A small room in the same building as Michael Marcones apartment
It aint normal.
Whuddaya mean?
I mean hes what? Sixteen? Seventeen? An hes got a cutey like that livin with im an ya dont never even see em kiss er?
Maybe hes a good boy.
Hey
At that age, there aint no good boys.
Chuckles.
I tell ya, we need ta put some equipment in th bedrrom.
Th boss says thats off-limits ya pervert.
Serious. Somethins goin on here r not goin on if ya git my drift
Whats goin on right now?
Theyre jus talkin.
Yeah? Bout what?
Somethin about her findin herself.
She oughta be findin herself under him.
Chuckles.
Wait lookit! On th livin room cam.
Whut?
Theyre goin inta th bathroom tgether.
We gotta audio bug in there, right?
Yeah.
Turn it up an see whut we get.
Crap all I hear is th shower runnin.
Hey, thats a good sign. Maybe hes getting her wet.
Chuckles.
Waters already off. Must notta worked out
They aint come out yet dont see em on the livin room camera.
Heh. Sounds like a blow-dryer runnin.
Maybe she misunnerstood whut he wuz askin her ta do
Chuckles.
Hair-dryers stopped.
Lookit I see em now theyre comin out an headin' ta th' boudoir
Now thats more like it.
Damn. Thats one fine piece o
jailbait fer you, ya pervert.
Yeah
still wish we hadda camera in th bedroom.
Other than Miu, the Armisters, and Tiny, I have made few friends here in the Isles. That doesnt really bother me. Even when I first arrived at Maggies Rock, and enjoyed a brief spell of popularity, even among the Populars, I didnt think that much of it one-way or the other. Popularity and unpopularity; many friends, or few; it doesnt matter. It is the quality of the friendship that truly matters, not the quantity.
Still, in a place like Etoile, even if you cant have too few friends, you can have too many enemies. So it was that when I accidentally set a group of acquaintances the gang known as the Orphans against my uncle Johnny Marcone (no, not that Johnny Marcone
not that one either
nor that one
yes thats the one) and it resulted in his death, I was more worried about how many enemies I was going to make than I was about losing potential friends or causing a death in the Family.
Miu (she knows them, or one of them, at least) said that they were very upset with me. And considering that I know at least two of them are homicidal maniacs who revel in bludgeoning and eviscerating their foes, well
Id just rather not have them upset with me.
And on the other side of the matter, my grandfather, Angelo Camilleri called a Council of War over the matter. It seems that the Orphans not only killed my uncle, they invaded his building and killed his entire crew. The Marcones and their allies do not take kindly to such incursions.
Of course, I didnt know that the Council of War was about the Orphans. I am not privy to such business yet (still a boss-in-training). But when Miu told me about the Orphans vendetta against me, and what they had done, it wasnt hard to figure things out.
And so it is that I am standing in the den in my grandfathers home, with around twenty or so ill tempered and angry mobsters staring me down.
Mickey, what are you doing here? Grandfather says.
Oh
I
was looking for you. Am I disturbing something?
Someone mutters something about my accent. Ive never really developed a decent Sicilian voice, and so I think I sound a bit effete to them. My grandfather shoots the one who muttered a killing glance, and then turns his attention back to me.
You should call me on the phone, Mickey. Im busy.
Yeah, this is mans business, someone says, you should go to the kitchen where the women are.
My grandfather gives another angry glare and when he turns back to me, I see that a bit is of it is reserved for me.
Mickey, go home to your girlfriend. This isnt anything you need to know about.
Why not, Angelo? Let the kid get his hands dirty.
Yeah, my boys right here with me. He aint afraid of a fight! Or is this kid too much like his old man, Carli?
Things are getting tense. Its time to carry out my plan.
I have powers you see, some from my father, and some from my mother. From my mother I inherited all of these wonderful psi powers that allow me to stun foes and even hemorrhage brains and also TK powers that allow me to move things around with my mind to the point where I can now transmitter objects. My fathers gift to me was a far more terrible power. The power of Truth. With but a touch I can either reveal or hide the truth from someone. It is a heavy responsibility and I do not take it lightly.
These men who hold me in such disdain, and my grandfather who is trying his best to make me into a man he can be proud of, they do not expect what happens next, which is exactly why it works so well.
I psi-blast the entire room, leaving everyone in it (except of course, me) in a stunned stupor. Then I quickly go one-by-one to them and tell them this story: The council killed Uncle Johnny and his crew; the Orphans are a minor nuisance at best and not worthy of the Familys interest; and indeed, the Council attacked you here, tonight, and if not for the quick action of yours truly, all of the bosses in this room would have been killed.
To prove my story, I place an empty gas canister in the middle of the floor. It has the Councils insignia on it. Oh! I almost forget! I pick up the canister and give myself a good whack on the head with it to make it look as if Ive been in a fight.
Within a few minutes, they all wake up, the bosses and their right-hand men. They remember things exactly as I describe to them. I fill out the story as I go, not making myself too much the hero. They all leave the room, filing out one after another, shaking my hand and clapping my back. I hate lying, but this
feels good.
The last out is Gino Marcone and his attendant, a tall, powerfully muscled man with a shaved head and tattoos. He looks very familiar. He smiles as he shakes my hand, then punches me on the shoulder. Something about his fist feels familiar
((Sorry, I missed a post and this one should have gone just before the last one. A post from Miu's PoV.))
Ooooh! I’m going to KILL him for this one!
Okay, so yeah, I followed him to the Isles. I was worried about him! He went so far out of his way to piss everyone off—I mean, come on, he even drove Steph off—that I didn’t think he’d respond to anyone but me. Plus it’s NEVER boring around him. I really want to get deep inside his brain and see what makes him tick sometimes.
Right now, I think it’s ego.
I was using a different name at first, but then he started having trouble with the Family pushing all kinds of girls at him. So we hatched a plan that I’d pretend to be his girlfriend to get people off his back. Biiiiig mistake. The second I agreed to that I think I stopped being a friend to him. He’s acting like I’m throwing myself at him and begging for his presence and love, and expecting me to swoon over his piano playing. He’s not THAT good.
And now this whole charade thing! I told him if he wanted me to kiss him he owed me a date first—and if the Family had a problem with that, he could make up whatever he wanted about why he’s in hot water with me. Instead, he’s sneaking me around the apartment in a towel so it looks like I’m not wearing anything so he can show off how he’s got this beautiful girl at his beck and call. And it looks like I’m just camera shy.
*sigh* Speaking of cameras, I better go disable all the visible ones again. As long as I’m leaving the hidden ones alone, maybe they won’t know that I know they’re there. If they’ve got no reason to check the hidden ones, I think they’ll leave MY hidden cameras alone. (Two can SO play that game.)
I admit, I was a bit worried after what I did at the war council. It just seemed disloyal to the Family. Still, it needed to be done, and my fears were calmed after a few days without anyone mentioning it.
So last night, we got word of some sort of mystical bunch calling themselves the Legacy Chain trying to establish themselves in Port Oakes. Miu and I checked into it. We checked into it rather violently, I might add. Of course they gave as good as they got, but in the end, the two of us proved to be more than they could handle. (But not by much.)
When we were done, I looked at my watch and realized I had promised to meet Tiny over at Blaggard's Bar near the docks. It was where he liked to go in his off-time. Not a fashionable place, and not expensive. I'd compare it to Wharf Rat in Independence Port -- cheap booze, cheaper women, and lots of action -- whatever kind you're looking for. Of coure, I didn't know what kind of place it was when I invited Miu to come along. Such a place is no place for a nice girl like her.
When we got there, Tiny was already seated at a table near the bar, surrounded by both friends and strangers. His booming voice was recounting a run-in with Mr. Bocor that began with a bloody skirmish and ended with them drinking together and picking up a pros--
And that's all I got of it. As soon as he saw Miu walk in with me, he stopped his story, obviously in deference to my girl, my squeeze. We each took a seat at the table with him, and when we both hesitated when asked what we'd have to drink, Tiny ordered two cans of cola, a bottle of Old Cutter, a bucket of ice, and two glasses. He poured our drinks himself.
Rum and Coke. Not bad. I highly recommend it.
"So, whachas been up to?" he asked.
Miu smiled, and sipped her drink, leaving me to answer.
"Some bunch of mystics called the Legacy Chain. Miu and I discouraged them from setting up in Port Oakes."
Tiny looked amused, and asked Miu, "Whadja do? Stun 'em with yer looks?"
"Exactly," Miu said with a laugh, "And then I shot 'em. Some of them though... I don' think they liked girls."
Tiny laughed and scooted his chair beside Miu. He put his arm across her shoulder and hugged her close to him. It worried me, what Miu might do, but the look she gave me let me know that she wasn't worried, and that I shouldn't be either.
"You know," Tiny said (and Miu made a face when the alcohol on his breath hit her), "If I was thirty years younger, ol' Mickey here would have some competition."
Miu blushed, and looked pleasantly demure, though I'm sure what she wanted to do was burst out laughing.
"Mickey," Tiny addressed me now, even though he still had his arm around my girlfriend, "Ya got a girl here just like your ma."
I nodded.
"Serious, your ma was the best-lookin', best-cookin', best-fightin' lady I ever met." I think I saw his eyes glisten with moisture then. "Whereever she is now, God bless her!"
Miu surprised me here. She gently caressed my giant bodyguard's cheek, then kissed it. This time it was Tiny who blushed.
"Hey, girly," someone said, and the three of us looked up to see that a couple of Goldbrickers had entered the bar and approached our table, one of which now addressed Miu. "Which one of these low-lifes are you with? Because I'm twice the man either of these bums are."
I started to stand, but Miu put a hand on my knee to stay me.
"Well then," she said to the offending Goldbricker, "You should have no trouble handling me."
Three things happened right at that exact moment: the Goldbricker smiled as if he thought it was his lucky night and --
The table flipped up crashing into the dirty scoundrel and his friend, obscuring his smugness and sending them both to the floor and --
Tiny grabbed the bottle of Old Cutter before it hit the floor and handed it to me.
Tiny and Miu were both on their feet, saying almost in chorus, "I got this," and telling me to stay put. I did.
It was quite a show. One of the Goldbrickers must have had a comm on him because soon, several more of thei kind were entering the bar, joining in the fight. The door was a choke point however and my girlfriend and my bodyguard just took them down as they came in -- punching them, kicking them, breaking bottles and furniture over them. Of course, I couldn't sit still and just watch. When some of the sailors and dockworkers decided to join in, so did I. I handed the bottle to the bartender and told him Tiny would want it back later.
I'm not sure who was on whose side. I just knew that anyone who came near Tiny, Miu, or me were going to be sorry.
Neither Miu, nor I used our powers, though I was sorely tempted to do so when my knuckles were ripped open on someone's teeth. But I bore it, took off my belt and wrapped it around my fist, and got back into the melee.
When it was over, the only ones left standing were the three of us, the bartender, and an aging call girl who had hidden in the ladies room.
"Miu," Tiny said, "I wish to God I was young enough to marry you."
Then he handed me the bottle of Old Cutter and told me to take her home and clean her up.
I looked at her then, her hair a mess, a spot of blood on her cheek, and her eyes practically glowing with the joy of mischief. I didn't blame Tiny for wanting to marry her. God, she looked --
"...ruined," she said. (I didn't catch all of it.)
"What?" I said.
"Every time we go out, I have to replace another outfit." She smiled as she said it and I knew that the brawl had been worth the ruined clothes to her.
"Go on," Tiny said, "Take 'er home and you kids get cleaned up. You're too young to be in a dive like this anyhow."
We both looked at him, unsure if he meant that or not. I took Miu home and we got cleaned up. Then I put her to bed and took my place on the sofa.
((No time to write lately so... bump. 
))
My cell phone playing the Godfather theme wakes me out of a sound sleep. I grab it before it wakes Miu, and give a quick glance to the bed to see that she is still slumbering peacefully.
Hello? I say.
Yo, Mick, Tiny says as my waking mind fights to process who Mick is.
Of course Mick is short for Michael, who is me. Michael Marcone. Not Smith. Smith is who I was.
Cmon downstairs, Mickey, I got somebody for ya ta meet.
My back pops as I rise from the bedroom sofa on which I sleep. Rolling my head loosens the kinks in my neck and after a couple of stretches I get dressed. Before I leave, I go to wake Miu to let her know Im gone, but then I realize there is no need. No reason for both of us to get up early today. Im sure shes as tired from last night as I am maybe more so. After the night we had, terrorizing other factions and busting up that rival smuggling operation, and then the bar fight -- it was exhilarating!
I kiss Mius cheek and leave her lying there, beautiful and exotic, wrapped in satin.
My apartment door opens straight into an elevator (how cool is that!) and Im downstairs in no time. Tiny is in the buildings lobby, sitting in a chair facing me. A couple of people sit on the sofa with their backs to me. One is a tall man with a shaved head. He has tattoos on his neck. More than that I cannot see of him. Beside him sits a woman with curly blonde hair. She turns to look at me as the elevator doors open and although shes exceptionally pretty, something about her sends a shiver up my spine.
Mickey Marcone, Tiny says as he rises, I want ya ta meet Aris Polemo an his girl, Chloe.
The tall man stands and faces me while his girl goes back to the magazine in her lap. He wears a leather jacket, embellished with metal studs. His pants are also leather expensive leather that cover pointy-toed boots with ornamental steel toe caps.
I recognize the tall man as the one who punched my shoulder after the war council, but theres something else familiar about him. Something about him that is screaming alarms in my memory.
Aris is with your cousin Ginos crew. Hes takin Sonny Ciciones place, may God rest his soul. Aris, thiss Michael Marcone Mickey to his friends.
I nod to Polemo in salutation, but remain silent and wary.
Polemo smiles, and I see his teeth are capped with steel. When he speaks, he rumbles and booms like Hell spitting up magma.
Hi, Mickey, he says, Ive been hearing good things about you.
I return his smile with one equally insincere and say, Then someones been lying to you.
We men laugh. Chloe just turns her pretty face up at me and gives me a funny smile.
She likes you, Polemo says.
Shes charming, I say, trying to be complimentary while being careful not to say anything that could be construed as flirting.
Chloe is a good judge of character, he continues explaining. You might say shes good at taking the measure of a man.
I just smile and nod because I have no idea of what hes getting at.
The elevator dings and the door opens, and out steps Miu. She doesnt look happy. Its not obvious to anyone but me, Im sure, but I can tell shes displeased that she woke up and I was gone. Shes my protector and my companion. But then Tiny is my bodyguard, so as long as Im with one or the other, I feel pretty safe. But then, Miu is much better to look at than Tiny
Before I can open my mouth to introduce her, Tiny says, Aris, Chloe this is Miu, Mickeys girl.
Miu smiles in greeting, but her eyes are assessing them. Miu is pretty good with her own measure.
Im very pleased to meet you, she says.
Tiny speaks up again, saying, Mius quite a gal. If I was thirty years younger, Id take her away from you Mickey.
I laugh, but really didnt find it that funny. Miu however has a satisfied smirk on her face and I realize that, yes, if he was thirty years younger, he probably would take her away from me.
I can see why, Polemo says, then punches my arm again. Youd better keep her happy, Mickey. Im sure Tinys not the only guy whos noticed her.
All right, this whole conversation is making me uncomfortable.
Hey, Arie, Chloe says, speaking for the first time. Her voice cracks and creaks and sounds like it belongs to a much older woman. Why dont we invite them to go to the Polka Dot Lounge with us tonight? Tiny too.
Miu looks at me and I can tell she wants me to decline the offer. I dont know what she senses about these two, but it cant be good.
I begin my polite turn down with, Actually
Hey, that sounds great! Tiny cuts me off, smiling, always glad for night on the town, always up for a party.
Wonderful, Polemo says. Around ten. Well meet you there. You know where it is, dont you?
Yeah, sure, Tiny says, sealing the deal.
Polemo looks at me then, and a chill runs down my spine as he says, I hope youre looking forward to it as much as we are.
I wasnt looking forward to going out tonight. Its not that I dont enjoy the nightlife here I do, and very much so, whether Im performing incognito in a piano lounge, or dancing and dining with Miu. No, it was our hosts that caused my trepidation. Something about him
And her voice was not right. It was old.
I had almost talked myself into excusing Miu and I from the outing when I heard a familiar ding from my laptop. Someone had IMd me, and Id be a liar if I said that my heart didnt race when I saw who it was. GreenAngelofMercy.
For weeks, I had seen myself as Michael Marcone. Smith and Clint seemed like some other person who no longer existed. And yet, deep down, I couldnt completely let go of my former life. There was someone from that life who would always anchor me to it.
Jessie.
Before I came to the Isles, all of my memories, good and bad, centered on her. All of my emotions. All of my desires. All of my dreams.
No other girl Steph, Julia, Ally, not even Miu could unbind the silken tangles of that love. I am sure that until the day I meet my final fate and beyond -- I will love Jessie Eagle and her only.
I sat down and returned her greeting, let her know I was available, waited anxiously to see what she was messaging me about.
What was I hoping for? I wanted an, I love you. Or maybe a, Please, come to me I cant live without you.
But she could live without me. And I, though I loathe to admit it, could live without her. I just couldnt be happy.
Was that why I had made up a whole new life? To play pretend that I didnt need her anymore?
She typed her message and my heart sank back to its normal depths.
What she typed floored me. Stephanie Martin had gone bad. Jessie gave me a link to a news story about it. Steph was mad at the world and had become a bad girl. I laughed when I read it. About time, actually, I thought. No one can live up to a squeaky clean image forever. Especially when theyre not squeaky clean.
Good for her.
But the school Maggies Rock was upset about the whole thing. They were convinced that Steph had been coerced or brainwashed or somesuch. They couldnt accept that maybe she was just unhappy and needed the space to figure out who she was, even if that space was in Etoile.
The school was in a tizzy about it and they went to Jessie to get her to contact me to get me to use the psychic link that Steph and I share to find her. Jessie correctly assumed that the link flowed only one way, and that was from Steph to me. Any attempt on my part to reach into the mind of another or to initiate telepathic contact always resulted in intense pain for the other person or sometimes worse.
At any rate, my powers were useless in this instance, but I had connections now, and I could use them. If Steph was in the Isles, someone had to know, and that someone had to know someone else. In the end, by degrees, the Family knows everyone.
So I told Jessie to tell them Id help. Probably stupid of me to agree to do so, since it will make them suspicious that I am in Etoile too. Not that it matters. I like the lifestyle that I have here. I like the status being Michael Marcone affords me. And someday, perhaps Miu and I will become something more than pretend lovers.
But Jessie was IMing me. She told me that she had to go now, but would be back on later, and I promised her I would be waiting.
Then I waited for her to return from idle.
I waited for her return until Miu reminded me it was going on ten oclock, and we had to go meet the others at the club.
I left Jessie an away message. I wanted it to say, I love you.
What it said was, SlippedMyMind is away...
I like this joint, Tiny said while stuffing what the menu called a Turkish meatball into his mouth. It aint Italian, but itll do.
The rest of us had already finished our meals and were enjoying the cool, sensuous sounds of the Kubert Jazz Ensemble. I was sipping a rum and coke, Polemo was drinking straight whiskey, and the girls were sipping something with pink umbrellas on top. Despite my misgivings, I had found myself having a good time. Miu was gorgeous even more beautiful than she usually was and I found myself thinking that maybe we should see if we can do more than pretend to be lovers
Suddenly, Chloe stood, said, I want to dance, and instead of taking the hand of her date, she grabbed mine. And now Im on the dance floor with her body pressed against mine swaying to a melody that sounds like satin and sweat.
Can I tell you a story? she whispers, softly, yet somehow audible over the music. It is not the voice I had heard this morning. Her voice now was soft, feminine, full of mystery and truth.
You can tell me anything, I reply, my good sense filtered through Bacardi. A quick glance to Miu tells me that shes not very happy to see Chloe and I so intimate.
Once, Chloe says (her lips tickle my neck, but as she speaks, it seems to come from far away), there was a beautiful young man born to a high position. He had a great destiny, but he did everything to fight against it...
I dont know what shes talking about, but the music and rum, and the friction of her body against mine have captured me in a spell. I hear her, but I dont listen. Though the music cant drown out her words, the silky skin of her bare shoulders, the deep ocean blue of her eyes, the yielding softness of her breasts pressed against me
Nothing spoken can be heard over the pounding of my own heart. I dont care who she is or who I am or who we came here with. I want to be closer to her to strip away these layers of fabric and press flesh to flesh
and the young man died, his destiny unfulfilled, a fate that was not meant to be his.
Those words are staked in my mind even as I realize that I dont know what they mean. She has told me a tale told it to me for a reason -- and yet, I have not heard a word of it. And now she looks at me with sad eyes, and I cant help but feel as though I have missed a reprieve of some sort.
Who are you? I ask as the song climaxes and finishes.
Her demeanor changes, and once again she seems like the gangsters girlfriend I met this morning.
Im Chloe. Thanks for the dance. Youre sweet.
Before I can say anything, Mius at my elbow. Theres something about the way shes moving that shakes me back to reality, and now its Chloe that doesnt look happy. Excuse me, she says, and her voice is accented with all kinds of veiled needles, but can I steal my boyfriend back? I want to dance now. Chloe and Miu stare at each other in a way that reminds me uncomfortably of two cats about to fight, but after a minute Chloe huffs off back to the booth. I start to watch her go, but Miu grabs my hand and turns me towards her.
Gods, she looks beautiful. Shes got that LOOK in her eyes like shes about to do something wild, and the band starts playing an upbeat bebop song with a crazy rhythm. And she starts DANCING, and I swear I have no idea how Im keeping up with her.
I think people are staring at us, but its all I can do to stay on my feet with how quickly shes moving. The song goes on and on and I dont care because shes finally smiling at me like Ive wanted her to for weeks, so full of mischief and energy.
The music comes to what they call a grand pause, and shes spun into me, and I can feel her tense against me, breath tickling my throat, and all I can think is that I want to kiss her so bad. Just this once, even if she gets angry.
She beats me to it, pushing up on her toes to reach, forcing me to hold her tight to keep her balanced. The only sound in the room is a tshh shh shh shh rhythm from the drummers cymbals and a funny grumbling sound, like metal tumbling against metal.
I taste her lips, her tongue, and no wine made by man or gods could ever taste as sweet. The intoxication I felt when I danced with Chloe was nothing like this. I knew that I could give up every vestige of my past life every one every one if all of the things Miu and I were pretending to be could be real, true.
The song comes to a tumultuous, blast of a finish, and suddenly, everything changes.
Miu holds me as our lips linger together, but the passion I had felt in her earlier is replaced with something else. Resolve? Can one communicate resolve in an embrace? And what is she resolved to do? Would this be the last kiss we would ever share? Or would this be the night that all pretenses would be cast aside and we would become what everyone around us assumed us to be?
Joey Kubert announces that the band is taking a break. No more dancing for now. Miu takes my hand and we went back to our table.
I pull her chair out for her and take in the scene at the table. Tiny has a fresh drink in front of him and watches with a lopsided grin on his face as the waiter puts a torch to what looks to be a skewer of lamb. Polemo is cutting his steak, but his eyes are on me, as are Chloes.
As I push Mius chair in for her, Chloe smiles up at me, but it is with her mouth only her eyes look unfathomably sad.
Then things happen.
Polemo moves like a wild dervish! He stands shoves his steak knife into Tinys neck. Then he takes the flaming skewer and lunges at me. Miu leaps onto the table to defend me, but he spins and kicks her -- kicks her so hard she flails through the air like a flying rag doll.
I want to scream her name, but when I open my mouth I have no air! A sharp pain strikes me just below my right shoulder blade and the tip of the meat skewer shoots out of my chest!
I am lifted from my feet as a portal opens a portal I had seen before on a dock in South Carolina and now I recognize Polemo. He is Ares. And I am doomed.
((I couldn't really figure out how to tell this next part entirely first-person, so I decided to draw it.
WARNING: There is some mild nudity depicted. Also, and probably more importantly warning-wise, there is blood and gore. I'm not that good of an artist, so it's not going to like make you sick to see it, but it may still be disturbing.
Just click them in order, then click on the pictures to make them larger. If you have trouble with the links, please let me know. Thank you for reading. Comments welcome. 
))
http://heroid.deviantart.com/art/Red...ge-1-139475857
http://heroid.deviantart.com/art/Red...ge-2-139475996
http://heroid.deviantart.com/art/Red...ge-3-139476080
((If you didn't read the illustrated part of the story, this might not make as much sense to you as it should. I can sum it up by just saying that Ares is cruel and the Fates are fickle.))
Red Night: Epilogue
This morning, in a hospital on the west coast of the United States
A paramedic wheels a gurney into an emergency room. The attending doctors eyes widen at the sight of body on it.
Good God! Where did they find this one? he asks.
A beachcomber found him down at South Point, the paramedic answers. Sheriff thinks hes a shark victim.
The doctor doesnt have to look more closely to know that the medic is wrong. The wounds were not random, and they were cut, not torn. Plus, sharks are hardly known for their precision in choosing what parts of a body they wish to remove.
No. Doesnt look that way to me. Looks like some sort of ritual killing notice whats missing? And theres no blood its been drained. Yeah. Murder for sure. Human sacrifice? Maybe. But all thats up to the police and the coroner to determine. You should have taken him straight to the morgue.
The paramedic gives the doctor a strange look.
Something wrong? the physician says.
Well
um
The doctor looks down at the body. Youre kidding, he says.
The paramedic shakes his head.
With a look of disbelief, the doctor places his fingers on the bodys right wrist to check for a pulse.
Nuh-uh, the paramedic says, not there. He points to its chest. There.
The doctor placed his stethoscope in the center of the chest. At first, he thought he imagined it, but then he was sure he heard it. Faint. Impossibly slow, but there it was. A heartbeat.
Stat! he shouts and other emergency staff goes into action.
A petite woman with a clipboard comes over to where the doctors and nurses are working with the impossibly alive mutilation victim. She begins filling out a record for the patient.
Are we going with John Doe again? she asks.
No, the doctor says, This ones special. Lets go with
Smith.
*insert wildy & insane applause here*
((I wish I could 1/10th as well as this Heroid. Excellent job))
((Aww... shucks. /em blush ))
From News of the Weird...
Doctors at a small coastal California hospital are mystified at the "heart that will not stop".
Early in October, an apparent homicide victim was brought to the hospital by ambulance. The victim's body had been drained of blood and several major organs had been removed. Additionally, the victim appears to have undergone an "icepick" lobotomy. While extreme, none of this was entirely unfamiliar to the hospital staff which had seen its share of murder, industrial accident, and shark attack victims.
What has them spooked -- and caused them to consult an exorcist -- is the fact that the victim appears to still be alive. After several weeks there is no sign of decomposition and the heart still beats three to ten times a minute. Given the condition of the body, it is a feat that hospital officials admit is a "medical impossibility, but here he is."
Experts at Stanford University Medical School have doubts as to the veracity of the claims, but do intend to send a representative to look into the case. [Clarion-Ledger (Crescent City, California), 10-28-09]
<Take that noob! This is Black Noirs zone! Get out or get ganked! Go tell your friends!>
Del finished typing and then laughed with his friends over IRC.
Were awesome! he said.
If you look up awesome in the dictionary, it has our picture, his fellow Black Noirist, Elvingstar added.
What is that? Lady Bloodspit asked, his gruff voice rumbling loudly in Dels headset.
Del saw it too. I dont know. Maybe something new they havent told us about?
What color is it conning to you? Elvingstar asked.
Del leaned closer to his monitor to try to discern the color. It wasnt the typical blue that denoted a minion of equal level to his character Dark Eminator, yet neither was it the purple that signified a foe way past his range.
Im not sure, Del answered, blue-violet? Is that even legit?
I see kinda chartreuse, Lady Bloodspit said. Anybody get anything on it when you right-click?
No info box for me.
Me neither.
Weird.
Hey, Del said, maybe its a bug. Like something random spawning?
Could be, said Elvingstar, but if it is, it will look different to each of us.
Ill post a screen-shot right quick, said Del, and you guys tell me if youre seeing the same thing.
Good plan, Lady Deathspit said. And Im going to log on my wifes account and see if it shows up there too.
Del posted the screen-shots and they confirmed that they all were seeing the same thing a giant flaming Rock Gurdor with a massive black smasherjack that he was swinging threateningly at them. It was something he had never before encountered in Mageworld Wars . He had been with the game since early beta and had never known it to spawn a random creature such as this.
What should we do? Lady Deathspit asked.
Kill it, said Elvingstar.
Okay, Del said, formulating a strategy even though he knew nothing about this foe, Lady Deathspit, can you use your wifes healer to spam us? Just put him on follow while you attack, maybe?
Sure, Lady Deathspit grunted, no problemo.
Cool, said Del, Ill try to keep his aggro and you and Elvingstar can hit him with everything youve got.
Hey, maybe theres a special badge!
May be.
Seven seconds later
Holy sh
What the hell was that!?!
Total thermo-nuclear annihilation!?! Where did that come from!?!
Im not respawning!
Im getting a message that Ive been permanently killed!?! Does that happen!?!
Then a strange voice came over Dels headset. He was certain his friends heard it also. It sounded human, but yet, not, as if someone was filtering his voice through Perfect Pitch to speak.
Evil-doers! Know ye this! This zone does not belong to Black Noir! Black Noir is no more! This zone, and every zone is now protected by me Flaming Warjack!
Del couldnt believe it! Someone had hacked the game!
Im reporting you, whoever you are! he said.
Doesnt matter, said Flaming Warjack, I rule all the lands of the Ingeld Plains and beyond! Mageworld belongs to me!
Del smirked. He knew his game and its history. Mageworld began its life over twenty years ago as a text adventure game.
He said, Actually, Mageworld belongs to Adam Scott, its creator.
There was silence for a moment, then the strange voice of Flaming Warjack did an even stranger sounding laugh.
Del and the other members of Black Noir watched as their screens flashed and then the words, GAME OVER looked at them in large white letters on amber screens.
In the electronic reality of Mageworld, Adam Scott, in the guise of Flaming Warjack, sighed. He was bored. Perhaps it was time to move on to another virtual world. Or perhaps to create a new one. He wasnt sure what he wanted to do.
He wondered what Smith had gotten up to. It had been weeks since hed caught one of his conversations with GreenAngelofMercy. He wondered what had become of him.
Ah! There it was! Something to do. A mystery albeit likely a simple and mundane one to solve. A quest.
Adam Scott left Mageworld and struck out on his quest on the information highway.
((More coming soon, but until then, bump.))
What a mess. The man who is speaking turns from the autopsy table, peels off his latex gloves and throws them in the waste can, then strides tiredly to the lavatory and turns on the water. As he vigorously scrubs his hands he says, We should just cut out his heart and see what happens.
Another man, taller and older than the other, leans against the wall beside the door. We cant do that, Alfred, he says, Weve been told to find out how hes still alive, not find out if we can find a way to kill him.
Alfred finishes scrubbing and from a wall-mounted dispenser pulls out several paper towels with which to dry his hands. He says, Remember how, before Sasquatch and Yeti started turning up in Paragon City and elsewhere, the scientific community agreed that the only way to prove its existence was to produce a dead one? Do you remember that, Charlie? Alfred throws the handful of towels in the waste can and then taps a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket.
Charlie, still leaning against the wall, considers Alfreds point. Perhaps only by risking killing their subject, Smith, would they find out why his heart still beat. And maybe the subject wasnt alive at all. Maybe it was merely that his heart wouldnt stop beating. After all, there wasnt much left of him besides his limbs and his head. The only soft tissue left inside his body was his heart. And his face
the bones were smashed to a pulpy mess that shifted under your hands like a bean bag. This one would never be revived, and seriously, Charlie thought, even if he could be, he wouldnt last long. The pain would be unimaginable.
While Alfred lights his cigarette, Charlie decides to let the wall hold itself up for a bit and goes to look at Smith. He pulls a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser box.
How much did they pay to get this one?
A hundred grand, I was told, Alfred answers, Paid for by some rich jackass who wants to live forever without going the whole vampire-and-or-curse route.
Charlie lifts a scalpel. How much you got in the bank, Alf?
Alfred takes a long draw from his cigarette, holds it, then puffs out a leisurely swirling cloud of smoke before answering, Not a hundred grand.
Well, lets hope Im not screwing up then, Charlie says as he brings the scalpel down.
Alfred steps up to look over his co-workers shoulder, careful not to drop ashes into the body cavity. Charlie turns to look at him.
I wish you wouldnt smoke in here, its bad science contaminates things.
Alfred takes another puff and says, If they wanted good science, they wouldnt hire losers like us.
Point taken, Charlie says going back to his work, Here goes nothin.
The scalpel comes down and slices through subject Smiths pulmonary artery. There is no blood. There never was any blood with this one. Charlie thought that was the absolutely creepiest thing about it a heart beating with no blood rushing through it.
A sudden thump makes Charlies hand slip, shearing off a goodly sized piece of the left ventricle. Alfred is lying on the floor in a heap.
Jesus Christ, Alfred, you tard! You made me mess up! If youre not man enough to stomach this crap without fainting on me
Alfred?
Charlie kneels down to look. There is blood coming from Alfreds ears. And eyes. And now his nose.
Oh, Jesus, Alf
At that moment Charlie notices a dull throbbing in his head that builds quickly like an approaching flood until it roars in his ears like the water erupting over Niagra Falls. He barely has time to clutch his head in his hands before everything goes red, then black.
No one notices what has happened until two days later when the man who paid them for their research shows up to find out how they are doing. He looks at the two dead bodies, then at the cadaver with the beating heart and calls a clean-up crew. He instructs them to dispose of Alfred and Charlies bodies, and to send subject John Smith to the facility in Moab.
The information was there. It was a matter of finding each necessary piece, like putting together that full run of Detection Comics back in 77. Newstands, private collectors, the fledgling comic-book shops different sources holding each precious issue; and when he had gotten them all together, he had read them all and realized that they had not made one great, epic, forty-year old story like he had always imagined they would if he read them from first to latest. No, even the first several years issues all purportedly written and drawn by Cain Roberts did not make a complete cohesive story. In fact, taken together, there were so many contradictions and outright continuity errors that the saga of Night Patrolman made no sense at all, and could only be enjoyed if one read just an individual issue here and there, skipping the worst of the worst. It was, up to that point, the biggest disappointment of Adam Scotts life. There would be others, but that was the first and greatest.
But it put him on a path of righteousness. Of making sure that the next boy to seek adventure and mystery would find it, and finding it, would find his imagination kicked into overdrive. That was the true purpose, Adam Scott had concluded, to make sure the narrative never ended; that whatever story he passed down would become someone elses story and that story would evolve into yet another and another.
This sense of purpose salvaged even his full run of Detection Comics from 1937 to 1977.
That path had led him to create digital stories, which led him to become a digital being; and now he had another quest, which was nearly over. The information was there. In online news stories. In internet chatrooms. In cell phone logs. In hospital records. On Blackberries and Android-based devices. In emails.
It hadnt been easy to piece it together. It was almost as if someone had tried to hide him. But Adam Scott the mage of the World Wide Web had found Smith.
The caterpillar and I looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed me in a languid, sleepy voice.
“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation, but I considered the question and replied, “I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I think I used to be someone, perhaps someone special to someone, but it was long ago and I think I must have changed several times since then.”
“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar, sternly. “Explain yourself!”
“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir,” said I, “because I’m not myself, you see.”
“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.
“I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” I replied, and hoped it sounded polite, “for I can’t understand it myself, to begin with; and being going through so many changes in life is very confusing.”
“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” I said; “but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?”
“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” I said: “all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.”
“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?”
Which brought us back again to the beginning of the conversation.
I felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and so I said very gravely, “I think you ought to tell me who you are, first.”
“Why?” said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and, as I could not think of any good reason, and the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, I turned away.
“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after me. “I’ve something important to say!”
This sounded promising, certainly. I turned and went back again.
“Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar.
“Is that all?” I said, swallowing down my frustration as well as I could.
“No,” said the Caterpillar.
I thought I might as well wait, as I had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell me something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking; but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, “So you think you’re changed, do you?”
“I’m afraid I am, Sir,” said I. “I can’t remember things as I used.”
“Can’t remember what things?” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, I’ve tried to sing, ‘Wouldn’t it Be Nice,’ but it all came different!” I replied in a very melancholy voice.
“Then sing ‘Light in Your Eyes,’” said the Caterpillar.
I cleared my throat and sang:
I can't remember the last time that we kissed goodbye;
All our "I love you's" were just not enough to survive.
Something your eyes never told me,
But it's only now too plain to see;
Brilliant disguise when you hold me,
And I'm free
I've been thinking and here's what I've come to conclude.
Sometimes the distance is more than two people can use.
But how could I have known girl
It was time and not space you would need?
Darling tonight I could hold you and you would know,
But would you believe?
There's a light in your eyes that I used to see;
There's a place in your heart where I used to be;
Was I wrong to assume that you were waiting for me?
There's a light in your eyes –
Did you leave that light burning for me?
“That was not sung well,” said the Caterpillar.
“Not well, I’m afraid,” I said, timidly: “but it is not a song I had sung before.”
“It is wrong from beginning to end,” said the Caterpillar, decidedly; and there was silence for some minutes.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
“Who do you want to be?” it asked.
“Oh, I’m not particular as to whom,” I hastily replied; “only one doesn’t like being someone who is hurt so much, you know.”
“I don’t know,” said the Caterpillar.
I said nothing: I had never been so much contradicted before, and I felt that I was losing my temper.
“Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, I should like to be someone, Sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” I said: “an identitiless person is such a wretched thing to be.”
“It is a very good thing indeed!” said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it seemed to know exactly who it was and seemed perfectly confident in that identity).
“But I’m not used to it!” I pleaded. “Surely there is a life for me somewhere! I shall never get used to… this!”
“You’ll get used to it in time,” said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth, and began smoking again.
This time I waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away into the grass, merely remarking, as it went, “One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.”
“One side of what? The other side of what? Larger? Smaller?” I thought to myself.
“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar, just as if I had asked it aloud, “and you made yourself quite small the last life you lived. Try to live larger and be a bigger person next time, will you? It’s your mushroom now. Choose wisely.
In another moment it was out of sight.
The mushroom was there, but despite my attempts, it did not seem to have the faculties for conversation. (Well, if the caterpillar could speak…) I sat myself on top of it, thankful that the caterpillar had left the hookah. I put the hookah in my mouth and puzzled over the whole situation.
I sat there for a long, long time.
Joe, the Fed Ex driver struggled with the long box as he balanced it on his shoulder. It wasnt heavy only about sixty pounds or so but it was over six feet long. It had taken up way too much space in his van, and he would be glad to be rid of it.
He carried the package from the curb and up the steps to the entrance of
what was it called? He checked the address again Maggies Rock. He pressed the buzzer and waited.
Soon, a stunningly lovely woman with long, perfect blonde hair opened the door. She wore a tight, dark pink sweater and a tight skirt with tan hose and black flats. Joe frowned. He had hoped shed have on heels like the last time he had delivered.
Ms. Kinsolving! How are you today?
Im fine, Joe. What do you have there?
Joe looked at the shipping labels again. There was one on top of the other, and part of the address from the bottom label was showing: Moab, Utah.
Looks like it got redirected, whatever it is, Joe said.
Ms. Kinsolving looked at the address label also. Adam Scott? I dont know any Adam Scott. Why would he be sending us a package? she wondered aloud.
If you think its suspicious, I can make a call
Ms. Kinsolving considered. No
no. Well take it. It might be something for Fletchers or Eriks workshop. Or some lab equipment for the science room.
Joe watched Ms. Kinsolvings smoothly muscled hand sign for the package, then he said, I can carry it in if you want. Im not really supposed to, but its sort of heavy. And he liked to watch her walk.
Sure! Thanks! Ms. Kinsolving said and opened the door wide.
The flats didnt affect her walk the way that high heels did, but he still enjoyed following her into the lobby.
Just set it there, she said, pointing to the floor behind a desk.
Joe set it down and lingered while took a pair of scissors off the desk, then knelt down to cut the shipping tape and open the box. He could almost see down the neck of her sweater
Ms. Kinsolving opened the box and let out a scream. Joe looked past the hint of cleavage and saw what the package contained. He screamed and ran out the door.
What remained of Smith had come home.
((Oh, ouch. And sure, when my guy's not around.... Kinda glad about that.))
@Nameless Hero, Insane Sword-wielding Video Game Hero - Also a character in CoH
Yukie Bikouchi, Halfway Lost, and others
Time passes. I smoke. I sleep. I dream dreams.
The morning sun streams through the window and shines in my face, waking me up, as it does every morning. No alarm clock could ever nudge me to wakefulness so gently. I open my eyes to see the same sight that has greeted me every morning for the past several months the golden-haired angel of mercy who saved me and continues to save me each and every day simply by loving me. Jessie.
I kiss her cheek and her eyes flutter open. Eyes as blue and deep as the sky look up at me. Soft, pink lips part in a smile. I kiss her and she kisses me back, and then we kiss again. We tangle ourselves in the sheets and each other, and hope that today brings another foot of snow. There is no hurry to get out of bed. We have nowhere we have to be except here.
The evening sun shines like fire on the horizon, the ocean ablaze in its golden aura. The sand is gritty on my back, grittier with the salt from the water that has already begun to evaporate off of my body. But I hardly notice it. Instead, my attention is held by this exotic girl who kisses my neck, my chest. Her breath is warm on my stomach, warmer than the breeze blowing in from the ocean. Miu.
Suddenly, I feel a panic rise within me and I worry that a Family button man is hiding in the nearby palm grove with his sights on us. But this isnt Etoile. Its Key Largo. My Safe Place. I relax and close my eyes. We have the beach to ourselves. Right now, it seems like we have the whole world to ourselves. Were in love. We have nowhere we have to be except here.
There is a change in the breeze. It smells of honey and spice. I open my eyes to see a shifting landscape that overwhelms my perceptions. Songs in an unknown tongue tickle my ears with voices that are so beautiful I do not ever wish to hear anything but them. Tall grass brushes my cheek and it is like a lovers caress. I am in a place of spirits, insubstantial, but real.
I follow the voices anyone would, everyone does and wade through the soft grass until I find myself at the mouth of a cave. The voices echo within, and so in I go. The walls of the cave are dark, but glitter with tiny speckles of light gemstones? Gold? I cannot tell. To me they are like stars in the night sky.
The voices are louder now, singing to me through the maze of caverns I was winding my way through. At last I found them, the singers. I knew them. I had met them before. The Three Sisters.
The Fates.
Hello, Phaethons Brother, one of them says and though she looks different, I know her as Chloe, the girl I met in Etoile. Ares girl.
Hello, I say. Am I
dead?
The sisters smile. No, they say in unison, and Chloe says alone, You are not dead, nor are you exactly alive. Ares destroyed your body, only your heart and mind remain intact.
And your spirit, another sister says.
And your spirit, Chloe agrees.
Is that not death? I ask, because it seems to me that if my heart and my brain are all that remain of me and my soul walks in the spirit realm, then I must be dead.
The boatman has not taken you, Chloe says. We have hidden you from him. We have hidden you from the eyes of your father and all the Olympians.
But
why? I ask.
Because, Chloe says, though you have sought to defy both Fates and gods, still you have won our favor. This is our gift to you.
I consider that. Why and how have I won their favor? I do not know, but it is an honor that I would imagine few mortals have been awarded. Still, what does it mean to me?
What does that make me? I ask.
Free.
I fade away, back to the dream? Back to the mushroom? I do not know. I simply
fade.
Where did he go?
I sent him away.
I cannot see him! Clotho! You have hidden him from all of us!
Yes. Only I can see him.
Zeus will be angry he will force you to reveal Apollos son to him.
Then I shall see him no longer.
No sister! Do not do this thing!
Clotho! No!
He shall not be found. I must make myself blind to him.
Why, sister? Why did you pluck out your eyes?
Speak to us, sister!
She does not speak she merely goes to spinning the thread of mens lives
She spins them blindly.
Woe be unto those whose fates are not yet woven, both god and mortal, for their lives now begin as a thread spun by a blind Fate.
Love makes one do foolish things. I have done foolish things on account of it. I have tossed my life away on account of it. I have sat on this mushroom and smoked this hookah, and searched my soul for a lesson learned of it all.
I find none.
I am the fool of all fools. Life is not about the lessons learned, though the learning can ease future suffering. It is not about fulfillment and finding happiness, though the moments of happiness are necessary to balance out the years of sorrow. Life is about living it, not observing it. Its not a grand experiment. There is no endgame, no final destiny, not until we die. And that is what I now understand. You have to live until you die.
Not a lesson, just a fact.
The smoke is bitter to my tongue. It burns my nostrils and my chest. I have smoked long enough, dreamed long enough. It is time to decide.
The caterpillar said there were two sides of the mushroom from which I may choose to eat one to make me smaller, the other to make me larger. I understand now what he means.
I have another chance to live, and with that chance comes a choice. I may choose to forget it all Jessie, my parents, Ares, my thoughtless treatment of Miu, and a thousand other sins and crimes that I have committed against my friends and associates. I could forget all of that and start over, without memories, without a sense of identity. I could reinvent myself, just as I did at Maggies Rock where I turned up as a blank slate.
Or
I can accept responsibility for all I have done and hope that at least some of those I care about can forgive me. And if they cannot? As they say, I have made my own bed.
I climb down from the top of the mushroom, look it over, decide which side is which and take a bite.
I see a smile in the air before me. A cats secretive smile.
Hey, Mickey, it says.
I hear voices and know that I am home. I do not hear the voices with my ears, for I have none. Ares deprived me of them.
I know that I must be a sight that would make Dr. Vahzilok cringe. Thankfully, I am blind (for I also do not have eyes) and so cannot see what I know the others do. I know that I would be dead if the Fates had not hidden me from even that dark god.
The only faculty I have left to me is my mind. It is my only way to interact with the world now, and learning to use it to communicate with others is like learning to walk no like learning to talk all over again.
But Im learning to do it, and even though no one seems to hear my psychic voice yet, I can still pick up the surface thoughts of the people close to me.
I know that tomorrow, Ms. Kinsolving has arranged for a specialist from the K. Phillips Institute to come and examine me. Maybe this specialist will provide me with a voice others can hear.
For now, the room is empty and I am alone. The temptation is strong to return to the mushroom.
I have no sense of time. It's only when others are around that I have a sense of anything happening. Others are around now.
Dr. van Vogt is astonished that my brain still functions at all.
It is a simple matter to get a dead heart to beat, he tells Ms. Kinsolving, but for this withered brain to still be active
It is beyond miraculous.
He wants to take me back to the Institute (he thinks the word in a capital way), but Ms. Kinsolving tells him no. He hooks my brain to a machine and I feel my consciousness expand a bit. I can feel the world around me in a new way that I do not understand.
And because I do not understand this new perception, I am afraid to use my voice; that it might be too loud, or might be misheard.
I am quiet. Maybe tomorrow
“Hey, Mickey...”
It’s Miu. I wish I could see her. I wish I could actually hear her soft, smooth voice, but this will do for now. Still, I want to say something back so badly…
She continues, “...feels like I should do the cheer whenever I say that, doesn't it...”
I had to look up that video when we were living together in Etoile, just to see what she was talking about the first time she made this comment. Miu is much prettier than the girl in the video.
“Or should I be calling you 'Smith'...I don't know, you've never been 'Smith' to me...”
I want to say, “I don’t have to be ‘Smith’ – I can be whoever you want me to be.”
“I'm glad you're alive...when they took you I thought you were a goner for sure...”
I want to hold her and tell her it will be all right. Those were such dark days and she had to face them alone and uncertain…
“Tiny'll be okay.”
I’m glad she told me that. He might be a thug, but he was my friend and protector.
I try to say something to her… I try to reach out… do something so that she knows I hear her…
“Hope you're not mad, but when you got taken I made sure Tiny got to a hospital and then I came straight back to the Rock...I know you ran away but they had a better chance of finding you than I did...”
How could I be mad at her? How could I ever be mad at her?
“You're back at the Rock now... Say what you want about them, but they'll keep you here and start trying to fix you...”
Is my best chance here, at the Rock? I burned so many bridges before I left. Is there anything left for me here?
“Yeah, I know, I know...maybe there's nothing here anymore... I started over fresh when I finally realized you had to be gone... But they'll take care of you until you're fixed, you know they will.”
Again, I try to do something to reassure her…
“ ...I guess you were right about not being able to die. I bet it sucks right now, but when you're better you'll like it, I hope.”
Yes. It sucks. But it sucked worse before Miu came to see me. I don’t feel alone now. I hope she stays. If she stays, I know I can stay also.
“Don't worry,” she says, “I won't go anywhere.”
And she stayed with me through the night until the next morning when the doctors returned.
“We could create a clone. There are ways to transplant one’s sentience from one body to another, either through science or magic. However, I doubt if there is enough of the right kind of genetic material to guarantee a successful reproduction. There could be… defects.”
Dr. van Vogt makes me feel like a culture in a petri dish.
“That’s out, then,” Ms. Kinsolving says.
“What he needs is a healer,” the doctor says. “A good one. Not a ‘battlefield medic’ as so many in Paragon City are. He needs a healer who can rebuild him piece by piece, step by step. All those nerve endings reconnecting… the pain could be unbearable if not handled correctly. And we have no idea what kind of psychological state he might be in after going through this. He needs an architect, not a handyman.”
“I know of someone,” Ms. Kinsolving says.
I already know who Ms. Kinsolving has in mind. It’s one of the things Miu mentioned when she visited me… Was it yesterday? The day before? I have no perception of time now… But I know who she’s going to ask, and I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. Jessie’s been through so much and her condition… but how much time has passed? She was barely showing last time I saw her. Maybe her condition has changed?
How much time…?
Tiny had taken me to Grandville, ostensibly to have me meet Arbiter Sovich, an official go-between who expedites business between Arachnos and the Marcones. It was similar, I think, to a meeting of foreign diplomats. There was a certain level of trust, but one side didn’t dare to turn its back on the other.
The meeting didn’t last long and when it was over, Tiny surprised me by telling me he had further business to take care of that I couldn’t be privy to. Though we had arrived in a helicopter, he said that we would return via boat – or submarine to be precise – so as to avoid some ground-to-air skirmish Longbow had started between Lord Recluse’s city and Port Oakes. He gave me the dock number and told me to meet him there in a few hours.
With some time to kill, I asked my official Arachnos escort to give me a quick tour of Grandville. It was impressive in a prison-disguised-as-a-city kind of way. Foreboding is the word, I believe. There were jumbotron screens filled with Lord Recluse’s image and his voice boomed over loudspeakers so that you cannot get away from it. I’m glad Etoile entire isn’t like that, but I get the impression that it easily could be.
After the tour, I went to the dock to meet our sub. Tiny wasn’t there. Instead there was a handful of people around my own age: a pretty girl with ivy-like cascades of tiny leaves for hair; a fellow with dark glasses and a fetish for knives; and a sweet-faced girl, maybe younger-looking than the rest of us who seemed to think that she was Alice and that Etoile is Wonderland. I thought that perhaps they hoped to avoid the ongoing air skirmish also, and thought little of it when one of them mentioned going to the bank to make a withdrawal. (One must take care of one’s daily business, even in the “Rogue Isles”.) I stupidly made a comment about opening my own account.
Tiny hadn’t yet arrived when it was time to depart, but that also was not unusual. He was my bodyguard, but we both understood that we each preferred a certain level of individual freedom, and so long as I promised to be careful, his constant vigilance over me was unnecessary. So I got on the sub with the other cool kids without thinking twice.
Far more time pass than the trip from Grandville to Port Oakes should have taken and I became worried. After a few more jokes about “making a withdrawal”, I realized that I had somehow gotten on a sub that was hired to take these others to Paragon City to rob a bank.
I had a problem with that. I’m not really a criminal after all, and had spent a good bit of my time in Paragon stopping people like this from robbing banks. I was quite good at it too. But here I was, listening to them form strategies and laugh about the slackness of Paragon City heroes.
I found out that they were part of the Orphans – a name I had seen graffitied on walls and in parking lots around Port Oakes. They had a reputation for quick, violent strikes and even quicker escapes. They also had a rep for dealing harshly with those who get in their way.
Indeed “Alice” was fully prepared to bash my brains in at any given moment with that big mace she carried.
The less said about the bank robbery, the better. Let us just say that I did not enjoy it. In fact, I went through the trouble of hiring another submarine to go to Paragon so that Miu and I could stage a robbery and return the funds that were stolen to the bank vault. I know that sounds crazy but –
Miu? Miu’s my girl. My “squeeze”. My gun moll.
We “met” when I was chasing some troublesome characters into the sewers (yes, the most romantic of places to meet). I was much more focused on my quarry than I was on anything that was behind me. Then suddenly I heard:
Hey, Mickey you’re so fine!
You’re so fine you blow my mind!
Hey, Mickey! Hey Mickey!
I was rattled at first to hear someone cheering me on (it turns out that “Hey, Mickey” is a song), but when I turned around, there was one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen. Her hair was pink like the neon cotton candy at Spanky's Boardwalk, and even though she wore a mask, it didn’t disguise her loveliness, nor -- for long -- her identity.
Now, I’m with her every chance I can be. She accompanies me on business – and of course, on pleasure -- and Tiny pretty much gives us all the space we need to do whatever we want. I’m not sure my grandfather and great-uncle approve, but I’m a Mafia prince. What are they going to do?
I have it all: prestige, a dream apartment, a fledgling musical career, and a girl like no other. This life is starting to grow on me. Right now I can’t imagine why I would ever go back to my old life.