Paradigm_Shift

The Sonic missile hit Cynic dead on. He was so confident he didn't even try to dodge. He didn't need to. His belief that he couldn't be hurt while his personal shielding was up was so strong that it overrode all physics involved, shut down common sense, threw reality out the window and blew a wet and big raspberry at the world. The sonic missile hit him dead on, giving out a thunderous roar of sonic vibrations dispersing in every direction that left Cynic entirely intact and not any worse for wear.

"That all you got, blow-hard?" Cynic said mockingly. "I've had MUCH better than that, come on!"

When you are given equipment that is only powered by your belief it will work, believe in it very, VERY hard.

It hadn't even occurred to Cynic to side-step and weaken the door. That was silly when somebody could just open it without any fuss. In any case, he was prepared to wait all day until somebody opened it.

***

The hardware itself held no traces. It simply wasn't complex enough. It only had the capability to create that one subroutine over and over again, with barely any room left over for the dead man's switch. Installing Microsoft word on the thing would probably make it overload and melt from the strain.

The technicians still gleaned something fairly important from the device though. The manufacturer. The hardware had been made in Cap Au Diable, almost more than a hundred and twenty years ago, by Brass Track industries. Now it was a well-known Nemesis front that had been decommissioned by the Prussian Prince over thirty years ago once it was found out. It was obviously custom made to look indistinguishable from other pieces of Arachnos technology, and there was no presence of Nemesis' style of workings within. This was something that could be used, as Brass Track industries HAD kept actual paperwork around to make them seem more legit, which presumably was still stored somewhere. If anyone cared to have a look, they could probably find the order for this particular piece of hardware and find out WHO had commissioned Brass Track to make it. Of course, it would involve a hell of a lot of shuffling through moldy old records since they probably were not stored as pure data, being that old.

***

While the Commander's profile was purged by the hardware device, there was still something left over. Something the device had missed. It was a private document on a computer in Grandville, not even the Arbiters had access to it. Only one person had the password to it, and he'd forgotten the file in question even existed. So there it sat to be left alone and unbothered for a very long time.

***

"Ah, Lord Scirocco." Said an old and wizened voice. Arbiter Daos came into Malak's vision. He was 79 years old now, but still very fit and as sharp as ever for a man his age, and he still managed the Arbiters with a hard and steady fist of proverbial steel. He was flanked by two assistants, both Arbiters as well. "I am sorry to trouble you, I was briefed by Mu'Drakhan when I entered and I know you need to leave, but I do need to make sure our guest has arrived. I was supposed to meet him when I came here but nobody seems to have seen him anywhere. What about you?"

***

Some time ago.

"Oh, hey Custard." Said a very WET sounding voice.

Cynic was standing in an inverted pyramid, with every layer growing smaller and smaller as it descended, with him being on the highest possible layer. The room was a good thirty meters across and fifty deep. Each layer had dozens upon dozens of panels and monitors, with the ceiling itself being one huge monitor. (All the chairs in the room were recliner chairs, so perhaps it was a general announcement thing?) Floating in the center of the room, even-leveled with the Commander, was Viz Wiz.

He was a Oculus Sapien, and he was a humanoid, yes indeed thank you very much and mind your own business. The thing that drew attention to him wasn't really his shape, but his appearance. His entire body, including the soles of his feet and so forth, was covered with blinking eyes and lids. The only area of his body that did NOT have an eye covering it was the mouth. Cynic couldn't even figure out how the thing HEARD. Every eye on his body closed one at a time, in a spiral pattern around his body from bottom to top at an extremely fast pace. Viz Wiz was never allowed to touch the ground, which was understandable. His species were telekinetic, so he could fly. Extremely useful in monitor rooms and not much else.

"Custard?" Cynic asked, not at all disturbed by the being floating in the air.

"What? Oh, sorry. Nothing. Anyways, here's the situation." Viz Wiz said, drifting over the the platform and directly Cynic to a nearby console. The only one that was currently active. The screens showed two people fighting, with lots of pretty red and black bolts of energy and sparklies and such.

"See that homeless lookin fella there?" Viz Wiz asked. "Hanging on his belt there, see?" He froze the image and enlarged the area of interest so Cynic could get a better view.

The Commander looked at it for a minute. "I don't know. Last time I got close enough there were red eyes. It's not even to tell from a distance, this here is just plain."

"I do believe you cracked that into three pieces and then crushed them all to powder with that...eh...What did you use again?" Viz Wiz mused.

"Lightning forge. And you're thinking of the one before that. Last time around I froze it and smashed it with a force bolt." Cynic said in a tired voice that clearly stated it did not feel like going through this.

"And it always looked the same?" Viz Wiz inquired.

"Always. Every time. Mind you, he was always changing the way it looked when he was still aware enough to do so. That's what he did, after all." Cynic replied. "But I don't know about this...I've never seen him manage it while in that state. It HAS been a while though, so maybe it's a new trick."

Silence for a while. Viz Wiz resumed playing the image, where the fighting continued, and then everything froze over.

"Mental abilities, yes. I wouldn't really call that empathetic though." Cynic remarked, rewinding and looking at the red and black attacks being sent back and forth.

"True, true...It does look quite similar to what he has though...VERY similar...Too much so to be a coincidence." Viz Wiz muttered.

Cynic grunted at that. "There's no such thing as coincidence. Only a series of really horrible events that somehow manage to land on you. This might very well be it though..." He replayed the scene a few times. "What strikes me is, this isn't really his style. I mean, you've seen it all before. Usually five or six while everything goes to hell in a hand basket. This here though, he's just solo...And it's all nice and contained in a small area...I don't like it. It's not like him at all."

"Well, you are the expert." Viz Wiz said. "It's your call. Should we bother with this or not?"

Cynic mused over the scene, replaying it a few times. Eventually, he asked, "Is this all you have?"

"So far..." Viz Wiz said. "Most of our surveillance there is ANCIENT. Advanced as you could want it, but we had to install it all VERY early in that world. Little over a hundred years ago in its past. Anything that hasn't been smashed, crushed,or blown up between now or then has either malfunctioned or been blasted with high concentrations of energy or arcane power. We're LUCKY to have just this here, and then everything goes black. A stray stream, perhaps. So yes, this is all we have.'

Cynic thought for a moment. "I'm troubled here. I can't really tell from just this...There's just too much conflicting evidence here."

"Well, that's all we have, and we aren't getting any more. You'll have to choose."

Cynic thought silently for a whole five minutes.

"No. It's not him." He said finally.

OOC: It's important like THIS: Cynic, for some reason, has a profile in the Arachnos registry, and I don't want anyone viewing it. And it makes sense to me, as it was a part of the mainframe, listed, and approved by Arachnos technicians upon construction, and recognized by the system as such. For all you know, it could have been REQUESTED that it was put in there by a technician. My 'organization' hasn't done anything to out-do Arachnos yet. All they've had to do so far is send in somebody dressed as whoever with a few expertly forged documents. (Only for arguments sake.) Arachnos is till the top of the food chain while I'm still eating shower scum.

I will also point out I just put the end of the road down in front of you. If you want to get it over with why not just take it? I'm not trying to prove anything, I'm not trying to make everything seem super-secret-covert-over-the-top. Everything I've done up until this point has been very simple, and the only thing I'm trying to do is keep the Commander's profile a secret.

No, if you want an organization that can hoodwink Arachnos, go talk to any villain group including the Hellions. I think that by this point, the only group that HASN'T royally beaten Arachnos via trickery are the Snakes.

"What? You're going to leave me hanging here?" Cynic laughed after the fleeing Tamesis. Then he spotted the cannon being aimed at him. "What is it with you people and big guns? Compensation? Give it up, you can't lick me with THAT thing. Been there, done that." The Commander hovered right in front of the security door, as still as a statue.

***

The source was simple. The subroutine that had just been deleted was immediately replaced by a new one, which in turn instantly made a new filter. The new subroutine had been written and installed by hardware that was currently attached to the mainframe.Which meant there had never been a hacker, the internal workings of the mainframe had been left entirely alone. Someone had just come along and added a last-minute component which automatically installed the original subroutine which had made the filter blocking the Commander's profile, bypassing all security because it was a part of the system. All the Arbiter had to do now was block the hardware's access to the mainframe and that would be that. She could even check the collected information on the Hardware before cutting it off to find out who had manufactured it. It was too simple.

Cynic raised an eyebrow as Tamesis uselessly attempted to break the shielding that not only protected but bonded both Commander and Night Stick together. Then the Executioner shouted.

"HEY! TRYING HERE!" Cynic roared back in irritation. "NOT ENTIRELY MY FAULT!" He then looked at Tamesis again. "Hey boyfriend. Can you stop trying to marry my stick for a moment and open the damn door? You're holding up traffic."

***

The filter expired only to be replaced by another completely identical one that rose from the endless stream of data to replace it. The source was quite easy to track though, the exact time of the breach being the same moment the mainframe had come online, the new breach having occured the exact moment the previous filter had been deleted. The location itself was not as important as the source. The mainframe appeared to have created both filters independently and by itself.

Cynic calmly floated in front of the first security door upon reaching it, apparently stumped. "Say, would you happen to have any means of opening this here door?" Cynic asked, spinning around mid-air, expecting to see Tamesis right there or at least in hot pursuit.

As far as the 'source' of the filter went, it appeared to be coming from the database itself. Which meant that the filter had either been programmed in manually and had therefore been approved and supervised by Arachnos technicians already, or somebody had hacked the place ages ago and buried their tracks so deeply that this much time later it WOULD be impossible to trace the filter back to the source. So it was only to be expected when the extermination squad wound up right at the source: The mainframe, with only a few puzzled technicians wondering why they had just barged in, and no hacker in sight.

((GOOD. THANK YOU. I still have no idea if Cynic is inside or outside, but one step at a time...))

"Save your breath, son." Cynic said in a tired voice, brushing off Tamesis' attacks as if he was being hit with wet popcorn. The shielding held firm, and just by looking at it one could feel even Psionic attacks would be halted by the shielding about the Commander. The only hint there even WAS shielding was the crystal at the end of his Night Stick glowing slightly with each blow. Suddenly, with a series of surprising aerial acrobatics that transformed Cynic into nothing more then a grey blur, the Commander was suddenly behind Tamesis and rocketing away.

***

Some time ago

"-rade." Hyperbole finished explaining as he and the Commander walked down the grey hallway with the occasional steel door and overhead light.

"Official?" Asked Cynic in an excited voice.

"Official." Said Hyperbole.

"Does this mean I get access to the super secret tech crap?" Cynic asked excitedly.

"Actually..." Hyperbole began. Cynic groaned. "Due to budget constraints, we're going to have to go with Faith Based Tech." Hyperbole said quickly, as if he wanted to get it over with. Aside from the footfalls of the two walking down the hall, there was silence.

"Faith Based Tech with capitals?" Cynic asked. "Errr? What is that?"

"Ah, well...You see..." Hyperbole said carefully. "The tech is powered by your belief that it will work." Silence again.

"Any suggestions how I'm supposed to work with that?" Asked Cynic is his old cynical [censored] voice.

"Believe VERY, VERY HARD?" Hyperbole suggested. Cynic started swearing but was stopped short as Hyperbole guided him towards a seemingly random door. "Here we are. I'll wait out here, and whatever you do, avoid mentioning mint bread."

"Mint what?" Cynic asked a tad too late as Hyperbole closed the door behind him.

((Well then, there you have it. Either it's a completely different Arachnos base or the 'no attacking it' rule has already been violated some 24 times therefore making it moot. Plus, Devious said through Scirocco that the base Cynic is in is NOT 'The' Arachnos base.

AGAIN, it would be NICE for some CLARIFICATION on this issue from SOMEONE who actually KNOWS which base it IS HINT HINT HINT HINT POKES KRAZY AND DEVIOUS))

((He's not talking about THE Arachnos base, he's talking about the one that Cry was in, which was attacked by sky raiders, torn to shreds, and now Cynic is in it and planning to Air Strike it. I think.))

((Errr...Not to sound silly, but where is Cynic right now? I was under the impression he was inside an Arachnos corridor, but by flipping trough it seems as though we are OUTSIDE... >.> Clarification would be nice.))

Tamesis hit solid shielding. Cynic had not monologued THEN shielded. He had shielded and THEN he had monologued. Taking advantage of the fact there were no vision-impairing mace blasts to block his vision, what with all the troops CHARGING him rather than opting for ranged attack, Cynic activated his staff's flight function and zipped for the nearest exit.

The Mystics repairing the network discovered there was nothing WRONG with it. The only problem was that the Commander's particular registry was being blocked. Everything else was still 100% operational. No matter what the Mystics attempted though, they could not get through the filter blocking his profile.

*Peeks at dates*

Probably by late June. >.>

*Runs like hell*

((The shields are cover-coating. You could teleport INSIDE of him, but that would end badly.))

Cynic sighed. Then with one smooth motion, he drew his Night Stick from its holster like someone would handle an active nuclear device. There was a clear white crystal at the end of it, being about a foot long itself. With a soft click, followed by a hiss, the weapon expanded in length until it was a full six feet long. It didn't seem to be compact, the material simply seemed to stretch itself. A soft glow radiated from the crystal and for just a moment, there seemed to be flickering fields of force about the man, which promptly vanished.

"I don't feel like dying today." He said in a tired voice, feeling safe enough behind his dispersion, kinetic, and personal force fields to take his time. "I didn't choose to come here, nor did I come with violent intent. But now...
"I think I'm just going to walk out and call down an air strike."

And with that, Cynic began to look around for the nearest exit.

***

Some time ago

"Hey Custard. Can you hear me?"

Cynic blearilly opened his eyes. "Did someone just say Custard?" He asked.

"No. Must just be you. Welcome back to the realm of the living, Commander." Said the smarmy voice. A voice that Cynic knew very well indeed.

Two seconds later, Cynic was out of bed and halfway out the door when he was grabbed, and with some difficulty, brought back down onto the medical bed.

"LET ME GO!" The man roared, thrashing about.

"Calm down! CALM DOWN! WE NEED YOUR HELP!"

Cynic froze. A moment passed, and then he slumped back.

"What do you need...Hyperbole?" He asked bitterly.

Standing by the side of the bed was a man in the loosest sense of the word. He had four legs, and seven fingers on each hand. His only eye was in the back of his head. His face itself was a television screen. His entire torso had at one point been replaced by a power generator, with multiple consoles and panels connected from it that could be diconnected or flipped down when not needed. Hyperbole was a walking Ops center, and it was rumored he had a rocket pack up his [censored]. (If he had one, which Cynic couldn't observe. Hyperbole was stark naked, not that there was much to see.)

The television that served as Hyperbole's face HAD his face in it. Or at least a bunch of pixels that arranged themselves into faces for him. Right now they were a calm green color, the mouth set in a grim line and the eyes cast down.

"It's Mike Oscar November Echo." He said. Cynic blinked.

"What?"

Hyperbole's face suddenly looked very embarrassed. "Sorry." He said nervously. "I meant to say that Mas-" He stopped and had to stop Cynic from leaving the room again. He may have been clumsy and inept for physical duty, but there was a surprising amount of strength inside those arms. Either that or an extra pair of thumbs REALLY helped.

"Just hear me out!" He pleaded.

The Mu Mystic found Something Odd when he checked the registry.

Commander Cynic did not like being ignored. "Hey. Dreadlocks. This IS the Arachnos Base, right?" He growled at Scirocco.

((*Chugs a bottle of Moonbeam Absinthe*

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE'S JOHNNY!))

Somewhere where everything is icy. Icy cool. Ish.

The Monitor Room Somewhere where everything is Icy Coolish

The main viewing apparatus in the Monitor Room Somewhere where everything is Icy Coolish.

The chair in the main viewing apparatus in the monitor room somewhere where everything is Icy Coolish.

The person sitting in the chair in the main viewing apparatus in the monitor room somewhere where everything is icy coolish.

Somewhere where it was icy coolish, there was a monitor room with a main viewing apparatus that had a chair in it, in which a person was sitting. He was a very simple kind of fellow. His job was to sit in a chair in a main viewing apparatus in a monitor room somewhere where it is icy coolish. His orders were simply.

"Whenever you see something that is the color pinkish green, hit the red button."

So the man sitting in the chair in the main viewing apparatus in the monitor room somewhere where it is icy coolish watched the monitors, looking for anything that was pinkish green. Whenever he found something that was pinkish green, he hit the red button, and went right back to looking for things that were pinkish green.

His personal belief was that it was his destiny to sit in a chair in a main viewing apparatus in a monitor room somewhere where it is icy coolish, pressing a red button every time he saw something pinkish green.

He saw something that was pinkish green. So he hit the red button from his seat in the chair in the main viewing apparatus in the monitor room somewhere where it is icy coolish. Then he went right back to doing his job of sitting in a chair in the main viewing apparatus of a monitor room somewhere where it is icy coolish, pushing the red button every time he saw something pinkish green.

***

*BLERP! BLERP! BLERP!* Alarms suddenly burst out everywhere. The comm. system activated and a stream of words poured out.

"(0|\/||\/|@|\|[), \X/3 |-|@\/3 @ (0[)3 \X/|-|1$|<3`/ +@|\|60 |=0><+|20+, 0\/3|2." The cheesy voice said.

"|2063|2 +|-|@+. |*@+(|-|1|\|6 1+ +|-||20|_|6|-| +0 |-|`/|*3|2|}0|3, 0\/3|2." The nasally voice sniffed.

"|-|`/|*3|2|}0|3 |-|3|23. \X/3 |-|@\/3 @ (|@$$ (@|*1+@|. |*@+(|-|1|\|6 1+ +|-||20|_|6|-| +0 \/1z \X/1z, 0\/3|2." The stuffy voice muffed.

"\/1z \X/1z |-|3|23. +@|263+ 1$ |\/|1|<3 0$(@|2 |\|0\/3|\/||}3|2 3(|-|0, 0\/3|2." The sleazy voice slurred.

"|=|_|(|< +|-|@+ $|-|1+. 0\/3|2." Said the stuffy voice muffed.

"|*@+(|-|1|\|6 1+ +|-||20|_|6|-| +0 1|\|[)1@, 0\/3|2." Said the cheesy voice. "1|\|[)1@, \X/3 |-|@\/3 $0|\/|3 |23@| |}@[) $|-|1+ 601|\| 0|\| [)0\X/|\| 1|\| +|-|3 |-|00[), [)16 1+, `/0? 0\/3|2."

The voices vanished from the comm., and the alarms stopped. Two minutes later, a new voice spoke up over the comm.

".....WHAT?"

"|2063|2 +|-|@+ 1|\|[)1@. \/1z \X/1z, |-|`/|*3|2|}0|3, \X/|-|@+ [)0 \X/3 |-|@\/3, 0\/3|2?" Said the cheesy voice.

"WAIT! NO! Aw damnit..."

***

Far far away, an administrator looked at the report.

"1|\|[)1@, |23|*0|2+$ 1|\|[)1(@+3 +|-|@+ @ |23@| j@(|<3[) |_||* |\/|0+|-|3|2 |-|@$ 60|\|3 |=|20|\/| $|_|(|< +0 |}|0\X/, |\|0+ \X/0|\|[)3|2|}@|2 |1|<3. |\|0+ \X/0|\|[)3|2|}@|2 |1|<3 @+ @||. \X/3 \X/0|_||[) @[)\/1$3 63++1|\|6 (`/|\|1( +0 60 +0 +@|\|60 |=0><+|20+ @|\|[) |*0|* @ (@|* 1|\| |-|1|\/|. +@|263+ 1$ |\/|1|<3 0$(@|2 |\|0\/3|\/||}3|2 3(|-|0, $0 61\/3 |-|1|\/| +|-|3 |=|_||| |2|_||\|. |=@1+|-| |}@$3[), 0|= (0|_||2$3. |\|0 |\|33[) +0 \X/@$+3 |\/|0|\|3`/ 0|\| 0|' (0|0|\|3| (|_|$+@|2[). ||_||z."

The administrator face-palmed. "God damned [censored] nerdy |\|00|}$." He muttered.

***

The darkness exploded and light entered the scene as Commander Cynic lit his pretzel stick. You see, that was the cool thing about cigars. So dramatic when used at the right time. Cynic didn't really like the health issues though, so he used pretzel sticks instead. Healthier, tastier, and a lot cheaper. Nobody could even tell unless they were at point blank range.

The dramatic effect was entirely ruined when the stick bounced off his faceplate. There was a pause as the world snickered. Gathering his dignity, Cynic spoke.

"You boys are big trouble." He said. This was true, as all of his opponents were over forty feet tall. They were alien gods from another dimension. They were GOOD at being tall. And trouble.

"Take us to your Alpha-soon-to-be-Omega." The first one demanded in a voice that sounded like paper being laminated. The very power in the words made the planet warble out of its orbit slightly.

"Or we'll death ray laser you in the face." Threatened the second in a voice that sounded like an apple being bitten. Souls screamed in agony at the sound of his voice.

"Cause. You know. Dimensional Alien Gods." The third and final one said in a somewhat embarrassed voice that made suns explode.

"You'll never get pass me and my squad!" Cynic said bravely, if not stupidly.

The third dimensional alien god gave a polite cough that split the skies open and caused acid rain. "Not to ruin the moment, but when you say your squad, are you referring to the trashed bots around you?"

Cynic ignored the remains of his bots. "Yes." He said in a voice completely devoid of sanity.

"Oh. Just checking." The dimensional alien god said, making several tornadoes and lightning strikes occur.

"I am getting bored. May I please shoot the human filth in the face with a death laser ray?" The second one asked his companions, causing a quick series of earthquakes as he spoke.

"Wasn't it a death ray laser before?" Inquired the first, causing several random explosions with its mere words.

"I changed it. It's not like I can't rename it." The second one said in a wounded voice that shattered the very fabric of the universe.

"Cause, you know. Dimensional alien gods." The third one added in a voice that made fear manifest.

"Oh. Right then." The first one said. The nearest structure to the creature collapse and imploded.

"I will resist you to the end!" Cynic roared, clenching his fists.

"Drunk." All three dimensional alien gods said simultaneously. The moon started to fall from the sky.

"AM NOT." Cynic said defiantly. The dimensional alien gods shrugged, which caused volcanoes to form and erupt, and then crushed Cynic by snipping off their toenails.

Cause. You know. Dimensional Alien Gods.

***

Now NORMALLY, there would be events between NOW and THEN that would lead to Cynic and his squad appearing in our blissful little hell on Earth. But, as it were, the story is very delicate and needs to be woven CORRECTLY. So his story before this one shall be told as this one progresses. That is all.

"God damnit I entirely screwed THAT narration up." Bwerp said angrily. "*HEADDESK*"

***

There was a sudden popping noise behind Scirocco. Turning around, he would find Commander Cynic on his [censored] after falling out of the portal that had been there not a moment ago.

"Ow." The man grumbled as he got up slowly. Noticing Scirocco and Jake, he straightened.

"Oh. Hello there, would this be the...Archnos...Arcnows...AHA! Arachnos base?"

Sorry, but I pretty much ONLY read Pratchett. You'll need to enlighten me there. Who would Aeron Williams be?

How far have you read? There IS original material in it.

It was a dark and stormy night. Such nights cropped up nine times out of ten. Sometimes even eleven times out of ten. Really, what were you expecting? Something NOVEL? Didn’t you even bother reading the first post, heathen?

What? OH! Right! *Ahem.*

It was a dark and stormy night in the city of Wophalley. A city whose name was produced by an online name generator, because all the good Pop Culture references are already taken. The name of the city is subject to change.

Before diving directly into our tale, a brief description would be appropriate. (Brief. You keep on thinking that.)

The city of Straypufton is visible from space as a dark grey blotch on the Earth, closely resembling a giant dirty and disarrayed sock. When I say that all roads lead to Pararific, I am lying. All roads lead AWAY from it. People just tend to walk in the wrong direction and ignore all the warning signs. The city itself is not actually built on solid ground, but rather on the surface of what TECHNICALLY qualifies as a lake. Don’t worry, something that has passed through THAT MANY kidneys HAS to be pure and healthy. Just don’t try to go fishing. You’d have to jump up and down on the hook just to get it a few inches in. Also, in Soviet Ricefrancrisco, Fish catches YOU.

The city itself spans a few dozen miles in every direction. A few hundred thousand if you count the seemingly endless dark alleyways. The local population is made of ‘bloody peasants,’ who don’t mind a good brawl, or a nice revolution for that matter. To date, the city has been burnt down and rebuilt seven hundred and fifty two times, and the longest term in office record is currently held by the current ruler, a self-proclaimed god by the name of Bwerp. He keeps this title by killing lots of people. He keeps the population nice and large by having large trees grown in special street containers. Whenever he is running short on civilians, he just says, “At last, peace and quiet.” Then more people magically, automatically, and literally climb out of the woodworks to invade (or ‘inhabit,’ to be polite) the city. Bwerp himself is not a bad or unfair ruler. He believes in equality. Some people just have more of it than others.

Of course, every benevolent (despotic) ruler needs a way to keep up the peace. (Carnage.) Bwerp does this with the Bigwig city watch. This is just a façade filled with cardboard mannequins, because Bwerp takes the old saying, ‘Who watches the watchman?” very seriously. The actual power behind the [u]Almost Gold Brass Décor™[u] throne is the Humbawumba secret city watch. Smartasses who ask, “Who watches the watchers who watch the watchmen?” are shot. Then fed to the land dwelling fish population, just in case.

The current commander of the Jingyfizz secret city watch is a sad [censored] by the name of Cynic. Some like to stick ‘Commander’ in front of his name, but ‘Colonel Custard’ would be more appropriate. This is his story.

We zoom in on him, staring at the wall in his grey stone office while sitting on his metal chair at his black wooden desk in the secret city watch house.

“[censored] you too.” Cynic growled at seemingly nobody. “Stop playing dumb, and please drop the narration.

Not a chance.

Little did he know…

“Ah damnit…”

He was going to go on a wild adventure.

The Commander immediately hit the red alarm button on his desk, dashed out the door at surprising speed, and rushed down the grey hallway. “BATTLE STATIONS!” He roared. “WE’RE BEING LED BY AN UNKNOWN PLOT ELEMENT!”

Alarm klaxons rang throughout the station.

“NO [censored] SHERLOCK!” Roared Cynic at nothing in general. He smashed open a pair of doors at the end of the hallway, entering the emergency surveillance/escape room. Dozens of monitors lined the walls, observing various parts of the city. A central pillar with ports in it allowed for robotic or cybernetic connection for complete visual superiority. Currently, a Special Tactical Utility Drone by the name of Thinker was hooked into the pillar.

“Commander, I have a lock! [censored] crazy [censored] in the commercial district!” The drone shouted over the klaxons as Cynic entered.

Another S.T.U.D. by the name of Spell was at a nearby panel, powering up the escape pods.

“PODS ARE ONLINE! EVERYONE IN!”

Cynic dived into his pod, the door slamming shut behind him. Thinker yanked his nanite cord out of the central pillar, tromped across the room, and dived into his pod, followed shortly by Spell.

The door leading into the surveillance room blew open again as three Standard Assault Drones entered the room.

“But what about my pencil?” The drone called Drumknot whined.

“Screw the pencil, you would have lost it just by crossing the room anyway.” Karn, the second S.A.D. replied.

The final drone, known as 5M311Y, remained silent. The duck sitting on top of his head went “Quack.” Nobody noticed it. The doors for their escape pod slammed shut as they all dived in.

“Where is Realist.”Cynic growled over the com. It wasn’t a question. Thunderous footfalls replied, and several monitors exploded as the wall behind them caved in and a Big Assault Drone for Advanced Surgical Strikes smashed through. “Right here sir.” Realist the…Oh come on, do you REALLY need me to spell it out for you?

“It’s started to break the otherside of the fourth wall!” Thinker exclaimed.

“[censored]! Realist, there, a minute ago, bye!” Cynic shouted before hitting the launch button.

Realist made a very good shot for his escape pod. He really did. He missed. This did not hold back the Commander though, because he then he hit the remote detonator.

Realist blasted through the escape pod hole, flying after the launched craft. The watch house exploded behind him as the emergency contamination containment procedure engaged and blew everything apart with a small thermonuclear blast. The assault bot quickly caught up with his pod and latched onto it with his magnetic clamps, barely escaping the reach of the blast.

“Clean up crew will be here soon, our job is done.” Cynic said triumphantly. Spell secretly ticked off another mental box in his mind.

‘Another square mile of the city blown up. Another square mile of the city reserved to be blown up at a later date. Calculated X square miles blown up. SUCCESS!’

“Thinker, specs on our diversion target.” The Commander ordered over the com.

“Our target is ‘Destined One.’” The S.T.U.D. answered.

“Destined One.” Commander Cynic repeated.

“Did I stutter, Commander?” Thinker replied innocently.

“Lemme guess.” Cynic sighed. “Abandoned in the woods. Doesn’t know who his parents are. Found a mysterious sword. Raised by X exotic race. Came to the big city. Sells cabbages or straw.”

“Close. He found a BFG instead of a mystery sword.” Thinker said. “And he was raised by his own race.”

“Oh. Good.” Cynic said with a considerable amount of relief as the four escape pods zoomed across the sky. “That means he won’t have any handy foreign fighting abilities.”

“He was raised by Ghost Living Bazooka Whales.” Thinker supplied.

The Commander formed a sentence constructed entirely of expletives, which was thankfully censored quite neatly by this line of text here. He was cut off after four minutes, because the pods had homed in on their target and landed. The pods flattened four city blocks with their impact. The pressure doors popped, Cynic and his bots piling out onto what remained on the street. Hundreds of bowled-over pedestrians gazed, completely awe-struck by the entrance.

“What, no neon?” One said suddenly. “What about CGI?” Asked another. “Fakest costumes ever.” “Sucks.” “Pie.” “I hate pie.” “WHAT?” “Ahhh…Put down the…” “HE HATES PIE! KILL HIM!”

All the citizens leapt up and descended upon the pie hater. Except for ONE…

He was a rather ordinary looking chap wearing a maroon cap, a bright pink suit, and green pants. He was Whistling Dixie.

“GET HIM!” Spell roared. “IT’S DESTINED ONE!”

“You will never catch the man on the lam!” Destined One cried out, sprouting a pair of rockets from his ears and flying off.

“WILL TOO! GET BACK HERE!” Karn shouted after him. Each bot activated their anti-grav generators and pursued him. Cynic, however, didn’t do anything of the sort. He simply got up, brushed off his trench coat, took out a cigar, lit it, and took a big puff on it.

Or at least tried to. It bounced right off his helmet’s faceplate. “Mother [censored].” He snarled. The entire dramatic effect had been ruined.

“Any more lines for the front page, good sir?” Said a voice from behind. Cynic face palmed, and turned around slowly, taking very deep breaths and thinking happy thoughts.

Standing before him was a little tweedy man wearing a green sweater with a brown undershirt and black pants, with a pair of almost-but-not-quite full moon spectacles. There was a large mustache that twirled away from beneath his nose, spiraled down, and wrapped around his neck. He had a Mohawk. His name was Thing 1, and it did not having anything to do with the Bat on a Mat.

*Snap* Went his camera as it caught a nice view of the Commander’s faceplate smudged over with cigar crap. “Commander Cynic of the Anchovypallet Secret City Watch runs amok in the Commercial District.” Thing 1 said in his sleazy voice. It sounded like a bat with Mushrooms growing on its back mating with a Gummy Bear six hundred times its size. “Just give me a few good poses, eh chappy?”

Cynic counted very slowly to ten. Or at least he tried to. A good portion of the area immediately behind him erupted in flames as Destined One blasted it with the BFG he had just pulled out of his [censored]. The six bots flew around at ludicrous speeds, shooting at the man with lazers, (Authentic! You can tell because it’s spelled with a Z!) photon bolts, Oblivion rays, bolts of concentrated force, rockets, plasma, et cetera, et cetera. This tore up everything within a fifty yard radius of Destined One, and unfortunately, the friendly fire option was turned ON today.

Thing 1 got an excellent snap of Cynic looking rather pissed while being framed by an enormous explosion of light and fire.

“I’ll deal with you later.” Cynic growled. He put the photography inside a detention sphere using the Faith-Based crystal in his helmet. For his ‘protection.’ The Commander made a very smooth turn to proceed to the fight, and tripped over his own coat tail and fell face first into a pile of pig liver that had materialized out of thin air. ([censored] happens. Especially in the city of Frockpocket.) He heard the soft snap of a picture being taken.

’Some days it just does NOT pay to get out of bed. Cynic thought to himself, ignoring his subconscious which was currently thinking, ’Wait…I have a bed?’

***

Two hours later, after having a very nice time flying around the city, visiting exotic locations such as the Nuclear power plant, the experimental industrial district, the marketplace, and the economic district, (and by ‘visiting,’ I of course mean ‘completely obliterating.’) Destined One found himself without any more Swedish caffeine tablets to throw at his opponents, and was cornered. Well, sort of. A bit. In the center of the city square. With dozens of perfect escape routes…

He was hoisting his BFG, destroying everything in a hemispherical cone in front of him, humming a tuneless song amid the sound of the air being rent by enough destructive firepower to make a cow look mildly concerned.

Cynic and his group of bots were taking cover behind the very convenient seemingly indestructible rock at the edge of the square which somehow stopped the output of the BFG, occasionally taking pot-shots at Destined One. Then they got into trouble.

“Uh…Commander…” Spell began.

“WHAT.” Menaced Cynic. Not many people can Menaced when they speak. VERY hard to do. And, of course, it wasn’t a question. The Commander was very stressed.

“Er…Our energy crystals are actually out of charge.” Spell said sheepishly.

***

A white flag was suddenly thrown out from behind the rock. It was immediately shredded into trillions of bits and blasted into the sixteen and a half winds before Destined One even noticed it.

***

“Ok, let’s try that AGAIN…” Cynic said, gritting his teeth.

***

Four white flags later…

***

“Ok, here’s an idea.” Cynic said.

***

Thing 1, having just gotten out of his detention bubble, heard the cries from Heaven.

“HEY LOOKIT, THE POLICE ARE GETTING TRASHED!”

***

“Record time.” Thinker remarked as Thing 1 rounded the corner and made a bee-line for them, seeming to dodge every bullet by complete coincidence. Which, it actually was. You see, photographers are so stupid that they are not aware of anything not directly in front of them, and even then, not unless it is being directly projected AT them. Hence, they automatically apply for the ‘Running people immune to bullets’ law of the universe.

But the law is fragile.

“HEY THING!” Cynic roared over the noise of the destruction. “YOU’RE BEING SHOT AT!”

Thing 1 immediately noticed his surroundings and crashed to the ground, blubbering like a little girl with his [censored] sticking straight in the polluted air, which sat down, decided that Thing 1’s [censored] was a bit too unclean even for IT, and left. The photographer was unfortunately spared from slaughter by a newly placed detention sphere around him. He noticed this after a few seconds and got right back up, and immediately started to take pictures of Destined one and his BFG. (He would be disappointed later to find out the glare from the nozzle obscured the entire image.) This resulted in the very small change of aiming, and therefore the change in the area of space covered by the cone of destruction.

Cynic used the opportunity to run out into the open with a white flag waving. “HEY! DESTINED ONE!” He shouted.

Destined One stopped humming, and lowered his BFG. He had SOME moral codes. (Don’t attack an enemy until you figure out what they have. He did not know what a white flag meant.)

“WE ARE GIVING YOU A CHANCE TO SURRENDER!” Cynic shouted. “IF YOU DO NOT CEASE, DESIST, AND GIVE YOURSELF UP, WE WILL BE FORCED TO PUT YOU DOWN WITH OUR ULTIMATE WEAPON!”

Destined One seemed to consider this.

“Think he’ll buy it?” Karn whispered.

“Don’t hold your breath.” Realist rumbled quietly.

“What breath?” Karn said quizzically. Realist just shook his metallic head slowly.

“Quack.” Went the Duck atop 5M311Y’s head. Nobody noticed it.

“I think you’re bluffing.” Destined One declared, grinning and raising his BFG.

“AHA! BUT WE ARE NOT!” Cynic roared in triumph. “Say you are invincible and therefore bring about your doom!”

Destined One raised an eyebrow.

“I AM Invincible!” He shouted.

“That’s a wrap boys.” Cynic said smugly.

A genuine, completely authentic titanium block suddenly fell from the atmosphere and smashed Destined One in the head.

“And thus, the invincible are brought low by the only force stronger than themselves.” Cynic said smugly, approaching the fallen warrior, bots in tow.

“Gigantic blocks of solid titanium dropped on their heads from the atmosphere?” 5M311Y suggested.

“HELL NO.” Cynic snarled. “The long arm of the law, of course.”

“QuackBullQuackShQuackit.” Went the duck atop 5M311Y’s head. Nobody noticed it.

“How the mighty have fallen.” Cynic declared over the body of Destined One. He spat.

“Commander, did you just spit inside your own helmet?” Spell asked innocently.

“Of course not. Just getting a better look.” Cynic lied, ignoring the dribble of spit pooling at the neckline of his helmet.

Sandpaper. Said a large booming voice.

“Oh bugger.” Cynic said, turning around to see a very pissed off, but more importantly, VERY LARGE Bwerp standing behind him. The entity was a good fifty feet tall, and was made entirely of aluminum foil. It had a very crumpled body, the only smooth detail being its face. Which was made of Godiva boxes.

Why is there a FISHHOOK in the PIZZA? Why is there SALTPETER in the CIGAR? The giant god demanded.

“Oh, well, you see my lord…” Spell started immediately, being the ‘smart’ member of the group. “We got a LITTLE carried away…” That didn’t mean he was actually smart. “…While chasing an otherwise innocent bystander…” Or subtle for that matter. “…Who went on a rampage, gave us a good thrashing, and wrecked everything in the process.” Or tact.

Bwerp’s sneaker shoe eyes seemed to be melting. Not a good sign. Spell decided to shut up. For once, there was total silence.

”Well done. Bwerp eventually said.

More silence.

”Moar Sighlense.” Bwerp sighed. “How droll. Now then, I must award you all appropriately.

Every member of the group visibly started to sweat. Even the bots. All except the Duck. It sweated onions. REAL ONIONS! Made with REAL ONIONSTUFF! Nobody noticed it.

”Or rather, just you Commander Cynic. You ARE the commander, and therefore responsible for everything, after all.” Bwerp carried on.

A five foot area of empty space suddenly surrounded Cynic.

“Mother [censored].” He swore. *Snap* went a camera.

”I would like to inform you that this was a Good Deed you have done today, Cynic.” Bwerp said in a voice that was not unkind in the same way a cat did not like to torture small trapped rats. Some of them don’t surprising, which kinda undoes the statement bu-

”SHUT UP NARRATOR. Bwerp said gruffly to the sky. He looked back down to Cynic.

“A Good Deed?” Cynic asked nervously. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

”Yes. And as you know, No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.” Bwerp said in a rather smug voice. ”I think I’ll make you attend the Annual Bowdecks Masquerade Ball in my stead. Finding a mask that’ll fit me is a real [censored].”

End of Ma-

“Oh no you don’t. I’m not finished yet.” Bwerp growled at the Narrator, who quaked in his boots at the thought of his own creation going rogue. So, completely ignoring the futile and pathetic pleas…

”HEY!

END OF MASK 1.

”Mask 1? Makes no [censored] sense.”

Bwerp then claimed he was invincible.

”What? What are yo-Wait-“

A solid titanium block fell out of the sky, hit Bwerp on the head, and made him crumple up like a rag doll. Nobody else found the need to comment.

END OF MASK 1.

The Narrator then checked to make sure there were no more interruptions or objections. Finding none, he left.

For what is a Masquerade without Masks?


1: Mask of Good Deeds (Post #4)

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade!
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you!

Masquerade!
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!

Flash of mauve . . .
Splash of puce . . .
Fool and king . . .
Ghoul and goose . . .
Green and black . . .
Queen and priest . . .
Trace of rouge . . .
Face of beast . . .

Faces . . .
Take your turn, take a ride
on the merry-go-round . . .
in an inhuman race . . .

Eye of gold . . .
Thigh of blue . . .
True is false . . .
Who is who . . .?
Curl of lip . . .
Swirl of gown . . .
Ace of hearts . . .
Face of clown . . .

Faces . . .
Drink it in, drink it up,
till you've drowned
in the light . . .
in the sound . . .

Masquerade!
Grinning yellows,
spinning reds . . .
Masquerade!
Take your fill -
let the spectacle
astound you!

Masquerade!
Burning glances,
turning heads . . .
Masquerade!
Stop and stare
at the sea of smiles
around you!

Masquerade!
Seething shadows
breathing lies . . .
Masquerade!
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you!

Masquerade!
Leering satyrs,
peering eyes . . .
Masquerade!
Run and hide -
but a face will
still pursue you!

Masquerade!
Masquerade!
[u]MASQUERADE![u]

Welcome to the Masquerade Universe. Here we have a great many stories to tell about many people, many places, and many things. Before we go there though, let’s lay out some ground rules:

Don’t Disturb the Frogs.
Don’t Disturb the Frogs.
Don’t Disturb the Frogs.
Don’t Disturb the Frogs.
You really should not Disturb the Frogs.
Disturbing the Frogs is not advisable.
You should, under no circumstances, Disturb the Frogs.
You should do the opposite of Disturbing the Frogs. That would be NOT Disturbing them.
Disturbing the Frogs. Not a good idea.
No Disturbing of Frogs.
This is an official No-Disturbing-of-Frogs-Zone.
Do not Disturb the Frogs.

You should not read this without some form of protection: All entities in this realm have shown the ability to break the fourth wall. If you want your identity to remain anonymous, please use protection before viewing.

Those who suffer from nostalgia should not read any of the adventures described within. There are unhealthy dosages of cliché and old school written here. This is a joke. But seriously now, I mean it. Possibly.

It is advised that if you have no tolerance for Cowbell, you should leave now.

Do not ever Disturb the Frogs.

If you have never thought of strangling your computer, you have no place here. Get out.

*Editors Note* The writer is subject to the will of the characters. Please read between the lines here.

Don’t EVER Disturb the Frogs.

Apparently, listening to the Ocean is quite soothing. Why don’t you go do that?

Disturb the Frogs at your own Peril.

You have been warned.

That which is suggested, and that which is merely hinted at, is a thousand times more terrifying than what certainly is.

At this time, you may reveal which Option you picked.

There will honestly be no consequences whatsoever for not picking Option: 1.

*Hides Bwerp Hammer behind back*

Hello heathens of the RP forums! I come bearing the gift of concealing darkness!

.....That didn't come out quite right.....

Anyways. I am here to help you escape the painfully REAL world of...Well...The world.

Actually, it's not really that real when you think about it. Really, there are only two things that are 'Real.' One is the Great Omega and the other one is your payment of the stuff which is green and folds to your goverment.

>.< I keep getting off-topic...

Ok, [censored] it. CONVERT TO BWERP. NOW. There are many benifits!

First off, you never have to attend church. Or pray. All you need to do is aknowledge that sanity really truely sucks. Members of Bwerp get a free Bwerp toothpick, a free package filled with styro foam, some eggplants, and a trained invisible and intangible duck that will sit on your head.

The procedure is simple, and (almost) painless. I simply heft my big hammer of Bwerpness here and crack you over the head with it. Hopefully you'll be knocked out instantaneously, and you will not have to worry about the pain at all. When you wake up, you may notice the bruise the size of an egg on your head. Ignore it, that is a figment of your imagination.

Select one of the following.


(Pick this one)----->Option 1: Yes! I wish to become Bwerp! I will await you in my dreams and become one with the bliss that is Bwerp! <-----(Pick this one)

Option 2: I see potential in Bwerp, but do not wish to become one with the Bwerp due to personal conflicts in my life at this time. I will dial (202) 456-1414 and ask for guidance on how to solve this conflict, either through extreme violence or through insane gory violence that can only be generated through the use of CGI.

Option 3: Your ideas are ridiculous. I will dial 0107-095-295-9051 and repeat that.

Option 4: You are an unholy heathen. You will burn in hell like the heretic you are. I will dial 011-39-6-6982 and repeat that.

Option 5: I am going to hunt you down and kill you. I will dial the number in option 2 and repeat that. I will then dial (713) 483-3111 and ask for help.

I think it would be funny if Devious ever got ahold of him.