Shades of Blue: Heroes of Roleplay Town

[Orion]

Orion felt his throat grow tight as Blackest Night's departure wore on - for the last time departing Roleplay Town and KHI, for the first and only time leaving the mortal plane. Although Orion wasn't overly sentimental, and didn't place any real value in Night's body once life left it, he still felt the Roleplaying great deserved more than to be left on the street. He already had blood on his clothing, so Orion picked up the body, careful not to jostle it around too much or treat it too roughly. At the very least, he knew he was in the presence of people whose opinions he valued, and one of whom was a friend to Night himself.

"Depends. There's still a lot to discuss. We can talk as we move," Orion said, and began walking east. Orion expected Ulti and Wehrmact to follow him, for as the only other moderator and administrator actually in Roleplay Town, they would at least be partially tasked with mopping up any mess that unfolded in that part of the city. The rest he didn't ask to follow him along, but he would let them do as they may. Mistearea had already left, Eva looked drained from her efforts, and the usually inquisitive Omni was likely to follow.

Orion led the solemn march east, and spoke: "Sean deserves more than to be left on the street. His old home now belongs to Prophet, but he's only occasionally in town at the best of times - I don't even think he's been here for half a year. We know what killed Sean, so there's little to be gained by handing him in for autopsy. I figure we may as well lay him to rest in a familiar place - he said himself that Roleplay Town's a lot different to how he left it."

"I'm still trying to understand why whoever blew out the bridge did just that. It's overkill as a means to prevent an ambulance getting to Roleplay Town, since they have the means to stop at least one. Unless," Orion slowed for a moment, head bowed as a realisation struck him, "they blew the bridge so as to prevent any more ambulances getting here, or any other services and assistance for that matter, at least via the bridge."

Orion adjusted Sean's body on his shoulder, in an attempt to make him resemble a limp sack of potatoes as little as possible. "However, we all know the bridge isn't the only way of getting to the Creative Isle. There are public and private boats, personal helicopters, and the subway. If our explosive friends are looking to disconnect Creative Isle - and by extension, Roleplay Town - from the rest of KHI, their next move has to be to strike at the subway, in at least two places."

Orion recalled the rough layout of the publicly-accessible underground - the KHI train network was a rough circle that snaked through all sections of the city. Each sub-island of KHI had two spots where the tunnels left the underground completely and went underwater. "The tunnels at the east and west ends of Creative Isle. Hit them at the right spot, and you can both collapse the part of the tunnels and flood much more of them."

Orion pulled out his phone to unlock it, then immediately put it back in his breast pocket, his invisible neutral tendrils igniting signals that buttons would otherwise spark, reading the screen without eyes. "They haven't struck yet," he said, "So now would be an ideal time to investigate, see if they do plan on blowing the subway tunnels, or if they hoped the bridge demolition was enough to keep people away. "

He looked over his to shoulder Wehrmacht on his left. "Boss, I'll need to speak with you in private about... A little bit of everything." He then looked to his right, over Sean's slumped body, to Ulti, Omni and - to his surprise - Eva. He was impressed that she doggedly came with them, perhaps wishing to see Sean laid to rest even after her efforts to save him had failed. Orion briefly put on a deadpan voice in a higher tone, briefly mimicking a flight attendant: "In the unlikely event of an emergency, It'd be good to have at least a couple of people down there, with the right equipment. Speaking of such, I'll have the Lemmings cook something up for you. Give them a few minutes.

=========================

Two minutes later, the whole group swerved around when they heard a scraping noise coming from somewhere behind them and to their left. Down in the gutters, from out of a storm drain, something resembling a glorified skateboard was being wedged out, evidently a little big to fit smoothly through the horizontal space. Correctly assuming it constituted at least part of their 'equipment' both Omni and Ulti approached it, and lifted it between them, while Eva watched from a distance.

Its flat, carbon-fibre surface was roughly coffin-shaped, six feet long and two wide. Screwed to its underside were two rectangles of the same material, such that if you looked at the thing from the front or rear, it looked like the Greek letter and mathematical symbol 'pi' stretched horizontally. Bolted on to the bottom of these rectangles were in total four small wheels, and bolted onto the front of the top surface was a cable spool and hefty-looking hook. On the two diagonal sides at the front were bolted handles, at the rear of it was a rope with a loop in its end, about a metre and a half long.

Orion explained: "I need a small team working together: One of you will be the person walking into the potential deathtrap, the other will be in some utility vehicle or another with a front or rear cable and hook. Whoever takes the goofy skateboard with them walks with it alongside them on a rail. If any danger strikes, you jump on it and press the button on the side of the spool, it'll start reeling you in."

"The person in the car at the same time starts reeling in their own cable while driving away from any disruption. As for the third person, it'd be good to have someone on lookout or something - if people know of your involvement in tonight's attack on the Academy, they might target you further. Best to rely on strength in numbers."

With each sentence, Ulti's and Omni's faced changed in different ways. Ulti's came to more and more resemble a you've-got-to-be-kidding expression, while Omni looked like he might even enjoy the escapade. Eva's face was stoic, steadfast, apparently already consigning herself to some further duty. If Roleplay Town was to be further disconnected, they might all find themselves stepping up and into to jobs they'd never considered filling.

"The two hooks will also be interlocked, effectively more-than-doubling the distance you can travel into the suspect areas of the tunnels and the speed with which you can get out of there. The Lemmings tell me there's a suitable car between here and the Roleplay Town subway station. I'll have them unlock it for you as well as open up the maintenance access to the tunnels, that way you can drive down into them and get to either target tunnel quicker. Oh, with the boss' permission, of course," Orion finished, nodding to Wehrmacht.

 

[Wehrmacht]

"Yeah, whatever will make it easier for them", said Werhmacht, amused at Jezza's plan and the silly-looking skateboard the lemmings had conjured up (the pi symbol made him chuckle in his head). "Before you go though, I have something I want Jezza and Sarah to hear. I recognize that this probably isn't the best time, but we won't have a best time for a while, so I'll just get straight to the point..." While investigating the vague and sinister threats to Roleplay Town had been the major reason behind his trip, he had also come because there was a staff issue to be addressed.

For years, KHI had been overstaffed, filled with people who were decent enough but did not necessarily contribute much to keeping the place afloat in the grand scheme of things. Old staff were prone to coming back whenever, as if being on staff was some trivial thing that could be given without much thought. On top of all this the crowded nature of the staff meant loitering, and loitering meant arguing over petty things and making an extremely unpleasant working environment for everyone involved. Wehrmacht had grown tired of it and initiated a series of reforms: people were moved around, demoted, promoted, positions were removed altogether, and so most of the fat had been trimmed. He found that they were rather short on supers after all was said and done however, but fortunately there were two very active members who seemed adequate for the job.

"...we did some spring cleaning on the staff. The global position is gone since it was pointless. Since Jezza has a favorable record I'm promoting him to super instead of demoting him to section mod. Ulti's been here before any of us so I figured she was due for a promotion too. There are some other changes worth mentioning but I figure we can talk about them at a better time".

He wondered what the chances were that the subway would be targeted as their little escapade started. He honestly didn't know, but he hoped nothing would happen. There had been enough chaos and loss today, and they were due for even more if Orion's suspicions held ground. He saw no reason to think he was wrong.

 

[Orion]

With their other companions gone, Orion and Wehrmacht continued west. The masked man continued to hold the body of Blackest Night over his shoulder - if Wehrmacht extended the offer to help carry him, Orion would refuse, although he would soon have a request of the administrator.

For now, he thanked him: "I appreciate the promotion. If Roleplay Town or the Creative Isle as a whole does get cut off from the rest of KHI, it means we're more able to fight back. Plus, y'know, it's just nice getting a promotion, even if it is by technicality."

As their trek dragged on, Night's body grew stiffer and colder, all the while feeling heavier. When the grounds of Prophet's Manor came into view, he asked of Wehrmacht: "Ring up the Lemmings, ask for a pair of shovels and a ladder. If no one responds to knocking on the door, we'll jump the walls."

Square in shape, three of the sides of Prophet's grounds were enclosed by eight foot high walls, behind which sat lush, green hedges that stood twelve feet tall, that were started to look unkempt. The walls at the front of the property were recessed from the property perimeter, forming a roughly triangular space that held a small driveway and garden, and led to the main entrance. Sure enough, there

Sure enough, a few minutes later, with equipment now in tow, Orion and Wehrmacht found the manor unresponsive. Even silent, dark and cold, Orion's senses told him. No heating appeared active in all the building, no lights on, not even much electricity passively pulsing through the building's circuitry.

This could, of course, be put down to it not being occupied for months, even then it felt strange in some way neither of them could quite place. They moved around to their right until they came to roughly the middle of the property's side wall, and the ladder was placed against it.

Orion remained on the ground while Wehrmacht ascended the ladder with both shovels in hand, which he used at the top wedge an opening in the hedge. He dropped down the other side, and Orion followed, laying Night's body on the top of the wall as he brought the ladder up the wall and then down the other side. It would be only too much like some B-grade movie for them to leave their ladder on the other side.

The two of them scouted the grounds, looking for a place to bury Sean. It was hard to tell exactly what would suit most, for even the areas that looked half-good in the night seemed to be getting mangy, and other areas looked like they had been mowed clean only recently. Orion sighed, readying himself for imminent rebukes from the one man who - among anyone - should have been told all this from the start. "Alright, time for the truth to come out."

 

[Prophet]

Ordeith stared at the screen as the chaos unfolded across Roleplay Town. Round brown eyes opened wide as people scrambled for the cellar. Beneath the wooden comedy mask he wore, Joseph’s face twisted into a concerned frown. Bushy eyebrows lowered as he placed his drink carefully down on the counter and quickly followed the rest of the crowd down the dark stairs. Joseph pondered the situation calmly as he bustled down the stairs with the shouting people.

Something is happening… I was supposed to meet a client here, but they never showed… and now, the explosive on the bridge and the attack on the Academy… I could’ve been there as easily as anyone else, and yet I didn’t, because I was invited here… Coincidence? Possibly. But Wormwood would doubt…

Ordeith’s brown loafers padded softly against the wooden stairs and as he stood amongst the crowds moving forward, he felt the jostling and the pushing symptomatic of growing panic. Ordeith glanced around at the faces surrounding him. Their eyes were wide with fear, the situation hitting many of them hard. None of them knew what was happening. Neither did Ordeith of course, but he knew that not many handled the unknown as well as he did…

The cellar opened up into the tunnels underneath the city. The darkness was deep, enveloping them like an eerie mist, with only small electric lamps lighting the way every so many feet. The whole Tavern had moved into the tunnels, almost 100 roleplayers gathering and shouting as another boom went off somewhere overhead. Shouts became screams and the growing panic broke as the crest of fear fell over the crowd. Ordeith remained still as people pushed by him, only escalating the emotions flying through the air, screams echoing off the walls until no one voice was clear anymore.

This is dangerous. Order needs to be maintained. And I know just the person to do it…

Ordeith closed his eyes, focusing so that the screams were drowned out his mental willpower. Calm, serene thought flowed through his mind and Wormwood opened his eyes beneath the mask.

“Everybody, calm!”

The voice wasn’t particularly loud, nor was it incredibly intimidating. Yet it held a quiet serenity that was compelling over all of the chaos. Almost immediately, people began to hush and turn to this odd masked fellow by the side of the bar. Wormwood smiled, removing his mask to reveal a wrinkled, kind face. The face was actually young, but held the a bizarre sense of age. His makeup was done to accentuate his features, making him seem much older than his voice betrayed him to be. Wrinkles held wisdom and eyes held vitality. This was the face of a tired soul, one whose voice held the last drive the man possessed. The voice was beautiful and reassuring, like that of an angel calming shepherds in their fields.

“We will be okay. Everybody keep calm and move along the tunnel. We will all be okay.”

The mass of roleplayers seemed to be calmed by Wormwood’s tone, and the fast breathing began to slow. However, as silence began to settle, a single voice broke through the calm. A voice with deepness that cut like a knife through the soft tones of Wormwood’s aura.

“Will they, Joseph?”

A single man emerged from the crowd, dressed in a cheap looking suit. His face was peculiarly odd, in an indescribable way. His features were just so… average. However, his eyes burned with intensity unmatched by the rest of his features. Dark brown pupils glinted with fervency and as he raised his hands, it seemed like his features melted off his face. The cheap suit seemed to melt away, transforming into vapor and vanishing into the darkness, revealing black combat boots and a dark red cloth, wrapped around his upper chest. His face vanished into the darkness as well, the wisps of fleshy color drifting into the air as they peeled off of the silver mask. The plain, silver mask seemed to glow in the darkness, and for a moment, masked man stared at masked man. The crowd grew dead silent.

“Welcome, creative minds. So happy you could join us.”

 

[Orion]

Wehrmacht shot him a look, obviously tired of having to wait for answers. "All this business about powers might be a good place to start." Orion found a place to temporarily put down Sean's body; the reduced strain on Orion's body would very soon be appreciated.

He reached under his collar with a single hand and - for effect - ripped it off in a single, swift motion. For the first time that night, and the first time in a while, Wehrmacht saw Orion's face - teeth gritted, nostrils flared, face strained. A sharp intake of breath as the strange piece of quasi-fabric left the tall man's face.

Orion closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm himself even as his face began to redden and tiny beads of sweat started to form. He would soon re-aclimatise to the discomfort, but for now it was hard to push past. "Everyone's wondered at some time or another why I started wearing a mask something like this." He held it up, the usually illuminated garment now pure black, inert.

"Loads of people guessed half-correctly it was as a partial disguise for when I started being a bit more like a vigilante in trying to clean up Roleplay Town. Only in recent months have a few come to know, through my telling them."

"The other reason-" he paused, turning a gloved hand to point lazily at his face, whirling the digit around slowly to indicate his general state. He winced slightly as he did so, as though that tiniest gust of air was painful. "-Is this. This is what I paid to get my powers."

"Undifferentiated neural tissue spread through my body, like some hyper-virus was taking effect. Rewriting me until my whole body was a brain, with all the capabilites such an expansion would bring. What it brought in lucidity of thought, it did the same to my senses - the tiniest sensation is, at best, a discomfort. Most of the time its unbearably painful."

Orion replaced the mask, evidently relaxing as the fabric slid down his face. "That's why I seemed a bit, eurgh, tipsy for a few months. All the pain medication I could get my hands on. Eventually, I had a new mask engineered, and oh, it was marvelous. Targeted electrical pulses knock out pain receptors while it's on, plus the stars have their own uses. Expression, intimidation, illumination. I got the mask from Morpheaus, and my gun," he said, drawing the unconventional firearm for a quick demonstration, before putting it back and moving to lift Blackest Night.

"He seems to have had little issue with getting his powers, though they might be a bit specifc to be regularly useful. Somehow, he can make artefacts of the imagination real. Not just anything, it seems. You've got to have a good grasp of how it works, and how it might work in the real world. I get the mechanisms of this gun, the nanocircuitry of this mask. With my help, he made them real. That's why I wanted to go to him about the seeds - simple as they may be, he's the only one who can make things pop into existence that I know of."

Further scoping, and the pair found a suitable place: A clearing of trees that was backed up against the far wall of the grounds, their trunks bowing inward and forming a light canopy overhead. Orion laid the body against a tree, and Wehrmacht passed him a shovel. Though he could feel no pain right now, Orion still felt the cold, and would relish the exertion to heat himself up.

"Evangeline's a healer, but I've little idea how it works at the fundamental level. Somehow stops the damage one might incur from an injuryt while simultaneously letting repairs systems get to work. Wondrous stuff, but I figured someone in the Realists or any other interested individual would want to get a hold of her, use her to try and get ahold of her powers. Imagine what some extreme sadist could do if they could prolong their victim's torture, what someone at large could do if they could shrug off bullets. I promised I'd try and keep her powers secret for that reason, but I failed that to at least some extent tonight."

The hole in the ground gradually grew, a rough rectangle seven feet by three feet long. Orion doubted they would make it to six feet deep before they'd call it sufficient. He could have called upon the Lemmings to do the work, but Orion felt Night had earned a slightly more personal touch, even if it was from two people he had only come to know very recently.

"Ordeith's developed some way to speak with people, convince them, potentially twist their minds, and it's more than just the right words and tone. It's like something reaches into those he speakes to at certain moments, and it doesn't let go until long after he's done. Urbane can play with light on a small level, maybe even a little bit of invisibility through bending the path of photons, so for obvious reasons I've had to keep an eye on him in regards to that."

"Mist's not up to big puffs of pure Newtonian force, but he can put more oomph into things he comes into contact with. Professor... Gets a little more eccentric like some of his characters, and some items of his shift to reflect this. Omni's always playing bad guys, but unless his power is to scheme in the background nothing's happened to him yet."

 

[Ordeith]

Ordeith masked his surprise by turning it into a look of sudden realization—which was still genuine, to a degree. Deep, with a slight vibrato of excitement; there was no mistaking the voice that had undermined Orion's speech. Forcing himself past the man's bizarre costume change, he allowed his inner sleuth to take control.

Hrm. This might actually be convenient . . . in a very dangerous sort of way.

He had left the Academy not only to meet his client, but to make himself useful to Jezza by probing the audience for information. The section moderator already had his hands full—with a ruined presentation, a dead terrorist, and Blackest Night in critical condition. If the Vice Principal's alter-ego could unearth a few leads, the coming investigation would be that much better for it. He didn't enter the Tavern expecting much, but had at least been able to gather some of the unknown seeds distributed during the speech.

The attack on the Academy tore a hole in his plans; and before Ordeith could patch it, he found the information he sought walking right up to him. A charismatic masked man, he thought. It's not the most original schtick, but I'm hardly in a position to criticize it.

Sir Silver Mask spread his arms grandly. "Welcome, creative minds. So happy you could join us." This, combined with the man's hijacking of Orion's speech, was a sufficient cue for Ordeith. He quietly slid Wormwood's mask inside his jacket; professor Joseph Ordeith would be more useful here. In a few moments, no one would remember the mask.

"I'm flattered, sir." Ordeith's voice transitioned into a purely lecturing tone—sharp, but dry. Confident and knowledgeable in all matters. Self-authoritative in such a way that any opposition, once politely addressed, would be dismissed with the indifference of swatting a fly.

"Though I suppose that would be your intent—to flatter and coax us into obliging you. To ingratiate yourself to us, maybe create a problem that doesn't actually exist, then present yourself as a friend and leader. It's a tactic oft-used, and there's no shame in using it; but it's often implemented by those who would otherwise not be listened to." The Vice-Principal smirked, albeit very politely. "Judging by what I've heard so far, I'm sorry to say that your group—if you truly are part of a group—falls into that category.

"The people of this district are intelligent, sir; you've said so yourself. Their work spearheads the Creative Isle. If you think the minds of Roleplay Town are going to be snared by parlor tricks and manufactured compliments, you're sadly mistaken." Ordeith grinned, and turned to the crowd (which contained more than a few of his students). "Do you see how easily it works?"

It was very same tactic he attributed to the Silver Mask—discredited, then made credible, then discredited again. A few of his students even laughed, albeit nervously.

Ordeith stepped towards the speaker, confident in the crowd's support. "I'll ask you to let us back above, now. If you'd like to further press your point, I suggest a pamphlet or a book. The Roleplaying Academy is always open to guest speakers as well, though I think you've removed that possibility for the time being. In any case, sir, arson and hostage-taking won't convince anybody. So let us go."

I'm either going to get my wish, learn something about this fellow, or get my neck snapped. Time to hope—and look important, above all. Oh, God, look important...

 

[Orion]

"All these traits, these powers, they look to be drawn from characters we regularly play or associate most strongly with. On some level or another, this all started happening eighteen months ago. Whether or not they're tied in some way, Shamdeo died before any of this showed up. I know the investigations didn't lead anywhere, but I think something about his presence, or actions, or knowledge of some area, kept this sort of stuff from happening."

"I won't get hugely conspiratorial on you, but I've at least acknowledged some possibilities: Someone - like a Realist - found out Sham was keeping stuff like the powers from happening, and killed him so this could all start. Or, he just died because of something unrelated, but his death allowed all this to come to be. Maybe it got all too much for him and he took the easy way out. We don't know, and it's only tangentially related to how things are now, but it bears mentioning."

"Anyway, I specifically tried keeping all this stuff under wraps - even from other moderators and yourself - because I didn't want it exploding as a big public thing. Even if it's through the friends of the mods whom we trust, we know that leaks are possible even without ill intent. Roleplay Town's declining activity played to my advantage in that regard. Too many people beyond some critical number knowing, and Roleplay Town was garaunteed to soon be flooded with those wanting powers, compounding the problem."

"While you, me and a few others can tie together the events of tonight - the seeds manifesting, Dante assuming empowered form, the bridge being blown - the general public might, at best, notice the attack on the academy shortly preceding the bridge going down. I'm fine with that. Ideally, I think, something approaching a media blackout might be useful. Not an overt one, but some way to keep powers as under the radar as possible."

"If whoever blew the bridge and might collapse the subway, there's a chance they'll target people crossing in ferries or their own transport. The public knowing is just more potential casualties to worry about, and if the worst comes to pass, they'd just contribute to the chaos if this whole powers thing escalates into wars on the streets. You, me, everyone who we can get a hold of, I hope we can work to make sure that doesn't happen."

All throughout his explanations, Orion expected to be stopped suddenly, but Wehrmacht listened intently and in silence, absorbing all the facts Orion announced. At least for now, there would be one bit of information Wehrmacht would remain oblivious to, as would virtually everyone else in KHI. Infinitely more questionable on a personal level for so many, Orion hoped to keep it under wraps as long as possible.

 

[Wehrmacht]

It was all way too much to take in. He was expecting something was going to be up, but he had no idea it reached this far and on this level.

The dark shadows that surrounded roleplay town were suddenly shadows no longer, but a visible, tangible threat that was quite significant. Suddenly everything was starting to make sense: the seeds, the attack on the academy, evangeline keeping Blackest Night on a lifeline, Jezza's mask, the bridge being blown up, Shamdeo's death, all of these events now made so much more sense by themselves and in conjunction with one another.

He wondered how long this had been going on without him knowing anything but vague nothings. Perhaps if he had known sooner, some of the tragedies of that day could have been avoided, they could have been prepared, or triggered another chain of events where the circumstances would be different.

"I understand why you wanted to keep it quiet, but I'm not so sure if that ended up being the best idea. What's done is done though", he said, wiping the sweat off his brow. He was a little perplexed, but he felt no anger. And it wouldn't have been very useful to be angry, anyway. Perhaps after they'd seen this through they could discuss this more, but right now they needed to focus on the matter at hand, cooperation was key.

But there were some important considerations to bring up all the same.

" We may eventually be unable to get in touch with the outside the way things are going, but there's no guarantee these "realists" are going to keep the rest of KHI in the dark about what's going on. Even if they do, eventually someone is going to realize that something is going on in Roleplay Town, and from there it won't be long before the word of the powers gets out. Of course, we'll do our best to cover it up, but I'm not sure that this is even within our scope to hide. When people start getting powers, SOMEONE always decides to get dangerous."


He had been through his fair share of hardships while on the staff, but his tenure as administrator had mostly been plagued by petty problems like staff arguing with one another over who did what when and with whom. Not remotely in the same league as the problem before him now. It was bad enough that roleplayers were manifesting powers, but some of them had realized exactly what he feared they would: who was going to stop them if they decided they were going to be in charge?

"I hope Sarah and Omni get back soon. We need to see Morpheaus and we don't have time to waste."

 

[OmniChaos]

Omni and Ulti made their way to the subway tunnel in relative silence. It wasn't that Omni was scared or intimidated by the woman, nor did he hold any ill feelings toward her, he simply had never spoken with the moderator much. He doubted she wanted to fill the time with idle chatter or rehashing of things already known, so, instead, Omni remained quiet, simply pulling along the crude skateboard contraption behind him.

As they passed the largely empty roads of Roleplay Town, Omni felt struck with a sense of melancholy. Once a place vibrant with life, this once great town had fallen into a horrible state of decay, hardly a remnant of its former glory. He thought of all the work he--no, not just he, but all the leaders of that town--had placed into it as an effort to stop and reverse the decay. The Academy, the Tavern, all the events, and for what? Apart from a handful of roleplayers, none of the community joined, none of them took the extra steps to help reenergize the town. Hell, none of them even took interest in small community events. None of them cared, so Omni couldn't help but wonder why he did.

When they arrived at the tunnels, the vehicle Jezza had promised was already there, delivered by the Lemmings, no doubt. The large, white truck, rusted to hell and back, hardly looked like it'd work, little less run. The businessman walked around the truck to find the cable, which looked in just as bad of shapes as the truck itself. With a little effort, Omni pulled the lever on the truck's rear, unleashing a cloud of rust flakes in the process, and the cable and hook dropped limply to the ground.

"Both of us can't go in," Omni said as he hooked the truck's cable to the skateboard's. "Eva's too drained to be left alone, despite her coming with us, and we certainly can't risk her being taken." He tested the cable a few times before setting the skateboard down at the tunnel's entrance. "At the same time, people could be setting charges in the tunnel as we speak.

"So, if I may, I suggest I stay out here with Eva and you investigate the tunnels. I can easily handle anyone who might attack us from out here." Omni partially pulled a small magnum from beneath his suit, then slipped it back into its case. "However, if there are people setting charges in the tunnel, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it without the risk of them blowing. You, on the other hand, are a moderator and have the power to effectively deal with them with far less risk."

Omni scratched the back of his neck. "Not to just send you into danger or anything, I just figured it the smartest route to take. Sound good?"

 

[Ulti]

Before Omni could finish, Ulti was already on the crude skateboard and pushing herself towards the subway tunnels. She gave a half hearted wave back to her only link to the light and pushed on ahead. Almost immediately, she felt blind in the dark tunnels. But as she went along, only hearing the sounds of the wheels scrapping on the cracked cement, a faint light emitted from the surrounding walls. The lighting was still active in the tunnels. Ulti thought nothing of it at the time. At least she could sort of make her way without stumbling on every rock and crack.

Minutes felt like hours in the subway tunnels. A lingering fear of oncoming subway cars started to fade away as Ulti found herself dreadfully bored. The subway, while in a horrible condition, seemed safe enough. Odd though, she said to herself. If these people meant to keep everyone stranded, why had they not taken care of the subway first? It was an unconventional choice but still a straight shot back to the city. Perhaps they wasted all of their explosives on the bridge. Or maybe they were simply unaware with the subway system. Or perha-

Mid thought, the skateboard hit something hard and flung Ulti forward onto the ground. She grimaced at the sudden burst of pain, drops of blood seeping from her bruised elbow. She rubbed her sore arm, looking to see what the skateboard had hit. Around the front wheels, she found a box. It was an odd box simply for the fact that it looked new. It wasn't covered in dust or broken, despite being in an abandoned tunnel and on the subway tracks. It was not locked but it was still hard to open. With a little more pressure, Ulti snapped open the box. She heard a click. In the distance, she heard a couple of beeps. Then, a smothered bang. The walls started to shake widely. The box, apparently booby trapped, was full of little black seeds.

"Shit..."

Rocks began to plummet from the old ceiling. A small one came crashing down, ricocheting on the walls, finally finding rest at the side of the skateboard, hitting the button that was meant to alert Omni. Like clockwork, the little skateboard started to rocket back towards the entrance. Ulti scrambled to her feet and ran with all her might at the skittering board as the tunnel gave way to the explosion.

"Shit!"

 

[Eva]

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who had nothing to do. She stumbled upon a place, a special place where all your dreams could come true...

Is that how the story went? No, it was happier. It definitely started the same, but it was much more detailed.

This place was her new home.

Suddenly, she was awake. For reasons obvious, Evangeline felt tired. There was a lot going on--a lot but at the moment, it had mostly been a blur. If you asked, she wouldn't be able to tell you exactly what happened. On the plus side, slowly but surely she was getting back up to speed, though not quite at her best just yet.

Fatigue? She'll blame it on that for now, but the feeling of helplessness was starting to sink in, that feeling she hated and so desperately wanted to get rid of. She slowly slouched down into a seated position, letting out a long breath as she stared down at where Ulti had gone. Was it scary? Maybe. There could be rats. Or roaches. Or spiders. Oh dear no, anything but spiders! A chill ran up her spine and she suddenly perked up, quickly scanning her surroundings.

What in the world are you doing, girl? Her subconscious shook her head. Focus!

A rumble quickly caught her attention. Huh? Frowning a bit, sh laid her hand on the ground, as if trying to feel something. Well, feeling for something, if you'd like to be specific. "I think something went wrong." Eva suddenly vocalized her thoughts, scrambling to her feet. "Did you feel that?" She asked Omni, biting her lip.

 

[Professor Ven]

The strange beings waddled about with purpose, though they seemed mindless. They had been here since he had arrived from the Door, moving rubble and wreckage from the site. They seemed the perfect workers; never tiring, never ceasing their constant march of moving the remains of the building.

Though he noticed they shied from gawking passerby, or shooed them off, they merely let him pass. Perhaps it was because they either could not place him correctly, or they simply did not care.

His black and red coat seemed to soak in any light nearby, the white dia'seri - enchanted by those who had originally crafted it - hummed with a normal light, keeping the darkness at bay. The cane clicked and then thumped as he made the transfer from the sidewalk into what might have been a cellar, the rest of the building half-broken, like a child's toy.

He was Quel'los'telkare'loyen Tal'shendar. Though he knew of this place from the memories of his Creator, the First Instructor had been given control to bring order within this chaos. How quaint this city is, yet it is no match for the Teacher's. His is perfection - this. . . this is a mere shell of humanity, a lost soul in the void of human temptations and desires. I will eradicate this corruption, and draw this poison from its wound.

These wanton brigands do not understand; the Teacher has accomplished their goal, and yet they continue to believe that disrupting the orders of society will bring them their revolution of equality, of that strange and yet noble strand of human existence which is unattainable, save in the mind.

When you are God, everything is perfect to your eyes, the voice of the Teacher, the very Creator of Tal'shendar's existence, replied, as his consciousness reverberated into Quel'loyen's mind. Check for survivors.

An swift search the help of one of the squat, waddling creatures brought a trapdoor in view. With hands that were not his own, the Tal'shendar opened the door, and walked into the depths, plunging himself into darkness.

The tunnels were riddled with dust and dirt, though the tracks of countless people showed clear enough in the light cast by the dia'seri. Embrace your true nature, O defender against the Void! The words of the Teacher rang in his mind, as Quel'loyen lifted the Teacher's cane in the first stance of combat.

The tunnel rang with a piercing wail as the Blade of the Dark Sun blazed in the Tal'shendar's grip, its ghostly white light joining that of the dia'seri, and he began to walk briskly, lowering the blade away from his body in a diagonal slant towards the earth.

Quel'loyen neared the crowd of jostling, frightened mortals, bristling his nose in detest. They stink of wretched fear, and you wish to save them? How many of these have you secretly desired to squash into the literal dirt, dear Creator? How many have you so desired to shun into the annals of their own ignorance?

I sacrifice my personal affairs for the greater good. Dost thou know of such a price to be paid?

Tal'shendar did not reply, and merely strode forward through the crowd of the shocked and shaken; a few cowered in pitiful sobs while others only nodded in some kind of morbid reverence.

The First Instructor's eyes met that of the strange Mask, the Blade of the Dark Sun humming its deep-knelled tone. Steady footsteps rang with decision, as Quel'loyen Tal'shendar merely smiled grimly, suppressing his humor.

"You know nothing, ye who dares to reach for the radiant candle of enlightenment! Your grasp of oratory is laudable, yes, were one simply babbling to a nursery of children, dangling a box of sweets before their eyes! Láthspell I name thee - a pathetic wyrm whispering, nay, begging for bits of copper pennies to add to his meager, empty hoard - as you are worth less than that of a stable's dunged floor!" The Blade moved towards its enemy, this Mask, the white light banishing the darkness as Quel'loyen pointed the sword, keeping it close to both his person and the Enigma.

Begin. I will deal with the consequences that arise following this, Tal'shendar. You must merely serve.

I am the Dedicated Servant, am I not?

"Do you know the Song of War, foolish imposter?"

 

[OmniChaos]

"Aye, that I did, dearie."

With Ulti in the tunnel and Eva temporarily unconscious, the Smiling Man had taken grip and seized control from Omni. The clean, black suit was gone, replaced with a tattered trenchcoat, which smelt of old blood. His hands were now covered by his blood-stained, once-white gloves. Around his mouth hung a yellow cloth, a large, black smile--his iconic symbol--drawn on it. The businessman's warm eyes were gone, replaced instead by two red orbs filled with an unbridled insanity. He had appeared--fully--just as the girl woke.

"That slight rumbling you feel would be the tunnels going, I'd wager. Nay, not wager. I set my watch and warrant on it, that I do. Aye, dear Ulti must have stumbled upon my toys and triggered my trap." The Smiling Man raised the back of his right hand to his forehead in a mockingly distressed manner. "A shame, to be sure, but irrelevant nonetheless. The happy coincidence on the bridge compliments my plans enough for the premature explosion of the tunnels to be an otherwise moot action.

"Ah, but where are my manners? I've yet to introduce myself. My reputation proceeds me, so mayhap you've already heard of me." The Smiling Man gave an exaggerated bow. "I'm but a happy man, a joyous man. A laughing man, a smiling man. I prefer the latter, if you fancy." The man drew back to his original position. "Or if you don't. I really don't mind either way. Regardless..."

The Smiling Man reached into his trenchcoat and drew a large, black magnum pistol. With it, he drew a red-tipped round and placed it in the magnum's empty chamber, rotating it into firing position. "This, Miss Eva, is a very special round. Aye, very special. This is my type 14a round: Scattershot. This lovely, little toy unleashes a volley of spiked projectiles when fired." The man pointed the pistol at the girl. "As you'll find out for yourself, should you want to.

"But you're a smart girl, aye? You know there's no hope in running, and with Omni captured and Ulti a likely stain under a ton of rocks, you know there be no reason in screaming, right? Aye, that's right. That's right indeed."

 

[Orion]

The walk to the abode of Morpheaus was a relatively short one, a few blocks south of Prophet's own manor. Having climbed the wall and brought all their tools back with them, Orion and Wehrmact felt their moods improve as they distanced themselves from the cold, forboding place.

Burying Sean only added to the sombre aspect of the place, but what was most unusual was when they spent a couple of minutes scoping the grounds, noticing fully that the massive house appeared entirely abandoned.

Smaller in scale than Prophet's, Morpheaus' house was a pleasant French Colonial in style. Without significant grounds or gardens, it was less imposing but Orion knew it had its own grandeur within. Morpheaus' recent presence in Roleplay Town had been sporadic, with days or weeks on end spent outside of KHI City as a whole.

Fortunately, at a little past midnight, lighs were on within, and the two stepped up to the front door. A quick series of knocks and it was soon openened by a man of a little over six feet and with dark hair who appeared wide alert and wide awake. He peered out onto the street before opening the door wider and letting them in, in a manner that was merely cautious, not paranoid.

While the inside was relatively plain, its decorations on plinths, mantlepieces and hung up on walls were gorgeous: Treasures shining, shifting and glowing - composed of metals and gems and even light itself. Orion recognised some of them as otherworldly, as imaginary items made real by whatever strange means Morpheaus had his disposal.

As they were led down the central corridor of the home, Orion recognised an item that he had had some experience with: a crown of wire, small plates of gunmetal grey, and shards of solid light - the crown of a dimension-jumping prince who popped into the Solar System in the twenty-ninth century. Arriving in a loungeroom, Wehrmacht and Orion sat on a couch on one side of a coffee table, Morpheaus on the other.

The two stared across at the one, and he returned the gaze in silence for a few seconds, all of them waiting for some little truth or secret to come out.

 

[Urbane]

The final chord of "A Day in the Life" finished playing, and with that all distractions were gone. The room was rather dim, lit as it was solely by candles. It wasn't as though there weren't lights at all, but they went unused when alternatives presented theirselves. The lone figure in the room got up lazily, and the "Inner Groove Chatter" began playing off just as they reached the CD player and managed to turn it off. That part always got to them. They looked back at the couch they'd been laying on, and then shifted their attention to their computer. They were curious as to what time it was, and computers always had clocks in them. There were other clocks around, but this reminded them to boot it up, so they could check the news and whatnot. There was a clock on the wall in the kitchen, so they sauntered over, hoping to sneak a peek while the computer booted up. It wasn't terribly early, but they figured they still had some time to get things done before hitting the hay.

They headed back to the computer, and booted up their favorite internet browser. Some people get very heated about those things, so just pretend it was whichever one you like best, and certainly not Internet Explorer. Which it was. They were hoping to check the news, but friends came first! Many of said friends were out of town, either on an errand or a vacation. Some had just plain moved away. There were fewer and fewer people that they knew around, and...

"Shit. Jezza's thing. I'm a total dumbass, aren't I?" They mumbled to theirself, facepalming with the force of a mighty herd of emotionally unstable buffalo which had somehow obtained self-loathing powered steroids. They quickly shifted through all the stuff they could think of, figuring out who was out of town, yadda yadda blah blah blah. Fairly soon, all that was really left was the proper news. They were hoping to get there before the end, or at least to be able to catch Jezza and apologize, but there were certain procedures important to the art of keeping informed. And, since their primary informant was either out of town or ignoring them, all they had was the news.

Upon checking the news, they realized how little a chance of catching the last laugh of the show they had. As a matter or fact, they were probably screwed out of apologizing to Jezza, too. Some dumbass decided to blow up the academy and a couple bridges. Wasn't that just wonderful? What kind of shitty government let this stuff happen, anyway? Regardless of causes or preventative measures, this was an important, once in a lifetime opportunity, and they weren't going to screw theirself out of it.

Watson grabbed a blazer and was out the door in seconds flat.

 

[Ulti]

By a stroke of luck, the skateboard contraption started to slow down. Something on Omni's end was off. But Ulti could not guess at what was at the start of the tunnel. The rest of it was collapsing on her. With a burst of speed saved for life threatening situations (and what is more life threatening than being crushed to death?), she leaped onto the board and started to crank the wheel on her end. She turned and turned and turned and still could smell the dust falling behind her. And yet, she could spy daylight just ahead of her. The crashing and clanking of rocks and steel started to quiet down as the chaos of the tunnels began to stop. The tunnel didn't quite give away if its entirety. The blast must have not been large enough to cause the entire tunnels to collapse. Just enough to make them unusable.

Sensing the danger over, Ulti stopped cranking and let the skateboard naturally come to a stop. She could scarcely breathe, the dust clogging her lungs that were clawing for air. After a brief moment of rest, Ulti approached the opening of the tunnel, still cautious of the opening caving in on her if it was weakened by the cave in. Ulti was almost in the sunlight when she spied a stranger at Omni and Eva. Quietly, she stepped further back into the shadows and sought a wall to cling to. The man seemed a tad familiar to her but she could not place a name. His nature, however, was as clear as the gun he was holding at Eva's head.

Instinctively, Ulti reached behind her for her crossbow. A streak of disappointment slashed across her face. Her bolts were gone. Most likely they were tossed aside when she tripped over the trigger box. The bolts now being under tons of rock and rubble. She knew she could not approach the man as she was. He had the advantage of a hostage already. She only had the advantage of a surprise shot, if she had a projectile. Just then, as she was pondering her next move, a few Lemmings appeared from a dark corner to take survey of the damaged tunnels. An idea struck her. An awful idea that would get any other mod fired on the spot.

Without any hesitation, Ulti picked up a Lemming, cocked it back into her crossbow, and fire the creature at The Smiling Man.

 

[Prophet]

A quiet tremor went through the crowd as the two masked figures stood on opposing ends of the mob. It was a subtle quiver, like that of an electric spark leaping from clothing article to skin, but it held all the tension that was building in these tunnels. The people grew silent, eyes flitting from one masked figure to the other. For the more experienced roleplayers in the room, such a silence was recognized as anything but calm. This was the frozen moment of quiet crescendo. A string pulled taut, ready to snap. The peaceful, smooth ocean before a tsunami strikes. This was the quiet many experienced before a violent battle. In this case, it would be the battle for the crowd.

Joseph slipped his mask off of his face. The expression on his face made him seem much older than he probably was… But when he spoke, it was with the dry wit and sharp intelligence of a man far beyond his age. His tone was critical without being condescending. Calculated, but not emotionless. He knew this was no cage match, but a chess match. And he moved his pieces carefully.

"I'm flattered, sir. Though I suppose that would be your intent—to flatter and coax us into obliging you. To ingratiate yourself to us, maybe create a problem that doesn't actually exist, then present yourself as a friend and leader. It's a tactic oft-used, and there's no shame in using it; but it's often implemented by those who would otherwise not be listened to. Judging by what I've heard so far, I'm sorry to say that your group—if you truly are part of a group—falls into that category.”


The man in the silver mask merely stood there, hands folded behind his back as Joseph spoke up. The mask on his face made his expression impossible to tell. It seemed as if he was merely marveling at Joseph’s impressive display. The removal of his mask to better connect with the audience, the employment of his ethos to win their hearts as well as their minds. It was a brilliant play.

"I'll ask you to let us back above, now. If you'd like to further press your point, I suggest a pamphlet or a book. The Roleplaying Academy is always open to guest speakers as well, though I think you've removed that possibility for the time being. In any case, sir, arson and hostage-taking won't convince anybody. So let us go."

At this point, where the crowd was first unnerved, they now were skeptical. They turned to the man in the silver mask, his enigma now only furthering their distrust. Joseph had implied that the man was responsible for all of the current destruction. The man in the silver mask stood still, immobile, processing the information and staring at the crowd. The chess match had begun with a smart move by Ordeith. However, the Vice-Principal’s aura of authority had only captured their minds. The man in the silver mask would take their imaginations.

“Your points are impressive, Joseph,” replied the man with a nod, his voice carrying across the crowd like it was reverberating from deep within a well, “Your rhetoric flawless. But I come not with parlor tricks nor with manufactured compliments. I come with truth.” At this point, his voice became slightly angry, as if he was offended at the very idea of the accusation Joseph had thrown at him.

“You mistake the events above ground with the agenda of my path. I am not a terrorist. I am a liberator. Who is taking anyone hostage? Who is committing arson? I can answer for those who follow my path that it is certainly not us. There are things going on in this town unfathomable to the most brilliant of scholars. But, you all have access to it. .”

His voice was filled with just the right amount of righteous anger to send a tremor down each roleplayers spine. This was the key to his move. While Joseph’s tone held the intelligent authority of an educated and experienced rhetorician, the masked man’s voice held the deep undertones of genuine belief; the sweet, utterly convincing reverberation of honesty that undercut any well-structured argument. They say if you can fake sincerity, you have it made. As far as the room was concerned, every syllable he uttered held the conviction of gospel. This radiance was electrifying. The attention of the roleplayers was immediately fixated on him. Check, countered.

“You all know I speak the truth. I can see it in your eyes. Roleplayers, many of you have heard whispers of strange things happening beneath the watchful eyes of the moderators here… many more of you have a strange inkling that things are changing in the very fabric of how we roleplay here. You are perceptive. Things have indeed changed. No longer are we limited to confines of these cells we call roleplay booths! No longer are we limited to the buildings these machines create for us! We used to sit in a chair and call our virtual wanderings freedom. You each have the key to release yourself from your prisons. I merely offer a light to show you where it is.”

Every roleplayer stared, utterly fascinated by the man in the silver mask. Dark, chocolate brown eyes stared out at each individual from beneath the cloudy-silver material. The man raised his hand and immediately, the silver mask seemed to vaporize. The silver-gray colors boiled and twisted, tendrils of the mist reforming and curling as color shifted from gray to beige. The vapors solidified and a gasp went up among the roleplayers. The face of the man had taken on the appearance of Joseph. Every pseudo-wrinkle, every dry expression made itself on the man’s face. Pseud-Ordeith gave a wry smile and pointed to the real Vice-Principal standing across the crowd.

“Even you, Vice-Principal, know this to be true,” said Pseud-Ordeith, his voice remaining that of the deep masked man, “Do you expect us to believe your radical persuasive power is the mere accomplishment of education and skilled teaching? Your imagination has let you out of the handcuffs… and the cell door is right there. I applaud your successful steps on the path to freedom. My only admonishment is that you would prevent these deserving minds from leaving with you…”

The face of Ordeith vanished in a puff of mists and the silver-mask stared back at them all. There was only silence now. Beneath the mask, the man smiled. He had them.

“Roleplay is over. Everyone here knows it. But it is not because of laziness or lack of greatness. This was merely a transitional phase. Humans told stories before they wrote them. We filmed them before we could play them. Now, we become them-“

However, the silver-masked man was interrupted. Echoing down the tunnel, a sharp wail rang clear. This was not a human cry, but an earthly one. The song of metal against air, the whooshing scream of a blade being unsheathed. There were enough old-school roleplayers in the tunnels that recognized the fantastical sound and backed away. Their gaze was drawn to a figure strutting down the tunnel from whence they had came, a single blade held pointed directly at the masked man himself. A fedora-like hat graced his head and beneath a colorful buttoned up shirt, a heavy breath pushed its way out. There were whispers among the crowd and from beneath the silver mask, a single, clear whisper slipped out.

“Another mind on the path to freedom,” breathed the man in the silver mask, watching the approaching figure, but he was cut off before he could say more.

“"You know nothing, ye who dares to reach for the radiant candle of enlightenment! Your grasp of oratory is laudable, yes, were one simply babbling to a nursery of children, dangling a box of sweets before their eyes! Láthspell I name thee - a pathetic wyrm whispering, nay, begging for bits of copper pennies to add to his meager, empty hoard - as you are worth less than that of a stable's dunged floor! Do you know the Song of War, foolish imposter?"

A white light emanated from the blade, and the roleplayers whispered as the strange man spoke in tongue strange to reality but familiar to many roleplayers… The man in the mask did not seem perturbed. In fact, he lowered his hands, as if to embrace the strange warrior.

“You channel your characters well,” he said calmly, making sure the others could clearly see this magnificent example of the imagination at true work, “But this is merely a step. Come warrior, and you can-“

A thundering explosion caught the middle of his sentence and shattered it against the sound barrier. The very earth shook and the roleplayers screamed as concrete split above them. The man in the silver mask fell to the ground, catching himself quickly as the earth gave another soul-shuddering quake.

As feared… another part of an attack… Adam better be in place… did you do it, acolyte?

There was a scream as another explosion sounded, this time a bit closer down the tunnel. The ceiling cracked further and small bits of rock fell, cluttering the roleplayers. A few shouted as a large chunk of earth and metal collapsed behind them, essentially cutting off the path back up through the cellar. Shouting gave way to panic as a strange glowing mist began materialize through the rocks. There was no hiss of gas, but strange billowing clouds of white-ish yellow mist came pouring through the cracks in the rocks. Roleplayers covered their mouths, some attempting to hold their breath as the golden mist filled the tunnel. And yet no one coughed. No one felt woozy or ill. In fact, an overwhelming sense of peace filled them. When the man in the silver mask got to his feet, all they heard was his deep, confident, bellow.

“Roleplayers! I can get us out, but you all need to come here! Everyone come close; join me! Follow my voice!”

The mist obscured all vision. The golden clouds cut off other emotions. All enveloped in the mist would feel the fear of death… and the certainty that this man could get them out. They all gathered close to him, each one grabbing a piece of his clothing, and where they could not, pieces of each other. Somewhere in the distance of their addled minds, they sensed the explosion of another bomb. All of their minds screamed out to the man, every conviction of their beings dedicating to one thought.

EMAN, SAVE US!

Yes…

Another explosion rocked the mist-filled tunnel and the ceiling collapsed with a thunderous crash. The mist vanished beneath the crumbling earth and the tunnels were lost in eternal darkness.

Above ground, the Academy lay smoldering, its roof caved in by a similar explosion. Sirens sounded somewhere in the distance and in a dark alleyway a few blocks away, the crowd of roleplayers opened their eyes. Everyone who had grabbed onto Eman or someone touching Eman had appeared there, in the darkness of the alley. People whispered, not truly believing it, but glancing at each other. The man in the silver mask was nowhere to be seen. One roleplayer cried out, pointing at the wall. Sprayed onto the alleywall, in glistening silver paint, lay a single inscription.

“Roleplay is over. Welcome to the first steps of freedom.”

The crowd cheered.

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

A huge, cavernous room was filled with advanced computer hardware and hundreds of old books. The room was filled with a handful of people, each working hard at different stations. In the center of the room stood a large statue, in the shape of a single man, in the epic throes of rocking out. Next to it stood a large roleplay booth, blinking several lights while whirring ominously. One man sat at a table, carefully examining the objects laid out on it. The table held eight different masks, each one emblazoned with a powerful, character-like face on it. There was a space in the middle where one appeared missing. As the man leaned over to examine, there was a gentle whisper of wind behind him, as if something appeared there that had not before. The man felt a shiver go up his neck and turned with a start to face Eman. He put a hand on his chest, laughing nervously.

“Jeez, does this mean our little experiment worked?”

Eman vanished into thin air, appearing atop of a gargantuan bookshelf, sitting casually. The mask obscured his face, but the grinning smile beneath the silver could not be mistaken.

“Yes, Cody… yes it did.”

 

[Morpheaus]

Morpheaus tapped his fingers idly as he stared into Orion’s starry visage. Orion, the city’s self-appointed scourge, seemed to have made a habit of knocking on Morpheaus door. He took several long moments to consider the two men surveying him from across the coffee table: Orion, the pinnacle of obsessive idealism, and Wehrmacht, a rather erudite looking youth who wielded terminal authority over the city. Orion’s visits were erratic, but never surprising. Often times, he came in search of a sounding board for some novel project, and occasion he would attempt to draw Morpheaus from the solitary peacefulness of his home. Unknown to Orion, the only comfort known to Morpheaus was solitude. Every attempt had resulted in one form of failure or another. Distance, silence, and introspection provided a warm blanket for the Weaver of Dreams. Such a lifestyle was haunting, but it was also simple and required little effort, or ambition. Ambition and effort: two qualities Morpheaus found in short supply as of late.

With an effort, his fingers stilled themselves and a deeper silence filled the Spartan sitting room. A brittle tension filled Morpheaus, cloyingly sweet memories rose to the surface of his thoughts, recollections of brighter and more hopeful times which masked a poisonous bitterness. Once upon a time, Morpheaus believed in a world of infinite possibilities. Not only did he believe in it, he lived it and it seemed that the future was brighter still. Then tomorrow came, bring with it the slow realization that infinite possibilities were could become a prison. He had looked upon the rich tapestry of his own potential and become so captivated that he never grasped a single thread. Indecision had taken root within his heart long ago and tomorrow had receded into the abyss. Now, he sat in his home, surrounded by the many miracles he had brought into this world, their haunting presences a constant reminder of once limitless possibilities.

He banished such thoughts from his mind, assured that there would always be time for brooding once his guests departed. With a smile that did not reach his eyes, he gestured to Wehrmacht with a hand gloved in matte gray silk. “I assume you didn’t bring the city’s highest authority to my door for idle chatter, Orion… So, what tragedy comes upon your heels?

 

[Orion]

"Plenty enough, and probably still more unfolding as we speak." Orion took a moment trying to size up Morpheaus' exact mood at this time, looking for anything that could betray any guilt, if there was a spark of recognition. Continuing, he wasn't entirely sure what he saw. "The assassination of Blackest Night. An attempt on my life. A demolition attack on the Academy's main hall. The blowing up of the bridge to the rest of KHI, and potentially the same in the subway tunnels, which others are investigating."

"The one who killed Sean and attacked me was a kid with a grudge, but he had access to full realisation. Adopted the form of one of his own characters, and when he died it faded away before he hit the ground. He attacked while I had a presentation going, and it looks like while I was away, someone took over and kept the virtual environment going, because soon after everyone left all happy and congratulatory. And all with something in their hands that hadn't been there before, that could have only gotten there while they were under. Seeds."

"I suspect the Realists were involved in some aspect of what befell there, but that still doesn't explain how everyone got ahold of their seeds, or how some kid took on an empowered form. We know you've achieved artefact realisation with the conceptual help of an items original maker, so we think you've got something to offer us in regards to all that."

When Orion finished, he felt his phone vibrating, pressed a pair of fingers over its screen while still in his pocket, swore. "Oh look, while we've been chatting someone actually did blow the tunnels." He withdrew the phone from his pocket, turned it so the screen faced Morpheaus, showing the simplified outline of the Creative Isle, a pair of pulsing red points sitting at the north-east and -west edges of the island.

Numbers stood next to each: Three at the north-east, a couple dozen by the north-west point. He understood the three: The Lemmings had reported the presence of Eva, Omni and Ulti before the explosion. They likewise must have reported the dozens at the other location, but who they were Orion had no idea. He'd collaborate the Lemming's witness testimonies to try and piece it together, but right now he had more pressing concerns.

"Up until a few seconds ago, only two people died tonight, and one of them did it to himself. Now that number could have jumped to thirty. I'm sure you can understand we'd greatly appreciate your co-operation. How does a kid start rapidly growing and shooting out skeletal projectiles while a hall full of people suddenly all find themselves with seeds in their hands, as simple as they may be?"

 

[Morpheaus]

Morpheaus raised an eyebrow progressively higher as Orion shared the details of an escalating disaster. He stared at the young man’s bright eyes and saw a great deal of emotion there: fear, sadness, righteous fury, and a little something Morpheaus could not quite identify. The intensity of Orion’s passion, his deeply abiding love for Roleplay and Creative Isle, surrounded him with an almost tangible aura. Here was a man who would go to any length to protect that which he loved. Such intense devotion stirred something within Morpheaus. He found himself almost eager to abet the obviously devastated guardians of Roleplay Town.

Still, he chided himself; there were hidden forces at play here weaving a complicated pattern in the tapestry of Roleplay Town’s present and future. It wouldn't be prudent to expose himself to these forces without first taking their measure. Better to let the game play itself out a little longer, watch the pieces chase one another across the board, and be there to tip the scales when the best opportunity presented itself.

“Well,” Morpheaus exaggerated the L, letting the word hang on the air as he pushed himself up from his seat and moved towards an elegant wood cabinet in the room’s far corner. “Seems our dying little metropolis still has enough drama in it to draw back the curtain once more and put on a little show.” Reaching beneath the neckline of his shirt, he withdrew a small set of keys, selected one, and quietly unlocked the cabinet. He began to open the cabinet before suddenly placing a palm upon the dark wood of the doors and turning to cast a dark eye upon Orion and Wehrmacht.

“During my time here, I have witness several vain glorious upstarts with a taste for theatricality rise up from the shadows of this city and reach for power. They rise into the spotlight they love so much, they trumpet their messages, they draw their swords, and they fall back into the muck. One thing none of these jumped up little thugs has had the temerity to steal that which is mine.”

A dark blue glow suddenly rose from deep within Morpheaus’ eyes, the barest hint of his power to manifest creative energies slowly bleeding out as his anger revealed itself. He smiled coldly and opened the cabinet, revealing a slowly opening iris covering a gateway into the depths below his forlorn home.

“To answer your question, Orion, I’ll need to show you a few surprises. During my self-imposed isolation, I began to delve into the depths of my power and attempt to test the limits of Realisation. I…I discovered many things. Things you could never have imagined were within my capability.” He let the significance of those words hang in the air and gestured for his two guests to follow him down a graceful spiral staircase. The rich wood of the staircase somehow defied architectural convention, spiraling down into the depths with no obvious central support, yet betraying not the hint of instability. The group passed several blank wooden doors as they moved downward, each of them seemed to whisper promises of secret knowledge and power.

“Many of the artefacts you have seen upstairs have the power to preserve, destroy, transform…They each pale in comparison to that which I brought forth as I pressed upon the boundaries of reality. I reached too far though…I brought forth something of my own…Something with a mind and a will, Orion. You fear Realisation unchecked, and I confess, I am sole source of Realisation in Roleplay Town no longer.”

He paused then at a door with no discernible differences from the others and turned to look at Orion, the familiar blue glow rising once more into his eyes. “Though what you speak of is rough and unstable, it is Realisation nonetheless. But the situation is worse than you think…” Selecting another key, Morpheaus opened the door and stepped into a dimly lit, massive chamber filled with a multitude of figures of different sizes resting atop raised daises. A gentle hum filled the room, the sound of an air conditioner stirring to life, and the light slowly intensified as the party stepped deeper into the chamber. Morpheaus lead them into the heart of the room, pausing at the only empty dais in the room. “We've spent a large portion of our lives imagining beings that could do all that a young child could want or hope to do, miraculous beings who personified all the wonder within our hearts and dreams. I wanted to know if I could make those dreams come true, Orion. And I did…”

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