, our client indicated that she did not have to be in A-1 condition. Decapacitate her. I don't want her running."

"Gotcha," Roy said. Then he planted his feet just above her knees, grabbed her ankles and pulled back until she heard a wet snap.

Rose screamed, but it was cut short because the grandmother stuck her cane into Rose's mouth until she gagged.

"Quiet, dear. We don't want anyone to hear."

"I said stop!"

Rose couldn't lift her head to see, but she knew that Kid 'Borg was charging Roy and the grandmother.

"I was afraid of this," the grandmother said. "Kill him."

There was a sound like two trucks colliding and then quiet.

The silence was broken by Roy's voice asking, "Is the 'porter ready?"

"Of course," the grandmother replied. "Take her. I'll be waiting on the other side."

"What about the boy?"

There was a pause and then, "Leave him. And when I've abandoned this body, kill it too."

"Sure thing," Roy said as he hefted Rose up on his broad shoulder, "Anything else?"

"Yes. Bring the boy's robotic limbs."

"Kinda a shame I had ta kill 'im..."

"Acceptable loss," the grandmother said, "I'll begin growing a new one tomorrow. With what we're getting paid for this job, I'll be able to grow an army of him. Now, hurry."

Rose passed out just as Roy snapped the old woman's neck.

"Think he's ready, Elle?"

"I think you both are, Roy."

"Zzythe."

"Oh, yes. Zzythe. I think you're both ready."

Tristan searched Overbrook for hours, trying to locate Betsy. Unfortunately, with the psychic block in place, finding her was like the proverbial needle. That block was just one of the several questions raised by her sudden reappearance that day.

She'd been gone for two days - hospitalized, she said, with a concussion - a rogue robot on a rampage, she said, but...why hadn't the hospital contacted either of her parents? Or the Legion? And why was she still dressed in that lingerie? Surely, she would have gone home to change first before seeking him out. She hated the way she looked in that thing, especially in public. Instead, she was acting like the two of them had only been apart for minutes, and she was still acting frisky on top of that.

Then there was the aforementioned "block". It was like a wall, preventing him from accessing her mind at all. When he told her about it, she mentioned them telling her she had temporary amnesia and they had to use a hypnotist to get her memory back. Now, Tris wasn't a doctor, but that sounded all kinds of wrong to begin with, but given Betsy's history with hypnosis, it was even more troubling to hear.

And, she hadn't remembered what Ben or Buzz had done to her in that regard - something else she contributed to the memory loss.

Then, she fainted for no particular reason. He laid her down on the rooftop. She seemed stable, just unconscious. He had set his jaw and begun to psychically probe her mind, attempting to bring down the wall.

The procedure lasted all of five second before Betsy leapt up with a discharge of energy. The block was still in place.

She began to cry and cling to him, telling him she was scared and wanted to go somewhere safe. It was unusual behavior, but, given how much she'd been manipulated lately, he didn't really give it much thought at the time. He was going to take her back to the Legion base, but she insisted the Rock was safer.

Safer from what?

Accommodating her, rather than arguing the point, he opened up a portal to the Rock and they stepped inside.

He entered the foyer without incident...

...Betsy ended up in Overbrook.

His spell had not malfunctioned. The Rock wouldn't let her enter. The Rock didn't make mistakes. Something was dreadfully wrong.

To make matters even worse, when he left to go get her, she started carrying on over the commlink about how she needed her mother, Rose, and that he should go get her instead. He tried to tell her he was on his way and that everything was fine, but she kept saying it was too late and was very insistent about him finding Rose.

Too late for what?

He remembered back to what she had said before she disappeared. That the robot in question thought she was her mother...another point she conveniently seemed to forget.

Things weren't adding up. He felt like all the pieces of this puzzle were being laid before him, but he couldn't figure out the solution.

One thing he *was* certain of...bringing Rose here would be a bad idea. And, if she knew what was happening, she'd likely come here anyway, regardless of the danger. No...if he was going to get anyone's help, it would be her father's instead. He'd know what to do.

He just had to.

-----
Damn the boy! she thought as she watched him fly away.

Surely this time he would give up his search and give her a chance to come out of hiding. She needed to clear only a few more feet to get to the sanctuary of the hidden Arachnos bunker in the Overflow. When Tristan was merely a speck in the sky she darted from under the scaffolding and straight into the hidden tunnel to safety.

"Halt!" shouted one of four Arachnos guards as she drew near the bunker's doorway.

"Demonelle, level 24 clearance," she said, then recited the code for entry, "00u812."

One of the guards put his arm across the doorway. Demonelle recognized him from a previous encounter. This could go badly.

The guard said, "Right code, but I've seen Demonelle before, and you ain't her."

Demonelle smiled with Betsy's face, and said, "You're right. I'm not her. I'm Blitz, a do-gooder most of the time, but right now, I feel like a do-badder."

The guards leered at her and began making obscene comments that Demonelle was sure would surely scandalize poor Betsy. Poor Betsy who -- until Elle was done with this body -- was currently imprisoned in a Pneumatronic brain in Demonelle's lab.

"You boys wouldn't do that to little old me, would you?" she said as one of them put his arm around her and tried to kiss her.

They verbally confirmed that, indeed they would do that.

"Well... good luck then fellas!"

And with that Elle gave up the stolen body and emerged in her android form in her lab.

She sighed because she was sure Tristan was suspicious at this point so she would have to try yet another approach.

While she was in the girl's body, she had done her best to retrieve enough memories to be able to keep anyone from becoming suspicious, but memory retrieval was difficult under the best of conditions. That she had to maintain a mind block at the same time had made it next to impossible.

She did, however learn that Rose McAden, the girl's mother, worked at Maggie's Rock -- a place that Elle was certainly familiar with -- and that she worked in security.

Elle smiled. She knew who was over security at Maggie's Rock, and though she had thought she was over him, and that she no longer had a desire to do harm to him and those he loved...

Well, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

She opened the "cooler", a room filled with large tanks with hoses and tubes running to them. Each tank had a cloned human in it. There were dozens of them in the room, all stolen from Crey Industries months ago.

Elle walked to the row in the back. There was one empty tank here -- it was empty when she found it, but she kept it for old times' sake -- and four beside with identical figures in them.

Elle pulled a lever on the bottom of the tank and the liquid inside quickly drained out. The figure inside -- a tall, muscular man with brown hair, and a square jaw with a jutting chin -- coughed out fluid and its eyes flew open wide.

Elle placed her hand on his hard stomach, then leaned forward and kissed his his chest with her metallic lips.

"Oh, Roy, if only I had time to play," she said as she wrapped her arms around the mindless clone. "But I'm afraid I need your body."

She paused then laughed at her own joke.

Meanwhile, back at the door to the Arachnos bunker, an electrical discharge came very close to killing the four guards and an enraged Blitz flew off toward home.

She had to contact her mother -- now!

Adelle Chauvin stood and looked across the room at the robot-woman, Elle. They had both delivered their packages to their employer, and they were both waiting to collect. Now they watched as the little old man who called himself "Bittenhauer" looked over his "goods".



Adie's associates, Rand and Chacon, eyed Elle's robots, sizing the machines up, she knew, just in case. Her men were well trained to handle "just in case". They had been with her since she had left Shimadoku months ago. She had thought that finding mercenary work in the Rogue Isles would be easy. She didn't count on such a glutted market for her services. Still, as her reputation grew, she was sure her profitability would also.



The job had been fairly cut-and-dry. A kidnapping of minor-league career criminal who called herself "Crackling Rosie". Bittenhauer had informed her that Rosie had last been seen in the company of the nun who ran a charity hospital in the Isles. The nun wasn't hard to find. She made regular visits to her hospital, and Adie had simply to follow her after one such visit to find her. But when she found her, the nun made no mention of Rosie. In fact she seemed to be obsessed with someone called "Marshall Brass" getting what was coming to him.



It didn't take a genius to figure out what the relationship between Rosie and Sister Grace had been, and what had happened. And it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to know that Rosie would be found now at this Marshall Brass' residence.



Which was why she was here now, watching as Bittenhauer pulled the burlap hood off of a drugged and groggy Crackling Rosie's head.



"Excellent," Bittenhauer said


with a trace of a strange accent, then stood and knelt beside the prone figure that Elle's robots had carried in and dumped in the floor. "Now we shall see how close my plans are to coming to fruition..."

The unconscious person on th floor was a woman of athletic build wearing pink lingerie with a pink cape. The cape was wrapped around the woman's head and face, likely by the owner of the robots. Bittenhauer quickly removed the cape from the woman's head.



"Elle, would you come here?" Bittenhauer not so much asked as commanded.



Elle didn't move, but instead said, "If she is dead, then that is your own fault. You assured me that she could not die so long as both sisters lived."



"That is not the problem, fool," Bittenhauer said with a voice like a small growling dog. "This is not her. You have brought me the wrong woman!"



Elle moved then and came to kneel beside him. "Impossible. Abadon was programmed to check her genetic markers."



"Then maybe you should check and see if the 'Abadon' model is the subject of a recall. This is not her, this is not Rose McAden."



Adie couldn't help but laugh on the insde at Elle's expense.



"Wh...? Then who is it?"



"I do not know, but your mistake will cost me immeasurably in time and resources."



"Give me a chance to redeem myself then."



Adie knew that Elle knew what every good merc knows -- you live and die by your reputation"



Bittenhauer looked at them both. "Very well," he said, "Elle, if you would take this... person... you have brought me and dispose of her, I will give you another chance -- but this time, you must bring me both Rose McAden and the book that is in Kinsolving's possession."



"Consider it done."



"That's what you said last time."



Adie giggled and got a bad look from Elle as she and her robots left to begin work on their mission.



Bittenhauer returned his attention to Adie and said, "Now, step in the back please, and I shall pay you what is due to you."



The old man held the door to the back room open for Adie and allowed her to enter first. The first hint she had that something was not right was when the floor fell out from under her and she began to fall.



A half hour later, she was still falling.

((Long one this time. Hope it's not long and boring though. I hate long and boring. I much prefer short and sweet. Or short and sour. Just not boring.))

The day had been an emotional rollercoaster. Or was it an emotional thermometer? Blitz couldn't remember the correct metaphor, but whatever, it had been an uppy-downy-uppy day for her.

It had begun when she and her adoptive sister Lynn had taken on some Arachnos agents in the Overflow. It had gone smoothly enough, but when the mission was done, Betsy had complained about how difficult it was for her to find enough complex carbons -- such as those found in donuts! -- to energize her powers.

"Sometimes I have to eat five dozen glazed just to stay powered up," she had told Lynn.

Lynn, known by many names on the Paragon City superhero circuit, but by those who know and love her simply as Lynn, immediately went to the work of creating a magic pill that would provide Betsy with energy instantly.

Betsy tried a pill as Lynn went on to make a couple dozen more.

Betsy had always had a problem with the adverse effects of two things -- alcohol and magic. When she took the first pill, she felt giddy, as if she had just had a pina colada with a little umbrella sticking out the top. But it did energize her. She felt the warmth course through her body. So then she took another. That one made her feel even better, but she no longer felt like fighting. In fact, she felt doing quite the opposite. So she took another.

Soon Blitz was fully energized by Lynn's choas magic pills, so much so that the her close proximity seemed to effect Lynn.

In most cultures, French kissing your sister (even your adopted sister) is considered to be at least the height of bad taste. In many cultures -- including the greater United States -- it is considered extremely taboo and has resulted in wrecked lives and ruined careers. Except in internet-related subcultures where taboo is a relative term.

That little scenario hadn't gone too far because the girls soon realized they were breaking several rules already and didn't want to break any more, lest they wind up starring on the Jerry Springer Show. So Betsy had left Lynn to fend for herself and went out in search of her boyfriend/fiancee, Tristan.

Ah, lucky Tristan, she thought to herself as she beelined toward home. She sang a little song to herself that went something like, "Oh, Tris, you've been a good boy, Tris; But now that's going to pay off, Tris; You're really going to like this, Tris..."

Then she realized that her virginal white costume was hardly the attire she needed for this "defeat all" mission. So she made a detour to Icon to see Serge. The man was a genius when it came to lingerie.

Twenty minutes later...

"Oh, sweetheart, you are so not going out of here in that."

Serge stomped his foot as he spoke. His hands were firmly on his hips and his arms akimbo. His head bobbed and weaved like a cobra's as he spoke.

"You are waaaay to young for that, darling. Let me show you a cute little pair of silk pj's." And with that he grabbed the hanger that had what looked like a pair of red rubber bands on it away from Betsy.

Blitz took off her cape and unzipped her spandex jumpsuit. "Fine! She said, but I'm not going out of here in this... this... supersuit!"

The jumpsuit dropped to the floor. Serge covered his eyes. Betsy grabbed the tiny bit of lingerie off of the hanger in Serge's hand and quickly slipped the two pieces on. Then she opened the dressing room door and headed toward the exit.

Serge peeked between his fingers and saw the dressing room door swing shut behind her. "Wait! Where are you going!?!"

"To find Tristan!" she shouted in reply as she grabbed a short cape that would match the lingerie off of a rack she passed. She picked up a pair of fishnet stockings -- with garters! -- and a pair of strappy heels to finish the outfit. Then she was gone.

Serge watched her exit the store.

"Well, I certainly hope Tristan's up for this," Serge said to himself, then laughed when he realized the joke he had made.

Hours later...

Usually, if she needed to find Tristan, all she had to do was turn around and he'd be there. He was magic like that. Today however, it seemed as if she always arrived at where he had been twenty minutes or a half-hour ago. And she had to put up with bug-eyed men gawking at her wherever she searched for him.

She wished there had been enough fabric on her new "costume" to find a place to pin a comm, but no. So after a while she gave up and went back to the Legion base, careful not to let Ben or UF Lad or -- god forbid, Joybuzz -- see her in her skimpy attire.

She had just got into hers and Tristan's room when she heard his voice calling over her spare comm (which layed upon the nightstand where she kept it).

"...ninjas..." his voice said through a small bit of static.

"Tristan? Are you busy?" she asked, hoping he could get there soon, very soon.

"I'm... ungh!... currently... umph!... overwhelmed by... gurnk! Ooomph!... ninjas."

The fight sounded pretty intense, even over the comm, so Blitz put her spare comm and the rest of Lynn's energy pills in the small pouch built into the seam of her new cape and snuck back through the base and out to Skyway City to find him.

"I'm on my way, Tristan," she said as she took flight. "Oh, and you said 'Ninjas'?"

"Yes... ungh!... why?"

"Be careful where they kick you!"

Another half-hour later...

Tristan was so sweet, and so strong of will. He had used his own magic to siphon off the effects of Lynn's pills from Betsy, then, using a spell he had been working on secretly, re-energized her.

She told him everything, every shameful detail of the day, and when it was said and done, he didn't forgive her because...

"You were under the influence of chaos magic -- you've done nothing to forgive, my love."

He was sooo like that.

So, once again in her right mind and able to think rationally, Betsy helped him defeat the rest of the ninjas. While they fought, she came to a conclusion.

"I've come to a conclusion," she said as she watched him tag the last ninja for the Zig.

"And what is that, my love?"

"Well... I've come to the conclusion that we should go ahead and... you know... That way I won't be the cosmic virgin any longer. The way it's going, something stupid's going to happen like... like the Rikti will invade and capture me and make me their love slave, and all I'll be able to think about will be, 'It should have been Tristan.'""

Needless to say, Tristan was quite taken aback by her statements. However, strong of will he may have been, he never made claims to be as stalwart as the Pope. So, faced with his beautiful girlfriend decked out in quite tiny lingerie, he did what any good and decent man would do in his situation: He agreed with her.

That night then, in a special place that he would pick out and prepare, while she had her hair and nails done and made sure she "looked perfect for their first time", they would meet and give up that last fleeting drop of chastity.

They left the building where they had fought the ninjas and he watched her fly away to prepare herself. He began to think of an appropriate place where one could consumate a relationship to the most beautiful girl on two Earths when Betsy's voice came over the comm:

"Haha! Tristan! There's a robot looking at me! It's so funny. He's just... looking at me... wait... He's shining some sort of light on me... he..."

There was a pause and Tristan grew worried.

"Haha! He thinks I'm mom! Something about my 'genetic markers'..."

She may have been laughing, but for some reason Tristan's concern grew stronger.

"He... wait! Hey! What...?! No! Sto...*"

"Cracklin'" Rosie McAden left Brass' quarters with the remainder of a fifth of Jack Daniels in her hand. If the bottle had been empty, she would have smashed it against his bloated head. Some nerve he had. Commitment.

"Committed to him?" she said somewhat loudly as she crossed the lane and found a wall to hold her up. "I'd rather be committed to the psycho ward at the Zig."

A laugh came from behind her. She turned with a wobble and nearly nosedived into the pavement before she corrected herself. (Alcohol always had a pronounced effect on her relationship with gravity.) She had expected to see the vagrant who she jokingly referred to as "the Usual Suspect" (because Brass liked to put a fright into the man by accusing him of all sorts of crimes against Lord Recluse), but instead she saw a tall, striking woman with almond-shaped eyes and short-cropped black hair.

"Who are you?" Rosie asked.

"More importantly," the stranger replied, "Who are you?"

"Me? I'm nobody." Rosie grinned at the stranger and then turned the bottle up and poured some of the warm liquid down her throat.

The stranger smiled back and said, "I know it's summer, but isn't it still a little cool tonight for you to be out in nothing but your underwear and an arbiter's helmet?"

Rosie looked down at herself, and she had, indeed, neglected to get dressed before she threw that lamp at Brass, grabbed the liquor and stormed out of his place.

She smiled again. "I had a fight with my boyfriend," she said, then paused and continued, "ONE of my boyfriends. The other one is good to me."

The stranger looked at her with amusement. "Ah. I've found myself in similar situations. Although, I've never had occasion to accessorize my Victoria's Secrets with an Arachnos helmet..."

Rosie blushed from her bare feet up to her head. She had forgotten she was wearing it. She tried to push the helmet down to cover her face, but her hair was piled under it and she only succeded in getting it low enough so that she had to tilt her head back in order to look at the stranger.

"This?" Rosie said tapping the helmet with a well-manicured fingernail, "This is... a game we play..."

The stranger laughed right in her face which made Rosie angry at first, but then she couldn't help laughing also. She offered the stranger a drink from her bottle, which the stranger gratefully accepted.

There was a moment of silence between them as the humor died down and the stranger let the burn go out of her throat.

Then the stranger said, "I like to play games too."