Artist: Run The Jewels
Album: RTJ4
Date Released: June 3rd, 2020
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Artist Background
The duo consisting of Atlanta rapper Killer Mike, and legendary underground produceMC El-P, known together as Run The Jewels, originally came together as a result of Adult Swim executive Jason DeMarco who introduced the two in 2011. After his 2011 album PL3DGE peaked at #115 on the US charts, Killer Mike told Jason that he wanted to make his own AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted. Jason informed Mike, “If you want AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted modernized, the only producer I know who comes close to the Bomb Squad-level of production is El-P”. The duo’s chemistry was immediate, as El-P went on to produce all of Killer Mike’s 2012 last solo album R.A.P. Music, and Mike featured on El-P’s final solo album Cancer 4 Cure. Mike and El’s respective albums released within a week of each other in May 2012, and the two embarked on a twenty-city US tour in the following months. After returning from tour, the pair had found a friendship growing between themselves, and made the decision to put other projects on hold and focus on the chemistry that had been sparked. Recording at an upstate NY studio beginning in April 2013, the duo re-appropriated the phrase “Run The Jewels” from the LL Cool J track “Cheesy Rat Blues", and released their self-titled collaborative album, for free via digital download, only a mere 2 months later in June 2013.
36” Chain vs. Pistol & Fist
Run The Jewels discography currently exists in a distinct pairing. With Run The Jewels as their debut, this record set the group's tone as a light-hearted, braggadocious duo with as much confidence in their abilities as swag in their punchlines. Just over a year later, the sequel Run The Jewels 2 took the foundation set from their freshman effort and dialed the insanity up to 11. RTJ2 pushed the boundaries of their aggression and flows to new heights; with incredible energy in their verses, and absolutely impeccable beats, blending El-P’s signature industrial sound with sharp synth arpeggios, chopped Zach De La Rocha vocals, and absolutely bonkers Travis Barker drums.
It was then nearly 3 years before Jamie and Mike followed up their breakout RTJ2, with Run The Jewels 3 being released again ahead of its scheduled release date via free digital download, this time on Christmas Eve 2016. Instead of these two attempting to outdo the pure insanity and in-your-face attitude found in their predecessor, Mike and El decide to evolve themselves as a group. The duo had noticeably pulled back on the swag and dick jokes which made such a splash on RTJ2, instead choosing a more subdued, electronic approach to their beats, as well as a clearly stronger political approach in their lyrics. This change in sound and style is demonstrated in the album cover’s artwork. The first two records featured the distinctive RTJ “Pistol and Fist”, with the fist tightly gripping a chain. The chain, in my opinion, represents the swag and braggadocio that drove the aggressive nature of their first two albums. In RTJ3 the chain is removed, leaving only hands that have transformed from bleeding and bandaged, to a pristine gold.
This brings us to early 2020. It’s been nearly 4 years of living in a post-Trump America, and El-P announces that Run The Jewels fourth record has been completed. Mike and El live-stream the first single “yankee and the brave” on Instagram on March 22nd, 2020. Lyrically and sonically, RTJ4 exists as the successor to Run The Jewels 3, with Mike and El again taking the good from their previous effort and launching it into the creative stratosphere. El-P’s beats are again leaning towards the synthetic, electronic side, this time with the intensity dialed all the way up to 11. From a lyrical perspective, RTJ takes the politically-charged lyrics from their predecessor, and again, up the ante, laying down some of the hardest hitting and politically poignant bars either of these two have ever spit.
Album Review
2020 was a year that none of us will soon forget. An unprecedented global health crisis kept the majority of us inside for months at a time. RTJ4 was announced on May 12th, 2020, with a release date slated for June 5th, 2020. However, with 2020 as the gift that won’t stop giving, the end of May was highlighted by the unjust killing of George Floyd. The phrase heard around the world, “I can’t breathe” instantly became a rally-cry for the oppressed to finally take to the streets to demand systemic police reform, as Floyd’s death was not the first time this phrase was uttered in an unjust police killing. In fact, a 2020 study by the New York Times showed that at least 70 people have died in police custody after using the same phrase over the past decade. As millions of American’s began organizing protests and demonstrations in the wake of Floyd’s death, Run The Jewels made the decision to release their latest chapter two days ahead of the scheduled release. El-P tweeted, just minutes ahead of the drop, “Fuck it, why wait. The world is infested with bullshit, so here’s something raw to listen to while you deal with it all. We hope it brings you some joy. Stay safe and hopeful out there and thank you for giving 2 friends the chance to be heard and do what they love”. In line with all past Run The Jewels releases, the album was made available for free digital download, two days ahead of its scheduled release date, on June 3rd, 2020.
THE RETURN (we don’t mean no harm but we truly mean all the disrespect)
RTJ4 opens with the first single, “yankee and the brave (ep. 4)”. Using the team names from their respective hometown baseball teams, Mike and El use the opening track to prove that they’re not just a hip-hop duo, they’re brothers, for better or worse. El-P kicks this installment off with rapid-fire, machine-gun esque snares, matching Killer Mike’s aggressive flow and tightly packed rhymes, before El jumps in to trade some dense rhymes as well. Mike and El depict themselves as outlaws, with Mike surrounded by cops with only one bullet remaining. He contemplates suicide instead of allowing the police to take him alive, until El-P jumps back in, offering Mike a way out, with a getaway car waiting outside. This tense situation is depicted lightheartedly in this song’s music video, which was released via Adult Swim and features the duo animated.
The trade-off between Mike and El’s short verses are reminiscent of late-80’s EPMD flows, while the production sounds like boom-bap that’s been sent to us from the future. This distinctive blend of old-school rap roots and forward thinking production is what continues to separate Run The Jewels from absolutely all of their contemporaries. While so many artists are continually playing catch-up with the latest trends, RTJ are side-stepping the trendy and moving forward with the mind-bending.
FLEXIN’ (ayo one for mayhem, two for mischief)
The second single “ooh la la” samples a Gang Star track "DWYCK (feat. Nice & Smooth)" as the basis for the chorus. I say “samples” as that’s how it is credited in the album’s liner notes, however it’s truly an interpolation of Greg Nice’s bar, slowed down slightly, and sung by El-P and Greg Nice himself. El-P is a true old-head at heart, and it’s abundantly obvious in his work, even going as far as to recruit legendary producer DJ Premiere to handle the scratching on the back end of this banger.
Out of key piano chords are looped to quickly create an unsettling aura surrounding the track, before El-P’s voice cuts through the infectious piano like a whip. Pounding, up-tempo drums are introduced after the chorus’ first iteration, creating what is possibly El-P’s first danceable beat. Lyrically, Mike and El-P initially seem scattered on this track, however the music video quickly makes their point very obvious.

”we imagined the world on the day that the age old struggle of class was finally over. a day that humanity, empathy and community were victorious over the forces that would separate us based on arbitrary systems created by man.
this video is a fantasy of waking up on a day that there is no monetary system, no dividing line, no false construct to tell our fellow man that they are less or more than anyone else. not that people are without but that the whole meaning of money has vanished. that we have somehow solved our self created caste system and can now start fresh with love, hope and celebration. its a dream of humanity’s V-DAY… and the party we know would pop off.”

The video envisions a society celebrating the fact that the class system we currently exist within has finally imploded. Money is worthless, and we have rejected the desire to bind ourselves to the constraints of capitalism. All creeds and colors unite to burn the system that has so effectively controlled us for over a century. It’s a party, and if there was a song to celebrate the end of the world as it is currently known, “ooh la la” is that song.
Mike’s last verse features a few metaphors and comparisons celebrating the destruction of capitalism, saving the most poignant for last:

I used to love Bruce, but livin' my vida loca
Helped me understand I'm probably more of a Joker
When we usher in chaos, just know that we did it smiling
Cannibals on this island, inmates run the asylum

Premo’s expertly cut scratches lead us into the equally hard hitting sample flip of “Misdemeanor”, by Foster Stevens as the basis for the beat to “out of sight”. Lending yet another nod to the old-school greats that laid the foundation for RTJ, “out of sight” samples the same track as The D.O.C.’s “It’s Funky Enough”, only adding a bouncy, electronic synth atop the inverted chord hits, and uptempo, industrial drums, to create an absolutely infectious groove for Mike and El’s dynamic chemistry to shine, rapidly jumping between each other’s two line flows in the first verse.
“out of sight” shows each MC providing insight into how each of them earned a living and achieved their current status. Mike and El’s opening verse each details themselves robbing people in order to eat. El alludes to the fact that he crossed his accomplices in crime for the whole bag, while Mike details the fact his assailant tells him it’s an “honor” to be robbed by his mother’s only son.
While El-P’s production is the obvious stand out on first listen, Killer Mike comes through with one of the most sonically pleasing and technically proficient verses of 2020.

We the motivating, devastating, captivating
Ghost and Rae relating product of the fuckin' '80s
Coke dealin' babies, never regulating, bag accumulating
It would not be overstating to say they are underrating
The pride of Brooklyn and the Grady, baby
We don't need no compliments or confidence
Our attitude and latitude is "fuck you, pay me"

The dense, intricate rhyme schemes smack you in the face, almost distracting you from Mike’s delivery and blistering flow on the verse; flexing his legendary status while paying homage to his drug-dealing past. This absolutely stunning display of technical skill, story telling, and complex rhyming illustrates how RTJ seamlessly integrates the best of both old school and new school hip-hop.
“out of sight” also features a guest verse from 2 Chainz, and he continues to lay the braggadocio on thick. Considering Tity Boi’s dedication to trap stylings, his verse feels right at home on the flex track, despite it’s late 80’s tribute sample, a considerable departure from his usual sound palette.
Up until this point, I haven’t mentioned any of the El-P’s lyrics specifically. El-P is a great rapper, but Killer Mike… Well, Killer Mike is an incredible rapper. He’s the guy who draws you in. El-P is the one who lays the foundation for greatness and Mike is the show stopper, and that’s generally the case for most RTJ tracks. But on “holy calamafuck”, El-P seems determined to make people stop and ask, “Who the fuck is this?!”.
A sharp, yet nearly minimalistic drum kit backing a heavily distorted synthesizer melody lays beneath rhymically knocking cow-bells. This aggressively set stage allows Mike and El to flex as the dynamic duo they are, until the beat suddenly takes a turn for the chaotic. A gnarled, ultra-menacing synth overtakes everything while Mike screams into the abyss, until a distorted snare, enormous 808s, and skeletal hi-hats cut through and launch the beat switch into another dimension. The minimal, yet incredibly dark soundscape allows El-P to snap in a way I have never heard from him previously. His rhymes schemes are reminiscent of an old MF DOOM lyric notebook, while his topics flawlessly combine flexing, psychedelic use, and his well-cemented legacy in the hip-hop community. Cutting and pasting a few of his bars into this review could not convey a fraction of how stunning El-P’s performance on “holy calamafuck” is.
Slightly later in the track list, making liberal use of the Ether song “Gang of Four”, “the ground below” samples and loops the sharp guitar riff and adds aggressive, pounding drums as the basis for the beat; this is finally reminiscent of the forward-thinking, stridulous production El-P has built his reputation on. Capitalising on the classic RTJ moment, Mike and El both flex in their own unique ways. Mike compares himself to Godzilla taking on Tokyo, and El-P demands respect for his name as the legend he is, threatening to smack dying children for mispronouncing his name with his middle finger to the world; his complete disregard for human life and confidence in his abilities are summed up at the end of his verse.

You see a future where Run the Jewels ain’t the shit
Cancel my Hitler-killing trip
Turn the time machine back around a century

SO¢IAL JU$T-ICE (until my voice go from a shriek to whisper...)
While the first few tracks aren’t without their social and political themes, the back-end of RTJ4 is where Mike and El start to bust out the heavy topics. “goonies vs. E.T.”. starts off light, with El-P pointing to the irony of how once he finally started to make it “big” in the industry, the world began to descend into chaos due to climate changes, increasingly obvious social injustice, and political madness. He culminates his frustration with our disregard for the Earth with a fantastic quotable.

Fuck y’all got, another planet on stash?
Far from the fact of the flames and our trash
That is not snow, it is ash, and you gotta know
The past got a wrath, it’s a lover gone mad

Mike’s verse takes the light-hearted frustration expressed by El-P, and turns the aggression to the next level. Aiming his sights against the ruling class and their society that’s been designed to oppress people for profit, who have very meticulously painted themselves as celebrities and idols to the American public. Mike accepts that he will be villainized by these people for speaking against them, but he welcomes the nefarious role, knowing that the working class will eventually eat the rich, no matter how much they are stomped into the dirt.
And this is just the warmup.
If it’s possible for a song to represent a moment in time that captures the absolute shit storm that has been 2020, “walking in the snow” is that song. It’s release coincided perfectly with the protests for George Floyd which were sweeping the nation. Killer Mike’s verse directly references the phrase “I can’t breathe”, the last words of Eric Garner, which also happened to be the last words of Floyd as well. The fact that this verse was reportedly written in November 2019 perpetually underscores the importance of the content and perfectly represents how persistent this problem is. “walking in the snow” is a true encapsulation of both a defining moment in time and an ever-persisting issue.
But he doesn’t just stop at the racial injustice. Mike goes on an absolute rant about the American education system; how it’s not designed to teach people, but to discriminate against poor populations, limiting their legitimate opportunities, and therefore disproportionately leading them into a criminal lifestyle. He calls out the media as fear-mongers, and the apathy of the American public in the face of indecency. Fortunately for Mike, by the time we finally had the chance to hear this masterpiece, we were already on our feet, using this album as a war cry to mobilize against a tyrannical government that militarized against its own citizens simply for asking that we recognize systemic racism and demanding change. Killer Mike has the best verse of the year, no doubt in my mind.
The only drawback is that Mike’s verse is so fucking good that it completely overshadows El-P’s, which is also amazing. A menacing guitar riff and haunting synths kick the track off into a bouncy groove, where El-P unleashes a flurry of internal rhymes that does not relent for about half his verse. Even adding layers of social commentary within the densely packed bars, El refuses to quit and continues on his political tirade; criticizing ICE’s detainment center practices and the “pseudo-Christians” who support them, with a bar that now lives in my head:

Pseudo-Christians, y’all indifferent, kids in prison ain’t a sin? Shit
if even one scrap of what Jesus taught connected you’d feel different
what a disingenuous way to piss away existence, I don’t get it
I’d say you lost your goddamn minds if y’all possessed one to begin with

The combination of two of the best verses spit by any rapper(s) this year and production help from El-P and long time RTJ collaborator Little Shalimar, create a bouncy, aggressive, deeply truthful banger. “walking in the snow” not only encapsulates the crux of 2020 with lyrics that will become more powerful as they age, but will also forever be associated with the Black Lives Matter movement and the determination to expose continuing racial and societal injustices.
The sonic palette of RTJ4 holds an extremely unique place in El-P’s discography. Jamie is the definition of a self-made 90’s hip-hop legend. This is the dude who put New York underground hip-hop on the map with Company Flow, and he did it with his unique flavor of dark, noisy, dense, boom-bap. Whether he was doing it with the help of Rawkus, or completely independently during his Definitive Jux run, El-P has never made music with the intention of becoming famous. Funcrusher Plus, Fantastic Damage,I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead, and Cancer 4 Cure are all highly revered as industrial, technical, abrasive, and completely unsuitable for the radio or a party. The fact that three songs on RTJ4 could easily be heard on the radio, at a party, or in a TV series credits scene is frankly, astounding. In a 2002 interview/documentary on El-P’s budding record label Def Jux, he stated that his friend bet him $500 that he could not make a beat that was “happy”. At the time of the interview, El-P said that he had not won that bet yet. While I might not qualify the beats on RTJ4 as “happy”, if you showed El-P the beat for “JU$T” in 2002, I believe he might have won that bet.
Pharell opens “JU$T” with the pre-chorus, spitting varied examples of how we’re all slaves to our current system throughout the track, over echoing snares and bouncy 808s before bright synth chords and up-tempo hi-hats burst in while Killer Mike delivers the chorus, pointing to the fact that the majority of the people featured on American currency owned slaves at one point in their lives. Mike’s verse touches on the fact that he has committed crimes to get where they are today. Mike is publicly open about his past as a drug dealer. So why is he a criminal, but Benjamin Franklin isn’t? These are the people who built our country, and they built it on the backs of slaves. He illustrates this theme with a more recent examples:

You believe corporations runnin marijuana? Ooh (how that happen?)
and your country gettin ran by a casino owner (ooh)
pedophiles sponsor all these fuckin’ racist bastards (they do)

When corporations are able to sell cannabis legally, but the government continually incarcerates people who trap, our president is a notoriously fraudulent businessman, and the people who helped put him in power run a pedophile ring, yet none of them face consequences and are allowed to continue to profit and remain in power while people suffer; well, we might be closer to slaves than previously imagined.
Rage Against The Machine frontman Zach de la Rocha also makes his mandatory feature appearance at the end of “JU$T”. As the only artist to feature on three Run The Jewels albums, Zach is essentially an unofficial member of the group at this point. His fiery verse is spit with the same “Rage” energy that set him apart in the mid-90’s, ending the track questioning his place in a capitalist society as a recipe for his inevitable demise, since his “breath”, or art, as his weapon to express himself is still being exploited for other’s profit.
Continuing with RTJ4’s heavily synthetic sonic palette, “never look back” features wavering synth leads resting above the slow-jams snappy snares and thumping bass, while a haunting voice echoes in the background. This unsettling aura provides additional gravity for Jamie and Mike to continue self-reflecting on defining moments in their childhood, and as well as how far they’ve come from those moments. Mike and El are both self-made men, and while they have a certain fondness for those gritty moments that defined them, moving forward in life is undoubtedly more important.
Skeletal drums reminiscent of a slowly pounding heart opens “pulling the pin”, before rhythmic hi-hats and textured, watery synths fluttering in the upper register resting above a bouncy synth lead, and punchy 808s, burst in. The track digs itself into a slower, marching groove and shows the duo figuratively doing exactly what the title implies. Painting a portrait of a society that has turned on itself, Mike and El are ready to pull the pin and start over.
The duo both detail their despise for the ruling class, pointing out multiple examples of how the elite have designed our society to keep poor people in their class. Simultaneously recognizing their own hypocrisy for profiting in a system that inherently discriminates; Mike reflects on his own success, knowing that living the lifestyle he enjoys is one built on oppression, and expresses the guilt that has caused him. El-P opens with a brutal metaphor for police, implying that they’re the root cause of the “wretched state of danger” our society exists within, and that the only effective corrective action is to numb yourself with drugs. Despite his advice, Jamie knows this is not a permanent solution, but one that causes more self-inflicted wounds.
The final piece of the puzzle that is RTJ4, “a few words for the firing squad” begins to close the album with ever crescending strings, and loud, thunderous drums which never seem to resolve, continuing throughout their verses. While the drums that lead to nowhere can be sonically unpleasant, the unresolved melodies are intentionally representative of their current mindsets. Their verses are reflective and grim, but simultaneously optimistic and envisions a world where tragedy is a less common occurrence.
El is grateful for what he has now but recognizes his entire life has been skewed by traumas, so out of place feels normal for him. He reflects on his current success, noting that the worst people tend to end up with the most, which makes becoming “rich” something not as desirable as it once was.
Mike opens up about the death of his mother who died while he was on an airplane, admitting his struggles to not cope with his trauma with opioids. However, his wife provides him the most important reason to stay clean “but my queen/say she need a king/not another junkie rapper fiend” while a heartbreaking saxophone solo highlights the gravity of his lyrics.
The track ends with what sounds the like wrap-up voiceover to a TV show, a conceptually satisfying ending, as the opening track “yankee and brave (ep.4)” began with El-P stating:

”This week, on Yankee and The Brave”

This voiceover paints the duo as brothers on the run from the law and crooked cops, and while this does close this “episode” out as intended, the critic in me is bothered by the slightly kitschy outro to such a spectacular album. The voices singing over and over, “Brave, brave, braaaaaave, Yankee and the Brave” would be, simply put, better left on the cutting room floor. The ending of this track alone is what knocks my score of this album down a few points. Despite its stellar lyrical content, with drums that never seem to reach that “holy shit!” moment, and the easily skippable outro, it’s upsetting to me that an album this great ends on such a low note.
Overview
RTJ4 is by far my favorite album of the year. El-P’s cutting edge approach to their sound, blended with lyrical content that continues to be more relevant by the day, the duo have come together with what is objectively their most accessible album to date. RTJ4 is the natural evolution of sound and subject matter for the duo; taking the foundation set by Run The Jewels 3 and evolving it into a more concise, more accessible, and more conceptual album. While I still personally prefer the “fuck the world” intensity and experimental nature of Run The Jewels 2, RTJ4 opens themselves up to a whole new world of exposure, and when you’re as talented as these two, you know they’re going to capitalize on it. RTJ is currently at their apex, and they’ve created an album that will make many new life-long fans going forward.
9.2/10
Discussion Points

• How does this compare to other RTJ releases? How about in comparison to the member’s solo works?
  
• Does the overwhelmingly positive critical reception of this album surprise you?
  
• How will this be looked back on in 5 years?
  
• What are your favorite lyrics?
  

This chapter was a labour of love, heists are hard. Big thanks to u/eruwenn for helping tidy up this bag of snakes.
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“Ranjaz K’Lua, you thieving scumbag!” the Kah’Ree in the purple suit exclaimed loudly as he spotted them across the busy room. “As I live and skral, I never thought you would have the Jolos show your face here again!”
Two J’Rami in suits detached themselves from the lobby wall, walking towards the Kittran and his friends. “Alfor, my old friend!” Ranjaz smiled broadly. “No need for the welcoming party, I’ve got your credits” —he gestured to Cygna— “and a sweetener, for all the trouble I caused last time.”
Alfor paused, lecherous eyes assessing the Fae’Dan. “You know I have a thing for purple.” He chuckled at his own joke and waved the guards back to their posts. “How about we have a drink, and discuss your forgiveness.” He pointed to Thor and Eruwenn. “Brought your own security, or are these Gal. Fed. goons? Everyone knows about your probation.”
The Kittran gave a broad grin. “I got a Tulseria-damned pardon, a new ship and a very lucrative opportunity.”
The Kah’Ree smiled. “How’d a thieving cat like you get a pardon?” He gave Ranjaz an appraising look up and down. “Oh? Now, let me guess, you need something from me and my brother?”
Ranjaz fired his finger guns. “You were always the smart one Alfor, that’s why you run the casino floor.” The Kittran stepped in close. “The item, do you still have it?”
Alfor tilted his head back and away from Ranjaz. “Your little guarantee?” He looked back down at Ranjaz. “We have it somewhere safe. Had some unusual people come by after you got caught. Asked a lot of questions. Made a lot of threats.” His face contorted in anger. “We got audited thanks to you.”
The Kittran smiled. “If only they knew you better, they could have simply paid you for the information.”
“We give nothing for free.” The Kah’Ree gave a sinister smile. “House rule.”
Ranjaz walked forward to put his his arm on Alfor’s back. “Let’s go see your brother. Have a few drinks, maybe gamble a little, and discuss our future riches.”
 
 
Ripley stood in the shadows of the staff shuttle bay, watching as the numerous employees of assorted races came and went. Loud laughter caught her attention, and a very strangely dressed Niham broke away from a small group and walked towards her. Ripley tried to maintain her low profile as the scantily clad female strutted towards her in long black boots with pointed heels that clacked loudly with every step.
Deliberately avoiding eye contact the Awakened tried to will herself into the wall but it was too late and a voice called out to her. “Hey Darling! You must be the one I’m looking for.”
Ripley shook her head. The Kittran had said the contact was an Ashi pirate captain, a master gambler and expert in procuring the unusual. “I don’t-”
“Listen cutie,” she interrupted, “you’re the one lurking in dark corners drawing attention to yourself. I’ve got your security card. You tell that fluffy little stud he owes me. And more than a bottle of Fae’Dan wine and a good time, if you know what I mean.” She held up the card between her fingers, just a little out of Ripley’s reach.
The Awakened considered the phrase ‘fluffy little stud’ and decided that, despite her hopes, this was probably her contact. “You’re Captain Whiplash?”
The Ashi laughed genuinely, the jiggling of tightly squeezed breasts bursting at shiny black restraints making Ripley nervous. “Oh, Darling! Only my little pets call me that! You may call me Sho’Na.”
Ripley was momentarily confused. “So, you aren’t a pirate captain?”
“I’m anything they pay me to be.” She smiled at the silver-haired woman's naivety. “You really are new to this.”
Ripley, caught off guard, simply nodded, then replied, “I’m a quick learner.”
“Good for you, Darling.” Sho’Na handed over the card. “Just make sure you get paid up front, and don’t use your real name with clients. Ruins the mystique.”
Ripley was unsure of what was being said. Turning the card over in her hands she saw that the holo-image on the front was of a male Arkellian. “This isn’t me?”
“Honey, I was given half a cycle to get you a level three security card. Just be glad it’s a biped.” Sho’Na looked Ripley up and down. “Our mutual acquaintance told me you were some sort of master of disguise who could even trick Selva Blaster.”
Ripley paused, then smiled. Her appearance had become such an integral part of her identity she had forgotten that it was entirely optional. “It won’t be a problem.” She looked at the card again. “Unless the owner comes looking for it.”
Sho’Na gave another bosom-trembling laugh that threatened to spill out at any moment. “Oh, don’t worry, he’s tied up at the moment.”
The Awakened considered the risk. “Hmmm, but for how long?”
The few strips of shiny black material that comprised Sho’Na’s revealing outfit strained under her amusement. “Don’t you worry, Darling. He paid for the whole night.”
 
 
Eruwenn had reassessed her opinion of Ranjaz many times since meeting him. The criminal. The loyal friend. The lazy trouble-maker. All were true, but now she was seeing something new. He sat opposite Toran, the brother of Alfor, in a game of dalcho she wished she could have taken part in, but was equally glad she did not.
At first she had thought the Kittran was outmatched, a few reckless mistakes costing him dearly as the Kah’Ree deftly selected his tiles. Toran was clearly a seasoned gambler, using a blend of the Remee Le’Bow Gambit and the Kowals’Kee Analysis she hadn’t seen before. It seemed to be dismantling Ranjaz’s tiles before he could even prepare his cards. A few fortunate dice rolls and he had taken a strong lead from the outset. The Kittran appeared desperate, playing any tile available to try and slow the defeat.
It had all been a ruse, she saw it; Ranjaz had saved his best tiles and carefully thrown hands to manipulate the cards. In just a few rounds he would be able to dominate the board and raise the stakes, recouping his losses and changing the course of the game entirely. She had encountered few players who could manipulate the game so deftly, using memory and layers of strategy to corner their opponent. It was magnificent.
Eruwenn couldn’t tear her eyes from the board as she stood beside Thor. The Awakened had shown no interest in the game, studiously watching the opposite door as Toran’s staff came in and out. When a waiter entered and began preparing drinks at the small private bar in the executive gambling room, Thor coughed. It was a strange thing for an Awakened to do, and Eruwenn finally looked up from the table. “Are you ok?”
Thor nodded. By the time he had looked towards her, she had returned her attention completely to the game. “You don’t seem concerned about your friend?” he asked.
The Anatidae watched as Ranjaz used a blind double feint, and the sheer audacity of such a move made her swallow hard. She didn’t look back to Thor, but mumbled a response. “I’m very confident in her abilities.”
The waiter was methodically placing drinks by each of the players, but when they stood behind Ranjaz the Kittran surged to his feet, shouting, “Hey! No cheating Toran! Getting your waiter to look over my shoulder? That’s a dirty move I’d expect from your brother!”
Thor had reacted faster than Eruwenn, pinning the arms of the Arkellian waiter in a vice-like bear hug. Toran slowly stood. He was big, heavily muscled, and the veins on his neck bulged as his anger rose. “Don’t accuse me in my own place.” He cracked his knuckles and glowered down at Ranjaz. “I run a straight game.”
Fearlessly the Kittran walked right up to the Kah’Ree and stared up into his face from waist height. “Don’t try and intimidate me, you son of a Vogel.” Ranjaz puffed out his chest and began pushing the burly casino owner. “Nobody cheats me!”
The blow caught Ranjaz across the cheek and sent him sprawling across the room. Eruwenn winced at the impact, but maintained her composure. Toran laughed. “Watch your tongue or I’ll add it to my collection.” He walked round the table and kicked Ranjaz in the stomach, glaring at Thor and Eruwenn, daring them to act. “Know your place trash. You’re at this table because you put credits up front. You are a dishonest thief, begging for scraps, and cosying up to me any my brother to get your little trinket back.” He returned to his seat. “Why would I need to cheat against the likes of you?”
Ranjaz stood, brushing himself off. “Fine, fine.” He waved a hand and Thor dropped the Arkellian. Ranjaz tapped him on the chest. “My mistake.” He sat down and picked up his cards once more. “You’re right Toran, you run a clean game. I’m just a sore loser.” He shuffled the order of the tiles that were still face down on the table. “To show my sincerity, how about we double the buy for the rest of the game?”
Toran snorted. “Double?” He looked at the Kittran, scrutinising his opponent. The game was already over; he had control of the board and his tiles occupied the three prime positions. Was the thief trying to buy his favour, he wondered? How much was the trinket he wanted truly worth? He decided it was worth testing. “Triple, and I’ll forget you dared touch me.”
The Kittran swallowed hard, his ears flat to his head. Toran momentarily worried he’d pushed for too much but a decision seemed to be reached. “Fine. Triple.” The look of defeat was delicious to the Kah’Ree.
 
 
Cygna had done her part and lured Alfor to a private room away from his security. She had danced, skipped and side-stepped his groping hands so far, maintaining a playfulness that ensured he complied. This sort of thing was not new to her; she had spent time undercover in the past. Fortunately, there had been little call for it since she had joined forces with Eruwenn.
Alfor’s eyes scanned her body once more. “The Kittran has very good taste.” He licked his lips, a small amount of drool escaping and running down his chin. He wiped it on his sleeve. “Now, I brought you somewhere quiet. How about you show me how sweet you can be?”
The Fae’Dan smiled coyly and continued her dancing just out of reach, glancing to the doorway where Alfor’s two guards stood watching her. “With an audience?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
With a sly grin he waved the guards out of the room. “Now come here and let me satisfy you like only a Kah’Ree can.” His eyes wandered over her body once more.
Cygna smiled, her own eyes moving from the Kah’Ree’s hands to his shoulders, then up towards his neck. An interesting fact about the Kah’Ree was the thick blood vessels on the side of their neck. They often bulged when a Kah’Ree was angry or excited, like Alfor’s were as he leered at her. She danced closer. Another interesting fact was that their brains were not as efficient as those of other species, hence the requirement for additional blood flow; more oxygen per limited thought.
He leaned forward, his eyes locked to her swaying hips. Cygna turned slowly, and his head tilted to appreciate her assets. The third, lesser known, fact about the Kah’Ree was that an interruption to the blood flow while they were in this excited state caused them to lose consciousness rapidly as their brain burned through the available oxygen. “My eyes are up here.” She smiled as he looked up at her with his head still tilted.
He sneered. “Who ca-”
The Fae’Dan struck the side of his neck with the edge of her hand, targeting the throbbing blood vessel with a powerful blow. The interruption to his brain's oxygen supply worked perfectly and he fell face forward onto the ground at her feet. She let out a sigh of relief and looked down at his unconscious body. “Thank you, that was particularly satisfying.”
She walked over to the door and peeked out, finding the guards standing either side. “He said to order us some drinks.” One of the guards nodded and immediately put his hand to his lapel communicator.
Back inside the room, Cygna used her foot to roll Alfor to his back and began searching his pockets. She came up empty. Her eyes caught a glimmer from his collar and she found a heavy gold chain, at the end of which was his security key. She removed it just as a knock came at the door. A deep voice from the other side called out. “Your drinks, boss.”
The Fae’Dan quickly messed up her hair. Using the back of her hand she smeared her lipstick sideways, and then pulled the strap of her dress down off her shoulder. She opened the door and, to her surprise, was faced with an Arkellian waiter. The bodyguards noted her dishevelled appearance and shared a smirk, and she said, “Oh, I wasn’t expec-”
The waiter pushed the trolley into the room. “Don’t keep the boss waiting, lady.” Before Cygna could reply they were inside and the door closed. “Relax, it’s me.”
Ripley’s voice sounded bizarre coming from the male Arkellian form, and Cygna’s eyes went wide in shock. Her sharp mind quickly adjusted to this new information. Of course the Awakened could change their physical appearance; she had just never seen it. They all seemed quite attached to their chosen human forms. “Neat trick.” She held out Alfor’s key. “Did you get the other one?”
Ripley nodded. “The Kittran played his part well. I didn’t see him take it, and didn’t feel it when he placed it in my pocket. Now that was a neat trick.”
The Fae’Dan smiled. “I think I’ll pass on that dalcho game.”
The Arkellian Ripley smiled. “Probably wise.” Turning, she slipped the key into her pocket and headed back out of the door.
 
 
Ripley entered the elevator to the owner's private offices on the top floor. Thanks to the distractions downstairs, the two large desks in the centre of the room were empty. She walked straight past them to the large leokas painting on the wall and swung it forward. Behind it was a Fae’Dan safe; she took out the two keys and a small homemade device the Kittran had given her.
Attaching the device to the bio-lock and standing before the safe, she elongated her arms to reach both key positions at once. There was more than one reason she was the one chosen for this task. The device beeped twice and small lights above each lock lit up. She simultaneously turned both keys, and there was a satisfying clunk.
She raised an eyebrow. The device had worked. The heavy safe door swung open and she began her search. Ranjaz had been very specific: while there was one item she had to get, she was to grab as much as possible to obscure their true target.
Quickly grabbing as much as she could she retrieved the keys and ran back across the room towards the elevator.
 
 
Cygna hauled Alfor back onto the seat, putting him in a more natural position and messing up his hair. She looked away as she began unbuttoning his clothes, pulling his trousers around his ankles and opening his shirt up to bare his chest. From a secret pocket inside her dress she pulled out a lace thong, setting it on his head like a bandana. She also had a small box which she opened, inside of which was a replica mouth with lipstick that matched her own.
Cygna carefully applied kiss marks all over his exposed skin before popping the fake lips back into the secret pocket. She took the Fae’Dan wine and partially filled two glasses, making sure to take a long drink from one and leave more lipstick marks. The rest of the wine was poured into the ice bucket.
She heard the sound of voices outside the door. The guards were arguing with someone, refusing them entry, but when the name Toran was mentioned it was Ripley who entered, still in uniform but now looking much like her usual self. She smirked at the Kah’Ree in his derobed state. “I can see you had fun.”
The Fae’Dan chuckled. “That’s the idea.” She looked at the Awakened in her true form. “You look… better.”
Ripley cocked her head. “It would be strange if the waiter came back to deliver a message.” She tossed the necklace key to Cygna, who replaced it on Alfor’s neck.
Reclining on the sofa and picking up her glass, Cygna took another long drink. “Get the other one back to Ranjaz quickly. This one won’t be napping much longer.”
The Awakened gave an almost Ranjaz-like grin. “You could always hit him again.” Before the Fae’Dan could reply she had ducked back out of the door. She caught the eye of one of the bodyguards and gave a head tilt back towards the room. “The boss is really enjoying himself!”
As the suited pair chuckled, the larger of the two got a message in his ear piece. “Hey, silver hair.” He grunted. “Boss has an important guest. Meet them in the foyer and bring them to the dalcho room.”
Ripley was relieved – she needed a reason to get into that room. “On my way.”
 
 
Toran was seething as he watched as the Kittran flipped his final tile. Why would he have waited so long to play the Wings of Tulseria tile? His stomach sank, and he couldn’t hold back his anger any longer. “Damn you!”
Ranjaz gave a full-fanged grin. “Looks like my luck turned at just the right moment.”
“Luck!” Toran’s tile snapped between his fingers. Why had he let the damned cat goad him into constantly increasing their bet? The cycle had started with him owing the brothers a million credits plus interest, and now the infuritating Kittran had won nearly forty times that. “Nobody is that lucky.”
“Woah!” Ranjaz held up his hands. “I would never cheat, well... certainly not a second time. After you caught me, I’d be a fool to try.”
“Hmm.” Toran looked at the two behind the Kittran. The big one would be a problem, but the Anatidae looked to be nothing special. “How about I give you back your little trinket and we call it even?”
“My trinket?” Ranjaz shook his head. “I had to convince you it was worth the million I owed. Why would you think I’d trade it for thirty eight million credits? I’ll pay what I owe, take my trinket and my winnings and leave.”
Toran folded his arms and looked across the dalcho board at Ranjaz. “And why would I let you do that?” The atmosphere in the room changed as the two security guards changed their stance. “Transfer the credits back to the house.”
Ranjaz dropped the grin, replacing it with a defiant glare. “What happened to you running a straight game?”
“The game was straight. You won, didn’t you?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold and hard. “You’re just in no position to collect.”
The Kittran was about to argue when the door behind Toran opened. He looked up as Ripley entered, and his eyes widened in shock. She wasn’t alone. “Toran, you bastard! You sold me out!”
“For ten million credits.” Toran stared hard at Ranjaz. “Care to make a better offer?”
Eruwenn’s eyes blazed with anger as the grey-suited Niham pulled up a seat and sat down beside Toran. “Now, now, you lied to me about having the item before. Don’t double cross me.” Sentinel Krast placed his hands together on the table, interlacing his fingers. “I’m not somebody who forgives easily.” He looked directly at Eruwenn. “Isn’t that right, former Councillor? A little far from your new Ambassador position, aren’t you?”
Ripley stood back against the wall. She had no idea who the newcomer was, but this most definitely was not the plan. The golden green Anatidae walked forward to stand behind Ranjaz. “Oh, I had a little vacation time saved up, and decided to spend it with my good friend here.” She placed a hand on the Kittrans shoulder. “And what brings a Sentinel here?”
Krast’s lips curled in what might approximate a smile. “I’m also acquainted with Mr K’Lua. In fact, we go back a very long way.” He turned to look directly at Ranjaz. “Now, return what is mine.”
Toran looked from Ranjaz to Krast. “Yours? You don’t look like the tiara wearing type.”
The Sentinel didn’t turn his head. “Ah, so you hid the data chip inside some shiny bauble. As inventive as ever, Mr K’Lua.” The Niham finally acknowledged Toran by looking at him. “Bring. It. Here.”
The Kah’Ree sucked air through his teeth. “Well, seems like we have something mighty important, and two very interested parties.” He stood and walked to his two security officers, who drew their weapons in unison. “Now then, I believe you” —he nodded to Krast— “offered ten million. How about it Ranjaz, old friend? What’s your counter offer?”
The Kittran had been sitting, silently seething at his double cross being double crossed. He looked at Krast. “Were you the one?”
Toran was surprised at being ignored, but before he could reply Krast answered, “The one?”
Ranjaz’s eyes narrowed, his ears alert, his tail swishing aggressively. “The one who took my friend!” he snarled as he felt Eruwenn’s hand holding him back gently.
Krast’s eyes glittered as he saw the impotent rage in his opponent’s eyes. “Ah, the poor deceased human?” He smiled his mannequin-esque smile. “And if I was?”
Toran snatched a pistol from one of his men and fired a blast at the ceiling. “Your quarrel can wait. Let’s settle our business first and you can kill each other after I’m paid.” He paused, then added, “but, not in my casino. Body disposal costs extra.”
Eruwenn’s hand gripped Ranjaz’s shoulder harder, and he braced himself. In one smooth move she both threw him backwards and to the right, and kicked the dalcho table up and forward into Krast's face. The Sentinel fell backwards as a blast from Toran struck the table, but Eruwenn was already on the move, sidestepping left and ducking forward into a cartwheel. Toran's gun had been following Ranjaz, but as her leg swept down it knocked the weapon from his grip.
Once she stabilized, her fist, already primed with momentum from the cartwheel, struck Toran below the ribs and knocked the wind from him. The guard, whose gun the Kah'Ree had been holding, lunged forward to grab Eruwenn but she simply deflected his hand, pairing his forward momentum with her rising elbow to swiftly render him unconscious.
The second guard had just begun to raise his weapon when a huge fist struck him in his chest, sending him careening backwards into the wall. Thor loomed over him, shaking his head as he retrieved the energy pistol. “Too slow.”
Ripley helped Ranjaz to his feet as Krast pushed the table off his chest. Toran was coughing and struggling to breathe as Ranjaz pressed the retrieved energy pistol to his forehead. “Double cross me?” He dragged the Kah’Ree forward. “I want to see the item, then I’ll pay what I owe.” The two of them awkwardly made their way back towards Krast, so Ranjaz could point the gun in his face. “Then we can talk about your body disposal fee.”
Krast stood, and his phony smile was gone. “You can’t kill me. The Sentinels will tear this place apart, hunt you down and kill you. You think I came alone? My ship is in orbit and waiting for my orders!”
Ranjaz grabbed him by the jacket, pulling him down to his level, and struck him in the face with the butt of the pistol. Thor cooly kept his stolen pistol pointed at Toran and the one conscious guard. By the third blow Krast’s face was bloody, his nose broken and he began to struggle against Ranjaz’s assault.
A muted boom caused everyone present to stop in their tracks. Alarms began to sound and Toran swore loudly. He pulled out his communicator, ignoring Thor’s pistol. “What the hell was that!” He held the device close as he listened. “My office?” He patted his pocket. Finding his key in place, he looked to Ranjaz and then Krast. “Seal the casino! And where is my brother?”
Ripley suddenly understood why the Kittran had told her to leave his device on the safe door. After a brief further moment of shock, which she kept from showing on her face, she realized that she had been carrying an explosive without being told. If they survived, Ranjaz was going to need to explain himself. Thoroughly.
Eruwenn, Thor and Ranjaz had backed away to the opposite side of the room, standing by the door. Krast stood alone, holding his profusely bleeding nose. The opposite door soon opened to reveal scrambling casino security, with Toran and his guard standing nearby.
The unconscious guard was carried out without comment, and the Kah’Ree turned to Ripley. “Why are you still here?” She nodded and slipped out of the door, leaving one less concern for the remaining three. “Alright, which one of your skrolg-licking bastards broke into my private safe?”
Krast spat blood onto the floor, pointing at Ranjaz. “He’s the thief. You and I had a deal.”
The Kittran smirked. “I’m a better thief than blowing up a Tulseria-damned safe. If I wanted to steal it, I would have done just that. I would not have announced my arrival and sat down to a game of dalcho.”
Toran looked between the two of them. “He’s got a point.” One of his men handed him a pistol, and he continued to talk a little distractedly into his communicator. “Well, check everywhere!”
Ranjaz stirred the pot. “He’s the bastard who double crossed me, why would he honour your deal?”
Eruwenn nodded. “A government agent can’t be seen working with criminals.”
Krast's face contorted in rage. “Don’t be a damned fool, Toran!” He pointed at Ranjaz. “This is clearly some convoluted distraction.”
Toran shook his head. “They had the upper hand. You were the one getting your face ruined.”
 
 
Cygna watched nervously as Alfor began to stir. Things were taking a lot longer than expected. Finally, her signal came; it was not as subtle as she had been led to believe. As soon as the explosion went off the two bodyguards quickly came into the room, glancing from Alfor’s sleeping body to her. She staggered forward, wine bottle in hand. “We need more drinkshh!”
The guard ignored her as he saw the condition of his boss. “Not again,” he groaned. “Toran will kill us for letting him get like this.”
The second guard stepped out into the corridor. “I’m not dressing him! Last time he tried to kiss me!”
Cygna paused, not having expected it to go this way. The first bodyguard walked out as well. “He pissed on my new shoes the time before that. I’m not moving him.”
Their communicators went off and their faces became more serious. Bodyguard two spoke first. “Damn it. Toran wants him.”
The first turned to look at the increasingly bewildered Cygna. “You!” He smiled. “You got him undressed. You can dress him.”
Cygna spotted Ripley running down the corridor towards them, causing her confusion to grow further. The Awakened shouted one word. “Sentinels!”
The Fae’Dan’s mind raced. The plan was clearly blown, and they had to get out. Fast. As the guards were now facing Ripley, she took the opportunity to kick one in the back of the knee. He fell forward, and as the second turned he was met with the upward swing of a wine bottle. The first guard discovered first-hand the shocking truth of how hard the knee of an Awakened could be, and both were unconscious by the time they hit the ground.
Cygna smiled at Ripley. "Thanks."
The Awakened gave a swift nod of acknowledgement. “A Sentinel turned up, so Ranjaz set off the diversion he promised. The other brother is busy trying to figure out whether it’s us or the Sentinels robbing him.”
Cygna took on board the new information quickly, knowing she needed to help the others. “I have an idea. Lie over there and look dead.” She ran back into the room, where Alfor was groaning and starting to move. She slipped the chain from his neck and dropped it into the ice bucket, where it sank out of sight below the dark Fae’Dan wine. She began to slowly shake him.
“Huh,” he grumbled, and slowly opened his eyes. “Wha.. what happened?”
Cygna clung to him tightly. “Oh thank goodness! I thought they killed you!”
“Killed?” Alfor’s head was pounding, his memory blurry. “Who-” He caught sight of his downed guards in the open doorway. “What the hell happened?” He began pulling at his clothes, and swiftly checked that his trousers were dry.
“While we were.. You know…” He nodded; he was buttoning up his clothes. He didn’t remember, but he knew. “Some scary men burst into the room and shot you! I was so scared.” She hugged him tight, pressing herself against him.
He put his arm around her. “What men? Be brave, and tell me what happened.”
She looked up at him, trying to make her eyes as big as possible, adding a lip tremble to really sell it. “I don’t know! They wore grey suits. And one of them took your necklace!”
“My necklace.” He clutched at his chest where it should have been. “Damn Sentinels! I told Toran we couldn't trust them!”
He stepped into the corridor, where Ripley lay on the ground with a terrible energy weapon burn on the side of her face. He pulled out his communicator. “Toran.” He instantly got hold of his brother. “I didn’t answer because I was knocked out. Damn Sentinels took my key, killed some of our guys.” He looked around. “Nobody important, just some waiter.” He finally pulled the underwear from his head. “I’ll go to the security room and look at the video.”
He ended the call and turned back to Cygna. “You stay here.”
She smiled. “Sorry, we can’t let you check the security footage.”
“Wha-”
Ripley struck him from behind and he crumpled to the ground, her fake burn melting from her face. The Awakened looked around, rechecking that all was clear. “I think that’s all we can do; we should get out of here. Come with me, my shuttle is in the staff bay.”
 
 
Toran closed his communicator and motioned to a guard. “Search him.”
Eruwenn wished she had some way to capture the look on Krast’s face when the remote detonator was pulled from his pocket. She'd have to hug the light-fingered Kittran later.
The Sentinel grit his teeth. “That’s not mine.”
“Sure, sure,” Toran agreed, while simultaneously shaking his head at the Sentinel. “Looks like you really didn’t come alone.”
Krast was furious, yelling, “I’m telling you-” He broke off when Ranjaz shot him in the leg, falling to the floor.
The Kah’Ree pointed his pistol at the Kittran. “Can’t let you kill a Sentinel in my casino, even if they did just rob me.”
Ranjaz was surprised the Kah’Ree had believed them so easily. “What about us?”
Toran sighed, lowering his weapon. “Take your winnings and get out. If you stole the thing once, I’m sure you can steal it again.”
Eruwenn and Thor both made to leave. Ranjaz paused, knowing he might not get another chance. “And him?”
The Kah’Ree looked at the Sentinel holding his wounded leg. “We’ll send him back to his ship. As much as I hate it, the Sentinels are untouchable.”
Ranjaz raised his pistol. “He took my friend.”
“And we’ll get him back,” Eruwenn said softly. “Then we’ll all deal with him, and the rest of the Sentinels.”
Krast sneered and spat blood once more. “Your human is dead.”
Ranjaz fired.
Krast screamed and grabbed his other leg. “You bastard!”
Toran and his men raised their weapons as the Kah’Ree yelled, “Get the hell out of here!”
Ranjaz turned and followed the others out of the door, but just as it was about to close he poked his head back in. “Oh, one last thing.”
Toran could be seen looking up just as the Kittran fired again, but he ducked out of sight before the true outcome of his shot could be seen. The shrieks of agony, however, followed the trio down the corridor as they broke into a run. Eruwenn spared a glance down at Ranjaz during their retreat. “What did you do?”
The full-fanged grin had never been larger. “Made sure we’ll see him again.”
On the floor of the dalcho room Krast was screaming in agony. He turned over to stare at the closed door. “I’ll kill you! I will hunt you down and kill every last one of you!”
Toran spoke into his communicator. “Tell the Sentinel ship to come get their man. And, bring a doctor. A really good doctor.” He nudged one of his guards and finally let out a chuckle. After all, the Sentinels had just robbed him. “You double-crossing scum always get what you deserve.”
The J’Rami guard raised an eyebrow. “Not sure anyone deserves getting shot in the balls.”
 
Next

DCNext Proudly Presents…!

STARMAN

Issue #8: Storm Force

Arc II: Fire Opal

Written by Fortanono
Edited by VoidKiller826
<< Previous | Next >> (coming February)
-=-=-=-= 🌟 =-=-=-=-
Part 1: Jennifer Knight
”Now!” Ted barks through my earphone. I dash between the rooftops of a series of old brick buildings and look down. Courtney and Jack are shooting blasts of energy through the dense pale-green fog that fills the streets around us; Rick is looking around, clearly bored but unable to actually do anything. Darrell is above the arena, making sure everything goes smoothly, and Aunt Sandra is somewhere around here but I have no actual idea where. I jump down, twisting my dial to the “Bubble” mode as I land. Quickly, I summon a purple-black bubble around me, trapping just a bit of the Mist’s fog in it. I’ve successfully separated part of the Mist from the rest of him, but I’ll have to be quick about what comes next.
The small tendril of fog in my bubble seems to realize what’s happening as I dart as far as I can down the street. I see it bend and contract, diving into my throat. I start choking; it becomes harder and harder to breathe, but I just have to go a bit further out. Eventually, as I begin to get light-headed, I release the bubble and switch my dial to “Panic.” A burst of energy surrounds me, knocking the fog away from me and out of my mouth. I cough a bit before straightening myself and speaking into my microphone.
”He’s gonna try to reassemble himself,” I say. ”Darrell, it’s your move.”
”Right,” Darrell says. I can’t see him above the battlefield, but I immediately notice his presence as dozens of tiny blue-and-red drones drift down from the sky, each one with fans. They surround the Mist’s missing piece, keeping him in one place, still separate from the cloud that Jack, Rick, and Courtney are dealing with.
”Fantastic,” Ted radios in. ”Mist’s primary goal will always be to keep himself together. It’s a sort of side-effect to his powers. Keep him there, and the rest of him’ll follow eventually, no matter how hard he resists.”
It takes a few seconds, but the giant cloud of fog slowly starts drifting to meet up with the smaller one. Courtney and Jack rush over to the area with the fans, both concentrating fire on the one position where they’re merging. I turn my dial to “Energy Blast” and add my own energy to the mixture. Slowly but surely, the green fog begins to get thicker, and soon enough, the figure of the Mist begins to take hold.
“I was hoping you guys still thought I was in Gotham,” he mutters in a raspy voice. I stare at the face of the villain that Ted had been so worried about, remembering how we had prepared for this battle for over a month before he felt comfortable sending us out. He looks old, weak; in his eyes, I see a man who knows he’s been defeated, a man who may have once been a titan but whom old age has gotten to. I smile as Aunt Sandra decloaks and cuffs him with a pair of power-dampening handcuffs. Nearby, a police car pulled up and Clarence, one of the older O’Dare brothers, escorts him away.
“I will be back,” he hisses. “You should all know that.”
I know that it’s still possible for him to come back once again, that he had even come back when the world thought he was dead. There is a sincere promise in his words. But even so, seeing the frail figure of Opal City’s legendary villain once again defeated, I smile.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Rick, Darrell, Courtney, and I re-enter Ted’s workshop once again; Jack and Sandra split from us and went back to the Stargazer. As we descend the stairs, I could tell that Ted was over the moon.
“Wow,” he says to himself. “Just… wow. I’ll be entirely honest; I was certain we would have had to retreat at some point during that battle. I did not expect this to be one and done.”
“Well,” Rick chuckles, “I think the guy’s just a fucking pansy. No offense; I get why you couldn’t beat him or whatever, but like, the dude tries to make us go to Gotham so he didn’t have to deal with us. Again, no offense; I’m sure you were, like, a great hero in your time, of course.”
Ted laughs heartily. “None taken. I’m sure that as he’s gotten older, he’s had to rely more on cheap parlor tricks like the one in Gotham. I, for one, definitely knows how the aging process can take a toll on your abilities. I’m just… so happy that bastard is behind bars again.”
Courtney nods. “Here here.”
“Anyway,” Ted says, “I’d like to let you know that our little merry band of heroes is going to get a fifth member fairly soon.” His tone sours as he continues to speak. “My sister… she’s a vapid idiot, so you can understand that we haven’t talked in a long time, but her son started developing metahuman powers. And he started going out as a hero. She told me that she couldn’t stop him, so she wants him to at least have more support.”
“Ah, great,” Rick laughs. “Because I was just thinking that we didn’t have enough people who sucked at being heroes on this squad.”
“Rick,” Ted glares. “Please cool your behavior. I’ve seen what you’re able to do on the field and I must say: it’s pretty bad too.”
The door to the workshop slides open once again, and a new kid walks down the stairs. He’s got dark brown hair that’s just barely covering his eyes and is wearing a grey T-shirt and jeans. He waves to us as he walks down the stairs to meet with us.
“Hi,” he says. “Name’s Aaron. Aaron Munro. I’ll be working with you guys for a while.”
“He’s been helping people in his hometown of Liberty Hill as the great ‘Iron Munro’ for the past few months now,” Ted explains. “Unfortunately, Aaron, when you decided to do that, you perhaps made the worst mistake you could have made in this line of work. You made your identity public. Tell me, why’d you do that.”
Aaron sighed. “I… I just thought it was a small town, and I figured we all knew each other already, and… I guess I wanted to be recognized for my deeds or something.”
“I’m sure you’ll feel sufficiently recognized when your mother gets a bullet in her skull,” Ted says bluntly. “Let’s be clear: I hate the lady, but not that much. Come with me.” Ted beckons Aaron to the far corner of the workshop.
I stare blankly at what’s happening in front of me; Ted’s a hardass, but this is… a bit much even for him. Clearly, this was about more than just business. I had heard small things about Ted’s sister before but never met her or her family. Whatever happened to separate them had to have been a big deal.
Ted shows Aaron to a costume on a stand in the corner; it consists of a brown-and-grey bulletproof bodysuit with metal accents and a full face-mask made entirely of metal. “This,” Ted says, “is going to be the new you. I’m calling it: ‘Metalsmith.’”
“Th-thanks,” he says. He looks frustrated; I can tell that he’s not happy to be here, but he’s holding it all in. “I--I just have to say that… this really isn’t my style. I’m trying to go for a friendly hometown hero vibe, and having my whole face covered up… It just doesn’t seem right.”
Ted grimaces. “You did the hometown hero thing, and you failed. You showed your face to everyone. Metalsmith isn’t the friendliest guy around, but he’s safe and so is his family. If you wanna talk about alterations, feel free to tell me. But keep in mind that I have to work to preserve your safety first.”
Aaron nods. “Fine,” he says.
I look around the room; all of my teammates are either looking at the spectacle in front of them, or looking at their phones. Starved of anything else to look at, I turn to look at Rick’s phone. He’s responding to a text message from someone named Luisa; I think she’s a girl in his class or something. It doesn’t quite look like a message about normal things teenagers talk about, though.
hey, so I have a confession to make, the message begins. John and Maya and i, we knew about you being hourman and everything before we met you. we’re still your friends, we always were, but we also want to get your help with something we’re working on. a project that involves metahumans, basically. let us know if you’re interested.
I immediately turn away from the message on the phone. Clearly, this is something I’m not supposed to know about, but now that I do, I can’t stop thinking about it. Some other people want Rick to help them with… something related to his powers. It sounds really shady; should I tell Ted about this? It could be a conflict of interest, whatever it is. On the other hand, Ted doesn’t seem like the most level-headed person to deal with this. Who knows; maybe it’s for some sort of superhero stunt show or something really cool, and I’d be denying him access to that.
Whatever. It’s not my problem right now. It was never meant for me.
“Hey,” Aaron says. “You here? You listening?”
I look up; Aaron is standing right in front of me, his hand outstretched. “Sorry,” I say, shaking his hand. “My name’s Jennifer. It’s nice to meet you.”
-=-=-=-= 🌟 =-=-=-=-
Part 2: Sandra Knight
“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse,” I say, currently on the back of Jack’s Star-Cycle. Jack apparently figured out that he could make his motorcycle fly if he used his Cosmic Rod, which is both hilarious and something that neither Ted nor David would ever begin to consider trying out. Which is why Jack is so great; he’s questioning everything, figuring out new ways of doing things, and making a motorcycle fly.
Feeling the wind rush against my face, I’m taken immediately back to my rebellious college days and my early stints as the Phantom Lady. It’s nice, almost nostalgic, but still different enough. We come to a descent in the back of the Stargazer, and Jack locks up his motorcycle.
Hope comes out the back door to greet us. “Glad you could make it,” she says. “Cutting it a little close, though, I gotta say. The meeting’s in less than 5 minutes.”
Oh, right. The meeting with our potential client. The Mist tends to give a lot of people tunnel-vision; I had completely forgotten about this.
“Sorry about that,” Jack chuckles. “You know how it is, going out, saving the day. Maybe someday, you should give it a--” He cuts himself off as I glare at him. His expression turns more serious. “I’m so sorry,” he finally says. “I forgot about what happened with you and the Mist.”
Hope sighs. “It’s fine,” she says. “We can deal with this another time. He’s behind bars yet again; he can’t hurt anyone else. That’s the best news anyone could hope for.”
We walk into the office; Jack takes a seat, ready for the meeting. “So, this new client. What’s the deal with them, again? Missing kid? Brother’s a supervillain?”
“She has some information on who might have been behind the prison break a few months ago,” I say.
“Okay, wow,” Jack responds. “That’s sort of a big deal.”
We hear the door swing open. A young woman with light brown skin and shoulder-length black hair walks in. She’s wearing a sleeveless white shirt and black winter coat; on her left hand is a tattoo of the Superman “S” sigil. “Look who’s here,” Jack smiles. “Glad you could make it.”
The woman sits down in front of Jack, putting her coat on the back of the chair. “Yeah, well, me too,” she sighs. “Listen, if you have any witness protection-type deals or whatever, can you hook me up with one of them? I’m honestly… I’m honestly terrified right now.”
I nod. “Well, there are a few options there. My cousin can easily create a fake ID and get you out of the city without anyone noticing. If you want to go through a more legitimate program, Hope here has contacts with the police who can get you into proper witness protection.”
“I’ll take the first one,” she says. She reaches out and shakes Jack’s hand. “Name’s Sarah. I’ve been working for Maxie Zayas for the last few months; I needed work, and he seemed really nice at first.”
Maxie Zayas. That’s going to be a tough one. A big-time club owner and crime boss, following in the footsteps of his father; I was personally involved in putting his old man behind bars. All of Opal City’s heroes know about him, but we’ve never been able to really do much about it. A few years ago, David flew into Maxie’s club and arrested him straight-up for drug trafficking. Not 12 hours later, he was out, cleared of all charges.
This isn’t going to be a battle we can fight with force.
I walk closer to the table where Sarah and Jack are seated. “And you believe that Zayas is responsible for the recent breakout?”
Sarah nods. “At some point, I began to hear whispers that he was planning some meteoric takeover of Opal City. He said he needed something to distract the local heroes in the meantime. And then, a few days before the big event happened, I saw him talking to that card guy who broke them all out.”
“Jeremy Tell,” Jack says.
“I… I couldn’t be a part of whatever he was doing,” Sarah says. “I grew up in Opal City. Believe it or not, I loved you guys.” She points to me. “I actually had a poster of you in my room. I thought Zayas was a harmless dude who just sat around. It wasn’t a big deal, whatever he was doing. The people he broke out… I remember seeing what they did on the news. I had to talk to you.”
“Glad you did,” Jack says. “Hey, that’s awesome that you had a poster of Phantom Lady. Wait, why aren’t we selling posters?” He turns to me. “Can we do that?”
I laugh. “Topic at hand,” I smile.
Mia leaves, and Hope walks up to us. “So… what’s the plan then? We can’t both take down Zayas and the people he released, right? Those are two huge undertakings.”
“That may be so,” I say. I pause for a second. “We may not need to. If we can get the All-Stars to handle the escaped convicts, we could divert all of our attention towards figuring out what Zayas is planning.”
“Okay,” Jack says, “but how are we going to take him down? David tried, and he failed miserably. The guy’s just super well-connected. We can’t just storm in there, can we.”
I smile. “Jack, sweetie. There are other ways to do this kind of work that don’t involve punching all your problems away.”
-=-=-=-= 🌟 =-=-=-=-
Interlude VIII: Hour of Espionage
”Positions, everyone,” Al Carlyle said through the microphone. ”We need to set the scene just right.”
Carlyle stared at the multitude of cameras around him. He watched as Luisa, Maya, and John made their way to the docks. Turning to another monitor, he watched as several stealth-agents readied their sniper rifles, hiding on rooftops, in windows. He pressed a button on the console in front of him; a series of machines around the docks whirred to life; to the outside observer, they looked like they were doing nothing, but Carlyle knew that they were the key to this mission.
“I have to say,” Luisa said apprehensively. “I’m really worried about this. These snipers… if he doesn’t show up, they will kill us, right?”
”11:49 PM,” Carlyle reiterated. ”Unfortunately, for this to work, the snipers have to be steadfastly committed to their mission. The dude doesn’t get visions about things that could happen. He gets them about things that will if he doesn’t intervene. But don’t worry; we’ve run several experiments with the energy emitters. Every time, he shows up right on cue.”
Luisa nodded. ”Okay. And what’s the deal with those machine things? You’ve explained them to me before, but I’m not good at remembering all the science stuff. Just isn’t my thing.”
”They emit a specific frequency of radiation that, for reasons unbeknownst to us, seem to massively increase the likelihood that Rick gets a vision in that area. We found residual traces of it naturally occurring in almost half of Rick’s usual visions; when we massively crank up the numbers, he always seems to show.”
The three kids sat down at the dock. After a few seconds, Carlyle spoke up. ”We’ve gotten confirmation that Rick has now left his house. The snipers can now evacuate the area. The three of you, just act normal. It’ll take the better part of the hour for him to get here, so get comfortable.” As soon as they had settled in, the masked snipers quickly ran off, lowering their weapons and quickly changing into civilian wear like clockwork.
John was the first to speak up after Carlyle went silent. “So, what, we’re gonna wait, like, 58 minutes until he gets there? Well, this will be boring.” He pulled out a couple of joints from his pocket. “Anyone want some?”
“We’re on duty,” Maya said. “I don’t think it’s worth it.”
John shrugged. “What? We have to sit around, pretend like we’re doing something, and then act all buddy-buddy with him when he shows up. It’s not like we’re taking down Basilisk; this is easy shit. It’ll be fine.”
Maya shook her head. “We should wait.”
John chuckled. “Alright, fine, you win. But we’re popping these babies out as soon as the man of the hour gets here. Got it?” He shoved the joints back into his pocket.
“Alright, whatever you want,” Maya smiled. “Just don’t come running to me when Carlyle yells at our asses for being high on the job.”
Carlyle watched the security footage, smiling and shaking his head to himself. Behind him, William Vickers walked up. He was the same age as the rest of them, but he had proven himself remarkably more mature than the others, quickly becoming the group’s de facto leader.
“Sorry to bother you at this time,” William said. “I gotta talk to you about another developing situation.” Carlyle hesitated, before standing up and dusting himself off. The two of them walked into the next room, where they began to talk.
“Basilisk activity’s been at an all-time high for the past few months,” William finally said. “Just recently, they’ve opened up 3 new cells in Germany, and are pulling in a remarkable number of recruits in Indonesia and Malaysia, to name a few. There’s also been a lot of restructuring; several smaller cells have been suddenly relocated to South America for some odd reason. If the ASA’s gonna be able to keep limiting their spread, we need more agents, and they need to be trained.”
Carlyle nodded. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I’ll remind you that you’re looking at only a small piece of the bigger picture. We are only a tiny fraction of what the ASA has to offer, and the adults are well aware of these issues. That said, you’re not wrong; we need all the help we can get. That’s what we’re working on right now.”
“Rick Tyler,” William affirmed. “He seems strong; he’d be a great start. But one metahuman won’t be enough. We need more metahuman soldiers, or at least, soldiers equipped with energy weapons and similar tech. The capes have been doing it for years; it works. But somehow, we can’t seem to find nearly enough people willing to serve. Maya’s the only metahuman on our squad right now, and her powers are still very much a wild card in combat scenarios.”
Carlyle nodded. “Yes,” he finally said. “Well, I don’t think that just recruiting a bunch of people is the right way to go. If we do that, we run the risk of potentially exposing ourselves to a large number of double-agents. But… if this lead pans out, there might be a way to enhance the prowess of the agents we already have.”
William perked up. “Yes? Do tell.”
“Presumably, Rick could gain access to the technology that Starman and his companions use to fight crime. Luisa could take a staff, you could take the blacklight…”
“I’m not the type of guy to stay in the shadows,” William said. “Have you seen my attempts at infiltration? Not my strong suit. Appreciate the offer, though.”
Carlyle nodded and smiled. “Well, whatever happens, this new member could help us more than we initially thought.”
-=-=-=-= 🌟 =-=-=-=-
Part 3: Jack Knight
I pull up to a street corner a few blocks away from what many Opal City residents affectionately refer to as the ‘Zayas Strip.’ Hope is sitting in the back seat, done up to look like a completely different person, and Sandra’s already run off to do some good old-fashioned sleuthing. The prosthetic nose I’m wearing feels so uncomfortable already; couldn’t we just have gone for the blond hair dye and nothing else?
Sandra materializes on the hood of her green convertible, startling the bejeezus out of me. “Password for the night is ‘Prometheus,’” she mutters.
“Alright, alright,” I say. “Hey, I know it’s technically your car and all, but maybe don’t jump on the hood, okay? That was probably the biggest scare I’ll have all night unless Grant decides that the Olympia is his new favorite haunt.”
Sandra ignores me. “You two head into the bar; I’ve given you fake IDs for the absolute worst-case scenarios, but you shouldn’t need to wave them around. I’ll never be too far behind, but as usual, you won’t see me. Got it?”
“Clear as ever,” I smirk.
“So,” Hope says from the back seat, “you ready to raise some hell?” Her usually-red hair is now jet-black, and she’s wearing these bright blue contact lenses that accentuate her eyes. If I didn’t know who she was, I would never have recognized her in the first place. Let’s just hope my disguise is just as good.
Sandra vanishes and we walk a few blocks further down Harris Street. As we walk down the street, the quiet townhouses are quickly replaced with a completely different atmosphere of bustling nightlife and flashing neon lights. On both sides of the street are a series of Zayas-owned businesses: strip clubs, brothels, bars, casinos, even a fight club at the far end of the street. It’s almost disorienting; look, I’m not the nicest guy in the world, never pretend to be, but I promise I’ve never been in a place like this. Not quite like this, at least.
Nestled in the middle of the brilliant signs and faint bouncing of club music is a single building not illuminated by lights. The top floor is taken up by some sort of high-end brothel with a sign reading ‘The Elysian Fields’ on it. The stairs that lead down to the bottom floor are guarded by a dude who seems absolutely ripped--like, probably-a-meta ripped--and a sign at the front reads “Olympia Nightclub.” Zayas’ personal shining gem, for those who were affluent enough to get an invitation.
I walk up to the bouncer and am immediately taken aback as I realize who exactly it is. Tony Woodward, aka Girder. Former Flash villain who got in a few fights with David before being broken out. As I get closer, it becomes clear that this dude’s entire body is made of rusted metal. He speaks up in a deep voice as we approach. “What’s the code?”
“Prometheus,” I say.
Girder bows his enormous metal head and steps to the left. “Enjoy.”
As we walk in, the last trace of the booty-bounce music that I could hear vanishes as it’s replaced by a classical violin tune from a distant speaker in the corner. The walls are blue plaster; segmenting the walls are a series of white column-like decals meant to invoke ancient Greek architecture. The bar in the center of the room is also surrounded by similar white columns. On the far end of the club is a wooden stage, currently unoccupied, and a few poker tables. Still not nearly half as good as my restaurant’s interior design.
The bartender walks up to us as we take a seat. His head is completely shaved; from what I can tell from the rest of his body, he appears covered in tattoos of vines and flowers. “Don’t think I’ve seen you lovely pair before around here,” he says.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” I smile. “We’re new in town. Heard about this place from an old military buddy of mind, and as it turns out, we got just enough money to spend on a nice place like this.” I reach out my hand and he shakes it. “David Vosberg. This is my girl, Rita.”
Hope offers her hand as well. The bartender shakes it. She turns down towards the cocktail menu, looking over the options. Her face shifts a bit as she reads over the various options; each one seems to be based on various tragic events that Opal City has suffered through. Down the list, I see the ‘Swift Hydro Plant’ as their fancy new drink, the ‘Prison Break,’ the ‘Doll Killer’--complete with a miniature doll in Martha Williams’ likeness--a drink simply labeled ‘The Mist,’ and, the final drink on the specialty list, the ‘Fallen Hero.’ The description listed it as ‘a tribute to the asshole who tried to bust us finally kicking the bucket. May aliens continue to do what we never can.’
My stomach drops. Fuck, while we go out and bust our balls to make this city a better place, the people in this club turn around and laugh at our failures. Laugh when one of us dies. I feel my blood boiling. I need to stay in character. I can’t blow this for all of us. Gritting my teeth, I take a few deep breaths before sucking it up.
“What’s the matter?” the bartender asks. “Can’t take a couple of dark jokes? Lighten up, man.” He gives me a pat on the back like I would ever be okay with that.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just… Well, let’s just say I lost someone personal in the hydro plant attack. One of, uh, those flying shadow things cut my brother open. I’ll take… I’ll take a Fallen Hero, I guess.” At this point, I’m flying by the seat of my pants. I’m definitely excited to get that drink.
“And I’ll take a Mist,” Hope says.
“Damn,” the bartender says. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize that you could… I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “You couldn’t have known.”
The bartender serves our drinks and we quietly sip at them. Aside from a few regulars, nothing much seems to really be happening.
I feel a slight breeze on the back of my neck. I turn around; nestled in my suit is a small piece of paper. The writing on it reads, ”Can’t find Zayas, but did find something else big. Meet me outside? -Sandra”.
“Hey, uh, Rita?” I clear my throat and put my arm around her, subtly passing the note over to her. “This place is getting really stuffy; I think we need to step out for a second. Whaddya think?”
Hope shrugs. “Oh, alright,” she says, covertly reading the note. “But we’re coming back; this place is just fabulous, don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” I say. We walk outside, brushing past Girder’s cold metal form as we do. Sandra’s waiting on the corner of the street, fully visible.
Sandra turns to us as we approach, and her voice turns to a whisper. “So,” she says, turning to Hope. “Before I bring this up, I figure it’s worth asking. How much do you know about what your brothers work on in the Force?”
Hope takes a deep breath. “Well, you know what’s going on with Mason, Clarence is in the same precinct as me, Barry just got a promotion to Major Crimes, and Matt works… well, I think he works around here, actually.” Her face turns bright red. “What’s going on?”
“I managed to get into one of the back rooms,” Sandra says. “And… well, Zayas is there, and he’s talking to a bunch of associates. One of them was Tell. And I think one of them may have been Matt.”
Hope nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “I… I guess I’m not surprised. He’s always been really secretive about what he’s doing, he’s denied promotions before… but I didn’t really think about it before.”
Sandra sighs. “I know this can be hard to hear, but I, unfortunately, have to ask you for one more favor. We’re here to watch Zayas over an extended period of time, figure out what he’s planning. For that reason, you can’t tell your brothers about our suspicions.”
Hope nods. “Got it,” she says hurriedly. “My… my lips are sealed.” As she speaks, I can tell she’s not fully convinced.
We walk back to the car. This was a short mission, but if this goes right, it will be one of many. And once we’re done, I’m almost certain, we’ll be able to take Maxie Zayas down.
-=-=-=-= 🌟 =-=-=-=-
Part 4: Rick Tyler
“Okay,” I snarl as I pass Luisa in the hallways of my school. She’s currently putting her bag into her locker. “I need to know what the fuck is going on, and I want you to tell me everything. What do you want from me?”
“Rick, calm down,” Luisa says. “Look, there are reasons why we had to do what we did, why we couldn’t just tell you everything as soon as we met you. We’ll explain everything soon enough.”
I shake my head. “Again with the secrets. Just fucking tell me what I need to know, alright? You guys pretend to be my friends, stage some sort of chance meeting with me--I got no idea how you did that. You pay some guys to shoot your heads off if I didn’t show up?”
“More or less,” she whispers. “Look, keep your voice down, okay? What we’re involved with isn’t something we can talk about in public.”
Oh, for Jesus fucking Christ’s sake.
Luisa bows her head. “Meet me out front of the Valor Building, this Saturday at 3 PM. All three of us will be there. Once you get there, there’ll be no more secrets. You’ll get to know everything. Promise.”
I sigh and throw my hands up. “Okay, fine,” I whisper. “I’ll be there.”
As I make my way to class, I shake my head. Fuck this. Clearly, they don’t trust me any more than anyone else seems to. But still, for some reason, I still want to meet with them. Just to figure out what’s going on. And then I’ll be done with them.
I nod my head. That seems fine. Find everything out, then leave. I can handle that.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Valor Building is one of Opal City’s oldest brownstone skyscrapers; it’s not even close to the tallest anymore, but it’s right in the middle of the city center, and it’s one of the most iconic buildings here. To those who actually give a fuck about Opal City, I guess. I remember that when Dad and Mom were still together, we ended up going for a weekend trip to Opal City. Dee and I were taken aback by the Valor Building and all of the dazzling skyscrapers in the city center; it felt so much nicer than Baltimore did. Then I moved here and discovered that like every other city, it’s full of shit. Tourists just like to hide the shitty parts from view.
I walk up to the front steps of the building. John is leaning against one of the pillars near the entrance, and Luisa and Maya are waiting for me up front.
“Yo, glad you could make it,” John smiles. “We were placing bets as to whether you’d actually show up. Seems like Luisa here owes me ten dollars.”
“Trust me,” Luisa laughs. “If you’d have been there, you’d have agreed with me. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood to keep putting up with our bullshit.” She turns to me. “Regardless, glad you could come. Sorry to put you through all of this.”
“Sorry,” I say, shrugging. “I can let my nerves get the best of me at times. I’m feeling better now, don’t worry.”
“So,” Maya says. “Are we ready to go?”
Luisa nods. Maya turns to the keypad next to her and types in a code. 7, 8, 4, 4, pound sign. The door clicks open. Immediately, as I walk into the lobby, I feel like I’m in a place I’m not supposed to be. The floor is made up of elaborately-patterned stone tiles; large windows to the sides let in a lot of sunlight as I walk to the elevators.
“So, uh, what do you do here?” I ask. “This is just, like, an office building, right?”
“Just, like, 10 seconds left,” Luisa says. “Then you’ll get to know all our secrets.” She calls the elevator, and we walk in. I push my way to the back as John and Maya get on.
“Alright,” John says. “I think it goes without saying that what we show you here today, you can’t mention to another living soul that we don’t approve of. Not even your hero pals. Got it?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say nonchalantly.
“Okay.” John reaches up above the panel of buttons on the elevator and opens up a small compartment. Inside is a fingerprint scanner; John jams his thumb onto the pad and the elevator begins to go down. After a few more seconds, the doors open. We’re in a pristine grey room; computers line every wall, and dozens of people look up as we walk in. Immediately, it reminds me of Ted’s workshop, but on a much bigger scale.
A man is waiting for us in the middle of one of the hallways. He’s wearing a neatly-ironed grey-green suit, with combed-over white hair. He reaches out his hand for me to shake.
“Al Carlyle,” he says. “Director of the American Security Agency. Nice to meet you, Rick. I’ve heard so many great things about you.” I turn around. All three of my so-called “friends” have deserted me, leaving me with this weird dude.
“Uh, nice to meet you too,” I mutter, shaking his hand. “So what exactly is going on here?”
“Well,” Al smiles, “what isn’t going on here? I suppose you’re a bit confused, a bit overwhelmed, so I’ll try and give you the long and short of it. We’re like the CIA, sort of. But a bit more secret. We’re the CIA when the CIA can’t be involved. Take, for example, metahuman agents. Do you know much about the Freedom Fighters?”
I shrug. “Heard of them. The original Starman was working with one of them, I think.”
Al nods. “Come,” he says. “Walk with me.” I sigh and follow him through the convoluted halls and terminals of this absolutely massive underground base.
“Now,” he says, “the Freedom Fighters were a truly amazing group of people. They were a UN task force composed of one sergeant, a handful of regular soldiers, and three metahumans. Well, they fought long and hard for the values that we hold dear to us today, but in the end, the UN saw them as a threat. What’s to stop our enemies from conscripting metahumans too? It’d be another cold war, one that many countries were all-too-eager to stop. So, metahumans were banned from serving in combat.”
He clears his throat and lets out a hearty chuckle. “Well, you see, terrorists don’t tend to follow by our rules. I suppose that’s what makes them terrorists, don’t you think? So that’s where we come in. One of many examples, I suppose, of where we come in. We use many of the techniques superheroes use to fight against potential threats to the land of the free and the brave. And I’ve had my eye on you for a while. I think you’d make a great addition to our cause.”
I pause and look around me. This place is huge. It’s bound to take up more than a few city blocks. When I intercepted the battle Jack was having with Swift, this base was underneath it all, computers typing away. Our school is only a few blocks west of here; it’s very possible the base extends that far too. I haven’t even been in Opal City for a year yet, but I had felt like I knew everything about it. Clearly, I was wrong.
I’ve never been the type of person who hated the government and everything they did. I followed the news, though, and they’ve clearly done some questionable things in the past few years. With Cale as President, that’s just going to get worse and worse. Do I want to be a part of this? Clearly, I don’t think I do. I was just here to get answers, and I got mine. That’s as far as this goes.
‘Take your time,” Al laughs. “We’d love to have ya, but no pressure either way.”
Before I can tell him no, my vision flashes white. A man walking down a run-down section of Snejbjerg Street. Nearly bald buzz-cut, blue eyes, wearing a grey hoodie. A car pulls up to him, firing three rounds in his chest. The blood splatters over the sidewalk. I snap back to reality.
“I have to go,” I say, my voice strained. “How do I get out of--”
Al gives me a knowing smile. “What’s going to happen, and where will it be?”
I sigh. “Some dude in a grey hoodie is gonna get shot on Snejbjerg Street. Drive-by shooting. It was a black sedan, I think. Just let me go, okay?”
Al turns on a radio on his jacket. “I want a dozen soldiers placed across Snejbjerg Street within the hour. Look out for black sedans, check each one for weapons. And get Rick Tyler here a tall glass of water.”
Immediately, the people around me start getting up and gearing into action. A young woman who was manning a computer earlier walks up to me and offers me a glass of water. I drink from it.
“Thanks,” I finally say.
Al hands me a burner phone from his pocket. “If you ever get any visions at an inconvenient time, text me from this phone. We’ll have it handled, and you can focus on the things in life that matter.”
I smile. “Wow, thanks.”
Al nods. “Look, Rick, I know that everything must be really disorienting for you right now, but trust me when I say that we’re here for you. From what I’ve heard from my agents that have been interacting with you, that doesn’t seem to be the case with the other team you’re on right now. They see you as a loose cannon. Maybe they’re right, who knows. But here, we need loose cannons. You can beat up as many terrorists as you want here--or don’t, whatever floats your boat. But you’re welcome here as you are, no matter who that is.”
I pause, looking around for a second. He’s right; in the few seconds I’ve met him, Al has made me feel at home more than I’ve ever been with the All-Stars.
I reach out and shake Al’s hand. “I’m in.”
“Fantastic,” he smiles. “Well, let’s meet the team then.” He brings me to a room with a circular table. Around the table are John, Luisa, Maya, and another kid I don’t remember. White kid with neatly-trimmed brown hair.
“Well,” Al says, “this is one of our finest covert ops units. We’re calling them the ‘Force of July.’ Right now, they’re mostly doing international missions, but we’re planning on bringing them into the spotlight as superheroes to handle domestic matters in the near future.”
He gestures to John. “You’ve already met John Trujillo, Jr., alias: ‘The Black Condor.’ His dad was one of our finest officers before sadly meeting his fate protecting our country. He piloted a one-of-a-kind wingsuit that his son now uses.”
“Besides that,” Al continues, “the Campoverde sisters have been fantastic assets. Luisa first came to us because she needed help with her sister’s metahuman powers. That’s right: she found us. Always a good metric for future success. Turns out, her sister has a bit of a way with plants, and it was a bit out of her control. Now, the two of them serve us as Lady Liberty and Mayflower.”
The last kid, the one I haven’t met, reaches over to shake my hand. “William Vickers,” he says. “Also known as Major Victory. My teammates have been telling me a lot about you. It’s good to finally get to meet you in the flesh.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I say. And somehow, surprisingly, I mean it.”
Al nods and smiles. “Now that we’ve gotten to know each other, Rick, I have a special mission briefing for you and only you. I can tell that this will be the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership.”

PAGE 2 of 2
**** * ****
Hussein nudged his brother Iqbal and aimed his chin toward the bar. “Look, a fat, stupid American has finally managed some success.”
Iqbal smirked, “It is the only way the infidels can succeed. They have no education and no skills to do anything useful. They don’t even worship their own God anymore, only money and fame. They will soon learn better…”
The brothers were out enjoying a night of revelry, with a few more planned when they reached the city. The celebrations were a last reward before they fulfilled their mission and achieved True Paradise through martyrdom. Hussein was superstitious and hoped to find success at gambling before they took the great risk that if successful, would help to sustain their cause. They’d grown up in this land of debauchery and foolishness but had been taught from the first to honor their own Beliefs and culture above anything the Americans professed.
Hussein was on roll number five of what he intended to be a short run. He wished to win five times for the Five Pillars of Islam, the name of his cell in the latest great Jihad. He blew on the dice and tossed. The small cubes bounced against the back side of the pit and tumbled end over end as he watched breathlessly. “Another ten!” the barker called. And pushed the winnings toward Hussein. He placed a minimum bet and rolled once more. He had already left the table before the barker called, “Snakeyes! Next roller please.”
He held up his chips triumphantly, “Iqbal, more money from roll number five! I kept the bet in place for five rolls, I left only the minimum for the last roll, it is a Sign! We are fated to succeed. We will meet the others tomorrow, go over the plan, and then have a few last nights to revel in this world…”
Iqbal patted his brother on the shoulder, “There is something I would like more than winning chips. He nodded toward the bar and the attractive and sinuous young local who worked behind it, steadily polishing glasses.
Hussein watched for a moment, unsure whether his brother meant the alcoholic drinks that had been forbidden until now or the woman. Knowing Iqbal, he assumed both. “As you wish brother. Take your mortal enjoyments while you can. She looks a little sullen though, frown, lowered brows, I like the happy ones.”
Iqbal’s serpent-like smile widened, “She will look better when I have freed her from the miseries of the uncircumcised. She will enjoy a real man. Who knows? Maybe I will convert her so that we can meet again in Paradise.” With that, he surged away from his brother and slithered up to the bar opposite the young First Nations maid. “Good evening, I noticed that you do not have many customers at the bar. It seems odd that so beautiful a creature as yourself would not attract more company.”
The woman ignored him, intently focused on her task. He tried again, “Perhaps I must order a drink to remain at the bar? If so, a gin and tonic if you please.”
She continued to polish the glass. He leaned forward, “Did you hear me?” he inquired in an annoyed tone. “Perhaps you have no business because you are surly and unhelpful.”
She looked at him and delivered a smirk that appeared to be far more evil than anything he could ever hope to muster, despite his thin, reptilian lips and predatory mind, “We don’t want customers to linger at the bar, getting drunk and building from misery to anger over their losses. We want them playing… and losing.” She leaned toward him and glared into his own eyes that he normally considered flinty and daunting. “You know about losing, don’t you?”
Hussein noted that the large man at the end of the bar in the “Security” shirt had begun stumping toward them. “Iqbal, perhaps it is time to go look for other entertainment.”
Iqbal ignored him, he was trapped in the serpent’s gaze, like a mouse dropped into a snake’s tank to be devoured while its owner watched with perverse interest. Hussein reached for his brother to tug at his arm but never got the chance. The big security officer seized his hand, drew it to his too wide chest and turned. The weight of the man drew him away from his brother and caused him to spin around so that he ended up facing the goon with his brother beyond the man and in the clutches of the Serpent Woman. The ham-fisted gargantuan continued to twist the hand he gripped until the pressure caused Hussein sever pain. He grunted and bent into the angle of his wrist to relieve the distress. He found himself bent forward and looking up desperately toward the man’s face.
The security staffer smiled, his square, blunt teeth showing dark behind an almost lipless mouth. His wide back and chest, covered in body armor under his shirt made him appear like a monster-sized… Turtle. Hussein felt himself lifted and placed behind the bar. His brother soon slithered over the top and fell to the floor beside him, smiling beatifically. Hussein opened his mouth to scream for help, but a large, blunt fist crashed into the side of his head and he saw stars… seven of them, like the Holy... The fist descended once more, and he saw only darkness.
**** * ****
Fr. Danilo Bayani was immensely enjoying his latest trip to the continental USA. He had visited Hawaii many years ago, and New York City more recently, but this was his first tour of the grand landbound spaces that this country offered. He’d managed to roam so far from his origins in Manila. Now, in his twilight years, he longed to see what he could of God’s Green Earth. All on the payroll of The Vatican while they cleanse the records of those hateful… allegations. The bitter thoughts raced across his mind. Of course he was a sinner, he was only mortal. He’d been expiated of those sins and had paid an enormous price to continue serving in his capacity as a parish priest. He forced his mind to return to the moment and more enjoyable pursuits.
He noted the hirsute and similar appearing pair of men who had gone to the bar and wondered why the Security officer approached them, but his attention was called once more to the round of Texas Hold’em and his table mates. When he again had a moment to look, no one was at the bar, in front or behind… curious, he thought, but he quickly refocused his attention on the fascinating new game he was in the process of learning. He was familiar with Poker, so it wasn’t difficult to learn. He liked the high level of interaction that this version of the old game allowed. He’d done well, certainly gained enough to fund extracurricular activities during the rest of his current sabbatical.
He’d been disturbed by the overall atmosphere of this place when he’d arrived. He did not care for the numerous paintings and sculptures of Ancient Native Deities and Spirits. They seemed to be mostly images of the Dark Beings of various Tribal cultures. He loved to study diverse cultures, but this place was an amalgamation of cultures, built for mutual support by several Tribes in the region. Much of the artwork was schlocky and clearly intended to cater to the garish and sordid tastes of the vapid gambling set. Some part of him did not feel… welcome, as though he had intruded on some private Place, set aside for Other Gods.
He shook off the depressing musings… There are NO Other Gods, he reassured himself. He soon stepped away from the table to take care of personal needs and to decide what he should do with the rest of his night. Perhaps he would visit the White Dove Restaurant & Ballroom on the other side of the hotel lobby from the casino. It boasted a good reputation according to online reviews, even though it was a simple buffet style with a dance floor to one side. He liked the name, it was… peaceful he decided.
He soon had a selection of food piled onto a plate and was seated near the dance floor. The place was sparsely occupied, so his hopes of being able to watch dancers as he ate were dashed. Still, the food was good enough. A little bland, but that was necessary in a place that acted as a crossroads of cultures. There was a spice table at the end of the primary row of entrees. He’d helped himself, yet nothing seemed to attach to his taste buds. The combination of eating nearly alone, having no one with energy around him, and the tasteless food soon had him growing restless. He finished up his repast and left the table to go out to the final section of the complex he had not visited, the River Overlook.
As he passed the table nearest the entrance, he saw a stout man in a rumpled sport coat, who glared daggers at him, eyes focused on his crucifix, the only outward sign of his profession. The man appeared to be so hostile, that he paused for a moment to determine whether he’d done anything to offend the fellow. “Excuse me sir, have I offended you in some way?”
The man looked startled. He was apparently unused to being confronted about his demeanor or behavior. He scowled, “Don’t like that thing you have around your neck. You Catholics are all Hell-bound. No concept of righteousness. Not that you’d understand, you people don’t even read The Book. You listen to your priests and pope and disregard The Word. All the kneeling and ritual prayers in the world won’t save you in the end. Go back to your idols and beads and leave me alone to seek Heaven.”
Fr. Bayani was startled by the vehemence with which the man spoke. He hadn’t been attacked directly for his Faith in years. “Sir, I’m not sure what Religion you practice, but I am a man of God, a consecrated priest of the Holy Church. I assure you that I understand more than most, if not as much as I would like. I meant no harm and wish you a peaceful night.”
With that, he started to walk past the man, but the man rose from his table and pointed his finger, “Your pope is the Anti-Christ, and your Church is a place of Satan! Look to the Bible for your salvation before it’s too late.”
Fr. Bayani increased his pace and continued on his journey to the River Overlook. He would need the peace and tranquility that nature and the sound of flowing water would provide to settle his roiling mind.
**** * ****
Pastor Bill resumed his seat and shook his head, “Fool, doesn’t know that he’s risking his soul, courting Damnation.” He’d had a bad run at the tables over at the casino. His Denomination frowned on games of chance, but he had needed the money. One of his congregation had come up pregnant and they had to get it resolved before the three-month deadline for abortions. He knew that if his wife found out about Carmen, then she would divorce him. He was here to break every major rule that he professed to hold dear each week. His plan for quick money had failed, so he’d visited the bar. Now he hoped that eating would guide him back to sobriety. He had to think of another plan.
Seeing that… priest had annoyed him. Had he not been inebriated, he would never have said what he did, nor stared so rudely in the first place. Yet he wanted someone on whom to vent the anger he felt, that arose from fear and he’d always disliked the papists. If his wife divorced him, if the scandal involving the woman who cleaned the church all week and then occupied the back pew every Sunday ever broke; he would lose his ministry, his livelihood. His degree in Theology would be worthless. He might be able to get a job teaching, at some secular school, but most would not hire fervent Christians like himself.
He stared dejectedly at his plate of food that had contained more spice and flavors than he liked, a shadow passed in his periphery. It was low-slung and blurred just a bit as it loped along the wall. He thought he heard an odd laugh, somewhere between human and… canine? Maybe a little like a hyena might sound, or so he imagined. There was a manic quality to the laughter. A jest that was on him so that only the other Entity knew what it was. It was the wicked laughter of children at play, who’d decided to target a fat kid with glasses. A kid whose parents had been abusive addicts but who later “got right” through religious-based recovery programs. Their faith had led him to his own, but he’d never really lost those early traumas of being unaccepted by his peers and being beaten by people who later professed faith above all.
A mocking whine, definitely doggish, his now sobering consciousness informed him. Something was making fun of him, teasing him from the shadows. He looked around for staff members or other customers but found himself alone. The dining area and the dance floor were deserted. It was odd, there was almost always someone at the buffet service tables. He looked over to the kitchen doors in hopes that one of the employees would burst through with a fresh serving of chicken wings or whatever tray had been emptied. He saw dark figures move past the clouded round windows on the swinging doors and temporarily occlude the bright kitchen lights within, but they were indistinct blobs, and appeared to be focused on tasks of their own choosing rather than service of his needs.
He stood and realized that he was more intoxicated than he’d realized. He immediately resumed his seat and bent forward to regain his balance and bearings… and to swallow his rising gorge. When he sat up again, a dark, shaggy form perched in the chair across from him. The figure was no more than a silhouette, a raggedly hewn shadow. Yet there were eyes. Sinister golden gleams appeared and blinked at him. He heard a heavy, panting sort of breathing and a gust of foul-smelling carnivore breath assaulted his olfactory senses. “Who? Er, what are you doing at my table?” he asked in a mushy, confused manner. Still fighting off waves of nausea.
He could not see it very well in the poorly illuminated dining room, but his impression was that the... Being… smiled at him: a gaping, lolling smile, with a tongue dangling out to one side and sharp canines gleaming. “I thought I would check on you my righteous friend. You seem to be upset, unhappy. You nipped and barked at that other person who shares your Faith. I thought perhaps there was a deeper concern preying on your conscience?”
Pastor Bill had to force himself to think through what this… person? Had said to him. Likely some hippie-dippy weirdo. “That guy was a Catholic priest, we’re nowhere near the same Religion.”
Once more he heard the chortling laughter that was now very clear, “I’m sure you think it’s different. Those of his specific religion, came to these lands many years ago. They were the first of you Christians to arrive. The rest have been simple variations on a theme. The problems began, when your co-religionists assumed that only your God exists; that all of the local Gods and Spirits were instead Demons and Dark Powers. Instead of trying to show that yours is a better Way, you Christians insisted that yours is the only Way. You’ve forgotten that in Ancient Times, people held True to Deities who were attached to local communities or to the land and features around them; geographically and ethnically relevant. You have gone from subsuming and incorporating Older Gods as Angels and Saints, to Demonizing Them, and now in your hubris, to denying Them altogether.” He shook His head. “Too bad really, it creates an Adversarial relationship.” He chuckled at some joke that Pastor Bill was still too drunk to comprehend.
Pastor Bill had grown increasingly fearful as the Voice intoned Its Philosophies. He wanted to refute that Voice, to deny Its very Existence. Yet he feared Its Wrath more than anything he’d ever feared, even the Fires of Hell. Instead of making a stand and arguing his faith, he staggered to his feet and ran, stumbled, blindly toward the kitchen and the pale, ghostly figures within. Surely someone within would save him! The sardonic laughter chortled after him and chased him into the too bright lights, descending into the yips and howls of Coyote even as the doors swung shut behind him. He looked around at the glowing white figures who halted in their various progresses to stare at him. Their eyes! There were none, just empty sockets, faces slack, with gaping, lamprey maws. He heard a new sound as they swarmed him… his own forlorn screams of ultimate agony.
**** * ****
Fr. Bayani stood out on the River Overlook platform and enjoyed the solitude that had so recently left him restless. There were plenty of noises out across the flowing torrent: the water itself, as it passed over hidden objects, fish as they leapt from its embrace to kiss the night air, frogs and insects, and the warbling, mournful sounds of a loon, and the soft sigh of the wind as it passed through the verdant landscape. This is much more peaceful than the White Dove he thought. He had some trouble shaking off ruminations on the verbal assault from the strange, possibly drunken man in the restaurant. He decided that he would pray for the man, that he would one day soon find The True Faith. Sometimes that was all one could do for the short-sighted.
He heard a deep, coughing hiss out in the dark. He was startled but quickly realized that it was an American Alligator, cousin to creatures he had observed in many places around the planet. He was truly content, at one with Nature in all Her Glory… in all the natural splendor of Creation! he immediately corrected himself. A sound impinged on his senses as it slowly rose and obscured the others… it was a lapping sound at first, more like ocean waves on a beach than the banks of a river. Waves, at cross purposes to the flow of the river, slapped at the base of the platform. Soon they sounds evolved into splashes, as if something very large approached the River Overlook platform. He leaned over the rail to have a closer look. Perhaps it was a large water creature or a boat… maybe a ‘gator as the locals called the big reptiles.
He peered down at the dim rippling surface below. At first, he was unable to discern anything but small reflections on the water as it swirled and lapped; then from below the surface, he spotted an eye, a too large eye! It glowed from within with a sickly luminescence akin to that produced by deep growing fungi. As he stared in horror, he saw a mouth gape below the eye, and enormous frog-like opening with no teeth but serrated lips, like some monstrous catfish. As he stared, too much in shock to act, he suddenly felt his body wrapped in strong, leprous flesh and he quickly lost his ability to breathe. The last sight he saw before he plunged over the safety rail was the thin, grey, first light of dawn.
**** * ****
Chief Harry Whitehorse gazed around at his fellow chiefs and Shamans from various local Tribes, “So, are The Dark Ones satisfied once again? Have They sated their appetites on strangers so that our peoples will be safe for another year?”
Affirmative rumbles muttered around the conference room. Red Wolf, a Shaman, spoke from near the back row, “They are not only satisfied but Coyote assures us that the prey people will not be linked with our premises or business operations.”
Most of the fresh mutters sounded pleased, but old Harry had to ask, “Can we trust Him?”
Chortling laughter sounded throughout the conference room and ascended into thunderous yips and howls of hysterical glee.

SurfsideRP is a 2020 established, serious & social roleplay community which strives for nothing more than providing a great stage for fellow role-players to come and experience first hand whilst also giving off positive energy all around. SurfsideRP is a public city for now and with launching Mid-December; we aim to convert to a gated community when the time is right. So why not come on by, whilst it is open for all, to build on and show off the awesome roleplaying skills you have. Take a chance to meet the rest of our amazing, welcoming community and have an overall great great roleplay experience during your time here at the Surfside.
All members of the community have a say when it comes to the server, its direction and content we add in the future. We strive to make sure that Surfside is not only a place the staff can call home, but for you as well!
All of the Staff play actively in city and are held to a higher standard than regular players. The server structure has been and will be built with the player in mind.
With a few weeks from launch and a stable economy, if you are looking for a server that you can buy a supercar within days this isn't the server for you. You must work for your money on our server, from running a business or maintaining your criminal enterprise to rise to the top!
What we have to offer:
- You can direct connect to our server using: surfsiderp.com
- The server is a STRICTLY 18+ server.
- Active Owners / Admins / Mods. Streamer Friendly. Dedicated / Stable server. Community Discord for tokovoip setup and server IP: https://discord.gg/3dxNM3GXf
Whitelisted jobs:
👮 Police:
- In game MDT
- Fully Functional DNA System
- Multiple operating Stations such as Vespucci, Rockford, Mission Row, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Custom skinned Fleet
👨‍⚕️ EMS/Fire:
- Custom Skinned fleet
-Multiple Operating hospitals such as Pillbox, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Multiple Firestations.
- AI Fires available to be put out by you
Mechanic:
- Custom mech shops
- Society Fund driven businesses
Real Estate Agent:
- Can sell you any house any building at anytime with custom interior and furniture. (No staff or devs required)
- Community events
· Non-whitelist jobs
· Radio Channels (0.0 to 1000.0)
· Cellphone calls / Text
· Drug system.
· Chop Shop
· House Robberies
· Realistic medical system
· Droppable Notes
· Safe cracking
· Bank Robberies, with Jewelry Store! You require tools, ID cards and other things to rob banks.
· Store Robberies
· Properties
· EUP Clothing
· Purchasable Businesses: Got a player business idea? Run it by us and we’ll work with you to implement it!
- Import Cars shop, GTA IV Car Shop and GTA V Car Shop
- Redesigned Drug system
- Multiple hotels, motels, condos and apartments throughout the city
- LS Customs
- Jobs that don't require you to leave your whitelisted job. Just walk up to the job location and start. (All jobs within our city require you to actually do work, we don't have jobs that just let you stand in a circle and collect an item to move somewhere and sell)
- Redesigned stores
- Black Market weapons
- Tuner Chips / Nos
- Phone > Contacts > Favourites > For all emergency needs such as EMS, Police, Mechanic or Taxi
- Drivers Licenses/Gun Licenses
- In depth mechanic system
- Lockpick/Hotwire any vehicle.
- Trap Houses
- Racing
- Casino
- Arcade Shop
AND much much more!
We look forward to hopefully seeing some of y'all and and getting out into the city roleplaying alongside one another!!

SurfsideRP is a 2020 established, serious & social roleplay community which strives for nothing more than providing a great stage for fellow role-players to come and experience first hand whilst also giving off positive energy all around. SurfsideRP is a public city for now and with launching Mid-December; we aim to convert to a gated community when the time is right. So why not come on by, whilst it is open for all, to build on and show off the awesome roleplaying skills you have. Take a chance to meet the rest of our amazing, welcoming community and have an overall great great roleplay experience during your time here at the Surfside.
All members of the community have a say when it comes to the server, its direction and content we add in the future. We strive to make sure that Surfside is not only a place the staff can call home, but for you as well!
All of the Staff play actively in city and are held to a higher standard than regular players. The server structure has been and will be built with the player in mind.
With a few weeks from launch and a stable economy, if you are looking for a server that you can buy a supercar within days this isn't the server for you. You must work for your money on our server, from running a business or maintaining your criminal enterprise to rise to the top!
What we have to offer:
- You can direct connect to our server using: surfsiderp.com
- The server is a STRICTLY 18+ server.
- Active Owners / Admins / Mods. Streamer Friendly. Dedicated / Stable server. Community Discord for tokovoip setup and server IP: https://discord.gg/3dxNM3GXf
Whitelisted jobs:
👮 Police:
- In game MDT
- Fully Functional DNA System
- Multiple operating Stations such as Vespucci, Rockford, Mission Row, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Custom skinned Fleet
👨‍⚕️ EMS/Fire:
- Custom Skinned fleet
-Multiple Operating hospitals such as Pillbox, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Multiple Firestations.
- AI Fires available to be put out by you
Mechanic:
- Custom mech shops
- Society Fund driven businesses
Real Estate Agent:
- Can sell you any house any building at anytime with custom interior and furniture. (No staff or devs required)
- Community events
· Non-whitelist jobs
· Radio Channels (0.0 to 1000.0)
· Cellphone calls / Text
· Drug system.
· Chop Shop
· House Robberies
· Realistic medical system
· Droppable Notes
· Safe cracking
· Bank Robberies, with Jewelry Store! You require tools, ID cards and other things to rob banks.
· Store Robberies
· Properties
· EUP Clothing
· Purchasable Businesses: Got a player business idea? Run it by us and we’ll work with you to implement it!
- Import Cars shop, GTA IV Car Shop and GTA V Car Shop
- Redesigned Drug system
- Multiple hotels, motels, condos and apartments throughout the city
- LS Customs
- Jobs that don't require you to leave your whitelisted job. Just walk up to the job location and start. (All jobs within our city require you to actually do work, we don't have jobs that just let you stand in a circle and collect an item to move somewhere and sell)
- Redesigned stores
- Black Market weapons
- Tuner Chips / Nos
- Phone > Contacts > Favourites > For all emergency needs such as EMS, Police, Mechanic or Taxi
- Drivers Licenses/Gun Licenses
- In depth mechanic system
- Lockpick/Hotwire any vehicle.
- Trap Houses
- Racing
- Casino
- Arcade Shop
AND much much more!
We look forward to hopefully seeing some of y'all and and getting out into the city roleplaying alongside one another!!

SurfsideRP is a 2020 established, serious & social roleplay community which strives for nothing more than providing a great stage for fellow role-players to come and experience first hand whilst also giving off positive energy all around. SurfsideRP is a public city for now and with launching Mid-December; we aim to convert to a gated community when the time is right. So why not come on by, whilst it is open for all, to build on and show off the awesome roleplaying skills you have. Take a chance to meet the rest of our amazing, welcoming community and have an overall great great roleplay experience during your time here at the Surfside.
All members of the community have a say when it comes to the server, its direction and content we add in the future. We strive to make sure that Surfside is not only a place the staff can call home, but for you as well!
All of the Staff play actively in city and are held to a higher standard than regular players. The server structure has been and will be built with the player in mind.
With a few weeks from launch and a stable economy, if you are looking for a server that you can buy a supercar within days this isn't the server for you. You must work for your money on our server, from running a business or maintaining your criminal enterprise to rise to the top!
What we have to offer:
- You can direct connect to our server using: surfsiderp.com
- The server is a STRICTLY 18+ server.
- Active Owners / Admins / Mods. Streamer Friendly. Dedicated / Stable server. Community Discord for tokovoip setup and server IP: https://discord.gg/3dxNM3GXf
Whitelisted jobs:
👮 Police:
- In game MDT
- Fully Functional DNA System
- Multiple operating Stations such as Vespucci, Rockford, Mission Row, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Custom skinned Fleet
👨‍⚕️ EMS/Fire:
- Custom Skinned fleet
-Multiple Operating hospitals such as Pillbox, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Multiple Firestations.
- AI Fires available to be put out by you
Mechanic:
- Custom mech shops
- Society Fund driven businesses
Real Estate Agent:
- Can sell you any house any building at anytime with custom interior and furniture. (No staff or devs required)
- Community events
· Non-whitelist jobs
· Radio Channels (0.0 to 1000.0)
· Cellphone calls / Text
· Drug system.
· Chop Shop
· House Robberies
· Realistic medical system
· Droppable Notes
· Safe cracking
· Bank Robberies, with Jewelry Store! You require tools, ID cards and other things to rob banks.
· Store Robberies
· Properties
· EUP Clothing
· Purchasable Businesses: Got a player business idea? Run it by us and we’ll work with you to implement it!
- Import Cars shop, GTA IV Car Shop and GTA V Car Shop
- Redesigned Drug system
- Multiple hotels, motels, condos and apartments throughout the city
- LS Customs
- Jobs that don't require you to leave your whitelisted job. Just walk up to the job location and start. (All jobs within our city require you to actually do work, we don't have jobs that just let you stand in a circle and collect an item to move somewhere and sell)
- Redesigned stores
- Black Market weapons
- Tuner Chips / Nos
- Phone > Contacts > Favourites > For all emergency needs such as EMS, Police, Mechanic or Taxi
- Drivers Licenses/Gun Licenses
- In depth mechanic system
- Lockpick/Hotwire any vehicle.
- Trap Houses
- Racing
- Casino
- Arcade Shop
AND much much more!
We look forward to hopefully seeing some of y'all and and getting out into the city roleplaying alongside one another!!

SurfsideRP is a 2020 established, serious & social roleplay community which strives for nothing more than providing a great stage for fellow role-players to come and experience first hand whilst also giving off positive energy all around. SurfsideRP is a public city for now and with launching Mid-December; we aim to convert to a gated community when the time is right. So why not come on by, whilst it is open for all, to build on and show off the awesome roleplaying skills you have. Take a chance to meet the rest of our amazing, welcoming community and have an overall great great roleplay experience during your time here at the Surfside.
All members of the community have a say when it comes to the server, its direction and content we add in the future. We strive to make sure that Surfside is not only a place the staff can call home, but for you as well!
All of the Staff play actively in city and are held to a higher standard than regular players. The server structure has been and will be built with the player in mind.
With a few weeks from launch and a stable economy, if you are looking for a server that you can buy a supercar within days this isn't the server for you. You must work for your money on our server, from running a business or maintaining your criminal enterprise to rise to the top!
What we have to offer:
- You can direct connect to our server using: surfsiderp.com
- The server is a STRICTLY 18+ server.
- Active Owners / Admins / Mods. Streamer Friendly. Dedicated / Stable server. Community Discord for tokovoip setup and server IP: https://discord.gg/3dxNM3GXf
Whitelisted jobs:
👮 Police:
- In game MDT
- Fully Functional DNA System
- Multiple operating Stations such as Vespucci, Rockford, Mission Row, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Custom skinned Fleet
👨‍⚕️ EMS/Fire:
- Custom Skinned fleet
-Multiple Operating hospitals such as Pillbox, Paleto and Sandy Shores.
- Multiple Firestations.
- AI Fires available to be put out by you
Mechanic:
- Custom mech shops
- Society Fund driven businesses
Real Estate Agent:
- Can sell you any house any building at anytime with custom interior and furniture. (No staff or devs required)
- Community events
· Non-whitelist jobs
· Radio Channels (0.0 to 1000.0)
· Cellphone calls / Text
· Drug system.
· Chop Shop
· House Robberies
· Realistic medical system
· Droppable Notes
· Safe cracking
· Bank Robberies, with Jewelry Store! You require tools, ID cards and other things to rob banks.
· Store Robberies
· Properties
· EUP Clothing
· Purchasable Businesses: Got a player business idea? Run it by us and we’ll work with you to implement it!
- Import Cars shop, GTA IV Car Shop and GTA V Car Shop
- Redesigned Drug system
- Multiple hotels, motels, condos and apartments throughout the city
- LS Customs
- Jobs that don't require you to leave your whitelisted job. Just walk up to the job location and start. (All jobs within our city require you to actually do work, we don't have jobs that just let you stand in a circle and collect an item to move somewhere and sell)
- Redesigned stores
- Black Market weapons
- Tuner Chips / Nos
- Phone > Contacts > Favourites > For all emergency needs such as EMS, Police, Mechanic or Taxi
- Drivers Licenses/Gun Licenses
- In depth mechanic system
- Lockpick/Hotwire any vehicle.
- Trap Houses
- Racing
- Casino
- Arcade Shop
AND much much more!
We look forward to hopefully seeing some of y'all and and getting out into the city roleplaying alongside one another!!

**** * ****
Hussein nudged his brother Iqbal and aimed his chin toward the bar. “Look, a fat, stupid American has finally managed some success.”
Iqbal smirked, “It is the only way the infidels can succeed. They have no education and no skills to do anything useful. They don’t even worship their own God anymore, only money and fame. They will soon learn better…”
The brothers were out enjoying a night of revelry, with a few more planned when they reached the city. The celebrations were a last reward before they fulfilled their mission and achieved True Paradise through martyrdom. Hussein was superstitious and hoped to find success at gambling before they took the great risk that if successful, would help to sustain their cause. They’d grown up in this land of debauchery and foolishness but had been taught from the first to honor their own Beliefs and culture above anything the Americans professed.
Hussein was on roll number five of what he intended to be a short run. He wished to win five times for the Five Pillars of Islam, the name of his cell in the latest great Jihad. He blew on the dice and tossed. The small cubes bounced against the back side of the pit and tumbled end over end as he watched breathlessly. “Another ten!” the barker called. And pushed the winnings toward Hussein. He placed a minimum bet and rolled once more. He had already left the table before the barker called, “Snakeyes! Next roller please.”
He held up his chips triumphantly, “Iqbal, more money from roll number five! I kept the bet in place for five rolls, I left only the minimum for the last roll, it is a Sign! We are fated to succeed. We will meet the others tomorrow, go over the plan, and then have a few last nights to revel in this world…”
Iqbal patted his brother on the shoulder, “There is something I would like more than winning chips. He nodded toward the bar and the attractive and sinuous young local who worked behind it, steadily polishing glasses.
Hussein watched for a moment, unsure whether his brother meant the alcoholic drinks that had been forbidden until now or the woman. Knowing Iqbal, he assumed both. “As you wish brother. Take your mortal enjoyments while you can. She looks a little sullen though, frown, lowered brows, I like the happy ones.”
Iqbal’s serpent-like smile widened, “She will look better when I have freed her from the miseries of the uncircumcised. She will enjoy a real man. Who knows? Maybe I will convert her so that we can meet again in Paradise.” With that, he surged away from his brother and slithered up to the bar opposite the young First Nations maid. “Good evening, I noticed that you do not have many customers at the bar. It seems odd that so beautiful a creature as yourself would not attract more company.”
The woman ignored him, intently focused on her task. He tried again, “Perhaps I must order a drink to remain at the bar? If so, a gin and tonic if you please.”
She continued to polish the glass. He leaned forward, “Did you hear me?” he inquired in an annoyed tone. “Perhaps you have no business because you are surly and unhelpful.”
She looked at him and delivered a smirk that appeared to be far more evil than anything he could ever hope to muster, despite his thin, reptilian lips and predatory mind, “We don’t want customers to linger at the bar, getting drunk and building from misery to anger over their losses. We want them playing… and losing.” She leaned toward him and glared into his own eyes that he normally considered flinty and daunting. “You know about losing, don’t you?”
Hussein noted that the large man at the end of the bar in the “Security” shirt had begun stumping toward them. “Iqbal, perhaps it is time to go look for other entertainment.”
Iqbal ignored him, he was trapped in the serpent’s gaze, like a mouse dropped into a snake’s tank to be devoured while its owner watched with perverse interest. Hussein reached for his brother to tug at his arm but never got the chance. The big security officer seized his hand, drew it to his too wide chest and turned. The weight of the man drew him away from his brother and caused him to spin around so that he ended up facing the goon with his brother beyond the man and in the clutches of the Serpent Woman. The ham-fisted gargantuan continued to twist the hand he gripped until the pressure caused Hussein sever pain. He grunted and bent into the angle of his wrist to relieve the distress. He found himself bent forward and looking up desperately toward the man’s face.
The security staffer smiled, his square, blunt teeth showing dark behind an almost lipless mouth. His wide back and chest, covered in body armor under his shirt made him appear like a monster-sized… Turtle. Hussein felt himself lifted and placed behind the bar. His brother soon slithered over the top and fell to the floor beside him, smiling beatifically. Hussein opened his mouth to scream for help, but a large, blunt fist crashed into the side of his head and he saw stars… seven of them, like the Holy... The fist descended once more, and he saw only darkness.
**** * ****
Fr. Danilo Bayani was immensely enjoying his latest trip to the continental USA. He had visited Hawaii many years ago, and New York City more recently, but this was his first tour of the grand landbound spaces that this country offered. He’d managed to roam so far from his origins in Manila. Now, in his twilight years, he longed to see what he could of God’s Green Earth. All on the payroll of The Vatican while they cleanse the records of those hateful… allegations. The bitter thoughts raced across his mind. Of course he was a sinner, he was only mortal. He’d been expiated of those sins and had paid an enormous price to continue serving in his capacity as a parish priest. He forced his mind to return to the moment and more enjoyable pursuits.
He noted the hirsute and similar appearing pair of men who had gone to the bar and wondered why the Security officer approached them, but his attention was called once more to the round of Texas Hold’em and his table mates. When he again had a moment to look, no one was at the bar, in front or behind… curious, he thought, but he quickly refocused his attention on the fascinating new game he was in the process of learning. He was familiar with Poker, so it wasn’t difficult to learn. He liked the high level of interaction that this version of the old game allowed. He’d done well, certainly gained enough to fund extracurricular activities during the rest of his current sabbatical.
He’d been disturbed by the overall atmosphere of this place when he’d arrived. He did not care for the numerous paintings and sculptures of Ancient Native Deities and Spirits. They seemed to be mostly images of the Dark Beings of various Tribal cultures. He loved to study diverse cultures, but this place was an amalgamation of cultures, built for mutual support by several Tribes in the region. Much of the artwork was schlocky and clearly intended to cater to the garish and sordid tastes of the vapid gambling set. Some part of him did not feel… welcome, as though he had intruded on some private Place, set aside for Other Gods.
He shook off the depressing musings… There are NO Other Gods, he reassured himself. He soon stepped away from the table to take care of personal needs and to decide what he should do with the rest of his night. Perhaps he would visit the White Dove Restaurant & Ballroom on the other side of the hotel lobby from the casino. It boasted a good reputation according to online reviews, even though it was a simple buffet style with a dance floor to one side. He liked the name, it was… peaceful he decided.
He soon had a selection of food piled onto a plate and was seated near the dance floor. The place was sparsely occupied, so his hopes of being able to watch dancers as he ate were dashed. Still, the food was good enough. A little bland, but that was necessary in a place that acted as a crossroads of cultures. There was a spice table at the end of the primary row of entrees. He’d helped himself, yet nothing seemed to attach to his taste buds. The combination of eating nearly alone, having no one with energy around him, and the tasteless food soon had him growing restless. He finished up his repast and left the table to go out to the final section of the complex he had not visited, the River Overlook.
As he passed the table nearest the entrance, he saw a stout man in a rumpled sport coat, who glared daggers at him, eyes focused on his crucifix, the only outward sign of his profession. The man appeared to be so hostile, that he paused for a moment to determine whether he’d done anything to offend the fellow. “Excuse me sir, have I offended you in some way?”
The man looked startled. He was apparently unused to being confronted about his demeanor or behavior. He scowled, “Don’t like that thing you have around your neck. You Catholics are all Hell-bound. No concept of righteousness. Not that you’d understand, you people don’t even read The Book. You listen to your priests and pope and disregard The Word. All the kneeling and ritual prayers in the world won’t save you in the end. Go back to your idols and beads and leave me alone to seek Heaven.”
Fr. Bayani was startled by the vehemence with which the man spoke. He hadn’t been attacked directly for his Faith in years. “Sir, I’m not sure what Religion you practice, but I am a man of God, a consecrated priest of the Holy Church. I assure you that I understand more than most, if not as much as I would like. I meant no harm and wish you a peaceful night.”
With that, he started to walk past the man, but the man rose from his table and pointed his finger, “Your pope is the Anti-Christ, and your Church is a place of Satan! Look to the Bible for your salvation before it’s too late.”
Fr. Bayani increased his pace and continued on his journey to the River Overlook. He would need the peace and tranquility that nature and the sound of flowing water would provide to settle his roiling mind.
**** * ****
Pastor Bill resumed his seat and shook his head, “Fool, doesn’t know that he’s risking his soul, courting Damnation.” He’d had a bad run at the tables over at the casino. His Denomination frowned on games of chance, but he had needed the money. One of his congregation had come up pregnant and they had to get it resolved before the three-month deadline for abortions. He knew that if his wife found out about Carmen, then she would divorce him. He was here to break every major rule that he professed to hold dear each week. His plan for quick money had failed, so he’d visited the bar. Now he hoped that eating would guide him back to sobriety. He had to think of another plan.
Seeing that… priest had annoyed him. Had he not been inebriated, he would never have said what he did, nor stared so rudely in the first place. Yet he wanted someone on whom to vent the anger he felt, that arose from fear and he’d always disliked the papists. If his wife divorced him, if the scandal involving the woman who cleaned the church all week and then occupied the back pew every Sunday ever broke; he would lose his ministry, his livelihood. His degree in Theology would be worthless. He might be able to get a job teaching, at some secular school, but most would not hire fervent Christians like himself.
He stared dejectedly at his plate of food that had contained more spice and flavors than he liked, a shadow passed in his periphery. It was low-slung and blurred just a bit as it loped along the wall. He thought he heard an odd laugh, somewhere between human and… canine? Maybe a little like a hyena might sound, or so he imagined. There was a manic quality to the laughter. A jest that was on him so that only the other Entity knew what it was. It was the wicked laughter of children at play, who’d decided to target a fat kid with glasses. A kid whose parents had been abusive addicts but who later “got right” through religious-based recovery programs. Their faith had led him to his own, but he’d never really lost those early traumas of being unaccepted by his peers and being beaten by people who later professed faith above all.
A mocking whine, definitely doggish, his now sobering consciousness informed him. Something was making fun of him, teasing him from the shadows. He looked around for staff members or other customers but found himself alone. The dining area and the dance floor were deserted. It was odd, there was almost always someone at the buffet service tables. He looked over to the kitchen doors in hopes that one of the employees would burst through with a fresh serving of chicken wings or whatever tray had been emptied. He saw dark figures move past the clouded round windows on the swinging doors and temporarily occlude the bright kitchen lights within, but they were indistinct blobs, and appeared to be focused on tasks of their own choosing rather than service of his needs.
He stood and realized that he was more intoxicated than he’d realized. He immediately resumed his seat and bent forward to regain his balance and bearings… and to swallow his rising gorge. When he sat up again, a dark, shaggy form perched in the chair across from him. The figure was no more than a silhouette, a raggedly hewn shadow. Yet there were eyes. Sinister golden gleams appeared and blinked at him. He heard a heavy, panting sort of breathing and a gust of foul-smelling carnivore breath assaulted his olfactory senses. “Who? Er, what are you doing at my table?” he asked in a mushy, confused manner. Still fighting off waves of nausea.
He could not see it very well in the poorly illuminated dining room, but his impression was that the... Being… smiled at him: a gaping, lolling smile, with a tongue dangling out to one side and sharp canines gleaming. “I thought I would check on you my righteous friend. You seem to be upset, unhappy. You nipped and barked at that other person who shares your Faith. I thought perhaps there was a deeper concern preying on your conscience?”
Pastor Bill had to force himself to think through what this… person? Had said to him. Likely some hippie-dippy weirdo. “That guy was a Catholic priest, we’re nowhere near the same Religion.”
Once more he heard the chortling laughter that was now very clear, “I’m sure you think it’s different. Those of his specific religion, came to these lands many years ago. They were the first of you Christians to arrive. The rest have been simple variations on a theme. The problems began, when your co-religionists assumed that only your God exists; that all of the local Gods and Spirits were instead Demons and Dark Powers. Instead of trying to show that yours is a better Way, you Christians insisted that yours is the only Way. You’ve forgotten that in Ancient Times, people held True to Deities who were attached to local communities or to the land and features around them; geographically and ethnically relevant. You have gone from subsuming and incorporating Older Gods as Angels and Saints, to Demonizing Them, and now in your hubris, to denying Them altogether.” He shook His head. “Too bad really, it creates an Adversarial relationship.” He chuckled at some joke that Pastor Bill was still too drunk to comprehend.
Pastor Bill had grown increasingly fearful as the Voice intoned Its Philosophies. He wanted to refute that Voice, to deny Its very Existence. Yet he feared Its Wrath more than anything he’d ever feared, even the Fires of Hell. Instead of making a stand and arguing his faith, he staggered to his feet and ran, stumbled, blindly toward the kitchen and the pale, ghostly figures within. Surely someone within would save him! The sardonic laughter chortled after him and chased him into the too bright lights, descending into the yips and howls of Coyote even as the doors swung shut behind him. He looked around at the glowing white figures who halted in their various progresses to stare at him. Their eyes! There were none, just empty sockets, faces slack, with gaping, lamprey maws. He heard a new sound as they swarmed him… his own forlorn screams of ultimate agony.
**** * ****
Fr. Bayani stood out on the River Overlook platform and enjoyed the solitude that had so recently left him restless. There were plenty of noises out across the flowing torrent: the water itself, as it passed over hidden objects, fish as they leapt from its embrace to kiss the night air, frogs and insects, and the warbling, mournful sounds of a loon, and the soft sigh of the wind as it passed through the verdant landscape. This is much more peaceful than the White Dove he thought. He had some trouble shaking off ruminations on the verbal assault from the strange, possibly drunken man in the restaurant. He decided that he would pray for the man, that he would one day soon find The True Faith. Sometimes that was all one could do for the short-sighted.
He heard a deep, coughing hiss out in the dark. He was startled but quickly realized that it was an American Alligator, cousin to creatures he had observed in many places around the planet. He was truly content, at one with Nature in all Her Glory… in all the natural splendor of Creation! he immediately corrected himself. A sound impinged on his senses as it slowly rose and obscured the others… it was a lapping sound at first, more like ocean waves on a beach than the banks of a river. Waves, at cross purposes to the flow of the river, slapped at the base of the platform. Soon they sounds evolved into splashes, as if something very large approached the River Overlook platform. He leaned over the rail to have a closer look. Perhaps it was a large water creature or a boat… maybe a ‘gator as the locals called the big reptiles.
He peered down at the dim rippling surface below. At first, he was unable to discern anything but small reflections on the water as it swirled and lapped; then from below the surface, he spotted an eye, a too large eye! It glowed from within with a sickly luminescence akin to that produced by deep growing fungi. As he stared in horror, he saw a mouth gape below the eye, and enormous frog-like opening with no teeth but serrated lips, like some monstrous catfish. As he stared, too much in shock to act, he suddenly felt his body wrapped in strong, leprous flesh and he quickly lost his ability to breathe. The last sight he saw before he plunged over the safety rail was the thin, grey, first light of dawn.
**** * ****
Chief Harry Whitehorse gazed around at his fellow chiefs and Shamans from various local Tribes, “So, are The Dark Ones satisfied once again? Have They sated their appetites on strangers so that our peoples will be safe for another year?”
Affirmative rumbles muttered around the conference room. Red Wolf, a Shaman, spoke from near the back row, “They are not only satisfied but Coyote assures us that the prey people will not be linked with our premises or business operations.”
Most of the fresh mutters sounded pleased, but old Harry had to ask, “Can we trust Him?”
Chortling laughter sounded throughout the conference room and ascended into thunderous yips and howls of hysterical glee.