Sooner

All DAY Thursday? That must be some maintenance! Kinda wish that wasn't my only day off this week.

Have you voted for Froggy today?

Ah, MI, I don't think it's impossible. I've done it "straight" before... just... not really all that fun.

But, I'll come help.

I was just discussing this subject with Ice9 the other night...

The web means the end of forgetting - link to the original NY times article.



Four years ago, Stacy Snyder, then a 25-year-old teacher in training at Conestoga Valley High School in Lancaster, Pa., posted a photo on her MySpace page that showed her at a party wearing a pirate hat and drinking from a plastic cup, with the caption “Drunken Pirate.” After discovering the page, her supervisor at the high school told her the photo was “unprofessional,” and the dean of Millersville University School of Education, where Snyder was enrolled, said she was promoting drinking in virtual view of her under-age students. As a result, days before Snyder’s scheduled graduation, the university denied her a teaching degree. Snyder sued, arguing that the university had violated her First Amendment rights by penalizing her for her (perfectly legal) after-hours behavior. But in 2008, a federal district judge rejected the claim, saying that because Snyder was a public employee whose photo didn’t relate to matters of public concern, her “Drunken Pirate” post was not protected speech.
Ask the Experts

Michael Fertik, founder of ReputationDefender, and Paul Ohm, a law professor at the University of Colorado, take reader questions on Internet privacy on the Bits Blog.

When historians of the future look back on the perils of the early digital age, Stacy Snyder may well be an icon. The problem she faced is only one example of a challenge that, in big and small ways, is confronting millions of people around the globe: how best to live our lives in a world where the Internet records everything and forgets nothing — where every online photo, status update, Twitter post and blog entry by and about us can be stored forever. With Web sites like LOL Facebook Moments, which collects and shares embarrassing personal revelations from Facebook users, ill-advised photos and online chatter are coming back to haunt people months or years after the fact. Examples are proliferating daily: there was the 16-year-old British girl who was fired from her office job for complaining on Facebook, “I’m so totally bored!!”; there was the 66-year-old Canadian psychotherapist who tried to enter the United States but was turned away at the border — and barred permanently from visiting the country — after a border guard’s Internet search found that the therapist had written an article in a philosophy journal describing his experiments 30 years ago with L.S.D.

According to a recent survey by Microsoft, 75 percent of U.S. recruiters and human-resource professionals report that their companies require them to do online research about candidates, and many use a range of sites when scrutinizing applicants — including search engines, social-networking sites, photo- and video-sharing sites, personal Web sites and blogs, Twitter and online-gaming sites. Seventy percent of U.S. recruiters report that they have rejected candidates because of information found online, like photos and discussion-board conversations and membership in controversial groups.

Technological advances, of course, have often presented new threats to privacy. In 1890, in perhaps the most famous article on privacy ever written, Samuel Warren and Louis Brandeis complained that because of new technology — like the Kodak camera and the tabloid press — “gossip is no longer the resource of the idle and of the vicious but has become a trade.” But the mild society gossip of the Gilded Age pales before the volume of revelations contained in the photos, video and chatter on social-media sites and elsewhere across the Internet. Facebook, which surpassed MySpace in 2008 as the largest social-networking site, now has nearly 500 million members, or 22 percent of all Internet users, who spend more than 500 billion minutes a month on the site. Facebook users share more than 25 billion pieces of content each month (including news stories, blog posts and photos), and the average user creates 70 pieces of content a month. There are more than 100 million registered Twitter users, and the Library of Congress recently announced that it will be acquiring — and permanently storing — the entire archive of public Twitter posts since 2006.

I wonder if Crey REALLY thinks he's dead, or if that's a piece of disinformation.

Also, I wonder where that picture went.

Don't forget to vote!

Good stuff, Frosty.

I loved the fight scene.

IF we could please try to come in with a new post before nearly two months have gone by, that'd be great!

I don't believe in complaining about presents.

Thanks, guys!

Ah... Protector... always responds to negativity with a "Say something nice" thread!

A couple things I meant to mention, but it was late last night and I forgot....

I was asked recently if the events between Trix and Conall in epilogue were influenced by forum comments. The answer to that is "no."

This story was written in a really odd way. With everything else I've written, I've been writing and posting sequentially. In other words, usually, I finish part 2 before I write part 3, before I write part 4....

For reasons I don't fully understand... I jumped ahead and wrote several scenes from the end before I had even started posting. That scene with Trix "negotiating" with Conall is more than 18 months old. Details have changed since I first wrote it... but that has always been where this was going. ...it just occured to me that the very very dark nature of some of those scenes - Conall killing Cerise was written at about the same time - may reflect some of the real life stressors I was experiencing then.

Then, the nature of the 3-way storyline in part two also caused me to write things out of order. I had the entirety of the storyline I called "The redemption of Six-Four" in a separate file, and the Vir storyline, creatively titled "Micheal and Seamus" in its own file as well, while the main storyline continued in its own file. Then one day, I sat down with friggin note cards and started sorting it out. Conall was a problem... he had to be in too many places at once. I spent a couple hours shuffling note cards until I figured out how to get everyone where I needed them to be at the right time.

Then of course, the delay in Going Rogue threw a wrench into the works. I know Hulkers in particular encourages me not to be a slave to the reality of the game... but it was important to me that the story reflect the Praetoria we were all going to be experiencing. When it became clear that I couldn't have what I wanted, my choices were to make a guess, and be unhappy if it was wrong, delay the entire story, or leave Vir et al in a "to be continued" state. It was with some regret, I chose the third option.... I had intended to have Vir meet the Praetorian version of Cydney Nation and learn from her how her ancestors had handled the problem with Ciara - I'll just say.. .they did it differently. But, that information was going to provide a final clue on how to defeat the demon. Ah well...

Oh! And I think I mentioned somewhere that there was a reason that Vir's team wasn't filled out, but I didn't want to say why at the time. The reason was that by that time, I knew I wasn't going to be finishing that story right away. I wasn't sure if Ice was going to try to write it rather than me - and for that reason I didn't want to lock either of us into the membership of the full team.

In this story, the main thing that was influenced by reader comments was Six-Four's storyline. There was more discussion - some of it heated - over Six-Fours actions way back in Choices than almost anything else. And much of it centered on the reaction of the Ghosts. Six-Four's storyline was really born from those forum comments - a chance to show that Six regrets his actions and has not just learned and grown from them, but believes in what he's learned enough to try to instill his new values on a younger generation of heroes. I hope that this redeems Six at least a little in the eyes of those unhappy with him previously.

Anyway....

Yes, the next story is already in the planning stages, and it will focus heavily on Conall/Ruadh, both his past and future. The subject of the spies within the Ghosts and the Shades will be revisited. Actually... there's a whole bunch of dangling threads that may get pulled into this next story.

Anyway... thanks to everyone who read this. It was great fun to work on.

I didn’t initially reply to Silas because others far more eloquent than I expressed themselves quite clearly.

It’s no secret that I am passionate about this server, but I didn’t see the point of further inflaming a bonfire.

Grey, your original request for restraint was a good thought... but it was really futile. Silas could not have made a worse choice for how to express himself... it was inevitable that we would strike back. It is the one downfall of making grand gestures and pronouncements - you forget that people will RESPOND.

I guess, for me, I was also reluctant to respond to Silas because I knew what he meant - which was something quite different from what he said.

I remember Silas when he first popped onto Protector. I assumed at the time that he was just young, but since he doesn’t seem to have... ah... matured since then, perhaps youth wasn’t the original problem.

Silas saw the friendships we have here, some that have taken literally years to form, and he want to be instantly accepted, he wanted to be one of the people that everyone listens to and greets happily, without realizing that every one of those people was once the new kid and that they had to get to know people before they achieved their “status” - for lack of a better word. I actually talked to him many many times, telling him that it takes time... just settle down and give people a chance to accept him. But like anyone too overeager, his anxious need for instant acceptance and popularity put people off, like a muddy great dane puppy jumping up on your work clothes. No amount of reassurance that he should just give it time helped, and then he was gone, convinced that it wasn’t him or anything he’d done, it was us.

He’s reappeared a few times since then, obviously hoping for a chorus of “Yay! You’re back! We missed you!” Unfortunately, either people don’t remember him at all, or remember the previous drama. Either way, he never got the response he wanted.

A few days ago, we got another “I’m back!”... to which he got no response at all. And that is likely what prompted his surprise attack here.

His comment, however, inflammatory and poorly thought out, really just meant, “I’m hurt that I couldn’t figure out how to be instantly accepted as one of the most well-liked and respected members of this community, therefor I am lashing out at you.”

There’s a lot of ways he could have tried to handle his issues, but launching a salvo of Trident missiles at us was not the way to go, and of COURSE people reacted. Of COURSE they did.

I have said many times, and I will continue to say it, that all you have to do to be accepted on this server is “Participate and don’t be an ***.” I suppose, now that I consider the tragic story of Silas, I should add, “...and give it some time.”

Froggy really needs us!

Get out that vote.

...........................


I have to give immense thanks to Ice9 and Major T for all their help. For enduring me pestering them endlessly, for generously allowing me the use of their characters, for trusting me to care for them...

Witchfrost, Bamahulk, and on occassion MI have been great help as well.

Ice, especially... thank you for trusting me when I told you what I wanted to do to Conall. I hope you are happy with the end result.

And thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment. I don't even have words for how much that means to me.

And.... DONE!

Last post. I'm finished... I can't believe... I'm finished.

Epilogue concludes

Trix's lair
Trix cowed in completely unfeigned fear as she watched Conall writhe under some unknown attack. Her eyes widened till she thought they might pop out of her head.

Conall dropped to his knees, his hands and arms stretched out to his sides, his head back, his cries directed at the ceiling high overhead. His body arched back with the strain. She moaned in terror when she saw tiny cracks starting at the tips of his horns and then spread in a web over the entire surface. The deep ebon surface of his horns faded to a colorless, dirty grey before they crumbled to dust. The cracks continued, now skating over the surface of his skin. The cracks raced over his body, and even as they raced lower, the tiny cracks at the crown of his head began to spread wider and bleed. The skin, its deep vibrant red fading, began to slough off in chunks and pieces. His hands lifted up, his palms toward the high ceiling overhead, and the claws tipping his fingers crumbled and fell away. The red skin on his fingers began to peel back and pull away from the flesh underneath.

Trix screamed when his wings, flaring high over his body began to wither and crack. The membranous skin curled up, split, and then crumbled, leaving just the skeletal frame of his once powerful wings. As he arched even further, the frail and dry remains of his wings cracked where they once melded into his back. The bones turned grey and fell to the floor, striking and breaking into hundreds of tiny pieces with a crash like breaking glass. He tossed his head and struggled to his feet, but fell again when the claws on his feet broke off one by one. He tumbled forward, landing hard on his hands and knees. His barbed tail crumbled away and the skin of his legs split and cracked. When the last of his red skin fell away, he cried out hoarsely again and collapsed.

"C- Conall?" Trix called softly. She would try to help him if she had any idea what was happening to him. Or aid whatever force was killing him, if she had any idea what it was doing.

He stirred and pushed to his feet. He was covered with blood and gore, a monstrosity that could not possibly live. He stumbled and lifted his hands, staring in horror at his skinless flesh. She lifted her hand as if to heal him, then put it down again. The idea of "healing" was ludicrous in the face of what had happened to him.

His eyes lifted to hers, but before he could even try to speak, he cried out hoarsely again. His body straightened and he flung out his arms, arching back as he lifted into the air and hung there suspended. As he did, bright golden white light erupted from within his body. The bloody mess burst away in a cloud of dust. Trix blinked, her eyes adjusting after the bright flash, and then she cowered into an even tighter ball, trying to disappear behind her wings.

Conall in all his fury was terrifying but to a demon of any sort an angelic principality glowing with his full power and might was even worse. She peered over her wings at him, her eyes wide, her body quaking. He was beautiful. His skin was a pale human color, his face smooth and even and perfect, his eyes pure white, innocent of iris or pupil, his body strong and powerful. Crystalline spikes swirled up his legs and arms, wrapping to his knees and shoulders, in the traditional armor and weaponry of a guardian angel. It was thickly clustered around his wrists to form a fearsome natural weaponry. His wings were a majestic glory of feathers of the purest white. And even with all the changes, it was clearly still Conall. She could still see Conall Cian in the face of the angel.

For the first time in as long as she'd known him, she saw genuine happiness on that face. He flung back his head and laughed with true joy, his wings spread wide and high, each individual shimmering feather reaching out to catch the air. He took one wing stroke, lifting into flight, a second and a third. Then he glanced up as if he heard a voice. He flinched just before something unseen grabbed him and flung him down. His body smashed into the ground with an audible crunch. He scrambled to his knees again, his hands reaching up, "No, wait!" he cried out, just before those glorious, beautiful wings erupted into flame, each bright feather crisping and falling away into a wispy curl of ash that dropped to the ground and dissipated into the air. The flames washed over him in a furious roar and then were gone. Almost before he had a chance to scream with either denial or pain, the wings were gone, his skin had been burned a deep, shimmering onyx black and even the shimmering crystals growing from his wrists and ankles were a dull matte blue-black.

He groaned, he pushed himself to his feet again and lifted a fist, glaring upwards, "I will SHOW you what I'm entitled to wear, my brothers!" he cried.

She didn't want to draw attention to herself, but she couldn't stop herself from whimpering, and his gaze fell on her. "Conall?" she whispered fearfully.

He cocked his head at her, rolled his shoulders, and spoke. "My name is Ruadh." he declared with a fearsome finality.

"What.... are you?" she asked finally.

He laughed suddenly, a harsh bitter sound that bounced off the stone walls surrounding them. "I have not the faintest idea, Excruciatrix." he answered finally. "But I have no need at all for one like yourself anymore. You wanted to be free? Here... here is your freedom. Use it well." He made a casual casting off gesture and she felt the bonds on her will drop away. He somehow made it gentle and not the agony he'd endured. "I have had quite enough of servitude, I think. I no longer desire yours."

"But... I-" she began.

He waved a hand casually and strode towards the single large exit from the lair. He pushed open the heavy stone door as if it weighed nothing at all. "I think, little imp, today is your very lucky day. Yours, and Na'rul's, and the three sisters. I have lost my taste for revenge suddenly." His face grew thoughtful in the sea breeze wafting in through the open door. "But I think Na'rul and I do have a few things to discuss." He stepped through, then turned back to face her. "Good luck to you, Excruciatrix."

And then he was gone.

The epilogue continues

...I think I'm going to rename this part Conall's Terrible, Awful, No-Good, Really Bad Day.

Epilogue continues...

Ciara's former prison
Excruciatrix glanced about the enormous room, her golden eyes checking every shadow to make sure she and Conall were truly alone. A slow smile spread over her face, first curving her lips, then parting them to reveal her needle-sharp fangs. An opportunity like this one might never recur and she did not intend to squander it. He was still injured. In fact, from the odd angle of his left shoulder, he seemed to have acquired a new injury. And still seemed quite immobilized by the chains. It was perfect.

Still skulking in the shadows, she darted to him rock by rock. When she was closer, he spoke, his voice a low growl. "Excruciatrix. I thought you would have fled. Can you free me?"

She smiled, hiding it behind her concerned expression. He hadn't ordered her to do so. "I... can try," she answered. She scurried closer, carefully examining the shackles. It would be easy enough. Just a brief spark of magic into each would open them.

"Where is Arano? Why did he not come to aid me as well?" Conall asked. She could hear pain coloring his voice. It was tantalizing.

She glanced up at him, a sorrowful expression on her face. "Arano is dead. Your enemy Six-Four attacked your home to take back the blonde human. We fought to fend them off, but they were too many and too strong. Arano died on Six-Four's blade."

Conall's eyes closed briefly. "We were friends and allies for a very long time," he said. "I wish you had brought better news." She straightened and met his eyes. "Well, imp... can you release the chains?"

She lifted into the air and hovered before him for a moment. Then she landed on him, softly, her toes on his belly, her left hand on his shoulder. She was tiny and her weight scant, but it was still extra strain on an already injured body. His face twisted, but before he could speak, she cocked her head at him. "The question you should be asking me is, 'Will I?'"

His face darkened, fire began to burn from his eyes. "What game are you playing now, little one? Why should I not just compel you to do so?"

She began to trail one claw over the skin of his chest as if scratching a design there. "I have had plentiful time to discover just how long I can resist one of your commands to me. If you give me such an order before we finish our negotiation, I will resist it long enough to tear out your throat. Then, I am certain that I will release your bleeding corpse exactly as ordered." She bit at her lip. The urge to sink that claw into him was near overwhelming. He would be her masterpiece. She could entertain herself for... months with him. He was strong. He would live for a very long time. But there was so much more to be gained with him than a few months of playing.

"You are starting a very dangerous game, little imp. One I mastered centuries ago. I have many reasons to be grateful to you, so if you stop this now, I will forget this happened."

"I love games," she answered, absently tracing a flower over his heart.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Very well. What is you want?" he growled.

“I want you to release me from servitude. You and I will then work together to become more powerful. I want to take Arano's place in your army. I will assist you when you call, and together we will rule.”

“Arano was my ally for centuries. And you would be his equal?”

“Arano is not here,” she said with an airy gesture. “So, I can do for you what he cannot. I can free you. Or I can kill you. Or I can play with you. Or I can leave you here. But I would prefer to free you and begin our alliance."

"Your deal with me, imp, is that you will free me and in return, I will release you from my service and raise you up to be my right hand."

"That is my deal." she nodded.

"You do not want to ask for more? After all, I am at your mercy. You are bargaining from the stronger position."

"Anything else I want I can take for myself once I am free."

Conall nodded, his expression thoughtful. "You have thought about this, then? And you are certain this is what you want?"

She smiled, revealing her fangs to him. "I have. This is everything I want."

"Release me, then. I intend to rule and with Arano dead, I have need for a second."

She squealed with joy and touched each of the shackles. Conall fell to hands and knees and took a moment to catch his breath. He lifted his head. "I am weak and injured, little imp. Come to me so that we may proceed." She saw the fire in his eyes, the dark anger in his expression, but she didn't fear him. When he reached out his hand towards her, she gladly approached and leaned her head into his palm, like a cat seeking a caress.

He moved far too fast for her to react. His hand closed into a fist in her hair and bent her backwards. She squealed in pain and fright and reached up to scramble at his arm with her claws.

"Heal me, now, foolish creature!" he growled at her.

"But you -"

"NOW!" he roared.

Sobbing and terrified, she poured her energy into him and his injuries faded. Scratches, bites and bruises vanished under her care, and before she was done, his shoulder snapped back into place with an audible POP! At his full strength, and terrible in his fury, he rose to his feet, lifting her into the air by his grip on her hair.

"You still have a very great deal to learn about bargaining with demons, little imbecile! For a start, be sure you actually have a bargain before you end negotiations." She wailed as she realized he'd never specifically agreed to her terms. No no no! Oh no! "I was going to reward you well for your loyalty. But now I see you were never loyal, you were simply waiting for your chance to betray me."

He tossed her down and loomed over her. "I will start your punishment before I find Na'rul and make her pay for her betrayal. Then I will find the "Sisters ó Floinn," after they have time to believe they are safe, after they have forgotten all about me, and I will have my revenge on each of them for leaving me behind after I helped them. And then, unfortunate little one, then will your punishment end." Trix cowered, cursing her own foolishness. "If the heroes have been to my home, we cannot safely travel there. You have your own lair, do you not?" She dared to glance up at him. She had thought her lair was still her secret. "Do not try me, imp." he growled.

"I do, Conall, please. I do. I have a lair of my own," she answered finally, trying to seem as small and helpless as possible.

"Take. me. there." he snarled at her. "I want to be gone from here."

Trix's lair
Conall didn't know when he'd ever been more filled with rage. He would have to take care not to kill his treacherous imp while punishing her, but his mind was so overwhelmed by anger he wasn't sure he could trust himself. He stood back while the deceitful creature worked her magic amid crying, cowering, trembling. But now he knew what she was truly about. He would not be swayed by tears or fearful displays from that one again. Or from any woman shaped creature.

First Na'rul tricked him into servitude to Ciara, then Ciara herself remade him into her creature. Then the sisters ó Floinn betrayed him by leaving him behind. And now Trix, in whom he'd come to believe and trust, whom he'd been planning to reward for her show of loyalty, had betrayed that trust by trying to take advantage of him the first time she found herself with the upper hand. It would not be soon forgotten. He knew he would be taking his fury at five other females out on this one, but at that moment, he didn't care.

Trix opened the way to her own lair and when the glowing portal appeared, Conall sank his claws into her hair again and dragged her through. He tossed her tumbling away from him and stared around the lair in shock. He'd expected the lair to be as diminutive as Trix herself. He'd expected he would have to crouch once he arrived, but... the home that his imp had claimed for her own was a huge open space. She had arranged a small living area in a depression near the center, but he would never have expected his little imp, the one who scurried in the shadows, to enjoy this much space. And the walls.... every inch of the walls climbing up to the domed ceiling high overhead were covered with small trophies of her playthings. Bits of skin, dried tissue, hair, a few ears and fingers. Several larger pieces hung on wires and hooks from the ceiling. In several places there were simply painted designs, no doubt when a bit of blood on her fingers was her only trophy.

Scattered about the open space were various implements meant for restraint and torture, most of a distinctly medieval nature. A bank of cages waited nearby, ranging from small enough for a rabbit to large enough for a human. His faithless little imp was not partial to more modern techniques, no... she preferred to use her own hands. It would make a fair enough start, he thought.

He turned back to Trix and saw that she had run to her small bed and cowered under the blankets. "Come to me, now..." he growled.

He was so filled with rage, with the need to punish, that he didn't even realize he'd left behind the last of Ciara's magic when he stepped through the portal. Her lair was still suffused with it and he had still been awash in her power while there. But now, now that he was both free from her bonds and away from her magic, the last of her influences on him began to drop away.

.... he screamed again as sudden fiery pain washed over him.

And I set him up as well.

Book III part XIV is posted,

...and the Epilogue is begun. Yes, the epilogue will be more than one post.

Epilogue

Conall Cian straightened and shifted, trying to ease the pain of his injuries, though they did distract him nicely from the hopelessness of his situation. He glanced around the room again, trying to determine if it was natural or created by Ciara's magic. As her magic faded, those parts of her home sustained by her energy would begin to collapse. If this enormous room was one of those areas, his imprisonment would end abruptly. If it was natural, however, he could be trapped there.... forever.

As creature of magic, he did not require food to live. All he required to continue his life indefinitely was not to be killed. No illness was going to end him, lack of food, water, even air, while uncomfortable, would not finish him. He would live forever, until something killed him. And as he looked ahead to an eternity chained to a rock, he began to wonder if being crushed by a collapsing ceiling wasn't preferable.

He wondered how far Trix had traveled. He had no doubt she'd left him behind. It's what he would have done. In fact, it was what he had done. When Ciara was imprisoned, he'd run as far from her influence as he could. There was no reason to expect Trix would behave any differently. He couldn't even blame her for it. No demon wanted to be bound to another. Some just accepted it with better grace than others.

He shifted, he stretched, he pulled at the chains, and he allowed himself a furious roar of frustration. And then he saw movement. Tiny, red-skinned, dainty, his imp peered into the enormous room at him. Trix had come for him.

Book III - Part XIV

Ciara's Prison
The mood was somber as Ben lead the sisters and Ahren through the maze of halls and tunnels to the lair's entrance. Caryn stopped trying to talk to Cerise after her every effort was soundly rebuffed. Cerise was no longer crying, but her eyes were still red and her cheeks pale. The youngest sister marched along and stared at her feet, refused to acknowledge even Ahren when he put a hand on her shoulder.

"This is as far as I've ever gotten," Ben said at last. "The barrier always stopped me from going any further." The quiet group of Heroes rounded a corner and found themselves facing a blank stone wall. "This... this wasn't here before. There was a door. A way out." He pounded a fist into the wall in frustration.

"Are we trapped here?" Cyd asked, her voice more calm than she felt inside. And even though she didn't say it, all of them understood the silent "with him?"

"There has to be another way out." Caryn said. "This can't be it."

"Her life.... " Ahren murmured. "What was it? Her life keeps the way..."

"What are you talking about, Ahren?" Cyd asked.

"I think... I think its possible that killing Ciara closed the exits. I read something that didn't make sense at the time, something about "Her life" and "Keeping the way."

"No way." Caryn said, shaking her head. She concentrated, then shook her head again. "And we still can't teleport out." She glanced at Ben and smiled encouragement at him. "We'll get out of here, Ben. We will."

He shook his head. "I don't know of any other way out." He pounded the wall again. "No... there's not a tunnel or hallway in this place I don't know. There isn't another way."

Cyd bit at her lip. She knew the Ghosts would look for them, she knew for a fact that they would search relentlessly for a way to find their missing friends. But before she opened her mouth to offer that, she remembered that that the only way they knew to get in required the blood of the three sisters they would be trying to find. That wasn't going to be helpful. She also didn't offer the suggestion that they ask Conall for help. She suspected that wouldn't be particularly well received by anyone, including Conall.

"What... is... this?" Ahren asked suddenly. The heroes gathered around Ahren. There on the wall was a black hand print, large and tipped with claws. "It looks like the black hand that was on those Hellions Six-Four was investigating." He reached out his own hand, which appeared dwarfed by the print, and brushed at it. "It's just... dust." The hand print brushed away and underneath it, in faintly glowing lines, was a glyph.

"It... looks like the portal at the hospital." Caryn offered.

"He left it here, marked in a way that we'd know it was him." Ahren said, looking at Cyd.

Cyd stared at the design. "It looks exactly like the one at the hospital, only smaller and... mirror image? I think this round symbol was on the other side. "

Cerise spoke suddenly, her voice low and hoarse. "He left us a way to get home."

Ahren sighed. "It looks like he did. He had to have set this up before."

"A drop of blood from each us, again?" Caryn asked.

"I suspect so. We should all hold hands, so no one gets left behind." Cyd answered.

"Cyd... We won't be able to come back. We can't -" Cerise started.

"It's done Cerise. I know you're not happy about it, but it's done. Let's go home."

Fresh tears began to spill down Cerise's cheeks, but she obediently offered up a drop of blood to the glyph on the wall and, tightly holding hands, the Heroes vanished in a flash of bright light.

Crowne Memorial Hospital
The trip took only a moment, and it was the smooth, easy ride the first had been intended to be. One moment the heroes were in the torch-lit tunnels, the next they stumbled a single step onto the plush carpet of the Campbell Family Trust wing of Crowne Memorial Hospital.

A moment later and the heroes took in the sight of the furniture knocked over in the lobby. The sisters shot down the hall in identical long-legged sprints with Ahren close behind. Ben wasn't entirely sure what the commotion was about, but he followed with his ancestor spirits.

Cerise made it to their mother's room first and screamed at all the blood that had yet to be cleaned up. "MOM!"

"What happened here?" Cyd asked. The window was broken out, the room was trashed, and there was so much blood.

Caryn ran to peer out the window. "Nothing here!"

Ahren grabbed up his radio. "Ghosts! Ahren here. We're at Crowne Memorial Hospital. Where's Colleen?"

A brief silent pause, then Glacius's voice, exuberance leaking past the professional calm, erupted from the radio. "Ahren! Colleen is alive, well, and safe in the base. Come home, Ghosts. Come home."

The Ghosts Reborn Base
Jagged Fortune waited patiently for his target to return. He'd written Sooner Red off as a useful contact, in fact, he'd already sent a report to the Shades of Vengeance that the Ghosts were in the process of both incapacitating and decapitating themselves with leaders Sooner Spirit and Glacius9 likely going to their deaths in the lair of an ancient and powerful demon and many other of the most powerful and prominent members of the Ghosts going off after other extremely hard and dangerous targets, including Vir taking his team into Praetoria. Of course, AFTER he'd sent that report, it turned out Glacius didn't go off to die, so Jagged chose to sit on any further reports until things settled down a bit.

And now the disgraced Six-Four and his team were back with Moon Dancer and Glacius was back with Colleen Nation. The two injured women were set up in infirmary beds near each other. Zemuron was carefully looking after both his patients. Pipe Hitter sat close by Moon Dancer, her pale, cool hand clasped between both of his while Rosemarie sat on the other side and Six-Four leaned against the wall watching over his trio of young friends.

The arrival of the sisters was announced by the pounding of feet on the metal floor of the base. The three burst into the small infirmary with Ahren and a man Jagged had never seen before, but he suspected was Sooner Magic's Ben. They immediately crowded around Colleen, holding hands and crying happy tears.

The rest of the Ghosts caught up on the various adventures as Quinlan and Ici, Cherished, and Ahren began telling the battle stories, and Jagged took careful and surreptitious notes.

---

By that evening, Moon Dancer was awake, Colleen was hungry for dinner, and the stories had all been swapped. The Ghosts had several new members. Benjamin Tenkiller, who would take on the registered Hero name American Brave, joined as well as Six-Four's trio of young heroes. Six-Four had been reinstated as a Ghost after a long talk with Glacius and Sooner Spirit. But there was still no sign of Vir's return.

Six-Four leaned against the wall, surprisingly melancholy as he watched Moon Dancer and Pipe Hitter. Apparently, Moon Dancer was no longer looking for a white knight. That, or she just didn't mind the dings in Pipe Hitter's armor. Whatever shadows her experience had placed on her soul, it was obvious that she and Pipe Hitter were over their philosophical differences. Six-Four sighed. She'd taken a life. That did tend to knock the rose-tinted-glasses off a person.

He'd known from the moment he first saw the pretty blonde that she wasn't for him. He'd always known it, and never really entertained more than the briefest thought otherwise. But, still, for some reason, it stung to see the way she looked at Pipe Hitter, like he was her whole world.

He glanced down at his Ghosts Reborn uniform, slung over his arm, and turned away to change into it. It would mean a lot to him to wear that again.

He heard Zemuron call to him. "Six... wait..."

Six turned back as Zem ran a finger down the outside of Six's upper arm. "Is that... one of your old scars?"

Six glanced down and a chill ran through him. It was faint, but there on his arm was a thin white line, a little bit jagged. He clearly remembered one of the zombies dragging a rusty blade down that arm. His eyes flicked back up to Zemuron and a fresh chill darted up his spine at the concern on the doctor's face. They both knew what it could mean for Six's future if Six's healing abilities were starting to fail. "Ya, doc, that's been there. I fell off a slide as a kid and cut it on a sharp piece of metal."

Zem raised a brow, and Six knew the doc had spent enough time helping patch Six back up that he probably knew where all Six's scars were as well as Six himself did. But Zem didn't argue, and Six walked away to change. At least the uniform would cover that new scar.

---

Cerise took her turn at her mother's side, holding Colleen's hand and just being there for her. She knew she and her sisters should be celebrating the end of Ciara Banenighe and her blight on their family, but she was so angry and hurt. She knew it had been wrong to leave Conall Cian there; so wrong after everything he'd done to help them. And so she couldn't celebrate with them. She just couldn't.

As mother slept, Cerise glanced over to where Cyd leaned into Rastafari Man and he draped one arm over her shoulders. Nearby, Caryn and Ben sat together, holding hands and murmuring to each other. And across the room, Moon Dancer and Pipe Hitter seemed lost in each other. And then.. there was Six-Four. He was watching Moon Dancer with an expression that... well... she so wished he'd look at her that way.

She glanced down at Colleen again and at the wedding rings her mother wore on a chain around her neck. So much love in the world, it seemed, but none for her. None for Cerise. She ducked her head as tears started to well up again.

---

Jagged Fortune paused in the door to the infirmary. His next report would be long and detailed. New Ghosts, the safe return of two of the three teams, the security measures he'd seen put in place, the reinstatement of Six-Four... very good stuff, likely to gain him significant appreciation from the Shades of Vengeance. Ah, he LOVED playing this game!

And now it was time to cement his relationship with Sooner Red. That young woman wore her heart prominently on her sleeve, which made her almost too easy a target for a man of his skills. Jagged watched her eyes flick about the room as she watched each couple with longing clear in her eyes. And, the silly chit still had it bad for Six-Four, judging from the way she looked at him.

Pulling a carefully sympathetic mask over his face, Jagged Fortune grabbed a cup of coffee, fixed it just the way he knew she liked it, and quietly and softly walked across the room.

"Cerise?" he whispered. He offered the cup when she glanced at him, her eyes bright and shiny. "I'm glad you made it back," he said. "I was really worried you wouldn't."

She nodded, accepted the cup, cleared her throat, and offered up a quiet, "Thank you."

He pulled a chair over. "Can I ... sit with you? You really look like you could use a... a friend." When she smiled as he sat down, he reached over and took her free hand. She flicked a surprised glance at him and he smiled, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. Inside, he crowed with triumph when she smiled back.

He's still moving up page one.

Yep. Me too. He's moving up on page one.