RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Hero Revolution [A new beginning] #0

My true name, tough, is Edulcore Cicciotto. I'm a cook, here in Bologna, my city.

Northern Italy.

An ancient city whose palace are made of red bricks, bricks coming from the clay of the plain over which the city is built.

A plain very cold in winter, wrapped in his mantle of dense, wet mist, and hot in summer, when the fields are burned by the sun.

My summer ended five years ago. I was known as Eurostar, and I was a speedster. Eurostar was only one of my nickname, the one I like most. But the most used by the public, by the press, was the White Marvel.

At the Olympics games of Barcelona, Seul, Atlanta, I won everything. 100, 200, 400, 4x100. I could have won every other competition, right to the Marathon, but it was impossible because the trials were at the same time, and I had to choose.

After so many years of supremacy of the USA and of african-americans, I was the European answer. The bad part, I was also the answer the racists of half world was waiting.

But I didn't care, then. That was the summer of my life. I was famous, rich and happy.

Then come the winter, the mist, the cold. It was 1996.

In March of 1996, in the USA, TriVex Corporation, a private genetics research facility, discovered the metagene, after years of studies over peoples that displayed unusual abilities troughout the United States.

The metagene: a tiny piece of the human DNA that, when adequately stimulated, alter the human phisiology allows extraordinary powers to manifest. Telepathy, telekinesis, extraordinary resilience. Some even said, but it's pure speculation, invisibility, flight, stretching powers.

A week after the existence of the metagene was revealed to the world, the American Olimpyc Commitee asked CONI, its Italian counterpart, to have a complete genetic analysis of my DNA. They at first refused, but after so much pressure from the USA government, they lend a blood sample from me.

And my winter came, the mist, the cold, entered my life: I was a metahuman. My speed was a gift of the metagene. And America asked to have me returning my medals.

I refused. What difference was between me and every American champion? Was their speed built only over their training? No, they were born with a better body than the average people. Well, my body was better than theirs, and way better than the average people.

At first, the International Olympic Commitee agreed with me. But then, the media world begun to mount his story. At first it was only in fitness magazines, but then it spread to the most important talk show and finally to the scientific newsletters: peoples with the activated metagene were not to considered "normal" people. And having them competing with people with the metagene not activated was to be considered unfair.

So, I was excluded from my career. My medals were retired, and I had to return most of my money. Every friends of mine turned their back over me.

I had just the money to open a restaurant. Cooking was the only hobby I had, besides running, and I turned it into a job. Today, nobody really remeber me. who I was. I'm Edulcore Cicciotto, the chef.

But when is night, and a full moon shines in the star dotted black night, I wear the red full vest I used in the competions, and runs as Hell trough the poplar lined fields of my plain.

And I'm the Eurostar again.

[ 09-19-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

[ 12-30-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

You see, I've never been what's known as a team player. I've always been alone for as long as I can remember.

It all started when my mom left me and my dad when I was five. Dad was always working, he was a police officer, and never spent any time at home, which pretty much left me to raise myself. Luckily I was born with a metagene. I guess we lived near a toxic wasted dump before I was born, or my mom stood too close to the microwave while she was pregnant. Either way, I was able to do things faster than anyone I ever knew, which was cool.

Then, when I was twelve, my dad died. I never knew how or why it happened. Having no one to take care of me, and not wanting to go to a foster home, I ran away. I was on the streets for two years, supporting myself by using my speed to take what I needed, like clothes and food.

Then one day I was caught swiping some fruit. I would have gotten away if I hadn't twisted my ankle tripping over an alley cat.

I was sent to a juvenile detention center until my eighteenth birthday. As luck would have that, that damn cat was waiting for me. Everytime I looked, he was right there, following me. He still follows me to this day. I call him "Li'l Jo".

Anyway, I took a job at the local diner, which pays for my cheap little motel room. But at least it's a home. I haven't decided wether or not to ever use my speed again, but one thing's for sure: No more crime. From now on, this kid's playing it straight.

Hey, the name's Ritchie Stevens. Everyone calls me Ritchie Stevens, I'm not one for nicknames.

I guess you can say I'm a basic kind of guy. I like simple things.

Than again, my life has never really been that simple.

I worked my way up the ranks; graduating first in my class, I worked as a street cop for a little while, before quickly moving up the ranks until I got to where I am now.

I am also known as Special Agent Turner. Why Turner? I have no idea, I guess they don't want to use real names, so they brand everyone with shitty "fake ids" and fake backgrounds and shit like that.

I work for the people of America, even though they have no idea who the hell I am, nor do they give two shits. I work for the government, no not FBI, or the CIA. I work under the MCCA, also know to some as the Metagene Cover and Control Agencey.

You don't know the name, because we don't want you to. Every wonder why this freak gene outbreak isn't so wide spread or violent? We monitor all known people in the country with the "special" gene. Anyone gets out of line, well, let's just say that they die of "natural causes" or have an accident. We are the publics only protection against these freaks, they just don't know it.

[ 09-19-2001: Message edited by: GoozX ]

Authorization Walker-579-Gamma-Crimson

Begin Entry

We're making a lot of progress today on the metahuman expansion project. The DNA samples that we've retrieved from our collaboration with the MCCA have proven vital to our understanding and potential control of the metahuman community.

Dr. Knell and I have been working long and hard on our mapping of the metahuman genome and differentiating it from the typical human genome. We still have yet to determine how or why the metagene manifests itself. This much is still a mystery.

However, we have determined how the gene is read to manifest the powers and abilities that it gives. Genetic combinations, when arranged in certain combinations, exhibit various powers. We've identified the combinations necessary for accelerated speed, enhanced strength, flight, telepathy, telekinesis, and elasticity.

I am currently in search of the combinations for the other rumored powers that are said to be the resultant of a manifest metagene. Dr. Knell, my associate, however, is currently studying other venues for the metagene utilization in everyday society.

Dr. Walter Curie, another of our collegues, has taken the liberty of commencing inter-office metagene tests, in order to make sure that our DNA is pure and remains as such. I look forward to the results.

Dr. Charles Walker
Assistant Head of Metagene Research
TriVex Corporation, Thunder City

End Entry

quote:

---

".....you just don't understand, do you? You wake up in strange places. You find yourself wearing clothing that you have no memory of putting on....much less purchasing. Abrasions that you can't account for. Elapsed time. What does it all mean, Professor? What would your...analytical mind surrender in the realm of a theory concerning this phenomenon, eh?"

-Friday

"That these words may one day find but a single inquisitive ear among my brethen of days to come, I must, at great displeasure, apologize for the previous entry into this, my sanctum of scribblings. It would seem that this eternal prankster....this..'Friday', whomever he claims to be, CONTINUES to disrespect my wishes for a PRIVATE journal. That he would be so cavalier as to interject his words between mine...KNOWING that I will not rip them out, or blot them away, as, my faithful future ancestor, you can see...I write on the back of the page, as well as the front. And yet, even after I plead for him to away....

...he bother me, still. More tomorrow."

-August Tallmoore
Her Majesty's Royal Librarian
Court of Windsor

"Moron. Simpleton. You torture me with your ignorance. Why can't you just accept the truth? WHY must you continue to prattle on and on to someone who MAY read this, one day?!! Why is it we ONLY communicate through this pedantic journal of yours?!!

YOU KNOW WHY!!"

-Friday


"Damn you, sir! There, I've gone and said it. But, it had to be uttered. How dare you trespass into my privacy! However it is you are able to infiltrate my home without my knowledge, it matters little. I have already spoken to the local constablery, and have alerted them to you. So, dare I say, I implore you, before the long arm of justice strikes you down, desist and scurry back into the folds of night that bled your existence!"

-August Tallmoore
Her Majesty's Royal Librarian
Court of Windsor



"You didn't speak to the cops!! You aren't at home!! It was a NURSE! Remember?!! And all she did was nod her fuckin' head, and shoot me full of drugs!! Don't you see, August?! Don't you get it!! If you don't find a way to get me out of this padded cell, I'm going to fuck with you FOREVER!!"

-Friday



"I'm disgusted by your continual presence, sir. So, I will play along with your delusional escapades, if it will bring you any closer to leaving me alone. In that, I will ask you this, with an exhausted sigh: How exactly will your freedom from what can only be described as a perfect habitat for such a mind, bring relief, or, have anything to do with me, in the slightest?

I await your answer, my mystery writer. With an air of sarcasm and baited breath."

-August Tallmoore
Her Majesty's Royal Librarian
Court of Windsor



"You fucking idiot. I show you the light, and you simply will not look at it. Fine. Then I'll spell it out for you.

Feel that...prick...right there? In the back left of your head? Feel it? As you read these words? Yeah. You feel it. You know what it is. Don't you? Of course you do. Now you do.

It's very, very simple August. When you're in danger, I'm in danger. When you die, I'll die. And, even as you live, so do I.

Admit it, August. Look in the mirror. Watch your eyes. Watch their color. Nice hazel brown, eh? Your eye color, right? The one you've always had, right?

Now....watch it....change...

Don't you see? You can't be rid of me.

We are the same person."



"....oh dear...."

---

Excerpt From Patient-09745
Psyche Research and Development
SUBJECT FILE: "The One"

I think.

Measuring time has become somewhat difficult.

I wake up for maybe a half an hour at a time... and then I drift off again. Out cold. For who knows how long?

I'm going on the assumption that each time I wake up is one day. I'm fairly sure that I've woken up and passed out again fifty-six times. There's very little else to do but count.

So... day fifty-seven.

What the hell is going on?

The tube is getting smaller. Or am I getting bigger? Or are my eyes playing tricks on me?

Maybe I'm not stuck in a tube at all. Maybe I'm not in the centre of some sort of laboratory, in a clear plastic tube, floating in some sort of green goo...

Maybe it's all just a nightmare. A horrible nightmare.

If I could move, I'd pinch myself.

But I can't. So I continue to live the nightmare.

It took me a long time to figure out how I was surviving, stuck in this tube and floating in this goo. Food and oxygen are notoriously scarce in an airtight goo-filled tube.

It wasn't until about the thirtieth day that I realised a pipe had been crammed into my mouth, and was apparently surviving me with the nutrients I needed.

The pipe... is painful. Horrendously painful. It fills up my mouth, my throat, my sinuses.

But I'm a big fan of nutrients. So I suppose I have no problem with it for now.

Movement in the laboratory surrounding the tube catches me eye. It's hard to make out details... the green goo tend to blur everything.

But I can make out what I think is a man. Walking around. The same man that's in here every day. My captor. The evil fucking bastard...

He walks slowly up to my tube (I've come to think of it as "my" tube. Though this man has obviously paid for it, I think I deserve some sort of entitlement to ownership of the tube, spending so much of my time here).

He leans over, in front of the tube. Reaches down, presses a button on the keyboard below him. A microphone pops out of a small compartment.

He taps on it, and clears his throat. I hear it loudly, inside my head...

Thump. Thump. Cough.

Okay, the microphone works... get on with it...

He says into the microphone, slowly and clearly, "cat's tail".

Again, the words echo inside my head. Cat's tail. The tail of a cat. What a stupid thing to say into a microphone.

Suddenly, there is a... pain. In my head. Something is in my head... something that's not supposed to be there...

It listens. And it obeys.

Pain shoots through my body, starting in my brain, and running down my body, through my spine.

The pain is like... knives. In my spine. Many knives. Sharp ones.

If I could scream, this would be a perfect time. But the pipe in my throat makes this an impossibility.

The pain centralises somewhere in my lower back, just above my arse. Before I can process this information, I feel something grow from the small of back.

I can't see it. I can't reach an arm around to touch it. But something tells me that it's a perfectly formed cat's tail.

I can barely make out the man outside the tube's face. But something tells me he's smiling.

That
maniacal
fucking
bastard
what the fuck has he done to me what right has he to keep me like this where am I what have I become?

He leans over to the microphone again. Again, the words echo in my head.

"Undo cat's tail."

The pain feels even worse in reverse. The tail, shrinking back into nothingness. The pain starting in the small of my back, and spreading upwards. Shooting up my spine, and exploding in my brain.

Everything goes black as I pass out again.

The only thing rising above the flat horizon is a huge dome. A perfect half sphere, reflecting the surrounding meadow like a mirror. There is a marked path pointing to the Dome, and a wooden sign, carved by hand. It reads: “The Court of Twilight”.

I run toward it, and even if there are no gates over the curved wall, I enter it, like I am phasing trough it.

Inside, there is a round table, with five beings sitting around it. Each one is incredible looking. There is a big, ever changing giant, a black horned demon, an orange energy form, , a metallic guy and a tall man in a white coat, that moving, shines of the color of the raimbow.

The giant speaks, and his voice is loud as a thunder “THIS TIME WE WILL NOT INTERFERE. THE LAST TIME YOU HAVE SEEN WHAT HAPPENED. I WILL NOT PERMIT IT ANYMORE! SIGN THE AGREEMENT!”

A black faced dwarf enters with a ball pen and a piece of paper. The giant write something in a language I don’t understand. But I can read the sign: Hyperboard Entity. Then the others sign as well.

Viper. Rhymer. Time Trust. Then, the last signs only with a X. An analphabet cosmic being?

After the signing, the piece of paper takes fire, and keeps burning at the center of the table.

The Hyperboard Entity takes a remote control, and put a giant screen on. Everybody sits in his chairs, and begin to watch.

There are two guys in lab coat, in front of two computer monitor. The two are talking, then they stops when another man in lab coat, visibly older, crosses the room.

“It is quite the day for Knell!” says one of the two men.

“Why? What’s up for Doktor Klone?” asks the second.

“I don’t know. But he’s smiling, and there is a General waiting for him in his office”

The camera zooms toward the screen of one of the computer. There is a little square piece of paper loosely fitted to the monitor, with handwritten the name “BigBob”.

Over the desktop in the monitor, there is an icon named “Lexicon.exe”. The face depicted in the icon is smiling.

The scene switch to Knell’s office.

The doctor shakes the hand of the medal covered General across the desk.

“General Forrest!”

“Doctor Knell! Or should I say, Doktor Klone?”

“Ah ah. You know my nickname, so. Well, I shouldn’t know it, you know, but actually I’m quite proud of it. Well, let’s go to business. Forrest, the experiment is positive. Cicciotto’s metagene is of Alpha class. We need him. And alive.”

“Knell, MCCA is on Cicciotto’s tail as of now. I’ve sent my best agent to capture him. Agent Turner.”

And then I awake in my bed, in a sea of sweat. The empty syringe has fallen on the floor. What a trip.

But then, a figure comes out from the darkness of the corner of my moon lit room.

[ 09-25-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

Name: Mick Harrison
Age: 22
[x] Male [ ] Female
[ ] Human [x] Metahuman
[Unimportant information supressed for story's sake]
Obvs.: The patient had an unactive metagene for years. The properties it gave him are unknown, but it is believed that it has something to do with communicating with other dimentions. He was kept under silent observation for years, since he wasn't considered a threat. His state changed on **/**/20**, when he started introducing himself as "Mr Mxy". This would have been something of minor relevance if he hadn't transformed 30 people into cows. The patient will now be derivated to a guvernamental institution were he oh my Gob he's doing something to me I can't talk I can't stop writing oh my Gob he's getting out of the bed he's walking away he turns to me he says something... "Mr Mxy goes to the city!" oh my Gob what am I going to do now I'm glad he's gone but I can't stop writing I think I'm going to have to [237 pages of gibberish]

[ 09-22-2001: Message edited by: I'm Not Mister Mxypltk ]

Name: Karl Starr
Age: 27
[x] Male [ ] Female
[ ] Human [x] Metahuman
[Unimportant information supressed for story's sake]
Obvs.: The patient presented a metagene in an unactive state until **/**/20**. Like a patient in ****** (that seems to have no relation to this patient), he started introducing himself to people as another person ("Mr Ktl"), and then started manifestating superhuman powers. In this case, he used this powers to blow up people's heads. The patient will be derivated to a guvernamental inst [enormous blood stain. "Tee-Hee" written with blood]

It's always the same. First I have to listen to her screams, then she has to listen to mine when he comes upstairs. I can hear his footsteps now.

I don't cry when I hear him approach anymore. I'm too used to it. I see the doorknob turn and I cringe for just a second as he enters the room.

As he steps toward me, I always want to fight back, but know I can't. If only I had the power...

Names are an obstacle in my line of work. Names identify, they personalize, and they humanize. People don't want executioners to be human beings.

Life shouldn't be like this, but it is anyway. I'm the bastard son of a whore and a minor member of European aristocracy. I never met my mother, I've heard it rumored that "Daddy Dearest" had her killed when he found out that she was going to hide his only son from him.

My father wasted no time in inagurating me into the family business: death. I will credit my old man with one thing, which is that he could spot talent.

No one kills better than I do.

I have talent from my metagene, it grants me powers far beyond normal men; far beyond normal metas. The planes of existence are my bedchambers and eldritch forces my toys. I am a sorcerer, and I have yet to find my equal.

My success allowed my father to rise from his comparatively low station to one of high esteem in the Society of which we were both parts. However three months ago I was given an assignment I could not complete. It was like any other, but when I looked at the young mother and her children I couldn't bring myself to send their souls screaming into the Abyss. Something was different within me, and it held me back.

For my failure and for the disgrace caused to my father I was sentenced to death by the Orbis Lunatis. I escaped to America, albeit barely, where they hunt me still.

I will uncover the truth about myself and my power.

I will kill anyone who stands in my way.

[ 12-02-2001: Message edited by: Avatar ]

At first I think I'm still high, but no, the effects of heroin wore off time ago.

There is really someone in my room. The trip... the agent looking for me... it was not a dream, so?

"Cicciotto, dress yourself, we have to go, if you love being alive..."

The voice... the voice is hoarse, but definitely feminine.

And it's a woman to come out from the shadow. Tall, sheathed into a black leather suit, dark skin and black eyes.

South-American, she seems. And there is a grace in her movement, and yet a hidden force, that I can't stop to think that she resembles a ...

"Lioness. That's my codename. But you can call me Lorena".

Then her eyes fall over the syringe. Her nostrils enlarge slightly, and a half smile appears on her lips.

“A speedster on heroin? You should call yourself Speedy the Smakhead!”

I don’t understand the joke, she’s speaking in English and I’m not really expert of the language. I did have to learn something when I was a champion, but it was many years ago…

I’m still on the bed. She becomes still for an instant, her head pointed toward the ceiling. Then she grab the first dress she finds, folded on a chair, then grabs me, and keeping me over her right shoulder jumps out of the window.

A short run to a black Ferrari parked out of the door of my restaurant, and she throws me over the back seat.

“Dress yourself!” she orders, while the engine begins to roar. The car takes speed, and while I enter into my runner vest, I see, from the rear window, beams of light from an electric torch coming from my apartment over the restaurant.

“One more minute and you would have been dead meat, mister” Loreana says.

“I don’t understand… who are you, who is the one in my home?”

“Who is he, I don’t know… but I know for certain that’s an Agent of the MCCA”.

“MCCA?”

“MCCA. Yankees struggling to find every metahuman on Earth useful for TriVex. ”

“I’m totally lost…”

“Someone will explain anything. Quick, get out of the car”.

The car brakes and stops in the middle of open country. A few meters away, in the middle of a field, a black helicopter shines under the full moon.

We get on, and the ’copter takes flight, heading east. The pilot is dressed in a leather outfit similar to Lorena’s own. The Lioness sits near him. They kiss passionately, then she turns to me.

“Cicciotto, this is Agent 57”. He, too, turns to me, and it’s impossible, he have my face!

Lorena continues: “He’s a master of disguise, you’ll never see him with the same face. Even I haven’t ever seen his true face.”

“But… why?” I ask.

“Precaution, if MCCA should intercept us. ”
But the voyage is not interrupted by anyone. The sunrise hit us when there is the sea under us. Then the ’copter is over a big city nested between mountains and a long, white beach, with tall skyscrapers and a Medieval stone town.

We land over the top of a tall building. Instead of usual H, the sign over which we have landed is M-X.

There is an old, bearded man awaiting for us.

He lend his hand, and says: “Welcome to Mandelovia, son. I’m doctor Henry Quantos, head of the research department of Malvan-X”

[ 09-24-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

[ 09-24-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

From the large windows, the busy business district of Mandelovia attracts my sight. I’ve been here many time, for the European Athletic Championship of 1990 and for various exhibitions in those years. When I had a sailing boat, many time I docked at the Mandelovian International Tourists Port.

“Have you ever heard about the MCCA?” ask the man.

I turn to him. “Only by your Agent” I say.

“Lorena? She’s not our agent. She is from the Mandelovian Security Corp. We are working… together.”

“Can I ask you why did you… kidnapped me?”

“Oh, you are not prisoner. That door is open, and you can get out whenever you want. But…”

“But?”

“But as you have seen, there are agents looking for you. Looking for your DNA. Here you are safe”.

“Why do you want to keep me safe from those… agents?”

“Mhhh… let’s just say that what interests TriVex interests us. Mandelovia has been always, since its foundation, at the forefront of scientific development. Now, America with the discovering of the metagene is about to take a giant step, and we can’t stay behind. The main difference between us and TriVex is that they take what they want, we try to find collaboration. That’s what I’m asking you… Edulcore Cicciotto, we are asking you to work for us…”

“Tell me more about TriVex. Lorena said that they collect metahumans. Why?”

“I don’t think I can reveal it, sorry…”

Before I can reply, an interphone buzzes over the desk. The man lift it, and bring it to his right hear. “OK. If you say so…” He put down the interphone, and look at me. “I’m authorized to give you all the detail” he says.

“You mean there is someone watching us right now?”

“Yes. The boss. Sh… it is always behind cover. Security , you now…”

“Security, security… what’s going on, doctor?”

“Our sources tells that TriVex Corporation, an American genetic firm, is building an Army of Metahumans for the USA Government . They have just begun a massive testing of all American people, to find the ones with the metagene active. Now they are testing all the newborn, every person that is in hospital, or mental institution… but their goal is to test each American, and maybe every one from the western world. What’s more, they have begun testing on cloning procedure to duplicate the more powerful metas… and to activate the metagene in the right direction in people not yet activated”.

“But why? And why me? I’m only a runner: I run faster than everyone else, but not much more than the best athletes. What good can I do?”

“I will respond a question at a time.
Why they want to build an army of metas? It seems a pretty ingenue question, but actually is more profound that it seems. The obvious answer is to be stronger that any other nation. An army of metas would be unbeatable in war…”

“Unbeatable by the US Army as well. They… the metas… could take on their nation and become the gods of this world. Olympians that rule over the planet toying with the humans. At last, if words about flying and superstrong men are not fairy tales…”

“They are not fairy tales. I have a footage about one meta that blows up the heads of the bystanders…”

“Eh?”

“It’s true. As it’s true what you said. An army of metas would be too dangerous even for the USA. Unless they have no other options…”

“You mean they want the metas to fight terrorism? What if some switch to the other side? Kamikaze that don’t die in the explosions. Human missiles? The world will become unlivable for the humankind.

“You are near the target, Cicciotto. Word is that humankind is not alone in the galaxy, and Earth will soon be involved in an interstellar war. And being very primitive in our technology, America want to have an edge in the superiority of our race”

“They want replace men with supermen?”

“Right!”

“I… I can’t believe it? We are about to be invaded? By whom?”

“Oh, here we are in the field of pure speculation. Our satellites, that WE Mandelovian have in orbit since the thirties, have indeed registered the landing of Roswell, and the subsequent ones. Unluckily, we have never put hour hands over one of those saucers. The few that we have been able to steal from the CIA is that there are two races, fighting in the galaxy… the Boulls and the Basilisks, they are codenamed. Some scouts should be just here on our planet, to prepare the invasion. They needs something we have here… but what, we don’t know. We don’t know if America is allying with one of the two races, if they plan to bring the war outside the planet or if it will be fight in the outside space…

Your other question was why you. Well, we have been able to install a running virus into the computers of TriVex, that feeds information to our system… Lexicon, I have called it… but I’m digressing… well, to cut it short, they have found from your blood sample that the American Olympic Committee obtained five years ago, that you have a metagene of Alpha class. That’s means that you can have much more powers than the ones you are displaying right now. Not limited supevelocity, but flight, invulnerability and superstamina, and maybe others as well.”

“Impossible”

“True”

“I can’t believe it”

“You will help us?”

“Merda! No! No! I’m scared as hell! I don’t want believe a single word of what you have said, now I get out of that door and run away to home. And then I hope to awake from this bad dream”.

“Wait a moment” he said, and lend me a photo.

It’s kid nothing more than three months old, with incredibly long hairs, floating at mid air over an evil looking guy in a lab coat.

“The scientist is Doctor Knell of TriVex. It is called Doktor Klone by his associates. TriVex has a facility outside Thunder City, in a suburb called Lightingburg. The complex is called Medical Duplication Sanctuary, MeDuSa for short, and nicknamed Klone Dome. They have begun their experiment over clonation, Cicciotto, and that is how they have found you are a class Alpha.”

“You mean that this kid with hairs like snakes…”

“It’s your clone, Eurostar. We can say it’s your son!”

[ 09-24-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

"Henry, I require your assistance for one moment."

"If you would excuse me for a moment Mr. Cicciotto."

Doctor Quantos exits, locking the door behind him. He walks down a long hallway before reaching the office of his boss. After entering, he sits at a computer, the figure of a woman can be seen in the shadows only feet away from him. On the computer screen is Agent Turner of the MCCA, of America.

"Ms. X, as I was saying earlier, your interference in the current state of events will be noted and recorded. This could very well be concidered an 'Act of War' against the United States."

The woman whispers to Doctor Quantos, "I want to know exact location of transmission."

She then presses a button on the control pannel and speaks, "Agent Turner, there seems to be a misunderstanding..."

* * *

Nearby, Edulcore sits alone in the steel room trying to figure out just what is happening. He looks at pictures of a younger version of himself, his 'son' in a way. Alpha Class? Can it be true?

A blue light materializes only feet from him, a hologram of a man, dressed in a sleak black suit with tinted black sunglasses.

"Mr Edulcore Cicciotto. My time here is short, so I will get straight to the point. I am Agent Turner of the MCCA. Malvan-X is only telling you what 'they' want you to know, half truths at best. They can't be trusted."

"Really? Well, then why are you AFTER me?!?"

"You need help, ASAP. You are of Alpha Class and growing even more powerful by the day. Mr Cicciotto, I am sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but you are a walking time bomb. If you do not receieve help with in 24 to 48 hours, your body could have a chemical reaction, one powerful enough to take out a small country. You. Would also be killed."

"What? No. It not be possible."

"We are afraid that Malvan-X and the Mandelovia Security Corp are planning to use you in a terrorist strike over America's Scientific District located out West, just outside Navada. The strike. Would. Kill. Millions. I am. Sorry. We. Are. Losing. Signal. I will. Contact. You. In. Two. . . . . . .

With a small buzzing sound, the hologram was gone. Edulcore Cicciotto was once again alone. Now, he began to wonder, if this place was so "open" for him to leave when he pleases, than just why was the door locked? Could Agent Turner be telling the truth?

* * *

Near-by, the transmission between "Agent Turner" and Ms. X had just ended.

"No exact location, sorry. Somewhere in Washington DC I believe. Also, the transmission was not Live. A recording."

"Thank you doctor, now back to our 'patient' before he decides to run off."

A knock sounded at Knell's office door as the small boy with snakes in his hair crawled into the open arms of the man known as Doctor Clone.

"Enter," Knell beckoned as he held the babe to his shoulder, patting him on the back.

The door opened and I saw as Doctor Walter Curie entered the room, a clipboard under one arm and a briefcase in the other.

"Ah, Dr. Curie!" Knell said excitedly, placing the young boy on the tabletop. From where I sat, I could see two tiny little pointed teeth protruding from his mouth. This boy was a meta... and I just didn't like it.

"Please, Doctor Curie, sit!" Knell said, gesturing to the chair across the table from me. The table was a small circular stainless steel design with large leather chairs placed around it. Just like Dr. Knell... cold, yet comfortable.

"Now, gentlemen," Knell said, sitting calmly into his chair, rubbing the small back of the child before him, "I've invited you all here to see my progress."

"Wh...what is it, Knell?" Curie spoke up, curious.

"Do you remember Edulcore Cicciotto?" Knell asked.

"The Olympic runner from Italy?" I spoke up. "The alleged metahuman. He had to turn in all his medals due to a discovered metagene?"

"Exactly," Knell said, smiling. He shook a baby's rattle before the child, who giggled fiercely at this as the snakes on his head hissed. "Well, I'd like you to meet Eddie - the first metahuman clone."

"What?" Curie said, rising suddenly from his seat. "Are you insane? That's not even legal!"

"I don't see why not," Knell said, quietly steepling his fingers as little Eddie played with the rattle. "Metahumans are not humans. Not at all. The law forbids human cloning, not metahuman cloning. I've consulted my lawyers and I'm well within my rights on this."

"Uh," I interjected raising my hand timidly, eyeing the baby carefully, "I don't mean to sound snotty or anything, but, as I recall, Cicciotto didn't have snakes for hair..."

"Oh, that," Knell said, waving his hand at me dismissingly. "I wanted to see how his DNA would react with a little bit of genetic splicing. Nothing major, just a little bit of cobra DNA thrown in the mix. You know... for variety."

"I see," I said, covering my mouth with my hand.

"Now, may I continue?" Knell said curtly, eyeing Curie and I. Neither of us made any motion, so Knell continued. "Dr. Curie, may I see the contents of your briefcase?"

"Certainly, sir," Curie said, sliding his metallic briefcase across the table to Knell. Eddie smiled, placing a slobbery hand on the case.

"Now, now, Eddie," Knell scolded mockingly. "Let Daddy play with his own toys..."

Pulling the case away from the boy, Knell undid the locking latches and lifted the lid. The contents of the case brought an incredible smile to his face.

"These are the samples I requested?" Knell asked.

"Yes, sir," Curie responded, nodding. "Every member of TriVex Corporation exhibiting metahuman DNA, whether it be dominant or recessive."

"Excellent," Knell said, raising a vial of blood from the satchel, his eyes seeming almost glazed over. "You've tested everyone, then?"

"That's correct, sir," Curie answered again, fidgeting nervously.

"Good," Knell said, placing the vial back into the case and closing it. "This shall prove useful for my scientists as we begin the next phase."

"Next phase?" I asked, leaning forward on my right elbow. "Zach, what is this about?"

"Well, Charles, if you must know," Knell said, obviously resenting my calling him familiarly, "the United States government has requested and funded our metahuman research for reasons that I must keep confidential. However, let me just say that it is in the best interest of TriVex to cooperate."

"Alright," I answer, leaning back in my chair, still very skeptical.

"And, so, Charles, let me just let you know why I've asked you in on this meeting."

"I have to admit," I said, smirking, "I was a bit curious."

"Well," Knell began, petting Eddie's snake-filled head, "according to the research provided us by Dr. Curie's department, we've found that most metahuman outbreaks are occuring in Chicago. We're sending you to TriVex's Chicago branch in order to acertain the reasons as to the outbreaks there."

"You're... sending me to... Chicago?" I ask, stunned. "Wh-why me?"

"You seem the most likely candidate, what with your success in the mapping of the metahuman genome," Knell stated, pulling Eddie into his lap. "An MCCA agent will meet you at headquarters to assist you when you arrive."

Knell reached into a small compartment behind his section of the tabletop, and pulled out an envelope. Sliding it over to me, he continued his diatribe.

"In there you will find your plane ticket," he said. "I expect you to be on the 8:30 am flight to O'Hare tomorrow morning."

"Uh, this is a one-way ticket," I said, looking up curiously.

"Exactly, Dr. Walker," Knell said. "In the event that you will be returning to the main headquarters, TriVex will supply your return fare. Until then, you are to stay in Chicago. Is that understood?"

"Yeah," I answered, rising. "Yeah, I gotcha, Zach."

I quickly exit the room. Knell makes no move to stop me, but rather continues rocking Eddie, who is beginning to fall asleep.

I hear footsteps behind me as I continue to my office. Turning sharply on my heels, I see Dr. Walter Curie walking behind me, trying to get my attention.

"Is there something I can help you with, Doctor?" I ask, obviously perturbed.

"Yes, Doctor Walker," Curie said nervously, handing me a folded slip of paper. "I expect to see you shortly in my lab..."

With that, the small mousey man walks off, toward his lab. I raise an eyebrow in confusion as I unfold the paper that he gave me. As my eyes skim over, I notice my face becoming flushed and my eyes growing wider.

"Oh, my God..." I mutter. "No. Not this... anything but this..."

Covering my eyes, I find myself leaning against the wall in the metallic corridor.

"Damn..." I whisper as tears begin to roll down my face. "Damn it all to hell..."

[ 11-16-2001: Message edited by: Chewy Walrus ]

All this babble about aliens… that’s difficult to be taken for real…

Yet this Turner appeared from nowhere… an hologram… projected from where… by what?

It’s obvious that they have a technology incredibly advanced…

…and that kid? I was sure it was a fake, a picture made in Photoshop… but at this point, I’m willing to believe…

I’m really about to explode? That is the most umbelievable part. Why I wouldn’t have exploded before? No, nobody’s telling the truth…

I have to run away… hide from everyone…

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I’m in an alley, a dead alley between two old palce in old Mandelovia. It was easy to run away. Just when the old doctor returned, and opened the door, I was quick to push him away and go. I took the stairs, and thanks to my speed and stamina I was out of the main gate before security coukld be alerted. I’m sure Quantum, falling on the floor, was knoked out.

I walked for a hour in Mandelovia. Then I saw a drug dealer. I felt the urgence… I had some money I grabbed, unseen, from a woman on the street… I found this deserted alley, in the back of a restaurant… I’m lying here, behind some bins..

…and close my eyes…

…there are many empty chairs…

…it’s a little theatre.

On the stage appears a dwarf… it’s the same dwarf of the last dream… it is entering walking backward…

He stops in the middle of the stage, and bows down.

Then, he speaks: “Sdog eht rehtag dna. Nos ruoy evas. Live eht fo dnah eht ni nwap a si eh. Uoy denraw ohw dneirfeb. Eid ot evah uoy, efil ot emoc ot redro ni. Nekops evah hcihw spil eht rof tsla ta, hturt lla si draeh evah uoy tahw, ratsorue.”

He smiles, bows a second time, and exits from the other side of the stage, still going backward.

[ 09-25-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

“Agent Turner report, Mandelovian time a quarter past noon. The subject is still under the effect of heroin, and our previous observation shows that his power is at low peack in this condidtion. It’s the best time to capture him. Second attempt begins”.

“I think not” a warm voice from behind Turner says.

The American turns, to see a well known leather clad female smiling to him.

“Lorena, I don’t want to fight. It’s matter of security for the world, I have to take Cicciotto.”

“How is Marisa?”

“You bastard!” whisper Turner, and jump at the Lioness.

There is nobody on the roof to see the fight, only the omnipresents seagulls soaring over the city, in the deep blue sky.

But if someone would be here, it would be amazed at the hand to hand battle skills of the two.

“Patrick sends his regards” says Turner, lending a punch over the face of the SouthAmerican agent.

“You shouldn’t have nominated him, Ritchie!” she responds, jumping back on foot and kiking Turner between his legs.

“Steel suspenders, don’t you know? Daniel is really a beautiful kid, Lorena. You should see him, one of these days.”

“You fucking piece of sh…” the words disappears from the mouth of the woman when Agent Turner, after having jumped in air, upside down, kiks her in the back.

“Next time, Lorena”

Turner runs to the rim of the roof, take the binoculars and scan the street to see if Cicciotto is still there.

He is, still walking very slow, one hand over the wall of one of the palace lining the street.

Truner take what it seems a gun, and fire to the roof of the palace on the other side of the street.

A hook, tied to an iron rope, flies to the chimney and hangs to it.

Turner jump down, hanging to the rope.

It’s a matter of one second.

With an hand, he takes Cicciotto around his wrist, and soon they are over the next roof.

A puff of gas from a bottle, and Edulcore Cicciotto, the Eurostar, is put in sleep.

Turner takes his recorder.

“Mission accomplished”.

[ 09-25-2001: Message edited by: The Eurostar ]

Day sixty-two?

Day four hundred?

I stopped counting a long time ago. I'm trapped in the same place, the same routine, so, effectively... time has stopped moving forward.

There are no days anymore. No hours. No seconds. Only me. Here. In the damn tube.

Every day, he comes in. The... what would I call him? Scientist? He comes in. He says an animal into the microphone.

I experience blinding pain. And my. Body. CHANGES.

Into what, I can never be completely sure. But I'm assuming that, somehow, my body is taking on the animal traits that the scientist suggests...

It's insane. Ridiculous. It makes no sense. It's like a plot from a bad sci-fi movie.

But I'm here, living it.

If it can really be called living. Perhaps I'm dead. Perhaps my corpse is being experimented on. And the fact that I can still see and feel can merely be attributed to nerve twitches... death throes.

Right this moment, my soul is probably passing into Heaven.

Or Hell.

Either one would be better than this.

Right. I'm dead.

That makes this all easier to deal with.

Then, the safe and peaceful conclusion that I had come to in the acceptance of my own death was shattered when the wall of the lab was... well... shattered.

I couldn't make out details, being stuck in a green goo-filled tube, but it looked as if the wall opposite me had collapsed.

The scientist, standing right before me, turned and screamed.

Men, dressed entirely in black and carrying guns, marched into the room through the space that used to be a wall.

Death isn't supposed to be like this.

Before I could comprehend any of it, bullets started flying. Several of them hit the tube before one of the men realised that there was a person inside, and signalled to his colleagues to stop. I saw one of the men point at me, then yell something to the men behind him.

The man who had yelled stepped forwards, towards my tube.

Was I about to be...

...freed?

Freedom was an concept that I had almost forgot existed.

These men in black had come to free me... my saviours.

Angels. Maybe I was dead, after all.

Something suddenly hit the roof above the men, and it collapsed onto them in a shower of flame and dust.

I couldn't turn to see what had happened, but I knew that the scientist was behind me, defending himself with some sort of weapon...

A few of the men clambered out from underneath the rubble, and fired back. A few more bullets hit my tube, already cracking in places from the intial burst of firepower.

The clear plastic shattered into thousands of shards, spilling gallons of green goo all over the lab floor.

The pipe was ripped from my mouth as the machinery surrounding the tube collapsed.

I fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

Air.

Real air.

Not recycled tube air.

It was glorious.

My moment of relief was ended quickly when I realised that bullets were flying inches above my head.

I crawled to the side, out of the line of fire, and took refuge in some sort of steel cabinet.

The battle between the men and the scientist continued. It was only one man against at least half a dozen... but his lab was fully stocked. As much with weaponry as it was with scientific equipment.

For a scientist, he knew how to hold his own in a firefight.

Bullets struck the computers around me. Sparks flew. Machines exploded.

I covered my ears with my hands and closed my eyes.

I suddenly heard a whirring noise around me. I opened one eye. I opened the other.

Only now did I notice that the steel cabinet I was hiding it was hooked up to all manner of computers and equipment. All the damage was apparently causing some sort of malfunction.

The walls of the cabinet began to light up.

I was scared, naturally. I don't like it when my hiding places make whirring noises and light up. But then, outside the cabinet, there was a gunfight.

A tough decision.

One that I didn't really have time to make, as the cabinet filled with white light.

"NO! NOT THE TIME MACHI-" I heard the scientist yell as everything around me disappeared.

The...

...the what machine?

Following him is a man in a black suit. He speaks to a small microphone in his jacket...
"He seems pretty quiet... I think I should take him now... OK, copy..."
The man in the suit then walks to the happy-man, and talks to him.
"Excuse me, mister... could you please come with me...?" he says, as he grabs his arm.
The people around him start wishpering... "they wanna take him to a nut house... he ain't harming nobody here... damn facists..."
The happy-man looks at him in the eyes, and, always smiling, says talks in a soft woice.
"How did you know my name?"
"Uh...?"
"You called me 'Mister'..."
"Oh... I'm sorry, mis... uh, sir, I'm afraid you are gonna have to come with me..."
The music stops. The happpy-man stays still for a while. Then he starts talking again.
"You" he says, lifting his left arm "Should be converted into... a cow"
Then he moves his hand, and the man in the suit is converted into a cow in a suit.
The people around him start clapping, like one would clap a regular magician, while he makes a reverence.
The music starts again, as he walks away.

He said time machine.

Time.

Machine.

A machine which allows the user to travel through time.

I got caught in an exploding time machine.

Shit.

I'm surrounded by white light. Painfully blinding, all-encompassing, beautiful white light.

I'm floating. I think I'm floating. It feels like I'm floating. My legs don't seem to be in contact with anything, but I don't feel like I'm falling.

Logic dictates: I am floating.

I'm calm. I'm too calm. I feel like I should be panicking at a time like this.

But the white light... around me. That fills the space. It illuminates the universe. The universe inside me and the universe outside me.

Wait... it's not white light.

It's not pure.

It's not empty.

It's quite the opposite...

I am in the midst of every single moment in history. From the beginning of time to the very end. I'm in the big bang, and I'm in Milliways restaurant.

I'm every-when at once.

And it's beautiful. Time travel is a beautiful thing. It takes you to every moment in time at once, in order to deliver you to one specific one.

I'll bet very few time travellers actually take the moment to admire it's glory.

And all this lasts only an instant. A split second. I've existed simultaneously in every moment in time... and I was only in such a state for the barest fragment of it.

Something about that strikes me as ironic.

When it's all over... I'm surrounded by black.

Darkness. Everywhere.

It takes me a moment to realise that this is because I have my eyes closed.

I open them, which seems the logical thing to do.

I'm in the desert.

Well, not the desert. A desert. I'm sure there's more than one.

So, where am I?

Think rationally, Daniel...

I was in a time machine. Not a space machine. I haven't travelled in space. Only time.

So... this is where the lab was. Or... where the lab will be.

Think... I was wandering the streets. Came across a hologram wall, which I found strange... someone trying to hide something. Naturally, curiosity overcame me... I wandered in. Into a hallway. An empty, white hallway. Wandered through it. Found a lab.

Blacked out.

Woke up inside a tube.

That's the last time I wander into a random hologram wall...

Unless it's the Batcave. That would be cool.

So... where was the lab? Europe. Just east of someplace called Mandelovia. So, I know where I am.

A blaring horn catches my attention. I look up, and notice that I happen to be sitting on train tracks in the middle of the desert. And a very large train is barreling towards me, at a very high speed.

My problems:

1. I have no idea when this is.

2. I'm naked.

3. There's a train about to hit me.

These must be dealt with in reverse order.

I dive off the tracks, out of the path of the oncoming train. As it passes by, I stretch out an arm, and grab onto the handle of a conveniently open door. I hoist myself up, and into the carriage of the still-moving train.

I collapse onto the floor, and catch my breath.

Right. One problem dealt with. Now, I need two more things... clothes, and a date.

Not a date as in a woman, a date as in I need to know the point in time I'm at... though I wouldn't say no to a woman.

I look around. There's nothing in this carriage. Just great.

At the front of the carriage, there's a door. Leading into another carriage.

Might as well try my chances.

Passing through another door into the next carriage, I find that I'm in a carriage filled with passengers.

At first, I'm relieved. People. Who can probably help me out.

My second thought is...

Shit. I'm naked.

He calmly cleans the blood of the woman's head from his face. The people around him are in shock. Before any of them can start screaming, he starts blowing up their heads, one by one.
He starts walking. With every step he gives, one head blows up. Some people try to run, but they can't escape.
As eyes, brains and blood fly away, the man makes a small smile. As soon as he notices this, he harshly grabs his own mouth and starts squashing it, causing it to bleed.
"I am Mister Ktl" he says "I must not smile."
A man in a black suit that had been following him since he escaped from the hospital, observes him, horrified.
"I am Mister Ktl"

posted 09-29-2001 03:49 AM

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sit your bum down, lad," I hear from my left.
I turn to the source of the voice. A man, looking to be in his fifties. He grabs my arm, and yanks me down into the seat next to him.

"Quite a scene you're makin' there, lad," The man said. His accent is a little strange. What is that? Scottish?

"I don't know when this is and I'm naked and I'm on a train and I'm naked and I'm not sure exactly what the hell is going on..." I hear myself mumble.

Shit. I'm rambling incoherently. I promised myself I'd never do that.

"Yeh look like yeh could use a drink..." The man says. I think I'm nodding, but I can't be sure. I'm panicking too much to be in complete control of my bodily functions. There is now very little connection between my brain and my muscles.

"Well, first yeh could use some clothes," The man says.

This time I'm almost certain I'm nodding. At this point I notice that all the passengers around me are staring. I hastily arrange my hands to gain myself at least a small measure of privacy.

"...right... clothes..." I say.

What the hell is going on?

Time machine. I was in a time machine. Is this the past? Or the future? When am I? Where am I? Who are these people? Where is this train going?

Keep thinking rationally, Daniel. It must be the past. This train's an antique, and there are no deserts left in eighty-three...

"Above your head, lad."

"...what...?"

"Above your head."

I turn and look at the man. He's pointing to the overhead luggage compartment.

"Clothes," He says. I reach up and pull down his suitcase, then hand it to him. He opens it, and rifles through it.

"Let's see... pants... shirt..." He mumbles, sifting through his luggage. He pulls out a pair of pants and a shirt, and hands them to me.

"They might be a tad big for yeh, lad, but they'll do for now," He says.

"Are... are you sure? That's... generous of you..." I say, taking the clothes.

"Yeh obviously need them a lot more than I do, lad," He says, gesturing towards the still-staring passengers.

"Right..." I say, and hastily put the clothes on.

"Thank you, very, very much..." I say to the man.

"Don't mention it. Now, about that drink... 'ere lass, could yeh get this lad a beer? Put it on my tab," He yells out, waving to the stewardess at the other end of the carriage. She nods, and smiles. I don't think she saw me naked, or I'd probably be kicked off the train...

"Now that the pressing matter of clothing is dealt with, it's time for formal introductions, wouldn't yeh say?" The man says to me, and holds out a hand.

"Gus McKellan."

"Daniel Hearn..." I say softly, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Pleasure to meet yeh," Gus says. I nod in agreement.

The stewardess arrives with my beer. She pulls down the small tabletop from the back of the seat in front me, and sets the beer down on it.

"Thanks," I say to her. She smiles at me, and walks away.

"Cute one, eh?" Gus says to me, elbowing me in the ribs and smiling. I laugh.

Gus seems nice.

"Excuse me Gus... this might seem like a strange question..."

"Yeh hopped on a train in the middle of the desert stark bloody naked. We're way past strange, lad."

"...right... but... do you happen to know what the date is today?"

He smiles. "Twenty ninth o' September."

"And... the year?"

"Two thousand one, lad. I tell yeh, I question the current state of the education system when a young lad doesn't even know what year he's livin' in..."

"It's... kind of a long story, Gus..."

"This is a long train trip. I could do wi' some entertainment, Danny. But first of all, how old are yeh? Yeh seem a bit young to be hoppin' on trains naked in the middle o' the desert..."

"Twenty. Or... minus sixty-two... depending on how you look at it," I answer.

He looks confused at this answer.

"All right, then. How 'bout tellin' me that story yeh got now?"

I lower my voice, so as not to be heard by neighbouring passengers.

"Uh... hmm. I'm from the future."

Gus remains silent.

"Uh... two thousand eighty-three, to be exact. I was on a holiday in a small village, name of Fitzroy or somesuch... just east of some place called Mandelovia. I was born in Australia, this was quite a trip for me. So I'm wandering the streets, checking out the sites. I end up wandering through some back alleys, and getting hopelessly lost... Worked my way through the brick buildings and everything, trying to find my way back to the main street, just getting more and more lost... ended up in some tiny alley off some tiny back street surrounded by abandoned buildings with not a person in sight... then, I stumble across this hologram wall..."

"...hologram... wall?" Gus says.

"A wall that's not really a wall... it just looks like a wall. You can go through it... I figure, there must be people in there, maybe there's a phone or something. I walk on in, wander some hallways for a while. Stumbled on a laboratory... blacked out. Woke up stuck in a plastic tube, being experimented on. After a while, some guys with guns broke into the lab, attacked the place. I crawled into a machine to get out of the line of fire. It was a time machine, though I didn't know that at the... time. The thing blew up, I wound up here in the desert."

Gus is silent.

I'm silent.

Gus is still silent.

"Most ridiculous thing you've ever heard, right?"

"Pretty much," Gus replies.

"Wait... these experiments... I think I can give myself animal parts."

Gus is silent again.

"Tiger claws," I say. The pain hits, and I flinch. Something in my brain goes into action. My hand contorts, changes.

Gus looks down in shock towards my newly grown tiger claws.

"Holy Jesus on a Harley..." He says softly.

"Reverse," I say. I flinch again. The tiger claws disappear.

The stewardess suddenly appears next to us.

"Tickets, please," She says.

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Posts: 338 | From: 37.49 S, 144.58 E | Registered: Aug 2001 | IP: Logged

GoozX
MBL Leader
Youngin'
Member # 208

posted 09-29-2001 12:39 PM

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“Mission accomplished”.

God I love saying that word, it gives me such a rush. The truck has picked up the subject and will be taking him to the labs out in the desert near Navada. What happens from there? I don't know, nor do I even care.

I get my mission, I fill it and I get another. No questions, it's not my place to ask, nor do I want to. The World is just this big messed up little globe, I like sleeping at night. People who ask the questions, they don't sleep. Truth hurts.

A message appears for me. Dangerous subject lose on streets, multiple agents down. People turning into cows, others have had their heads blown off.

Red alert.

This is bad. I don't want to know how or why. I just want to stop this freak.

Yeah, that's what I do, STOP THESE FREAKS!

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Posts: 53 | From: Promethean City/ Thunder City, USA | Registered: Aug 2001 | IP: Logged

I'm Not Mister Mxypltk
Professional Wanker
Me Rikey Rob!
Member # 76

posted 09-30-2001 12:11 AM

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"How wonderfull these beings are..." the long-haired happy man walking on the street with light in his eyes thinks "I thought cows were the best in this place. I though I was fixing them by turning them into cows, but I was wrong..."
"And this bodies..." he thinks, as he starts jumping around "this bodies are perfect! Additions like this 'coat' make them even better! Ooooh! I must get one of those things they put on their heads!"

He walks into a department store and starts looking for a hat... One of the sales-women sees him and asks him:
"Can I help you?"
"WHOA!" he shouts when he sees her "Your body is way better than mine! Where did you get those? I've seen other people wearing them, but yours are perfect!"
"I-I'm sorry...?!"
"And your face! It's so... Is there a word for it? Do you have one?"
"I..." she says, blushing.
"Gob, I love this place! You asked me if you could help, and it would rude if I ignored that question, wouldn't I? The truth is you can help me. I am looking for one of those things you people put in your head... Do you have those?"
The woman stares at him for a second. Only now she notices the light coming out his eyes. He doesn't have anything against against metas... One of her uncles is one... But this guy makes her nervous. And, at the same time, gives her a good feeling...
"I-If you are looking for a hat..."
"Hat! What a wonderfull word that is! HAT!"
"...we, uh, have some... I could show you if you follow me..."
"That's the only condition? Following you? I'm happy to, then!"

As they start walking, the manager notices the long-haired happy man with light in his eyes and says "Is Shirley attending a meta again?? I'm gonna have to talk to her about that..."
"Oh, you know how she is..." a large sales-woman says "She's probably too shy to tell him to get lost!"

Shirley starts showing him several hats, nervously...
"Well, we have--"
"I want that one!!!" he shouts, pointing at a large top hat.
"A top hat...? OK, that one costs 35,00..."
"Sure..." he says as he puts on the hat "How does it look on me?"
"Uh... G-Good..."
"All right! Do you have a... ummm, this is hard to explain... like a window, but..."
She hands him a mirror.
"Wow... you read my mind" he says, smiling.
She shyly smiles back.
"Well, I thank you for your help, but I'm afraid I have to leave now... How do they call you, by the way?"
"Uh.. Shirley... you are still gonna...?"
"Shirley! Ah! Shirley! So that's how they call things that give you pleasure when you look at them here! My name is Mister Mxy. It's been a pleasure, Shirley. Good bye."
He kisses her on her forehead and leaves. She is completely hipnotized.
As he leaves he hears the manager shotuing "SHIRLEY! COME HERE!".
Then he thinks again about how wonderfull these human beings are, and he sees a woman walking by. As he apreciates her body, her head blows up.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!" he shouts "Why?? Why destroy something as--"
Another head blows up.
"NO--"
And another one blows up, and another one.
He looks to his right and notices dozens of heads are blowing up in that direction. Standing in the middle of the blood shower is a man dressed with black pants and a black shirt. He has never seen him before, but he recognizes him inmediatly.
It's Mister Ktl. His other half.
He starts running to the killer, screaming his name.
"Fool!" the killer shouts "Don't you realize we will cancel each other?"
He ignores him, and keeps running. The light in his eyes gets brighter, and starts surrounding him, like an aura.
"FOOL!!!" the Ktl shouts, as he gets closer.
As soon as Mxy's "aura" touches Ktl, Ktl is sent flying away for 20 feet, and Mxy inmediatly stops running, to avoid touching him.
As Ktl lies uncouncious in the blood covered street, Mxy curses him. He is now gone, but this is only temporary, he will be back soon.
Now that the blood shower stopped he can see the dead bodies everywhere. He thinks about "fixing" the mutilated bodies, but soon he realizes he can't recover their souls.
Then he decides to dissapear, in case the local authorities decide to show up...

--------------------
Ktlpyxm Retsim Ton M'i!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Posts: 406 | From: Your arse. | Registered: Dec 2000 | IP: Logged

And voices.

Voices coming out of the darkness?

“…do you think it will take to discover that him it’s not Cicciotto?”

“I don’t know. At this time they should’ve crossed the Atlantic: I’m surprised Turner has not discovered it was Agent 57 disguised as Eurostar. It was such a clever man time ago. I bet he has some sort of problems in his private life.”

“A thing, Lorena, that it’s not ours to care for. I wonder what will happen when they found our agent.”

“Oh, I bet that as for now he has disguised himself like the pilot or the driver that should carry Cicciotto, while the true pilot is tied up, masked like Eurostar. He have to stay there to fake the explosion, then he will come back”.

The voices were coming toward me.

Then, the light are turned on.

I’m inside a glass cabinet, a cage, I think, and in front of me are Quantos and the Lioness.

“What… I ran away… when…” I babble…

“Shhh…” says Quantos, putting his finger in front of his mouth. “Don’t talk, for now. I’ll explain everything…”

He takes a seat and sits in front of my cage. The Lioness smiles a little provocative to me, and leaves the room.

“Edulcore… can I call you Edulcore? I could be your father… Ehm, anyway… I am sorry to have you imprisoned, but we have discovered a few things… but let’s proceed in order…
First, you have never ran away. When you tried, we stopped you and drugged you. I don’t know what you have dreamed, maybe you were running away…
Second, the visit Turner did to you when I was in the other room, was taped. We knew of the rendez vous in two hours Turner talked to you, so we had Agent 57 impersonating you on the streets of Mandelovia: Lioness gave a little distraction, too.
Third, we found that in the words of Turner there was a lot of truth. Obviously, the crap about the terrorist attack over the science district was false. Mandelovia could be planning on… slowing their research, but we use other methods. Harmless methods, at last for the living beings.
What was true in his words? That you are a walking bomb, Edulcore. You would have exploded since long ago, if you wouldn’t have indulged in drugs. It were the drugs that kept your metabolism slow. It’s hard to explains, but instead of augmenting your stamina, the drugs kept your true powers to manifest. The velocity was only a byproduct, a shadow of what you could be able to do.”

“The drugs… I used them because they were the only things to quiet my hanger…”

“It’s not hanger, Edulcore. It’s the Alpha class metagene that want to manifests…”

“So, what do you want to do, with me? You said that you asks, and don’t take…”

“It’s still valid. If you want, I open the cage and you can leave. Or, we help you to become a true superhero, like the one in the comics. You will be superstrong, superfast, you will have supersense. And, maybe, you will be able to fly…”

To fly.

Can I trust him? What I have to loose? And if they are not saying the truth? And that kid… my son… I have a son?! Does he really exist? Oh shit, what I have to say?

“Just say yes, Eurostar”

It’s the Lioness, she has just returned. I begins to believe that she’s a telepath.

“Quantos, we have the news. The Watchingbird has registered the explosion in Nevada, and a few minutes ago Lexicon has transmitted an internal document of TriVex where they states that subject Cicciotto has been destroyed in the experiment. I bet Knell is really mad, as for now…”

“So, they think Cicciotto is dead, right?”

“Definitely…”

“Perfect”. Then Quantos turns to me. “Edulcore, this would be the perfect time to let your metagene to express yourself. For the world… the world that counts, USA and TriVex, the world that want you enslaved or dead… you ARE dead. They will not be after you. But they have still your son. We can help you to retrieve him… will you help us in turn?

“OK. What I have to do?”

“You have to explode!”

I get up and walk to the window. Li'l Jo is sitting outside with a saucer of milk that I left for him. This isn't the kind of life that I imagined when I was in that juvenile center. Working in a diner for five bucks an hour plus free meals and living in a run down motel isn't my idea of living.

But it's better than the alternative of living on the streets, wondering where my next meal is coming from. I look over at Rebecca and lye back down. She doesn't know about my past, or my powers. I want to keep it that way.

There have been rumors from some of the bums that loiter around the back alley at the diner. They say the government's out to round up all the metas. That there's some sort of secret project going on that only the major people in Washington know about.

I don't give a damn about that if it's true, as long as they leave me alone. I've got a girl, a job, a home, and through strange luck, a pet. It's not the life I imagined, but it's better than my old life.

I push aside the hair hanging into Rebecca's face and nuzzle up to her. I wish we could remain like this forever, but I know better. At least I still have her and Li'l Jo by me.

quote:

---

“Quantos, we have the news. The Watchingbird has registered the explosion in Nevada, and a few minutes ago Lexicon has transmitted an internal document of TriVex where they states that subject Cicciotto has been destroyed in the experiment. I bet Knell is really mad, as for now…”

---

Nevada - A Few Minutes Ago

"Subject: Cicciotto. Dangerous and unstable. We have to move fast, you never know when his powers are going manifest. This is a Red Alert, Code 692.”

The Doctor suddenly pauses as a gun is put to his head.

“Mr. Ciccotto, this is all but for ‘your’ protection.”

BANG

The bullet rips through the doctor’s skull and splatters blood all over the steel walls of the hallway. The three other doctors turn, but it is too late, they receive the same fate. One bullet to the head. Ciccotto gets to his feet and morphs into Agent 57. He moves down the hallway, setting up explosives. Finally he uses a small laser on his belt to create a quick exit. Waiting for him on the other side is an army of guards. Without any words, they all fire, bullets from all sides rip into his body. Pain. Blood. Just before his last breath he presses a small red button on his control belt.

“…for mandelovia…”

The lab blows up in a firey blaze, taking out all of the guards and a good portion of the huge MCCA compound.

quote:

---

“…do you think it will take to discover that him it’s not Cicciotto?”

“I don’t know. At this time they should’ve crossed the Atlantic: I’m surprised Turner has not discovered it was Agent 57 disguised as Eurostar. It was such a clever man time ago. I bet he has some sort of problems in his private life.”

---

Chicago

Agent Turner is watching as the police and medics cover the area. But it is of no use; the damage has been done. Mass murder. A meta with the power to “blow up heads.” Sick. Very sick. Other people helpless, turned into livestock. The news is gonna love this all right. They will eat it up. Make the public scared to even go out of their homes. Sick. They are just as bad as the crazy meta that did this damage.

No trace of him anywhere. No gene residue. This sucks. I’m blind, hunding down a mass murder, who could at any moment… “blow my head up” or worse. This really sucks.

As Turner watches over the streets from high above, something hits him. A surge of pain through his head which knocks him off his feet. Lucky, he falls onto the roof and not 30 stories onto the hard pavement. His last thought before passing out.

Third black out in recent weeks, something is wrong. Something is ser…

The ring I bought to propose isn't much, in fact it's just a cheap little trinket I picked up at the flea market, but it'll do until I can afford a real ring someday.

She'll be so surprised when- That's odd, Rebecca never leaves my door unlocked. I wonder what-

I see her lying on the bed, waiting for me. I go over to kiss her and- Something's wrong. I look down and see the bed is stained with blood. I turn her head-

NOOOOOOO!

"Hello, Tobias. My name is Agent Adams. You're the meta we've been searching for."

"What did you do to her?" I ask.

"She was...uncooperative regarding the information we wanted. I'm going to have to ask you to come with us."

"She was innocent. She didn't know anything." I yell.

"Now she knows even less."

I lunge for this bastard who just took the one person I loved, but a sharp pain hits my my leg-

I hit the ground and see five armed guys walking in with rifles.

"When you're finished, put him in the truck." Agent Adams said as he walked out the door.
******************************
As Agent Adams walked out of the room, he almost tripped over an alley cat. Adams pulled out a gun and fired, but Li'l Jo scampered off.

"Damn cats." Adams said.

Li'l Jo sat behind the dumpster, listening to the sounds of Tobias being beaten and tortured. Shortly, Tobias was loaded into a truck as it drove off. Li'l Jo followed behind to see where it was going...

My name is Karl Starr.

I have had strong headaches all my life. When I was a teen I got used to it. But, a few weeks ago, they started getting worse. Different

When my new headaches reached the highest point of pain, I could feel something... someone... A being almost as powerfull as evil that I'm sure is trying to get into my head.

Whenever I feel him, I feel like my councious is fading away... I try to think, to talk to myself, so I don't I don't fade away and he takes possesion of my body. That's what happening right now.

I know this sounds crazy. I don't know how is it possible... And why does it happen to me? Maybe I have a metagene... shhhh who knows...

It's getting... DON'T... harder to... TRY TO... focus... DENY ME I... I'M MORE POWERFULL am... THAN YOU sca... YES, THAT'S IT red...... GIVE UP i won't................

Today, the streets of Chicago

...........give up!

Where am I?? What is this??
I'm in the floor... A cop is looking at me... "Are you OK, son?" he asks.
I look around and I see... Oh my Gob... Blood... Decapitated people lying everywhere...

Who did this? Why am I here? Why am I dressed up like this?... DAMN HIM!... What???... THE NEXT TIME I FEEL HIS PATHETIC PRESENCE... Oh, no... I SWEAR I WILL ERRADICATE IT!... Not again... WHAT, YOU ARE STILL HERE, LITTLE BUG?... not... I WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU IN... again... A SECOND.

"Son, are you OK?" A HUMAN IN BLUE ASKS ME. BLOW UP. ONE OF HIS FRIENDS SCREAMS SOMETHING. BLOW UP. THREE MORE BLUE HUMANS COME TO ME. BLOW UP, BLOW UP, BLOW UP. ANOTHER ONE POINTS A WEAPON AT ME. BLOW... must... STILL THERE, LITTLE BUG...? not... WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE...? let him win!

I run to the cop HEY! take his gun, DON'T! point it at my head and shoot myself. Blow up.






FOOL.

I CHOSE YOUR PATHETIC BODY BECAUSE YOU WERE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH MY DIMENSION.
YOUR FRAGILE BODY COULD ONLY PERFORM A FEW OF MY ABILITIES. NOW, BY KILLING YOURSELF YOU HAVE FREED ME, ALLOWING ME TO CHOOSE ANY BODY I WANT.
I WILL LOOK FOR A BODY GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME, AND THEN... I WILL BE BACK TO COMPLETE MY MISSION.

AND ERRADICATE MY OTHER HALF.

A vertical line divides the scene in front of me.

On one side of the line, there is a section of orange. On the other side... blue.

Wait... that line's not vertical.

I sit up.

The orange sands of the desert stretch into the distance, meeting the light blue sky at the horizon.

I turn around.

The train speeds off, towards it's destination in Mandelovia.

Bastards kicked me off, just because I didn't have a ticket...

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The year is...

...what was it?

Two thousand and one.

A two, two zeroes, and a one.

2001.

I'm eighty-two years into the past and I'm in the desert and I was just kicked off the train and all I own is a shirt, a pair of pants, and Gus' spare pair of gym shoes.

I have problems.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Where the hell am I supposed to go? Who do I go to?

I sit down.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

My thoughts exactly.

"Who said that?" I find myself yelling, turning around frantically in the sand.

Calm down, Daniel.

"Who the fuck are you?!"

I'm in a crouching position, my hands grasping handfuls of sand. As if they would be enough to protect me from an invisible menace.

My name is Hal and I'm inside your head.

I drop the sand. I stay in the crouched position, and keep turning my head to look for the source of the voice.

"What?"

Calm down, Daniel, and I'll explain. The scientist? The one who had you locked in that tube? His name was Doctor John Feldman. He was an expert in nanotechnology. The biological side of it, rather than technological. Messing around with strands of DNA and getting them to do whatever he wanted. Replicating themselves, changing themselves, other bits of DNA...

"I'm not really after a science lecture... Hal, was it?"

Bear with me. You have to understand the basics of the science to understand what's happened to you.

"...go on..."

Feldman was trying to work on sending little bits of DNA into a person's bloodstream and having them do whatever he programmed them to. They could regrow lost limbs, repair wounds, eradicate disease... would've revolutionised medical science.

"Where the fuck do I come into this? Why the fuck would I have to be stuck in a GODDAMN PLASTIC TUBE?!"

I felt a pain in my hands. I looked down, and they were clenched into fists. My knuckles were bloody.

I realised I'd been punching the ground.

As you may have gathered, Feldman was insane.

"I got that."

He decided to use his new technology to... augment a person's usual physical characteristics, by adding those of an animal. He needed a test subject.

"Me?"

You.

"Me..."

So... he did it. He locked you up. He stuck all these little DNA nanite thingies that he'd grown into your bloodstream. They were programmed to temporarily alter your body in any way they were ordered to, as long as the required DNA information was in the database.

"The... database?"

Feldman knew that the nanites in your bloodstream would need access to all the relevant information. The right DNA strand to grow a bird's wing, the right DNA strand to grow fish scales. And he knew that it would be incredibly difficult to program all that information into your brain. So, he grafted a second brain into yours, to hold all that data.

"That's... you?"

That's me.

I'm lying down. This stuff is hard to take in an upright position.

I have thousands of animals locked inside me. You say an animal part that you need, I tell the nanites what to do, they grow the part on your body.

"That's fucked up..."

Very.

"So where did you come from?"

I was Feldman's assistant. He killed me for my brain.

I'm silent for a moment. As is Hal.

"I'm sorry..."

I've come to grips with it. Anyway... he knew he needed a brain. To hold all that info. And he also wanted it to have personality. So he used mine.

"There's a whole other brain crammed in there with mine...?"

No. Your head's too small for that. He just cut out all the relevant bits he needed from my brain, and slotted them into yours.

"Can you... see? And hear?"

I have access to all your senses. I see and hear whatever you see and hear.

"...why... why would Feldman do all this?"

I'm not sure. I've come up with a theory, though.

"What's your theory?"

He was fucking insane.

"Good theory."

A strange place, the only desert in Europe. Geologist have, since the birth of the discipline, wondered what are the causes of this strange environment, encased among the luxuriant vegetation of the mountains that border the little country.

The explanations are many, but the only one I know doesn’t involve natural causes. You see, I have been always a fan of esoteric theories. Egypt, Maya, Atlantis, UFO, Bermuda triangle. I have a whole library on those subjects. I even began to use drugs to reply ancient shaman practices to contact the afterworld. Well, there is a legend that says that this desert was caused by an atomic explosion… five hundred years ago.

Random toughs. I am chained to a rock in these desert.

Waiting to something to happen.

An hour ago, on an old Toyota Land Cruiser, Lorena Burgos, the Lioness, brought me here. Lorena was very sad but compost, she told me that Agent 57, his lover, died in the Nevada mission.

She chained me to this rock, because soon my body will need heroin. Without the drugs, the metagene will finally fully manifest itself. They say it will be like an explosion, and then I will be gifted with uncanny powers.

Pain.

The abstinence crisis is about to kick in.

I’m sweating, under this enormous sun.

It’s like in Atlanta, that time. The 200m final, on the starting line. The one sweating was not me, but Frederico. I was cold like ice. How he was hating me. Eduardo Frederico, the Cuban from Miami. He ran for the USA. And everytime he was second. After me. I wonder where he is, now.

Arghhh.

The pain is unbearable. The sun is growing, larger, hotter.

I can sustain it.

My body seems to inflate, to become larger and larger…

…I am about to explode. Oh fuck what I have done it’s absurd being here I really I don’t know all those fucking mad mandelovian what is gonnahappening tomeImust be crazytobehangingfromthispieceoffuckingrockohGodohGodohGod…….

.

.

.

.

.
The sun.

Is shining over me.

I’m alive?

I’m lying on my back. On burning sand.

I’m naked, but there is my red runner vest near me.

Well, let’s see if I am still in one piece…

Oh God what’s happening? I’m sinking in the sand!

I try to grab my dress, I don’t know why, it’s the only thing that is not sand around me… and my hand passes right trough it!

Merda! I have died and now I am a ghost! The ghost of Eurostar! What a scoop for the paparazzi that years ago were always following me.

But just as I think those things, I return tangible and can grab my dress. Now I can stay firmly over the ground, without sinking like before.

It’s like I can control my density. Does that means… maybe…

… right! I become light, and jump in the air. The breeze catch me up, and soaring like an hawk, I can rise up in the sky.

I’m flying! Riding on the wind, like a bird.

If I am not dead, that man, Quantos, was right, I am much more powerful that before. I can control my density. I can turn intangible, and… what if…

I go closer to the rock were I was chained… I concentrate myself… and punch with all my force the monolith.

The piece of granite breaks in a thousands of fragment… yes, I can even augment my density… I can vary from the consistence of a gas to the hardness of diamond. What I can say, other than “Cool!”

Time to find Lorena. I soar, up in the sky. There, in the distance, I see the Toyota. I vay my density, turning gradually more dense, descending to the ground.

And then, I’m shocked. Lorena, inside the car, is dead! Killet with a bullet right across her head.

Sirens. From everywhere, cars of the Mandelovian police, and all black Mercedes, come right at me. “Cicciotto, you are under arrest for the killing of Lorena Burgos” a loudspeaker shouts at me.

I am surrounded. For one of the black Mercedes, comes out a tall man on his sixties, bearded, and with an hook in place of his right hand. He points at me his hook, and all the policemen aim at me their rifles.

And I do the only things I can. I turn intangible, and sink in the ground.

I don’t know what they are thinking, now. I see only darkness, but slowly I am trying to go away, swimming in the sand, a meter under the surface.

When I comes out from the ground, it’s late afternoon, the sun is setting. I’m exhausted, I must sleep, if only for a moment.

When I awake, it’s not yet night, the sky is deep blue and only the first stars has begun to shine.

And there is someone watching me, sitting on the sand.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Danny. Danny Hearn”

Why? Why. What the fuck?

Someone else is here, "Hello" I ask. Atfirst there is no answer, so I ask again, "Hello?"

Mr. Stevens, you don't exist.

"Excuse me? Who are you? What do you mean?"

You will know who I am, in time. For now, seek the truth. Seek what they are keeping from you...

"They? The MCCA... What do you mean? Wait, you..."

Everything is black again for a second, than Ritchie's eyes snap open. He was only out cold for a few seconds, but it felt much much longer.

"...asshole..."

He gets to his feet and looks around. Things are done here, his assistence in not needed. He takes out a small device and presses it before bringing it up to his mouth.

"Pick-up, usual spot."

Over an hour... he thinks. They keep getting longer...

Swiftly, the agent of the MCCA ascends the ladder and takes his seat within the helicopter. As the machine lifts off again, Turner is handed a pair of headphones, which he slips over his ears. Silence...

A voice invades his senses from the earpieces he wears. "Where to, Agent Turner?" Turner looks slowly up to where the pilot is seated and says "O'Hare."

"Any particular reason?" the pilot asked.

"Business..." Turner said, turning his attention to the window.

THUNDER MEMORIAL AIRPORT...

"I don't believe this," I mutter, running my hands through my hair. "This is just too much..."

"I'm sorry, Charles," my collegue Walter Curie says to me quietly. "These things aren't meant to happen..."

"Walt," I say, holding up my hand to stop him, "stop with the apologies and the pat answers. I don't need them. What I need is a cure... I trust you're working on one?"

"I'll do what I can, Charles, but I'm not certain if I can promise anything. The metagene is an acknowledged genetic mutation and a cure would mean an obvious reversal of that mutation, which, to this point, has been scientifically impossible." Walt said, explaining to me, as if I didn't know. "Besides, if Dr. Knell knew that you were..."

"I'm going to trust you with that, understand?" I say, grabbing the small man by the shoulders. "You have a softspot in your heart for us freaks, so I expect you to help me out here. You know how Zach and I feel about guys like me, so keep this down. He's got me working with the MCCA, which is bad enough..."

"I know, Charles, I know..." Walt said, hanging his head. "Listen, though. You realize that metahumans are humans too, right? They're not just freaks of nature, you know."

"Call them what you want, Walt," I said, hefting my satchel over my back, "but you and I both know the truth. I'm a freak who doesn't deserve to live. You know it, I know it, and, if Knell knew it... well, then, we can both be sure that I'd get what I deserved."

I smiled a bit at my little joke, but, seeing that Curie didn't find it at all amusing, I quickly shut up.

"Dr. Curie," I said, extending my hand, "it's been a pleasure."

"And you as well, Dr. Walker." We shook hands, smiled at one another, and I turned walking toward the plane, not even bothering to look back.

ONE HOUR LATER... O'HARE ARIPORT, CHICAGO

Agent Turner was growing restless. He had been sitting in O'Hare airport for about an hour now. The flight had been delayed, and now he was stuck waiting. The sign he once held now sat propped up by his foot. A half-empty cappuccino sat on a small table beside him as did a small book.

Becoming more and more bored, Turner picked up the book and began to read.

quote:

---

A prince ought to have no other aim or thought, nor select anything else for his study, than war and its rules and discipline; for this is the sole art that belongs to him who rules, and it is of such force that it not only upholds those who are born princes, but it often enables men to rise from a private station to that rank. And, on the contrary, it is seen that when princes have thought more of ease than of arms they have lost their states.

---

Rubbing his chin in thought, Turner removed a pen from his breat pocket jotting a quick note in the margin of his book. In scrawled hen-scratch, it read "Think arms, not ease..."

Turner's concentration was quickly broken by the nearby clearing of a throat. Looking up, Turner took in the sight of a slim man, black hair, blue eyes, about 5'11, with a slight five o'clock shadow. Putting his pen back into his pocket and marking his place in his book with his finger, Turner raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" he asked venomously.

"I sure as hell hope so," the man said wryly, "otherwise, you've got no business with that sign..."

Turner glanced at where the man was pointing. Sure enough, he had indicated the sign that now sat at his feet.

"You're Dr. Charles Walker?" Turner asked, closing his book.

"That's me," Walker said, holding out his hand. Turner rose, picking up his coffee and sliding his book into the pocket of his trenchcoat. He walked on, not even taking Walker's hand.

"So, who are you supposed to be?" Walker asked, falling into stride beside Turner.

"Name's Agent Turner," the trenchcoated man answered curtly. "I'm the MCCA agent assigned to brief you on your new assignment."

"Brief?" Walker asked. "I was told 'assist'..."

Turner leered at Walker out of the corner of his eye, then focused his attention forward. "Whatever..."

"So," Walker said after a moment of awkward silence, "you like Machievelli?"

"What?" Turner asked, not bothering to even look at him this time.

"Nicolo Machievelli," Walker said, obviously. "You were reading his book... The Prince?"

"Oh... yeah... he's alright..." Turner said. As the two passed the baggage claim, Turner stopped and turned to the man beside him. "You got any luggage?" he asked.

"Nah," Walker said. "It's being shipped in later. I prefer to pack light..."

"Good man," Turner said, making his way toward the doors. As they walked outside, a large black car pulled up to the exit, allowing the men to approach. Turner opened the back door and motioned Walker in.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

The figure of a man with a large coat and a big top hat tumbling around surprises a homeless man lying in the floor.

The man with the coat and the top hat collides with a wall and stays still for a while.

"So... tired..." he thinks, and he is right. He just spend an awfull lot of energy in 'canceling' his other half, Mister Ktl.

"Must... rest..." he says, as he slowly sits on the floor and closes his glowing eyes.

One second later, he opens his eyes again, but the light coming from them is gone. He looks around, and starts screaming.

"Hey, what's the freakin deal, can't you see I'm trying to get some sleep here?" the homeless man says "I mean, one minute you say yer gonna rest and the next you are screamin like a woman! You don't make no sense!"

"I-I'm sorry..." the man with the coat and the hat says "But I could swear I was in my appartment two seconds ago... and now I'm in some dirty alley... What the hell happened?"

"Wanna know what happened? I'll tell ya what happened! Yer nuts, that's what happened! Now shut it and lemme get some sleep, tomorrow is gonna be a very important day!"

"Uh... OK..." the man with the coat and the hat says "I-I'm gonna be leaving now, so..."

"Yeah get out!"

"Yeah... bye..." the man with the coat and the hat says as he walks to the street. He looks around, confused, noticing that he is wearing a hospital robe under the coat... and then noticing he has a coat.

He looks at the name of the streets, and he's glad to see he's still in Chicago. As he walks, still confused, a woman looks at him, takes a deep breath and says:

"YOU!"

"Wha...? Me...?"

"Yes, you!!! I just got fired becuase of you!"

"Wha...?"

"You think you can just... walk into a store with your... big smile and shiny eyes... take whatever you want, and leave without paying???"

"Take...? Big smi...?? Shiny eyes???"

"Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about! You are not fooling me again, Mister! If that's your real name!"

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am... but I must say that I honestly don't know what you are talking about... you must be confusing me with someone else..."

"Confusing you? Confusing you??? Do you see someone else using a giant top hat?"

"I have a hat...? Whoa, I have a hat..."

"Yes you have a hat, one you stole from a department store, one I letted you steal! They fired me becuase of you two minutes ago!"

"I can't remember any of what you have just said, ma'am... b-but if what you say it's true, I must say that I'm really sorry for any inconveniences I could have caused..."

She looks at him for a second, and as soon as she realizes she's feeling simpathy for him again, she screams:

"I TOLD YOU YOU WON'T FOOL ME AGAIN, YOU... PRICK! Now GET LOST! If I ever see you again, I swear I'll call the cops!"

She walks again, leaving him wondering if what she said is true...

"Maybe she's right... Maybe hours... days passed between my living room and the alley... Maybe I did all those things and now I can't... She's really something, isn't she?... can't... But I'm glad I wasn't using your body back there!... who are you?... I'm sorry, how rude of me, my name is Mister Mxy... I'm Mick Harrison... wait, what the fuck are you doing in my mind????... Well, I'm... afraid I can't reveal the reason of my trip to this dimension... You did all those things...? GET OUT OF MY BODY!... Now that is just rude... GET OUT OF MY BODY! NOW!... Look, pal, I would love it if we could co-exist, I would really do, but I'm afraid that ain't possible... What the FUCK are you talking about? GET OUT!... Look, lets act like civili-- OUT!!!!... Oh, you asked for it...

The eyes of the man with the coat and the hat start shinning again, as Mister Mxy reposseses the body. He starts walking, ignoring all the people that were watching him argue with himself, and says:

"Now... where were we?"

[ 10-07-2001: Message edited by: I'm Not Mister Mxypltk ]

"Where is he?" the woman spat angrily as she brushed a strand of dark hair off of her face, revealing the deep purple eyes that drove men to their knees in the boardroom and the bedroom, "did you get the signal? Did he spark?"

"Yes Ms. X," Dr. Quantos said, rubbing his bandaged chin where the escaping Eurostar had struck him, "we recorded his 'explosion' just before contact was lost with the Lioness. A few minutes later, he disappeared off of our scopes."

"According to police reports, Lorena is dead," I say as I enter the room.

"Yes, Chief Bibowski, I received a similar report," Quantos replied, "but I don't know if I trust the authorities."

"My men have confirmed it," I reply as I bring my cigarette back to my mouth, "it seems that our new toy went ghost and went for a swim in the sands once he was cornered."

"We need to retrieve him before Tri-Vex tries anything," the raven-haired woman said as she walked towards me. She ran her fingers down my muscled arm before settling on my hand. Unlike most women, the steel hand did not bother her. After all, it was her gift to me.

"Bibbo, we need Eurostar back. Will you get him for me?" she whispered breathily into my ear as her hand continued to travel. I am sure that Dr. Quantos was blushing behind her.

"A class-Alpha metahuman? That sounds like a lot of trouble," I reply coolly, removing my cigarette with my unoccupied hand to exhale, "is this going to be worth my while?"

The woman just smiled. A lesser man would have been drooling and falling into a fetal position by now, but I wasn't a lesser man. That's why I was the security chief here, and that's why she had taken a personal interest in my 'work'.

"I'll assemble a team. I'm going to need some equipment, and I expect Doc here to hand over whatever I ask for," I reply as I deposit the finished smoke into an ashtray, "don't worry beautiful, you'll get your man."

Dr. Quantos turned back to his work as Ms. X sighed and laughed to herself. Even with his increased strength and the other benefits his prothesis gave him, Bibowski would have his work cut out for him getting a meta as powerful as Eurostar back in one piece. He just hoped that the metas they had left after the loss of Agent 57 and Lioness would be enough for the man's purposes.

“Risponde la segreteria telefonica di Edulcore Cicciotto, non sono in casa, lasciate un messaggio, grazie”.

At the other end of the cable, across half globe, there is what an hour ago was a human being. A living human being. Now Karl Starr is technically a zombie.

He doesn’t understand the answer, which is in Italian, but he realizes that it should be what an ansering service usually says: “I’m not at home, please leave a message”.

So, the undead Karl Starr speaks: “Mr. Cicciotto, I need your help. My name is Karl Starr, I’m in Chicago”. Then he hangs up the receiver, and thinks that Cicciotto could never reply, since he is calling from a telephone box. He must finds Cicciotto in person.

Cicciotto lives in Bologna, Italy. A zombie cannot takes a plane without being noticed, so Karl Starr begins his travel to the other part of the globe by the only means he has at his disposals: his legs.

Meanwhile, in Washington, at the MCCA Headquarter, an officer enters in the office of general Forrest.

“General, a man named Karl Starr has just phoned to Cicciotto asking for help. From Chicago!”

“Find him!”

At the same time, in Mandelovia, at the headquarter of the Mandelovian Security Corp, an agent knoks at the door of the Head of Security.

“Captain, a man named Karl Starr has just phoned to Cicciotto asking for help. From Chicago!”

“Find him!” responds the bearded man, sitting behind the desk. On his right arm, instead of an hand, there is an hook. The name on the sign on the desk reads Captain Nemo.

In the office of Security Chief Bibowski enters Agent Digigrrll, visibly excited.

She takes breath for a moment, and then says: “Chief, Lexicon has just hacked into the system of the Mandelovian intelligence. Lorena Burgos has not been killed by a bullet in the head. It has exploded from within!”

The cigarette drops from the open mouth of Bibowski: “What! The head has blown up? It’s the work of a meta. So, maybe Eurostar is really the killer… but why the state security is keeping it a secret from us?”

"Mr. Frederico... it's been three days since you last came out of your room, sir..." the man says.

"We... uh, should have left the hotel yesterday... We were forced to pay an extra day..." The man takes a small pause, hoping to get an answer from Eduardo Frederico, the famous runner he represents "I realize you may be having problems with... you know... your 'condition', but I have had a hard time explaining the situation to Mr. Hutchkinson... I can't tell him you could be having troubles with your... M-E-T-A-G-E-N-E, can I?" says the short man, with a nervous laugh.

"Mr. Hutchkinson is more angry about the Hotel bill than the delay, Mr. Frederico... and to be honest, I'm more scared of him than I'm scared of you... so I'm afraid we are gonna have to leave today, sir..."

He waits for another moment, and then takes a key from his pocket and says "OK... here I go...", as he uses the key to open the door.

When he gets into the room, he notices Frederico is not there, the TV, the bed and a chair are broken, and the window is in the floor.

"Oh my Gob..." he says "That's gonna cost at least 300 bucks..."